#the migraines are no joke

[samueldrxkes]

blind n cute

[sirgawainofgalifrey]

Not to knock on Wrightworth or other Phoenix ships but people like to make most of Phoenix's actions have a romantic undertone and really miss out on the fact that he'll just about die for anyone he considers a friend.

Like he took on a clearcut murder case with zero experience (what's a cross-examination lol) because he was friends with Larry in school.

He STRAIGHT UP ATE GLASS AND METAL for the girl he was dating and was willing to ignore that she'd murdered someone.

He changed his whole ass career to get in contact with Edgeworth again just to make sure he was okay emotionally (and for other reasons that people like to ignore just for making it all about Edgeworth), even though they literally were like in 4th grade together for like half a year.

The first case he defended Maya was almost entirely because of Mia, because he didn't know Maya yet.

Literally EVERY CASE that he defends Maya in he's going above and beyond all reason and logic to prove that she's not guilty.

Him literally going against all reason and evidence and Edgeworth's own admission in the Edgeworth case to prove he's not guilty.

HIM LITERALLY ONLY TAKING ON THE SKYE CASE BECAUSE EMA AND LANA REMINDED HIM OF MAYA AND MIA.

Him literally in the Engarde case willing to compromise all his principles to get a murderer off the hook to save her (they give you the option of going with pleading that Engarde is innocent, even though it doesn't effect the outcome).

Him literally running across a burning bridge at night over a huge cliff to make sure she's alright.

All I'm saying is I think the writers more intended to characterize Phoenix as someone who is willing to do almost anything for people he cares about (even if he acts like a grumpy asshole most of the time), more than emphasizing any one romantic relationship.

(I also think that's why he took Edgeworth faking his death so hard, and was so pissed at him for it. Like he felt betrayed and helpless at Edgeworth commiting suicide, mad (at Edgeworth and himself) that Edgeworth thought he couldn't come to him for help, when he would do anything for him. And then he finds out he was deceived, and couldn't understand how anyone could do that to someone they care about, like it's not in his friendship vocabulary ((also the fact that Edgeworth had confided in Gumshoe and not him that he was still alive, meaning he trusts Gumshoe more than him as a friend.)) It all comes down to Phoenix being betrayed that he's not trusted and his devotion to his friends not returned.)

Anyway sorry this is so long I hope it makes sense.

(also I've only played the original trilogy)

[mamawasatesttube]

i just think that after all the shit he's given both clark and kon, martha kent should be allowed to run bruce wayne down with her tractor or something. (l'oreal voice) john deere. because she's worth it

[katich-pigeon]

A little imagination about Alan's powers as a parautilitarian.

(and also don't spill a coffee in front of Casey's eyes!)

[underachieverse]

Going to my local drug dealer (pharmacy store) to get the good stuff (paracetamol)

[futuristichedge]

The guy who minds

[ashenlavellan]

A Realistic Kaidan Appreciation Post in Regards to the Migraines -

I know that this has all been said and done, but stick around if you enjoy the Mass Effect series and have an appreciation and/or like Kaidan Alenko ^.^

Now, let's briefly talk about his backstory/pre-ME trilogy.

(Exposure to Element Zero): Now, humanity simply acquired biotics through means of exposure to Element Zero through utero - they don't give us an exact percentage of how likely the fetus can develop biotic capabilities over terminal brain cancer, but let's consider that it's not too high... considering that the "accidents" were somewhat frequent.

There isn't much mention before his L2 implants if he had suffered from negative symptoms, but let's just say that if there were, they were likely minimal/barely noticeable. It wasn't until many individuals with biotic tendencies were fitted with the L2 implants that we began to see severe effects to fatal circumstances.

We consider Kaidan to be quite lucky considering that he seems to only experience severe/intense migraines, especially if he pushes himself too hard with biotic overuse. Yet, there are some fans out there that may hardly ever have migraines - let alone, headaches.

This is coming from me - who deals with chronic AND hormonal migraines on a near daily-basis. They are detrimental.

Migraines can be triggered not just from being chronic or hormonal, but ingesting certain foods/drinks (especially caffeine - yes, I'm talking about you coffee.), over-exercise, and stress.

Um, we've all witnessed what the ME: Trilogy is like as we play as our respective Commander Shepard, but we hardly know what our companions are feeling unless they verbally express so within the game. (Yes, I get it - they're just video game characters, but let me nerd out and relate to a character!)

Chasing after a rogue Spectre, Saren Arterius, and the possibly extinction of all races in the Milky Way?

Possibly losing his SO (if you romanced him), or one of his closest friends only to reunite two years later - thanks to being resurrected by a terrorist organization?

Or, possibly getting killed on Mars after working alongside his SO/Ex-SO/closest friend?

Then a possible showdown with said person after the terrorist organization attacks the Citadel shortly after becoming a Spectre?

I could honestly go on, but that sounds fucking stressful and then some for Kaidan to deal with - on top of dealing with migraine episodes/flare-ups thanks to his biotics/implants. Not just that, but how fast-paced and constantly moving? Especially with their military careers?

I'm sorry, but I know for a fact that if it wasn't for other medical conditions, I would have been turned away from joining the military with my chronic and hormonal migraines and I genuinely can't function and have had to call out of work because of how severe mine are... hell, I've been hospitalized once due to them.

Migraines are no joke and the fact that Kaidan Alenko pushes through with how intense they are and remains active within the military? Becomes a Spectre for the Milky Way galaxy? Possibly becomes the SO/Spouse of our adrenaline-junkie Commander Shepard's?

Fucking kudos to that man.

[intotheelliwoods]

imagine naming you character poptart. couldnt be me...... who would do such a thing....

[charlidrawz]

Braceszai this, autistic Dazai × ADHD Chūya that-

I'm just kiddin' I love them

Y'all are really sleepin' on Dazai w/ asthma & Chūya w/ chronic migraines

[ghostofthegallows]

Gender bend dbda

Love it. God such a big fan love me some sapphic dead girls.

1 issue tho. Why is Edwin always Edith

Don't be me wrong it's a beautiful name but yk...

EDWINA IS RIGHT THERE ITS LITERALLY THE FEMALE VERSION OF EDWIN LMAO

[lostandbackagain]

were sex scenes in fenoglio's inkheart? did mo have to make eye contact with capricorn knowing he comes fast?

[purpurussy]

I know this is 100% my personal problem and idk if anyone can relate but as an afab person with some weird gender shit going on I kinda hate it whenever dnp make jokes like "you know us we don't like pussy/tits" etc like 😭 I love that they have fully healed from the comphet "fyi I like vagina" era but I hate being made to feel like a Woman™ because of my anatomy if that makes sense. Like my brain interprets it as "we don't like those traits because they make you a woman and we're gay" idk it gives me like a weird wave of dysphoria every time they say it 😭😭 the first time I watched BIG I interpreted Dan's monologue about "I don't care what kind of anatomy you've got going on, I don't feel attracted to the signs on bathroom doors" as being like trans inclusive but I fear he's walked it back with these constant jokes dsdfghjkl and to be clear I'm not saying anyone is obligated to find me or my body type attractive like that's not what this is about. It's just the equation of genitals/anatomy with gender idk. And this is not even really something that's specific to dnp and I know there's a lot of discourse about genital preferences or whatever idk idk maybe I should've just sent this to phannieconfessions and allowed everyone to take it in the worst possible faith over there. I just need to get it off my chest

[fruitalike]

OBVIOUSLY || Trans Elliott x Male Reader

RATING: Explicit, 18+ obviously

PARING: TRANS Elliott x Male Reader

TAGS: TRANS ELLIOTT, as always, you're married, 2nd person, oral/p.i.v. sex, multiple orgasms/positions, pwp, maybe mirror sex, spit as lube/spit kink a little bit..., HHHHAFU (House Husbands Have Heart Aprons Fanfic Universe)

WORDS: 3476

SUMMARY:

“How much longer?” You ask, and Elliott whips his head back around to face you, face even redder still. “How much longer for what?” He’s flustered again; but it’s different now than it was when you’d first come home. You watch him chew his lip nervously, but he stops when he notices you’re staring. “Until the food gets out of the oven,” you say, your eyes still on his lips until you see them quiver, then you look up into his eyes instead, tilting your head just enough, “obviously.”

READ ON AO3

OR...

(genital words: cock/head/tip, chest/nipples, lips/cunt/walls/g-spot)

You arrive home at your expected time, but your husband greets you as you walk up the front steps regardless. He opens the door as you make it onto the porch. “It’s not done,” he says, he’s flustered—you’re not sure if it’s because he’s embarrassed or because he’s been rushing, maybe both. “I… I just need, like, fi- ten minutes. Ten minutes and you can come in. It won’t be done but you can come in.”

You can tell by the look on his face that you should probably hold in the chuckle you feel in your throat. Elliott is a bit of a mess, more comfortable clothes replace his usual formal attire, his hair is all over his face, and his eyebrows are a bit furrowed, and he’s red in the face. Any desire you have to laugh is solely based on how cute he looks; but you refrain anyways. “I’ll just wait out here. You let me know when you’re ready for me to come in, okay?”

Elliott breathes a sigh of relief. “I swear it won’t take long,” he says, though even he doesn’t seem convinced, “it’s just- I lost track of time, and… y’know. It’ll be fine.” You go to reassure him, but he just repeats himself, “It’ll be fine,” he whips around and slinks back into the house. Though you’re sure that you can hear him repeat it to himself again as he closes the door.

Once you’re sure he’s too far inside the house to hear you, you do finally chuckle to yourself. He’s just too sweet. Taking a seat on the swinging bench on the front porch, you resign yourself to waiting indefinitely for whatever Elliott had planned. It seemed like he was cooking something, judging by the heart apron he wore, and the various foodstuffs all over it. You rub your eyes as the fall breeze relaxes you. You could use a nice, home cooked meal.

You’re awoken from your near slumber as Elliott opens the front door again. He smiles at you and beckons you inside. It takes you a second to gather yourself enough to follow him in, but once you do, it’s obvious he’s cooking something. “Don’t look too hard at the oven.”

“How about I just go take a shower?” Again, he seems relieved by your offer. Elliott kisses you as you head for the bathroom.

Given the state of the kitchen, you figure you can take your time in the shower. You try not to spend too much time thinking about what Elliott’s cooking for you. Of course, you do wonder. But you try to put it out of your mind. The water is almost viciously hot, but that’s what it takes to soothe you at this point. Your skin grows tender as you scrub all of the farm’s grime down the drain. It doesn’t bother you, though. Better to actually feel clean. You make sure to put on plenty of lotion afterwards, anyways.

You lose track of time in the shower, but years on the farm have made you painfully efficient regardless—it’s barely been half an hour by the time you’ve finished. You still head for the kitchen once you’ve dried off and put clean clothes on. Evidently, half an hour was all that Elliott needed to get the kitchen back under control. He was too considerate to run any water while you were showering, but all of the dirty dishes are stacked neatly in the sink. The counter tops are wiped clean of any of the detritus that had accumulated there as he cooked. More importantly, he seemed much calmer: he’s no longer flushed, or as disheveled (you hesitate to even refer to him that way—Elliott was always far too formal to find himself truly disheveled, well, unless… you know) as he had been before. He comes to your side the moment you enter the kitchen. He wraps his arms around your neck and kisses your cheek multiple times. “No peaking,” he says, playfully turning you away from the kitchen with his hold on you.

“I wasn’t even looking!” There’s just enough playful exasperation in your tone that Elliott laughs a little; even as you can’t help but try to smell what’s cooking in the air. Only now do you notice that he’s opened the windows—clearly trying to keep the aroma from what ever it is he’s cooking from building up in the room, what a tease.

He releases you from his grasp and you sit at the island in the kitchen. Your eyes naturally follow him as he walks in front of you, standing between the counter you rest at and the oven, shielding whatever he was cooking from your prying eyes. “Can I get you something to drink?” He asks, trying to make his appearance in front of you seem a little more natural, as wiping down the already clean counter tops didn’t quite justify it.

“Sure,” you say. You’re not particularly thirsty. You just like watching Elliott squirm, nervously wiping his hands on his heart adorned apron as he prepares a glass of hot apple cider for you. A pot of it was already on the stove, surely another one of his tricks to distract from whatever he has in the oven.

He brings it to you, coming around the side of the kitchen island, mug in hand. Elliott sits up on the counter as you drink your cider, ever the distraction. You were wrong before—you definitely needed this cider. The warmth soothes you more than a shower ever could. Perhaps your husband knows you a little too well. He reaches for your hand and you intertwine your fingers. You pull on his hand and he scoots across the counter so that he’s in front of you. He carefully spreads his legs so that sitting in front of you is easier for him. You’re sure that that’s all there is to it.

Both of Elliott’s distractingly long legs dangle to either side of you. You gingerly place your mug between his legs, looking up at him. The warmth from the cup radiates between his legs, you can tell by how red his face continues to get as your mug rests between his thighs.

Finding yourself parched, you reach for your cider again with your free hand. Of course your other hand is still delicately intertwined with your husbands. You choose to ignore the embarrassed glances that Elliott shoots your way. His face reddens still as you continue to sip your delicious drink so thoughtfully prepared for you by your loving husband, who shifts restlessly on the counter as you make a show of ignoring him.

There’s a twitching in the front of his pants, and Elliott squeezes his thighs together, seizing the opportunity to do so while you still have your mug in hand. He carefully places his feet between your thighs, his own legs pressed together in a slight embarrassment. It’s obvious that his feet don’t really have anywhere else to go (as long as keeping them off of the counter was a priority), but you can’t help but see it as yet another distraction.

You finally release Elliott’s hand to place it on his left foot where it meets his ankle—acknowledging his distraction as he reaches up to scratch the back of his neck. He turns away from you, to look at the oven, of course. You trace your fingers up and down the back of his ankle, smirking to yourself as you feel him get chills. “How much longer?” You ask, and Elliott whips his head back around to face you, face even redder still.

“How much longer for what?” He’s flustered again; but it’s different now than it was when you’d first come home. You watch him chew his lip nervously, but he stops when he notices you’re staring.

“Until the food gets out of the oven,” you say, your eyes still on his lips until you see them quiver, then you look up into his eyes instead, tilting your head just enough, “obviously.” His breath hitches on your slightly snarky tone. He turns away from your gaze and wets his lips trying to find something to say; he’s already so caught up in you.

“Not long.” Is all he can manage. You’ve finished your drink, so you set your mug on the counter top. The light clatter startles Elliott. “Really?” You ask, calling him on his bluff. You’re tracing your thumb up and down the top of his foot as you speak; the rest of your fingers still, now.

He squirms. “I’m… not giving specifics,” he hesitates, “obviously.” Elliott seems proud that he’s turned your snark back on you but all you do is smirk; and move your hand up to his calf. “Is there time for anything?”

“… Like what?” He asks, as if he hadn’t just squeezed his thighs together. You move your hand further up his calf. “You know.”

“Maybe… it’d have to be quick.”

“Can you be quick?” He huffs but spreads his legs just enough to slide down into your lap, you kiss him immediately; he reciprocates desperately. “Yes.” He says quietly after you’d pulled away. You can tell by the way he’s trembling he’s telling the truth. He’s always so excitable.

You can only kiss him so long before you begin to really question the integrity of the bar stool you’re sitting on; the metal creaking with every sudden movement. You stand and usher Elliott back up onto the counter top. He pulls you to him and you grind against him. You can feel how eager he is through his sweatpants.

Kissing him again, you’re able to slide his sweats and underwear down with ease. You elect to still leave them on, just in case he needs to quickly slip away to cater to whatever he’s cooking. Of course, you hope that he won’t need to; that he’ll be at your mercy until you’re done with him.

You ease him onto his back and crouch between his legs, too weary of the bar stool to use it. Some of your limited time obviously goes to kissing and delicately nipping at Elliott’s inner thighs, much to his chagrin. He whines as you tease him. “Please,” he begs, your kisses inching closer and closer, teasing out more and more of his desperation, “just… please.”

Your tongue slips between his lips with practiced brevity; tracing right up to where his cock aches for your attention. You kiss around it a little at first, just enough to tease him a little more before you allow yourself to fully give into your carnal desires. Elliott gasps as you finally lick him. His hips try to buck up into your mouth, chasing the friction you expertly provide.

You pin Elliott’s legs to the counter top: leaning forward you rest an arm on the back of each of his thighs; using one hand to hold him by the ankles and keeping his feet in the air; the other rests on his pubic mound, and you use your thumb to pull him taught. His little cock is even more exposed to you now, his tip peeking out of his foreskin. He whimpers as you focus the tip of your tongue on his head.

Soon, even you have grown tired of your merciless teasing. “Behave.” You warn before taking Elliott into your mouth completely. You can feel the muscles in his legs flex—desperately trying to keep himself still. He cries out for you as you suckle his tiny cock, letting your teeth graze his head.

Motion in your periphery causes you to look to your right. You can’t help but notice both your and Elliott’s reflection in the screen of the television in the living room. Obviously, you’re awkwardly half-way crouched between his legs, but Elliott’s the main event. He’s sprawled out on the kitchen island, his lower back flush with the bar top, beloved husband folding him in half. His shoulders make contact with the lower part of the counter and his hair billows all over it. You make a mental note that his head is hanging off the edge of the counter top. Occasionally you can hear his nails scratch against the underside of the bar as you continue to suck him off, but his other hand shamelessly gropes at his own chest through his heart apron. You don’t need to consult his reflection to know that he’s teasing his own nipples, you can feel it in the way his cock twitches in your mouth.

Elliott won’t last much longer like this, so you pick up the pace a little. You swirl your tongue and bob your head a little faster, and make quick work of your beloved husband. He’s crying out for you and cumming on your face within seconds. His thighs tremble as you continue to tease his aching cock, and you can feel your own cock twitch in your pants. You need to be inside on him.

You kiss him a few times before pulling yourself off of him. Standing back up straight makes your back crack, so you take a second to stretch it out. Once you’ve gotten comfortable again you let your hard cock rest against his ass. “You want it?” You ask, and Elliott seems to shift a little, checking the oven, again, undoubtedly.

“Please,” he begs, again, “fuck me.” As much as you’d love to hear it, he doesn’t have to beg you twice. You shove your own pants and underwear down to around your knees and let your cock out. You spit on your cock out of habit, but Elliott hardly needs it. You rub your spit up and down your cock as you watch him quiver; if he hadn’t been wet enough for you after his orgasm, he would be now. He whimpers when you rub your cock up against his. He stops holding onto the counter to reach down and jerk your cock a couple of times, you thrust into his hand. “Put it in… put it in.”

You oblige, angling your cock with Elliott’s cunt, but letting him push your tip in since he was so eager. He hisses at the feeling, and you can’t help but snicker a bit as you slowly thrust in. He always wants more than he can take. But it doesn’t take long for him to get used to you, especially as he continues to masturbate openly—still rubbing his nipples and jerking himself off, too.

He only stops when you thrust into him a little harder, causing him to lurch forward and grab onto the counter top between his legs to stabilize himself. You hold onto him a little firmer and trace your thumbs across his sides. “I’ve got you,” you say, leaning forward a little and spitting on his cock, “you can touch yourself as much as you want.”

Elliott whimpers at your taunting tone, but follows through nonetheless, rubbing his little cock in time with your thrusts. You’re careful with how hard you’re fucking him, not wanting to concuss him as his head continued to hang off the lower counter top. But, you’re still picking up the pace. You only have a little while longer to fuck him until dinner’s ready, after all.

Carefully, you fuck him faster still, Elliott hanging on your every movement. As much as you’d love to, you don’t even have to fuck him particularly hard to have his cunt desperately squeezing you with every thrust. Perhaps you know your husband a little too well. You tighten your grip on his sides when you feel his muscles start to tense, and you position your thrusts towards the angle you know he likes the most.

He doesn’t last much longer. His toes curl and you feel compelled to watch him in the reflection of the television again. He cries out for you as he struggles through his orgasm, jerking himself rapidly even as he tries to control his own movements carefully, still in such a precarious position. You keep a slower, gentle pace to ease him through his orgasm, holding onto him for reassurance; your own end far ahead.

Once he’s come down a bit, you pull out and he sits up on the counter. Elliott kisses you sloppily, wrapping his arms around your neck. All care for any mess on the kitchen counter long gone. He’s leaning into you and running his fingers through your hair; swaying ever so slightly, you imagine it’s from all the blood rushing back down from his head. He pulls away from the kiss and just looks at you, excess desperation in his eyes as he tries to catch his breath. “Is there time for just a little more?”

His fingers stop moving in your hair and just hang there instead. He gives a meek nod. “…Maybe.” He says, as if to hide his own desire.

Once more you usher him, this time down from the counter top. He kisses you again but you pull away, kissing his cheek and then his neck. He moans for you, overstimulated but still desperate for more. You have him by his biceps, so it’s easy for you to turn him around and press his chest to the counter top. He whines softly as you rub your cock up against his cunt.

Elliott’s leaned over the bar part of the kitchen island, his fingers naturally wrapping around the edge of the counter, holding himself still. You gather his hair up in one hand, wrapping it around itself for a better hold. “Just keep an eye on it for me, okay? I’d hate for all your hard work to go to waste.” He only whimpers in response, so you tug on his hair. “Okay?”

“I will, I will, just… please.” He’s looking back at you, moving hips trying to push your cock back inside of him. You oblige, pounding into him rather harshly. Elliott lurches forward and cries out for you in the best way. He squeezes down on you when your balls smack against his cock, you can feel it twitch, too.

You’ll never get used to how sensitive he is inside once you’re in the second round. His walls can’t help but quiver around you with every thrust. He’s in a better position now, so you can thrust into him as hard and as fast as you both would like. Elliott continuously begs you for more, and you can only provide.

His thighs quiver with every thrust, and the island itself seems to creak a little when you really pound into him. You ignore it. You can’t possibly pay any mind to something as unimportant as the structural integrity of your home when your husband is crying out for you like this. You’re ratcheting up the pressure, constantly aiming for and pounding into his g-spot. All Elliott can do is punctuate every thrust with a cry of “please, please, please!”

He’s barely coherent. But you can feel his orgasm drawing closer and closer—the way he’s bearing down on you makes it hard for you to keep a steady pace. Your grip tightens on him again as you feel your orgasm building as well. You pull on his hair again, and you swear you can hear his fingernails scrapping against the underside of the counter top.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” There’s something so special about shredding Elliott’s eloquence with your cock—it makes your toes curl. You keep the same hold on his hair as you feel him tense up all over. “I’m going—fuck! I’m cumming, I’m cumming!”

His cunt squeezes you hard and you feel him gush with his orgasm, coating you and trickling down your bare thighs. You’re not far behind him, careful not to tug on his hair anymore than you already had, lest you begin to rip out his delicate mane. Thrusting as hard and as fast and as deep as you can manage, you release deep into your husband; crying out for him just as he had for you. There’s no discernible rhythm to the last of your thrusts, all that’s left is your desperation.

You pull him up from the counter, your cock still inside of him even as you begin to soften. Your hips still pistoning slightly as you pull his back to your chest; hands roaming him all over to soothe the both of you. His chest heaving still, he reaches for your hand.

You intertwine you fingers again, just as you had before. “Elliott…” you drag out his name dramatically, tracing his jawline with the pointer finger on your free hand, “how much longer do we have to wait for the food?”

Elliott glances at the oven. “Just a little longer,” he says, “obviously.”

[freakinnefor]

who says revenge era gerard way and cal gabriel aren’t best friends!

[ghostinthegallery]

@beril66, @utane, and @macgyvertape all asked for info about my WIP "My Big Fat Ithakan Wedding" (which really needs an actual title but I am bad at those) and I don't know how to explain this one without sounding like I need a cork board and some string but here we go:

Necrontyr AU where Szarekh actually heeded Orikan's warning, biotransference doesn't happen. Instead they ally with the Old Ones against the C'tan in exchange for medical technology. C'tan are pissed

Oltyx doesn't die as a teenager thanks to said medical advances (yay!)

None of this fixes the Ithakan royal family's issues (boo!)

Oltyx and Yenekh want to get married, Djoseras won't stop pointing out that this is a terrible idea, mostly because he does want Oltyx married off to someone actually worthy (in his mind) before Oltyx's constant arguments with their father lead to something bad (like idk, exile? murder? like that'd ever happen)

Yenekh decides to be an idiot about this. Luckily Unnas finds it hilarious and nobody dies (yet)

Hemiun (yeah that fuckers back) "helpfully" suggests that the incredibly delicate peace between the Ogdobekh and Ithakas could be totally fixed by a political marriage between (for example) their crown prince and Unnas' shitty second son (because obviously you can't marry off your heir, sorry Djoseras)

Poor Zultanekh is also here and just wants to get in Djoseras' incredibly tightly laced pants

Nobody is capable of being even a little bit normal about any of this

I don't have much written yet (and I'm working on entirely different fucked up, necrontyr, arranged marriage situation) but here's a short excerpt:

The liquor was distilled from golden wheat, grown on a planet Zultanekh had tried to take from him nearly seven years ago. Djoseras rarely touched it, saying it burned his throat. The uptight kynazh barely drank wine that wasn’t watered down. Today he didn’t even find a glass, instead electing to take a swig straight from the bottle. He gasped and shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have offered you some.” “No need, my friend, no need.” Zultanekh almost crossed the carpeted floor to place a hand on Djoseras’ shoulder. But Djoseras often tensed when Zultanekh tried to touch him. He refrained, no matter how tempting the idea became. Djoseras released a long sigh. “It’s Oltyx.” “Ah.” That made sense. There were few things in the world that Djoseras cared enough about to provoke such a strong reaction. “What has befallen the younger kynazh?” “Nothing the fool didn’t bring upon himself.” Djoseras pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is going to turn into a mess, I just know it.” Zultanekh folded his massive arms and waited for an explanation. Djoseras often paused before he spoke, forming what he considered the best words before opening his mouth. “Oltyx was caught in a…compromising position,” he said. “With some fringe house scion. A servant saw them. A servant! I managed to find them and buy their silence, but I am not optimistic that they did not spread the word before our conversation. This rumor is going to spread and if it reaches our father…” He winced.  “Dear Djoseras.” Zultanekh felt a twinge of guilt as he tried and failed to suppress a chuckle. “Is this really such a crisis? Is your brother not young? Did he not narrowly escape a slow and tragic death? Is it any wonder he possesses more passion than sense?”

[affectionatepanda]

I have so many interactions at work that go basically like this:

Me: Oh lol, look I’m having Symptoms

Coworker: Are you okay??? Do you need to sit down? Should you even be here right now?

Me: Don’t worry, this is nothing. I’ll be fine.

Narrator: Anyone else would have been at the emergency room but this one is stubborn.