#or have the option to sleep with one at least

[pineconepie]

CHARACTERS: Vincent, fem!reader

WARNINGS/TAGS: Parental yandere, light infantilization, fem+afab reader, periods, period comfort, embarrassment from periods, non-sexual nudity, reader implied to be younger, cuddles, Vincent doting on Reader

WORD COUNT: 1.7k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the other part of a commission that was done with Octavian!

You're sure you've never felt as miserable as you do now; your cramps feel like they're going to kill you, you've been nauseous all morning and you just want to stay curled up in bed all day, hiding under your covers.

Unfortunately for you, however, today Vincent is off work. Normally you'd love that, because then you could spend more time together. But right now, it feels like a curse; because how else are you supposed to hide this from him?

You're not ready to deal with it, nor do you want to.

To seem as least suspicious as possible, you try not to clutch your stomach as you descend the stairs towards where he sits, drinking his morning coffee.

Vincent looks up at you with a warm smile. "Good morning, sweetie."

Despite everything going on inside of your body and mind, you force yourself to return his greeting. "Hi."

You walk past him and quickly gather some cereal for yourself. You can tell Vincent notices, because he watches you with curiosity. "What's wrong? No 'good morning, Dad'? Just 'hi'?" He chuckles, but you can tell he's going through a million different possibilities as to what's wrong.

Instead of answering verbally, you shrug, pour yourself a bowl and grab a spoon. Then you make your way over to where he sits, taking a seat beside him instead of across.

Maybe that way his gaze won't be fixated solely on you.

Unfortunately, your plan fails, because he's still staring at you when you glance over.

"I was gonna ask if you wanted pancakes or waffles," he says finally.

"Nah, its fine, I'm alright with cereal this morning," you reply.

Vincent raises a brow, raising a hand to feel your forehead. "Are you sick? Getting a fever?"

"No, no," you stutter. "Nothing like that. I just, um, didn't sleep well last night..."

"Really?" Vincent asks. "Did you have any nightmares? Anything you want to talk about?"

Great. Now you're cornering yourself and lying even further than before. You're pretty sure part of him can tell you're lying, because he's so used to working with other liars. He reads people better than most could, which is probably part of his profession.

Knowing that just makes you more anxious.

For all you know, he probably sees through your facade completely and is waiting to call you out on it.

"I dunno... maybe? I don't remember my dreams," you say quickly.

"Hm." His expression shows that he's not entirely convinced by your answer.

You try changing the topic to distract him, and hopefully yourself. "Do you have anything specific planned for the day?"

Vincent blinks, then smiles fondly at you. "I'm going to leave it up to you. If you want to go shopping or go out to eat, that'd be fine with me. Or we could have a lazy day watching movies together. Anything you like, princess."

You feel nervous at his choices of options, considering you'd prefer not leaving the house today if you can avoid it. Maybe watching films together sounds nice, though even that gives you anxiety.

"I guess some movies would be nice," you mutter.

Vincent smiles, much to your relief. "Sounds good to me. Why don't you pick one for us to start with?"

So you do.

You get settled down on the couch after turning off the lights in the living room and opening the curtains for maximum viewing experience, snuggled tightly beneath a large fleece blanket. Vincent joins you moments after setting things up.

He wraps a strong arm around you, pulling you closer to his side.

Throughout the movie, he glances down at you occasionally as if checking up on something. Which makes sense since he seems worried about you for whatever reason. You pretend to pay attention to the screen while your mind races on elsewhere.

Every now and then there's a painful twist in your lower abdomen causing you to flinch slightly, although you try hiding these reactions from Vincent.

About halfway through the film, you start getting fidgety, wanting to switch positions constantly.

When you decide to curl up into a ball and bury yourself deep within your blankets once again, Vincent shoots you another glance. "(Y/n)?" he asks quietly.

"Huh?"

"What are you doing, honey?"

"Oh..." You look down embarrassedly. "Just getting comfy."

Vincent pauses for a moment before continuing. "Are you sure nothing is wrong? Nothing you want to talk about with me?"

Your heart pounds faster than normal and butterflies swarm your stomach. Your fingers tighten their grip on your sleeves as you answer: "Positive."

"Okay."

The movie continues playing, but neither of you speak anymore during the remainder of it. At certain points you catch Vincent giving you concerned stares again, especially whenever your hands wander absentmindedly underneath the blanket to press against your belly. When the credits roll around, however, he breaks the silence.

"I don't buy that."

You laugh nervously. "You love buying things," you attempt to joke.

He usually always finds amusement in your jokes, even the bad ones, but now he just looks frustrated. Its a rare expression on him, and definitely not one you like. "I'm serious."

You shrink back. "Sorry..."

Vincent's expression goes from stern to guilt-ridden immediately at your scared reaction. "I'm not mad. I'm just worried about you. Please talk to me."

"There's nothing to worry about." Your voice shakes as you say those words.

"(Y/n)." His tone sends shivers throughout your body. "You're lying to me." A pause. "Please don't lie to Dad."

You chew on your bottom lip anxiously. "...I... I don't wanna talk about it... please." Your voice cracks. Tears build in the corners of your eyes.

Vincent coos at you, pulling you into his lap. You bury your face in his chest as you cry softly. He rocks you gently, kissing your head every few seconds.

"Its okay, it's okay, sweet girl. Shhh..." Vincent hushes you soothingly. He keeps rocking and swaying slowly. One hand rubs calming circles along your upper back. His other cradles the back of your neck tenderly.

After a couple minutes of crying like this in his arms, he leans away slightly to lift your chin. With a thumb, he wipes the tears streaming down your face away carefully.

Then he smiles brightly down at you. "Hey there, kiddo."

You hiccup and sniffle. "Hi." Your voice quavers. "I feel so gross."

Vincent grabs a tissue from the tissue box on the coffee table, using it to clean off your runny nose and damp cheeks. "Much better now, huh? Crying is healthy for the soul. Even if it breaks my heart to see you cry, I'd rather you cry than hold it in. Just means I get to comfort my baby." He teasingly squishes your cheeks, which manages to bring a smile to your face. "There it is," he chuckles fondly. "How's about I go draw you a nice bath?"

That sounds appealing, honestly. "Yeah... sure," you agree.

"Perfect. Up we go." He hoists you into his arms and carries you upstairs, setting you on the counter in the bathroom.

He rolls up his sleeves before leaning forward and switching the faucets to get the perfect temperature.

You watch as the water fills up the tub, making little splashing noises when it hits the ceramic.

Once he gets satisfied with how full the basin is, he turns the knobs off.

Vincent hums as he searches through various cabinets, grabbing some scented bubble bath bottles. "Orange mango or watermelon?" After you give your answer, he tosses the opposite bottle back into the drawer, pouring the other into the bath. He stirs it in, letting the suds rise. "Let me know if it should be warmer or colder, kiddo."

He turns to grab shampoo and conditioner, giving you the privacy to step in. It feels nice, easing your cramps ever-so-slightly.

"Feels great," you sigh dreamily. "Thanks, Dad."

"Anything for my favorite daughter," he sing-songs.

"Your only daughter," you snort.

He laughs at that, placing the shampoo and conditioner in convenient reach. "Still true." He grabs a cup. "Now tilt your head back so I can..." he trails off.

You're quick to realize why. The water is a brownish-red hue.

To your relief, Vincent doesn't freak out. A look of realization spreads across his face, only after the initial shock. He chuckles in relief. "Oh, thank God. It's just your period." His expression turns to serious again. "Right? You aren't injured, are you?"

"No," you squeak out. "It started this morning. I'm sorry."

He holds his hand to his chest in further relief. "I was just a few minutes away from calling a doctor, you know that?" His expression softens. "Why would you hide this?" His voice seeps with genuine confusion and worry.

"...'cause..." You pause. "Because its embarrassing." You hug yourself anxiously. "And gross."

Vincent looks heartbroken. "Princess... you know periods are natural, right?" When you shrug, he frowns deeper. "(Y/n), I promise its okay." He rubs your shoulder. "Its nothing to be ashamed of. I'd never judge you for anything, let alone this."

"Thank you," you murmur. "It just feels so awkward."

Vincent laughs softly. "I've been preparing for this conversation for a while. Not really a fan of how we ended up here, but I'm just glad you aren't hurt." He sighs fondly. "I'll order you some pads, and when bathtime's done, there'll be a heating pad with your name on it."

You smile gratefully. "Thanks."

"Of course. My little girl is not allowed to suffer," Vincent says lovingly. "No, sirree. None of that allowed under my roof. Got it?"

"Got it," you laugh back. "Um, can we continue our movie marathons after I'm done washing up?"

He smiles warmly. "Of course. Since I'm such a good dad, I'll even let you pick one extra movie."

"Only one?" You groan dramatically. "All your movies are boring."

"They are not."

"They absolutely are. They're either the same 80's comedies over and over again, or the same superhero action movies over and over again."

"You're just saying that because you're a baby with a baby brain, and I have good taste." He sticks his tongue out playfully, showing he isn't actually upset. "Real movies, made for people who know good cinema."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," you roll your eyes. Your face softens. "Thanks, Dad. For being not-awkward."

He beams proudly. "Anytime, kiddo. I'm just cool like that."

You roll your eyes.

[tiva-challenges]

TIVA CHALLENGES is a fanfiction writing project for fans of Tony and Ziva from NCIS (2003) running before the spin-off NCIS: Tony & Ziva drops, with new writing prompts every month! Organized by @television-overload and @indestinatus.

This is it. One of the last Tiva-less months in the year 2025. Soon, we'll have the spinoff to look back on, our hopes finally satisfied after so long of waiting. Look at us. Who would have thought?

It has been something like 4,290 days since Past Present Future first graced our screens and broke our hearts. In case you're curious, a person could have counted to a million approximately 373 times in that many days (if you don't sleep or stop counting for even a second, that is). But we have a feeling it will be well worth the wait.

So, with all that said...

JULY'S PROMPT:

Tiva: It All Leads Here

Additional information under the cut:

This is a special challenge, one that draws on the powers of nostalgia and the sense that everything has led to this moment. This month, you are tasked with writing a fic that takes place in at least two distinct times in Tiva's past, and ultimately shows how their story unfolded (fate, or no fate). The options are limitless.

From childhood to college to young adulthood to first meeting, on and on to the moment they find themselves in now, raising a child and growing old together—the only requirement is that you stick to canon (as opposed to AU) and juxtapose two (or more) different time periods in some way. You can either go back and forth, or write one, then another. It's up to you. Maybe you want to write a story in the 5+1 format (5 times, and then 1 time), or you want to draw a line between Tony's childhood and Tali's. We'll take it all!

Works will be revealed Friday, JULY 25th, at 16:00 GMT.

⏳️ The subcollection for posting this month can be found here. If you have trouble figuring out how to post to a collection on AO3, check out our tutorial.

⏳️ If you post yours here on Tumblr, make sure you tag us so we can share it! The tag for this project is #tivachallenges.

Lastly, as always, if you have any questions, please reach out, and we'll be happy to answer them! Happy writing!

[tommygraceanalysis]

Why does Tommy Sleep With Tatiana in his house?

A few weeks after Grace's death, Tommy sleeps with Tatiana Petrovna, a Georgian duchess whose family is tied up with all of the Section D business going on in Season 3 and has a whole bunch of jewels that Tommy wants to steal.

Earlier, on the night that Grace dies at the charity dinner, it is Tatiana who informs Tommy that the sapphire he's given his wife to wear as a necklace was cursed by a gypsy. Grace dies soon after from a bullet shot by one of the warring mafia families but while still wearing the necklace. Tommy psychologically clings to the idea that it was the jewel that caused her death because it is the only way he can move forward. If he didn't have that option, he would be left to acknowledge that her death was all his fault and, I think it is implied in his meeting with Madame Boswell, would not be able to carry on. In this way, he feels a certain gratitude towards Tatiana for giving him this option, even if his rational mind doubts it subconsciously.

But why does he invite her to stay the night in his home, when he could have just gotten a hotel room? This is meant to show how much he misses the companionship that Grace provided. Now that Grace is gone, everything he does at home is alone. He comes home from work and sits alone on the settee where Grace used to greet him, he eats dinner alone, he goes upstairs to the bedroom he used to share with her and tries to fall asleep in that big bed all alone, probably in total silence. It's an extremely lonely experience, especially after experiencing what it was like to have a partner, his own little family, for two years.

I have no idea what it's like to grieve a spouse but do I think a normal person would do this? No, but this is what the show is trying to portray.

So, Tommy has Tatiana stay the night at his house, even having John put a nail in one of Tatiana's tires so that "neither can back out of it". His expressions are interesting in this interaction, particularly when she touches Tommy's cheek, trying to flirt with him and he coldly stares back at her, almost repulsed or at least defensive. It's similar to when she rubs her foot on his crotch and talks about his weakness for women and sex. He gets cold and defensive because he has not done this just because of a pretty lady and an opportunity to have sex.

They sleep together at first in a guest room, which Tatiana comments on. "This is not the room where you slept with your wife."

Tommy proceeds to ask her questions about whether she likes horses, whiskey, and cars- all things he likes. She does not like any of those things and the subject of her family's jewels are brought up, he gets the information that he needs about their location. She mentions knowing his weakness, and then rubbing his crotch with a foot. Tommy responds coldly that he can have sex whenever he wants. This shows that Tatiana is trying to find Tommy's weakness and that Tommy is offended by the idea that his sleeping with her was interpreted as him having an inability to not sleep around (like John and Arthur often do). Tommy is right in this, he has done this for a calculated move as well as a sense of companionship, but not for sexual degeneracy.

Tatiana proceeds to steal his gun and runs down the hall. While walking down the stairs she talks about how he could be doing so much more in his position of power, how he still foolishly follows rules when he can do anything that he wants to do. "You break the law, but you follow the rules," an observation that Grace made about him as well. "Don't you know that madness sets you free? Otherwise we're all just peasants obeying the law." A message that would hit home with Tommy, particularly in his grief when letting go of everything, any kind of rule or expectation, would feel much better than trying to keep them.

She tells him, "I can be an actress. Who do you want me to be? Your dead wife?"

Although Tommy balks at her statement, as well as for Tatiana pointing the gun at Grace's portrait, this is a theme of their relationship which is very obviously demonstrated in the next episode, and in the final scene of this interlude. That Tommy uses Tatiana as a proxy for Grace.

Tatiana then plays a quick game of Russian roulette with herself which triggers Tommy's recent experience with witnessing Grace's death from a gunshot. Tatiana then, standing under the portrait of Grace again, brings up that she "is the first one who really understands him." She states that she knows Tommy's true weakness. "It's freedom, madness, killing." This would be true of a man like Mosley, but not Tommy because he doesn't like killing or madness. Tommy does seek freedom through power as a way to have control in what feels like chaos. Tatiana is intelligent enough to know that Tommy's real weakness is his fear of being bad- of being an out of control, mad, killing machine. By stating that this is who he is, she plays on his real fear and weakness.

Tommy's face in this interaction shows that her words are affecting him, that he's taking them in. They have always been his fear. All the way back in season 1, even Aunt Polly was saying similar things: "What's wrong with him? If I knew I'd buy it from Compton's Chemists", "If you see her again, you might kill her", "John's a good boy, Arthur tries, Tommy's different."

Tatiana has run off again, and Tommy has trudged after her. He finds her in his and Grace's bedroom wearing his coat and standing on their bed. She tells him, with tears shining in her eyes, that she "found her (meaning Grace's) perfume. I put it on."

Tommy's face is angry, shocked, and offended that she did this, but he sits on the couch and lights up a cigarette. He's obviously too tired of her insanity, and it's pretty clear, she is the one in power here, running circles around him. She asks about the priest, he says he gave her his word that the information was true so she gives him permission to kill the priest. The conversation ends with her kneeling in front of him, telling him that he must do exactly what he wants to do. He stares at her, raises a hand to brush his fingers across her cheek like he did so often with Grace. He closes his eyes, kisses her, and keeps his eyes closed as they continue to kiss. With his wife's perfume in the air, and Tatiana wearing his coat like Grace did on their wedding day, kissing in front of the fire in their bedroom at night, it must have been easy for Tommy to pretend that he was really kissing Grace, especially if he kept his eyes closed.

The main points that brought Tommy to do this were:

-He wanted a kind of companionship to recreate what he had with his wife

-Tatiana brings up that he is a bad man who does bad things

-She also points out that there is no point in following certain rules if you're going to break the law anyway. This applies to Tommy's decision to sleep with Tatiana in a guest room rather than his and Grace's bedroom, as if that made it less of a betrayal. Although it clearly is more of a betrayal (as evidenced by the fact that he never brings another woman into their room, even after he marries Lizzie), at the time in his weakened, depressed state, it would have been easy for him to agree that they were pointless rules he was trying to keep.

-Tatiana offers to pretend to be Grace, astutley picking up that that is Tommy's deepest desire. And when she tells Tommy to do exactly what he wants to do, relieved of any constraint to do what is right or follow any rules, he does. He breathes in his wife's perfume, in their bedroom, and kisses her with his eyes closed.

There is also an aspect where Tommy is trying to psychologically avoid the idea that he has caused the death of his soulmate by potentially assigning Tatiana the role of a new soulmate. This is why she continues to bring up the idea that she is the first to understand him and that his weakness is killing and madness. Tatiana is clearly crazy, and it is easy in that moment for Tommy to tell himself that he is as mad and bad as she is. And if they were to somehow belong together, even if it were as psycho murderers, it would mean that there was a possibility for him to still experience love, companionship, and belonging. Because right now, he expects to live the rest of his life completely without them because his soulmate is dead. If he can consider Tatiana as his true soulmate, he can have a small amount of hope and ease his guilt.

[ranger-jahen]

something that is deeply fascinating to me - another post I reblogged recently reminded me I wanted to mention this - is that I do think actually that you get a more genuine version of Astarion early game if you are not romancing him.

Jahen is, of course, my BG3-specific-oc, who has a completely platonic relationship with Astarion that nonetheless manages to be supportive and constructive, and even very sweet, especially mid-to-late-game once Astarion has defrosted a little. what I thought was notable in the back-and-forth between them is that Jahen generally did take opportunities to indicate he knew when Astarion was toying with him, and this meant that Astarion’s blandishments just never really went anywhere.

Astarion doesn’t disapprove if your character politely shuts him down (to the tune of “watch yourself Astarion”), but he does also instantly drop the acts he puts on, at least in the moments, which reveals quick glances of something sharper underneath. but with a gradually building camaraderie, he naturally still has his moments of honesty and vulnerability, which provides the same opportunities as in any path to support, encourage, and show respect for him, albeit without the touches of “romantic” dialogue here and there. and honestly, that essentially presents an Astarion who never really puts on the pretense, at least not for long. and it’s really, sincerely rewarding as a storyline.

I have some basis of comparison because I brought my skyrim oc Loelya into bg3 just so I could romance Lae’zel, but Astarion also propositioned her at the tiefling party, and unlike Jahen, who really only likes to sleep with people he feels emotionally attracted to as well as physically (and who was completely fixated on Wyll at that point in time), Loelya would tend to be much more cavalier about being offered sex as a method of simple fun. so I had her take him up on it to indulge her curiosity streak.

I did end up fudging the storyline just a smidge in act 2 where I pushed the group to get access to moonrise towers much earlier than feels entirely natural, so I could trigger the post-Araj conversation before too many long-rests would end up forcing a breakup with either Lae’zel or Astarion. it was super worth it though because the option to offer Astarion the companionship of “a friend, not a lover,” was dialogue that I both thought fit the circumstance really well and also one I hadn’t seen video of yet, because the vast majority of Astarion clip-uploaders are his romance fans. xD

but yeah it was super interesting, because Loelya did accept his advances and his attitude towards her just radiated performance and guile at every turn. something that was virtually absent in his slowly-growing trust during Jahen’s playthrough. the difference was striking. the post-Araj conversation from Loelya’s perspective revealed much more all in one go, whereas in Jahen’s perspective it was more like the final scale to fall.

the fact that the two paths have such different tones is something I find both fascinating and heartening, because I tend to rarely see “big media” place any importance on platonic relationships. now I know of course you do still get more “depth” from the end of Astarion’s romance path than the end of his friendship path given the graveyard scene and all, but that’s like. cinema sins level of expected for me at this point lmao. what I think is satisfying here is that platonically being good to Astarion isn’t just romance path minus some content, but that it has a positive impact on the version of him that you see early on. they did actually put some thought into that. gives me a little pleased feeling at least.

I want to emphasize with my whole chest here that for me, for my story, for my character, for my relationship to the ideas of romance and friendship and other sorts of bonds, I found Astarion’s platonic path to be more fulfilling and interesting and I really enjoyed that it could be so. but I am very very very much not saying that it’s better for him as a character to have that be the player’s relationship to him than a romantic interest I promise. xD I think both paths are awesome. and it just makes me happy that the platonic path is given some genuine focus and interest in terms of how that might affect a character with a lot of hangups around this sort of thing. :] that is all.

[writermuses]

As his eyes left her to scan his home, Lale watched Raleigh's face longingly, the way she always did when he wasn't looking or wasn't around to see her watching him; like those interviews she watched on repeat, wishing she would catch something to tell her he was happy off the ice. She only nodded at his question and she felt that little swoop of vertigo again. "I like cleaning. Helps me focus." With a clearer head, Lale might have wondered if Raleigh remembered the abuse her mother hurled her way at any mess in the home and how she'd almost not been allowed to go to prom because her half-brothers had trashed the basement. If he did, he would've known cleaning up messes was just one of the many ways she subconsciously tried to avoid people yelling at her.

The alcohol in her system stopped her from protesting she wasn't drunk, just like it stopped her from masking her feelings. Lale's chin quivered at the past tense of his statement, her pale green eyes blurred with tears. "I do know you because I see you. I see how I hurt you and I see you putting up with me for Lily. I see you being the best dad. I see your loyalty with your friends and your love for your team. All this time and in here, you're still the most caring man." Her fingertips pressed into his chest with a gentle poke before she leaned back onto the steps. She'd seen every interview, every game, and she knew he was also still the hardest working athlete on the ice- in her opinion at least. "I'm sure I'll screw things up and you'll hate me with time, just like everyone else does." Lale's head lulled to the side and she looked up at him, her heart racing like it always did whenever she saw him. "I'm not going anywhere. I know you're never going to believe that after I ran away, but there's no where else I want to be." He could take that as with her daughter, with her family, with him- it was all the same to her, but Lale closed her eyes and took a calming breath.

"I don't think I can get up there. I can sleep on the couch or in my van... but my bag is up there with my charger and batteries." When she opened her eyes again, she looked up at the stairs then to the door. She's slept in the van plenty of snowy nights, having lived in it for months until she got her first few paychecks from the library so that she could get that tiny studio apartment. Massachusetts winters could be brutal, but she had camping gear to keep her warm. Lale's head lulled a little when she looked down at the sweater dress. "Shit...I should've brought something else to sleep in." Her eyebrows furrowed as she tried to piece together her options and her brain just couldn't seem to make a plan. Eventually, she conceded, looking at Raleigh with a pout, "I think I'm drunk?"

Not that he needed confirmation of her intoxication, but then comes the waving of the empty bottle and the use of his nickname. Raleigh is torn between helping Lale in her labored stumbling and making sure their daughter is sound asleep. Ultimately, as Lale disappears before he has a chance to make a decision for himself, Raleigh opts to remain at Lily's side until her grip fully loosens and her breathing evens.

It takes longer than anticipated, no doubt due in part to the excitement surrounding the holiday, but Raleigh doesn't mind a few extra moments alone with her, even without knowledge of Lale's current location.

Once Lily is tucked in bed, he presses a kiss to her hair and slowly backs out of the room. Only then does he allow himself to think once again of Lale. It's suspiciously quiet downstairs, but he can't recall hearing the front door open. Before he pulls the door behind him, something by the window catches his attention. Lale's belongings sit in the same spot she was originally in, so maybe there is still hope about her being here.

Just in case, Raleigh grabs them, and this time on his way out, there is a clear thump downstairs. Knowing what state Lale was in when he last saw her, it's reason enough for him to rush down, but he doesn't have to go far until she comes into view, perched on the lowest stairs.

Their eyes meet, and all he can do is stare until she breaks the silence. Then, with a deep breath, he hangs her bag on the banister and finishes the rest of the stairs, choosing to sit on the lowest one. The longer he listens, the bigger his frown grows, and even after she finishes, he is silent.

His eyes drift to the lit tree, to the stockings hung over the fireplace, to the candles decorating the coffee table in the living room. Now that he looks around, it's cleaner than it was when he left it, and that's what manages to draw his eyes back to Lale. "Did you... clean up while I was upstairs?" His brow furrows, and there is a shake of his head. "Look, Lale. You're drunk. I'd be perfectly fine not talking about this, but if we are going to, it shouldn't be now."

And yet, be it the guilt from their earlier conversation or the day's festivities catching up to him, he takes a deep breath and stretches his legs in front of him before, "I don't hate you. I loved you too much to hate you. Even after... you left. Trust me, I tried," he says, looking back up to avoid giving into the emotion in his voice. "And you don't know me... anymore. You can't love me." That's as much as he can say without completely losing his composure, so Raleigh clears his throat and glances behind them. "We should get you upstairs."

[a-s-levynn]

I have traveled far beyond the path of reason, take me back to Eden

edit: more context in the tags of the root post

[tevos]

///

[preemptivejustice]

Arthur didn’t speak. Not to the technicians, not to the intercom, not even to himself. He sat in the dim light of the observation room, chin once again resting on folded hands and his eyes tracking every tick of the other. He had long since filled the margins of his notes; the pen was capped and quiet. Now was the easier part, the part where he simply watched. 

It was fascinating, how Kane didn’t move. It was the stillness of someone at peace, of someone waiting; worse, it might be someone conserving. Like an animal in a cage that knew it had no way out, so instead it just allowed time to pass. Not asleep, not alert - just present. 

It was, again, unsettling. It wasn’t threatening, but it was the silence of something either meditating or malfunctioning; neither of those options boded well for him. 

The unnatural striations of color remained in the subject’s eyes, however, and was noted again. It reminded Arthur of heat mirages, of oil slicks in puddles - surfaces that lied about their depth. A refraction of some… underlying fracture, some molecular contradiction. It made it hard to look, just as it made it hard to look away; Arthur’s fingers pushed slightly harder against the underside of his chin. 

The trance broke eventually. There was nothing dramatic - eyes closed for long enough to be noticed, and when they opened the glimmer was gone. Arthur almost wished that it had stayed - at least it had been something to track. A metric, a variable. He liked variables. 

Kane moved, finally, and Arthur’s eyes followed him. He stood, he drank, he went to the bathroom. No resistance, no signs of protectiveness, modesty, rebellion, nothing; it was strange. Most people would be hesitant to use the half-private restroom. 

This one didn’t care, or didn’t know - or he had weighed it and found it irrelevant. Would Kane have found it irrelevant, though? It was possible. Men who were in military-like settings often found themselves uncaring if others saw them in more private moments. 

The mimicry was so precise, though, so casual, that once again he was scraping the edge of believability. Arthur watched the ghost of movement distort behind the partition, but not much else came from it; Arthur sat back. He reached down, rubbed at his calf just above the knee - nerves were sparking, sharp for a moment and then dull. 

...The meal was served. There was something interesting in how the man chose to eat it. Separating the food, and then consuming it in a strange order. One that was incorrect, by every cultural norm Arthur could recall. There was a childlike aspect to it, an impulse toward pattern - but was it childish? Or was it a ritual? Preference? An algorithm? 

The disgust was subtle but unmistakable. Arthur caught it, of course; the purse of lips, the tension between brows. Disdain for pork, of all things. It didn’t matter what Kane liked, but it mattered that there was an opinion. A preference. A decision. 

Arthur rubbed a hand over his mouth, as the night came to an end. The tray was taken away, and Kane returned to the same position. He didn’t like it, every time the subject’s gaze aligned with his.  Even knowing that he wasn’t visible, the alignment of gaze made his skin crawl. 

The subject turned in after a while, curling up in bed as if there were privacy to be found there. He watched until the lights dimmed automatically, the room falling into a scheduled circadian hush. It was possible that Kane was sleeping. It was possible he wasn’t. There was no way to tell. 

He would file his report tonight, even though it would be far from finished. For now, he was still thinking. Still deciding if the thing in the other room was a person - or just doing a good impression of one. 

─── ⋆⋅⚖️⋅⋆ ─────────────────

Arthur’s second visit began with him entering the room again, around the same time as before. He entered with a messenger bag slung across one shoulder, and a box tucked under his arm; once again, he looked to the subject, giving him a familiar smile. 

“Good morning.” 

He walked into the room, sitting down on the floor with plenty of room in front of himself. He lowered himself carefully, one knee first before the rest of him, with a practiced sort of effort. The square box was placed between himself and Kane, in front of Arthur’s crossed legs. His bag stayed on him, his fingers drumming softly against the top of the box. 

“Sit,” he said after a beat, motioning loosely to the floor across from himself. “Here.” There was no edge in his tone, no command; It was just an offering. The door is open. His hands moved back to his lap, the messenger bag shifting against his hip. 

The box between them was plain. No image, no brand, no instructions. Just smooth, off-white cardboard with faint scuffs along the corners; it was something that could be anything. 

“I’ve brought something that I want to observe,” he said calmly. “Something that we’re going to do together - though I’d like for you to do most of it. I’ll only be here to help if you need it.” 

He didn’t open the box. But inside was a puzzle; several smooth, wooden pieces, that interlocked in strange shapes. There was no photo to go by, nothing to suggest any kind of color or image. It was just form, shape. It was a test, one of the first of a few today. 

“Did you sleep alright, last night?” 

When the whole of their conversation comes to an end, with Dr. Harrow leaving the room, Kane... remains seated, doesn't move at first. He breathes, in and out, gaze focused on where the other had stayed for a little longer, listening to the request that had been made; Relief is there, Kane thinks, but he cannot be too sure - he does know, however, that the confirmation of that man telling whoever talkes to Lena about Kane having cared, takes away another portion of that weight that seems to exist within the center of his chest still.

Silence follows, the exchange of words, syllables, information, data now gone, erased, nonexistent. Silence stretches, interrupted by the sound his lungs make whenever air is sucked into them, then pressed back out... and Kane swallows, then blinks and closes his eyes for a moment, allows himself, his thoughts, that feeling, the reality of the situation, to linger for a bit more.

A lot to take in. A lot to learn, to internalize. And so much of what he'd gotten to know feels foreign still, new, concepts upon concepts upon hypotheses.

---When he opens his eyes again, the motion slow and smooth, his eyes shimmer again - a bright purple, a bit of pink and blue. That shimmer remains for quite a while as he just... stares ahead. Stares, stares, and stares some more.

Kane remains seated like that for some time - for a couple of hours actually, all of them passing by without the man attempting to get off the bed even once, to do anything else than to stare, to blink, to shift a bit on his seat from time to time, change the placement of his hands. Perhaps he himself isn't even aware of how much time is passing; That expression on his features blank, neutral, yet tense in a way that could hint at him thinking. Processing. Working through the meeting by himself, quiet, secluded...

And that shimmer within those irises, replacing brown with vibrant hues of all colors imaginable, stays with him for the whole of that timeframe - swirling like the surface of crystal clear water being hit by rays of sunlight, like air curling and moving when rising from overheated surfaces. --- Only disappearing once a pair of eyes opens back up after having fallen closed for a prolonged amount of time, complete with Kane seemingly waking from that trance-like state he'd been in ever since Harrow had left. He moves, rolls his shoulders, and seems to be more... alert. Taking in his surroundings instead of an imaginary point on the wall across the room.

Since the room he exists within is rather barren, however, Kane ends up doing... not so much. Perhaps less than expected, even. There's a couple of magazines resting on the small bedside table, together with his half-empty glass of water; The liquid is consumed at some point, the magazines left untouched, a gaze just trailing and flicking as his head turns - looking, observing, even though he's already seen it all.

Waiting, he seems to be. Just... waiting, allowing time to pass. Gazing over at where the one-way mirror is, unbeknownst to him. Maybe his eyes even make accidental contact with Harrow's own; He obviously has no knowledge of the other being there, so that stare does not linger for too long, just continues to trail, to slide over walls, the floor, the bed he's sitting upon.

---At some point he does get up then, makes his way to the small bathroom; It offers some privacy, but the wall separating it from the rest is made of textured glass instead of a solid wall - a safety measure, in case anything might be either going wrong or happening to the subject while he's in there rather than within the main room equipped with cameras and micophones; His heavily distorted shape can still be seen this way, observed.

In case it bothers Kane, the fact that his privacy is a bit... invaded, nothing about his behavior indicates such at all. He does not seem to be bothered, doesn't hesitate, doesn't show any signs of discomfort whenever he's in there, then comes back out. And while his movements do seem to be rather measured still, stiff... there is something to them that shows a less robotic way of acting than expected, perhaps - like fingers that reach for the glass when he moves past, digits trailing along the textured surface before letting go. Entirely unnecessary as a whole, yet Kane does it anyways.

And until dinner is served to him, Kane remains sitting on his bed once again - perhaps he's unsure what else to do, where else to sit, to exist. He's even eating in bed, with his meal being served on an additional table on wheels which he pulls over, close to himself; Even though Kane now knows how to use cutlery, his movements carefully studied, they're still a little... uneven, perhaps - like a kid still needing to practice a bit more before becoming fully confident.

He eats without rushing, but doesn't take too long either - seemingly preferring to eat each part of his meal separately than to mix it all up. Any vegetables are consumed first, followed by whatever starchy dish is being served alongside them (potatoes today), and any meat is only eaten once everything else has gone; Kane even consumes his dessert before going for the pork chop, a joghurt cup (strawberry flavored). ---He looks like he might not be the biggest fan of said pork chop, but consumes it anyways. Maybe it's that urge inside him to take whatever he can get in an attempt to learn that prevents him from not eating the piece of meat, even though his expression - a knit of brows, a purse of lips - is telling of his displeasure with an surprising amount of definiteness.

And, once done, he... just sits there, again. On his bed. Unmoving, hands folded onto his lap. The emptied plate as well as that table on wheels are taken away at some point, silence returning, the loneliness of a subject made to just exist for the sake of... well, existing. Another gaze is thrown over at that one-way mirror Kane himself only thinks of as a wall... and yet he looks at it for some long minutes, expression heavy-lidded, tired, but most likely not in a physical sense. A jaw works as he swallows, thumbs twirling...

Kane does not really know what it means to be bored. Dr. Harrow had asked him about it before - are you bored? - and yet Kane hadn't given an answer. Hadn't been able to understand the concept of it.

So he does not know that what he feels at that moment could be translated into boredom. He's read those magazines three times already, and whenever he goes for them again, they give him less and less to work with - no new data to explore, no new information to be taken in.

---He does lay down after a while, on his back, staring up at the ceiling. But he eventually rolls onto his side instead, away from the room, facing the wall close to his bed - knees pulled up, an arm curled around his pillow, the other folded in front of his chest.

Whether he's actually falling asleep or not remains unclear.

[punkrockisafulltimejob]

RSD is literally the worst fucking thing

[quibble-auk]

@thebrokenmechanicalpencil

Oh look. I’m trying to feel better by goofing off because what I’m planning is not good for anyone so far.

Anyway remember when we decided that Jeopardy is scared of water.

A little bonus sketch

Dropmix is the #1 TikTok hater just because it gets Jeopardy gets invested in these tiny human lives and that will only cause his boy pain in the long run.

“Jeopardy you know you will out live them right? They are not like Comet. They live for like 75 years on average. No I’m not lying.”

Jeopardy is so sad.

It’s like 3 am I need to go to bed instead of doodling.

[emeraldthelynx]

Alright! Let's have some sunbathing! I've decided to write something Battle Network. Because Lan will always go overboard.

Megaman kinda wondered what sunbathing felt like.

In the real world at least.

The Net, especially in the networks of tropical resorts or health centers, had 'sunbathing' options. To Megaman, it felt like his frame was warm and tingly with energy. It was always nice for a boost. In the real world, however, if his PET got left out in the sun too long, well… In Megaman's experience, his PET was pretty specific about what its temperature perimeters were supposed to be.

Which was why Megaman was currently hanging out on top of a table with an umbrella overhead. Maylu and Yai were also in the shade, done with the sun for now. Megaman sighed, watching Lan through the screen of the PET.

"He's going to get sunburnt. Lan never remembers sunscreen." he said. Yai rose her sunglasses.

"Even if he did, he and Dex have been in the water so much that whatever they did remember to put on probably washed off." she said. Megaman nodded sagely. Lan and Dex had apparently moved from their game of beach volleyball to a competition to see who could stand on the hot sand the longest. Megaman sighed again. Maylu groaned.

"When he comes complaining to me with a red face that his feet are too sore for skating, he is not getting any sympathy from me." she said. Megaman leaned back, resigned.

"Actually, he's probably going to have only one spot that's not red. There's going to be a big, white spot where his bandana is." he said.

"Make sure to send me a picture of that, Mega!" Roll piped up from Maylu's lap. Megaman chuckled.

"Sure, Roll." he said, watching Lan dance around in the water, trying to cool off his feet. Sure enough, Roll found a picture in Maylu's inbox of a tomato-red, sleeping Lan with a single white stripe of protected skin on his forehead.

All done! I tag

@shreedle @absolutely-normal-about-x and @ichilemonwritruoo

And the prompt from me is "whatchamacallit!"

Ya know what

Heck it

I'm gonna try something, feel free to ignore.

@waythroughtheice @nitkat360 @emeraldthelynx @sneakyswag @lum164 @theladyhibiscus @a-weirdo-works @crystalclear365 @pale-opal @shreedle @bean-with-a-knife @afniel

Just... for fun.

Maybe we do a sort of prompt tag game thing?

Like obviously, tag whoever you want to add but...

Basically someone offers a one word prompt and then everyone who wants to can either write a short fic involving it or draw some art for it, whatever floats your boat. No minimum or maximum. I'm just tagging people I've had either brief interactions with or just know to be active, but yeah. Absolutely no pressure. (I am but the tiniest blog in a sea of others lmao)

Only thing I would ask is to keep it PG-13 so everyone can enjoy it, yeah?

Anyways!

Prompt word!

Sunbathe

Because the idea of reploids sunbathing is funny to me. But it makes sense.

So with that in mind, my prompt fic:

Word count (according to my note app thing): 308

The sound of the balcony door opening has X opening a lazy eye in the late July sun.

Only to see Brook stepping out with an amused look on her face. "Trying to get a tan?" she teased.

"Mmm... not quite," he replied. "Trying to recharge, actually. Solar." Brook's mouth opens to a perfect 'o' shape, as though just remembering that reploids have that. "Why don't you join me?" the blue clad reploid asked. "You could benefit from some vitamin D."

"...Do I *have* to?"

You know what? "Yes," X answered dryly. "Consider it part of your punishment for running off and *stealing money.*" The ruddy-haired girl flushes at that and nods. Even going as far as to mutter an apology under her breath.

"...Would it be okay if I grabbed something to do while I'm out here?" Brook asked.

X considered the request, humans *were* more fidgety than reploids, after all... "...Alright," he relented. "But if you don't come back out in ten minutes, I'm going to make it *worse.*" Rolling her eyes, Brook heads back into the apartment. "Yeah, okay *Dad,*" she retorted.

And while *yes,* it *was* sarcastic-

He can't help but feel ever so slightly pleased at the fact. She's come a *long* way since September when he first found her...

Briefly, he wonders what it is Brook will bring out with her... It won't be schoolwork, much to his chagrin. After all, it *is* summer break. And she's already on a good pace with her make up work. But, X doesn't have to wonder long. Brook comes back out with a small bag he recognizes.

Her knitting bag.

Nodding in approval, X slips back into a light recharge.

With only the occasional clacking of her needles to break up the outside sounds.

[uchiha-gaeshi]

Mental health is reaching new lows rn ngl

[fridgevespidae]

a thing about me is that i consistently forget that food and sleep are necessities. every other day i decide actually i think i kight be above sleep i dont need to do that anymore!!!! and then stay up too late, worsen my sleep schedule, and fall asleep

[briannehtlm]

Would you welcome any kind of love? I think I would, at least to some extent. But if it goes beyond love and starts leaning into obsession, I’d rather not. I have no desire to end up in someone’s basement. My mom never sugarcoated anything, and that’s what I loved about her, she always kept it real, no matter what. You’re absolutely right! It really does hit different. Losing a parent young is a kind of pain that’s not just hard to deal with, it’s hard to even understand. Some days, I feel completely fine. And then there are others where I cry myself to sleep just wishing my mom could be here to see my little peach. Grief has no rules. It comes and goes. Some days are just harder than others, and that’s ok. And yes, I’ve heard so many horror stories about custody battles. I’m truly grateful we’re not part of that horrendous statistic. We didn’t work as a couple, but that doesn’t mean we can’t work as parents. He’s been truly great, and I’m very thankful for that. I appreciate you being honest, and recognizing that you wanted something more, and freeing her from the wait. That’s not always the case. A lot of people cling to ´ options ´because they can’t stand the thought of being alone. So I respect that. Ah, I’m sure you’ll be a great daddy one day, no doubt. And hey, if you ever want a little preview, I’m more than happy to bring you my little peach. You won’t be disappointed, hope you’re ready for the ride.

Any love is love and is welcome in my eyes, even if the person goes all fan girly. It's the proper emotion when you meet your idols. I find it endearing when they go oh my gosh, oh my gosh, it means you made a big impact. Hmm, your mom did not sugar coat, but it sounds like she did not resent you for it. That is a win in itself. I say it does, I also say it connects us on a whole other level as well, because we both know what it's like to lose one of the most important people in our lives. You don't get that connection with everyone. Most people just don't understand. Keith, my older brother, is one of the best things in my life. I honestly don't think I could have gotten through anything without him. Thank you, I will keep that in mind because there are some days I do just go crazy and have no one to talk about it with. That is very rare, so kudos to you and your ex-husband. 14 years is a long time. I think that is why it ended, she was the only person I have ever been with, and I felt like I needed to find myself again and explore. I did not find it fair to have her keep waiting for me when I knew that it just did not feel right. It's so sweet how you talk about your daughter. One thing that did not leave my mind was the baby fever, but I know I got a lifetime for that.

[demifiendcruithne]

i am not sorry for making my personal helper program pull a demi-fiend if i try and leave its folder

i thought it was funny. now if only terminals supported orange text

[daz4i]

back to my "what do starrail combat elements mean" brainstorming, this time with fire

i think. the only common threads i can find between the characters are like. either needing to be heard (either to achieve their personal goal, do their work, or as a need for attention), or being somewhat of an authority figure but not quite a leader per se. does that make sense