#nothing but the most respect for this man

[honeytonedhottie]

decentering men and recentering urself⋆.ೃ࿔*:･💅🏽💓

the secret to decentering men and not having ur entire world revolving around them (bcuz it should be revolving around you, duh) is having a fulfilling life. it makes me ICK so bad when im watching a video or reading a post and im rly loving it, and then it'll find SOME way to make it revolve around men. like can we not?…💬🎀

WHY WE CENTER THE OPPOSITE SEX ;

a lot of people find themselves centering their lives around the opposite sex in an attempt to fill a void within themselves. they do it because they aren't happy with themselves or their lives, or maybe its learned behavior. whatever the reason is, its NOT hot.

some things that someone who centers men might think are "oh my life is so boring, maybe it would be spiced up if i got with a man" or "maybe it'll bring some excitement into my day" like EUGHHH. obviously the solution is to find ways to make our lives fulfilling but how do we do that? and how do we get to the root cause and squash this self sabotaging behavior?

SELF AWARENESS ;

if u have nothing going on for u, ofc ur gonna be energetically desperate and accepting anything and EVERYTHING. practice self awareness and try to get to the root cause of why u center men through things like shadow work, therapy, or just straight up having an honest conversation with urself cuz i swear it helps.

when you make the conscious effort to build ur dream life you'll notice that people that are on the same mindset as you will vibe with the REAL you. the need to fake/adjust urself to fit in with other people will dissipate because ur fitting into ur own standards and ur connections will be more meaningful because of it.

TAKE UR POWER BACK ;

no ones actions should ruin ur day or make u upset for more then a day (even less) cuz its YOUR world. 💕🍰

make time for YOU, doll. plan self care routines for urself every week. doing face masks, journalling, vision boarding, WHATEVER U LIKE TO DO. making time for urself reminds u that ur the main character of ur life so u dont have to settle for crumbs.

stop giving that power to someone else and dictate how u feel, NOT the actions of a significant other or the opposite sex or anybody. the reason why its important to make sure that ur the center of ur own life is so that you can be happy and fulfilled regardless of if there is a man or if there isnt a man present. so the objective is to decenter men -> and then put yourself at the center

GET A HOBBY ;

find something to make ur life fulfilling. pursue ur OWN interests and try out different hobbies if ur unsure of what ur interests are yet. cultivate ur world to the point where it GLEAMS with perfection and then do a little extra. build a life that u love so much that whether u get male attention or validation doesnt even matter cuz their opinions have little to no relevance 💀

challenge yourself: next time you catch yourself thinking, ‘would a guy like this?’ flip it and ask urself "hey, do i like this?" start checking with yourself first instead of checking with others.

MAKING THE DECISION TO DECENTER MEN ;

decentering men simply means that ur deciding to no longer think, feel, act, dress, or plan ur life around a man or for the validation of any man…💬🎀

relationships will actually get BETTER when u decenter the opposite sex. cuz ur not looking for someone to compete with and ur whole on ur own. this sets the stage for balance and mutual respect and THATS hot.

you can be in a relationship and still decenter men. decentering men simply means that you are the priority, not the relationship. how can we tell if we're decentering men or not? here are a few questions to help you know if u are ->

if i did not care about looking good to the opposite sex what would i actually like to wear?

if i did not get married, how could i create the best and most abundant life for myself?

what hobbies/interests do i have that dont involve being around men/have male attention as a component of it?

[mortimerc]

𝕴 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖇𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖘𝖆𝖛𝖎𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖔𝖓𝖈𝖊 𝖒𝖔𝖗𝖊.

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 1

Male - GN Reader x Viktor (Arcane)

TW : blo0d, t0rture, g0re, obsessive behaviour?, cursing/ harsh wording

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

( 𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃, 19th of September.)

In the Academy, you were teaching a lecture full of new researchers.

You were the most respected professor in the academy. Many mouths have sung praises of you for your diligent yet strict work. Even you have gain the eyes and attention to one of the yordle’s that also resided in the said academy, and it was none other than Professor Heimerdinger.

Every lecture you have taught, you always seen his small body sitting somewhere in the lecture, sometimes waddling around the room. Alongside Heimerdinger, you’ve also seen a repetitive face around your lectures, always listening carefully to your words.

He holds a strong facial structure, many moles scattered across his face. Amber eyes watching your every move. Soft and fluffy brunette locks. And he always walks around with a cane by his side. You sometimes get to meet Heimerdinger and discuss about the next lesson you will teach in the academy’s cafeteria but in the next meeting, you decide to go off track and asks about a certain researcher in your lecture.

“Professor, I do apologise but may I ask you a certain question about someone? I have looked into this and seen that the person is in your care.”

“Ask away, Dr. [Last Name].”

You slide a picture of a man’s ID photo to the yordle.

The yordle chuckles slightly

“You have come prepared, didn’t you.”

“Can you tell me his name.?”

“Ahaha, Of course. Let me see this..” He said, standing up on the chair he was previously sitting on and grabs the picture

“Ah, this brilliant little one. His name? It is Viktor.”

You sit there, taking note of the name.

“Viktor, huh.” You said under your breath

“What was that?”

“Nothing. I should head back to my office. I must thank you very deeply, Professor Heimerdinger.”

“I’ll see you soon, Dr. [Last Name].”

You nod before turning your back to the yordle and walks through the hallways of the academy, your oxford’s heels clicking throughout the rooms you pass by.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

I have to put the resident evil fic on hold because I have an idea for this Viktor fic before I forget. And plus, there are not a lot of Viktor x Male reader fic so why not.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Hogwarts AU [pt. 2]

The second time they meet, Tim actually knows a little more than nothing about him.

He knows Daniel is Vladimir Masters godson, set to inherit the man's title, and he knows that his birth parents are both wizards, albeit eccentric ones. No one would tell him how they are eccentric, not to mention why.

He knows the boy is a second child among the three, and his older sister is going to Hogwarts next year while his younger one had just turned five. And Daniel himself is seven, just like Tim, which means they will be in the same year eventually. He doesn't know whether he likes that or not.

He doesn't know nearly enough about him to form an opinion.

What he does know, though, is that he absolutely doesn't like Samantha Manson.

Mother had met Mr. and Mrs. Manson at that same party that Daniel kind of ruined (Father's words, not his, Tim thinks that elephant trunks were an improvement), and, upon finding out that they have a daughter Tim's age, decided they should be friends. Which is how Tim found himself sitting in an offensively pink room on an uncomfortably soft pink couch that is threatening to swallow him whole, right across a girl in a pink dress and with a pink bow in her hair. Granted, they are all different shades of pink, but Tim still feels very out of place in his black pants and pale blue shirt with a tight collar.

However, the most unsettling part about all this is that Samantha hadn't said a single word in about ten minutes - so, since they were left alone in this horror of a room by their respective mothers - and Tim is fairly certain she hadn't blinked once, and she is glaring something awful at Tim. For all that he knows, she is probably coming up with a detailed plan of burying his dead body in the garden.

Tim honestly tried to start a conversation. Twice. The girl looked like she didn't even notice, so Tim just kind of resigned to his fate and decided to simply wait until this was over.

He really regrets not bringing a book with him.

Another few minutes pass in silence, interrupted only by some cheerful chirping of birds outside. And then, right as Tim starts to actually consider flopping down on the soft pillows behind him and falling asleep, he hears a knock.

Samantha turns her head to the window so quickly that Tim is afraid her neck will snap. But, as he follows her example and looks outside, he can't help but blink in surprise.

Daniel Fenton, wearing some kind of red jacket with a hood - definitely muggle by the looks of it - is hovering just outside the window. On a broom. They are seven, they are not supposed to have brooms yet! Or, at least, not the ones that can go all the way up to the window on the second floor!

"Bloody finally," Samantha rolls her eyes and jumps off her seat, nearly running towards the window, "What took you so long?" She demands an answer in a snappish tone that allows no excuses.

Daniel grins and shrugs, "Jazz almost caught me sneaking out," he explains, but his gaze is not on Samantha. Instead, he is looking over her shoulder, right at Tim, before asking, "Who's that?"

The girl turns around and scowls, "A boy that my Mum wants me to marry."

Tim sputters, feeling his cheeks heat up, but not out of embarrassment; it's mostly just frustration. She most definitely does not, they are seven, and their mothers can't be making plans like that!

Can they?..

Daniel laughs, bringing the broom closer to the window and setting one foot on the widowsill for balance.

"I would have invited you with us, but I only have one broom," he tells Tim, still smiling. Tim bites his lip.

He wants to go with them so badly. They look like whatever they are about to do is going to be way more interesting than Tim's whole life. But Mother will probably be upset, and-

"Don't bother, he is boring," Samantha huffs dismissively as she pulls the skirt of her dress up and climbs out the window, carefully holding on to Daniel's shoulder as she gets on the broom behind him.

For some reason, that makes Tim angry.

He sticks his chin up higher, straightening up in his seat and frowning. "I don't see how your inevitable fall from a broom is interesting anyway," he drawls, far more mean and uncaring than he wanted to.

"See? Boring," Samantha smirks, but Daniel just looks a bit confused and thrown off.

"I'm not gonna fall," he tells Tim with a certainty that makes Tim kind of want to apologize. But the girl behind him is still smiling like she won something, and Tim is not about to back down now.

"Live with that illusion all you want," he huffs and turns away, still keeping his back straight.

"Come on, Danny, let's go," Samantha urges her friend impatiently, and Tim is decidedly not looking in that direction. He doesn't want either of them to see him pouting. Also, maybe he just doesn't want to see them fly away.

But he still hears a quiet "Bye," from the window before the room goes back to silence, interrupted only by the chirping birds and rustling leaves.

When, mere moments later, Tim looks back to the window, both of them are gone without a trace.

—☆—☆—☆—

Visuals!

The offensively pink room and the way to escape:

Tim's opinion on Sam:

[Picrew]

—☆—☆—☆—

More notes on the people and the world around:

Mansons are, actually, filthy rich. They are a wizarding family, but they are way less concerned about blood purity than people expect them to be. A part of their business involves muggle products, and while they don't advertise it, they don't try to hide it either. Jeremy never attended Hogwarts, he was a Beuxbatons student, and Pamela was a Slytherin. Both of them don't exactly like Danny for separate reasons, but Pam likes to keep Vlad as a friend, and if that means letting Sam be friends with his godson, then so be it. She still tries to keep their contact to a minimum, but it's not like Danny - or Sam, for that matter - cares.

Janet and Pamela did not, in fact, plan to marry their kids; they just liked each other enough to have tea together and decided to combine it with throwing their children at each other. Although Pam does consider Tim a fitting pair for her daughter. Janet is of a different opinion.

The broom Danny took actually belongs to Jack - or, it belonged to him a few years ago, up until Danny realized the kiddie broom is not fun anymore. Jazz is constantly scared he is going to fall and break his neck, but Maddie thinks her son is good enough of a flyer. Besides, even if they did take the broom from Danny, he would just find a different thing to break his neck with, so Maddie just put a bunch of disillusionment charms on the poor broom so Danny won't be noticed by muggles and called it a day.

This is very much not the first time Danny comes to save Sam like she's a maiden in a tower. Also, Sam is not mean out of nowhere, she just likes Danny and hates sharing, and she is seven.

[<- part 1 | part 3 ->]

[abearinthewoods]

One transmasc to another, please reflect on how your actions may cause actual harm to transfems.

A joke made in anger that is entirely unactionable does not warrant tattling to the organizations that are currently trying to strip all of us of our rights, and are looking for any reason to villainize our transfem comrades.

What’s been done cannot be undone, but please for all of our sakes remember that we’re all under the same boot, and licking said boot won’t make it any less likely to crush you too.

It’s our responsibility to take care of each other, learn from each other, and to look long and hard in the mirror when someone says your words and actions are harmful.

Solidarity. Solidarity. Solidarity.

(Most of this is answered here: https://www.tumblr.com/abearinthewoods/770794163004407808/okay-i-dont-know-a-lot-about-the-situation-but-i?source=share)

I need everybody to understand one uncomfortable but super important truth.

Class solidarity means an end to the oppression olympics.

You should never be looking in your neighbor's bowl to see if they have more than you, only to see if they have enough.

Like lets take a step back for a quick moment and recap whats going on here. She made jokes about killing one of the most unsupported and invisible members of the LGBTQ community, because why?

Like no, lets actually address that.

Trans men want to use terms like trans misandry and trans androphobia to talk about their oppression, not terms like trans misogyny and trans emasculation. and for this they got bomb and death threats from other people in the trans community?!?!?!?!?!?

Because trans men want to use words centered around their their hatchling gender, not their egg gender, to describe their oppression, because they don't want to center their discussions about their issues around some axis of women as the most oppressed, they got hit with a massively outsized amount of hate from (a tiny collection of, lets be very fucking clear here.) mostly trans fems who drunk a little too much of radfem's cis-male hate that they decided to transpose onto trans men. All escalating to bomb threats which my inbox is now also full of.

This is your brain on oppression olympics.

This is the threat to class solidarity.

This is the threat to class solidarity.

This is exactly what they want. For us to be fighting over who has it worse. I don't give a fuck who has it better or who has it worse, and i sure as fuck don't care about any narratives that center this question around one's identity or demographics as some kind of universal truths that overrides individually.

Even when I do bring up ways in which cis or trans men have it worse, or ways in which women commit crimes more than men, I try to focus it on purely countering the opposite narrative, to make sure I am only pushing the pendulum back towards the center, nothing more.

No experience is universal and arguments about stats and oppression and privilege tend to paper over peoples individuality.

Solitary means respecting how we are different. How that changes how we all experience the world. You can't tell a trans man you have it worse than him without disrespecting this because you can not know his life, what he went thru, how his brain's chemistry makes minor changes to how he sees or deals with adversity that build up over time, or how the same difficulties may be harder or easier for somebody to handle or overcome based how they were raised or what other experiences they went thru.

There is a reason why countries who are not at war with each other fly their flags all at the same height; never flying their flag above their ally's flag. They stand as one. United. Because that is what solitary actually means.

We stand at a fork. Down one path is trans men using words like trans misandry to talk about their oppression and trans rad fems on tumblr not interjecting with some bullshit, and down the other path is trans men still using words like trans misandry, but also the hostility comes out and you'll get shit like them telling the same trans radfems to stop calling their oppression trans misogyny, and start calling it trans misandry, and the whole world goes blind. Because i've seen how understandably upset trans women have gotten at me when they've mistakenly thought i was actually suggesting that, its not a blow in the gender war we'll come back from if it enters the discourse.

(as an aside thought experiment, its actually kinda hard to truly only be sexist in one direction. like one could argue that slutshaming is implying there is something dirty or unclean about men/manliness that they 'taint' women with by having sex with them. but you'd rightly call me dick if MRAs started showing up to the local feminism meet and interjecting that every time the topic comes up. And as an MRA, So would I. So please lets stop trying to argue over the "true" direction of acts of sexism and let people be individuals who experience and talk about it in their own way.)

((Final aside, it would make things easier for our intersex and enby brothers, sisters, and gender nonspecific siblings to cast aside this gendered concept of oppression))

[marciaillust]

hey, i hope you're doing great! i feel this may be unorthodox, but i really wanted to reach out to extend my engagement?— awe?— solidarity?— (some variant of those, anyways) with your most recent "workposting" art. i don't normally do this. I've maybe sent 3 asks in my whole life. there's no pressure to respond to this, as i mostly just wanted to cheer you on. also, I'm really sorry this is so long.

i only just recently landed my very first freelance art job, at a start-up company dedicated to making comics + DND inspired art content. I've always felt that "Its nothing to call home about", and so i really resonated with your feelings regarding your work for Brawl Stars. I felt kind of ashamed of my job, that its just a small start up— that I'm not enough and that i should be trying harder, or something like that. Specifically i resonated with your comment of "presenting brawl stars art feels like showing my anime girl oc to an art teacher" and i don't think i could have solidified any better.

Anyways. all's to say. I really found your work quite jaw-dropping. I was shocked when i read it was for Brawl Stars. I didn't know anything about it, but when i did some research i was even more amazed. they're really, really compositionally beautiful... i mean, i know its just "work" to you ultimately, but it really does feel lively, and everything about it makes it feel like you care. I think sometimes you're just able to tell when an artist genuinely cares about their work; about its end outcome. there's so many intricacies. and a lot of attention to detail. you kept the style that was necessary of you but i also can feel the warmth and the care of the artist behind it— its not corporate, or stale, it doesn't come across as "just work".

since you mentioned League, i genuinely do think it serves an equal purpose and weight to what League of Legends would produce. from a biased standpoint, i would actually value your work more. Its not even that its "more obtainable"/"more realistic" but that there's genuinely more feeling to it. Compositionally/artistically, yeah, League makes great stuff, but occasionally, the feeling or the sense of warmth and care from the creator of the art is lost along the way. I value seeing the artist within their own art a lot, which is why I've admitted to a degree of bias. either way. what you put out there is really gorgeous, and crazy impressive.

I know a stranger with a dumb, fandom-oriented art blog cant solve the self-indited art elitism (you and me both, man💀) and that you've already received plenty of love/reblogs saying similar things, but i wanted to extend my feelings anyways. Its really heart-warming, i guess. It brings me hopefulness, and deep adoration for the craft. I'm not very good with words. Anyways. don't undersell yourself. seeing your work meant more to me than you can imagine. I'm obviously nowhere near your skill level, but it meant more to me as an aspiration. i think that regardless of who you work for, your work is really valuable and downright incredible. because you bring that sense of warmth, care, time, and patience regardless of the media it portrays. and you're able to do that while being objectively talented— utilizing great compositions, colour pallets, shading, characterization, mood, etc. That is more valuable. That is much much cooler than working for Riot. imo.

Initially, i also wanted to ask you some questions about how you assembled your portfolio, if you went to school, (if so) what it did/didn't provide for you going into the art field, and just how you landed the job in general. But i respect you and your time, and wouldnt want to be a burden or anything. If you ever have time for it, i would love to ask them, among others, and we can chat in DM if you'd prefer. Absolutely no pressure. Im happy just watching from the sidelines. I dont anticipate anything from you to begin with! I just hope youll know how influential your post was to read & see, to someone like me!

Oh man. I. How. Where do I even start except

This is one of the most uplifting, touching and encouraging messages I received in my life. I read it thrice. And I still can't believe how full of love it is. This is such high praise, I want you to know I will cherish it and carry it with me for a long long time. It's not often that an artist gets to learn how their art is perceived, not to mention in such a positive light. It really means a lot to me.

It makes me so happy to hear that my work illustrations retain a piece of me that is visible to others. I myself can't see it, but I imagine my closeness to the matter at hand heavily impacts my ability to see objectively at all. There was a time where I was worried that work was overriding the me that makes my art mine, that I was becoming a corporate rendering machine and that what I did at work (the shape language and style) was bleeding into my personal art. There is a part of me that is now breathing easier after reading your message. I would love to answer any questions you have, it's the least I can do to repay you! Feel free to send an ask or even an email, I'll try to be as thorough as I can be with my answers. I wish you happy holidays! Take care! And again thank you so much for taking the time to write this message!

[backseatsoldier]

"Broken", Not Stupid - 2

Pairing: alpha!Simon "Ghost" Riley x unusual omega!OC

CW: Omegaverse; cult-like situation; dehumanization

Author's Note: My gorl, @lostintransist, needed more so I'm gonna write more.

"I'm so sorry, sir, but we don't allow full face coverings on the property," the beta female worker - Jenny, according to her name tag - informs Simon.

"I'm not wandering around without a mask of some kind," he grumbles in response. When the woman doesn't back down, but keeps smiling weirdly up at him, he sighs and rolls his shoulders. "Fine," he conceeds.

Without another word, he turns while fishing a black surgical mask from his hoodie pocket. He swaps his balaclava for the surgical mask as quickly as he can then turns back around to face her. Jenny looks ready to protest again when another beta worker - male this time - rests his hand on her shoulder.

"I'll take it from here, Jen. Go check on the omegas in the medical wing. New arrivals," he smiles warmly at her and nods.

Jenny's smile falters for a moment but it returns and she nods then walks off.

"Nice to meet you, mate. I'm Frank. Welcome to Salvation's Whitestable location. What can we do for you?"

After going through the legalities and paperwork, Simon was able to set up an appointment to meet the omegas in the facility. The soonest they were willing to schedule such was the following week. Something about not wanting to "overload the omegas since so many are curious about them and want to take them in."

It made sense on the surface, but it didn't settle quite right with Simon. Nothing he could truly do about it, though, so he signed what was needed and waited until the agreed upon day.

It'd been about a week since we'd had any visitors - which tracks, by my timing, since it seems we only get them about once a week. I find visitors annoying as all hell. They're just alphas sniffing around for a desperate omega anyway. Most of the omegas who leave are likely better off in this hell hole anyway.

At least while omegas here their needs are respected. For the most part.

When we're called out to the yard for "fresh air", I knew it was just visitors. They have us on a strict routine and don't let anyone see us inside. Claim it's too dangerous, too many places to hide and find trouble.

It's a nice day, I guess. Not super cloudy and definitely not raining, sun's out even if it gets tucked behind the clouds once in a while.

Gods, I can already smell the alphas.

My nose wrinkles and I toss an annoyed look towards the gates where the alphas are waiting for entrance. When the gate opens I roll my eyes and look away, focusing on the book in my hands instead.

"Why don't you ever engage with them?" a voice whispers from over my shoulder.

"I'm busy, 1211," I tell the younger omega flatly without looking up.

"But the alphas are here. A few of us might get to find a mate today," she exclaims excitedly before something catches her attention and she darts off.

I sigh softly and close my book. She'll likely leave today, being so close to her heat. It makes her more desirable, even if she's still loopy as hell. I pity her, honestly. This place may be weird, but at least it's known and familiar.

Well... it is for me. I've been here since they opened this facility. If I'm calculating correctly, I've been here for a full year as of today. Most omegas are out in one to two months.

"Any reason why you're camped out under a tree and not... interacting with literally anyone else?"

I jump at the sound of the man's voice and my book falls from my hands. Before I can react and save my book from the ground, a gloved hand shoots out and grabs it.

"Didn't mean to startle you," he says as he walks to stand in front of me.

My book gets turned in his hands and I slowly follow his hands up to his partially covered face. Jesus, how tall is this guy? I'm tall for an omega but this guy might as well be a damn tree! He's even as wide as one.

"Tolkien, huh?" he asks as he hands my book back.

I stay quiet but nod and accept my book. No way in hell he's not one of the alpha visitors - never seen a beta built like this - but I can't smell him.

"Not a talker?"

"Not really," I finally say.

His eyebrows twitch upward for a moment before returning to the neutral expression he's been wearing since he stepped in front of me. Probably wasn't expecting me to be American.

"Me either," he says after a moment. "Probably why I'm here, huh?"

I give him a look of confusion at that.

"I don't socialize much so I'm- nevermind," he sighs. "Mind if I stay here for a bit? There's just too much going on elsewhere right now."

"Isn't that why you're here? To find a high energy, cuddly, and loving omega?" I ask dryly. "I know a few of the girls would be ecstatic to go home with an alpha like you."

"Yeah... maybe. Until they realize what my job is and just how often I'm away from home because of it," he scoffs.

"And what is your job?" My eyes narrow as he speaks.

"I'm military," he says simply. When I don't respond, he sighs. "I'm gone a lot. Many missions require minimum or no communication. There's no rushing home from work or random phone calls."

I glare up at him, considering what he's saying. Then it hits me and I start laughing.

"Oh, man! You're a decent actor, I'll give you that. How much did they pay you? Is this a script they gave you or did you just come up with this on the fly? Bonus points for doing it on the fly, if so. I knew they were itching to get rid of me, but damn-"

"The hell are you on about? I'm not an actor."

The genuine offense in his voice makes my laughter fade.

"You weren't paid to tell the 'stupid omega who can't figure out she's an omega' that you have a lifestyle that she would fit into nicely?" My arms cross over my chest and I give him a look of disbelief.

Rage seems to filter into his eyes for a moment.

"Simon," he says, offering his hand.

My eyes fall to his hand and I hesitantly accept it.

"Nice to meet you, I guess, Simon," I test his name. "I'm known as UK-009-0013 or 13 around here."

And never anything else.

Masterlist | Part 1

Tag list: @lucienofthelakes

[holmesianlove]

Chapter 26 -  Alternate Meeting

The fresh fall of snow had made the streets quiet, and cold. They had come out tonight, despite the snow - and much whingeing from John - to meet Lestrade for dinner at a pub in the centre of town. A catch up before Christmas. Every year, they treated it like they would all be going on vacation and wouldn’t see each other for a couple of weeks, but invariably, each year, there were murders at Christmas time - heightened emotions and all of that - and they would be called back to help out. So the dinner meeting was usually unnecessary, but it was nice to take a moment away from death and casework, and acknowledge they had become more than just colleagues now. They were friends. 

After a hearty meal which had helped warm them and polishing off two bottles of wine between the three of them, they had capped of the meal with a whisky. With a lovely buzz in their systems, there had been much laughter and merriment: stories of the mad cases they'd dealt with across the year, and memories of older cases too. Greg regaled them with tales of his cheating wife and how much fun his Christmas with the in-laws would be.

And finally, after three hours together, Sherlock and John had stepped back out into the cold together. The walk back to the tube station was a few blocks, but there weren't many cabs floating around, so they began to walk.

“I always feel for poor Lestrade. He seems to like being married and in a family, but she’s clearly still cheating and he knows about it. How is that happy?” Sherlock sighed heavily.

“Everyone has their own threshold, I suppose,” John said. “Sometimes being alone is the most painful way to live. I suppose he’d rather be with her than without her.”

“How romantic,” Sherlock scoffed sarcastically.

“When we met - you and I - I was so very lonely, returning from war, and while I don’t like people, I couldn’t bear being that alone. If we hadn’t…” John let the thought drift into the cold night air, his breath creating clouds of condensation.

“Do you ever think of other ways your life might have been?” Sherlock asked. “You know, if you hadn’t got shot? If you hadn’t joined the army at all? Or what if we hadn’t met? Do you think we might have still met at Barts - if you’d stayed on after studying? Not joined the army at all? Imagine that,” Sherlock chuckled. 

John couldn’t help laughing at that too. He smiled, stopping the walk and turning to Sherlock. He had absolutely thought about this already - their possible alternate meeting and what it would have been like. He nodded. “Sometimes I think—"

It suddenly occurred to John, as the cold soaked into him, that he had left his gloves and scarf back at the pub. His lovely new warm things. He was about to turn back towards the way they had come, his words for Sherlock forgotten, when a voice stopped him in his tracks.

“John? John Watson?” The voice interrupted him. John sighed. Probably another bloody reporter. John made a decision in that instant to be on his best behaviour this time, and say nothing, as Sherlock had directed him he should from now on. He was never as calm and collected as Sherlock in these situations. Not for things like this. He spun around to flash the reporter a winning smile, just in case there was a camera at the ready again, but instead, he was greeted by a group of people, coming out of a nearby restaurant, at the front of which stood a tall man, quite respectably dressed. His salt and pepper hair coiffed perfectly, a sophisticated cashmere scarf twirled beautifully at his neck. 

John froze to the spot. His brain was working overtime and he could feel Sherlock watching him for his response, but he felt like he was going to disappear into himself. His body felt disconnected. All the blood ran out of his face to his toes. He felt hot and cold all at once. He could hear Sherlock say his name, beside him, but it sounded like he was miles away. 

“It is you. John!” the man said, rushing forward.

“Alex?” John choked out, knowing full well who it was. His voice sounded weak and raspy.

He felt Sherlock tense beside him at the mention of the name. John absolutely regretted having told Sherlock about this, now.

“John.” The man rushed to him and hugged him tight, although John didn’t move a muscle. His hands didn’t wrap around and reciprocate. “How have you been?” he asked, as he stepped back again.

“Fine,” John said stiffly. 

Alex looked next to him and took in Sherlock’s equally stylish figure. John made no moves to introduce them so he held his hand out. “Hi, I’m Alex.”

“Sherlock Holmes.”

There was a moment of silence and then: “Oh good lord, the detective fellow? Oh, of course. I had heard about your blog, come to think of it,” he directed at John. “I’d clean forgot about it. Guys it’s Sherlock Holmes - the detective!” he called out to his friends who all murmured and seemed excited. “I’ve read about you both in the papers.”

“Ah. Funny. I know nothing about you,” Sherlock said coldly, pointedly. 

John still made no move to talk. The air was thick between them all. He knew Sherlock would have deduced plenty about Alex - and him - just by standing there in silence.

Alex nodded, the encounter now incredibly forced and awkward. He was definitely assessing the two of them standing together. But it was clear John wasn’t going to speak. “Well. I won’t keep you both. It was just such a surprise… I had to come over. Lovely to meet you,” he said to Sherlock. He reached out and touched John’s arm. “So good to see you. You’re looking well,” he added in a slightly condescending tone. John’s spine straightened slightly. “I should get back.” He paused, seemingly hoping for John to still say something.

Sherlock also looked to John waiting for him to say more, though he had apparently become comatose, and then offered a stiff smile to Alex, in place of John’s response.

And with that, Alex returned to his friends and got in a cab. The street was silent again. But John remained still, silent, staring into the distance where Alex had been moments earlier.

“John—“

“Don’t,” John warned. His voice was flat, and cold and angry.

Sherlock stood beside him in absolute silence for as long as he could but John didn’t move a muscle.

“Sooo… Alex was…”

John sucked in a breath at the sound of the name. He turned to look at Sherlock, his eyes so lost all of a sudden, searching Sherlock’s face for something, for some way to escape this. He couldn't find a single way to start this conversation comfortably. So before Sherlock could speak, John rushed away, without a word, crossing the road and moving at quite a pace.

“Not a woman then,” Sherlock sighed to himself, processing the information. 

The big relationship in John Watson’s life, that could have become marriage-and-kid-worthy… and apparently broke his heart… was not with a woman at all. Alex was a man. A slightly older man, too, if Sherlock’s judgement was right. And, assuming it was pre-Afghanistan, it would have been back before marriage was legalised.

All the pieces were falling into place and Sherlock felt almost sick with understanding.

“John!” He called after his friend, but John had already disappeared around a corner into the cold night. Sherlock let out a heavy sigh and took off after him.

@lisbeth-kk @helloliriels @totallysilvergirl @221beloved @safedistancefrombeingsmart 

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@kittenmadnessandtea @whatnext2020 @egregiously-chuffed @chriscalledmesweetie @catlock-holmes

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@otter-von-bismarck @silvergoldsea @calaisreno

[delirious-donna]

The Moments Before [Part Six]

"You will drink from her. We will find out together if there is any truth behind the old stories. This is not a request. It’s an order.”

story summary: Levi isn’t hungry, or so that’s what he claims. A vampire must drink to survive, and his sire refuses to let the man give up without trying every trick up his sleeve. When a new ‘donor’ appears, one who is different from all the rest, will Levi be able to keep resisting?

pairing: Levi Ackerman (vampire) x female reader (human)

warnings: hospital/medical setting (dream), implications of losing a parent, grief, fear of death, a lot of plotting for the story, vampire powerplay

note: the next chapter... yeah, it's gonna be a BIG one. Explosive to say the least, and expect very mature content. Whilst I'm here, let me thank all of those who have left comments or reblogged this story. 2024 has been a shitshow and writing has helped me stay sane. Thank you for indulging my hobby.

Part Five | Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Part Seven

“What made you want to try this line of work?”

The question sounded innocent enough, but you still peered curiously at Hange.

They were lying spread out on an antique couch that looked like it was due far from respect than what it was receiving. Your eyes narrowed on them, picking at their cuticles and swinging a barefoot over the back of said couch.

Trust was earned in your book. That was a lesson you had learned the hard way, and if you were to continue your service here then you needed to be mindful of what information you volunteered and to whom. Saying that, Hange had been nothing but friendly towards you, in fact, they were the first person to really talk to you.

Pleasantries were all well and good, but they wore thin very quickly. Hange had appeared in your life like a whirlwind, and despite the reservations you had promised yourself you would hold tight to, you found it all too easy to become a little more familiar with them.

“Well, the money is good,” you admitted slowly, cautiously.

Hange snorted and rolled their body, so they were looking at you properly, glasses perched low on their nose. “Girl, please. There has got to be more to it than the fat wad of cash Erwin handed you. I know—for a fact—that there are well paying jobs that are far less intrusive than this one. You had to move here for an indefinite period. That is not an easy decision to make for a quick buck, even if it is the big bucks.”

“It was a good enough answer when your boss interviewed me, and I use that word lightly, grilled would be far more accurate.”

Erwin had been very thorough in his line of questioning, even going as far as to ask for your family history going back six generations. You recalled him explaining with the most casual of shrugs and a soft, near disconcerting smile, that no vampire worth mentioning wanted to take blood from a potential relative. What a disturbing thought…

“Erwin and I do not think alike—at all—in any way, shape or form.” Hange snorted, amused that you would ever think them to be remotely similar. “Whilst he would absolutely know if you were lying…”

A thrill shot through your spine. Hange smiled, knowing that your heart rate had spiked at that very moment.

“As I was saying… he would know if you were lying, but sometimes we can tell the truth whilst not revealing everything. I enjoy picking holes in people. Consider yourself my latest project.”

Suddenly the gummy bears in your hand looked less appealing than before. Dropping the handful into your lap, you placed one on your tongue and sucked on it quietly. You had no interest in being a weird science experiment.

“C’mon,” Hange chided with a childlike whine.

They rolled right off the edge of the couch with an ungraceful thump and crawled on their knees towards the overstuffed chair you occupied, planting their chin on the arm. They reminded you of a puppy who had just been scolded.

“We’re friends, right? It’s not like I don’t trust you. I just wanna know. There’s a reason other than the money, isn’t there?”

If you didn’t already feel trapped, you certainly did now.

How on earth had you found yourself in the company of a vampire acting like a damn puppy so readily? They were meant to be these all-powerful beings and here was Hange acting like if you gave them the barest of crumbs, they would roll over to present their belly. It defied logic!

Pushing out a long, low breath, you straightened your back.

You could admit to certain things, you didn’t need to say it all. It wouldn’t be so bad for at least someone around here to know a little more about you. Your mind immediately flitted to Levi, cheeks flushing that you wanted that person to be him more than anyone else. He didn’t care. He wouldn’t care. That’s what you told yourself because the alternative was too dizzying.

“I definitely didn’t lie; money really is a major factor. My dad… he works too hard. He’s getting older now and he refuses to slow down even though I know—I can see—the toil it’s taking on him. I want him to retire whilst he still has a chance to live, to enjoy his golden years without having to worry that he won’t have enough money to pay the bills. Do you know how annoying it is to have a father who refuses to listen to reason?”

“I can imagine,” Hange replied, eyebrows raised, and you had the distinct impression that they were thinking of one such person who fit your description. You smiled in recognition. “I get that, but blood donor, really? Didn’t fancy a short stint of working as a high-end escort or something that doesn’t come with the iron deficiency and the headache of cranky vampires?”

This was the crux of your problem; vampires offered you the potential solution to another problem. A far more personal problem. It felt like your clock was ticking and the noise only grew louder and more deafening with each day that passed.

You blinked hard, shutting out the fluorescent strip lighting and the beeping monitors that never ceased their noise. Not even in those final moments, the sound of a flatlining heart monitor permanently scarred your memories.

That was not your future. It had been so much of your past that you damn well refused to give it any room in your future. Drastic times called for drastic measures. Weren’t you using them as much as they were using you? It was a fair trade, right?

“You’re right, it would have been easy to fall into escorting, if I could find a place reputable enough to ensure I wasn’t going to be taken advantage of, but I have a problem with getting close to people,” you said whilst looking down at your fuzzy yellow socks.

“How so? You seem just fine in being able to converse and I don’t sense any social anxiety in you, even when you’re the only human in the room. Plus, this job requires you to get close… I mean, it’s kinda necessary.” Hange sat back on their haunches, puzzlement evident in their features and their eyes dropping to your neck and back.

It felt like being under a microscope.

You shrugged, an attempt at nonchalance. “People die. I have a problem with that.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I’m fucked.”

“An understatement, dear.”

A chuckle left your lips, it grew into peals of laughter until you were clutching your stomach and bent over from the pain of them. Tears formed in the corners of your eyes, not yet falling, and you were quick to wipe them away as you fixed your watery stare on Hange.

You hadn’t lied, but again, you hadn’t disclosed everything.

“Any chance we can change the subject for now? I’m feeling suitably embarrassed,” you said with a hiccup.

Gratitude filled your chest when they nodded, solemn one moment then playful the next, moving on to regale you with tales of their younger years spent with Erwin and Levi.

~

“What’s the problem?” Erwin inquired, fatigue evident in his tone, and mirrored by the pinching motion at the bridge of his nose.

Levi wasn’t keen to be back in this office, but he knew that when it came to finding the answers he needed… Erwin would be key. There was only so much he could find out on his own.

He just needed to take care with his words, not something he was known for.

“Why her?”

The blond stilled, his piercing blue eyes locking with Levi’s. A smile unfurled—devilish and knowing. “There is something you aren’t telling me, Levi, but that’s okay. You’ll tell me in your own time, I have nothing but time, after all.”

“You’re not helping! Can you answer a question without turning it back on me or into some elaborate riddle that makes my head pound?” Levi all but growled.

“Fine,” he sighed. “You want to know why her… I don’t know if I can truly articulate my reasons, there was simply a feeling. She felt like someone you would like, for lack of a better word. That you wouldn’t steamroll over her and perhaps she could reach you where I have been unsuccessful.”

Erwin’s gaze turned thoughtful, the edges of his eyes softening into something akin to melancholy. Levi glanced away, not nearly ready to decipher any of the emotions flitting freely across his maker’s face.

“Do you remember those stories you used to tell us about blood singing?” Levi asked without further preamble.

“… yes. Of course. They are legends of sort; I don’t think there are many—if any—that believe the tales these days. Why do you ask?”

Levi looked at him now. Gray mercurial irises fixed steadily on those artic blue ones that never failed to leave him feeling as if Erwin was looking inside his head, rifling through his memories and thoughts as if it was his personal filing cabinet.

“Did it happen—”

Levi held up a hand, and for once, Erwin quieted.

“You say there is little to no one that believes it to be true, but what about you? Do you think meeting someone who’s blood sings to them is even possible? I hate to admit that I respect your opinion, and whilst I am neither confirming nor denying if it has happened, I want to hear your thoughts on the matter.”

Erwin sat back in his chair, elbows braced on the sturdy arms and his fingers steepled beneath his chin. His lips pursed. If Levi didn’t know any better, he would say his heart was racing, but he was too far into the starvation process for that to be true. He waited for what seemed like an eternity, fingers gripping tighter into his thighs to prevent himself from spitting and hissing, demanding an answer rather than this painfully prolonged silence.

“Well, my head says it was a foolish story concocted to soothe the newly turned, for those that disliked the idea of constantly taking blood from humans to sustain their existence. One person who was made for them, who could provide everything they needed and potentially be able to turn without it affecting their blood… who wouldn’t want that?”

For a moment, Levi thought that was his final thought, but Erwin surprised him by continuing after more than a beat or two of silence.

“My heart wants it to be true,” Erwin said with a solemn nod of his head. “For one it would mean more power to any vampire lucky enough to meet their blood singer…”

Levi scoffed at Erwin’s words but did not interject further, letting him continue despite the arch of his thick black eyebrow.

“Ultimately, our lives are lonely. We can be surrounded by our own kind, but true connections between vampires are rare and don’t often survive the difficulties that come with that type of relationship. I would be a fool not to want a slice of companionship that didn’t involve an element of wariness.”

Erwin sat forward, fixing Levi with a penetrating stare. “I am not above wanting to find the person destined to be mine and mine alone. Those blessed enough to encounter these… special people, they should not squander that gift.”

Goddammit.

He was right. That realisation grated down Levi’s nerves more than he thought it would. If all of this was correct, he really would be an idiot not to explore it further, but… was it the right thing to do? How would you take this news? Would you even believe him?

The thought that you were his perfect companion, the only person in this world who could sustain him indefinitely, even if turned, and would strengthen him in ways he did not yet comprehend, that was a lot to ask of anyone. A donor’s job was only ever meant to last a few months, maybe a year, but not for the rest of your life.

“I don’t like this,” he admitted quietly.

His hand clenched into a fist atop his lap, eyes concentrating on how the tendons and muscles flexed and shifted beneath his pale skin. “Who am I to condemn anyone’s live like that? No one would want to be tethered to me in such a way.”

“You forget your past lovers,” Erwin interjected calmly. “There was at least one of them who begged you for the chance of immortality. Was that not in an effort to stay with you?”

Levi bristled at the memory, at the ache that still found him all these decades later. “I was merely a means to an end, and you damn well know that. They were far more driven in ambitions than I realised until it was almost too late.”

“In any case, that is by the by. I must insist that you determine if your assumptions are correct. Yes, Levi, I am well aware that you think our newest donor is your blood singer despite the pitifully weak attempts at hiding that fact from me. I am not an idiot. Plus, it seems you might have intrigued Hange by letting it slip in some capacity to the little one.”

“What do you mean?” Levi demanded, his guard coming up in an instant. He did not want Hange poking their annoying nose into this business, they would be insufferable to say the least.

Laughter erupted from Erwin, far too boisterous for Levi’s liking. “Well, did you mention anything about blood singing to our guest? Maybe you didn’t mean to, or you hadn’t realised, but she asked Hange about it on the drive here after your first encounter. I had to pull that little tidbit from them, they were not happy about my means either.”

“I’ll bet,” Levi grumped. He was all too familiar with the exertion of power that Erwin had over him and the others made by his hands. Hange might be a pest at the best of times, but he hoped that the experience had not been too rough, especially given how precarious Erwin’s mood had been of late.

Standing, Levi brushed his palms over his thighs and moved towards the door. The action was mirrored by the much taller man, Erwin intercepting him without much effort.

Suddenly the air shifted. No longer was there a sense of familial warmth, more so it felt like the air had been sucked from the room. Oppressive and thick—the gesture did not go unnoticed.

“Now is not the time to be leaving, Levi.”

“Are you planning on stopping me if I try?” he asked, head cocked in curiosity of how far Erwin was willing to play his hand.

“I would rather not, but if needs must…”

The threat lingered; Levi could feel the first tendrils of power leaking from his sire and knew if push came to shove, he would be forced to bend the knee and remain if that was what was asked of him. He hated that power, that stupid connection that bound him to Erwin like an invisible ball and chain around his ankle. This was part of why he wanted to end it all, or so he tried to convince himself.

“If you were so set on ending your existence, why not have someone behead you or destroy your heart? Levi, I am sorry, but all I have viewed this ridiculous plot of yours is a temper tantrum. You will drink from her. We will find out together if there is any truth behind the old stories. This is not a request. It’s an order.”

The hairs on Levi’s arms and at the back of his neck stood up. Energy pulsed like lapping waves inside the room, they were coming faster and stronger with each ripple. Soon he would be forced to bow to the whims of his sire.

He could count on one hand the number of times this had played out. Erwin meant every word; his conviction would not be swayed. Should he continue to fight against it?

“Why?” he asked, voice hoarse with the effort of producing the single word.

“I have my reasons. Whether I decide to clue you into them will depend on how the next little while goes,” Erwin answered stiffly.

Levi found his gaze straying to the door. Not because he was still trying to leave, he could have shadowstepped if he didn’t know that Erwin would prevent it, but because there were voices on the other side.

Voices he recognised.

His heart lurched in his chest. Golden threads awakening to tighten around the withering organ.

You were coming.

~

“Does it hurt?”

It was amazing how childlike you sounded despite being in your early twenties, almost like it wasn’t your voice at all. Except… it was yours.

Your mother turned a weak smile in your direction, it didn’t reach her eyes—dulled with pain—and you knew the answer would be a lie. Not one borne of bad intention, quite the opposite, but it would be a deceit regardless.

“No, darling. I’m fine, more than fine when my girl is here with me.” She reached for you; her hand was thinner than you had ever known it, the skin near translucent to highlight the veins beneath and the fragile bones.

The comfort you should have felt from taking your mum’s hand didn’t manifest. There was no warmth, only an ice-cold hand wrapped delicately around yours. You worried that if she tried to squeeze your fingers, her bones might snap entirely.

The time was coming. There was nothing you could do to stop it. Doctors had tried and failed. Your mother would die and there wasn’t a single thing in this world you could do to prevent it.

It wasn’t long before the familiar lump settled into your throat, and welling of tears began in your eyes, smudging your vision whilst you tried desperately to blink them away. You could feel the frown creasing between your eyebrows, and the downward tilt of your lips. It didn’t matter how long you had known this would be the outcome; the hurt was still as raw as when the doctor had given his final prognosis.

Slowly, you crumpled over her bed. The bright overheard strip lighting might not be as intense in the private side room than in the main ward, but they still stung your eyes even when you closed them tightly shut.

If only the constant beeping from the monitors would fade away until all you could hear was your own laboured breathing and the soothing hum from your mum as she stroked her fingers through your hair in an effort to console you.

Your father should be here, and his absence only became apparent when three resounding knocks came from the door, with it a chill far greater swept over you until you were convinced you could see the very breath from your mouth.

Something wanted to come in, but it wasn’t time.

There was more to be said, more to be shared. More more more.

“You can’t ignore it forever,” your mum said quietly.

“Watch me.”

She made to tut, but her tongue got stuck behind her teeth and she coughed instead. You could hear the rattle in her chest, the exertion of her lungs working harder than they should have to.

The guilt ate you and another knock chimed like a death knell.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, lowering your head at the same moment her fingers slipped out of your grasp.

Your vision greyed from the outward corners in, and no matter how much you tried to blink and refocus or look around, the result didn’t change. The beeping was getting worse. There were people in the room now. A black shadow loomed from behind you and a scream ripped through your throat until you jolted awake.

Sweat dripped down your neck as you sat bolt upright, blinking and trying to reorient yourself once your heart thundered so furiously you thought it might break through your ribs.

You were in the same parlour room from earlier, where you had spent a fun few hours chatting with Hange and playing card games when they got bored of only telling stories. The walls were decorated in duck egg blue and the armchair you had fallen asleep on was as opulent as you recalled.

How long were you out?

Hange was nowhere to be seen, and suddenly, with dawn comprehension, the idea of sleeping in a room where anyone living or visiting the household could walk right in cooled your blood. You were nothing more than a naïve lamb in a den of lions.

It took you a good while to calm your racing heart and nerves, a good thing too or you might have screamed when the faraway door clicked loudly before opening just enough for Hange’s head to pop through.

Their eyes scanned the room then fell on you, eyebrows rising along with a smile. “You’re finally awake! It’s only been three hours… tired, were we?”

Three hours?!

“Something like that,” you grumbled, cheeks warming.

Hange chuckled and stepped inside to lean on the door. “Not wise to fall asleep anywhere other than your bedroom. Y’know, it locks for a reason. Gotta keep the monsters at bay somehow, right?”

“Oh, hey! I’m only teasing,” they continued when your pallor turned to ash. “No one would dare, not here, I swear it. Erwin would murder anyone that even thinks about hurting you.”

“That’s… comforting?” You mused, unclear if it was comforting or kind of terrifying to know. “I didn’t sleep great last night; I must have dozed off. I blame your lame ass stories.”

Hange scoffed, hands on hips and nostrils flaring.

“My stories are unrivalled, thank you very much! They sure as hell are more honest than anything you’d get out of Levi, that’s for damn certain. He’s such a stick in the mud.” Hange shook her head as if recalling some long distant memory then jerked up straight. “Nevermind that! You’re wanted!”

“I’m what?”

“Wanted,” they repeated as if that clearly explained everything, and they didn’t know why you needed clarity.

“I don’t speak Hange-euse, can you elaborate?”

“You. Are. Wanted. In. Erwin’s. Office. In. Exactly. Thirty. Minutes. Move!” Hange enthused each word carefully, over-enunciating every syllable dramatically. They motioned their hand between you and the door, gesturing for you to get a move on, but for a moment you were frozen.

Erwin wanted to see you again. You weren’t sure why it felt different from any of the other times you had met with him, especially over the past few days, but there was an air of something brewing that you disliked.

That ominous feeling from your dream resurged with gusto. Had it been some weird kind of warning or were you letting your paranoia overwhelm you? Whatever it was, you couldn’t dwell on it, not when you looked like you had been dragged backwards through a garden maze.

“Alright, I’m going. Don’t shove!”

Destiny awaited behind the mahogany door at the other side of the house. Whether it was good or bad…

That was entirely in your hands now.

[anissa-mason]

I would endure every single disagreement that Forrest and I have had a thousand times over if that was what it took for us to end up where we are now.

I’ve been in relationships before and have dated various types of men, but none of them compare to him. He has been the greatest person to ever enter my life. When I confided in him about what happened to me, about the kidnapping, he didn’t pry, he didn’t judge, and he didn’t look at me any differently. He simply invited me into his home and provided the peaceful escape that I so desperately needed. He was kind, respectful, and gentle, and he never crossed any boundaries. I was captivated by him from the very first time we met. I opened up to him in ways I hadn’t opened up to anyone before. It’s astonishing to think that this was just early November. 

Learning that he was seeing other women felt like being shoved into the back of that van all over again—being taken away from the familiarity of everything I thought I knew, the comfort of what I believed I had. I keep those feelings buried because I don’t ever want anyone to know how deeply affected I truly was by that ordeal. I’m supposed to be this unshakable person, an unbreakable force, but the thought of losing Forrest to another woman made all those emotions bubble up to the surface. My reaction was intense—a combination of my buried emotional distress from the kidnapping and my genuine fear and hurt at the idea of losing this amazing man who entered my life at a time when I needed him the most, even before I realized it. 

All the fighting that stemmed from discovering the other women created those difficult times, but I stand by what I said: I would endure those bad times a thousand times over if it was what it took to lead us to where we are now. Currently, we’re at his family cabin, surrounded by his family, experiencing one of the best Christmases I’ve had since I was a little girl. His parents have opened their arms to me and welcomed me as if I were one of their own. His sister has been nothing but sweet and welcoming, and I feel as if she and I are on our way to becoming great friends.

Forrest is one of the sweetest, most compassionate, caring, attentive, protective, and all-around perfect men I have ever met in my life. I thought I knew love—perhaps I had—but I had never experienced love like this before. If anything were to happen to him or to us, my life would never be the same.

[letters-to-gene-roe]

Long Night

HBOWarDaily Secret Santa gift for @kindsummer

Word Count: 1.7k

Heffron's as hot as the sun that's not shining on them right now, and as cold as it is, he's sweating profusely, melting away at an alarming rate. The best Eugene can do right now is watch him, and that's no certain thing when he's hearing MEDIC! what feels like every five minutes, and even if Eugene had the supplies, there was no helping him, because he was… changing.

Heffron's as hot as the sun that's not shining on them right now, and as cold as it is, he's sweating profusely, melting away at an alarming rate. The best Eugene can do right now is watch him, and that's no certain thing when he's hearing MEDIC! what feels like every five minutes, and even if Eugene had the supplies, there was no helping him, because he was… changing.

Eugene had gone through this himself, all those years ago, in the mud and rain of the trenches that so defined the last war. If he thinks real hard, he can conjure up the last night of his life - not with the shadowy haze most of his old life had, but with devastating color and clarity. Eugene doesn't like to think about it much, not so much because it's a bad memory (although it is), but because it was so easy to get stuck in. When you remember every second, it's so easy to pick out where things could've gone differently, could've gone better. If only I'd stayed at the field hospital. If only I'd been asleep. If only I'd fucked off at the nearest opportunity. If only, if only.

He hopes it's not like that for Heffron, hopes today stays nothing but a vague collage of sensations: cold, hard, wet, hungry. The remembering is a kind of torment, a stagnation the newly immortal don't need. The forgetting is hard enough, anyways. Eugene ain't even that old a creature, but he's caught himself losing more of the past than a young man ought to. Heffron's making small, animal noises now, so quiet Eugene knows no human ears are hearing them. That's what the change does, burn out the man in you and leave something else behind, though what that something is exactly is beyond him. His kind (their kind, now) are few, or at least, Eugene hasn't met more than a couple in the nearly three decades since that awful autumn night in 1917.

The younger man's brow is damp with sweat, and his short hair is plastered to his skin. His human scent lingers on his clothes, and if Eugene holds him close enough for long enough, he can pretend Heffron's just asleep. He listens for his pulse, which is still there but only just, with longer and longer between each beat. One second, two, then five, half a minute, a minute, more. Just a little longer now, just a little longer. Eugene resists the urge to wrap the blankets around Heffron tighter and settles for wiping the rapidly freezing sweat off his face as his last breath leaves him in one long, sighing exhale.

He hates this, because there's nothing he can do, because he ain't got any blood to give Edward when he rises, because Edward's dead and that means he's failed at his one purpose, and because Edward, the most alive of them all, was dead, about to become one of the living damned right in this foxhole. It could be minutes until he wakes, or hours, or there's a chance he might never wake at all, so Gene closes his eyes and prays. Let him live, let him live, let him live. Let him die, and live again.

If someone had asked him before this very moment if he'd wish his… condition on somebody else, he'd say no. It's only half a life, stretching out into eternity, but by God Eugene wants to see those eyes open again. He may not have turned Heffron, but now, with his still, silent body leaning against his, he feels more responsible for him than ever. Eugene's tried his best to stay detached from the men of Easy Company, it's just better that way. He knows them, respects them, trusts them - but only cares for them in the few moments they're under his hands. But Heffron - open, honest, sharp, and warm - has done his best to bring him into the fold, regardless.

When he wakes, he'll be starving. Eugene hopes that his own blood and a little chocolate will suffice. Of course, if he lets Heffron drink from him, it'll mean Eugene will need to feed sooner rather than later, like he'd hoped, but that's something he's willing to bear if it meant keeping Edward (no, Heffron damn it) from falling upon his nearest living comrade to drain the life out of him. Ain't got nothing to do with how he wants to feed him, of course not - how he wants to pull him close and not let go, how he's caught himself dreaming of a night far from tonight, where the war's over, and while the two of them are slightly less than alive, they're together. Absolutely not.

There's a twitch next to him and that's all the warning he has before Edward's eyes (Heffron's!) snap open and Eugene has to pin him down, all but shoving his wrist in Heffron's face. He can see the exact second Edward catches his scent, eyes locked in on the small gash Eugene opened up with his own fangs. Heffron rushes forward, laving at the cut with his tongue before suckling at it, new, sharp teeth pricking him without biting. He's making a mess of Eugene's uniform sleeve, so Eugene brings his other hand around to push at Edward's jaw until his fangs sink in deep. Every pull from him was a throbbing wave of pain, passion, love, want need hunger pain mine mine mineminemine.

Mine, Eugene thought blankly as Heffron slowed his feeding. What a crock ‘a shit. I've got no room to say he's mine.

Edward's breathing out of reflex, huffing and puffing like he just ran ten miles. He doesn't need to breathe anymore and Eugene knows once they've both calmed down, he'll stop. As Eugene pulls his arm away, he whines quietly and leans forward, trying to get more.

“Greedy boy,” Eugene tells him, though it's only an absent chastisement. Pushing a piece of Renée’s chocolate in his mouth, he murmurs, “You're alright, you're okay, just a little thirsty.” Edward just grunts, slowly chewing the chocolate. “There we go, see? ‘s not so bad now.”

Eyes coming back into focus, Heffron swallows and exclaims, “Holy shit, Doc!” before Eugene can shush him. “I- I mean, what happened? What's with the- with the, you know, the…” The wind changes, and now Eugene's scent, all dark and bloody, blows Heffron's way. His eyes take on a hungry sheen before he snaps himself out of it. “Give it to me straight - why the hell do you smell so good? And why…,” he wipes at his bloody, sticky chin, “why am I covered in blood?”

-

It is a long, dragging night, like most nights in Bastogne, made longer by the explanation he has to give to Edward - yes, you're a vampire now, yes, I'm a vampire too, no, it wasn't me who turned you, no, I don't know who did, and yes, I'm sure about that - laying out all the things Eugene had to learn piecemeal over many years.

“What about stakes? You know, like in those old Lugosi flicks?”

“I think a stake to the heart might kill anything, Edward.” He (when did he become just Edward to me?) shot Eugene a look that just screamed ‘only the goddamn nuns call me Edward!’, but moved on anyway.

“And the sun?”

“You've seen me outside, here and in Holland, and I was just fine. Stings though, and it's harder to stay focused. Night's a lot easier, ‘specially since we don't need to sleep.”

“No shit, really? Not at all?”

“Not much, anyways. It’d be better to sleep like usual, for now, since it'll keep the worst o’ the hunger away.”

“How have you been dealing with that, by the way? The hunger, I mean. How have you been keeping yourself fed these last few months? It can't have been easy.”

Stateside and in England, it had been rather simple. “You'd be surprised how much a drunk man's willing to overlook, and I've learned how to take only as much as I need.”

“What about now, though? It's not like they're handing you out a bag a’ blood when everyone else is getting their shitty beans. I suppose you could get your fill from a dead guy-”

“No!” Eugene cried as loud as he dared. “Never, I mean never, drink from a dead man, you hear?” Edward nods, startled by his vehemence. “A dead man's blood is poison, and even if it wasn't, I wouldn't let you. Gotta keep something between us an’ animals. Am I understood?” He held the other man's gaze, trying to look directly into him. He needs to get this. He needs to get a lot of things, but especially this.

“Yeah, yeah, Gene, understood.” Edward sighed, and Eugene realized he was still breathing, like he still needed the oxygen to live. Trust him to be so alive, he breathes when he's dead. “Doesn't answer my question, though. How are you staying fed out here?”

The truth was that he'd been filling his belly with blood from the wounded men at the hospital in town. Like a thief, or possibly like a demon, he'd scout out someone suitable - someone not quite at death's door, but still hurt badly enough that he could easily slip his fangs into the already open wound and drink without causing a scene.

But he can't tell Edward that. He may be a paratrooper with a whole campaign under his belt, but it is one thing to kill a man in war, shoot him, stab him, shell him, and another thing entirely to slowly drain away the very essence of his life, to hear his breath shake in agony and feel the hot spurts of blood coat your belly in return. Selfishly, and rather foolishly, Eugene wants to keep him away from that, wants Edward to feed from him and him alone. You done fucked up, Roe. You let him get his teeth in you, now what? He's not yours, not before, not now, not ever. You shoulda’ let him die in that foxhole and come back alone, but that was never gonna happen, was it?

After a beat, Eugene answers. “Like I said before, by takin’ only so much as I need.” He's saved from more questioning by artillery fire, and Eugene has never been so thankful of German aggression.

[rin-solo]

Following especially the latest season of Prodigy, I would just like to give a shoutout to Chakotay.

I actually liked him even back in Voyager, although he could definitely have been written better in that show. But then Prodigy came, and despite his limited screen time, that show did him SO well I can still barely believe it. And no, I'm not talking about how unexpectedly hot he looks in a cowboy hat ... That's the bonus cherry on top if anything.

If Prodigy proved anything (besides that it is now one of my favorite Star Treks of all time) is that Chakotay's earned that captain's chair, and so, so much respect.

I love how we get to see him be the selfless, dedicated, strong leader that he is and has always been, entirely disconnected from Janeway or any other legacy character. Now more than ever Chakotay and Janeway are just equally hardcore, badass captains who would give their lives for the greater good in an instant, and that's part of what makes them so great. Their equality, despite the different ranks, really came across in Prodigy more than ever before, which I loved to see.

Honestly, whenever I see Chakotay dismissed as a doormat or "best off as second in command" I just kind of rage a little. Even back in Voyager, it was pretty clear to me that he wasn't (for example, some people seem to forget that he was a captain originally and only became a first officer for the good of the Maquis crew.)

And now that we have Prodigy ... Even though we don't really see much of it on screen (which is a shame), I like reminding myself how, since the launch of the Protostar, he went through 12 (!) more years of (self-)sacrifice and (leadership) hell and managed to come out of that seemingly stronger and more certain of his place and himself than ever.

Even the events of "The Last Flight of the Protostar" aside ... Just think about how many life-altering, defining, difficult choices and sacrifices he had to make in those 12 years.

In the timeline that was averted, he sacrificed his only shot to get back home through the wormhole (the Protostar) to save the Federation from the weapon on board.

In the new timeline, he sacrificed himself by choosing to stay on that planet where he and Adreek landed, also for the sake of protecting the Federation from the weapon on the Protostar.

Chakotay was technically stranded in the Delta Quadrant twice (once with Voyager, once with the Protostar), and despite how abysmally things went on his first command, he never sacrificed his integrity or his dedication to Starfleet's values. He becomes a little grumpy over 10 years in solitude, but honestly, who wouldn't? And then the first thing he does after being rescued is take over Voyager-A and continue his service ... That's some dedication if I've ever seen it. I think he may have wanted to prove something there ... and honestly, he couldn't have succeeded more.

And no, he did not "teach" Dal that his place was "the second in command" ... On the contrary, he very likely showed Dal through his own competence and perseverance that Dal himself was simply not ready yet for such a responsibility.

He's just an extraordinary captain who has gone through things and made choices that very few others could have made. Choices like sending the Protostar back in time, that had the fate of the entire Federation depending on it.

I adore Prodigy in general, but one of the things I adore the most is that it finally shows us more of why Chakotay is not second to Janeway or to anyone. He's his own leader, his own character, and his own captain who deserves so much more acknowledgment.

Although, I still feel that we were robbed of some of Chakotay's best moments by not showing us the arrival of the Protostar on Solum and later the events preceding its (presumably) emergency landing on that planet where it stayed for ten years (honestly, I'd love for future Prodigy seasons to have maybe a flashback episode or two about the Protostar's maiden voyage and Chakotay's arrival on Solum and maybe later on that planet where he was stranded.)

Anyway, long rant over ... All I wanted to say was that Chakotay has more than earned the command of Voyager-A; seeing him in that chair made me very happy, I won't lie.

And I really hope if/when Prodigy gets more seasons, he'll be a more major character because he deserves a more central role.

[ilynpilled]

jaime turning women down constantly more bc he is very monogamous and in love with someone else right now for the first time and is also kinda scared of actually having sex with someone other than cersei is sm better to me than “i respect the kg vows of chastity so intensely rn actually because i changed into a good and serious person” or whatever lol

[dykedvonte]

A Defense of Benny Gecko

Benny is more of a capable leader and person than people give him credit for.

Seeing as no one challenged his position as head Chairmen for 7 years and even then he only loses the position if he’s caught, killed or forced to leave. Yes, it’s also likely House wouldn’t have allowed him to be killed but he sure as hell would of found a way to remove him if he was causing too much unrest within The Tops power structure. Even Swank and Tommy don’t outright dislike him and more so are concerned with his recent secretive and shady behavior, emphasis on recent.

Taking all we know into consideration, Benny likely knew the future direction that he wanted to take Vegas but was so caught up in the plans to acquire Vegas that he didn’t think of how to make his dream a reality. Something he admits to in canon. I see this being used as the main argument that Benny doesn’t know what he’s doing at all but I see it more in the same vein as you can’t really plan something from nothing. The transformation of Vegas is a sensitive thing that he can’t really work on until he has it. The only reason he ran to the Fort prematurely is the Courier who was causing so much of a stir he would’ve likely been found out much faster, making all that planning for nothing if he didn’t take that chance.

Benny is careful (well a lot more careful than he is regularly depicted in fanon), the Courier being able to trace him was dumb luck on their part and his hair being noticed at the Fort is a realistically small oversight that even Caesar is disappointed in because he admits Benny got farther than he should’ve been allowed by his legionaries. The fact he can plan an ambush on the Courier or tries to quickly and concisely clean up lose ends that don’t lead back to him shows he’s not just acting on impulses or in the moment decisions. Or rather he’s quite good at thinking them out, whether they work depends on how you play really. This is all to say it’s 100% believable that Benny could lead an independent Vegas (house was basically setting him up to do that). If he had known explicitly that House was setting him up to replace him, he likely would’ve bought more time by getting in closer, learning more of the system to then flip House’s edge to his favor. Again something he was doing already but likely without the knowledge of House’s feelings on him personally.

No matter what, Vegas’ future was tied to Benny; House’s plans for him, having to get the chip and if he had somehow succeeded. It’s also interesting that of all the people vying for control of the dam/Vegas, Benny’s plans are the only ones actually oriented towards a new future, not a recreation of something long past.

[makotonaegiunderstander]

something I’ve been thinking abt is how many people think Makoto is immune to despair. I don’t think he is. I think becoming the ultimate Hope was BECAUSE he felt despair. He wouldn’t have fully reached that point without Junko. Makoto becoming such a beacon was his last attempt to avoid completely falling and it wasn’t because he didn’t feel despair, it was because he was too damn stubborn to allow everything to go to waste and he refused to sacrifice his beliefs for someone else’s. His inner monologue tells me he DID experience the same new low the other suvivors did in the final trial, but at the point where he had the choice to give up and die, he looked at the others and he looked at Junko and he couldn’t allow it to happen, not out of self preservation, but because the idea that Junko would have control over their lives made him FURIOUS. and that utter refusal to die kicked in, wether luck or otherwise, and he made the concious effort for one last push while something in him was breaking. He had to be broken in order for the Ultimate Hope to come through so aggressively, bc it could only exist in the face of the Ultimate Despair. He snapped the same way she did, but in the other direction. In what could have been his final moments he chose to embody everything Junko wasn’t, and every single optimistic and luck fueled ideal in him suddenly charged forward and pushed him. It was a combination of the final straw and a choice. Makoto isn’t immune to feeling despair, he’s just too stubborn to fall into it of his own volition. I think that’s why I like that scene in DR3 so much. People were SO SHOCKED Makoto actually fell for the tape, that he actually became despair for a moment. I saw people getting mad or disappointed, saying it was pathetic and Makoto seemed to fall from some sort of pedestal for them. Honestly part of me wonders if that sort of mentality, which clearly people had in universe, affected Makoto a bit. Like he started to see himself as less of a person, subconsciously. Prompting him to take more risks, less self preservation, act way more bold. It seems he has to be reminded a lot not to put himself in danger by his friends, to not do something too reckless. All over the place I would see in regards to that scene either this frivolous ‘oh this was just angst drama with no meaning behind it’ or ‘he can do better than that. he’s so weak’ or ‘come on, there’s no way he’d fall into despair, he’s the Ultimate Hope!’ This kind of mentality, which was kind of ironic considering Ryota was there the entire time saying the same thing and treating Makoto the same way. Like Makoto was superhuman. Like Makoto didn’t feel despair the same way ‘normal people’ did. In a way that was also how Munakata saw Makoto. Makoto stopped being a PERSON to the world when he became Ultimate Hope, he became a concept, a belief system, much the same way Junko ascended beyond herself. But the difference is that treating Makoto that way is the opposite of the reason Makoto became such a representative for hope. He wasn’t doing something no one else could. He was doing something everyone had the chance to, he just… was a little more optimistic, a little more stubborn, a little more ‘gung-ho’ about things. He just took the lead where no one else did, where no one else knew they even COULD in the face of Junko’s unstoppable force. She had overcome the biggest threats and obstacles in the world, what could one person do? And the answer Makoto found was, anything. Everything. It doesn’t all rest on Makoto, he’s just the one that was inspired to try to do what seemed like the impossible. But as evidenced by the change in his friends after that trial, it’s clearly not something only Makoto is capable of. The others pulled out of despair thanks to Makoto, but it was their choice to do so.

“But… this world is so huge, and we’re so small. What can we do…? No, we can probably do anything. Yeah! We can do anything!”

[phosphophylight-of-my-life]

oshi no ko aqua is such a fun character bc by most counts he's a more than decent guy.

in his first life he regularly visited hospital inpatients who had no visitors. he was genuinely happy and excited to help Ai deliver her babies, because he wants her to be happy on her own terms. he saves Akane simply because he can, and gets angry at the staff on her behalf. he doesn't stop at saving her life and spends sleepless nights turning around her public image. at that point there was nothing in it for him to keep akane around, she was just a person he was able to help and wanted to help.

by most counts he's a pretty decent guy who steps up when people need him most, except. except he's also a guy who really wants to kill his dad and that makes him manipulate people somewhat often and this is somehow not entirely at odds with his instinct to help others

[xylophone888]

thinking about how rincewind went from thinking that the world must abide by some unknown rules cause how can it not (his whole "trees don't talk" thing despite trees very noticeably talking both to him and others) to being able to accept literally anything as normal and expected (shapeshifting kangaroos? space travel on a flimsy wooden plane-rocket-wtf else thing? a huge magical sentient supercomputer? ok idc whats for lunch)