#maybe all i needed to study properly was have people tell me to do it like I'm a child bc CLEARLY i have no sense of responsibility

[lyssentome]

You know what? Fuck it. This website scares me when it comes to these things but dammit I am failing so goddamn hard I need people to yell at me.

One note on this post = one hour of studying.

If this somehow gets to obscene numbers (which it won't because my non-writing posts get an average of like. 0-2 notes and maybe 4-5 on a good day) I will spread it out throughout the semester. AND i might stream it because i need someone to watch me lol.

[hazbinshusk]

blitzø x gn!reader. a very indulgent soft!blitzø fic for @clovrplayz. when he finds you locked away in your apartment overwhelmed by all your work, blitzø takes it upon himself to try and help you relax for a little while.

featuring: general fluff, reader is gender neutral (only descriptor of body involves them having hair), people-pleasing stress.

You barely manage to look up for more than a cursory second when you hear the door to the apartment open, your elbows planted on the kitchen counter in front of you so you can press the heels of your hands into your temples. You’ve been staring at the paperwork in front of you for so long that your eyes have unfocused, and you blink hard to try and get them working properly again.

“Well, howdy-doody, peachy-babe,” Blitzø sing-songs as he kicks the door closed behind him, shrugging off his coat and tossing it towards the coatrack beside him. He misses; you hear it crumple on the carpet instead. The imp seems not to notice as he makes his way over to you. “You are gonna looooove me; I’ve got—”

Blitzø trails off as he realises you’re not actually listening, and his tone drops to something more subdued. “Hey. You okay?”

You jerk upright as you suddenly feel the touch of his hand on the small of your back; the move knocks the papers further askew on the countertop.

“Hey!” you give him a brief, distracted smile, pushing hair away from your face self-consciously. You usually put a little more effort into your appearance when you know he’s coming over; at the very least you make sure you’ve showered in the last… twenty-four hours. You’re suddenly aware of how tight your face feels around your eyes from a lack of sleep, of the beginnings of grease clinging to the roots of your hair telling you that you really needed to wash it. “Hey! Sorry, did we… were we supposed to have… plans?”

Blitzø raises a brow. “Nooope. I’m just doin’ that thing you totally love where I barge in unannounced and make you do whatever I want to – what’s wrong with you?”

“That sounds like the set up of a joke I’m too tired to make,” you sigh, then wave a hand dismissively as you turn your attention back to the counter. “No, I’m fine. I’m just… I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“It’s Sunday.”

“It’s Hell,” you point out dryly. “They tend to make most of us work weekends.”

He shrugs, moving to lean against the counter beside you, forcing himself into your line of sight. He stands with his back to it, elbows resting carelessly on top of your work. Blitzø studies your face for a moment before he tries for a smirk. “Wouldn’t have to if you came and worked for I.M.P.”

You give him a tired smile. “You just get your rocks off to the idea of me calling you ‘sir’.”

He grins. “It makes me all tingly.”

You shake your head in amusement. “I appreciate the offer – again – but I told you, B. I can’t leave where I am. They need me.”

“They’re assholes,” he replies. He says it simply, like he’s telling you the day of the week, despite never having met anyone you work with. You tried not to complain in front of him, didn’t you? And anyway, they weren’t assholes, they were just…

“They’re not so bad,” you grimace, trying the tug the papers out from under his elbow carefully.

“They’re manky-ass crotch-jockeys, peach.”

You choke on a laugh despite yourself. “Okay, so they’re not… great, but they’re maybe not… that. And they need me there; I can’t just leave them with all this work still needing to be done.”

A soft, affectionate smile you completely miss tugs at the corner of Blitzø’s mouth, and he rolls his eyes before finally relenting and lifting his elbow so you can rescue those pages. “Aaannnd… are you gettin’ much work done?”

You hesitate to respond, and apparently, that’s all the answer the imp needs. Winding his tail around the leg of your stool, he drags it back from the counter, stepping between you and your work. You make to protest, but his expression is this mix of soft amusement and what you’re surprised to see as genuine concern, and your complaint dies before it can escape you. Blitzø’s hands come up to rest on your thighs, and while the touch still manages to send a blush into your cheeks, his touch doesn’t wander any higher than just above your knee, his palms warming you through the worn fabric of your sweats.

“You need a break.”

You sigh, “I can’t—”

“You’re takin’ a break if I have to sling you over my shoulder and carry you,” Blitzø says, his voice matter-of-fact and bright. You feel his tail brush against your ankle. “So, if you want me to get all grabby on that sweet lil bod of yours, keep arguin’. Otherwise, follow me.”

Blitzø surprises you by leading you into your bathroom – a cramped little room of cold tiles and a bath and shower combination that is a little too small for you to really use the former part of it. Before you can ask what exactly he has planned, he turns and plants his hands on your shoulders, pushing you gently down to sit on the mat with your back against the edge of the tub.

You want to ask what the hell he’s doing, but he starts humming to himself as he ransacks the cabinet under the sink, hips and tail swaying cattishly back and forth in time with whatever tune he’s got in his brain. He looks so strangely at home, and it isn’t until he straightens with the cheap detachable shower head hose you had buried at the back of the cupboard that you find words again.

“What exactly do you have that for?”

“Pretty sure it’s not what you usually use it for,” he shoots back, waggling his eyebrows at you suggestively. You snort a laugh, the sound catching as he surprises you by tossing a towel on your head. “Wrap that around your shoulders, perv.”

Confused, you do as he asks, watching him hook the shower head’s nozzle to the bath’s tap. He runs the water, rocking the spray over his fingers a few times until he’s satisfied with the temperature. As the same time his tail collects your shampoo and conditioner from the caddy above him, and your face warms as you realise his intentions.

“Blitz, you don’t have to—”

“Shut up and be pampered, bitch,” he eye-rolls, but his smirk is soft as he moves to kneel beside you. He reaches up to untuck your hair from where it’s hooked under the towel, and you’re not sure if it’s the cooling droplets of water or the graze of his claws against the nape of your neck that makes you shiver. “’Cause if I gotta look at your greasy-ass head much longer you’re gonna put me off pizza for life.”

“Wow,” you deadpan. “What’s this warm and fuzzy feeling in my—”

“Just tilt your head back, would ya?”

You laugh at his exasperation but do as he asks, closing your eyes as the towel around your neck cradles you comfortably against the edge of the ceramic. You’re immediately rewarded with a smile and the sensation of warm water against your scalp. Blitzø’s smile lingers as his hand comes up to carefully smooth your hair away from your face, claws ghosting over your forehead in a way that completely belays his joke about grease. Almost immediately you feel the tension in your shoulders ease, and Blitzø chuckles quietly to himself as he notices.

“That’s it, peach. Jus’ relax, alright?” he says soothingly as he soaks your hair, moving the showerhead slowly over your scalp. “I got you.”

Your tail slips over your lap and you curl your fingers around it, the spade swaying back and forth by your hip. “’Kay.”

You notice Blitzø is humming again when you feel the cold squirt of shampoo against the crown of your head, and you hold back a happy moan as his claws slide through your soaking hair to massage it into the locks. He seems to know just how much pressure to use, kneading his fingertips carefully into the skin behind your ears, into your temples. Your lips part with a soft sigh as he lingers there, working away the tension headache that has been brewing there for the last few hours.

“That’s my good baby,” he croons softly, the warmth of voice curling into your chest the way the steam caresses the bare skin of your arms and neck. He lifts your head slightly to press his fingers into the nape of your neck and your own hands tighten on your tail, the soft scent of night jasmine and bergamot teasing at your senses. You still can’t recognize the song he’s chosen as he continues humming, but it’s soft and sweet and slow… something like a lullaby that makes you want to melt right there into the bathmat.

Blitzø takes his time rubbing the shampoo through your hair, lingering around the bases of your horns where he knows stress can settle. When the water returns to wash away the bubbles you shudder, and the steam clings to your cheeks, your forehead, your lips. You want to open your eyes, to see what kind of expression he might be wearing as he does this, but you don’t want to risk ruining the moment.

He conditions your hair with the same care, his fingers returning to your temples and your horns as he gives it time to settle. In any other circumstance you would probably make a joke about how someone who’s been bald for as long as you’d known him knew so much about how to properly wash hair, but right now… Satan, you really didn’t care.

All too soon the water shuts off and Blitzø takes your hand to help you sit up properly again, one hand tucking up under your back to support you. It isn’t really necessary, but you smile at the attentiveness. You find yourself flushing now that the moment is over, and busy yourself with obscuring your face with the towel as you dry your hair so he doesn’t notice.

“Alright, baby, up you get,” he hauls you to your feel, hands wrapped around yours. That warmth lingers in your cheeks, and you try not to let your mind linger on the pet-name he’s just used. “Time for bed.”

“Wh-?” your brow creases in confusion. “It’s like… three in the afternoon! And I’ve still got work to—”

“Right.” You yelp in surprise as Blitzø sighs, nods once, then scoops you up into his arms. He grins at you as your arms go automatically to his shoulders, wrapping around his neck for stability. His hands clutch at your thighs, the small of your back, and you swear you feel his tail curl around yours for a moment before retreating again. “I warned you.”

“Blitz—!”

He ignores your protests as  he carries you into the bedroom, his tail hooking under the edge of the comforter and drawing it back before he drops you onto the middle of the mattress. He clambers onto the bed after you, tugging you back against his chest before you can climb back up off the bed. He tucks his chin over your shoulder as he wraps his arms around your middle, nuzzling into the side of your neck, unbothered by your still-damp hair. “Just shut up and nap with me, alright?”

Blitzø is wonderfully warm against your back, and the soft lilt to his voice is enough to convince you to do as he asks. His breath tickles against the side of your neck, his breathing slowing and becoming more measured as the two of you settle. His tail tugs the covers up over you, and you let your legs tangle with his as you settle against him.

Your breath catches slightly as his fingers curl in the hem of your shirt, his touch barely more than a whisper against the soft flesh of your stomach. Maybe that’s why your voice comes unsteadily when you speak, volume barely more than a murmur. “I do need to get back to work, Blitz…”

He shakes his head against your back, bumps his forehead against the space between your shoulders. “Nooooope… sleep now. Work later. Those assholes will just have to wait.”

“Blitz…”

He sighs, rolling his eyes as he sits up. He grabs at your shoulder, pushing you onto your back. He straddles your hips, bracing his hands on either side of your shoulders. It makes your breath catch, and you press your lips together against the flood of butterflies that suddenly swirl up through your middle.

“You gotta take a break, baby.” he tells you gently. He reaches up to tuck hair behind your ear, claws grazing along the line of your neck. “Okay?”

You exhale, give him a reluctant nod. “Okay.”

He smiles, bending down and brushing a kiss over your forehead. He lets his lips linger there for a moment before he pulls away again, and then he lets himself flop down on top of you.

You cough out a laugh as he knocks the air out of you, and he smiles lazily, his chin cradled against your sternum. You roll your eyes and he sticks his forked tongue out at you, but you still reach up to smooth your fingers over his forehead, scratching at the base of one of the spikes between his horns. A purr rumbles through him at the touch.

“Thank you, Blitz.”

His smile twitches wider, his eyes closed blissfully. “Welcome, baby.”

[threepandas]

Bad End: Poisoned Cups

I hadn't adjusted well, at first. I don't think anyone could have. Being an elf sound cool, on paper. The better eye sight, the incredible hearing, the stamina. All sorts of perks right? But what they don't tell you, is that when your soul is human? When you get isekai'd by some divine oversight or fucker with a truck?

It doesn't adapt that well, to a new body. Your soul INSISTS you should still be human, with all the trappings, and throws a FIT, when you just.... aren't. So you end up with migraines. Eyes that swim in and out of focus. Wheezing, struggling, breathe. A body at war with itself.

The world was so loud. Too loud. I could hear EVERYTHING and it HURT. Couldn't breathe and THAT hurt. Was nauseated all the time, from my eyes refusing to focus properly. That too, hurt. All of it, pain. Just? Pain. Day after day, pain pain pain.

My poor parents were helpless. The doctors struggled.

But the King? HE could save me.

And he did.

He was younger then. Just barely into his rule. His Father having just stepped down. My parents, desperate, brought me before him. Waited in line for days. They didn't even know if he COULD do anything, were grimly prepared for him to say that sadly, nothing COULD be done. But? Instead? He looked me over, called for several old texts, looked again, then called upon the strength of the Throne.

My parents apparently started weeping the second I stopped.

All I remember is the pain going away. Being exhausted. A REALLY pretty elf man in a crown. Things getting... better, after that.

I was told that story often, as a child. It utterly transformed our household. From merely loyal citizens, to devote Loyalists. Speaking ill of the King in THIS house? Would now get you HURT. My parents had been convinced they were going to LOSE me. The King as far as they were concerned, saved my LIFE.

Which is why I didn't put anything together. Seeing as we were an "all King all the time" Sort of house. We had one(1) team and we were sticking to it. Permanently. His son? Eeeeh, maybe. We'd figure that out later. We didn't care to know. And I was too busy with school work to CHECK.

Which? Meant I didn't NOTICE? He looked? More and more... Otome Capture Target as time went on. Specifically, he looked kinda crown prince from "Dance of the Secret Forest! A True Love For Me?!" sort of Shaped. Which... gee, what ARE the odds? Especially given that so many OTHER things are named suspiciously similar or exactly the same to that game?

.........yeeeeeah. I decided not to take chances.

I looked that shit UP.

And wouldn't you know it? Protagonist-chan? Not there yet. But she SURE COULD BE! All the legends were EXACTLY what they should be. Forests and locations the same! PEOPLE the same! Oh HELL no. Good to know where NOT to be, I guess.

Not my circus, NOT my Otome Drama Monkeys.

I? Would be working for the KING. My family owed him a debt.

And when I graduated? I applied. Top of my class. I studied my ASS off. Could have gone anywhere. But I was aiming for the TOP. A debt to be repayed and frankly? Excellent job security on top of it! So filling busy work in dusty ass backrooms it was. Gotta start from the bottom, after all.

I exhausted them. Was honestly barely trying too at that point. They should see me TRYING to put my nose to the grindstone. Burn the midnight oil! Ha! HA, I say! Long elven lifespans slow you all down! I? Used to live in a capitalist hellscape! This is NOTHING.

I'm not even multi-tasking. It's not even LUNCH YET.

Did I get promoted? Yes. Do I worry my coworkers? Deeply! But shit needs doing and we don't have all day! There is a nation to run! Have some tea. Eat a turnover. Now~! Where are my fuckin documents~☆?

I get promoted again.

Then again.

Aaaaand again.

I'm pretty sure it's cause I scare people. Am FAST. Efficient. Willing to hunt my coworkers for SPORT, like a god damned bloodhound, if it means we get that one extra tax document that makes or breaks us. I have (and will again if necessary) climbed through people's fucking WALLS. Cause, honestly? If they wanted to stop me?

They should have warded the gods damned vents.

Fuckin casuals. Get on my level.

So, now? I am the baby. King's inner circle. And EVERYONE? Is damn near twice my age! And, granted, yes. It IS hilarious I still scare like half the people working under me... but come ON! You are elite government officials! Do BETTER! (Geez. At least my PARENTS couldn't be prouder.)

But... (and God damn it, why is there ALWAYS a "but"?) here's the thing. It? Took me a WHILE to get where I am now. Long enough, in fact, for our... Problem, to arrive. A Problem which is GOING to cast his Majesty's kingdom into chaos and turmoil, in fighting and divides. Religious upheaval. A PROBLEM, which? In the name of luuuuuv~?

Is going to get NEIGHBORING COUNTRIES involved.

And WHO do you think is going to have to deal with that? WHO will have to prevent all out WAR? Religious schisms? Ward off assassins in the night? Certainly not Mr. "But Daddy, I love her!". Oh no, HE gets to sit back and enjoy the fruits of his father's suffering! Make more trouble! (Fucker.)

But, hey! Maybe I should throw in with his SECOND son, right? The supporting character? He seems vastly more reasonable and emotionally more balanced doesn't he? Well educated, cautious, why, thoughtful even! Ha ha... yeah... he DOES seem that way, doesn't he?

SEEMS.

He Is Not. Little fucker is a SPECIAL flavor of batshit. Completely "wake to find him standing over you, in your LOCKED BEDROOM, asking if you want to see his new favorite knife" nutty puffs. Not sure which side of the family it comes from, to be honest. Disturbingly good at getting past my warding.

Or at least he WAS, until I got the King involved. Ha! Royal wards! You can't touch me! I sleep like a BABY now! The only people who can enter my rooms now? Are literally JUST me and the KING HIMSELF! How safe is that~‽

But for real... poor his Majesty, you know? It's not like he didn't TRY to be a good father. Take time he couldn't afford out of each day, to spend time with his sons. Insist on eating meals together so he could ask them about their interests, how each day had gone. Involved them where he safely could.

He's a somber man. A dignified one. But let NO ONE say, he is not a LOVING one.

And HOW do his children fucking reward him? Middle school love dramatics and MURDER ATTEMPTS IN THE NIGHT! Because, YES, I have found the disturbing murder board that the second prince has in his "secret" room. Right along his equally disturbing stalker board of ME.

I, obviously, told the King.

He did not look pleased.

Don't know if my new reality has, like, intensive therapy programs or something? But I hope for ALL our sakes, that the second Prince is at the winter palace getting HELP, instead of just? You know... plotting.

His Highness has a nasty tendency to plot, after all. But hey, his Majesty says not to worry about it? I choose to believe him. Concern myself with more immediate threats. Enjoy, no longer turning around to find some baby faced little creep with a hunter's stare, just... watching me. As I try to work. As I try to eat. Around corners, still as a statue, yet somehow a THREAT, in lonely and too empty corridors.

God fucking DAMN, his little "crush" was creepy!

If it weren't for his Majesty? I would have run and run FAR. But... but I? And you CAN NOT repeat this, okay? It's WILDLY inappropriate! A-And I SWEAR I'm never going to.. to ACT on it! I would NEVER. So...so PROMISE, okay?

....cause.... I may... MAY! Possibly! Just a LITTLE bit! Sorta, kinda, just a BIT? Have a TEENY? Little crush... on... his Majesty? Maybe???

YOU CAN'T TELL!

It's SO fucking inappropriate. Oh my GOD. I hate this so much!? Cause he's my BOSS! And old enough to be my DAD! I SHOULDN'T be so attracted to him, right?! Plus he's the KING! There's definitely a power imbalance there! How would that even WORK?! We would have no future! I don't know the first THING about how to BE royalty. And no one would accept me!

Not that I think I even have a CHANCE! Fuck no! I'm not THAT arrogant.

But, like? A girl can day dream. Fantasize, you know?

Which is why? Having his SON? Be a creepo stalker at me? Kinda the WORST. I've literally JUST discovered I'm into older men! Thanks! BEGONE, zygote! Also, your vibes are RANCID! No thanks! I hated that and am SO glad it's gone. Now? All I have to worry about? Is Protagonist-chan and the political SHIT SHOW she drags after her like trail of destruction.

Why is she involving foreign royalty? PLEASE stop involving foreign royalty! Dukes! Religious leaders! MILITARY LEADERS. Stop "Helen of Troy"-ing your ass through our nice, PEACEFUL, kingdom!!! What the ACTUAL FUCK!? This is NOT A THEME PARK.

I watch, vaguely horrified, as his Majesty finishes reading three (yes, count um! Fucking THREE!) different royal missives demanding three different women of legend, from three DIFFERENT legends, who coincidentally enough? Happen to ALL BE THE SAME PERSON. Fucking Protagonist-chan.

They were from long standing ALLIES.

We could not AFFORD to lose those.

And the FOURTH message? Oh, THAT? That, was from his SON! Mr. "But Daddy! I Love her!" HIMSELF! He wants permission to marry the random woman of unknown province he found in the woods! Could be a foreign spy! Could be a mad woman. Who CARES right? They're SO in love~

Enough to START A WAR OVER IT.

I skip the tasting cups and instead? Bring his Majesty a bottle of the strongest star wine I can find. The sort that could damn near eat through rocks and vaporizes in air if you pour it out. Pain killers too, for what HAS to be a killer headache. Then I hesitate. You know what? Fuck it. I grab a cart. Make a care package.

Paper, ink, the STRONG tea, that special occasions tea (in case he needs a reason to remember his will to live), some snacks, a few shawls in case he decides to work late...

It's worth it, to see the way his stressed face relaxs when I return. Eyes softening, corner of his mouth curling up in that tiny, secret, little smile. We can get through this. We WILL get through this. I may not be able to stand by his side, but? I can support him. Help.

So long as HE sits in this office, burning himself down to keep this nation warm, so too, will I.

Tea or booze, your Majesty?

"A blend, I think. Unfortunately, I fear it is going to be a long night for us both." He replies. His voice smooth and low, effortlessly filling the room. A lifetime of public speaking, ingrained so very deep. "You should pour yourself a cup as well, my dear. Sleep will be a long time coming, we will need both the calm and the clarity."

I rolled my borrowed tea cart to the side and got to work. Strong tea and stronger star wine. Certainly a... flavor. Fairly certain such a thing should be illegal. Pretty sure our healers are going to be appalled. But, oh well. Needs, must. One for me, one for him.

He held out a hand. It was a sweeping gesture of his arm, a gentle turn of his wrist. I could never get used to his casual... elegance. The beauty of him. Like a living art work. A dancer. As though he were an actor, striking a pose, about to consider the soul of the simple tea cup. I handed it over, gently and with as much elegance as I could.

It still felt clumsy in comparison.

Yet he still smiled, just slightly. In that way I had learned to spot. Tension dripping away from his shoulders like thawing ice. Running in little rivers like melt waters, as he sat back in his chair, half turning it to face me. A brief moment to relax. Before work begins again.

"Ah... completely vile. Thank you, dear. It's disgusting." He said dryly, catching me off gaurd, and making me damn near snort into my cup. "If it did not work so well? I would never consume this swill again. What a perfect waste of tea and wine. We should invite Yevault."

I laugh. A snirking, snorting, choked little thing into my cup. God, but I've been TRYING to laugh more elegantly. Hell, I've even practiced. But when he catches me off gaurd? I swear to God, I cackle and pop. Like some sort of deranged witch pig. Ow, my sinuses.

"Oh but that's right, Yevault is a healer, on the occasions he takes time from being an unbearable snob. He might actually make us rest, dear. Then where would we be?" His Majesty muses, taking another sip before grimacing at the taste.

I go to respond. Probably some quip about "preferably in bed" or "asleep". Only... only to find my tounge sluggish. My exhaustion mounting, not slipping away. The world has begun to sway. Just a little at first, then notable. My mouth... fuzzy? Prickly. W...what?

His Majesty has begun to frown. Delicately setting down his cup... cup? Something about... a cup... I have taken too long to respond. He rises. Strides in a few, urgent, steps over to where I lean. Against the edge of my assistants desk. Swaying~ swaying~ w-why is the ground... my tounge feels to big. Think? I've begone to drool?

Warm, big hands cup my face. Was slipping forward, to the side. Gonna fall? Not anymore. Up. Hi! Is the king. Hi King. I... I don't feel so good...

His eyes have gone focused and cold. Pretty. Crown begins to glow. Leaves. Gold and gold, a halo of light. From within and beyond him. Power of the throne. Oh... oh I was here before, wasn't I? My bones remember. Like the roots to his great tree, power seeping deeper and deeper into my body, finding imperfections to consume. So... so much LIGHT.

I can not look away.

"Poison, was it? How terribly banal. Do they think me so simple to kill?" There is scorn in his voice. Utter distain. But deep beneath, like the hidden embers of a forest fire, there is rage. "How dare they drag you into this. Bad enough they throw a FIT over some trouble making tart, now they get the innocent involved? What if I had not been paying attention? Or you had taken that tea where I could not see it? Unacceptable."

Like spreading branches, like antlers, the light spread. The hands on my face gentle even as his Majesty's face might as well have been carved from stone. I tried to protest, swallowing thinking past the still rolling nausea. It was my fault! The tasting cups exsist for a REASON. They're supposed to test for things like this. I got too comfortable.

"No." The word slammed down as about an absolute as any sentence CAN. A declaration from on high. The commandment of a king. "It takes far more then simple poisons or common blades to kill me. The power that flows through the Throne insures it. You do not have that luxury. You could have DIED."

"....might still yet."

The last bit, almost a confession, pressed to my brow as he leaned down to press his lips to my forhead. His grip tighter, as though to stop his hands from shaking. My joints were starting to hurt, like I had a nasty cold, and I was already starting to feel feverish. I was starting to drip sweat. Shit.

I tried to stay calm. But... but I was scared. What do I do? Your Majesty! What do I DO?!

"We are going back to my quarters. Work can be brought to me. You need to lay down." He decided after a long moment of deliberation. Something had shifted in his eyes. I couldn't make heads or tails of it. Clung to the only trustworthy source of comfort I knew, in the chaos of this moment. "I'm going to take care of you. I have you, dear. Just trust me, darling. I will fix this. I swear it. You don't have to worry about a thing. Just put all of your trust in me, all right?

"Just come with me, dear. Everything will be all right."

"You can trust me."

[moosesarecute]

December 10th

December Masterlist

Masterlist

Azirel’s letter to Y/N:

It’s snowing. A lot. It’s like the sky is falling down in white. I can almost image you running around with your snow-zoomies. It’s like my entire body just expects you to sneak up behind me and dump way too much snow on me. The shadows have tried to do it, but it just isn’t the same.

Nyx spoke about the winter lights today. He told us that a friend from his kindergarten had painted them. I left the room before anyone continued speaking.   

Azriel walked to his therapy session expecting to speak with Jonathan. He was, after all, his therapist. When Madja was also there, he realized something was wrong.

Azriel sat down as usual, but he let his confusion show.

“We have been working together to figure out the reason why you passed out,” Jonathan explained. “We think we might have figured out something, but we need to have an open mind and listen.”

Azriel felt himself grow unsure, but he nodded anyway.

“As you know, mates are connected. When a bond is accepted, the minds of the two mates are changed to welcome each other,” Madja explained to him. “The minds are heavily connected to the hearts and if the minds don’t get to develop properly to welcome its mate’s mind, it can be dangerous.”

Azriel nodded along, but he didn’t know what they meant by telling him this.

“It takes around six months for the minds to be connected. Mates shouldn’t be far away from each other in this time.”

Azriel started to realize what was going on. Losing you had not only broken him mentally and emotionally, but it had also left his body and heart broken.

“So, you think my chest is hurting because I lost Y/N,” he asked. He wasn’t used to saying your name aloud. “Why would I not have the same symptoms before now?”

Jonathan didn’t answer, but he asked Azriel a different question.

“Would you say the chest pain is similar to when you first understood that Y/N was dead?”

Dead.

Azriel had to hold back his shadows to prevent them from hurting Jonathan. He hadn’t heard anyone say it aloud before.

Gone.

Everyone just said that you were gone or had disappeared.

“When she first disappeared it felt empty, this was painful,” he explained.

Madja and Jonathan looked at each other before Jonathan spoke once more.

“We think that what you’ve been feeling is the mating bond.”

“We think that the overwhelming from not feeling it before now was too much for you and that you passed out because of it.”

Azriel let his eyes widen just a little. Everyone stayed quiet for a while.

“We think Y/N is alive.”

Azriel abruptly stood up and shook his head.

“This has happened before. Mates being separated and the bond being quiet for a longer time can then become too overwhelming when it’s opened again. Your symptoms are the same as the other people from the studies.”

Azriel shook his head again. Jonathan and Madja were supposed to help him learn to live without you. They were not going to encourage him to keep living in denial.

“Azriel?”

“I,” he started, but words left him.

Without a second look, Azriel shadow-walked out. He didn’t care where he ended up, he just needed to disappear.

He landed in the forest. He didn’t care about where in the forest, he only focused on breathing.

They thought you were alive.

 His head was spinning. He felt the familiar and welcome feeling of his shadows surrounding him. He was a black dot as he moved through the trees.

They thought you were alive.

He should be relived, shouldn’t he?

For some reason, getting his hopes up only made him crash down.

What if you were out there? He could hold you again, smell you again and hear you again. He could live his life with you, just as he hoped.

But what if you weren’t?

The thought alone made him throw up.

What if he got his hopes up, only for you to be gone?

Madja and Jonathan only thought you were alive. They didn’t know for sure.

Maybe you were dead.

Dead, gone, disappeared.

Different words, but they meant the same thing. You weren’t coming back.

You aren’t coming back.

Annette had slept on a small island in the middle of the ocean. She had been flying for most of the night and day, but as she saw the island, she realized how exhausted she was.

The adrenaline had kept her from realizing that she had in fact been flying for over half a day.

She had laid down on the ground and went into a dreamless sleep.

As she woke, she ate some of her food. Drank some of the water. And last, but most importantly, she took her medicine.

That’s when she noticed another flaw in her plan. How much of the medicine was she supposed to take? A teaspoon? A cup? She had no clue.

She ended up taking something in the middle.

The island was beautiful. It was surrounded by ocean and there was no snow on the ground, but it was snow in the air. On a less windy day, Annette might even choose to stay there.

She could fish for food and collets rain for water.

But the wind was almost blowing her off her feet, so she figured she should start moving.

She took the map out of her small backpack and laid it on the ground. She used four stones to keep it from flying away in the wind.

She had no idea how she knew how to use the map, but she quickly realized she was on her way west. She used the cross that signalled her home and all the different types of nature she had seen on her flight to figure out that she was on her way to Prythian. If she continued in a straight west, she would end up in the Winter Court.

She quickly found her book about the Winter Lights and realized where she was heading.

Annette let out a squeal and jumped to her feet in excitement.

“I’m going to see the Winter Lights!” she sang into the wind.

She packed her things in excitement and started flying again.

This time, it was harder. Her back was quite sore, but she went for it anyway. She hadn’t flown in years, so it made sense that her body wasn’t used to it.

 But she didn’t care.

She laughed and played around in the wind. The wind was playing with her hair, it was tickling her wings and holding her up.

Her wings were stretched out and she loved it.

“Wooohooooo,” she yelled and heard as the wind swallowed her voice.

And then it howled back.

The wind has become her friend, she quickly realized.

If she wanted to fly higher, it helped her up and if she started to get tired, it helped her stay in the air.

That was until they saw land. Even from a distance, it was easy to see where the Winter Court was.

Still flying, Annette pulled up her map. The Winter Court was north of the Autumn Court and south of The Middle. Maybe she would travel there next. If it was as special there as it seemed to be in the Winter Court, she definitely would.

She carefully folded the map and put it back in her bag. She started to fly towards the Winter Court, but for some reason, the wind started to pick up.

It was like a storm.

It was pulling her, almost forcing her to travel north.

The wind was mixed with both snow and rain and Annette found it hard to see anything as she struggled against it.

But she kept on fighting.

She flew against the wind as strongly as she could. She covered her face with her hand and fought as hard as she could.

And then, suddenly, it all stopped.

Which was supposed to be a good thing, except for the fact that Annette flew with such force, she found it hard to stop.

She ended up crashing into a tree and then she fell to the ground. Her wings covered her body as she hit the forest floor.

“Ouch.”

Annette sat up and stretched her body and wings. Her wings were unharmed, but she had a flew scratches on her legs and arms. Luckily, it wasn’t painful.

She got up on her feet and noticed the multi-coloured leaves on the ground. She had fought too hard and ended up in the Autum Court.

“Guess I’ll explore here first,” she told herself aloud and started to walk around.

She touched every tree in her path and picked up both crispy and soggy leaves in all the different colours she could find. When she had enough, she stopped before a big stone and laid her leaves out in a gradient colourful line.

It made her smile and she brought the smile with her as she continued walking.

However, it soon fell from her face.

A male suddenly stood before her. He was a lot taller than her and fire lived in his hands.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Annette shot up into the sky in terror. She flew as high as she could and tried to find the way to the Winter Court.

It would be easier to hide in the snow, she thought.

Swoosh

Even the sound made her shrink. Arrows.

She knew the sound of arrows.

Without looking back at the male, she started to fly as fast as she could towards the Winter Court.

“You can’t escape me!” the male yelled at her.

Annette shot him out and tried to get over the border quicker.

“Please, please, please,” she whispered.

Then, she felt the heat.

Her backpack was on fire. She tried to rip it off her back, but her wings made it hard to reach.

Swoosh

Another arrow flew past her.

The adrenaline was all that kept her from throwing up. The smell of the fire burning through her backpack was almost too much for her. It spread chills through her body. It felt so incredebly wrong.

“I’ll find you eventually!” the male yelled.

Annette flew into the Winter Court and was immediately hit by the cold air. She turned and saw that the male was not following her any longer.

Relief filled her entire body as she slumped down to the ground. She ripped her backpack up and rolled both it and her in the snow.

Only one bottle of medicine was still intact from the fire. All her food, clothes and her map as burned beyond repair. Her hair had some damage, but her wings were okay. That was the most important.

“Better than nothing,” she muttered.

Annette felt exhausted as she moved around in the forest of the Winter Court. It was dark outside, but she couldn’t see any Winter Lights. The sky was covered in clouds.

She walked and walked and then she flew a little very close to the ground, before she found a cave.

She slumped down and tucked her wings around the rest of her body to try to keep the small warmth she had.

And then she broke down.

The exhaustion of flying and the fear from being hunted was too much.

“This is not what it was supposed to be,” she whispered to herself as she cried herself to sleep.

Taglist: @prettylittlewrites @hailqueenconquer @onebadassunicorn @mich0731 @tele86 @mellowmusings @anarchiii @anainkandpaper @donnadiddadog

Let me know if you want to be added!

Dividers: @issysh3ll

[astrophileblogs07]

Astro Observations pt.21

Back with some very random Astro observations 😁

⚫ Saturn aspecting the 7th house actually can dislike 9 to 5 jobs or corporate office jobs. They are better with freelancing. Its coz they can't take orders. Sorry not sorry. 💀(Ig that's a Saturn 7H thing 😆)

⚫ An interesting thing I observed: Among two siblings, the elder one has Leo rising which means Scorpio 4H and the younger one has Scorpio moon. And their Mom is a Scorpio moon too. She's a nice lady though but is such a control freak. (I know I am one too, but like when I met her the second time that "controlling" vibe just hit me like a big yellow school bus 🚌😭😭). That was so funny lol😂. -All the more her birthdate is a single digit 1.(these people are the alpha type, always lead and never follow and hence are dominating, one to have the last say) which is cherry on top. -She is fiercely protective of her kids. Can't emphasize enough on "fierce" part. Very strict. Rules are to be followed very religiously. {She can't stand any one of them doing anything without her knowledge. She even monitors whom they interact with what they do on their mobiles etc.(from what I suspect)} (obv Scorpio moon mom traits) (sometimes Leo moon moms too){nothing unhealthy here, just Mom's way of showing they care 😂}

⚫Saturn and Workout: -Workout 🏋️‍♀️requires CONSISTENCY. Saturn LOVES consistency. -In fact the best remedy for Saturn is sweating. JUST SWEAT by hard work. No matter what it maybe: workout, walking, jobs, cardio, sports etc. 🤸‍♀️🚴‍♀️🏋️‍♀️

⚫ Whilst on the topic of Saturn, people who follow a time table for literally everything the planet doesn't harm them much during its Dasha (even if its your worst one). I mean obviously you played by the rules 🤷‍♀️

⚫ Magha is the only nakshatra for which you don't need in depth compatibility match. They get along with everyone.

⚫Scorpio Venuses/8H Venuses are paranoid. They notice and suspect everything (sometimes things which are not there/imaginary). (For eg, me, who thinks that someone is peeping thru my curtains even when nobody is there and all my curtains cover my windows properly. 🤣).

⚫Also as a basic Scorpio Venus behavior: while writing chats/texting, I always think- "what if someone else reads it?"..so I just don't give much details in texts. (Gosh, sometimes I think somethings wrong with me 😭😭)

⚫The proven way to hurt a Leo moon: compare them with any other person and tell them that the person is wayy better in a certain thing esp if it's a triat that the Leo is proud of. 🤣 (P.S don't do that, its mean and the Leo will hunt you, which you don't want 😀.)

⚫Why do Aries moon men have a bunch of good friends for life and Aries moon women struggle with having at least one good genuine female friend for life? (I'm jealous)

⚫ Maybe its becoz they get along more with guys than gals so the girls are jealous of them...so hence no good female friends. 😢🤡 Aries moons are the best-est people for friendships you'll ever get.

⚫ People born on a Saturday look melancholic.

⚫ You can NEVER mislead a Leo rising. They study litreally everything: what you say what you do, and why you do so. Similar to Scorpios

⚫If you see a person having graceful and "royal" way of walking or behaving, they're are sure shot to have a Magha Ascendant.

⚫Connecting the dots here: as I said in one of my previous posts that Maghas get framed even when they have done nothing, what I interpreted is that Maghas are actually the definition of royalty. They literally have that ✨grace✨, that kinda magnanimous personality and similar struggles to a monarch. Totally King/Queen typa energy here. So with that, the usual consequences in a Kingdom is conspiracy against the king, which the Maghas face. (Enough with Maghas ig, started observing them recently so..✌🏻💀)

That's it for today, until next time! (like,comment and reblog loveliesss❤❤😘)

[nevadancitizen]

-> CH. 4: LITTLE PIECES OF HOME

synopsis: viktor finds you wandering piltover and helps you home, where you work with him on an english/piltovan cipher -- but not before you meet an odd woman.

word count: 5k

ships: Viktor/isekai!Reader, Jayce Talis & isekai!Reader

notes: i <3 foreshadowing (<- foreshadowing)

ABoAB taglist: @th3stup1dcat , @patchs-curiosity-corner (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask!)

A BLAZE OF ARCANE BLUE MASTERLIST

You lied to Jayce. You lied to Jayce big time.

Not only are you lost, but you’re lost and you can’t recognize any landmarks. You can’t see the Academy, the Kiramman estate, or anything else that would help you locate where you are. The signs giving directions are all in Piltovan, so they’re not of much use to you.

You could just ask for directions, but you’re a mixture of too proud and too embarrassed to approach anyone, so you end up just wandering. At least the city is visually interesting and you have a lot to look at, like the bridge.

It reminds you of the Golden Gate bridge, except this one is probably smaller. (You wouldn’t know. You’ve never seen the Golden Gate bridge in person.) A few cops – enforcers, you learned they like to be called, but a pig is a pig all the same – line the entrance where cobblestone turns to slabs of something that looks like concrete.

A voice behind you: “What are you doing here?”

You jump a little and turn around, only to see Viktor. His eyebrows are furrowed, and he looks concerned for you.

“Just… wanderin’,” you say with a half shrug, trying to smoothly recover from the scare he gave you. “Lookin’ ‘round the city. Why? You worried?”

“I was worried for your wellbeing, yes,” Viktor says. “You were looking at the bridges like you wanted to see the other side. Do I need to overstate how dangerous Zaun is again?”

“Everything’s dangerous,” you counter. You point at an enforcer holding a rifle. “Boom. Gun, right there. Now tell me, what’s more dangerous than a gun?”

“Radical ideas and the people willing to execute them,” he says, not an ounce of hesitation in his voice.

You look over at him, your face dead and expressionless. He looks back, his face a mirror of yours.

A second later, you crack and laugh, a smile splitting your face. “Jesus, Viktor. What the hell is wrong with you, boy? Since when were we discussin’ coups?”

A small smile graces Viktor’s thin lips as he looks away. “Since I brought them up. Do you not know how a conversation works?”

“Since that’s your definition of a conversation…” You look at the other side of the bridge. It’s littered with hexdraulic descenders, which kind of look like a mix between a glass bathysphere and a regular elevator. There’s a few big ones that are for public use (the model name is ‘Rising Howl,’ named after the sound it makes), and an even fewer number of smaller, private ones that only hold a few people.

“Let’s talk Zaun,” you say. Your voice is small and hopeful. “Why can’t I go down there? I can handle myself well enough. Hey – you can come down with me if you’re so adamant about safety.”

Viktor’s smile immediately drops and his face twists, like you said something incredibly shocking. Maybe you did – there aren’t a lot of people commuting from Piltover to Zaun. But what’s wrong with wanting to see a city built in the cracks and aftermath of an earthquake? It sounds pretty cool… at least to you.

He waits a moment, like he’s collecting his thoughts properly before he speaks. “Zaun is… it is exactly what the people here would expect. There are good people, yes, but there are others who would steal every last thing off your corpse they think would turn a profit.”

“And?” You say. “I’ve lived that. What, you don’t think there ain’t horrible things happenin’ in America, too?”

“I never said that,” Viktor says. “It… it would be detrimental to have you hurt. I am simply thinking of our study of hextech – to have you out of commission would be to lose an advantage.”

You can feel a warmth bloom in your face. You’re overstepping your bounds and Viktor isn’t shy to point that out. You look to the side and rub the side of your neck. The fabric of your button-down keeps you from stretching too much.

“You’re right. You, um… you didn’t say that.” You clear your throat awkwardly. “I… guess you know Zaun better than I do.”

Before you can say anything else, someone clips your shoulder with theirs – rather harshly, you might add. You stumble a little and cuss, whipping your head around to find whoever did that.

You spot a woman, her face eclipsed by the shadow of a hood. She holds out a hand. Her voice is like gravel when she speaks. “That’s my bad, that’s my bad.”

“Naw, you’re good,” you say. “Just wasn’t expectin’ it.”

The woman tilts her head back and some light brightens her face. She’s in her late thirties, maybe early forties at the latest. She’s wearing thick, coke-bottle glasses that greatly exaggerate how big her eyes are. Her face is wrinkled, and she looks tired.

“You’re not like the other pilties,” she says.

Before you can correct her and tell her you’re not a piltie, she takes your wrist, right where your sleeve ends. Her fingers are cold, almost freezing.

It’s wintertime. You’re outside, bundled up appropriately, waiting a little ways from the front door of the liquor store. The half-full jerrycan you’re holding strains on the muscles in your upper arm. You switch it to the other hand.

Your brother comes out of the store, wrapped up just like you. He’s holding a paper bag in one hand, with the other shoved firmly in his windbreaker pocket.

“Lucas,” you say. You jerk your head to the side, gesturing for him to come over.

He hurries over, the gravel crunching beneath his sneakers. Despite being taller than you, he hides behind you to minimize the chilled wind hitting him.

You click your tongue and hit his arm. “You big baby. The wind ain’t all that bad.”

“Don’t you hit me,” Lucas says. “I’ll beat you black and blue.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” you say. “Big brothers are supposed to protect, don’t you know that?”

You gasp, and you’re back at the bridge entrance. The woman lets go of your wrist and walks away, as if nothing just happened. You’re not entirely sure if anything just happened. 

It felt… it felt like you were there. You felt the cold wind biting at the gaps in your bundled-up clothing, felt the strain in your arm, felt the ache in your feet from standing still for so long. You felt annoyed at Lucas for taking his sweet time, felt excited for the night ahead, felt a thrilling kind of swirling anxiety about this act of teenage rebellion.

That was a memory. You remember it – you and Lucas were picking up gasoline and alcohol for a big bonfire your friends had set up. Someone had gathered dry, felled logs, and when they were propped up together, they were almost as tall as you. It burned beautifully, and you fondly remember shrieking with delight when the fire roared from being splashed with kerosene. It was fun, even with Lucas keeping an (admittedly, half-drunk) eye on you.

Did that woman summon the memory? Or did her touch trigger it being dredged up? You haven’t thought about that bonfire in a while, and certainly not the purchases preceding it. So, how…?

You look over at Viktor. He’s watching the woman walk away, a slight scowl on his face.

“You don’t look too happy to see her,” you say.

He clenches his jaw. “She peddles frauds.”

“Frauds?” You repeat. If he’s talking about her little magic trick, you’re not so sure she’s a fraud – reliving that memory seemed real enough. You felt like you were actually there, living it for the first time and making those choices over again.

“Hopefully she does not linger,” Viktor says. “She will just stir up trouble.”

You hum in agreement, then watch the woman’s figure fleeting in the distance. Her nondescript, layered clothes make her hard to pick out from the crowd of eye-catching, glamorous outfits. Soon enough, you lose her.

“Did she do anything to you when she grabbed you?” Viktor asks.

“Huh?” You look over at him. His eyes – golden, shining – meet yours.

Is he asking about her forcing a flashback? It… wasn’t so bad, honestly. You didn’t feel like anything was wrong. It just felt like you were sixteen again, smug and satisfied that everything was going according to plan. To you, it doesn’t seem like she was doing anything nefarious. Maybe it was just an accident – maybe she just can’t control her magic. (If she has any magic, that is.)

What’s the harm in lying, really? Can’t you have one indulgence to yourself? This new life in Piltover has been nothing but frustrating and confusing. Your hometown wasn’t confusing – it was just your hometown. You knew everyone, and the whispered gossip kept you in the know well enough.

It’s just one memory. Maybe it’s selfish to keep the smell of a kerosene-fueled fire and the taste of cheap spirits and the sound of your brother’s half-drunken laugh to yourself. You find yourself not caring that much.

“No,” you lie. “What could she have done? Stole my cufflinks?”

You look down and turn your wrists to make sure she didn’t actually steal your cufflinks. She didn’t.

You turn your wrists so that Viktor can see them and show him. They glint in the sunlight. “See?”

Viktor leans down a little and checks that they are, in fact, still firmly attached to the fabric of your sleeves. He stands up straight and clicks his cane against the cobblestone ground.

“I suppose you’re right.” He checks over his shoulder, where the woman had disappeared into the crowd. “But… if she did do anything, it is best to forget about her. She would strip you down to your last washer, given half the chance.”

“It’s still a bit odd to me that you’ve got all these hexes and cogs and washers,” you say. You start walking just to move, and Viktor falls in step with you.

“Yes, because your system of tarnishable cotton-paper bills is much more superior,” he teases. It’s evident in his tone that he’s glad you’ve changed the topic. “Not to mention the flux in value.”

You scoff and roll your eyes. “Uh-huh, because your little toolbox currency is such a treat. Can’t walk ‘round with spare change without feelin’ like I’ve been belled like a cat.”

“Maybe you should be,” Viktor says. “It would prevent you from running off like this again.”

“Now, I didn’t run off,” you say. “You make it sound like I’m some petulant teenager. I got lost after a meeting regarding adult responsibilities and an adult contract.”

His face lights up a bit and he glances at you out of the corner of his eye. “How did that go?”

“Christ, Viktor, you know how them rich folk are.” You sigh and run a hand through your hair. “Councilor Kiramman wants me to provide a pair of earrings ‘fore she takes me on as a, uh… beneficiary. And she sure as hell sounded like she wanted ‘em quick.”

“How soon?” Viktor asks.

“Earrings are usually a quick thing, but the pair she’s askin’ me to recreate took me two weeks,” you say. “But, hey – she’s workin’ to get me a workshop so I have the tools I need for metalwork. Thing is, I don’t even know what gems she’ll have me workin’ with.”

“And that has an impact on your work?” He asks.

“Huh? Oh, no,” you say. “Well… yes? But not really. I’m more worried ‘bout the cut she’ll have me workin’ with.”

“The cut?” He asks. 

“Jesus, you’re just full’a questions, ain’t you?” You look over at him, a smile tugging at your lips. 

“Forgive me,” Viktor says with a breathless laugh. “I am just… curious.”

“No, it’s – it’s nice,” you say. “Usually, people just brush me off ‘cause of the way I sound and act.”

“Why?” He asks. There’s something like vulnerability in his voice. It’s not obviously apparent, but it’s still there, quiet and unspoken in his tone.

It makes you feel weird. You don’t really like it, but at the same time, you do, and… what are you supposed to do? Just not feel human relatability when relating to another human?

You point at him. “That’s another fuckin’ question.”

He concedes with a roll of his eyes and a dismissive hand wave.

“But, uh…” You scratch the side of your nose. “People from the South are usually regarded as dumb and backwards. Racists and misogynists that revel in making America worse. Hell, some people even think we should secede, make our own bigoted country, marry our first cousins, raise inbred children. When you go up North and out on the Frontier, those opinions are… made readily apparent.”

Viktor scoffs under his breath. “Anyone who holds such prejudices is ignorant and uneducated. Simply meeting with you should be enough to dismiss all thoughts of that kind.”

Your breath hitches in your throat and your eyes snap over to him. He’s minding his business, just looking around and walking like he said nothing out of the ordinary. You can feel your heartbeat in the back of your throat and your eyes start to water for some weird reason.

You look away and blink quickly, dissipating your weird tears. You clear your throat, trying to hide the fact that you’re hitting your sternum with the side of your fist.

“Yeah?” You turn back to Viktor, a cocky little smirk on your face. “You mean that?”

“Yes,” he says. He meets your eyes. “Why would I not?”

Your little cocksure smile falters and that weird feeling of… weirdness is back. Like horned frogs are squirming in your belly, odd little feet-hands splashing in a gross pool of half-digested food and stomach acid, their spiked keratin faces pushing up against the lining. But they’re also pleasant, like they’re eliciting those mushy feelings your granddaddy’s records sung about.

You need to get a hold of yourself. You can’t let simple compliments get the better of you. Maybe you can get training from Jayce for when you attend his fancy rich-boy parties… If you get accepted by Kiramman, that is.

“Well…” You swallow thickly, unable to look Viktor in the eye. “Thank you. That’s – that’s awful kind of you to say that.”

He nods and gracefully ignores whatever is going on with your emotions (if he picks up on them at all). You never had the face for poker, but it’s like he’s playing a completely different game altogether. He’s so calm and collected that it’s almost sending you spinning.

You keep walking alongside him, keeping in tempo with the click of his cane against the cobblestone. The semi-silence between you two is nice – not exactly comforting, but nice. You listen to passerby’s conversations, eavesdropping almost as well as the old ladies in church. You’d like to think that Viktor is doing the same.

“You were askin’ ‘bout the cut on the gems earlier,” you say, your voice a little quieter than you meant it to be. “You still curious?”

“I am,” Viktor says. “I would be grateful if you could elaborate.”

“Well, a cut is referrin’ to how a raw gem is turned, faceted, and polished,” you say. “We’ve got all these special tools to progressively abrase the gem’s surface ‘til it looks the way we want. The grit gets finer and finer ‘til we just use a polish lap to finish up and make it look pretty.”

“And how long does one gem take?” He asks. “If you had to estimate.”

“Depends on the gem, the cut, the tools,” you list off. “Could take a half hour to two and a half hours. I don’t really know the intricacies.”

“How do you not know?” He asks.

“I’m not really trained in cuttin’ gems,” you say. “I handle more of the… the assembly.”

Viktor hums in response, like he’s digesting the information and sorting through his brain to find another question to ask. You’d give a hefty sum to see what goes through his mind on a daily basis – he always seems so ready to learn, the cogs in his head always turning, regardless of whether he’s actually engaged in what’s around him or not. Maybe he gets stuck in a little bubble, like all those aloof scientist characters you’ve seen in movies? That’d be a little funny, honestly.

“I’ve been starin’ at that blackboard in my dorm for a while now,” you blurt out, “like it’ll just give me a cipher. We need to work on that sometime.”

“I am free now,” Viktor offers.

“You sure you’re good to walk back all that way?” You jab your thumb over your shoulder. “I can just walk you to your apartment.”

He clicks his tongue in a dismissing way. “It is not that far. I practically live at the lab anyway, and it is close by.”

You concede and follow him. He knows his limits better than you do, and you trust him when he says that his leg’s not bothering him. (Besides, you don’t even know your way back to the Academy. You’re grateful that it’s not a day where Viktor has to go easy on movement.)

You continue looking around, just observing as he leads the way. Despite your obvious reservations, Piltover really is beautiful. It’s rich, both in city funds and culture. An air of elegance is enmeshed with every building, every person, even the air you breathe.

And… there’s a surprising lack of wires: telephone, telegraph, even electricity. The electricity ones are underground, and the telephone and telegraph ones don’t exist at all. It was a surprise to you, honestly – you thought a society as advanced as this would’ve figured out long-distance communication by now, but you suppose they had different priorities in the past, and have different priorities now.

The sky seems clearer without the tangle of lines perpetually obscuring it. Fluffy, cotton-ball clouds dot the cerulean. They drift by slowly, carried by a gentle wind.

“Does the sky look the same?” Viktor’s voice rouses you from your thoughts.

You glance over at him, then back up at the sky. “Mostly. Though, there’re a lot more birds where I’m from. Not sure if it’s their natural inclination that keeps them out or the amount of industry here.”

“I see,” he says. “Do your birds stay away from industry as well?”

“No,” you say. “They’re still livin’ there, despite it.”

A thought pops into your mind – you just described your situation. You’re living in Piltover despite its wealth, despite its tendency to starve already-starving artists, and despite its voracious appetite for those living below the poverty line. Are you just living an extended metaphor? (Do you represent a pigeon? Or would you be represented by one?)

Viktor hums in response and keeps walking, letting the conversation naturally fizzle out. You match his pace, still observing and still watching.

Soon enough, you both step onto campus grounds. Classes are in progress, so there aren’t many students out and about, rushing from lecture hall to lecture hall. It’s an easy walk to the hexdraulic conveyors that lead to the dormitories.

Viktor inputs the floor number into the button panel and you flip the lever with a hearty ca-chunk. The conveyor jolts, then rises steadily. The ride is silent aside from the hum of the cables.

When the doors open, you step out and lead him to your dorm. It’s a bit more lively and lived-in from when Viktor saw it last – dirty dishes in the sink, a mug half-full of cold, stale coffee, a jacket thrown over the back of one of the bar stools. You don’t really feel ashamed or embarrassed by the mess. There’s evidence of life, and it’s nice.

“Help yourself to whatever you like.” You start to pull off your vest. “I’m gonna get changed outta this stuffy-ass uniform.”

“I was going to say – it looked like Jayce dressed you,” Viktor says.

You throw your bag on your bed, then you lay the vest and the ascot-tie-thing on the counter. As you walk to your closet, you focus on popping the top few buttons on your dress shirt.

“Oh, so I can’t dress fancy now?” You have to raise your voice a little, as he’s still in the kitchen and the door to the closet is half-closed (it’s not like he could take a peek, anyway). “I gotta be forced to?”

“You are very adept at putting words in my mouth,” Viktor calls from around the corner. You can hear the smile in his voice.

You grumble noncommittally and undress, making sure to re-hang the clothes Jayce gave you so they wouldn’t develop wrinkles. You throw on more comfortable clothes and fetch the vest and ascot-tie-thing, making sure to re-hang them, too.

“Okay, I’m here,” you say as you enter the kitchen again. “Let’s get workin’ on this thing.”

Viktor smiles a little and nods. He picks up a piece of white chalk, turns to the board, and starts to write. “I was thinking of starting with the alphabet. It would be wise to start with the simplest, yes?”

“That’s right.” You pick up a piece of chalk and go to the other side of the blackboard, then start to write out the alphabet.

Viktor comes around and looks at what you’ve written. After a moment, he points to ‘A.’ “What sound does this make?”

“Ay,” you say. He writes a letter underneath it.

He then points to ‘B,’ asking the same question, then ‘C,’ ‘D,’ ‘E,’ all the way until the alphabet has a complete phonetic cipher. You round the blackboard with him and do the same thing to the Piltovan alphabet.

“Now we just gotta test if this thing works,” you say. You think for a moment, looking around the dorm, then write the first thing your eyes land on. In big, capital letters, you write ‘KNIFE.’ “Translate that.”

You step back as Viktor steps forward, referencing the cipher and writing as he quickly figures it out. When he’s done, he leans on his cane and cocks his head to the side.

“Kuh…neef-ay?” He tries.

“What?” You let out a shocked exhale. “Viktor, that says knife.”

“Then what are these here for?” Viktor circles the ‘K’ and the ‘E,’ then underlines ‘NIF.’ “This is what is being pronounced.”

“The ‘K’ and the ‘E’ are silent letters,” you say. “You don’t say ‘em. Maybe it wasn’t the best example to start with, but doesn’t Piltovan work the same?”

“No – here.” He rounds the blackboard and writes down a few letters. “Translate.”

“Uh…” You squint at the letters, trying to locate them in the cipher. They’re all fairly complex and some even resemble planetary symbols. One looks like a sun rising over the horizon, while another looks like a snake on a skewer. They’re all very, very confusing.

Eventually, you translate the word: SAWMB’R.

“Saw…mb’r,” you say out loud. “Somber?”

You turn to Viktor. “Motherfucker, do you not know how to spell somber?”

“That’s how it is spelled,” he says. “S-A-W-M-B-apostrophe-R. Somber.”

“Huh.” You turn back to the blackboard. “Maybe English and Piltovan are more different than we thought.”

“Perhaps.” He starts jotting a note beside the cipher in smaller, messier Piltovan writing (most likely for himself), then glances over at you from the corner of his eye. “How are you finding that book I gave you, by the way?”

“Book?” You echo. “What book?”

“The one I pulled from your bookcase.” Viktor points to the book he left on your kitchen countertop, which has sat untouched for close to a full week.

“You didn’t say nothin’ ‘bout it…” you mumble.

You move over to the kitchen peninsula and pick up the book. The cover is in Piltovan, the author’s name is in Piltovan, and the blurb and reviews on the back are all in Piltovan.

You look over at Viktor and hold the book up. “You want me to hit you with this? ‘Cause it’s fairly obvious I can’t read it.”

“Open it,” he says. “The passage I wanted you to see was somewhere on the pages in the late 100s.”

You heave a sigh and lean your hip against the edge of the counter as you open the book. You flip through the pages like Viktor instructed, starting from page 144. It’s all in typed Piltovan except for one word – ‘London.’

“London!” You exclaim. “It – huh? London?”

“It says London?” He asks.

You turn and place the book on the counter, frantically flipping through the pages so fast you’re scared you’ll rip them. Then:

‘IN FEBRUARY 1862 WITH NO WARNING AT ALL LONDON FELL THROUGH THE SURFACE OF THE EARTH…’

“What?” You can feel tears welling up in your eyes. You’re not even sad – you’re just confused and you’re pretty sure you’re distraught. A harsh wringing sensation in your chest further confirms the distressing emotions.

You can feel Viktor’s presence beside you, hear the click of his cane against the wooden floor. “What does it say?”

“In February 1862, with no warning at all…” You take a breath, trying to stop your voice from warbling. “London fell through the surface of the Earth.”

“Did this happen in your world?” Viktor asks.

“No, no,” you say. “I think – I’m pretty sure London’s doin’ fine.”

Your head snaps up and you meet Viktor’s eyes. You’re sure your gaze is harsh and unkind, but your eyes are still watering. “Why the hell didn’t you t-tell me about this? There’s – something’s here, Viktor. In this book.”

“I thought your natural curiosity would make you look,” he says. He doesn’t exactly shrink away, but he does take a step back. “I did not know if it was English. I did not know if you would be able to read it at all – I would not want to get your hopes up just to dash them.”

“I…” You groan in the back of your throat and look at the pages, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. “I guess. But still, man. That was an asshole move.”

“I… apologize,” Viktor says. His voice is a little softer and not nearly as snappy as yours. “Next time I come across something in English, I will come to you right away. Is that a fair arrangement?”

“You fuckin’ better.” You clear your throat to get rid of the drool and mucus stuck there. “Y’know what? I’m givin’ you a sample.”

“A sample of English writing?” He asks.

“Yeah.” You move over to your bed and pull your sketchbook and pencil out of your bag. “For you to keep.”

You write a few sentences: ‘This is a sample of English handwriting. Excuse the fact that it looks a bit shit.’

You think for another few moments, trying to come up with something to write when it hits you. This could be a calling card. Viktor doesn’t seem like the type to lose or drop something, but what about pickpockets? If he keeps his promise, he should be carrying this piece of paper damn near everywhere. This could be a way to reach Zaun without ever leaving Piltover. Hell, maybe there’s people that know English in Piltover. You’ll never know unless you try.

You continue writing: ‘And Viktor, if you’re translating this on your off time, really? Get back to work! Or back to resting. Whatever you’re meant to be doing. 

‘Hey, if you’re still reading – this is a blind reach, but… if you can read this, come to Piltover Academy and ask for Jayce Talis and Viktor’s “American friend.” Whoever you ask should know who you’re talking about. If they don’t, ask them to direct you to either Jayce Talis, Viktor, or Sky Young, then ask again for their “American friend.” Miss Young don’t know me too well, so she’ll probably direct you to one of the men.’

You start to pull your pencil away from the paper, but then remember something. There should be a secret code, right? Because it’s not exactly a secret that you’re from America – you’ve been telling everyone you meet, so…

You tack on: ‘P.S. – if you’re serious about looking for me, here’s a code so I know you’re legit: tell them you’re Auntie Belle or Uncle Beau (depending, of course) from Sugar Hill, Georgia. Say you heard about me and that you’re an old family friend. I don’t think they’d like it if a stranger was about asking for me. If you have any connection to my world – I don’t care if you’re from the most remote weather station in Antarctica – please, put serious thought into seeking me out. I’d be very delighted to happen upon a connection from the my old world.’

You sign your name, then rip the paper from the metal spiral binding and tear off the excess white space, helping it look neater. You fold it once, twice, then hand it over to Viktor.

He unfolds it, glancing over the words. “It is rather long. What does it say?”

“It’s a passage from the Bible,” you lie. “Been raised with that good book since ‘fore I could read. Figures that some things would stick.”

“Thank you,” Viktor says. “You were right, it was an… asshole move to not show you the passage directly. Again, I apologize.”

“Just don’t do it again,” you say. You look to the side, away from him. “And the writing ain’t no problem. It’s part of Genesis, by the way. It tells the story of how God created the Earth, the day, the night, the oceans, the sky… all that.”

“I would like to hear about the mythologies of your world.” Viktor folds up the paper and slides it into one of the front pockets of his slacks. “If you would indulge my curiosity?”

You stand and look at the open book on the counter. You flip a few pages and spot more words in English.

“Can we do that another time?” Your eyes don’t leave the text. “I wanna read this. Forgive me for sounding harsh, but you’d just be another distraction.”

“I understand,” he says. “May I come by later to copy the cipher we created?”

“Mhm,” you hum. 

A few moments later, you glance up from the English embedded in the Piltovan lettering. Viktor’s already halfway out the door.

[elliesspacewalker]

i looovvee the song daddy issues by the neighborhood (definitely does not say anything abt me) do you think you could make headcannons inspired by the song?

where reader has never been taken care of but ellie come along and like heals her ig? 😏

Hell yeah

warnings: 18+, these are going to get dark, mentions of childhood trauma, abusive parents, panic attacks, mentions of murder, trans! Ellie.

- Ellie met you in her shared dorm with you and Dina, after you had a panic attack crying on the ground after you accidentally broke Dina's favourite cup.

"hey, hey, are you okay?" Ellie kneels down next to you, and caresses your hair gently as you sob and rant on about how you broke Dina's favourite cup, "it's okay- I promise, she doesn't care"

"are you sure?" sobs continue to leave your mouth as Ellie sits next to you leaning against the wall "I promise"

- Ellie who asked you about what you were thinking about, while you were both studying together.

"what are you thinking about, hon?" she questions, you shrug, trying to brush it off, "if I told you what I was thinking about you'd think I was insane" Ellie laughs "you couldn't say a single thing to me that would make me think you're insane"

"I killed someone" you joke and a choked out "what" leaves Ellie's lips "I'm fucking joking!" you say as soon as you realise she didn't think you were joking.

"I think I like you" and just like that, you and Ellie began dating—not only this, but this is when all your past trauma started taking effect on your relationship.

- Ellie who comforted you whenever you thought you did something wrong. she knew there was something deeper that you weren't telling her but never pushed you to say anything if you weren't ready-

- Ellie who sat and listened to you whenever you needed to rant, and in fact. it was the first time you ever opened up to Ellie.

"this is how my story begins and I don't ever wanna tell the story again" you cry as tears drip down your face "it's okay, you can cry- I'm here for you" you immediately find comfort in Ellie's lap.

"and my dad? fuck he was crazy, he was never present- he cheated on mom so many fucking times and i- he used to yell at me for leaving a light on, that's fucking insane am I right?" ranting on and on, Ellie didn't once turn her attention to something else. it was on you and only you.

- Ellie who pushed you out of your comfort zone to make more friends and learn that not all people are bad, she knew you had social anxiety due to growing up with your parents who never taught you how to communicate properly.

"I'd do whatever I can do to protect you, you know that right?" Ellie says as she places her hand on your thigh, as she drives to Jesse's place. you smile and nod, leaning on her shoulder as she drives.

- Ellie who watched you have a panic attack over eating the last brownie, that was in fact her brownie. "I don't care, it's not the end of the world babe, it's just a brownie" she chuckles, this doesn't calm you down once—ellie realises this and hugs you tight "it's okay"

"my dad left money in mom's hands but I always felt bad for eating the last food because maybe Mom doesn't have enough money and i-" Ellie pats your head in a comforting way, suddenly you realise there wasn't any reason to react to that.

- Ellie who was so happy to see you finally come out of your shell and actually enjoy life the way people should—she pushed you to finally get therapy, which helped a lot. she noticed you going out a lot more, not crying over every small inconvenience.

- Ellie who cuddled you so much that you actually wanted to push her off you sometimes "Ellie, I'm boiling" she grumbles, and you chuckle at her half asleep body, pulling a hair strain behind her ear as she snuggles into you more.

- Ellie who teared up when you told her that she saved your life, "are you crying?"

"what? me, ew get away!" she sniffles and hugs you, telling you how much she loves you.

[anjelicawrites]

Fun to be had

Paring: Michael Gavey x reader

Synopsis: you’re studying alone on a Friday night, and decide to, finally, face the weird guy following you. Fun ensues.

Warnings: dry humping in public (in a library), almost getting caught, kissing, biting, scratching, Michael’s accidental stalkerish behaviour.

A/N: reader is AFAB but not described. Where needed, they/them pronouns used.

It’s Friday night and you should be out, getting drunk at the pub or dancing your arse off at the club, instead, you are at the library, different editions of the same poem opened in front of your face, not because you are cramming for a paper, but because you don’t feel like having to deal with people, irritated as you are with life now.

You have those days where you don’t feel like being sociable, instead, you have this need to live through the words of others, pouring over different editions of the same work, until you are satisfied with the results of your own translation. This specific Friday is one of those days, and you are elated that the library is empty, or almost.

You are not truly alone, hidden in this corner because, sitting at the other table of this little nook, there’s a guy.

You are almost positive his name is Michael, Michael something, mathematical genius and nerd at the end of the social hierarchy. The guy who has been following you, changing his sitting place every single time you did in the past few weeks.

You didn’t see it at the start, with the library always packed you started sitting wherever you could find a free spot and thought nothing when he did the same, you didn’t even noticed him!

You realized when you started studying late in the evening.

With the library half empty, this Michael guy could have picked any spot, every single time, instead he kept sitting at a table next to yours, always with a good vantage point. Yet, you kept telling yourself that maybe he just didn’t want to sit somewhere alone in a place which becomes creepy at night time, nothing to truly see here, but, but… If you have to be blunt about it, he doesn’t give you the idea of a chap who is afraid of being alone; if he is who you think he is, then having no friends it’s his norm.

You could have left it at that, forget about the whole thing, but you are curious, far more than what’s healthy for you, so you concocted a plan, quite stupid really, to gauge his reaction. You partner in crime, albeit without knowing it, had been you friend Ellie, who was studying for a chemistry exam, quite complicated and hard to pass. One night you two were studying and she was getting more and more frustrated, you decided to act.

“So.” You asked her. “What do you think about science?”

“Fuck science!” Right on cue she gives you the answer you need.

Staring in the direction of Michael you said loud and clear.

“Yeah, fuck science indeed” right the second he was looking at you.

It might have been a random coincidence, but he became bolder after your little experiment, his eyes not leaving yours whenever you stared up from the books and even changing tables, whenever a spot nearer yours was freed, and he was already sitting somewhere else, as if he wanted you to know what he was doing.

But what was that he was hoping to achieve by acting like a stalker?

You lift your head and there he is, seemingly engrossed in his own work, glasses low on his long nose and the irritation you’ve felt all day spikes up, red and warm in your belly and you know you shouldn’t do a single thing, but pack your stuff and go back to your dorm, you know you should, yet you stare at him again and he’s looking at you, unabashedly, with that pretentious smile on his face and you throw all your good intentions out of the window.

You stand up, the old chair scraping on the floor and march towards him. He looks startled and huffs in surprise when you straddle his legs and pop his thick glasses up his head.

“I think it’s time we greet one another properly, don’t you think? You’ve been following me around, after all!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

In his panic he tries to slide you off himself, but your ground yourself against his body, your hands grabbing the backrest of his chair, forgetting that you are wearing a skirt tonight.

“Care to tell me why you’re acting like a stalker?”

“I’m not a stalker!” He seems to have managed to grasp control back, the mask of surprise gone from his face. “Get off me!”

“I will, when you’ll tell me the truth!”

Michael had noticed you during a sunny afternoon in the library.

He was slaving over some physics homework, more boring than hard for him and he had let his eyes wander, just to distract himself for a moment.

You were sitting at his same table, facing him and a bit on his right side; you had a fortress of books around you and were furiously taking notes, that’s what had made him stop his gaze: how hard you were studying.

Michael knows many people come to the library as a mean to see and be seen by their peer, others truly try to work and can’t hold their focus for too long you, on the other end, didn’t look like the kind of person who would truly work their arse off so early in the semester, yet there you were, making use of the ridiculous amount of colorful post – it notes in your possession. He had snickered when noticing the animal themed stationery you were using and but hey! You shouldn't judge the book from his cover, right?

Almost absentmindedly, he had started looking for you, when at the library, just to see if he was right in his early observation, and you kept surprising him with the way you would single – mindedly concentrate on your work.

One afternoon, it was very late and most people were already gone, he had taken a peak at your notes, while you were looking for another book, curious to know what you were studying with such a passion and discovered it had to do with linguistics. He had no idea what your coursework talked about, but a quick look at your scrambled handwriting, revealed him a smart mind. This was his tipping point, when he had decided that he wanted to get to know you, if only he had the slightest idea how to!

He had never thought that, casually, sitting nearby you would have been stalkerish, it’s just that he doesn’t know how to start a conversation with you, he’s not that kind of guy! If you were in one of his courses, he would have found a way to get to know you better, but you don’t, and you pay your fellow students no mind, when you are at the library. What’s a guy to do but keep an eye on you, waiting for the right moment to act?

After the whole ‘Fuck science’ shenanigans, he had thought you must have caught wind of what he was doing and maybe you would have started something yourself, but you didn’t. Until tonight.

You realize how embarrassing your position is, when his hands fly on your hips to still your movements, and you register his hardening cock against your wet pussy (and when did that happen?)

“Are you done?” He asks, piercing eyes fixated on yours. “I’m Michael, since you wanted to greet me properly. What’s your name?”

You stare at him dumbly. What have you just done?

His hands curl on the meat of your hips and you yelp in surprise. You need to abort this mission, immediately, but now he’s the one who’s not letting you go.

“So?” He says mockingly. “You were in such a hurry to invade my space, and now you’re acting shy?”

He is well aware of how ridiculous the whole setup is, that he should let go, but you are staring at him with wide, surprised eyes, that he can’t help himself and see how far you’ll let him go.

“Talking big from the guy who’s been stalking me for weeks!”

You’re desperately trying to find your footing again; what the hell were you thinking?

“I wasn’t stalking you! You’re truly hard to know!”

“What?”

You need to check your bearings for a second: when did you fall in a Beckett play?

“I just said that you are hard to know.”

“And you thought that… whatever that was, was an actual good idea? Aren’t you supposed to be the smart guy?”

“You are acting dumb yourself, love, straddling your supposed stalker like that!”

The whole situation is so surreal, that the two of you stare at one another, and start laughing, until you are both breathless, and your faces are incredibly close.

He is pretty, extremely so, long eyelashes and high cheekbones, a beautiful, kissable mouth when it’s not curled in his signature, mocking smile. His eyes are slightly unfocused, the brilliant blue losing against the expanding pupil. And he is so warm, his hands on your hips clench and unclench, following the fast rhythm of his breathing.

You hadn’t realize how handsome he is and now he is taking your breath away.

He licks his dry lips and you can’t help but follow the motion, imagining how his tongue would feel against your cunt. Without you even noticing, your hips start moving again against the rough material of his jeans, your lips hovering over his, his hands pushing your closer against his hard cock, you two moan, lips almost touching and he decides to take the matter in his own hands.

Grabbing your nape, he pulls your face towards his, tongue entering your parted mouth without asking for permission, seeking your clumsily, and you let him take the wheel.

He’s desperate in the way he is kissing you, no finesse or control, just his mouth slanted against yours, his tongue fucking your throat and his hands in your hair to keep you where he wants you. You’ve been kissed better, but never with such a passion and need. You can barely breath, your body crushed against his, and you don’t care.

You are both breathless when your lips part, a thin line of spit connecting the two of you.

“Please, tell me you have a condom.” You beg, your forehead finding home against his.

“I don’t. I’ve never -”

The embarrassment in his voice stops you.

Oh Christ on a bike, you think, oh fuck. This, you didn’t expect. Not that you’re an expert yourself, only having a past relationship to account for, but your ex hadn’t been a virgin, you were.

“I’m sorry.” You say, trying to dismount, to no avail, his hands are like manacles on your hips.

“Stay.”

The way he says it, he’s not begging you, he’s telling you what to do and you feel it in your cunt, molten heath growing there, expanding in your tummy, turning your legs into jelly.

“I’m not going to have unprotected sex.”

Michael cocks his head to the side, his eyes dark with need.

Never, not even in his wildest dreams, he had imagined to find himself in this position. If he’s not going to have sex with you, and he will not without a condom, he’s not stupid, he still wants to quench the thirst he sees in your eyes and feels in his own loins.

“Me neither.” He pushes you downward against his painfully hard cock, the friction delicious and cruel.

You hide a moan against his neck, your lips landing where his pulse is, sucking the sweaty skin with desperation. You start canting your hips again against the rough material of his jeans, his hands helping you find the right angle against his erection, pain and pleasure take possession of your body, your lips desperate on his, your teeth biting his lower lip and he forces you even tighter against his crotch and it hurts, the pleasure burns your skin when he grinds your hips, your clit feeling the brunt of his punishment even through the layers your are wearing. Your hands grab his hair and his hide under your skirt, his long fingers grabbing your ass, squeezing hard, nails catching in worn fabric: he needs you, needs to become one with you.

He whimpers when you bite his shoulder through his sweater, one hand finds its way under your jumper and rakes down your back, you whimper, so close, so close.

Your orgasm shatters you, your teeth biting Michael’s shoulder harder and deeper as he keeps rutting against you; you want to tell him it’s too much but he’s making delicious sounds, half strangled moans of pleasure that inflame your body again, a smaller orgasm hitting you when he comes, his face hidden against your neck.

“Is anyone there?”

The haziness of pleasure is broken the second you hear footsteps heading in your direction, and panic follows.

Mrs Daniels, the librarian pokes her head in the small alcove at the far end of the library.

“Sorry to interrupt you.” She says. “Did you hear strange sounds just now?”

The two students stare owlishly at her: poor kids must be studying their arses off. They look like they’ve just ran a marathon, hair sticking at weird angles, and the boy’s cheeks are apple red. Youngsters these days!

“No. We were having a chat, a little break.” Says the one behind a huge row of books.

“Yeah, we were just chatting.” Adds the one she thinks is named Michael, with a smile she can’t truly decipher.

“Oh well, I must have been mistaken then, there’s only the two of you around at this point. Goodnight then.”

The second you two are positive the older woman is far away enough, you two start laughing, barely hiding your guffaws behind your hands.

“Well.” You manage to finally say. “That was close!”

You try not to feel embarrassed when your eyes land on Michael, whose stare is piercing behind his thick glasses.

“Yeah. And I still don’t know your name.”

Heath pools in your lower tummy at the way his voice is low and raspy, desire clear in the way he rakes his eyes down your body.

“You can always come by my dorm and find out.”

Christ, the way Michael’s lips curve, tells you he’s going to discover more than your name tonight.

Everythig taglist: @hightowhxre

[dioslesbianwife]

haiiii :3! Could we get the jofoes with an s/o who’s always sick/in and out of the hospital due to their chronic illness ^_^?

also I’m so curious, who’s ur fav jofoe!!!

my fav jofoe is 100% wamuu, i love him so much he’s one of my fav anime characters of all time. second is dio, third doppio. anywho yess, hope u enjoy and ty for asking and requesting!

Dio

Infuriated. Not at you, never at you- but at the unfairness of it all. In his mind, someone he loves should never have to suffer.

If you’re in pain, he’s agitated, pacing around, snapping at people, refusing to accept that he can’t just will you better.

“You are mine. And I do not allow what’s mine to break.”

Offers (well, demands) to turn you into a vampire so you’ll never have to feel weak again. If you refuse? He won’t force you... but he will keep asking.

Sends his servants to bring you anything you could possibly want, making sure you’re always comfortable.

Kars

As an immortal being, he can’t comprehend how humans accept their fragility.

But you? You’re different. You fight, you endure. He respects that.

“Your body is flawed, yet you refuse to submit. I admire that.”

The first time he sees you in a hospital bed, something unsettles him. It’s an unfamiliar feeling- concern, maybe?

He starts studying medicine himself. If humans can’t cure you, then he will.

He’s gentle with you in his own way. If you’re tired, he carries you without a second thought. If you’re in pain, he’s unnervingly still, observing, thinking, planning.

If it ever gets too bad? He will consider using the Stone Mask on you.

Esidisi

Surprisingly patient with you. He doesn’t mock human fragility the way Kars does- he’s more understanding.

At first, he’s worried but doesn’t know how to express it properly. He hovers, offering warmth when you’re cold, making sure you’re eating properly.

Very protective. If doctors or nurses are incompetent, he gets angry but he tries to hold back for your sake.

If you’re ever in pain, he hates it. He wishes he could just take it from you.

If you ever try to downplay your condition, he sees right through you. "Lying to me is useless. Tell me what you need."

Wamuu

He sees your condition as a battle- one that you’re constantly fighting, and he respects that deeply.

If you’re too weak to do something, he assists you without hesitation. He never makes you feel like a burden.

Always asks “Are you in pain?” in the softest voice.

He stays with you as much as possible, keeping watch over you like a loyal guardian.

If you ever get frustrated or upset about your illness, he listens patiently. “Your struggles do not make you weak.”

Diavolo

He hates hospitals, hates seeing you like this. It makes him feel helpless, something he despises.

Gets snappy and irritable with doctors, even if they’re just doing their job. No one ever seems good enough to treat you.

He disappears sometimes when things get too overwhelming, but he always comes back.

Doesn’t talk about his feelings, but you catch him watching you when he thinks you’re asleep.

If you ever get too sick, he seriously considers using King Crimson to erase moments of your suffering.

Doppio

Overly worried but tries to stay strong for you. He’s constantly asking if you need anything.

Holds your hand a lot, as if making sure you’re still there.

Talks to the "boss" about your health, sometimes hoping for advice, sometimes just to vent.

Fusses over you. “Are you too hot? Too cold? Do you want me to get you anything?”

If you’re in the hospital, he visits every day and brings you little gifts, flowers, snacks, anything to brighten your day.

Funny Valentine

Uses his power to pull doctors, medicine, even entire specialists from other universes to find something that will help.

He refuses to let fate win. If you’re sick, then he will tip the scales in your favor.

When he’s with you, though, he’s incredibly gentle. He strokes your hair, kisses your forehead, and whispers reassurances.

“You will get through this. I swear it.” His determination is unwavering.

If he ever sees a version of you in another world that’s healthy, he considers swapping them with you but ultimately, he loves you, not an alternate version of you.

Diego Brando

Frustrated beyond belief. You being sick is something out of his control, and he hates that.

At first, he’s emotionally distant about it. He doesn’t know how to handle seeing you like that.

But eventually, he steps up. He makes sure you’re getting the best treatment, even if he has to pay for it himself.

Stubbornly stays by your side, even if he pretends it’s no big deal.

“Don’t get used to this.” But his grip on your hand tightens slightly.

Tooru

At first, he acts unbothered, brushing it off with a casual smile. “Ahh, you’re always in the hospital? Guess we’ll be seeing a lot of eachother.” He works at one anyway.

But if anyone even dares to look down on you for it? Suddenly, calamity seems to strike them.

Always plays things off, never showing his concern too obviously. Instead, he makes subtle adjustments to make things easier for you.

When you’re in pain, he distracts you with his smooth voice, rambling about nonsense just to keep your mind off of it.

He will want to use the Rokakaka or Locacaca on you.

[darksturnioloqueen]

Masochistic!Reader x Pink Box

**This Fic Series will NOT be for people with triggers. This Fic Series will have very descriptive moments of Sadism.**

Sadistic (Sadism - The Act Of Being Sadistic)

Deriving (getting) pleasure from inflicting (causing) pain, suffering, or humiliation on others.

Please Read At Your Own Risk.

⚠︎Trigger Warning: breaking in... AGAIN (it's a habit by now), FLUFF Sadistic!Matt (I'll never recover from this tbh), finger sucking, the box.⚠︎

You were tossing and turning all night in your bed alone. Every once in a while, you looked over to see the little red light beaming in the darkness. You couldn't sleep wondering if he was watching you. The constant anxiety of his eyes checking on what you were doing was not how you thought this gift would go. It was driving you crazy and keeping you up all night. You wanted to get up and turn it off, but you told him 'all the time', and a part of you was genuinely terrified of what he would do if you went back on your word. You smiled, remembering the sweet look behind his eyes when you told him about the gift in bed. You were gaining his trust, which only made you fall for him more. You looked over to see the time on your nightstand.

"Ugh." You huffed. You rolled back over and lurched back seeing a shadow figure by your bed.

"Matt!" You screamed.

"Hey." He chuckled low. It was 4 a.m.

"We need to set a boundary about you breaking in." You sat up and reached over, clicking the lamp to illuminate the room slightly. The light barely showed the blue color in his eyes, and the shadows danced across his face, hiding his emotions. He was dressed in all black and cozy. "Someone is going to see you and call the cops." You reminded him breaking in was illegal. Even though you didn't mind personally, secretly, since your third encounter with him, you wished he'd crave you that bad again. You thought about denying him so his need for you would build until it snapped like it had that night.

"You can't sleep when I watch you." He ignored your words.

"Yeah, I can't." You informed.

"Do you want to turn it off?" You studied him. He didn't look tired at all, even though it was the middle of the night. You watched his facial expressions closely before responding.

"Yes." Very slightly, the corner of his lip twitched downward. His eyes held their stone grey-blue. "But I won't. I just need to get used to it." You quickly added. You were very sure of your feelings for Matt. You assumed he never had someone to properly care for him, look out for him, worry about his needs. You wanted to be that person.

"Sleep." He sat on the computer chair at the foot of the bed.

"You think I'll be able to sleep with you here?" You chuckled. "Staring at me in person instead of a screen?" You folded your arms.

"Try." He shrugged. He wanted to explain more. He wanted to tell you that he wanted to try staying over. He had never stayed over with anyone before, but he thought maybe this could be his excuse to stay without the cliche cuddling, which he would not do. Matt was so enticed by the feelings he felt around you and for you. When he was around you, he didn't feel so alone anymore. But the feelings he felt for you were quite something. For you, he would do anything. He would kill someone over you, and although he would never tell you that for fear it would scare you away, he thought about it regularly.

You slumped down into the sheets and sighed. You just felt him staring at you again. It was the same feeling as before, but it was confirmed that his eyes were on nothing but you. "I can't sleep when you just -" You felt the bed dip beside you. You went to turn over, but Matt's hand held your side in place. He slipped under the covers. "Hmm." You hummed a little at his touch. It's such a simple gesture, but your body electrified it. "I thought you didn't -"

"Shhh. Go to sleep." Matt was pressed up behind you. He wanted to try this, too. He wanted to see if he could get out of his head enough to cuddle. He had never done it before, but he thought you would be the one if he could do it with anyone. Your heart was racing, having Matt behind you. His body followed your body's flow perfectly. You tried to focus on feeling his erection, but there wasn't one. You smiled. He wasn't hard because there wasn't any pain. You slowly moved your hand to cover your mouth, holding a giggle at the thought. "Are you asleep yet?" He asked.

"No." You could hear his disdain for the fluffy activity you were engaged in. "You good?" You wanted to joke with him lightly.

"No." He mumbled. He moved to adjust a little, making himself closer.

"I got an idea." You slowly rolled over to face him. He looked like he was in peril. "If you stay the night. The whole night. And do the fluffy things; you can hurt me a lot." His eyes lit up slightly. "Like a lot." You made sure he understood the wager.

"Okay." He whispered. You took your hand under the cover and found his. You brought his fingers to your mouth and started sucking on his pointer and middle fingers. He watched you. You still couldn't feel him erect. You tucked your head under his chin and continued sucking his fingers for an oral fixation. Matt's steady breathing was lightly brushing against the top of your head. You could still feel him staring, but being wrapped up in his body made it comforting instead of annoying. You flicked your tongue around his fingers. You felt him twitch a little at his waist.

"Mhhm?" You hummed in a questioning tone.

"I thought about gagging you." He explained. You smiled with his fingers still in your mouth. The last thing you remembered was seeing his face watching yours.

You rolled over and stretched your arm out across the empty bed. You opened your eyes and looked at the space. Did you dream about Matt? You wondered. You sat up and looked at your body, trying to find any indication it was real. You wanted it to be real. You felt wet in between your legs, but that didn't surprise you. A wet dream about Matt wasn't uncommon these days. You looked at the camera and saw the red light was still on. Had you fallen asleep thinking about him watching you sleep, so you dreamed it? You stretched a little and smiled. You waved at the camera, unsure if Matt was watching or not. You assumed he carried the mini monitor screen with him everywhere, but you also knew that that wasn't feasible. You slipped on your pink furry sandals and went to start your day.

"Maybe the webcam wasn't such a bad idea after all." You giggled to yourself. If having hot, fluffy dreams about Matt watching you sleep came from putting up the webcam, you were glad you did it. You poured a bowl of cereal and went into your living room. You looked at the back door as you walked closer to the couch to see if it had been tampered with. The door was still locked.

You sat on the couch, went to grab the remote, and stopped. A little light brown cardboard box with a pink bow on the coffee table, staring you in the face. Your mouth popped open. "The fuck?" You said aloud. You slowly set down your bowl and pulled the box closer to the edge. You glanced around, almost wondering if this was a joke. There was no doubt in your mind that it was Matt. But that would mean he really was here last night. And that would mean he stayed the night with you, meaning you owed him your end of the deal. You tugged on the pink bow string to watch it unfold itself. Your hands shook, reaching for the plain lid. Letting out a single breath, you flicked the lid off. Your head tilted to the side as you looked at the prize inside. On a bed of pink flower petals was a white key painted with pink bows.

"The fuck?" You asked yourself out loud one more time.

I did normal Matt Sturniolo tags on this chapter because its so light. If you are reading this for the first time the other chapters are NOT light. Proceed with caution.

More Fluff!Sadistic!Matt ???? (Please say yes!)

[livililla24]

The LADS reaction to those weird ads from Love&Deepspace lately…

Link below and credit:

Zayne is at work when he sees the link you send him with a text message saying “found this on my fyp and I want you to have a look.” Very innocent, he thought. Maybe even work related considering the time of day it was send. Oh, how he was wrong. Zayne was very surprised to see the Daddy plastered on the screen, indicating him. He would be lying if he said it didn’t affect him at all how people saw him. But knowing that now, makes his face heat up a tiny bit.

He shut down the ad immediately and didn’t respond to your message until after work. Later afternoon you’d expect a response from him saying “You know this can mean two things, right? Get your mind out of the gutter- yes, I mean exactly what you’re thinking.” And then nothing. No further comment before Zayne is outside your apartment door. Something tells me he isn’t just staying for dinner…

- Zayne would SNAP wether you whispered or screamed that nickname. No matter what, he’d lose his patient manners immediately.💚

- Despite liking the idea of being called “daddy” he’d rather you would moan his actual name when you’re close. 💚

- For Zayne, the name calling (in that sense) works best for foreplay. 💚

I think Zayne would be into the whole “daddy” thing. Honestly, he might be the least kinky of them all but I doubt he’d miss out on this one. And the ad have probably whispered a little idea into that pretty head of his.💚

Sylus is bored out of his mind in his study and is much delighted to receive a text message from you in the middle of his work day, saying “no idea why this popped up on my fyp but sharing is caring.” Sylus’ charming smirk only widens when the ad plays on. Not even bothering to turn down the volume.

He replies immediately after you send the link. You can practically hear the smug voice through the screen when you read “Is this an indication to something? Come over tonight and I’ll show you what a Master does to his cute kitten.”

- Sylus would come and get you from work with that smug “bed” expression of his that makes your whole body sizzle like a starting fire. 🩷

- The drive home to his mansion is shorter than usual and you can’t help but wonder what caused it.🩷

- He would call you lots of wholesome names during rough sex. Stark contrast but makes it so much better.🩷

I think Sylus would enjoy this a whole lot. Honestly, he’d do anything you wanted during sex. But he has a dominant nature with him actually being a dragon and therefore probably turned on by the “master” roleplay. But would of course never dominate you into something you didn’t like.🩷

Xaiver needs to do a double take…and a third. He just took a nap at you guy’s usual meeting spot - the cafe - and had to sort of wake up properly before reading his name and then the hunted. At first he is so confused, like, what? But then thinks better of it and the gears in his freaky mind starts spinning.

He needs to text you back about the meaning and purpose of the link “I’m confused…what do U mean?” When you reply with equally as much innocence as his question was “I think it’s about the hunter and be hunted in a sense…” his thoughts spiral with confusion and it’s only when he returns home. Laying in his soft bed and looking up at the ceiling, thinking about you, that he understands. A slow smirk appeared on his handsome face and he decided to take action into his own hands.

- He would come downstairs to knock on your apartment door and question you personally about the idea.🩵

- Then he’d allow you to go on with it without hesitation and let you “hunt him down.”🩵

- The rp goes like this: he is tied up, prey to the hunter and can only take what is given. He enjoys being on the receiving end for once but has to get used to being out of control. 🩵

I Think Xavier would be confused about the ad for so freaking long before finally getting it. Mostly because he saw the link right when his mind was still half asleep. He has to get used to being the “hunted” for once but he is obviously open to trying something different with you. 🩵

Rafayel is so flabbergasted when he clicks on the link you send him. Lucky for him that he was in the privacy of his studio. Reading your innocent message makes him a little surprised. I lied. He shrieked at it before blushing a deep shade of red. Both from his sudden reaction and embarrassment.

At first glance he is deeply offended upon finding out that he is, in fact, the Good boy of the group. But after leaving it behind for an hour to focus on sketching, Rafayel finally starts to think better of it. Something within him stirs and makes him feel fuzzy, excited even.

- When you return home he approaches you immediately. Holding up his phone with the ad displayed. He is mad to attempt to get you to put him in his place and call him…that. 💜

- his pouty face is on right until you call him a “good boy” and he melts. 💜

- Rafayel’s moans will definitely turn into whimpers and more often than usual. 💜

I think Rafayel would be much more into it than you would (if that’s even possible) and he would literally ask you to do it just on a normal basis. Outside of sex, he would still enjoy it - to a certain degree before he needs what comes after…💜

(I am not an author and this did NOT turn out the way I wanted. But I thought the idea funny and therefore tried my best🥹)

[ch0wen]

Cover - Part III | Tangerine x Fem!Reader | 18+

warnings: smut mentioned, (minors dni), cursing, & violence

to catch up - Cover - parts one & two

———-

Tangerine's large hands wrapped around the diner's ceramic mug full of his muddled-grey tea. Warming himself while also trying to still his shakiness. He was having a tough time attempting to conceal his nerves. He avoided eye contact to retroactively stall the dreaded discussion.

“So,” you started, “Tangerine and Lemon. Fruits. Why choose from that category?”

Across from you, the man looked physically and mentally relieved that you hadn't leaped right into the hard questions. A smile wriggled under his mustache,

"When we were younger, Lem and I loved to watch American cinema. We would get inspired by a lot of ‘em. We played the games they did, tried out the sports, and picked up similar traditions.

One day, during a rare, hot English summer, I suggested starting a lemonade stand. My brother reacted with, ‘lemons are too tart! No one even likes sour drinks. I don't want to sell rotten lemons,' and I would remind him that you can turn a sour lemon into a sweet delight with a little bit of sugar. Shit, you should've seen his face when I ended up persuading him and he tried our first attempt at a batch. We got the measurements so wrong!”

His eyes shone as he spoke. He seemed to have been slowly opening up. Laughing into his hand and playing it off as a scratch to his face before dropping it to the table's surface. He was earnest as he told of his boyhood. Intriguing you with his storytelling, and leaning toward him as he continued on.

"Anyway. He would tell me that I'm like the sugar. That I make things better. But frankly, I can be a rotten arsehole to him. And by now, maybe he has forgotten about those silly childhood praises, but I never did. Those were the times, especially at the beginning of our career, when he made me feel wanted. He's good at that. He doesn't even require me to be the sugar in our brotherhood. He's naturally a genuinely good man.

I do need to tell myself I am useful, and deep down, I may not believe that to be all true. But he reminds me. He’s good at making people feel understood and cared for. He is true to his codename. He's a lemon, and everybody loves ‘em.”

Absentmindedly, you played with his finger twitching on the sticky table. He curled his hand properly around yours to hold.

———-

The hours passed and the diner went through waves of people. Coming and going, in and out, like clouds in unsettled coffee. Breakfast rush, stillness, then lunch chaos. To the both of you, the other was the focal point. Everything else just felt like a static buzz.

“I can't help but notice that you haven't asked the question. Basically the entire point of this morning."

"I didn't want to force it out," you finger at the sugar packets, like skimming a mini record collection. Attempting to downplay your interest. “I wanted us to get there without having to press it.”

A grateful hum of, “You are a peach," transitioned into a sigh, "but I suppose you deserve to know that I am a contracted assassin."

———-

It was only half past two in the afternoon when you both emerged from the diner. You made sure to avoid the eyes in the queue of the waiting patrons. The large tip, Tangerine thought he dropped into the checkbook unseen, should at least ease the hostess's agitation about your prolonged stay. You stand facing each other on the bustling city sidewalk.

The silence felt heavy after hours-long conversations. You studied each other. Your chance to fully take him in, in a different perspective, a new light. You were wary of how to leave this after the time you just spent together. The things he depicted. The part of himself that he had fanned out. He seemed to have bore it all. How do you grapple with that while having to part ways?

Tangerine didn’t keep you speculating. His handsome face sported a pleasant smile as he stepped forward to hug you. The embrace lasted only a moment, but it felt that he didn’t want to let go -

Like he was trying to hold you still. Keeping all those secrets that he poured out over the cooling cups of coffee between the two of you. Pressing them in close and sealing them behind tight lips. To him, when you walk out of his sight, you’ll take his story with you. The moment that he lets you go, the truth gets out. Exposed are all the mysteries on the inside and his safety. The scary reality is that he potentially jeopardized his and his brother’s lives to answer your curiosity.

Except, that was just your mind racing again. Tangerine's hug lasted for a minute and in a beat, he was pulling his shoulders back to look down at your face. And then he pulled you in for a kiss, the breath-stealing and tangling your hand in his hair, kind.

———-

The date with Tangerine was like an omen that you wouldn't be able to get the pair of assassins out of your life. Every day, something happened that would remind you of them. One of your little students would ask for a bandaid. You'd hear a song that played in the diner or a familiar theme song that Lemon definitely was humming. You’d find yourself grinning.

Little reminders would pop up here and there. Until one-half of the duo started turning up here and there when you’d least expect or anticipate it. It was a gradually natural formation of a budding friendship with Lemon and an eventual relationship between you and Tangerine.

Your romance with the latter was like any 2000s Rom. Com. daydream, except for the consistent reminders that you were dating a killer ——

Your boyfriend would show up unannounced with fresh flowers and a splat of blood on his neck peeking out from under his collar.

Written-out jokes from Lemon were handed over with a roll of his eyes but the ghost of a smile on his lips. Signaling that he has already heard the ridiculous gag that his brother came up with.

He’d be up early and missing in action during the day, but made up for it by staying late on date nights.

He always found time to call you between the sporadic periods of action while on the job. Just hoping to chat about your day so far or what he wanted to do to you later. Your mind runs with what exact situations he was calling in the middle of, whenever he was out of breath or your conversations were cut short with crashes and shouts.

You could sense when he exerted too much energy after those particularly long workdays. He tended to be quieter, or his body weight pressed impossibly closer on top of yours as his cock pushed in deep, or when Lemon would physically need to drag him into your apartment and throw him onto the couch.

Regardless of his fatigue, once you got each other going - either by massaging his sore neck, his rough thumbs grazing over your exposed thighs, or knee rubbing against his bulge as you bandage up a cut - He basically reverted back into stealth mode. Targeting his focus on only you. It felt like he existed to get you off. Wanting you to come on either his mouth, fingers, or pounding dick. He may have been exhausted but he wouldn't lose stamina until you were finished.

Nine times out of ten, whether after a hotel rendezvous or candle-lit dinner over a pack of instant potatoes and Kraft Mac and cheese, you’d find yourselves snuggled up in bed. You were always left stated after a good fuck from Tangerine. Hands, tongues, and whispers danced in the shared tranquility of your space. You were making special memories with the limited time you found with him.

———-

It went on like this for years. Each day felt like you peeled away another layer of a fruit's skin. Discovering a new trait or trick of your boyfriend's. You anticipated something exciting when he flung open the apartment door or your bedroom window. He never ceased to thrill and fulfill your every need.

And that one Tuesday in Spring was no different. He strode up to your car after class let out, seizing your waist from behind. A spin to your hips in his grasp had him close enough to breathe into your ear,

"Fly out to France with me, yeah?"

———-

[lucaanis]

Summary: After discovering the destruction left in the gods' wake at D'meta's Crossing, Lleyth collects their thoughts and ponders the team's next steps.

Warnings: Descriptions of canon-typical body horror.

codex series / part one / [part two] / part three

Right. Things have gone from bad to worse. Why would I expect any different?

The big mirror downstairs— the Eluvian (Solas called it the Vir'Revas, the "freedom of ways") took us back to Arlathan. I'm not sure I'm entirely cut out for the whole inter-dimensional travel thing, it makes my skull itch and my stomach feel weird, but I suppose it's leagues better than travel by boat, so I can't really complain. We ran into some of Varric's and Harding's old acquaintances on the other side: The Veil Jumpers.

I'm not familiar with them personally, but one of them, Bellara, has come back to the Lighthouse with us.

Good. Neve is brilliant, but Lace and I are all but useless when it comes to magic, and we need an expert on ancient elven magic in particular, which she is. And she explains things! Which I appreciate.

I won't presume to know the specifics of any complex magical theory. I'm no mage, but I'm also not a complete dunce, and mages aren't the only ones capable of using and studying magic. There are some things I've familiarized myself with in my alchemical training over the years; How to properly utilize runes and other magical essences to synthesize powerful spells. Still, it helps to have someone explain how things work and what they do instead of just asking me to "just trust them" or insist they "know what they're doing" for once. (Maybe you know what you're doing, but I don't! That's why I'm anxious!) And as limited as my understanding of ancient elven artifacts that predate my life by at least a thousand years may be, I find myself curious nonetheless, and Bellara has been very receptive to my questions.

She will be an excellent addition to the team… assuming we don't all get ourselves killed.

One thing is certain; The echoes of Solas's ritual have left ripples throughout Arlathan, and likely most of northern Thedas. These ripples have completely fucked up the forest in ways I can't even begin to wrap my head around, and from the sound of it, the Jumpers can't make heads or tails of it either. What we do know is that the entire region is magically unstable and, at times, completely nonsensical. Pockets in the Fade appearing out of nowhere and swallowing people whole, ancient artifacts going haywire, experienced Veil Jumpers going missing— presumed dead, or worse.

More innocent blood on my hands. A lot of that going around these days. But dare I ask, what was the alternative? Let Solas carry out his insane plan to sunder the Veil, destroying the world as we know it? The death toll alone would have been catastrophic. I knew what the stakes were, should he be allowed to succeed. We all did.

But sangre del Hacedor— after what happened to D'meta's Crossing… I am yet to tell whether I've helped save this world or simply doomed it to a fate worse than I've yet to fully comprehend.

The Blight in south never reached Antiva, and I was too young to fully understand it at the time, but you hear things; The words of refugees and ship captains who ran trade routes through Amaranthine. Enough to sate the vivid imagination of a fledgling Crow who had only ever heard stories of darkspawn armies marching from the Deep Roads to the wingbeats of an Archdemon.

Never in my life had I thought it would be anything like this.

The stench of darkspawn struggles to leave my mind. There's a reason why they should stay in the fucking Deep Roads where they belong. I've encountered their ilk before, but only stragglers. Nasty fucking things. They die like anything else in this world, but nothing prepares you for the ferocity— and the wrongness of them. (Why anyone would willingly join the Grey Wardens to hunt such creatures is beyond me.)

But this? A whole village gone overnight in complete silence, consumed by the Blight? No, worse than Blight. This particular Blight is wrong. I'm almost at a loss for words to describe it.

It's vile; It pulsates and writhes like it's alive, and it beckons— dark whispers tugging at my ears like madness. It hungers. Corpses twisted up in its roots like it had consumed them while they were still alive, feeding off of blood and bone marrow seeping into the earth. Others were left to rot with limbs mangled and skulls crushed against the doors of their homes, thinking the thin sheet of wood could protect them from the Blight. Poor bastards.

I can feel its malice, even now. Like hate and hunger that seeks only to destroy and corrupt everything in its path. It's like it warps the very Veil surrounding it, tearing it with its teeth. I don't know if the others can feel it as I do. I don't know if I want to know the answer.

It's a nightmare, is what it is— only I haven't woken up yet.

The only survivors we could find were blighted out of their minds, enslaved. Too far gone. If this is just a small taste of what the gods are capable of, how can we fight against it? How do we stop them before they do it again, and at a larger scale? How long do we have to plan countermeasures until an entire city is razed by this living nightmare?

The nightmare I helped release.

Some good news; We were able to recover the dagger Solas used in his ritual. One less weapon of mass destruction in the gods' arsenal. But Lace grabbed it before I could, and it changed something within her. And… I guess she has magic, now? Making her the first dwarf in history to wield magic, probably ever? I'm almost as baffled as she is, but she's taking it in stride. Of course she is. She's Lace-fucking-Harding. I'm afraid I'm of little use in this matter, but I'll do my best to help with what I can with what limited resources I can find. Whatever it is she's going through, she's not going through it alone.

Still, I've taken possession of the dagger for now— we don't yet know what it's capable of. I do know that it's made of raw lyrium, and that I've watched it hurt Varric and do… something to Lace, and rip open the Veil. And the gods were looking for it. That means it's dangerous. If anyone is going to carry the risk of exposure to its elements, whatever they may be, it should be me, and I'll sleep better for it— knowing where it is.

Up close, it's an odd thing. My fingers buzz as they brush the hilt. I can feel the energy resonating. I'd almost say it tickles, if the sensation weren't so unpleasant.

Another thing— my headache has gotten worse. Lucky me. I can't tell if it started throbbing before or after we got the dagger. So much has happened in the past few days that the tiny details seem to blur together. It's not constant, at least. It comes and it goes. At times I feel like my skull is about to implode, and at others it's more of a dull ache. Negligible, but annoying.

It's possible that my blood being anchored to the magic used at the ritual could be causing me to have some kind of reaction to the dagger. Maybe it's a stretch, but it's a running theory of mine. Everyone has enough to worry about without me moaning in their ears about my head hurting, so I haven't told the others.

It's been a long couple of days. Hopefully it will clear up with proper rest. I'll worry about it later.

I spoke to Solas again. Fen'Harel. The Dread Wolf. Whatever. Culero. (He doesn't look very "wolfy" to me, I'll say that much.) As per our last meeting, I found his "advice" to be trifling and his demeanor grating. My desire to skip stones across his inflated head aside, we need his help— but to what end, I wonder? For now, we are joined in a mutual goal: Stop Ghilan'nain and Elgar'nan. A coalition born of necessity, nothing more. I don't trust him.

Varric trusted him, and look where that got him. I won't make the same mistake.

Varric is… well, he's awake and he's talking, at least, though he still needs plenty of rest. It's too soon for him to be back on his feet, yet I feel bad leaving him alone in the Lighthouse. What happens to him if we don't make it back? I've done what I can to keep him comfortable, but without my alchemy kit…

Though, I may soon have the chance to reclaim it, because Neve thinks we should go to the Crows for help. Of all the fucking… [scribbled out, illegible]

That's going to go over like an iron-fucking-balloon. My heart aches to see Treviso again, but not like this! Not limping back home after a botched contract and explaining to the Talons that I might have started another Blight. The Blight to end all Blights…

So much for setting things right. This contract was supposed to be my ticket back into the Crow's good graces, but it might as well have been my death warrant. Can anything be easy? Must everything we do require me to bend over a table and fuck myself sideways?

Don't get me wrong, Neve has the right idea about getting a specialist on taking down powerful mages for the team, but the Demon of Vyrantium? House Dellamorte? Shit. My own… experiences with Dellamortes aside, I'm like, 90% sure the poor bastard's dead. Venatori caught up with him, if I remember correctly. I should know, Viago dragged me to his wake. I never knew him personally, of course, but Crow politics are delicate. When the First Talon's grandson is declared K.I.A., you make appearances— shake hands, offer condolences, and don't drink the wine. Maker, I hate funerals.

So unless the Crows have taken up necromancy to frighten the Antaam while I've been gone (Funeral a hoax? Wouldn't put it past the Talons to arrange something like that to confuse our enemies), arranging a meeting with the Talons is probably going to give us more problems than answers.

But… we're short on allies. If there's a chance, however small, that the Crows suddenly give two fucks to rub together about the fate of Antiva and what happens outside our borders, we have to take it. Begrudgingly. And preferably with as much tequila as we can carry back here for later— I'm going to need it.

Neve wore me down. I'll send word to Teia. The only Talon that I'm mostly sure doesn't hate me still. Though I haven't exactly been… timely about responding to any of her letters. Or responding at all, for that matter. (It wasn't personal, it's just… difficult to hear about home, sometimes.) So that might have changed.

I'm sure she will be first in line to rip me a new one regardless.

For now, we have other leads to follow— Neve wants to introduce me to some of her friends in Minrathous. I say we start there, make sure the city is still holding together somewhat after the ritual, continue assessing the damage. Maybe I'll get lucky and we'll find someone there and we won't need the help of the Crows after all!

Other things to consider: We're going to have to make a run for supplies soon. We need food, water, and something to sleep on besides the cots in the infirmary. The room I'm currently in has an ugly sofa, which I guess is an upgrade, but it's no proper bed. This room gives me the creeps anyway. Who the fuck wants to sleep in front of a massive glowing aquarium? With all of those giant creepy Fade-fish staring back at you? How is this relaxing?

NO! I draw the line. Hopefully there are other rooms in this place that have yet to make themselves known to me, because I'm not getting any sleep like this.

What I wouldn't give to be back home getting a massage and my hair washed in a bathhouse in Antiva City right now. The one with the lavender salt soaks with bergamot oil and rose petals, complimentary mulled wine and ripened cheese with bresaola and orange fig spread...

Ugh! The thought of it is enough to bring tears to my eyes! I must dwell on this no longer.

Varric thinks the team needs me. I think maybe he hit his head harder than we thought. I know he wanted me as his second in command, but this? Leading everyone against these odds? There's a reason why I was better in the Crows as a solo act— it's easier to make the decisions when I'm only responsible for my own life.

Whatever it was that Varric saw— sees in me, I can only hope I live up to it somehow.

Bellara's working on getting the Vir'Revas to connect to other Eluvians so we can plan our next move. I'm going to stay up for a while, I think. Keep watch while the others rest. I wouldn't mind exploring more of the Lighthouse, anyway. This room with the creepy fish wasn't here before. What other rooms could this place hold that we haven't discovered yet, or more likely, haven't yet made themselves known to us?

(Note: If this journal ends here, it's safe to assume I've misstepped and fallen into the void. It's going to take a while to get used to the whole floating-in-the-Fade bit.)

— R.

[liquid-bonhomme]

Okay, I need context— WHAT did Mikaila trace??

I think she's traced a few things. I kinda thought this was common knowledge she does this, lol.

But the example I saw was a frame of clay face from the Harly Quinn show?

I thought Essence of Thought drew this one, but maybe it was Mikaila? I don't know.

Tracing discourse is more of an art hobbiest thing. Not really something people who do it for a living worry about. The issue with tracing is that if you do it instead of learning anatomy, rendering, the design fundamentals, etc-- you're just never going to improve.

But like, if you're working as an illustrator, animator, graphic designer, concept artist, etc. You need to know these things.

Photobashing is a very useful skill when you're a professional artist. It's basically like, high skill tracing, where you're rendering directly over/incorpating reference directly into your image. Here's an example, this concept art for Resident Evil Village is photobashed, and that's pretty industry standard:

You can see the photographed elements have been integrated directly into the painted elements.

There are deadlines to be met, prints to go out, and finals to get delivered. Especially with concept art, that's just preproduction stuff, it's really not the time to lovingly render every single aspect of something you're client or project manager's going to make you redo 3 million times, if not totally scrap to go in a different direction.

Photobashing is a cheat you need to have all the skills required to render, paint or draw something properly already to do right though. You need to be able to match lighting, perspective, scale, etc. Or else you'll get fired for being incompetent and handing in something that looks like a bad photoshop job.

I wouldn't photobash while I'm painting on my own personal time because, like, why am I painting just for fun at all at that point, but. It does take longer, however.

Doing figure drawing exercises and studies are also really important to keep your abilities sharp-- it's like an art workout. Tracing or photobashing those defeats the purpose.

Honestly, I really don't care if hobbiests trace personally. If they get that they won't improve and they're okay with it, who am I to poopoo on what they do for fun?

Mikaila charges way too much for her commissions given her skill level, but. Like, you can just tell Mikaila is very limited in her abilities, so . . . You know, it's not really false advertising? It's hard to fake being a better artist than you are, lol. You'd have to be stealing art and impersonate a real artist to do that.

I think hobbiests see tracing as a sort of "stolen valor." And, yeah, it's a little funny to me if Mikaila is in her 30s and trying to hide how she does her work, but. Unless Mikay starts trying to pass someone else's work as her own to scam people, I don't give a shit, personally.

I don't want to bully here in a way I don't think is cool, but like, look at this. Look at the mismatched perspectives, anatomy and styalization. I'm kind of shocked anyone can't tell this is all traced:

[layanomaly]

Okay- so I feel like im a bit calm (definitely real) after yesterdays finale to properly make a statement about it

And I really want to put a few of these points out there while the tags are still trending and while I still have time cuz now that AAA I finally over I really need to focus on my studies which is gonna be hard…..but yeah it is what it is

And honestly 

Look idc what anyone says anymore

Yes there were some loose ends and a whole lot of questions

And I get that a lot of people were upset…..believe me I was too and still am

But I wanna be a voice of positivity

cuz I feel like whatever plot wholes they left 

Like jac said were there for US to interpret

Or as my delusional ass is telling me maybe theyre setting up for another season???

And yes for those of you whore saying that we shouldn’t be the ones to figure theyre story out YOURE RIGHT, I AGREE WE SHOULDNT

But at the end of the day it still was a marvel show

And Whatever it was 

It was an amazing experience

Yes we had our highs and lows 

And Looking back on Agatha’s story, yes I do feel a mix of admiration and frustration. There was so much potential in exploring her relationship with Rio and the complex layers of her own journey, which felt overshadowed in the end. At times, the focus on Agatha's role as a mother felt like it could have been handled differently and Instead of fully delving into Agatha’s growth, her story was ultimately used to elevate Billy’s arc, leaving her character, her grief, and her love for Rio without the closure they deserved.

That being said 

Again while it's fair to wish for a bit more closure for characters like Agatha, Rio, Jen, and Alice,

I truly do think jac schaeffer is a genius

like for a really long time i used to think that we were reading too deep into scenes and that they arent actually that deep and we’re just being delusional

But watching, reading interviews of her 

Finding out that as a matter of fact it actually IS that deep

And that everything means something and nothing is unintensional

just hearing her talk about the characters she writes is such a fulfilling feeling you have no idea

its the way she understands those characters and portrays their trauma….She really cares for themm 

she does her research and makes sure she understand her characters and the lore

unlike *cough michael waldron cough* 

Who couldnt even be bothered enough to watch a show which was an indefinitely important arc for one of the characters he was assigned to write for a movie 

Its just-

Look all im tryna say is

Shes a master in her craft and no one does it like her 

despite everything she provided us with two of MARVELs best shows up to date and no one can tell me other wise

Cuz While the narrative pivot left parts of Agatha’s story untold, Schaeffer's dedication to character depth shows her commitment to storytelling which you can really see in the way she talks about those characters

again while I wasnt satisfied with the finale its her dedication to understanding these characters, down to the smallest detail means so much to me. 

Cuz it’s not just about the story—she collaborates with her actors to bring out the arcs they envision which makes it even more special

And It’s truly disappointing that Marvel didn’t fully capitalize on the opportunity to explore Agatha’s own arc in its entirety, especially with such a capable writer at the helm. 

Still, I’m hopeful that future stories will revisit and give the characters like Agatha and Rio the focus they deserve

And i reallyyy hope they sign jac up as a writer for future projects

Cuz ultimately, I think her approach to these characters makes her one of the standout storytellers in Marvel right now, and I’m excited to see what she does next with all the new responses from the fandom 

I hope you guys get what im trying to say

Anyways to conclude my thoughts

Whatever it was

I truly did love this show

And ill really miss coming back home on Thursdays to watch the new episodes drop

[creatingblackcharacters]

hello!! (and welcome back!!!!)

i have a question about how to properly write a scene in a fanfiction i have

so, it's a zombie apocalypse thing, and theres some level of fantasy racism against a white character. he gets turned into a zombie and then turns back, and everyone is pretty wary of him sometimes, but for the most part they just kill zombies and dont actually have an issue with HIM, but he considers it wrong to kill ANY zombies (which i fully disagree with as a zombie media enthusiast, they literally kill people)

so, i'm going to have one of those scenes where the white character goes to the Black character with 'oh, you could NEVER understand how this feels!', EXCEPT, the plan is that the Black character (Juliet, and the white guy is her boyfriend Romeo) gets kind of angry after hearing him say this to her all the time and pretty much goes 'Romeo, i'm a Black woman'

i was wondering how to properly write this scene, and to show that Romeo is completely in the wrong for acting like Juliet wouldn't understand the racism she's been going through her whole life (because i am SURE that some people would think 'wow thats so fucked up of Juliet to be mad at him when hes just talking about his experience')

in reality i don't think Romeo would do this but disappointingly he somehow ended up like that in the series because i write it with someone else. but i feel that this scene would be important to include even though i would honestly like to completely change so much of what we've done with Romeo's character

thank you!

Of course you would name your characters Romeo and Juliet lmao. Okay so admittedly this will be biased because I am stunned at the audacity of your co-writer for putting you in this situation. But there are two things I personally would do, maybe both, maybe one or the other:

1) remember how I've said before that the mark of a genuine ally is how they respond to being approached with their racism? If you think this is an unironic reflection if your co-writer's beliefs, you need to stop and tell them that you are uncomfortable. Period. I'm not going to sit here and roleplay microaggressions. No. And if they don't want to change, then I would simply no longer write this story. Just because they want to write racism and call it romantic doesn't mean that you have to participate.

2) if you want to commit to the bit, you can always show what would actually happen in this situation with a Black character with self respect, which is Juliet dumping him. 😊👍🏾 I can't imagine being in the zombie apocalypse and letting somebody be racist during. I don't have time for that. and I'm already making time for a romance? With a zombie? That treats me microaggressively? Nah. I could be doing anything else at the moment. Survival is key, I risked it, and you think that's how you'll do me? Unacceptable. Let them write out of that one 🤣 no happily ever after without a genuine apology and reflection 🤣

Jokes aside (well, theyre not really jokes) you're asking how to reflect the Black woman's experience with racism in your story. And if that's not something you're confident in writing, something that you've studied, read, listened to, and have a grasp on, I wouldn't do it at all. In addition to how this story is supposed to be a romance (I assume, given the names) racism isn't romantic. Hiring a Black sensitivity reader could be key at this moment as well.

As I have said before, I'm always iffy on fantasy racism anyway, because it usually reveals that people don't actually understand what real world racism is and how it functions. I don't know how well you and your co-writer have written this story. But if your white zombie Romeo really is experiencing "zombie racism", then it stands to reason that he should be able to recognize racism when it's in front of him, and he should be checked for that.