#they want to make better money for the sake of their kids mostly

[moonshinesonic-moonstarslight]

Svsss writing notes: (little reminders for characterization and how to write them) {meant for Moon but if others find it useful, glad it helps!}

Shen Yuan/Qingqiu: beast lover, not big into plants, obsessed with Airplane (like down bad, really bad), cares for his students, thinks himself lazy but is just understimulated give the boy something to do!, don't trust with money (rich kid, doesn't have good examples of good prices), but do trust with quality (has a good eye in this), both in and out of the closet (oblivious to queer feelings, but not embarrassed enough to not act on them most of the time), please don't forget the dick jokes

Shen Jiu/Qingqiu: Snape. But like the irredeemable side of Snape. (Most of the time) Abused and continuing the cycle. Puts in effort into his cultivation, but is so jaded he keeps running into roadblocks. Doesn't trust men, doesn't trust people to believe his side of the story. Doesn't like the fact that his students are doing better than him at learning cultivation (nevermind that they are at the easier earlier stages and he is far more advanced than them). Plays 3d chess with Qinghua with the spy occasionally making it 4 or 5d chess instead. (Note, 3d chess isn't played thinking SQH is a spy. Played because An Ding is a landmine of 'lost' papers and getting the things he wants can be a challenge. Shang-shidi also just fun to mess with.)

Og SQH: (mostly a blank slate, has the most freedom in writing) sneaky, very good at his jobs, never gets caught being a spy, killed for becoming 'useless' after the destruction of Cang Qiong (possibly before) so distant from Mbj (reasons up in the air), sweet but distant

Airplane: Man of many faces. Prim and proper peak lord. Whiny clingy servant. Snarky and distant. Playing 5d chess with time travel almost at all times. Does care for his creations, just mentally distances himself for sanity's sake. Loves lotuses and snow. Mbj's his favorite character. Quiet and deadly, but doesn't fight often. (Sect members do not expect him to fight, sends him out of the way if they can) Good at his jobs, and doesn't get caught until SQQ's death. Plays his role to a t unless told to otherwise. An eginma and a regular person all in one. Flirts without much thought with friends (of which he has few)

Will add others in time...

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

Intercity Relations (An Arcane one-shot)

Description: Spending years studying Interstate relations at Piltover's academy, you made both allies and rivals during your studies. Unlucky for you, Cassandra Kiramman hated your guts ever since you first met. The woman ensured you'd never see Ixtal or Shumira but rather serve as an intercity negotiator between Zaun and Piltover.

Pairing: Vander x afab!reader, NSFW, the reader being born and raised in Piltover™ (so expect some cultural differences, mostly Vander teasing the reader very lovingly). Warnings: I did my best to go over all the typos, but some certainly made it through. The entire 'plot' just for the sake of convenience, age difference (reader being around 25, Vander should be pushing 40 - the math doesn't add up, fuck it), should be set one year after Vander became a dad™, so we aren't in any rush, vile language, mentions of violence and substance abuse. Also, unprotected sex - don't be silly, wrap your willy! The smut is very gentle tho, very loving and fluffy. Jayce and Ezreal being supportive golden retriever besties™. Subtle Jayce and Viktor shenanigans (will miss if you squint your eyes). A/N: I wanted to write something for Vander for so so so long, but never got the inspiration. Three years after the release of Arcane, I finally made my long-lasting dream come true. It's also my first smut after a long time, so I hope you won't find it clunky and lame. Enjoy reading! Music inspo: Mainly by Seven (Jung Kook), Love Again (stolen from Ezreal's playlist, performed by Baekhyun), Moonlight by Kali Uchis & The Weekend by BIBI & 88rising. Word count: 21K (and I fucking ooop-) Music playlist: ezreal's bedroom bangers

The politics and schemes of Piltover's creme of society never ceased to surprise you. That position should've been yours. Heimerdinger more or less confirmed it a week ago - you should've been the negotiator between Shurima and Piltover regarding business and foreseeable Noxian invasion. The Yordle quite literally said you were the 'best suited' for such negotiations, that he'd realized it soon after you started your studies. From the get-go, it was supposed to be you who'd end up with this position. Truth be told, however, the council members despised you for all they got. You weren't some high-class Nancy who'd flatter them with expensive gifts and false compliments - but you were fucking good at negotiating. You were the best of your class. It wasn't Kacey who could barely tie her own shoelaces or God forbid Damien, who had trouble remembering even the most basic negotiation principles. It was you.

Studying at the Academy was an honor, you were aware of that. Your family poured everything into securing your spot there, which you were endlessly grateful for. The Academy gave you a better chance at life than you'd otherwise get. Being a middle-class Piltoverian wasn't as bad, per se, but it wasn't a win either. Anyone in your family knew what poverty or starvation was, had money for medicine and nice clothes, quality food, and your flat just outside downtown wasn't bad either, but you didn't plan on taking after your mother's hat shop. Making hats wasn't a bad hobby, both you and your brother enjoyed creating new designs and spending time with momma, but it didn't fulfill you.

It could be around your 10th birthday when you announced you'd like to be a diplomat one day. Your mom and older brother scoffed at it - no way a small child would aim to be a diplomat, right? Most kids wanted to be princesses or singers, they didn't want to deal with interstate relations. But... The phase never went away. It was clear as day that you weren't aiming for anything else as your fifteenth birthday rolled around - you kept up good grades, went to debate classes, and traveled to Holdrum and Kumangra to take part in various debate competitions; you didn't win all of them, but your arguments always left the jurors in awe. When you were leaving high school, it was recommended for you to apply for the Academy's scholarship.

At that moment your mom finally cracked and said 'Fine, let's give it a shot'. The tender was as enjoyable as could be, there were other excellent kids after your spot at the Academy, after all. It took numerous tryouts and evaluations - the Academy first accounted for your past academic achievements, then came assessment interviews, then various intelligence tests, ending it all with a few rounds of debates. Some of those were nearly nerve-crushing. When you were informed of getting the scholarship, you were also informed about all the strict rules you'd have to obey - starting with a strict dress code, frequent one-on-one evaluations with the dean of your faculty, and ending with oddly specific dorm and library rules.

During the matriculation, you'd meet your best friend for the few following years - he came fashionably late (presumably sleeping in), barging into the dead-silent hall with his clothes hastily put on, his hair a fucking mess. As the boy stood on the stairway (looking like a deer in the headlights), the rector stuttered, watching the latecomer with matching intensity. Leaning over to the boy, you'd grab his sleeve and force him to sit next to you. Honestly, you liked Jayce ever since you first laid your eyes on him. If there was a definition of conventionally attractive, Jayce was it - hazel colored eyes, a bright smile full of straight teeth, clean-shaven face, a perfect haircut that was taken care of (gell and everything), and built like a fucking mountain with his 6'7 in height, as you'd learn later. His facial features were very pleasurable to look at. As you said - Jayce was the 'it'.

"I really thought this ceremony starts at 10 a.m... Two weeks from now." - The man mumbled to you, putting his bag down next to his seat. As he leaned closer to you over, the smell of some nice and surely very expensive cologne tingled in your nose. "They changed it last week on a whim, probably to avoid the matriculation overlapping with Progress Day. Wouldn't know about it if I wasn't moved into dorm already." "Makes enough sense. Did I miss something important?" "Something something, the great future, Piltover, something something, you are our new hope. Something along these lines." - You repeated, chuckling at yourself. Your brother always told you you were fucking horrendous at making friends, but the latecomer seemed to appreciate your sense of humor. Smirking at you, he licked his lips and offered you his palm under the table.

"Name's Jayce Talis." - The guy whispered, feeling as your palm slipped into his. His skin was nicely warm and so soft. A rich Piltie, you assumed. - "What's yours?" "Y/N Y/L/N." - Whispering back, you shook hands, still grinning at one another. - "Hi." "Oh, doesn't your family run a hat shop or something? Mrs. Kiramman loves that place to death, had to endure a fashion show of her and her daughter's hats tailored according to the latest fashion trends in Ixtal." - Jayce wondered, clearly memorizing the lane by heart.

"Yeah, I helped make these. My mom runs it. I was supposed to take over the shop when she'd feel like she couldn't do it anymore." - You explained swiftly, completely forgetting why you two were sitting in the hall. - "You know councilor Kiramman? The Cassandra Kiramman?" "Mhm." - The Jayce guy nodded, showing you dimples in his cheeks. He was getting hotter by the second. - "Also know the dean." "The dean?" - You squirmed, shooting him an amazed look. - "Are you like a child of some super-important politician?" "No. I just know how to make good childhood friends." "Geez. I had to fight for a way in." "My mom had been dead set on my future since day one. Surely, if Cait was a few years older, they'd even arrange our marriage." - Jayce scoffed, turning his eyes to the dean, a Yordle named Heimerdinger. - "How did you fight your way in? Gladiator style, cage match, blood, sand, and everything?" - He muttered, making you snicker as you pretended to listen to the speech. The matriculation had almost two hours of runtime, so you still had an hour and a half ahead of you.

"More of a streetfight style - who'd beat up the most kids to pulp won the scholarship." "Sounds way more exciting than just getting in because you have a rich friend." "I don't think that's the case." - With a smile, you bumped his rib with your elbow. - "Councilor Heimerdinger doesn't seem to be the type to just let anyone study here. We're Piltover's future, aren't you listening to his words? There's gotta something in that noggin' of yours." "I don't think you'd be the type to beat kids into pulps either. Actually, you look like someone I'd love to be friends with. Truthfully, I don't know anyone else inside the Academy, which terrifies me. I'm not a rich kid and I'm not good at talking to these rich assholes." "Didn't you say you're tight with the Kirammans?" "Caitlyn is anything but a rich asshole. She runs her mouth faster than her brain, bless her soul. Sometimes, she blows Mrs. Kiramman out of the water, leaving me speechless. If I were to talk to her mother like this, my mom would lock me up in a cellar until I'd apologize." "Your mom isn't like..." "No." - Jayce ended the discussion categorically. Since he didn't seem to like the topic, you hummed and nodded. "For your information, I think I'd be able to beat up that kid." - Pointing at a veiny, super-skinny ginger with glasses sitting two rows in front of you. - "... But I'm keener on logic and words, you got me there. Nonetheless, I'll take your words as a compliment, Talis. I'd like to... Be friends, I mean." "Lunch after?" - Jayce asked simply, pulling out a paper and a pen on his desk. First, you were concerned; was he about to take notes? Surely not, right? Then, he looked over at you with one of the most devilish grins you'd seen until that day. - "And tick-tack-toe now?" "God, you're already my best friend, Talis." - Without hesitation, you started to draw the playing board, sticking your tongue out of your mouth due to sheer concentration.

As promised, the two of you would set out to have lunch after the assembly, talking about everything and nothing. Talis was a great company - charming, funny, witty, and handsome. What he saw in you? No idea, but the two of you clicked right away. Even after years, you couldn't decipher what Jayce saw in you. The field of your research and studies were as different as could be, so you usually didn't dwell too much on such topics. Of course, you asked 'How are the studies going?' but it was never the centerpiece of your conversation. While you dealt with human relations, Jayce was a scientist, working with some miraculous blue stone (no idea what that was about). It only took a week to realize you'd found the best friend for the few following years. On the very second day, Talis showed you around his workshop, designating it as your hangout spot outside the faculty - it was a small maisonette with an enormous balcony and a very tiny bathroom. The upper floor was holding a bed and a couch. Since it also had a small fridge, you could just buy some beers and snacks for late-night study sessions and screw the dorm.

This friendship seemed fishy. People like Jayce Talis (attractive, genius, and charming) usually didn't seek company with the likes of you. Piltover was just a rat race, people climbing on the social ladders, striving for a better life. Jayce, on the other hand, didn't seem to be that guy. It seemed like he genuinely doesn't give a fuck. Also, Caitlyn Kiramman liked you, ensuring she'd like you even if you'd crawl out of the deepest part of the Undercity. Just as Jayce informed you, Cait's mouth ran much faster than her brain. You found this part of Kiramman endearing. Even though Talis sent you nothing but good vibes to you, it was hard to just accept this pure form of friendship. It took him around a week and a half to truly convince you he isn't hanging out with you for some insane, out-of-this-world reason. The guy simply liked being around you. That was also the first time Jayce sang and danced around you while studying in his condo - he was an awful singer.

Keeping the promise, you'd gather early the following Monday, ready to celebrate Progress Day. The festival was kicked off with yet another of Heimer's speeches (of which you and Talis appropriately made fun; nothing mean, just stupid jokes here and there). The rest of the day was in your hands - and dear God, you had a lot to wander through. Various attractions from all around the world, newest inventions, doubtful souvenirs, and snack stands... You simply loved the Progress Day. As you absentmindedly licked on your ice-creams, a boy stopped you. Neither of you could know that this particular man will soon be the last member of your party.

While also being very good-looking, the boy couldn't be more different from Jayce. He was around your age and based on his uniform, he was too a student at the Academy. His blonde hair was stylized perfectly, his blue eyes were piercing, you'd swear you hadn't seen clearer skin before and his facial features resembled those of a sculpture or a painting. He'd been considerably shorter than Jayce, but equally as handsome... Also, he was visibly distressed.

"Uh, hi you two. Hi. How you doin'?." - The boy greeted you, shaking your hand loosely as he fidgeted around, looking over his shoulders. You were pretty positive the stranger didn't even look you in the face before gripping your hand. "Hi?" - You asked, furrowing at him. He'd been shaking your hand for over a minute, still searching for something in the crowd... Or someone. - "Do you need something?" "I'm in a bit of trouble. Hi." - The boy jumped over to shake Jayce's hand frantically. - "Could you help me? It won't take long." "What can we do for you?" - Jayce asked. You've been both grinning by that point. The boy's behavior was funny. "I'm trying to run away from my blind date. She's been going on a tangent about how we 'belong together even in the heavens' and that I must be the guy her 'oracle saw in the tarot cards'."

"That sounds scary." - Jayce admitted, carefully twisting his palm from the stranger's grasp. The blonde boy, however, didn't seem to notice as he still looked around for his blind date. - "What do you say, Y/N? I'd be pretty scared if you pulled out a stunt like that." "I was just about to get to what my oracle said about you, Talis, but I mean... It sounds like the start of a horror story. I'm down to whatever." "Geez, you guys are the best and I mean that. My name's Ezreal, by the way."

When Ez piped down a bit and wasn't searching for the mysterious oracle girl, he was good company. As you walked through the main square and adjacent streets, he explained that he was studying history at the Academy and that you were in the same year. His parents were archeologists who traveled all over Runeterra so he was often left in Piltover under the care of his uncle, famous professor Lymere. That's how Ezreal got into the Academy anyway - quoting Ezreal, 'it definitely wasn't his intellectual prowess'. The guy was in awe when Jayce also invited Ezreal to his convo to share some beers while waiting for the fireworks to go off. Even though he seemed to be a social butterfly, Ezreal admitted people didn't stick around for long, often calling him 'annoying' or 'difficult to be around'; Jayce's invitation genuinely moved him. That's how you met your two best friends in the whole wide world.

The three of you were so different that you completed each other. You've been the most grounded in reality - studying political situations and people gave you a good insight into the world around you. If the two boys felt like arguing with someone, you were their person - you could go on for hours, debating like your life depended on it, beating them with facts grounded in reality.

Ezreal, on the other hand, was the dreamer and romantic. Boy, oh boy, his romantic endeavors were something - each week, you'd have to commiserate and listen to him obsessing over a different girl. You and Jayce would be the first to know all the details about his latest miserable breakup and future plans. He'd been prone to dramatize and exaggerate. Also, while being street-smart and intelligent (to a degree), Ezreal could come across as very naive and innocent. It was fun watching him not having a clue about his romantic interest's innuendos or hints, ignoring it all like the sweet summer child he was. You'd seen a lot of his romantic failures, if you had to be honest - the boy often invited you and Jayce for hangouts with his newest discovery (secretly hoping to set you up), and at times, you had to do your best not to start hysterically laughing right into his face. You loved Ezreal.

Jayce was the scientist of your group - he'd constantly lived in the world of wonder, progress, and inventions, constantly building towards a better future. His grind never stopped for anything. You and Ezreal would listen to his drunken rambles about how he'll change the world one day - you liked to believe Jayce. His dreams sounded nice. Despite Ezreal's best hopes, the two of you never hit it off - there was never a spark of romantic interest between you. Jayce often joked he didn't have time for romance, but if he would, he'd definitely ask you out - at that, you'd laugh and say 'Stop keeping your damn hopes up, this ain't happening, Talis'. Anytime you'd bump into something you didn't understand or felt emotionally vulnerable and wanted to share with someone, Jayce became your go-to person. His condo became the party's designed hangout spot, so you'd spend most of your Academy days there, watching over Piltover with dumb smiles.

All and all, you couldn't ask for better friends.

It was also this duo that expected your acceptance letter with batted breath alongside you. As usual, you'd barge into his condo. The two were talking before Ezreal raised his eyes to you frantically waving the letter around. Before you barged in, Ezreal was leaning over Jayce's shoulder (talking about Rachel... Again) and watched as the scientist connected wires in his latest contraption.

You and Jayce graduated earlier this summer, actually. Jayce, as you expected, finished his studies with a red diploma. You'd expect him to move out of Piltover, and work on his tech in collaboration with scientists from the other states - to your surprise, the man chose to work under the science faculty of the Academy. Ezreal, on the other hand, had to retake two classes - maths and geography of Runeterra... Despite all odds, this was a major success in your books. He'd been expecting to retake at least four. "It's here, bozos." - You announced, demanding their full attention. Ezreal straightened up, walking closer to you - Jayce just turned around in his chair and waited for you to start reading. "I'm sure it's Shurima. Like, 100% positive. Heimer talked about you enthusiastically last week, Y/N. I've heard it all." - Coach Ezreal mumbled supportively while walking behind you to massage your shoulders. As he patted your shoulder, you nodded at his words and let out a huge sigh before tearing the envelope outside. You had to be the next Piltoverian diplomat. It had to be you. It was always supposed to be you.

"Dear Ms. Y/N Y/L/N." - The letter started. - "It is a pleasure to welcome you on board our organization as the newest foreign service specialist. That's a good sign, no?" - You took a breath in, looking at both the boys; your fingers were trembling, breath shallow. "Jesus, don't stop in the middle of the letter!" - Ez exclaimed with a furrow. "Just go on." - Jayce mumbled, hanging on your lips. "Due to exceeding the number of current foreign specialists in the field, we are pleased to announce your new position as the official negotiator between the two states of Piltover and Zaun... Your accommodation in the state of Zaun will be... In case of unclarities, please contact..." - The blood in your veins froze as you read more and more. - "... Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Oh no..." - Ezreal sighed softly, his expression sagging as he watched tears forming in your eyes. You could barely breathe, your fingers shaking, your heart beating rapidly. You've never felt more betrayed in your life - this should've been your fucking moment to spread your wings and leave Piltover. You were supposed to explore the world just like you and Ezreal dreamed. You've been supposed to take part in negotiations between nations and... - "It's okay." "It's not okay!" - Both the boys' hearts broke upon seeing you break down, squealing at the top of your lungs. - "I've worked so fucking hard and everything..." - Jayce offered you an empty bottle so you could break it by throwing it on the ground, letting the anger out. It was better to clean up some mess than see you in ruins. - "... And that bitch, that old foul hag, that fucking snake!" - (Another bottle) - "I've always known she wouldn't fucking let me go. The moment I met her during my evaluations, I knew she hated me." - (Another bottle) - "To her bad fucking luck, Heimerdinger liked me, so she couldn't just get rid of me." - Your hand stretched out for another bottle, but Jayce stopped you. "I don't think she dislikes you..." - Talis approached you from behind, carefully massaging your shoulder. - "I just think something's going on in Zaun. The council would have someone who lived here their whole life and can trust as their diplomat, rather than someone who's not oriented in the problems and dynamics."

"Hey, I gotta repeat that geography class just because I looked at the professor funny. No one even wants to employ me." - Ezreal spoke slowly and softly, smiling at you. Grinning at his statement, you started to dry out your tears. "You gotta repeat it because the professor found out you're fooling around with his daughter." "Ehh... Maybe, but that's not the point." - Ezreal giggled, smoothing your shoulder. - "Listen, Y/N, you're the smartest and prettiest girl I know. You're able to inspire people, talk them through everything, and argue for hours when it comes down to it. And... The Undercity's not that bad, really. I know a few dudes selling fun stuff. I can introduce you to some of them to get you started?" "Ezreal..." - It was a high-pitched whine as you hugged him, letting out a long breath. His words made you emotional, moving you until you felt a fuzzy warmth spreading inside your chest.

"But... If I'm the prettiest girl you know, why didn't you ask me out yet?" - You joked, giggling. Being transferred to the Undercity wasn't all bad. It had its advantages - you'd stay close to your family and best friends. You didn't have to hope you'd bump into each other once a year, you could see them anytime you wanted. You'd be on hand in case your ma or bro needed help with the hat shop. You didn't have to leave your old life behind. "Because I respect you too much to let you fool around with someone like me." - The blonde sighed, hugging you back. Jayce was already on cleaning duty, brewing you all a cup of hot cocoa. It was exactly what you needed, in his expert opinion. As usual, Jayce was right. "... It's because you know I'd see right through your bullshit, right?" "... Yeah, you got me there, girl."

Two weeks later:

The Undercity was definitely not what you'd expect. First things first, it smelled horrible - when you talked to the lady who was introducing you to the issues at hand, she warned you about the possibility of wearing a mask. The Grey (fumes from factories located in the Underbelly) was making the air heavy. So far, so good; while the place reeked, it never got too bad. Secondly, the people didn't cut your head off when meeting you. The Trenchers were indifferent when it came to you; it was clear as day you weren't native to Zaun, but they didn't care much. The number of Enforcers traveling to Zaun was actually quite impressive. You've been worried you'd have to fight for your life, but just like Ezreal promised, Zaun wasn't that bad. Thirdly, your newly assigned condo and monthly payment were good. It gave you enough financial freedom to be fully self-sufficient, which felt simply wonderful. People from the agency acted respectfully towards you, putting weight on Jayce's words; maybe it was a last-minute decision to assign you to Zaun. Maybe, something was brewing on the horizon.

Your assigned informant from the agency told you to ask for Sheriff Grayson of the Piltover's Enforcers. If she knows who's the authority in Lanes, she could introduce you to them and get you accustomed. The problem with Zaun was simple - the city wanted independence from Piltover. If you wanted proof, all you had to do was to take the last riot into account. Your job was to secure a fool-proof plan that would benefit both parties while not degrading either. Well, with Piltover's attitude towards Zaun, that ask turned into a whole another pain in the ass, you realized fairly soon-ish.

Sheriff Grayson turned out to be a reasonable, charming woman with a lot of wisdom regarding both sides of the conflict; she referred to someone named 'Vander', the man who had a reputation and respect among the Zaunites. Ezreal wasn't aware of anyone named Vander, but he knew a black-market trader named Benzo. The blonde swore that if anyone knew Vander, it would be his dealer. "You look like you're acclimatizing fairly well." - The boy brought up as you locked the door to your condo, leaving to see Benzo. - "How is Zaun treating you?" "Hm... It's not as bad as I'd assume, no one tried stabbing me so far." - It was a bad joke, but Ez chuckled nonetheless. Walking down the stairs, your elbow mindlessly entwined with his as usual. You were happy Ezreal came to visit you in the Lanes. Throughout the last week, you've only talked to Sheriff Grayson and your sweet land lady who also had dementia.- "I'm just... Lonely. The two of you are living on the other side of Sun Canal. Getting over that damn bridge is hard, even for a diplomat. That said, the folk are more or less nice around here. They don't welcome me with arms wide open, but they're polite so far."

"Sounds like you'll get used to living here before you know it. You'd get along even with someone as demonic as old prof Lymere, on my honor." "Your uncle sounds like a tough nut. I appreciate the trust, though, young Mr. Lymere. Big preach." "After you, m'lady Y/L/N." - Ezreal exclaimed dramatically, holding the front door open for you; he even bowed, having you giggle under your breath.

Seeing Zaun through Ezreal's eyes was fascinating. The blonde definitely spent a lot of time here, knowing most of the small shops and dark alleys you wouldn't dare to go to alone. As you walked through the Lanes, he told you the history of it all; how Zaun came to be, what were its most historically significant locations, and a bit about their culture (Ezreal described it as 'pretty grim' and moved on). Benzo's pawn shop was located just off the main street - it wasn't in any grim alley where you wouldn't go in a million years or anything like that - it was a pretty nice place if you'd have to be honest. Sure, most of the goods were giving 'not acquired legally' vibes, but that wasn't your jurisdiction, so you didn't bother commenting on it. Benzo himself wasn't a bad person either, you liked him. After Ezreal introduced you, the atmosphere even shifted to a lighthearted meeting of two acquaintances. A small boy was slacking around the pawn shop, goggling his enormous brown eyes at you, but Benzo soon sent him away.

"At least, he'll have something to tell the other nuisances about." - Benzo sighed, clearly referring to other children growing up in the Lanes. - "Young Mr. Lymere. What do I owe the pleasure?" "I'm not here for business today, Benzo. My friend needs a bit of help." "Ah, really? And what can I do for the young lady? Anything particular she's looking for?" "Not something, but someone. She's not... Interested in buying, if you will." - Ezreal explained as he played with various trinkets lying around the shop. You didn't want to talk until you'd be introduced, so you simply stood around and watched the exchange. - "Y/N was sent here by the council." - In that instant, Benzo's demeanor switched to hostile for a bit. "Ah, wonderful." - The man gritted with a forced smile. - "What do these jerks need?" "I'm here to handle diplomatic communications between Piltover and Zaun. Seems like the council finally considered Zaun's declaration of independence, the one that happened a year ago. I'm here to ensure things go as smoothly as they can. I mean no harm."

Benzo watched you with a furrow, thinking about his answer. Ezreal leaned into the counter with a mischievous smile on his lips. - "Y/N is one of the best people I've met, Benzo, I can vouch for her if my word means anything to you." "Sorry if I came across as an old bastard, the folk often call me one." - The pawnshop laughed, offering you his palm. - "Name's Benzo, young lady. I'm the owner of this pawnshop, as Mr. Lymere surely informed you. Nice to know someone cares."

Yeah, only if you cared voluntarily, huh? You accepted the handshake nonetheless, offering him the sweetest smile you mustered. - "Y/N Y/L/N, call me Y/N. Nice to meet you, Benzo." "See, I told you, you'll be fine anywhere." - Ezreal smiled, nudging your side. "Who's the poor soul you're looking for?" "Sheriff Grayson referred me to someone going by 'Vander'. Said he's a geezer with one hell of a reputation around here. If there would be anyone these folk listen to, she said, it's Vander. Ever heard of him? I'd like to go over what the people could want so I could relay it to the council and start with the negotiations."

"If I know that old rascal? Ha!" - Benzo started laughing again. You liked him more and more by the minute. - "Everyone around here does. He runs a pub, you had to cross it on your way here. The Last Drop, does that ring any bells?" "Oh, yeah!" - Both you and Ezreal nodded in unison. The main pub in the largest square of the Lanes, a local district filled to the brim with former black market operations as Ezreal informed you just half an hour prior. - "Looked welcoming." "You bet, two lovebirds like you won't find a better place to make out anywhere around here." "Oh! That's not... You got it wrong!" - You exclaimed, falling into a fit of wholehearted laughter. This was the first time you laughed during your stay in Zaun - you laughed so hard your belly hurt, tears streaming down your face. "I know we've been over this, but this genuinely hurts my feelings, Y/N." - Ezreal muttered, fighting laughter himself. - "Anyway, thanks for the help, Benzo."

"You ever go there to have a cold one by any chance?" - You wondered, wiping the tears, calming down. Each time people assumed you and Ezreal were a thing, this was your reaction - breaking down, laughing so hard you cried. - "I've got the feeling I'll be spending a lot of time there." "I'll see you around, Y/N." "Can't wait!" - As the door closed behind you, Ezreal nudged your side again before letting you entwine your elbow with his. It helped you feel safe, especially in places such as this.

The Last Drop. Entering the pub, you got a feeling this is precisely the place where everything goes down. This was your first time being in a place such as this, so you looked around with batted breath while Ezreal led you to a table, nodding at a few people here and there. It genuinely felt like the lair of all the sin and alcohol. People played pool, some sulked around drinking, dancing in front of a small jukebox, playing cards or arm wrestling, laughing, and joking around. Each game was played for a bid, this pub was gamble-core galore. While you never even tried playing poker for money, Ezreal genuinely seemed to be acquainted with some of the Last Drop's patrons, nodding their way. These people felt different than those who you met until that moment... More alive, more fun, nicer. Well, until a skirmish broke out in front of the bar; a 6'8 man with chemtech augmentations punched another dude square in the face, resulting in both of them being dragged out by other patrons.

And that was when you first saw him.

He'd been talking with a woman sitting at the bar, snickering at her remark while absentmindedly polishing pints. The man, whoever he fucking was, looked like a sculpture. First, there was the smile - the mischievous spark in it, something vaguely boyish in his eyes as he looked at the woman, his watery-colored eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Secondly, you admired his facial structure. There was something so... Good-looking about his jaw and small, nicely shaped lips. You liked it when he smiled and immediately started imagining if you could make him laugh. Your heart skipped a beat upon that imagination. Thirdly, his hair and beard were visibly kept in good shape, but overgrown; it looked good on him, though, which was a look not a lot of men could pull off. And fucking lord, he was so well built. Broad shoulders, strong forearms, nicely shaped waist that begged to be hugged by your arms. Piltover didn't have men like similar to this kind, you were sure of that - he appeared to be gruff, but the mischievous smile told you otherwise. His posture and body screamed dominance, but his eyes whispered safety.

There was no doubt in your mind that the mysterious bartender was probably twice your age and that you definitely shouldn't be thirsting over him. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't look away from him - the longer you watched him, the more deranged scenarios devoured your mind. Witch each piece of clothing disappearing, your mouth felt drier, the boiling hot blood traveling right between your thighs. It was impossible to look away from him. His presence ensured you wouldn't pay attention to anything else as you sat there, gravitating towards him like a moth to a lamp.

Each move he made was like cinema to you and each time his lips moved as he talked to the lady, butterflies started tingling in your belly. You wanted him to talk to you this way, was it a far cry to imagine you'd catch his attention? What were you thinking? He was a Trencher, you were a Piltie; two utterly different worlds. This guy probably wouldn't be interested in you, would he? Well, a girl can dream...

"Ezreal to Y/N. Are you okay?" - Ezreal bumped into your shoulder, making you finally look away from the bartender. Clearing your throat, trying not to appear as a flustered deer in the headlights, you looked at the spunky kid standing next to your table, seemingly getting your order. Her expression was unreadable and judging by her age and the bruise under her eye, she wasn't working here voluntarily. Who was she? "Sorry, I got lost in my thoughts. What's the best drink you have?" - You tried sounding at least a bit excited, but the kid just pointed to the menu and walked away. - "She seems friendly." "Probably got herself into some sort of trouble and got punished by helping that Vander guy, don't take it too personally." - Ezreal muttered, watching as you got up. - "Where are you going?" "I'll the bartender about the best drink… And about Vander." "And will you at least get a beer for me?" - Ez cried out as you disappeared into the crowd showing him thumbs, too busy staring at the mysterious man to look back at Ez.

If you weren’t mesmerized by the bartender, your shoulder wouldn’t bump into a very imposing woman who, at the time, played pool with her buddies. If you hadn’t bumped into her, she wouldn’t spill and break her pint on the ground. If her beer hadn’t been spilled, she wouldn’t turn around to take a good look at you. Upon the sound of shattering glass, the pub fell silent for a second, everyone turning their attention to the two of you. Before Ezreal got the time to get off his ass to get you outta there, the woman shoved you to the ground; so harshly that your head hit the wooden flooring. The bartender was forgotten as you grunted in pain, picking yourself off the ground; you didn’t have to bother, though. The woman gripped the hem of your jacket, making you tiptoe as she forcibly invaded your space - even though you didn’t consider yourself to be the smallest bean in the room, her physical build definitely overshone yours. She watched you like fucking prey, ready to kick or punch your teeth in.

“The fuck do you think you doin’, huh?” - The woman gritted through her teeth, biting down on a toothpick. - “You're not local, are you? Fucking Pilties, thinking you own everything 'round here, actin' like nothin' can happen to you. Guess what, princess.” “It was an accident. Put her down so we can talk this through. Sevika, c'mon.” - The friend she played against was trying to get you outta there. Even though it was a nice sentiment from the stranger, Sevika scoffed as her palms pulled you even closer.

Holy shit. Were you about to get your soul kicked out of you just two weeks after moving into Zaun? Had to be some sort of speed run record, you were positive.

“As if. Pilties gotta learn their lesson, just like we learned ours back on the bridge. Better if this pretty little thing learns it soon on.” “I’ll buy you another round, how 'bout that?” - You choked out with trouble, catching her palms in yours as you did your best to defuse the situation. Ezreal was standing just next to you now, ready to get into a fight if it would get to it. The boy, bless him, being a sweet summer child was still willing to fight for your dignity and honor. - “I’m sure we can talk about it.” “That’s all you, fucking Pilties - all talk and no walk. Zaun isn’t for people like you. You don’t belong here, sweetcheeks, you ruined our lives and now,…” - With each word, Sevika brought you closer, tightening the grip on your t-shirt. Just as you started to feel her breath on your cheeks, someone else stepped into the spectacle - someone's palm circled around her forearm, forcing her to put you back down.

It was him, the man you were mesmerized with. The bartender. The tender expression and feelings in his eyes were replaced with an unpleasant furrow directed towards Sevika. Now that he was closer, you realized he was even more handsome than you assumed. His head was cocked towards his shoulder, his brows knitted together, veins on his palm and forearm prominent due to the force he applied on Sevika's grip.

“'t’s enough.” - The man said quietly and slowly, the tension immediately defusing into thin air as your feet touched the ground. - “‘t was an accident, nothin’ more. Lass said she’ll buy you a new round, so I don’t see any problem 'ere. This is not how we welcome people 'round here.” "Old man, did you already forget..." - Sevika gasped for air, the muscles on her arm tensing as she got ready to pack a hefty punch to the man. The bartender, however, remained cool as a cucumber - simply stared at her, not flinching out of the way. "Of all the folk 'round, I'm the one who remembers everythin'. Also, you should remember it's unwise to threaten the guy who pours the drinks 'round here." "Let's get you some air, you." - Sevika's companion mutters, tugging her towards the door. - "Let's go for a walk, c'mon."

"Hey." - When Sevika was out of the door, the life in the pub started moving again - people got back to their gambling, arm wrestling, and talking, seemingly forgetting about anything even happening. The bartender was now turned to you, patting your shoulder gently while leading you towards the bar. - "You alrite?" "I'm whole, which is better than I anticipated. Sorry for causing trouble during your shift, though. Must be a lot as it is." "Huh?" - That smirk... His damned smirk made you forget about who you've been and what you were supposed to be doing in the Last Drop. - "Trouble? Sevika? Don't take it personally. I know that can be hard to do, but still. Local folk are usually much nicer."

"I've noticed." - You nodded, flushing simply because he was talking to you. Christ, you were down bad, almost starting to feel like Ezreal. - "Been living here for the past two weeks. You people are... Indifferent. But better than you being hostile." "Indifferent?" - The guy repeated after you, sending you a small, warm smile. - "That's a first. Never been called indifferent before. That a compliment?" "Depends on if you'd like to take it as such, I suppose." - His expression made you smile back at him, heart pounding in your chest. "Y'know what? I'll take it as one." - His chuckle almost sent you spiraling, making you smile at him dumbfoundedly. - "So, what can I do you for?"

"I would want a beer for that gentleman over there." - Pointing over at Ezreal, the boy just waved in your direction. - "And a drink for me." "Ordering 'a drink' doesn't narrow it enough I'm afraid, sweetheart." "What's your best drink, then?" - You wondered, enjoying the atmosphere and banter you had going on. "Do you like surprises?" "I can do without them." - You sighed in defeat. - "I can make an exception, though. One-time ocassoon, tho, don't take your chances." "Wouldn't dream of it."

While he mixed the drinks, you were keeping him company. Letting the banter flow, he started asking you why you moved to Zaun, whether you're suffering or enjoying yourself, and how you like the pub... Small talk every bartender makes to appease their customers, more or less. Even though it was this basic, you couldn't look away from him - where he moved, your eyes followed. When he smiled, you mimicked. Whenever he was closer than a foot, your heart skipped a beat. He smelled so nice, so earthy, like wood, jasmine and oranges.

"Oh, by the way." - You reminded yourself as he finished the drink, facing away from you to keep it as 'a surprise'. Uh-hm was all you got in response. - "I'm here to meet someone named Vander? Rings a bell?" "I'd assume so. What do ya need of that old bastard, sweetheart?" "I'm here to talk about possible future negotiations between Piltover and Zaun. The council wants to grant this region greater rights in exchange for peace." "You're a diplomat?" - The man stopped, bright pink cocktail umbrella hanging between his fingers. The atmosphere seemed to fade away while he processed the information, his smile disappearing.

"Listen, you have nothing to worry about. I'm here to make sure everything goes smoothly and help as much as I can. Vander isn't in any sort of danger. Sheriff Grayson referred to him as someone who'd be in a position to make demands for the Zaunites." "You're pretty young for a diplomat's what I meant to say, sweetheart. Don't take it the wrong way. One'd assume such a young thing would have other things on her mind." "You know him or not?" - You asked, amused by his explanation. "'s me. Vander, pleasure's on my side."

Oh shit. Oh fuck. So this was Vander. The former 'Hound of the Underground', as Grayson informed you. This beautiful man, this absolute spectacle... Was the guy you'd spend hours and hours with talking about political nonsense? This both excited and worried you. It was a curse in disguise. How were you supposed to even start talking to him? The moment you'd be alone, your mind would fill with very inappropriate fucking thoughts. "Oh, snap." "Haven't heard anything more Piltoverian in a long time. Well... How 'bout you?" "What about me?" "What's your name, sweetheart? Wouldn't mind calling you names, but when we get to business, I wouldn't wanna come across as immature... God forbid rude." - The way his tongue deliberately stretched 'business' between his lips made you swoon, gasping for air in hopes Vander wouldn't notice (he definitely noticed).

"Y/N, my name's Y/N Y/L/N. Pleasure's on my side." "Hey now, that's my line." - With a chuckle, Vander put down a cocktail in front of you. It was dark blue, frothy with crushed ice, decorated by a piece of orange and that pink cocktail umbrella you'd seen earlier. - "Look at the beauty." - Vander smiled, pushing it a bit closer. No idea what he was talking about (whether you or the cocktail), but your heart skipped a beat. Again. - "The best drink I can make. Hope it'll taste good. "How much?" "Hm?" - Vander asked, watching as you pulled out your wallet. "For the drinks. How much?" "Leave it, 's on the house." "No way, cowboy. How - much?" "Take it as compensation for Sevika's tantrum earlier, doll." - Fucking hell, this nickname almost gave you a heart attack. - "If you keep on flatterin' me, ya not payin' a single dime." "Unprofessional. Immature. Rude." - You gritted and passed a few Valors on the bar. - "Take the tip, at least." "'Aight. Can say no to that. If you'd want another drink or anythin' else, just wave at me. I'll be there in no time. Deal, sweetheart?" "What a smooth criminal you are, Vander. Thank you kindly." - As you took both drinks and walked back to your table, you couldn't see the smile freeze on Vander's face as you called him a 'smooth criminal'. Did you know? Had Greyson mentioned his impressive portfolio that still haunted him to that day? The Hound of the Underground. That's how people knew him, why they respected him.

"So, did we find the guy, or..." "Right there. The bartender. That's our guy." "Oh... Wow." - Ezreal leaned his elbow into the chair, eyeing Vander properly. - "Seems decent enough of a man. Expected someone older, though." "He's very nice and very polite." "Heh. Sure. Nice and polite." - Ezreal snickered, looking at you. You really had no fucking clue, did you? About how assertive you were, about how lovely the features of your face were. On the occasions, he and Jayce got you into a tight corner and you got flustered (which happened rarely) and you became a stuttering, annoyed mess, you were one of the most beautiful girls Ezreal had laid eyes on. And no, he wasn't saying it out of chivalry or because you two were best friends - it was because you were best that he pulled his head out of his ass for once and behaved the best he could. Back when you got the letter? Ezreal meant each word.

Collaborating with Vander actually wasn't as bad as you worried it'd be. With each meeting, you'd swoon harder and harder but managed to pull your head out of your ass to focus on the responsibilities at hand. In the beginning, Vander did his best to inform you about how things are and go in Zaun so you'd be accommodated better. Usually, he'd either invite you before he'd open the pub or reserve you a spot at the bar, where you'd talk about points that started coming up over time - like Enforcer oppression, increasing drug usage, and inadequate means for children to reach at least basic education. His points and observations were reasonable and understandable.

When he wouldn't be talking about business with you, as he settled on calling it, your mind would be consumed with him as he rambled about everything and nothing. Sometimes, you wouldn't even listen to him, you'd simply sip on your drink and let his deep voice intoxicate your brain. His smell, God almighty, his fucking smell. Over time, you've become mesmerized with the details. Vander throwing the tea towel over his broad shoulder, polishing the bar, the muscles on his back dancing in unison. How his fingers ruffled his hair. His smile when he greeted patrons and regulars. How he bit on his lower lip when he thought of a response. How he smoothed his beard when you said something out of pocket... So many details. You loved watching him like a stage play, especially when he served other guests. Did he know? He must've known - he'd send you a knowing grin each time your fingers brushed over the document you've been working on. Vander even went as far as figuring out which nickname you liked the most. Seeing as you shrugged and stuttered each time he'd call you a doll, it became his most used word.

Was he this attentive to all the other female guests? You couldn't tell. You liked watching him work, yes, but you weren't listening in on their conversation. Was it a formality, due to occupation, a game or did he mean it when he occasionally flirted with you? Some compliments Vander came up with left you speechless. He was the man to notice subtle wardrobe changes and make-up experimentations, mainly because you dressed differently than 90% of the local population. He'd be the first to comment on phrases 'so Piltoverian it hurt'. When it got late enough at the Last Drop and you'd be tipsy enough, Vander got daring enough to compliment your smile, saying it always 'lit up his entire day'. This man knew how to run his fucking mouth, sending you into spirals each time he'd whip out a compliment.

What he was hesitant about, however, was touching you - in moments when he stopped paying attention, his hand would slip on your shoulder blades as he watched you writing into the document. You never commented on it, you loved it when he touched you - it sent a heat wave through your entire body, making your breath hitch in your throat and push your thighs close together. As soon as he saw you looking at his palm, it would be gone from your back, leaving you craving more.

Benzo became one of your best friends in the Undercity, you had to admit. He had his oddities, but he'd welcome you inside his shop whenever you dropped for a visit. Ekko, the young boy you've met earlier, was introduced to you as his ward. The boy grew to adore you - you'd bring him sweets when you visited Piltover and tell him about how it looks and works up there. Benzo explained that his ward is very good with inventions, a scientist by heart - you'd promised Ekko you'd show him Jayce's workshop sometime in the future. Each time he'd be in Last Drop, whenever you came to have something to eat, a drink, or work with Vander, Benzo'd wave at you over the entire pub and save you a spot on the bar. Even though his business surely had little to nothing to do with legality, you grew fond of him.

That night, you've waited until Vander would close the pub. The place slowly depopulated while Vander flickered most of the lighting, drowning it in darkness. The only remaining light was above your head, shining right into the Blue Lagoon you'd ordered earlier. "And who'd busted your bubble?" - Vander asked quietly, watching as you played around with the cocktail umbrella. No matter what drink you ordered, he ensured you'd always have a cocktail umbrella stuck in. - "Even put some oranges in it, you've seemed to enjoy it the last time." "Just tired, I think, been finishing the document so I can turn it in. Grammar and formatting are a pain in the ass." "Sorry to hear that, doll." - The big guy huffed, sitting on the neighboring stool while patting your shoulder. Joining in, he poured himself a beer. Again, your breath hitched as you enjoyed every second of his body touching yours. - "What was wrong with the last draft? Thought it looked decent 'nough?" "Overlooked some paragraphs and spacing. Council would return it to me the moment they'd notice." "Well, 't least you tried." "Hm." - You sighed, putting your head on the bar.

"Hey, you." - Vander chuckled, his head cocked to the side as he tried keeping eye contact with you. - "Can you smile?" "Why would I do that? I'm suffering." "C'mon, pretty girl. Smile." - He'd whisper, gently caressing your back. The caress made you breathe in shakily, smiling as he asked. - "See? The nite is suddenly much better." "You're such a comedian. Why do I take the bait each time?" "Maybe you like smilin' at someone handsome as me?" - Vander opposed, making you giggle. He was the handsome man you'd met, that much was true.

It wasn't just about being attracted to him at this point, though. There was more than level-surface attraction and crackling chemistry - you liked him. Seriously liked him. As you lay away in your flat, you'd play with your blanket and think about how things could be in a perfect world - Vander would close the inn and come home shortly after midnight, kissing you on the forehead after he'd take off his jacket. That would most certainly wake you up, so you'd join him in the kitchen for a bit before leading him to bed. You usually had to stop yourself, forcefully, from letting the daydream carry on - you'd only imagine stripping him of his clothes when you got desperate enough, jerking off before sleep. It needed to be let out. Vander had to know how you felt about him. To either decline your offer or agree to try pushing the boundaries a bit. You've been tipsy enough to conclude that confrontation was a great fucking idea - you've had enough of watching other women goggling their eyes at him, pushing their breasts together as they'd order. It was bothering to look at his well-trained smile (the smile you've learned to love) as he answered them, winking their way. You liked the guy, you loved spending time with him... And he seemed to be interested as well. To what degree, you had no idea about it, but he surely liked having you around.

"Or maybe..." - It took all of your courage to turn at him, putting your palm on his upper thigh. Vander's fingers stopped caressing the glass, squinted his eyes, and tried deciphering what you've been up to. Your touch felt wonderful and, for the love of God, you smelled so good. "What has gotten into you, doll, hm?" - The man whispered, gently moving strands of your hair out of your face, smiling warmly. Your eyes were open wide, filled with little sparkles as you stared at his face. "I want to kiss you, Vander." - With those words, his motions stopped altogether.

Of course, he thought about kissing you. Multiple times - each time you were sitting at the bar and sent him a smile, to be precise. It would be easy to simply lean over, smooth your cheek, and steal all your thunder. In fact, you couldn't have an idea what you were doing to him, intoxicating his brain with the sweetest scenarios and possibilities. It would be the easiest way of shutting you up whenever Vander got you flustered; he enjoyed when you turned into a stuttering, annoyed cute little mess, though. It was endearing watching you try to get yourself off the sinking boat while digging yourself a deep grave. Vander also thought about much more than just kissing you - he'd seen you naked so many times (inside his head), he'd swear he'd recognize your body amongst other women, even with the lights off. Your strange turns of phrases often made his tummy tingle with butterflies as he laughed, explaining to you that you sounded too Piltoverian. Your expression and widened eyes goggling at him made him feel warm and fuzzy on the inside... You've managed to make the Hound of the Underground soften. Fucking God almighty, your outfits made Vander's heart flutter - it was a mix of everything; sometimes you'd be wearing a fluffy white blouse paired with a brown tar-tar vest and derby trousers, other times you'd appear in a bright-colored dress and paired with, again, a tight vest. Even though you always looked out of place, Vander loved that about you. His eyes never searched for you too long, not to mention you looked like an absolute goddess. The derby trousers did nothing for your buttcheeks. When serving, he'd have to keep himself away from you so he wouldn't slap them. How would you sound if he'd made you squeak? Or if you'd be a whining, meowling mess as he'd hover over you, losing his senses to you? How would his name sound when screamed at the top of your lungs?

No matter how hard Vander had it for you (literally and figuratively), there wasn't a world when it would work for both of you. He'd been a Zaunite gangster back in the day, recently reformed into a full-time father and pub owner. Ah, when talking about fatherhood - you didn't even know he's looking after four fucking kids. You didn't have a clue about Vi, Powder, Mylo and Claggor. How could you? Such a pretty young thing didn't deserve a life like this - bound to one place without the alternative to leave. Vander couldn't leave Zaun. But you could. Each time Vander realized how intelligent you truly were, it would knock the air outta his lungs - if there was anyone with a bright future, it got to be you. You had the entire Runeterra laying at your feed, ready for you to explore every nook and cranny. You had places to be, people to meet, work to do... No way he'd let you throw that away for someone like himself. Compared to you, he'd been significantly older, slower and already set in his tracks - you had a whole life ahead of you.

One kiss couldn't ruin anything, could it? You've been tipsy, ogling each other for the entire night, saying shit you shouldn't really say. He wasn't afraid of rejection - Vander was perceptive enough to recognize bedroom eyes on a woman from a mile away. He was afraid of rejecting you. Now that he knew you, it was impossible to imagine Last Drop without having you around. Benzo was fond of you, Ekko loved you (Benzo admitted that the little boy might be crushing on you a teeny-tiny bit) and most of the locals started treating you as an equal. You... You couldn't disappear out of his life.

He'd hesitated for too long. The grip on his thigh started to weaken as you pulled away, flustered beyond any reason - you were turning away, awkwardly coughing into your sleeve. Everything inside his body froze before he could stop it, pushing your palm back where it was - on his thigh, squeezing it gently. As you turned to face him, he leaped forward, kissing you. It made your head spin, that's how good of a kiss it was. Things you hadn't enough courage to admit out loud, all the desire and tension resulted in teeth clattering, tongues dancing, and lips crashing again... And again... And again. You've kissed like nothing else mattered, slipping off the stools - his knee parted your legs while his palms roamed his sides and lower back, spreading them further apart as he pressed you onto the bar, palms sliding along your curved back. If Vander hadn't the willpower to snap out, you'd likely end up bent over the pool table or the tappers. Thankfully, when he felt your fingers tugging his shirt out of his pants, he stepped away, catching your palm in his.

"I... 'm sorry, doll, I shouldn't have done that, I dunno what's gotten into me." - Vander whispered apologetically, awkwardly picking up the stool you'd knocked to the ground during the kiss. "There's nothing to be sorry about, I asked for it." "Doll, there's everythin' to be sorry 'bout." "What do you mean?" - As he registered the vulnerability in your voice, his eyes snapped to you, still leaning your back into the bar. God, you looked amazing with your lips swollen from the kiss. There wasn't time to admire, you, however -this was a fine line Vander found himself on. One wrong word and you could slip past his fingers, never to be seen again.

"You... You shouldn't even be here this late, sweetheart." "Are you trying to say you don't want me here? That none of this is... Real? Was it a game for you?" - The moment you started doubting this, Vander's finger snapped at you as he shook his head. "That's not what I'm sayin'. You should be in your bed, fallin' asleep next to someone your age, maybe that blonde boy'f yours. Seems to have the hots for you, poor kid. Instead, you're here, spendin' your time with someone like me." "Someone like you?" "I could be your father, Y/N." - Vander hissed. Wow. You couldn't recall the last time he'd use your first name - he had to be worked up real bad. "You'd have to start really early, then." - You chuckled, continuing before he caught another wind. - "You're getting yourself too worked up over nothing. It's... Just a kiss, nothing more - I'll still be your regular. I loved it." - Even though the last sentence was a mere whisper, it made Vander straighten up. The explosion of a guttural warmth inside his chest was insane, almost setting him on fire. Even though it wasn't any concrete confession, one step would lead to another...

"'t felt good tonite, will feel like shit tomorrow morning, doll, you'll see." - Sighing, Vander stepped closer to you, leaning into the bar while taking one of your palms to his, playing with your fingers. - "Whatcha thinkin', doll? A Piltie like you with a Tencher like me? C'mon now, what good would that bring?" - Taking a breath, Vander pushed a stand of your hand behind your ear. "How about you let me decide what I'd like to do and how I feel about kissing you? That okay?" - Sighing, you leaned your forehead into his shoulder and gently hugged his waist with your palms. - "I'll let you know the next time I drop by."

"Okay, lemme say it differently - what would such a pretty little pet like you even do with an old geezer like me? You're not just someone, you've even studied at the Academy - the Undercity ain't somethin' you should be aimin' for, Y/N. When I look at you, I see the future. And a damn bright one at that." - His fingers were ghosting along your jaw, his heart thumping steadily. You knew the tone and look in his eyes - like a kid staring at a toy they wouldn't be able to get in a million years. - "And when you change the world, me and Benzo'll tell everyone about ya - 'Y/N? That's our girl, one of the Zaunites; the one who'd been kind enough to kiss an old fool like me'." "To which I'd say I wished you'd kiss me ever since I've met. You're just... Like a fire and I'm a moth, constantly gravitating towards you. When you're not around, it's like my breathing gets heavier, I'm worrying about where you are, what you're doing, and if you're okay... And when I see you, this warmth spreads through my chest. There's not a day when I wouldn't wanna see you and let you poke at my accent or turns of phrases. Vander, I... I... I should go." - With that, you pushed Vander off and picked up your belongings, putting a few Valors on the bars as you usually did. If you continue running your mouth, you'll start unveiling things you did your best to keep hidden away from Vander. For example, that you loved him.

If you weren't so nervous, you wouldn't miss the mesmerized look Vander gave you, breathlessly staring at you. He knew what you've been trying to say - he was on the same boat. He was just a man in his best years trying to get by, helping his community and people. It was so fucking hard to believe a girl like you liked him for what he was. If you'd say it out loud, he'd believe you. He'd even say it back. Three words - such a short phrase would become his favorite. If you had enough courage to say it, he'd repeat it over and over. Instead, he watched as you packed your things, holding everything together with a last-ditch effort. - "If I keep on going, Vander, I'd probably say things neither of us want to hear. If a kiss made the situation this messy, we wouldn't withstand what's on my mind. I... I'll see you around, I promise."

God. You were wrong. So fucking wrong. You're almost out of the door when you hear Vander calling out your name, making you turn around. He'd been mustering up the strength to say it, but before he could... The courage dissipated as you smiled at him. - "Hm?" The way he stared at you dried your mouth and your knees weakened. If you've ever seen bedroom eyes on anyone, this was it. His eyes darkened, his breath short as he tried to come up with something... Anything. Lust was a double-edged sword, that much you realized. Vander would get on his knees to hear whatever stupid shit you had on your mind if there was a slight possibility you felt the same - if that'd be the case, you'd end up bent over the bar. Drunk fucking, that would be the worst thing you could do. If you'd get down to it, you wanted Vander to be sober. You wanted to be sure it was just him touching you, whispering sweet nothings, moaning at appropriate times; not alcohol. You didn't want it to be remorse either. The moment would be right if Vander hadn't started overthinking and overcomplicating shit. "I'll go now, Vander. Remember... I won't even regret kissing you."

You didn't have the balls to go for a beer for the two following weeks. You avoided The Last Drop as if it were a plague epicenter, not even looking its way when you walked through the Lanes. Benzo caught up on the shift, asking if everything was alright. Since Vander seemingly didn't bother with informing Benzo about what happened, you hadn't either; when you popped by his pawn ship to drop off some sweets for Ekko, Benzo even got the audacity to tell you that: 'Vander misses you, asks for you every nite, girl. Whatever the old bastard had done can't be that bad, can it?' Did Vander even do anything wrong? He hadn't outright rejected you, had he? It almost seemed he'd admit there's more to it than just a kiss. Emotions, perhaps? Well, you've been on a streak of childish behavior and you planned to continue.

No matter how long you worked during the night, Vander plagued your mind. You've missed him, the way he smiled at you, gently caressed you with his looks, and how delicate his tone was when he spoke with you. It was strange to work in silence since you've gotten used to the vivacity of the Last Drop. Your flat suddenly felt like a prison - too small, too dark, and too quiet. Even when Ezreal came over to visit you and sleepover, it didn't brighten up the mood. The boy wasn't stupid when it came to crushes and lovesickness - as soon as he heard you sigh, he'd been onto your ass, trying to lure details outta you. It wasn't a bad idea, actually - you needed your friends to help you solve the conundrum of 'Vander'.

"And... You left after that?" - Ezreal asked, genuinely shocked. You've called for an emergency meeting at Jayce's - all three of you were splattered all over Jayce's sofa, sipping on a beer, eating take-out. "What else was I supposed to do?" "So, you've fallen in love with this amazing Trencher..." - Jayce mumbled through the noodles in his mouth, sitting up. - "And he kissed you like anyone before?" "Yeah, it was... Wow. We've knocked over a few stools, even, but we were both drunk." - You reminded, sighing. "Have you seen how he looks at you?" - Ezreal asked you, having you cock your head towards him dumbfoundedly. - "Every time we're there for a drink, the guy doesn't look at anyone but you. Like there's no other person in the pub, just you."

"Have you heard a word from what I've told you?" "You ran away after he pointed out a few excellent points instead of telling him what's on your mind... And then left him conscience-stricken for two weeks. Without dropping by to tell him you're just confused." - Jayce reiterated. It wasn't like that, was it? You didn't run away without telling - Vander surely knew. Why didn't he comment or answer it in any way? It wasn't just your fault - there were two to blame. "I'm... I wasn't confused." "Don't take this personally, but we've never seen you fall in love with anyone. You fooled around at the Academy - who didn't? But it looks like when it comes to real feelings... You're not too good at conveying them. Lemme guess - you started talking, said something incredibly cheesy, and then rambled, didn't you?" - Ezreal asked, smoothing your shoulder. How did he know? God, these guys knew you better than you could ever know yourself. - "In response, Vander started rambling about the future - about how it couldn't be good for you and stuff. Even though it might've come across as dismissive, Y/N, that man thought about a future by your side. Also, we can't see every thought that goes inside that brain of yours, so it can be confusing to navigate at times. You love him, then? And want to fu..." - Ezreal nibbled on, making you unnerved and flustered. Was he just about to ask you if you wanted to fuck Vander? That casually, like it's nothing? "Yes, Ezreal, yes! I can't think of anything but him, I can't eat, can't sleep..." - You exclaimed, standing up to take a long breath. The duo gave you a run for your money, you had to admit. - "All I want is him. But I don't know how to do it or what to say. That's why we're here."

"Then I don't see a problem here. Do you, Ezreal?" "None, Jayce." "We're on the same page, then." - Jayce smiled, clinking his bottle to Ezreal's before taking a good swing. - "God, these noodles are so good." "If you two don't talk, I swear on Heimerdinger's inventions..." "Vander, from what I've gathered, is an upfront, honest guy..." - Jayce started, having Ezreal nod in confirmation. "... Then it's obvious what you have to do. Just tell him. Which part? I don't know. Just go for it." "That's the best piece of advice you got for me - 'just tell him'? Isn't that what I attempted last time?" "Oh, Y/N, girl." - Ezreal howled, pushing you back to the sofa between Jayce and him, and handing you back your beer. - "This time, you're gonna go straight to the point. No cheesiness, no romance - it'll be a love confession, but you see what I mean, right? Let me phrase it delicately... You'll tell him all about those dirty scenarios inside your head. We guys love hearing stuff like that, it boosts our confidence." "For once, I second everything Ezreal said. You got this, Y/N, look at yourself. Ezreal is mostly right when sensing crushes - if he says Vander's got it bad for you, I'd trust him."

Ezreal didn't leave you on your own, God bless this sweet summer child - he'd made sure you'd really go talking to Vander, even helped you with picking out the outfit. He'd put together something insanely simple, yet elegant - a white lacey dress, a suiting black vest with golden detailing to match your Wellington boots. When enriched with adequate, very subtle golden accessories, and the right hairstyle... "God, Ezreal. When did you plan on letting me know you're a fashionista?" - You wondered, turning around to see every inch of you. You had these pieces for years and never thought enough to piece them together. Your fashion sense wasn't bad, per se, but faded in comparison to Ezreal's. "I've been making fashion statements for some time now, one'd assume you noticed since we hang out all the time." - The boy muttered, sitting on your bed. "I look so good." - Still checking yourself out, you leaned towards the mirror to look at how the golden necklace sits on your neck. "You always did. I just pushed it a step further, that's all." - Making you stand up, Ezreal caught your shoulders and looked you in the eyes. - "What's the plan? Run it by me one last time."

"I'll walk in the Last Drop, looking like a million Valors." "Duh." "Tell Vander I'd like to talk to him... Alone." "Yeah?" "And when we're alone, I'll tell him what I wanna do to him... Which will be so incredibly disgraceful and awkward..." "It'll be disgraceful and awkward if you don't pull yourself together. Be confident, smirk, touch him, smooth his shoulder, bite your lip, wiggle your eyebrows - just don't turn into a flustered mess. Imagine you're in a debating competition if that helps. Show him how serious you are, don't leave a single question unanswered." - Coach Ezreal instructed you, having you nod with fiery passion. While not known for his intelligence prowess, Ezreal was a great leader and an amazing empath. He'd known you much better than you knew yourself, helping you cross bridges you'd deemed impossible. Now, he was doing it again.

"Alright, seems to me you're in the right zone and everything. My job here is done." - The boy grinned, fixing a few strands of hair behind your ear. - "I gotta catch a date for myself." "Who's the poor soul? Do I know 'em?" - You wondered, the Undercity accent rubbing its way in. No wonder, you've been living in Zaun for at least three months by that point. Ezreal didn't point it out, just grinned while picking up his stuff lying around. "Linda from the study department." "Wow!" - You exclaimed, locking your flat. You'd walk Ez out on your way to the Last Drop. - "Why do you sound so down, then? Weren't you pinning against Linda for months?" "Eh... I mean, yeah... The problem is I asked her out at a party, super-drunk, and everything. Don't even remember what I fooled her into believing. Remember that faculty party you didn't come with me because you were too busy ogling at Vander?" "Hey, I'm not taking accountability for that. Jayce was your babysitter for the night." "He, for one, was busy ogling some guy from Heimer's office and didn't make it in time to inform Linda it's not a great idea." - Ezreal grinned, watching as you gasped for air. Ogling a guy from Heimer's office? Damn.

"How come I hadn't heard about this 'till now?" "You were too busy putting that draft together. Even sobbed about it when I slept over last week. Didn't think telling you about Jayce's romantic endeavors would help much." "And... Who's the guy? Do we know him? What's Jayce's type?" - Eyebrows wiggling, you pressed on, making Ezreal chuckle. "No, don't know him, I saw him at the party for the first time. How'd I describe him... Frail and foreign for sure. Don't take it wrong, he's... Strangely handsome, that one. Think it's the accent doing it for our poor old Jayce." "Fuck me." - You snorted, opening the front door. - "Our science bro has it down bad for other scientists. Twist of the century." "I liked Viktor." - Ez mumbled while leading you towards the main parade. - "He's snarky and most likely a genius. Zaunite by heart, strangely perceptive, weirdly confident in the best way... You'd love him." "You think Jayce would ask him on his own?" "Eh, no, not really. I'll start working on setting them up soon." "What would we do without our romance and fashion guru, Mr. Lymere?" - Looking him in the eyes, you smiled while Ezreal caught your hands in his, nodding at you.

"Now, forget all about Talis and his non-existent game... I mean, the guy can flirt, that's for sure, but..." "Not the point, Ez." "Right." - Ezreal nodded some more, clearing his throat. - "When you come tomorrow evening for the play, all I'm going to hear about is how this hunky, handsome guy blew your back out, 'kay?" "Ez!" - It was a squeal as you started to laugh, stepping aside, breaking the moment. - "You gotta stop saying that. I'm not good with... Saying this stuff out loud, you know that." "Good luck, lovely." - The boy leaned in, kissed your cheek, and sent you one of his typical smiles before turning on his heels and leaving. God, you loved Ezreal.

As Coach Ezreal coaxed you into doing, you did your best to walk into the Last Drop like a million Valors (not to mention the intense break you took leaned into the pub's wall, trying to get your shit together). As per usual, the place was lively - people haggling around, playing cards, jukebox playing a nice tune while they drank. Since it was the weekend, Vander wasn't behind the bar alone; Vera and Jakob were his backup for the night. You'd admired how Vander and his part-timers work in unison. Their responsibilities were strictly given, so each of them had their own little universe to keep in check - Vander dealt with the orders, Vera mixed cocktails and prepared snacks and Jakob ensured there were always enough dishes. "Look who we got here! Hey, Y/N!" - Benzo's voice exclaimed so loudly it was heard all over the pub - some locals acknowledged you with a nod or wave, not staring for too long. Benzo, however, was seemingly happy to have his drinking buddy back in business. As you made your way towards the bar, you'd let the guy hug you clumsily before stepping aside.

The bartender hadn't said a word to acknowledge your presence. Hadn't even looked your way, it seemed. Was he hurt, just like Ezreal expected? Was he pissed to see you walk in so casually? Why didn't he reach out, then? You'd bet your money that he knew where you lived - one could never keep a secret while living in the Lanes. It took all your willpower to snap your eyes into Vander's face, waiting for him to do anything, say something so you'd know what you're on. Funnily enough, Vander didn't plan on making it easier for you. At first, you were worried that he'd truly become indifferent. Devil's always in the detail, you reminded yourself, searching for signs of what's going on inside his head. When you started noticing, your heart fluttered in your chest, hot blood rushed into your cheeks. His eyes lingered on your lips, the gulp he'd desperately tried to suppress, the grip tightening around the glasses he polished. He'd held onto them to forcefully his knuckles turned white.

"It's so good to see you, both of you." - With a smile, you turned towards the bar. Vander automatically pulled out your favorite coater (he'd hide it away from other guests, this one was yours specifically), leaning his hands into the desk like a let-down parent. "What can I get you?" - His mumble was quiet, devoid of any emotion. No nicknames, no jokes, no flirting, huh? He'd really have to be pissed off, then. "I'm here on business, actually." - Sending him a sweet smile didn't help either? Damn. - "Could I steal you for a minute or two? Won't be keeping you long and then I'm out of your hair, promise." "Somethin' goin' down up there?" - Benzo asked with worries in his tone. "Nothing I can't take off, Benzo. Just need Vander's expert opinion, that's all. He'll be back before you know it. Shall we?" - With a clap of hands, you sent Vander yet another warm smile. The bartender raised his eyebrows, sighed, and put his tea towel on the bar. Picking up his sandwich, he'd informed Vera about being gone for fifteen minutes (for his break) at tops before vaguely gesturing for you to follow him. Fifteen minutes was all you got, huh? Fuck.

You'd expect him to lead you to his office on the upper floor - Vander didn't deem you worthy enough to sit on his plushy chairs, because he'd open the back pantry for you, opting you to sit on one of the barrels. "Well, start talkin'. We ain't have the whole evenin' - is it about the readin' or somethin'?" - Without an ounce of care, he'd peeled the napkin off his sandwich, chewing on it. "How... Have you been?" "How have I... Thought you wanna talk business, young lady." - Vander reiterated mockingly, looking away from you; his eyes had been stuck on your lacy dress, drowning in the sight of your breasts pushed together to form a delightful cleavage - it wasn't showing too much, but it definitely showed more than usual. Your breasts looked so... He'd been this close to reaching towards you, undoing the vest so he could squeeze them and nuzzle his head to your chest. Fuck, you looked so absurdly alluring and tantalizing Vander couldn't stand to look at you. He was mad at you just an hour ago - he couldn't give in that easily. He'd spent the last two weeks being absolutely miserable - your seat remained empty night after night, your coater hidden behind the tappers. Even though he'd known you weren't coming, he'd always ushered customers from sitting on your stool - his mind often going back to your carefree smile, your elbow supporting your head as you watched every move Vander made, reminding him of the cute expression on your face. Even the kids caught onto his mood swings - Vi laid into him regarding what, to quote her, 'Fucking busted his bubble?'

It took you a lot of courage to pick yourself off the barrel, stepping closer to him. Did you look seductive? You didn't feel like it at fucking all. Vander freezing like a deer in the headlights hinted that you were on the right track.

"I'm here to finish the conversation we started last week." "Not this again..." - Vander countered and started picking himself up to leave - it was a surprise when you pushed him back on his ass, keeping one hand on his shoulder, soothing his jaw with your other one. "I don't think I made myself clear enough." "Oh, trust me, darlin', you've said plenty..." "Yeah? Then you're gonna listen to it all again, I guess. Poor you." - The sandwich was long forgotten, lying on one of the shelves as you cocked your head to the side, sending Vander the calmest, sweetest smile you could muster. Holy shit, you realized, Ezreal's advice worked. Vander couldn't look away from you as you leaned your knee between his, planting your thumb on his lower lip to enthuse you'd love to kiss him again. Feeling the softness of his mouth made you lick your lips.

"I hoped you'd be smarter than this, sweetheart." - Vander whispered, finally giving in to your touch - you could feel his fingers creeping up your calves, gently lifting your skirt up, traveling up to your thighs. - "I ain't good news for a young thing like you. You'll get bored soon 'nough, leavin' me behind. Won't even remember me a few years from now... Thought you not showin' up was a good sign." "Good sign?" "That you'd understood what I tried to say and decided it would be best not to fool around with someone like me." "I thought about this a lot over the last week - about you, me, and what I tried to do. I was drunk, we both were, and words didn't come across as I'd like 'em to." - Lifting his chin up, you started playing with his hair. - "No matter how much you hate hearing this, I'm really into you. I think I'm in love with you."

Everything stopped for a second - his grip on your thighs tightened as he brought you closer, staring at you with pure adoration. His expression didn't reflect all the love and happiness behind his eyes, but the fireworks going off told you more than you needed to know. He'd felt the same, to one degree or another. There wasn't any rush to say it back - when he opened his mouth to talk, your finger stopped him as you pressed it there. Cheekily, Vander planted a kiss on it, waiting for what you wanted to say. Rest assured, your words almost gave him a heart attack.

"Now - stop fucking telling me how I'll feel or what I'll do in a few years. I want to be in the now with you and you're making it pretty fucking difficult. How about you just forget about everything for one night and show me how you feel about me? I don't care if this isn't a good long-term decision or whatever you're about to say - you're what I want most now. And even if I'd become a real diplomat one day... Vander, we're smart. We can figure it out. Stay in the moment, here with me." - Stepping in, you could feel your thighs bump into his abdomen - still holding his head in your palm, you were standing directly above him. Fucking hell, he was even more handsome up close. You loved every small wrinkle and crevice of his skin, an almost invisible scar on his lower lip, prominent cheekbones, and hair so soft you wanted to simply tug on it. His fingers on your thighs started to move up and down, caressing your smooth skin - even that alone was enough to make you meowl softly.

"So, therefore, I propose we drop the act and focus on letting whatever this is blossom. Fuck, you have no idea about how many times I'd imagined kissing you, Vander, how I melt each time you smile or give me a cheesy compliment. No other man in my life makes my hands shake just by standing beside me. You have no idea how many times I've dreamt you'd be in my bed, taking my clothes off and eating me out... And all the things I'd like to do to you, shit." - You continued mumbling erratically, not really paying attention to what was leaving your mouth - Vander seemed mesmerized either way as he bent your knees carefully, lifting you up to sit his lap (given he was sitting on a barrel, that shit must've been uncomfortable as fuck). Hearing you curse for the first time was an out-of-world experience for him, especially when accompanied by quiet hisses and subtle moans. Every word leaving your lips was dipped in honey, making him gasp for air helplessly - if he'd like to, he was sure you'd be willing to undress right there and then. Your knees fit around his waist as if he was made for you, his hardening dick pressing onto your thigh the moment you wiggled a bit. Feeling him made you gulp and lick your lips as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, playing with his hair.

"I don't know what you're so scared of? I'm here, you're here... Let's just... See what happens." "Ain't this an abuse of power, miss diplomat?" - He whispered, making you giggle. "Would be if you didn't want to fuck me as desperately as I wanna fuck you." - You whispered, stealing a quick peck off his lips. This broke the dam, causing all the feelings and emotions to flood out. "You - have - no - idea - what - ya - doin' - to - me - doll." - After each word, Vander stole a kiss from your lips, his palms lifting your ass, making you rock on his waist, grinding on his dick with a raisin intensity. Each movement made you moan breathily, sending chills down your spine. and started grinding your groin against his, earning a breathy moan from you. - "Seein' you talk to men makes my blood boil 'cause I want to be the only one you give that pretty smile to. I wanna be the one wakin' up next to you, caressin' your skin, help you with showerin' your back, and see all the newest clothes and underwear you bring home... Mainly the latter, 'f course. I just... I just wanna be your man." "Then show me, baby." - You whispered quietly, pulling him for a proper kiss, grinding against his lap in a steady rhythm. Warmth was spreading through your tummy, making it tighten each time your clit grazed the fabric of his trousers.

"I'd love nothin' else, doll..." - The man hummed, holding your chin between his fingers. Dear lord almighty, you looked more sensual than any woman he'd met before you - you seemed to be intoxicated from his kisses and words, your face burning up as he dragged his finger along your cheek. Each time you rocked your hips over his cock, your entire body shivered, eyelids fluttering. Realizing it was him making you meowl, that he kissed you so passionately that your lips were swollen was the hottest turn-on he'd ever felt. - "But my break is almost over. No way I'd undress you in this damn pantry for our first time, you deserve somethin' much better. You free tonight?" "Hmhm? What do you have on mind?" "Come pick me up after I close down. I'll make us dinner. We'll see where the things go from there, yeah?" "Can't wait, handsome."

After Vander watched you leave the Last Drop with a shy smile, his eyes glued to your ass, he couldn't stop grinning. Five hours remaining until your randez-vouz... A whole fucking eternity. The tent in his pants was unquenchable, no matter how many hairy men Vander attempted to imagine. This tween behavior made Benzo grin - he didn't need to ask what you've been up to, he already knew. Watching Vander's blush and his constant throat clearing was enough of a show in itself. Business his ass; Benzo and Vera actually bet if you'd have sex right then and there or if you'd wait for a better moment. Vera was now 20 Valors richer.

"Could you take over the tappers for a minute?" - Vander asked, looking at the drink she was just finishing - you'd like it. Filled with pieces of chopped fruit, a very refreshing mix of spirits and lemonade. - "Gotta arrange somethin' real quick." "You got it, V." - Vera called over her shoulder, showing Vander a thumbs-up. Leaving his tea towel on the bar, Vander turned on his heels to walk into the basement - this was his kids' designed hangout spot when they didn't feel like exploring Lanes. And since Vi was under house arrest, they've been lounging around it all weekend.

"Oh, hey." - Claggor was first to acknowledge him - he and small Powder were playing tick-tack-toe while Mylo read in the corner, only sending him a nod. Vi was sitting on the couch with her palms under her head, staring at the ceiling. "What's up, old man?" - Vi muttered, sitting up. She had the most authority over the group, so she needed to be pressured the most - getting along with her meant getting along with the rest of the kids. At this point, Vi wasn't even mad, unlike a month back - now, she spent most of the time thinking about how to avoid Vander's attention next time, ticking off the few remaining days on her hands.

"I wanna make a deal with ya, kids." - Vander started, leaning his ass into the counter below him. Everyone was paying attention now, their head turned directly at him. The truth was - he needed the flat empty if he wanted to host a dinner for you and fuck senseless after... Which would be difficult with four fucking kids around. - "I'll let Vi off the hook sooner if you'd sleep here, need ya outta my hair. Just for tonight." "Why?" - Powder wondered, her enormous blue eyes ogling at Vander. It was time to blush, sweat, and truly clear his throat. All the kids stared at him before Mylo exclaimed 'Aaaaah', laughing at Vander's busted ass. "... Our old man got himself a date." - The boy explained - before he managed to utter another word, Vi gripped her palm around his shoulder. "That's all she needs to know." - The girl ended topically, grinning at Vander. - "That's it? No buts or ifs if we stay the night here? That's all you askin'? You'll just... Let me off the hook?" "Depends, have you learned your lesson?" "Of course I did." - The girl answered, emphasis on the word 'did'. Yeah, right, and Vander was the newest fucking councilor. The kids started nodding frantically, making the old man chuckle. - "We all did. Last month had been very educational for all four of us." "Then you're off the hook. Of course, in case of an emergency, just come ask for help - I'll be here for you..." - Vander informed swiftly, watching as Vi sat next to him with an angelic smile - from his experience, she was about to ask the stupidest fucking question he'd heard all day. "Is it the pretty one? That one sitting on the bar all the time and staring at you as if she'd never seen a man? She has it bad for you." "You're begging for another month of house arrest." "Hadn't even said anything!" - The girl laughed, taking Vander's answer as a yes.

Striking a deal with the kids was a double-edged sword - they might be grateful for now, but jokes and innuendos were coming Vander's way, for sure. He needed to embrace all parts of fatherhood - the good parts, like Powder's drawings on the fridge or Vi's occasional hugs as well as the bad parts, consisting, for example, of the kids consistently finding sex and relationships cringe and disgusting. "Can I ask a favor from ya?" - Vander stopped in the doorframe, looking at the kids. - "Would you clean up the mess you've made yesterday?" "Oh, yeah... The pancakes..." - Powder sighed, remembering all the dirty dishes and ingredients plastered all over the kitchen sink. That might've been her job. Vander (while being very grateful for the breakfast) asked the kids if a bomb had gone off in the kitchen. "No problem, big guy, you got it!" - Vi exclaimed, her eyes shining as she just found another angle for a stupid statement. - "Everything will be good as new for your big night, on my honor." "You're on some mighty thin ice here." - The old man mumbled, but couldn't hide the grin appearing on his face.

Waiting for the Last Drop to close was endless, you'd swear - you'd change into outfit after outfit, trying out different underwear sets and even switching your hairstyle three times. You'd decided on something more decadent and less showy - while the afternoon visit was to seduce Vander, now you wanted to be more you - while being less fashionista, your outfits were still cute. Even walking into the establishment was nerve-wracking - just as you slipped through the door, Vera was leaving for the night after cleaning the whole place up. Jakob was long gone after that point - his mom was sick, so he'd leave around ten, leaving the two to deal with the locals and patrons.

"Hey." - You waved, smiling at the guy shyly. Vander was just polishing the tappers - you loved how his hand moved steadily, showing all the veins on his forearm. "Hey, you. Lookin' cute." - The man didn't waste any time making you fluster as you put your bag on your stool - you'd packed a few spare things to change into. "How was the night?" - Without hesitation, you'd walk behind the bar and roll up your sleeves to sort the different glass types Vander had lying around. "C'mhere. Forgotten somethin', silly." - Without notifying you, the man hugged your hips and pulled you in for a kiss - no matter your wet hands. Giggling, you didn't hesitate to kiss him back, gently smoothing his chin.

"Missed ya here, sweetheart." "I'm here now... And I'm starving." "Let me finish up so I can cook you somethin' delicious, doll." - Gently slapping your ass (melting at your surprised squeal), the man started finishing the very last chores feverishly. "I'm here to help - after I finish the glasses, what's on the agenda?" "Nothin' for you. I'd like some help in the kitchen, though." "Got it. Well..." - Smiling at him, you'd slap his ass back. It was a homely gesture you enjoyed, honestly. Something about slapping ass and watching his eyes shine as he glared at you made your heart flutter - getting another kiss helped too.

Vander's flat was on the top floor of the Last Drop - it was spacious, but felt crowded at the same time, for an inexplicable reason. There was a lot of stuff. Even though it was tidy, you got a chaotic vibe from the place... That meant you wouldn't like it, however. The design was incongruous, as you'd expected from a bachelor's fault - the pieces of furniture didn't match at all (in case they did, it was only vague), and the decoration was lacking, but he'd everything he needed. The flat smelled nice, unlike the rest of Zaun - like wood, oranges, jasmine, and his musk... It smelled like him.

"Welcome to my little kingdom." "Mhm, I like it here... A lot. Feels quite like home." - Your words made him smile even more widely than before - walking to you, he gently held your head in his palms before lowering his, kissing you with a happy hum. It was a sweet, delicate romantic kiss; his lips gently brushed yours, his palms slowly traveling onto your shoulders, copying the curve of your back and settling on your ass, bringing you impossibly close. "Let's get cookin' before you make me lose my damn mind, doll." - With a last caress of your jaw, he'd walk into a spacious kitchen/dining room. The table was impressively large - enough to host at least seven people. That was where you noticed it for sure - a lonely crayon forgotten under the table and children's drawings on the pantry door. Observing them, you nodded to yourself, putting your bag onto one of the chairs.

"There are... Nice." - You muttered, pointing at them. His expression froze for a second before he joined you in observing the masterpieces. "Mhm. I like 'em a lot. Always make my day." "Who gave them to you?" - With the most innocent expression you could muster, you pressed on with the interrogation. Vander... Wasn't taken, was he? He'd tell you if he was, right? Where would be his wife and presumed children - would he just tell them to leave the flat until he deals with his booty call? Surely not.

"Well, yannow, I help around the community. A lot of kids out here, a lot of excited painters." "Uh-huh." - The confusion and suspicion in your voice was almost tangible. There was one theory you could test out. - "Could I use the bathroom real quick?" "Suit yourself, doll. The first door on the left. Call out if you need anythin'." "I'll be right back." - Kissing his shoulder to divert his attention a bit, you walked inside the small bathroom - it wasn't anything regal, but it fulfilled its purpose. Turning on the basin to cause distraction, you started searching for proof of feminine presence - make-up, perfume, comb... Anything. The only thing you found, however, was a pink hairband forgotten next to the shower. A girl's hairband, you realized - could he be a widower? That would be fine too, you'd even understand why he hadn't mentioned it until then. Well, in that case, it would be better not to pressure him - he'll tell you on his own.

"Everythin' alright?" - He'd ask as soon as he noticed you lurking around the kitchen. Letting your eyes drown in the sight of a homey, domestic Vander was a heavenly sight. He'd taken off his jacket and worked on cutting some vegetables. "Everything alright. What can I help with?" "The meat." Cooking together was fun. You'd open a bottle of wine, chatting as you prepared the meal - Vander asked about details he hadn't learned yet, and you asked about his past, favorite pastime, and hobbies. As per usual, he'd been an open book, answering everything right away and with honesty - this guy could be married, no way in a million years. When a comfortable silence settled between you, you just wait for the meal to be ready - you've decided to settle on a small, very old kitchen island while waiting for Vander to finish peeling and roasting the potatoes.

"Whatcha grinnin' at, you pretty little thing?" "Just watching the most beautiful man I've met, 's all." "Look at her." - Approaching you, the man was purring with happiness. As he approached the edge of the island, your legs opened themselves to hook around his waist, bringing him closer. - "The accent's catchin' 'n everythin'." "Did to impress the guy I like." "Hope he's handsome and treats you right." "You have no idea." - Holding him in place with your palm, you put the glass down and closed off the distance, kissing him slowly. Passion built up with each little movement - he'd hold you impossibly close, his hands roaming your body freely, even taking the vest you've been wearing. Hip lips traveled from your lips to your neck, kissing a small trail below the collar of your blouse as he worked on the buttons. If you weren't starving, you'd let him undress you right there, on the fucking kitchen island... Ruining the atmosphere, your stomach started growling. The moment was gone in an instant, having you both laugh quietly.

"I'm sorry." - You laughed as he hugged you. This time, you let your hands roam around his broad back and shoulders, scratching it with your fingers. "Nothin' to be sorry 'bout. I promised you dinner and I intend to keep the promise." "You bet. Couldn't wait for what you have in store." "... If you provide the desert, that is." - The tone of his voice mesmerized you, having you ogling at him. Fucking hell, he looked so hot - looking at you with his eyes darkened with lust, his thumb playing with your lower lip. Wiggling your hips around, you could feel what was the reason for this sudden change of mood. His dick was deliciously outlined, almost begging to be pulled out and sucked, hitting the back of your throat. "I can give you a little taste." - With an innocent smile, your palm slowly caressed his lower abdomen, slipping down between his legs. Even the thought of having his dick on your palm made you hot and bothered, let alone imagine him finally fucking you after all this time. Sure, you've had sex before, but you've been this down bad and horny for anyone. Imagining him naked made you shuttered, his warmth made goosebumps rise on your skin - as if he knew what pressure to apply, how to apply it, and for how long... Vander was perfect. Fucking perfect. Just when you brushed the tip, Vander's palm tugged on yours.

"Dinner first, doll." - Pushing himself between your legs, he couldn't resist pulling you for one last kiss. - "You'll have all night for showin' me what a good fuckin' girl you are." "Okay, baby." "Good. I ain't plannin' on lettin' you leave until the mornin'." - With a last kiss on your temple, Vander walked back to the stove to check on the food. It smelled delicious. So much so that your stomach grumbled again.

The dinner was delicious, you had to admit. The man knew his cooking and he wasn't shying away from showing you heaven by overstimulating the everliving shit out of your taste buds. Vander even brought a bottle of wine from Last Drop's exclusive displays to amp it up. Having a man working in gastronomy spoiling you rotten had its benefits, you must admit. The conversation was... Mundane. You'd suspect the rising tension would've made it harder to make small talk. Still, it didn't change much except the hunger behind Vander's eyes - he hadn't seen you or talked to you properly in the last two weeks, of course, he wanted to hear what you've been up to, how locals treated you and if there's anything he can do to help.

You've been the one to do the dishes, despite Vander's protests - he was ordered to sit down and relax for a bit; he'd been on a long shift and cooked for you, no way you wouldn't return the hospitality. Other than fucking him senseless, that was. "Lord almighty." - It was a mere whisper, almost too quiet for you to notice. While drying your hands, you'd turned your head to Vander to send him a smile - his expression made you freeze in one place. His voice was husky as he stared at you, looking you up and down as if he hadn't seen a prettier woman before. His elbow leaned to the back of his chair, his tongue slowly traveling on his lips as he enjoyed the view - your hair let down, blouse half unbuttoned, tar trousers perfectly hugging your curves. Domestic behavior was one of his weaknesses.

The stare sucked the air out of your lungs, the smile disappearing. He'd been staring at you as if he was preparing to devour you alive, like a wolf preparing for the last blow. You've never felt like prey... Not in a good way. Daring to take it a step further, you unbuttoned the vest, letting it slip off your shoulders. The man didn't tear his eyes off you - it was hard to even blink, let alone move. Carefully, your fingers push under the blouse, showing off more and more of your skin. As you teased to show him your breasts, his response was a playful scoff. Turning away from him, you slipped the piece of clothing over your head; the see-through fabric left little to the imagination anyway, but finally looking at the laces of your bra left Vander biting his lip.

"Enjoying the show, big guy?" "You have no idea, doll." "How about you show me, then?" "Seems you're havin' fun on your own, don't lemme slow you down." "Could use a spare pair of hands." "Keep goin' and I'll think 'bout it."

Stripping for someone's enjoyment was new for you, but it was... Fun. You'd suspect you'd feel dumb, maybe silly; seeing how he palmed his hardening dick over his pants while watching each move you made gave you confidence. So much of it, in fact, that you slowly slipped the pants off your hips, your boots following soon after. Vander's eyes were glued to how you palmed your breast, playing with the hems of your panties. "Still want to only watch?" "Do you realize how mesmerizing you look, darlin'?" - With that, your fingers finally slipped under the fabric - your other palm grabbed on the kitchen unit so you could ache your back, letting out a lewd moan. - "Keep goin', doll, show me how you like it."

Fulfilling the wish, your fingers drew delicate circles around you, gathering all the wetness leaking out of you. You hadn't been this wet for anyone before Vander. Soon, you stopped caring if he was even watching you - you started to slip your fingers in and out, playing with yourself just as you enjoyed it. It was when your breathing got heavier and your knees started giving out when he finally walked over to you. Immediately, your forehead found its way to his shoulder, your fingers grabbing his forearm forcefully enough to leave dents. Helping you with getting off, he carefully pushed the tiny lacy panties aside (Vander wanted to keep them intact mainly because he suspected this piece of clothing would bring him on his knees anytime you'd show it to him). His fingers were much thicker than yours, making you moan in sensation as he carefully pushed them inside you, curling them up ever so slightly.

"Keep goin' for me, pretty girl, I wanna hear you moan." "F-fuck, Vander." - As he requested, so you provided, panting heavily between meowls and lewd moans leaving your mouth. - "You can add one more and go faster, please." While doing as you asked, he also slipped one of the straps off your shoulder, letting your breast bounce out of the bra. Carefully nibbling on your nipple, he'd pushed his knee between your legs to support you. With each second, your moves started becoming erratic as you ground against his hand, trying to match his palm's thrusts. "Shit, I think... I'm about to..." - Throwing your head backward, his lips found yours in a rough, passionate kiss. "Let go for me, c'mon, good girl." - His husky voice in your ears defused the bomb building inside your abdomen, letting you sink into his fingers in one last stretch. The orgasm felt surreal - his smell intoxicated your brain, your ears started ringing from the blood rushing inside your veins and your mouth produced the most erotic sounds it ever has.

"Holy shit, that was nice." - You admitted, gripping his shirt to lower him down for a proper kiss. "I want to hear this more often, sweetheart." - Vander chuckled, licking his fingers clean while staring you in the eyes. This view had you biting on your lip, kissing him once more just to feel his and your tastes mixed. This alone made you smirk. - "Can't believe how lucky I am to have you here. I imagined this so many times..." "Let me take care of you, big guy." - Leaving all the clothes in a discarded mess on the kitchen floor, your palm tugged on his palm to lead him inside the bedroom.

It was a bit messy, surely seen better days, but it felt very homey - his bed was unmade, clothes that he discarded in a rush were thrown over the chair and a collection of various books and papers gathered on the table. You could notice various framed pictures hanging on the wall but didn't go as far as to check them out. The bed seemed sturdy, excessive wooden frame resting at the mint green wall. You liked it. Even before you asked the first question, his lips crushed to yours, forcing you to back until your knees hit the edge of the mattress. While his hands started pulling his t-shirt off his body, you didn't waste any time unbuckling his belt, your lips kissing a wet trail on the skin he uncovered for you.

He'd been in better shape than you imagined - Vander wasn't the type to have his muscles flexing or rocking a six-pack, but he was slender with just the right amount of chubbiness sprinkled on top of it. Dad bod in its finest form, that's how Ezreal described it to you. You loved the curly hair on his chest; it wasn't too dense, just enough to look ridiculously hot. His happy trail below the belly button was very tasteful, making you moan breathily. Your fingers started to shake as you finally pushed his trousers down, putting your palms on his hips and taking a moment to simply adore him.

Vander was the most beautiful man you came across, there was doubt in your mind - you loved his fucking body. His palms were much larger in comparison to yours, also filled with small calluses due to his occupation, but the rest of his skin was smooth and warm. His stature was a sight to behold - broad shoulders, wide chest, and waist that simply begged to be puzzled between your thighs. Just by looking at the outline of his dick, you knew it was going to be a nice ride - its length was perfect for you, the only thing you were worrying about was how thick it appeared to be. "What's the frown for, doll?" - His voice broke you out of your thoughts, his thumb playing with your lower lip. "Never had someone so wide." - Your words made your pussy contract delightfully, already aching to feel him filling you to the brim. "I'm a handy guy, doll, I'm sure you can take it if I help you. But you gave me a promise, remember?" "Desert?" "Lay down for me, sweetheart, c'mon." - With a quick, skillful move, the bra slid off your shoulders, leaving you fully naked. And yet, you've never felt sexier as you laid down, letting him prop your back up with a pillow while getting on his knees. - "Look at the view, doll." -Vander murmured, pecking both your inner thighs. His smirk was screaming danger, but so fucking good-looking. You've been so aroused that the surrounding air felt cold on your core. - "Must be nicest I had in years. You're even wetter than before doll, God." - With a murmur, he'd kiss the sweet spot right above your clit, sliding his nose through your folds tantalizingly slow. - "You smell and taste so fucking good."

Then, he dived right in, taking you in his mouth with careful, slow, and precise movements - his tongue copied lazy circles around your throbbing bundle of nerves, and his palms and shoulders kept your legs spread wide open, no matter how many times you tried pushing them together. It could be felt he's skilled in eating out - even though he couldn't know what you liked, he started slow and looked at how you reacted, being perceptive enough to repeat the movements you seemed to enjoy and avoid those that made you frown. It didn't take him long to make you a whimpering, whiney mess - especially after his mouth dipped down to catch every bit of your arousal, licking you clean - his watery eyes were piercing through yours, watching as your breasts moved with each breath you took. When he pushed two fingers in once more, a long and needy moan filled his bedroom. That was when you broke off the eye contact and draped the sheets, concentrating on the heat slowly building in your abdomen, your toes curling against your will. His tempo was slow, playful... Vander was definitely taking his time with you.

"'s this what you imagined, doll? Havin' me on my knees, goin' insane over how you taste and sound?" - The man murmured into the skin on your thigh, sending light vibrations through your pussy as he chuckled upon listening to how you desperately tried putting a sensical sentence together. You failed miserably. As you stumbled on your words, his fingers sped up until you squirmed with pleasure, tightening the grip around his shoulders. - "With I could stay here forever, eatin' this pretty little cunt 'til my name's the only thing you remember. Such a pretty fuckin' little girl." "Vander, please, I need you." - With all the will remaining inside you, you managed to pick yourself up on your elbows, tugging on his hair. - "Please, baby, I need you so fucking much. Your tongue on me, your dick balls deep inside me, whatever you'd like... Just don't fucking stop." "Never, doll." - His mouth assaulted your sex with precision, devouring you like there was no tomorrow, even pushing his face further into you while his fingers worked wonders inside you. Your fingers tangled inside his hair, ensuring he wouldn't move an inch. The movements of his tongue became brutal the more your pelvis rode his face as you started chasing your release. He mumbled something, but you never got to know what it was - the vibrations were enough to send you over the edge, making your body tense up and thighs squeeze his head impossibly close to your clit as he continued sucking on it, riding you out of your high.

When your legs spread again, he gasped for air with a large smile, his beard glistening with your arousal. Fuck. Having him marked like that was turning you on. His fingers inside you didn't stop moving yet, enjoying the way your walls squeezed them. He enjoyed how you squirmed each time his thumb gently caressed your oversensitive bundle of nerves. "All good, doll?" "No one had... Jesus, hmpf... How... How are you so good at this?" "Just wanna see my girl happy, 's all. Love seein' your face like this." - Still working wonders between your legs, Vander picked himself off the floor to kiss you. Gently, he pressed in another finger, stretching you even more. But by Gods, it felt so good. - "We're there, baby girl."

Not breaking the kiss, his fingers slipped out of your slit, helping you to climb higher on the bed. Once again, you propped your pelvis up with a pillow, sinking your head into another. Vander caressed your cheek and kissed you before teasingly running his dick through your folds - you were still slippery enough thanks to the mix of his saliva and your arousal, so there wasn't a need for lubricating. His precum leaking out of the tip of his cock made it simpler. Still kissing you, he started teasing you cradling his pelvis back and forth with his dick aligned with your entrance, as if it was to slip any moment now; his other arm propped on the bedframe. "Ready, doll?" "Whenever you are." "Attagirl."

As soon as the tip of his cock slipped inside you, a hurtful hiss crossed your lips - his mouth was instantaneously back on yours, kissing you gently, the palm which was guiding his cock minutes later entangled with yours. Even though Vander did his best to loosen you up, he was still wide. The width made you gasp for air between kisses, each inch filling you like anything before. It didn't hurt, it was just a bit uncomfortable until you got used to the sensation. Your eyes sliding across his face and mouth wide open, you started enjoying the feeling of fullness, especially seeing the ecstatic, awed expression on his face. "Almost there, doll, almost there. You're takin' it so good." "It feels so good, baby. I love feelin' your dick inside me." - As you traced your fingers on his face, you could feel him throbbing upon your words. The sensation made you move against his body, letting the rest of the dick slip inside in one swift motion. - "Holy shit, fuck, fuck, fuck." "You look so fuckin' mesmerizing, takin' my dick like that." - His pelvis started moving carefully, sloppily slipping in and out of you. The sounds were so erotic, so perfect, turning you on even more.

When you felt like you could take it, you started to meet his thrusts halfway, making you both groan in pleasure. Your knees circle around his waist, pulling him deeper inside you - as he did his best to make love to you, his thrusts were playful, slow, and careful, making sure you're getting the most out of it. Vander was also making sure you'll be ready for when he'll start mercilessly fucking you like there's no tomorrow. "Mhmh, you feel so fucking good, Vander." "Love it when you say my name like this." "Vander..." - You moaned, feeling as his pace started picking up, his thrusts becoming more precise. - "God, Vander, Vander, Vander." "You'll be the death of me, fuck."

Before you grasped it, the headboard started banging into the wall as the bed creaked under the brutal tempo Vander had set - you didn't attempt to shush your screams and moans as you dragged your nails down his back, aching your back until your breasts met his chest. Both of you were sweaty and aching in the best way possible, sloppily kissing anytime you could. "I won't last for much longer, doll." - His voice was hoarse as he stared at your tits bouncing around, every semblance of sense erased from his mind. All Vander knew was how perfect you felt tightening around him, that this pussy must've been hand-made for him and him only, and that your moans were the most musical sounds he'd heard until that day. "Cum for me, big guy." "Where... Shit." - Vander sat up, putting his forearm under your back to keep you in position. This new sensation made you squirm, digging your nails deep into his forearm. He'd been even wider from this angle, filling you up better than before. - "Where do you want me, doll?" "Anywhere you want, Vander."

This was Vander's last stretch. His name falling off your lips in such a lewd manner fried his circuits, having him bury his dick deep inside you with one last thrust. Out of breath, Vander collapsed on your chest, listening to your fast heartbeat. Your fingers started playing with his hair and caressing his sweaty back, feeling the warmth spreading deep within you. Everything felt perfect. "You know how you said... You loved me?" "... Also said you don't have to say it back, Vander." "What if I'd like to, doll?" "... Then I'd be the happiest girl in the Lanes." "I love you." - The man murmured, picking his head up to look you in your eyes. The words made you smile widely as you held his pace in your arms, giggling. His softening member was still inside you, but neither of you seemed to be in the rush to pull it out.

"That's the fucking talking, big guy." "It ain't, on my honor. You're the best girl I've ever met. If you won't mind, I'd love to make you mine." "Then repeat it..." "I love you, doll." "Again." "I love you." "... One more time." "I love you, Y/N." "I love you too, Vander." - Cracking a smile, you let the man kiss you, losing yourself in his warm bear hug and embrace. Moments after, he finally picked himself up, walking to the bathroom to bring you a warm towel. Letting you clean yourself up, he disappeared into the kitchen to make you tea and pick up all your clothes scattered over the floor.

The night, just as he promised, was endless - he'd taken you from more positions, caressing your body with the utmost care, as if you were a goddess he wished to worship. You did your best to project his behavior, but you've been too lost in it all - his lips, warm skin, arms wrapped around each time part of your body, his groans in your ear, his beard scratching your lips anytime you kissed... It was around seven in the morning when you finally picked yourself up, pushing his shirt over your head. "Want something from the kitchen, big guy?" "All I want is you back as soon as you can." "Bet your ass..." - Before you could finish the joke, someone barged into the room, making you scream in surprise. You were moaning Vander's name just a few minutes back - who the fuck was this?

Looking at the incoming person, you've known the girl. You've already seen her serving in Vander's - the same violet hair, deadpan on her face as she looked at Vander covering himself with his sheets. "What the..." - You asked, looking at her. The girl, seemingly, ignored you. "... She did it again. I need your help, old man." "What? Who did what? Who are you? Vander?" - You asked with confusion, looking from Vander to the girl and back. "Oh, hi." - Suddenly, the trouble was forgotten as she leaned her shoulder into the doorframe, smiling at you cockily. - "Fancy seeing you here. Looking good." "Hi?" "What did Powder do this time?" - Vander sighed, bringing Vi's attention back to him. To hide the embarrassment, Vander massaged his face with a long sigh.

"We wanted to prepare some breakfast for you guys, so naturally, the stove's on fire." - The girl explained, but didn't seem to be in a rush to stop the ongoing apocalypse in the kitchen - now that you concentrated on it, you could hear distressed squeals and multiple people arguing, pans clinking on the metal - you could also see the smoke rolling out of the kitchen. The flat smelled hellish, making your eyes swell in tears from the subtle itching. "Cover the pan with a pot lid - it'll put out the flames. I'll be right over." "Hope you'll swing by too. Powder can't wait to meet you." - The girl picked herself off the doorframe, winking at you before closing the door.

"What the fuck was that?" - You asked, looking at Vander with disbelief. Who was she? Was she his daughter? Who are the other kids? You had your suspicions, yes, but this freaked you out more than you expected. You expected one, two kids at best - according to the ruckus, there were more people than that, though. "Listen, if you want to leave now, doll, I understand... I..." "Are these your kids?" "Sorta?" "Sort of? How can you 'sort of' have kids? "Adopted 'em little nuisances after the riots last year. None of 'em had a home to go back to - felt responsible for 'em. Listen, as I said, no one's holdin' you here. You must be furious..." "Fucking confused is what I am. Why didn't you tell me earlier?" "Wasn't confident 'nough if I'll even be what ya want without knowing I have four kids on my back." The vulnerable expression on his face made you soften up. Four kids was a lot, yes - his actions, however, were honorable. Where would they end up if Vander didn't step up, giving them a home and a loving fatherly embrace? The longer you stared at Vander, the more motivated you were to step out of the door confidently, sharing this awkward morning with all five of them, and taking everything it could give you. You... Wanted to meet them. You wished to know every possible side of Vander and share all the good and the bad with him. You wanted everything he was offering - whether it was holding your hand, kissing you during his shifts in the pub, all the mindblowing sex, warmth in his eyes as he whispered 'I love you', his fingers tracing your skin as you laid opposite each other and talked between fucking, his warmth, his love... You wanted it all. And if he had kids, that was a part of this little everything you wanted so bad, no matter how worried it made you.

"Was this the reason why you freaked out so bad?" "Ain't it obvious, Y/N? I'm almost forty, with a pub and four kids on my neck. Someone as young shouldn't worry about whether they have 'nough to eat, clothes to wear, 'bout what trouble they got themselves into this time... This ain't a life for such a young little thing." "But it's your life. And I want you..." "That's precisely why you shouldn't be wantin' me, doll. C'mon." "Stop making my decisions for me, Vander. Did you plan on telling me about the kids?" "Not for a bit... I was worried it would drive you away. I'm a selfish bastard, haven't you noticed?" "Fucking far from it. The least you could do was to tell me about them. It would make things less embarrassing." "What do you mean?"

"I mean, if you told me ahead of time, we could have our little rendezvous at my place - do you realize how awkward this is for me? For them also, I'm sure." "I'm sorry, Y/N... I didn't know how to bring it up..." "We better get going before Powder blows the kitchen up." "... You ain't gonna leave?" "Of course not. These kids are a part of your life, so I want to get to know them. Step by step. If let me stick around, I can be a good step-mum to them one day, maybe." "Are you serious?" - Vander asked, staring at you with his lips parted. "Dead serious." "I... Fucking love you, Y/N." "Right back at you, handsome. Move your ass before someone barges in to drag us into the kitchen."

___ Author's note: So, regarding Ezreal... I didn't want him to come across as a sappy romantic who's in love with the reader - he's more of a naïve playboy in my mind, constantly falling in love with whoever's in front of him, seeing different people every week. Ez definitely got the charm and rizz to pull something like that off. On the other hand, I think it could be a platonic love situation - they're both into each other (to one degree or another) - the reader doesn't date him, however, because she has standards, and Ezreal, as he admitted, would rather die than seeing someone like himself fooling around with her.

[superemeralds]

i think about ur piece with shadow captioned “welcome to the promised land” ALOT… with that, i wondered what your thoughts are on the sonic movies (both the ones that came out and the new one thats coming) in regards to their portrayal of the police/military/GUN.

I’m personally really disappointed in whats been done so far (with Tom being a cop, like cmon man what. and with the goofy portrayal of the military, especially that old general guy in the second movie) and im really nervous about whats coming, with team sonic working WITH GUN (and now Tom and Maddie wearing military uniforms) in the trailers. I have a suspicion that Maria’s death will be an “accident”, like a very MCU style “sometimes the military makes mistakes…” bullshit. itd really suck to see this series become another piece of copaganda, especially since like. its so out of character, like sonic is unique in the way its been blatantly anti military (for the most part) in the games. it wasn’t revolutionary by any means but it is arguably a core part of the original story.

What are your thoughts? sorry for the long ask, I’m a big fan of your writing and thoughts on sonic (huge heart of a monster fan!). Hope youre having a good day!

big same. I've made the comic in question as a response to the first trailer for sonic 3 actually.

the trailer made me feel a LOT of emotions, mostly negative if im honest, and the only thing that I liked from it was the scene of shadow bursting from his tank thing and being sloppin wet that looked like he was standing in the rain. so i went and made a comic of shadow in the rain. and i made it as anti military and anti capitalism as i could.

becasue sonic 3's marketing, in my opinion, especially after the second trailer came out, is a perfect axample of everything wrong with the current western (mostly USA, but the USA influences the entire world so.) society. it exemplifies capitalism, militarism, consumerism, a lack of emotional depth and the infantalization as well as mliking (for a lack of better word; i mean how advertizements are usually heavily marketed at kids because parents will buy anyhting to shut up their crying annoying meat bags and therefore spend money on shit they dont want nor need) of children (that detective pikachu bit was so painful). and let's not forget the fatphobia. it was so painful to go back and watch the first trailer to freshen my memory for this reply oh god.

when sonic 2 came out i was really happy with the movie. i think sonic 2 is miles better than 1 in terms of characters and fun, most obviously because there's more of actual sonic characters in it now then the first. the first felt mostly like a pilot honestly. the second one had much more fantastical details and elements thatreally leaned into sonic's world. Or at least... the environment artists tried with it. I remember being OBSESSED with the fact tehre was a mural of perfect chaos in that labyrinth for like 1 second and theorized about what it could mean. while watching the movie i even speculated it was foreshadowing that perfect chaos was gonna be the secret final boss of the movie as that was only the halfway point of the runtime. having sobered from the hype i understand its a neat detail from the cg department that means absolutely nothing.

the worst thing is that the movie (sonic 3 now) itself might be like. a well made movie with good (enough) writing and good visuals and whatever. sonic might betray the military and go his own way bc here he's a little younger and he's learning (he didnt grow up w military so he might be blissfull yunaware bc hes only been fed propaganda through hollywood movies so far) and him meeting shadow and learning about his fate might change his mind. we don't know yet.

The marketing sometimes is detatched from the movie itself so it'll misrepresent things for the sake of "bait" to get ppl to spend money to watch it (the teenage kraken movie suffered from that bc it was fun imo i liked it). Or even just to get people to make viral reactions to get even MORE news of the movie out and attract more people. Especially when adapting a story that already exists I think it makes them reveal a LOT of the movie (I saw ppl complain they reveal the entire movie in the trailer, i think given the fact we already know all those key moments shown it's fine)

actually. does anyone know if the us army funded this movie? i know it does a lot of movies ever since iron man

idek where im going w this rn im just. eghh.... def not gonna see it in cinema ♥ my money goes towards literally anything else

[still-breathing-au-p3r]

All things considered, it was an alright visit. 

That leader of theirs really never stops surprising him. He’d never really expected and definitely hadn’t intended to bond with the kid as much as he had, but here he was. Shinjiro had been under the impression that Arisato mostly just coasted through life without much thought. He’d say he reacted rather than acted, but to be frank, he didn’t really react most of the time, either.

So seeing naked hope and then that welding-torch spark of fury in Arisato’s eyes had been a surprise, and a damn unnerving one. Especially since the rest of his face had stayed as flat and blank as ever. You only ever look that hopeful or that pissed at someone if they actually matter to you.

He is extremely out of practice with mattering to people.

But that’s something he’s going to have to get better at in order to keep the promise he and Aki made, which is why he’d had Arisato fetch that re-enrollment form. Going back to school is much more for Aki and Kirijo’s sake than Shinjiro’s own.

Even before everything had fallen apart, it isn’t really as if Shinjiro gave much thought to what he wanted to do with his life. He’d never taken school all that seriously. His grades had been fine enough, but that was mostly to appease Aki, and later Kirijo, with her ‘education is the most important thing in the world’ attitude. 

It’s not like he was planning on going to college after high school. Even if his grades were that good, he’d never be able to afford it. Aki’s always had a bright future in anything he might choose, whether that was boxing or something else. Combine his scholarship offers and his well-off parents, and money won’t ever be an issue for him. 

And Kirijo? Her grades were perfect, of course, so between that and her frankly ridiculous kind of money, she could do whatever she wanted if she didn’t decide to inherit the family business. 

Then there’s Shinjiro. He’s not like either of them. He has no aspirations. He’d never had any long-term goals at all until joining S.E.E.S. to eliminate the Dark Hour. And after the night that had ruined everything, he’d abandoned the few half-baked ideas he’d had for the future.

He’d abandoned the idea of the future entirely.

Why go to school when he wasn’t going to live to be nineteen? How could he justify staying with S.E.E.S. when he was nothing but a walking bomb with a broken timer, a liability? How could he justify continuing to live at all when he had already taken away one life and ruined another? 

Why get close to people when he would only hurt them in the end?

And yet against all odds and probably some god’s better judgement, Shinjiro finds himself still alive. He finds himself surrounded by people who insist on caring about him, and are really damn pushy about it. It’s all a bit surreal to experience.

He has no idea what to do with any of it. All these feelings. 

But he’s ready to make his first choice.

He’s done a lot of thinking ever since waking up. It’s not like there’s really much of anything else to do but think while he’s stuck in a hospital room like this. He’s not sure how long he actually has– his failing organs don’t exactly have an expiration date tidily stamped on them– but if he’s really and truly getting a second chance…it doesn’t sit well with him just to waste it. 

He and Aki promised, after all. 

So as Aki, Arisato, and Yamagishi make their way out the door, he notices Kirijo lagging behind. Perfect.

She startles, like she wasn’t expecting to be directly addressed, but by the time she turns around to face him she’s got her pristine heiress’ composure back perfectly in place.

She frowns at him quizzically for a moment before his words seem to properly register. She actually laughs, which isn’t exactly what Shinjiro was aiming for, but– he’ll take it.

Kirijo hums and tucks some hair behind her ear– but not any of the hair that’s actually hanging over her eyes. Shinjiro knows he’s not really one to talk, but if his hair was constantly covering half his line of sight like that, he’d do something about it. He doesn’t know how Kirijo or Arisato stand it. 

It’s also a damn good thing that she’s standing well out of arm’s reach, so he doesn’t have to divide his attention between having this conversation and preventing himself from doing something incredibly stupid. Something like reaching out to comb his fingers through her bangs and sweep them out of her face himself.

She ‘may have’ pushed for a rush order, huh? Something warm blooms just under his sternum, but he’s quick to yank that up by the root. This isn’t the time to get emotional.

He doesn’t deign her with an answer. If a thin sliver of hope is as good as he’s going to get, it’s still more than he deserves. And it’s still enough for Shinjiro to finalize his second decision. 

He has to do this now before his nerves get the best of him.

Shinjiro opens the drawer on his bedside table back up and takes out the envelope. Wordlessly, he holds it out to Kirijo. 

The forlorn look on her face tells him that she’s getting the wrong impression, and it’s not like he can blame her after all that’s been said. Her expression brightens quickly though once she actually opens the envelope and sees what’s inside. She looks at him with wide eyes and tentative hope. Or eye, rather– the one he can see, that isn’t covered by those irritatingly compelling bangs.

She beams at him, all warm and sentimental, and he has to look away. You’d think two years distancing himself would be enough time to get the hell over this, but one smile from her is still enough to send his traitorous heart pounding like it’s trying to bust clean out of his ribs. 

Of course his luck’s never been that good. Of course he’s still got it this bad, even after all this time. He’s probably an idiot for even daring to hope otherwise.

It doesn’t help that he’s spent all day trying and failing not to dwell on what almost happened with Aki yesterday. What might have almost happened. He’s still not entirely sure if he actually read that moment correctly or if the painkiller fog in his brain and his own wishful thinking had made him see something in Aki’s expression that hadn’t ever really been there.

He is absolutely hopeless. It’s pathetic, really.

He has to admit to himself at least that it is nice that he can actually put a smile that sunny on Kirijo’s face. God knows she deserves more of that. God knows he in particular owes it to her, after all of the shit he’s put her through, especially recently. Seeing her like that is more than enough. This really is far more than he deserves.

She looks so damn happy. Happier than he’s seen her in far too long. Going back to school might be worth it just for the chance to see her smile like that more often.

[redrandomposts]

That previous ask was from me (🎀) and I also had a second thought!!

which is what if till doesn’t understand he’s the kids dad until the kid is way older (like 5 or 6) and the kid starts showing off bits of his own personality or traits that aren’t present when the kid is little (Till assumes the kids light hair will darken with age but when it says grey some wheels might start turning)

also do u think they would have a girl or or a boy? (I’m thinking girl cause I think Till has big girl dad energy)

and for the sake of the thought experiment Till has started being referred to as “uncle till “ while helping take care of the kid (for additional pain on Ivan’s part- because they are kind of a family now! But not in the way he wants + complete brother zone for his relationship with till from his perspective) because he’s always around and taking care of her so he’s basically her family

and since in this concept they aren’t mated so till might start- oh I dunno going back on tour to help make money to give his favorite “niece “ everything she could ever want which means both their poor emotional systems are gonna be losing it being so far away from their almost mate :(

And also- since their set up is mostly sorted and longer term “platonic” in this timeline I think till might (in a bid to get his weird unidentifiable feelings out of his system ) starts up a consistent friends with benefits situation (which only serves to make their moments of separation worse)

and I dunno maybe a few years into the set up maybe Ivan could be faced with yet another kid on the way and till being home when he finds out (and will be for at least the next 6 months) so he has to figure out whether to break the news now- at a point so deep in he’s unsure if his relationship with Till could ever recover, fake another random father for the kid- or terminate it to prevent till from ever having to deal with it. (And I think like- Till kinda wants to get Ivan pregnant subconsciously so he keeps asking to have unsafe sex and Ivan can never refuse him anything)

I’m not sure what choice Ivan would make but they are all really interesting to think about!!

i give you an easy way out and you give me angst

this is why people say alien stage fans are allergic to happiness. (/pos? /hj)

anyways i think the best course of action is to give ivan pain because thats what you do to characters you love.

SIKE! I AM NOT LIKE THAT! i wanna give ivan the universe, made of love and sugar and fluff

so, yes, this could happen, but also:

->sua would absolutely beat up till if he was an in-and-out pseudo-parent, especially since the moment she saw the child she probably knew it was till's

->luka would...give till the side-eye of his life. he'd manipulate till by staying at ivan's whenever he can, forming an equally-close relationship with their child, and getting their child to call him father. yeah, he may be an omega, but hes alpha-ing better than till

->mizi would be the therapist mother friend and intervene

->hyuna... roundhouse kicks and a diss track should do it.

anyways till is going to learn how bad of an idea it is to do that before he can make it a solid routine. i believe in the rest of the alnst cast!

let me embrace ivan in a nice, warm, loving hug, you cruel monster (/hj)

if you really want that, though... (tw: miscarriage)

ivan gets into a weird rejected-omega state and is unsuitable to continue work, barely hanging on due to his little princess. he'd constantly be in his nest, mostly built with till's clothes, wondering where he went wrong. again and again, he'd wonder, each day till was away, each month till was on tour. till's songs would repeat on the speakers, and before long his pheromones would wane and disappear.

if ivan got pregnant in that state... well, his body wouldn't be able to handle it. till goes on a world tour before the bump shows, and ivan...he'd be worn out, desperately trying to keep the child, but he doesn't hear the wails he did with his first when he does give birth a month early.

it destroys him. he calls till as soon as he can, gasping breath after breath, tears running down his cheeks; "our baby's gone, till, they're gone, i couldn't give birth again. im sorry, im sorry, im so sorry, alpha."

their little princess is at their friend's house, waiting to hear if she got a little sibling.

till hurries to the hospital, sitting in an airplane for agonizing hours, and when he gets there he's informed that ivan will have extreme difficulty getting pregnant again, let alone giving birth.

i hope you're happy, 🎀. i hope youre crying so much because you just cant take the fluff i willingly give out!! (/j /hl)

fml what am i doing why am i so petty

[schrijverr]

I Didn’t Mean to Say I Do, but I Do. I Do. 3

Chapter 3 out of 50

Secret marriage of convenience buddie slow burn AU, where Buck and Eddie have been married for years so Buck could adopt Chris and no one at the 118 knows.

In this chapter, Eddie tries to be home, but it is difficult. He and Shannon are trying to figure stuff out and he’s becoming more comfortable with the idea of Evan maybe one day becoming Chris’s stepparent if things between him and Shannon get serious. Then Shannon leaves and Eddie is forced to meet Evan for the first time.

On AO3.

Ships: Buddie (slowburn), Buck x Shannon (temporarily).

Warnings: ableism, emotionally abusive parents, internalized misogyny, insecurity, child abandonment

~~~

Chapter 3: Two Worlds Colliding

Eddie has been back in town for two months and Evan hasn’t seen a singular sign of him. Not that he expected to see him, but it’s still weird.

He half expects him to turn up the day after Shannon came by, since she said she was going by the next day to pick up Chris to go to his PT. Maybe it’s egotistical to think he’d be mentioned immediately, but he knows that the ex-in-laws heard about him talking to Shannon and that they have opinions about it. Shannon complained all about it. So, it isn’t too far fetched that Eddie will hear and have opinions too. Opinions that he’ll show like a soldier.

However, Eddie doesn’t come. Weeks pass and Evan doesn’t see or hear from him. He doesn’t know whether he’s glad or a little offended.

It’s not that he wants to get beat up by a soldier over an affair that never happened, but he watched his son. Chris calls him a friend. He expected the guy to at least want to come see who he is, but maybe that is too much to ask.

God knows his own father wouldn’t have cared, but with how Shannon described him, Evan hadn’t thought Eddie would be like his father. He hopes for Chris’s sake that he isn’t.

He pushes a little with Shannon when she comes by, asking how Eddie is doing, if Chris is happy that daddy’s home. According to her, Chris is thrilled and Eddie is trying, which is good, but she mostly waves it away. Evan gets not wanting to talk about her ex-husband, still he wishes he knew some more.

With Eddie home, Chris isn’t around as often, since she can leave him with his father. They flirt, then fuck, but it doesn’t make Evan feel as good as he hoped.

She doesn’t stick around, says she can’t, because she has to be with Chris before Eddie leaves for work. He doesn’t blame her, but a part of him still aches that she goes. She isn’t married to Eddie, but he still feels like the other man. The one outside the family unit, never entirely a part of it, but still strung along. It feels too close to home for comfort.

Shannon looks apologetic and she comes back, but doing it again isn’t making it better. Evan is contemplating moving on.

He has some money now, he could fill his tank and leave. But it feels wrong to leave Shannon without anyone in her corner. He already felt like that before Eddie got back, but from what he hears the ex-in-laws have only gotten worse.

One day, Chris is with his grandparents, Eddie is working and Shannon is here. It’s evening, closer to night, and they’re sitting on the front porch together. Softly she says: “Some days I wonder why I still try to be his mother.”

“What?” Evan chokes out, giving her wide eyes.

She doesn’t look back at him, keeps staring out over the dark farm. “I mean, he has his father now, a parent, and Helena is dying to take him from me and raise him herself. He has people. I’m only twenty-three, I should be out there, traveling, seeing the world, studying. Not this.”

“You don’t mean that,” Evan hears himself say, because he wants it to be true. He doesn’t want to believe she actually thinks that. If he had a family, a kid, he’d be holding on as tight as he could. He would never abandon his kid, should he be lucky enough to have one.

“Probably not, it just all got to me, I guess,” Shannon says with a tired smile and he can see she doesn’t put her heart in it.

Still, he doesn’t push, just tries to be supportive. It’s not his place. Not his kid. “I get it. It must suck to have people undermine your parenting so much. You should bring him here again, I won’t question you.”

“You’re too nice, Evan,” she tells him and he isn’t sure it’s a compliment.

She brings Chris again and Evan holds his little hands as he walks, while Shannon trails behind them. She seems distant, but doesn’t talk when he asks about it. She never mentions it again. Later he’ll look back and regret not pushing more.

Eddie has meanwhile found a job and semi-moved into his house, though he sleeps on his own couch. He has a morning routine with Chris now, because he works nights so Shannon has a nighttime routine. He knows Chris can walk if you hold him and picking him up won’t harm him like his mom said, that her insistence that he carries Chris everywhere is actually bad for his development.

Chris knows who he is, the novelty of daddy being home is slowly starting to fade into the normalcy of daddy being home.

It still thrills Eddie however, when Chris calls out for daddy, for him. The picture he’s drawn of the three of them is Eddie’s most prized possession.

Of course it’s not all sunshine and rainbows. He and Shannon have reached a peace, but are easy to argue and he can’t sleep on the couch forever. They need a plan for when either of them will move out. His mom wants it to be Shannon, since its Eddie’s house in name, but she also wants Eddie and Chris to move in with her.

Papi is out on the road again and she can use a man of the house, but Eddie suspects it’s more because she doesn’t trust Shannon. She’s gotten more mean, he barely got her to stop doing it in front of Chris, praying he doesn’t repeat anything or start believing it. He wants his son to have a mother.

Helena also doesn’t trust him. He has gotten her to stop calling Chris fragile and now she uses special, something he has a harder time arguing against. And she clearly still believes it, even if she doesn’t use the word. She always says he’s too rough with Chris, that he’s doing it wrong. It’s draining.

Evan is another thing. Shannon doesn’t take Chris with her when she goes to see him and Eddie suspects that the friendship has moved on to sleeping together. He isn’t even jealous of anyone sleeping with his ex-wife, just worries about what it means if it gets more serious.

As he said, she doesn’t take Chris with her anymore and Chris pouts about it. The one time she did take him, he was ecstatic. Eddie isn’t sure what to think.

If Shannon and Evan get serious, then it will become a thing they have to talk about. Evan won’t just be with Shannon, he’ll become a part of Chris’s life. Is he willing to do that? Is it Shannon or him, who decided to bring Chris over less now that Eddie is here to watch him? Can he bring that up without Shannon taking it the wrong way? Is it too soon to worry?

He doesn’t have any answers and no one to ask either. He wishes Abuela and tía Pepa didn’t live in LA. That he could flee to their house and talk about it. But they do live in LA and he doesn’t want to bother them with his troubles, he is a Diaz man, he should just suck it up.

In his third month home, Shannon sits him down and says they should think seriously about splitting assets. Figure out their finances. It’s not something they fully got around to when he was off fighting, they just signed the papers.

So, they have to shuffle around their work schedule to get in the meetings necessary to sort it all out with lawyers and advisors. Another non-fun thing that comes with being home.

The first two times his mom watches Chris, the third time Shannon insists Evan watches him. Eddie doesn’t want to, but doesn’t want to be petty. They’ve been fighting a lot in the house over the finances and Chris is starting to get upset. He doesn’t want to add to that, so he lets her, though he doesn’t want to have anything to do with drop off or pick up.

Shannon agrees easily with his terms and Eddie is loathe to admit that it is quite nice not to get grilled, then berated about all his choices every time they come back from a harrowing meeting.

Evan becomes their usual sitter.

Eddie tries to get Shannon to pay him for it, feeling kind of bad about dropping his kid on the guy so often, but Shannon brings back the message that he refused the money, because it’s not work to hang out with his friend. Eddie doesn’t feel great about that statement, but he supposes that if Evan is to ever become a stepparent, they can’t pay him for it.

All in all, it’s awkward to talk about all their stuff and the money; how little they have of it, how many bills they have to pay with it. But it’s good. Getting clarity is good. Things are looking up a bit.

Naturally that means that a month and a half into figuring it all out, Eddie’s life implodes all over again.

He comes home from his shift and the house is empty. It’s not normal, but not unusual either. Her job sometimes requires Shannon to come in earlier and then she drops Chris off with his grandma for Eddie to come pick up when he slept for a bit, instead of doing the morning routine before napping as Chris plays.

So, he stumbles in and crashes on the couch, sleeping for an hour or two. He’ll sleep more later, intermitted sleeping has become his norm. He’s heard being tired comes with being a parent, so he is embracing it. Still, he sleeps better when he can hear Chris moving around, so he wants to go get his boy.

It’s when he sits up that he spots the packet of paper sitting on the table. It’s official looking and there’s a note and a letter on top, Chris’s name is written on the envelope in Shannon’s handwriting and something about it makes Eddie’s stomach churn.

His hands are shaking when he reaches out to the papers, he doesn’t know when they started doing that. It takes his eyes a moment to focus on the letters enough to make out what they say, then a moment longer to comprehend what he is reading.

Custody.

It’s custody papers.

Shannon gave him full custody of Chris.

She left him much like he had done with her and Eddie is now solely responsible for their child. His breaths start coming fast and it takes him much longer than he wants it to, to calm himself again.

There is a short note for him where she explains that her mom is sick, cancer. That she has gone to take care of her and to not try to contact her. That Chris has him and his grandparents now and they’ll be fine. She left him with Evan.

Wait, she left him with Evan?

Eddie hasn’t explicitly thought about it, but he kind of assumed that if Shannon left, she’d take Evan with her. However, that clearly isn’t the case. Why is Evan watching his kid and not chasing after his ex-wife? Did he know? Did she tell him?

He needs more answers, right now. Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s stumbling out of the house, scrambling to get into his truck so he can speed over to the Johnson farm.

Oblivious to all this, Evan is playing with Chris, the two of them rolling a ball back and forth on the front porch as Mrs. Johnson looks disapprovingly from the front window. She never liked him associating with Shannon and she likes him watching Chris even less. But Shannon said it was an emergency and Evan isn’t going to leave her out to dry like that. She’s his girlfriend. He thinks.

A truck pulls up a little faster than normal and a man stumbles out calling out for Chris. Evan has never seen him before, so he gets to his feet and squares his shoulder, blocking the path as he demands: “Who are you?”

Under other circumstances, Eddie would’ve appreciate the protectiveness over his son more, but now a brief, ‘oh he’s handsome, I see what Shannon saw in him,’ flashes through his mind, before it is quickly buried under what is happening today. “I’m his father. Eddie.”

Evan falters at that. After so long, he never thought he’d actually meet Eddie, but now here he is and Evan has his kid and he isn’t even sure if it is Eddie, because he has never even seen the man before.

Almost as if reading his mind, Chris spots Eddie and cheers: “Daddy!”

Hearing Chris be okay, just his happy self soothes something in his chest and he is grateful when Evan moves out of the way so he can go over and scoop Chris up. “Hey, mijo, hey,” he greets, hugging Chris tight and burying his face in his hair, letting the scent calm him. It’s irrational, but he had feared Chris would be hurt, but he appears totally fine.

“Are you… are you okay?” tentatively Evan asks him that, coming closer as he watches father and son with a frown. Eddie is acting pretty strange, he looks worried.

“Did you know?” Eddie’s voice is harsher than he wants it to be when he asks that, sounding closer to how he’d talk in the field.

“Know what?” Evan replies, frowning in confusion.

Eddie isn’t sure if he believes it, but the man looks genuine and a bit like an over-sized puppy. It is kind of hard to be mad at him, but Eddie is also pretty good at being mad, so he says: “That she was going. Did you know?”

“Shannon?” Evan asks. “She said she had a family emergency, asked me to watch him for a bit until you got off work. He was still sleeping when she arrived, I assumed it was serious.”

“Nothing else?” Eddie says in disbelief. He was so sure that her and Evan were a thing, but she didn’t even say anything to him, didn’t ask him to come with her.

“Yeah, nothing else,” Evan confirms. “What’s going on, man?”

Instinctively Eddie looks away, cradling Chris closer. Now that he knows Chris is okay, that Shannon isn’t hiding out here, he doesn’t really know where to go from here. He feels embarrassed about being left like that, as if he wasn’t good enough to make sure to mother of his child stayed in his life, just like he couldn’t keep his wife.

He’s a teen dad, a divorcee and now a single parent to boot. The Church will have a field day with this when they find out, not to mention his parents. Fuck, what will his parents think?

Irrationally, he thinks, they can never know. They can’t. They can’t learn how much he screwed up all over again. Shannon told him not to contact her, but that doesn’t mean she blocked him, maybe if he can reach her, he can convince her to stay. To come back.

Without answering Evan’s question, he puts down Chris and fumbles for his phone, calling Shannon. The call doesn’t go through. The panic only grows and he snaps back to Evan, who is just standing there, watching him with those big blue concerned eyes. His skin feels weird under that gaze and he shoves it all down, demanding: “When did she drop him off?”

“Like four hours ago,” Evan answers. Fuck, that is long enough to already be on a plane by now and he’s never catching up with her by car. He doesn’t even know where in LA her mom lives, he’ll never be able to find her in that city. When he’s quiet, Evan worries on: “Why? What’s going on? Did something happen to her?”

To her, of course, Eddie scoffs, of course something must have happened to her, because there is no way she’d leave otherwise. No, Eddie must have done something wrong. Something to make her leave. He’s a failure, always has been.

Without his permission tears well up in his eyes as the anger gets replaced by a deep despair. He’s all alone now. Chris still counts on him, still needs him. He can’t find Shannon, so it’s all on him now. At some point, he’ll have to tell his parents, but that seems like a Herculean task right now. It’s all too overwhelming. Too much.

“Eddie?” Evan asks, watching this beautiful man crumble from indignation and anger into this hopelessness. It doesn’t look right on him and Evan wants to help, but he doesn’t even know what’s going on.

At his name, Eddie looks up, meeting those eyes. Evan has no business knowing what’s happening in Eddie’s family, but- but he looked after Chris and he’s here and not judging him or demanding anything, he’s just concerned. And Eddie really needs to talk about this with someone, to feel like there is someone in his corner and he’s not all alone.

He chokes out: “Her family emergency is in LA. There were custody papers on the table this morning. She’s gone.”

Evan’s eyes grow wide as he processes Eddie’s words. Shannon left. For LA. And she isn’t planning on coming back. It hurts to be left like that after nearly ten months of flirting and four months of sleeping together, but it’s familiar. Something he’s used to. He just can’t wrap his head around the fact that she’d leave her child. Her child. Someone as amazing as Chris.

Thoughts whirl around in his head, but he only manages to choke out: “Holy shit, dude, that fucking sucks.”

Eddie lets out a laugh, though it sounds more like a sob as he gives a watery smile and nods: “Yeah, it does fucking suck.”

“Fucking,” Chris loudly declares, repeating the new word he heard as he climbs to his feet.

Both Eddie’s and Evan’s eyes grow wide as they give each other a shocked stare. It’s Eddie who breaks first, the absurdity of the whole thing getting to him as he breaks down in laughter, Evan following after him and Chris joining in, because Chris always laughs along with anyone, feeding on the happy energy.

Once they’ve calmed themselves down and Chris has wandered off, Evan clears his throat and his voice becomes serious: “But really, man, that is terrible. I can’t believe she’d do that.”

“Me neither,” Eddie sighs, the reality hitting him all over again as he watches Chris, who is now practicing with his crutches by chasing a butterfly, who is definitely winning the race. He looks so happy, so carefree. Eddie doesn’t know how he’s going to explain to him that mommy isn’t coming home.

Evan follows Eddie’s gaze and his heart breaks for Chris, who will grow up without a mother, feeling abandoned. He knows what it’s like to feel unwanted by parents and he doesn’t wish it on any child.

Fortunately, it seems that Eddie isn’t planning on making him feel that way. The poor man might look like he’s about to kneel over from the stress or break down crying, but he’s keeping it together surprisingly well.

Evan’s heart also breaks for him a little. He doesn’t know if the ex-in-laws – or Eddie’s parents, he should probably refer to them as Eddie’s parents – are as judgy towards him as they are, or were, to Shannon, but raising a kid by himself with that as background noise? That can’t be easy.

“Do you- do you wanna talk about it?” he offers. It feels a little stupid to offer it, Eddie hasn’t wanted anything to do with him for the entire time he’s been home, he doubts he’d want to talk with the ex-boyfriend? situationship? of his ex-wife that just abandoned him and his kid about her abandoning them.

However, Eddie surprises him by softly saying: “Yes, please. If you don’t mind.”

Eddie can see that Evan is taken aback by his answer and he almost backtracks, but before he can, a smile breaks out on Evan’s face and he says: “You can tell me all about it while we feed the chickens then. I’d offer you a coffee, but Mrs. Johnson scares me a little and I can feel her judgy eyes in the back of my neck.”

The comment makes Eddie laugh again. It’s strange how easily Evan makes him laugh, Eddie has always had a hard time getting along with people, but Evan is easy to get along with. Despite what led him here, he finds himself not feeling as filled with dread as he’d thought. “Yeah, Mrs. Johnson scares me too. Lead the way.”

“Gladly,” Evan grins, going to grab the chicken feed. As he returns he calls out to Chris: “Hey Chris, I’m gonna go feed the chickies, do you wanna go say hi to them?”

“I do, I do,” Chris cheers and Evan can feel how he smiles in return automatically.

“Well, come over here then, buddy,” Evan calls back. “Or do you need me to come get you?”

“I can do it,” Chris says determinedly, starting to come their way. “Daddy say hi too? Hi to the chickies?”

It’s only when Chris asks that, that he realizes Eddie is right there and embarrassment floods through him as he stutters: “If- if that’s okay with you, of course. I am so sorry for just pushing in your space like that. Shannon- uhm, Shannon never minded if I kinda did that when they were here, but I totally should’ve asked.”

Eddie is staring at him with wide eyes, not saying anything. He has never seen anyone act with Chris like that before, so casually and respectful. There is no pity in his eyes when he looks at Chris and he doesn’t think Chris can’t do it by himself. He lets him have the choice and actually lets him do what he wants when he makes it.

Then his words and the expression on his face register and Eddie says: “No, no, don’t worry, you’re perfect.” He blushes and quickly amends: “I mean, you did perfectly fine.”

“Are you sure?” Evan asks, face red. He’s probably embarrassed, because Eddie is apparently incapable of being normal. God, he is a mess. Today is a mess.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Usually people are more hands on with Chris. They baby him. It’s nice to see someone not do that, took me by surprise,” Eddie answers, rubbing the back of his head.

“Oh yeah, Shannon told me about her ex-in-laws,” Evan nods in sympathy, before remembering that Shannon’s ex-in-laws are Eddie’s parents, therefore it might not have been the smartest thing to say. Then he also remembers that Shannon left and that’s why they’re even talking to each other, so reminding him of her might not be the smartest either. “Oh my god, I am so sorry.”

“It’s okay, not like she’s wrong,” Eddie sighs. “I had to fight my mom to get her to stop calling Chris fragile. Shan has been getting the brunt of it. Just didn’t think it’d drive her away.”

He startles slightly at the comforting hand on his shoulder and is surprised to find he misses it when Evan pulls back at his reaction. Though, Evan doesn’t let his reaction stop him for saying: “Hey, don’t do that yourself, man. You didn’t control that and it’s a sh- silly thing she did that.”

With the correction, Eddie easily spots Chris, who has caught up with them. Evan is trying to prevent another ‘fucking’ incident and it’s strangely endearing.

“Hey, mijo,” Eddie smiles carding a hand through his curls. “Do you say hi the chickens often?”

“All the time,” Chris informs him happily. “I like chickies. Chickies are nice. Eggs are nice too. And chickies give us the eggs.”

“They sure do,” Eddie says warmly, charmed by Chris’s love for the chickens. Lord knows he has fed him plenty of eggs in the mornings. He looks at Evan, finding himself in a familiar situation of not really knowing what’s happening with his kid and having to ask another adult. It feels a little bitter as he asks: “So, how does this usually go?”

“How do you want it to go?” Evan shoots back, surprising him once more. He shrugs: “I have a routine with Shannon, but you’re his dad. He can explore on his own, he’s no stranger. He might plop down somewhere, but that’s fine. The chickens know him. But if you want he can hang around here with us, though that might not be the best if you still wanna talk. So, it’s up to you.”

Again, Eddie can’t help but stare at Evan, who so easily trusts him to be Chris’s dad and doesn’t take over, assuming he knows best, even though they’re on his turf. It’s hard to believe that Evan is more of a surprise today than he had been his first day back home, but he is.

Before it can get weird again, Eddie shakes it off. He clears his throat and turns to Chris. “You can go play with the chickens, but you have to stay where I can see you, okay?”

“Okay,” Chris agrees with a big smile, before scampering off inside when Evan opens the doors for them.

Once Chris is occupying himself, Evan starts to feed the chickens as he says: “Okay, so I’ve heard quite a bit from Shannon’s side, but you can tell me your side or just what your feeling, I guess. I used to be a bartender, so I like to think I’m a great listener.”

Eddie isn’t sure what to do with that, Diaz men don’t talk about their feelings. He just needs to talk to organize his thoughts. But Evan seems nice enough and willing to listen and he’s proven himself to not be judgmental, so Eddie is going to try and extend the same courtesy.

So, he doesn’t comment and starts talking.

~~

A/N:

Confession, it is me, who loves chickens, self indulgent to project that onto Chris, but it’s not like I’m wrong. Chickens are great (but cows are my favorite animals. I fucking love agriculture like a nerd).

Also, love Buck and Eddie becoming ride or die so fucking fast upon having one normal conversation lmao

[doodlegirl1998]

As a story writer, BNHA is an utter insult to story telling in general. And it sickens me that people literally praise it as peak story telling.

Other anime series like Death Note, Madoka Magica, and Dragon Ball has similar themes and character arcs and did them a MILLION times better than this series ever did!

I'm one who greatly values the rule of "show don't tell" and building up believable chemistry between the characters that I just don't get from this series.

1-A say they're connected and can work together as one but we never get any scenes of the class just hanging out and only talk about subjects that are happening right now. We don't know any of their likes or dislikes, their hobbies, what they like to do and more.

Izuku is forced to be miserable and alone so it can be misery for the sake of misery or played up for poor tasting comedy. And to be forced away from his first true friends to be with the Cash Cow Triplets because that apparent pairing makes the most money.

And that's... the saddest thing about the whole business nowadays.

Telling a good story isn't a priority anymore, it's adding things that'll make them the most bank.

Sorry for this rant I just wanted to get that off my chest.

Hi @theloganator101 👋,

I agree as someone who likes to write fics and read a lot of stories myself I do see where you are coming from.

MHA is built on a strong foundation, interesting premise, world building and loveable characters (eeehhh mostly...) yet as time has gone on really prominent cracks have begun to show in MHA.

Particularly, Hori's "tell don't show" method - an inverse of the good writers advice "show don't tell." For example - so many characters kiss Bakugou's ass, call him a prodigy, a "manly friend", a "hard worker", "the best", "has grown a lot" when with how this kid acts he should be LOATHED. By everyone, staff and students alike.

Aizawa is one of his most staunch defenders despite Bakugou being the type of student he should (from what we are told about him and see of his backstory) despise.

Kirishima is his self proclaimed best friend yet Bakugou is the type of person (from what we are told about him) he should also hate with a passion.

Shoto expresses the desire to be friends with Bakugou yet from his upbringing, he should instantly see Bkg is a POS (a mini Endeavor in a lot of ways) and hate him on principle - especially because of how Bakugou is still acting openly hostile and abusive to Midoriya.

Midoriya still calls him "Kacchan" which implies closeness yet Bakugou viciously bullied him mercilessly for year's. He should from what we see also loathe Bakugou or grow to do so yet he never does.

All of this creates a strong sense of cognitive dissonance and dissatisfaction throughout the story.

Class 1A say they are connected but are they really, and is Aizawa their defacto father figure? I would say no. Despite Hori telling us otherwise - he doesn't make the effort to SHOW us.

Class 1A can show they care what Bakugou feels like being rescued but hound Midoriya and drag him back to UA without a care in the clusterfuck that was Class 1A vs Izuku.

Class 1A can rightfully dunk on Mineta for all the times he acts a disgusting pervert yet look on as Bakugou takes his aggression physically, verbally and in an explosive manner out on Midoriya for the 100th time. Even Midoriya's friends (Ocha, Iida, Tsyu, Aoyama and Shoto) and his mentor All Might look on with a fond smile at the "rivals."

I am disgusted at the abusive mockery of a rivalry... a rivalry is Sasuke vs Naruto - or even Shigaraki vs Izuku not Bakugou (abuser) vs Izuku (his victim.)

There was a moment in the war arc, where Izuku shouted to AFO!Shig that losing their homeroom teacher, Aizawa would be the worst outcome of the battle. And, as it wasn't the argument of Eraser the tactical asset being lost that would be the worst outcome but him as a teacher, I was left thinking - Izuku, why do you think this?

Hori gave us no moments where a bond between Aizawa and the rest of the class was built up to see him as this defacto father figure to 1A - especially not with Izuku - in fact Hori did the opposite by making Aizawa behave like he has.

"Problem Child" - is not a fond nickname from Aizawa to Midoriya to me. To anyone who thinks it is I would like them to consider that it is coming from an expell-eager hardass of a Teacher who has never been shown to like Izuku.

Realistically, the repercussions of Aizawa's actions here written without plot armour, Midoriya would be an anxious wreck being called this by him and would be wondering when he actually will get the boot out of U.A.

So again, there's the cognitive dissonance and here's Hori's favourite "tell don't show"... UGH.

There's so so many other examples of this style of writing in MHA - all the simping for Endeavor, Aizawa and Bakugou done by other characters because we are meant to like them now.

Side note - Rei simping for Endeavor is just baffling to me and not in a good way like 🤮. It was such a poor narrative choice it made me wonder if this poor woman was actually being treated in that mental hospital or just brainwashed to be more ammendable to her abusive husband. What good Doctor would let their patients abusive husband's manipulative presents through? Fuck right off with that Hori.

With your concluding statement I agree - making a good story and concluding it at the right time isn't a priority anymore. In general, just look at the MCU. That francise should have naturally ended with Endgame yet Disney is still trying to drag it on to milk out the dollars until it becomes unprofitable.

With MHA, narratively it has gone down the toilet. Hori's heart isn't in it anymore and we can all tell. He (and his editors) placed Izuku at the heart of the cash cow triplets to bring them in the money. And it has worked.

So, Izuku will always be miserable with Bakubitch always around like a cancer sucking out all Izuku's joy and growing over what was meant as his story. I don't expect a happy ending for Izuku anymore. I just hope he isn't dead at the end of all of this and manages to save Shigaraki - which is the most I can hope for him at the moment.

To conclude, don't be sorry for the rant I responded with one of my own. :)

[penroseparticle]

Penrose Song of the Day, Day 39: London Calling by The Clash

So I used to scorekeep hockey games a lot. Like a lot a lot. There was a period of time where I could make about 400 bucks a week scorekeeping games on the weekends. I ran the scoreboard, the reporting to Gamesheet (A scorekeeping app), kept a paper scoresheet, and did the music. It was a lot of work to run all 4 of those things at once! Especially if a game got busy.

I've done house level, Travel level, AA and AAA, Really everything. At a certain point you learn the scoreboard machine. You learn when to click what buttons when which whistles blow and you start to get almost mechanical. Like an automaton that reacts to specific noises. And the thing is that no matter how great or badly I did at scorekeeping, no one ever mentioned it after. I could royally fuck up putting the score on the board and I would still get called back the next week to do the clock. Parents notoriously hate working the scoreboard- they just want to watch their kid and get in fights with the refs. Easy money. I charged 60 bucks a game and they forked it over gladly (Hockey parents don't care man. They're paying 8k for the season anyways sometimes. House is like 2k, travel can be way more with hotels, airfare, etc. It's an expensive sport. What's an extra 60 bucks a season to not have to sit in the box and freeze while missing Timmy score a goal.)

What I CONSISTENTLY got praise for was the music I played.

Now I think I have good taste, but I'm not like. Special. Most people have similar tastes, everyone's on the bell curve of "can tell a song is good" vs. "Carrying tunes in tin buckets". It's helped by the fact that some things are kind of obliged- certain songs are, for lack of a better word, required (For instance, Chelsea Dagger by The Fratellis is a Chicago Goal song. So if you are doing hockey music in Chicago, you ARE including that song no matter what. Period). So building a good playlist isn't that hard. A little The Alan Parson's Project to kick the games off. Some Chumbawumba for after a tough hit. The Hockey Song because this is Youth Hockey.

The mainstay of the list, for better or worse, is a classic rock/arena rock/current pop mix. It's what people expect, it's what I mostly have to deliver. Pearl Jam, Dave Matthews Band, Huey Lewis and the News, Duran Duran, One Republic, that kind of thing. It's consistently a crowd pleasing list, and it's gotta have energy, be recognizable, and be something that people will want to hear possibly twice over a hockey game. The original playlist was something like 50-60 songs. I thought that would be enough, because I am stupid. Turns out hockey games have 30-50% of their game time with the clock stopped- as in, the times when someone would typically play music to fill dead air. So I added more songs. Put on some Rush because I'm catering to the Dad demo. Putting Imagine Dragons and Boss Beat music in its natural habitat (Don't look at me like that, I've been to sporting events, these songs are made for this). Some pop girlies because I like sports, but I'm still gay. Kesha. Lady Gaga's Bad Romance (permissible due to it surviving in the zeitgeist, etc.).

And then I got... weird with it. One of the first goal songs I ever used was Otherworld. As in, the boss music for when you fight Jecht in Final Fantasy X. VGR's Electronic Amp-Up of Mii Channel features prominently and is a huge crowdpleaser with the 25-45 crowd. Baby Shark exists for when I want to annoy people. Megolovania is on it for god's sake. If it sounds good and is a little Easter egg for someone listening, trust and believe that I put that song on the list.

People loved it. Every game, without fail, between 1 and 3 people would find me after to compliment the music. The playlist was good! I named it "18U no vursing" and have used it for about 6-7 years now.

The problem with making a good playlist is that you have to constantly top yourself. I wanted to make the list better. Have more fun with it, include more jokes, more clever remixes and mashes. Things that people would like.

What made that easy was something so simple I almost overlooked it. People already told me what they would like. There's a reason arena rock, classic rock, and pop music are the bog standard. It's what works for the medium and what people like to listen to.

There's such a thing as getting too in the weeds, too obscure. You gotta remember your audience, your goals, and your scope. I wasn't debuting hot new artists (ok I was sometimes). I was playing music for people during their kid's sport. And so I readjusted my scope. The playlist grew. A few indie picks, the gags that worked (Mii Channel, Baby Shark, Electronic music with a hidden secret, etc.), but mostly pop and rock and that's all.

I'll let you in on the secret for why my hockey playlist got so good and why people started to love it so much. I'll tell you the secret to making any list popular. I started getting suggestions.

And I listened to them.

The first song I added to the playlist due to a suggestion was London Calling. I like The Clash, but there's billions of songs out there, I hadn't thought to put them on yet. But a ref skated up to me during stoppage of play and said "Hey do you have The Clash on there?" and I realized I didn't. I added it mid-game and played it between the 2nd and 3rd periods.

He thanked me after the game.

A couple weeks later I was asked if I had the soundtrack for Slap Shot on there. I started playing Maxine Nightingale, Leo Sayer, the works. The guys had a hoot and were laughing and smiling between periods.

I noticed that refs were a little nicer when I flubbed the scoreboard if I was playing songs they requested.

I asked one of my teams if they had a specific warmup song they wanted me to play. They were delighted to tell me it was Levels by Avicii. I played it every game to kick things off. Another team told me it was Welcome to DC by Mambo Sauce. A third said Welcome to the Jungle.

The playlist grew. It's 400 songs long now. Like a full 24 hours straight.

I don't scorekeep as much now. But I think I'll keep building the playlist, thanks.

~~~~~~~~

Scorekeeping was nice, but playing the music was the part that made it fun. It's made me realize one thing about myself- If Radio DJ was still a job in a way that was meaningful or mattered, I would want that job. I would probably kill for that job, actually. Listening to callers tell me they missed Chappell Roan could I please play Good Luck Babe. Or telling me that their dad's favorite song was Mr. Blue Sky so thank you so much for playing it. Girls having me play Before He Cheats for their dick ex-boyfriend. Wishing people Happy Pride with an hour mix of queer artitst. Having call in time so people could just chat.

I kind of am doing that here, and now, but in slow, painstakingly written, long-form music recommendations. I like making playlists. I love getting music dialogue going with my followers. I like discovering new music, and talking about it with people here. I am slowly, surely, working the same muscles I would need to do exactly that job, just quietly and in my own personal little corner of the world.

You know I have a discord server I made? I haven't added anyone to it, and I probably won't do anything with it. Yet. It's called Radio Waystation. Let me just link the only post I've made in there so far:

"This is for playing your music and sharing it- I might set up a radio rotation but. Essentially I want to use voicechat to let us showcase our music to each other when we want to. Dynamically- You can run a prepared playlist for your radio time, you can do a Q&A or ~Call In~ time. You can actively Disc Jockey. You just have to share your sounds to other people. Your radio time, your rules- you can acquiesce to people's tastes, you can troll people, you can play the sound of silence. You can play the same song over and over. You can express yourself. And sometimes people will say THAT SUCKS and not enjoy your presentation, but ultimately your time is yours alone. (no tolerance of intolerance loophole bullshit- you know what kind of shit will get you pulled off the air, don't be a dirtbag). Workshop a song, get help putting ikea together. But I hope you play some music."

Hey I'm nothing if not consistent.

I now know that's a lot more complicated due to how Spotify and Discord interact, and whether it's strictly speaking legal (I am intimately familiar with music licensing requirements due to my past job, thanks). But I think it's something worth figuring out someday. Someday soon, I think. I want to make my radio station.

Not a lot of today's writeup was about the song, unfortunately. And that's a bit of a shame, because again- I like The Clash. 1970's English Punk Rock had some bangers, babes, and London Calling is like. one of the greats. A recognizeable guitar part, a truly bangin bassline leading in, and just the most moshable, jumpable lyric delivery. You need to be standing pressed against the stage screaming this stuff out with Joe Strummer.

Listen I don't need to defend The Clash bigger nerds than I have done so for far longer than I've been alive. But hey. It's music I love. And as always- You could be dead right now. Go listen to something that you love.

[cmilesfm]

if you go down to hammond, you'll never come back.

[ josh o'connor, cis-male, he / him ]  — whoa! MILES COATES just stole my cab! not cool, but maybe they needed it more. they have lived in the city for 6 YEARS, working as a TENNIS ATHLETE. that can’t be easy, especially at only 32 YEARS OLD. some people say they can be a little bit DISTRACTED and BITTER, but i know them to be UNINHIBITED and RESOURCEFUL. whatever. i guess i’ll catch the next cab. hope they like the ride back to BROOKLYN!

in my opinion, you're on the wrong track.

pinterest. playlist. google doc.

basics

full name: miles coates. age: thirty-two. occupation: professional tennis player (struggling) with rare moonlighting as a coach for adolescents, he's not fond of broadcasting his situation at all. borough: brooklyn. sexuality: bisexual. gender: cis male. pronouns: he/him. birthplace: new canaan, connecticut. zodiac: gemini. positive traits: persuasive. eager. competitive. negative traits: stubborn. shameful. directionless.

biography

miles lives in a cramped apartment in brooklyn he affords by scrounging around for tournament money. it's mostly old furniture, old trophies absent-mindedly left in random places and hordes of beaten rackets, unopened wilson ball canisters and ruined sneakers. he barely fits his bed, which is another feeling beyond embarrassing, so he ops for the couch instead. a tiny place.

he grew up in the suburbs of connecticut to a regular, middle-class family. his home life was consistent, with a brother and sister, mother and father. to this day, they're still together and remain a rooting anchor for miles despite his worst qualities.

he moved out pretty young given his new found career, his second semester into college.

after graduating, he followed where ever tennis took him, but only recently did he settle down in new york. a little over an hour away from new canaan.

his career has always streamlined a climate of, "just enough." just enough to float around circuits with buzz that might propel you into a better tournament which might finally get your stats high enough to qualify for an actual pro tour.

miles has always been an edgy, loose at the seams kind of guy. aimless in a way that left his family worried, but unable to reel in. if he were more self aware, he might attribute this attitude to his lackluster tennis career and personal life.

the last time he had legitimate success was in his mid twenties. he had breached the ranks with numbers that put him in hopeful, local tennis talk, with an agent and coach who prodded his ear with, " hey, maybe with a few more seasons like this, the US open could happen? " it never did.

now, besides lingering in matches with guys far younger than him, he offers coaching to bleary eyed kids who don't know if they actually want to pursue tennis beyond their parent's pushing. too much of his time is spent loitering in empty tennis club courts with lazy kids with equally lazy forehands, the sound of the ball bouncing into the racket only to land out.

he's embarrassed by what he does to make ends meet. he's too prideful to admit his run is over and he knows he wouldn't be able to bear the looks promising 20 year olds would give him if they knew he resorted to what is essentially a high school tennis coach.

ultimately, he's always been an introverted sort of guy and intertwined any charisma he has into tennis. so for his game to recede and his disposition to look more and more pathetic, he's become dissatisfied. not only with himself, but his life as well, making him unmoored and rather malignant.

inspirations

big little lies: the general atmosphere of seeing the interior lives of characters, simple details and minor disasters. their private relationships, the language of each character's romantic relationships. trust for trust's sake. the blue hues. moments of introspection in the car rider line. when needing to fall back on somebody suddenly occurs and you realize you need to learn how to clean up after yourself.

the bear, richie jerimovich: when you're at a point in your life when you know there's nothing else to do other than hit the wall, or at least that's how it feels. a tiny apartment to be alone in. a cigarette habit. stubbornly understanding that, yes, you do need the support of others. asking a relative to help you out despite your less than responsible history. the character who feels stuck in a lack of purpose. being the relative who awkwardly relates to the younger table of the family and not on account of some kind of "hip," younger taste.

potential connections

coaching clientele. drifting friendships that always go to catch up over a quick bite, but never seem to remediate their time spent apart. childhood friends. ex-agents. past tennis opponents. ex's and they hate each other, hate. a persistent, familiar friendship he's had since his boston college days. a disgruntled, older mentor (not strictly tennis). current or previous neighbors. his siblings. the inane deck of people you meet during your time in new york. ex-flings. annoying acquaintances. someone who genuinely ruins his day. people he knows from the gym he frequents. the missed connection of someone who could've been the good steady in his life. his physician who knows him well enough to give him life advice while recommending him a physical therapist due to tennis. (off the top of my head, i'm interested to see other potential plot ideas!)

associations

a pile of crumpled, used tennis shoes. a fridge with lazy health foods because he can't be bothered to stay on regimen. the too small feeling he gets when visiting his parents and subsequently the nausea when he stays at his childhood home. the atlantic coast. the oily paper wrapping from his morning breakfast. when his uber drops his request at the worst moment possible. the vague BPM of house music at some club he should really forget about. compulsively checking tournament calendars. forgetting to hold his racket loose. windbreakers. the way he should make sense at a country club, but he visibly looks odd in the setting. an incredibly threadbare and worn wallet he refuses to ditch.

misc

at 27, he had to move back home with his parents. he has since internalized this and it always circles in his thoughts when he's self-loathing.

there's a nearby balkan food joint that he frequents that believes he's a legitimate figure in tennis. he doesn't have the heart to let them know he hasn't qualified for anything serious in years and they have a picture of him on the wall that they took themselves. he's pictured awkwardly giving a thumbs up by the counter.

there was a point in his college career that he debated taking leave to focus on tennis, but his parents were the one's to keep him in school. he graduated from BU with a degree in economics he's never had to use.

admin notes

hello all, it's sash! i just wanna leave this off on an excited note. i cannot wait to plot with everyone until my heart shrivels up!

[chaotic-and-mentally-ill]

So, Ducktales x Cult of the Lamb, am I right?

Ok it's not actually a Ducktales x Cult of the Lamb au, it's more of a weird Mickey and friends Cult of the Lamb au, but it mostly focuses on the duck triplets.

(Huey, Dewey, and Louie)

I, sadly, don't have a whole lot of art for this au yet mostly cause i'm still figuring out how to draw all the characters, so bare with me cause this is gonna be a long text post until I have art I can/am willing to share.

TLDR;

Cult of the Lamb au but make it Ducktales/Mickey and friends because i've been watching Ducktales and recently got back into Cult of the Lamb again. I'll mostly be focusing on Louie for this au sense I have the best grasp on his character as of right now, but others will show up.

Sense Louie is the main focus, Louie with be the one taking on the role of The Lamb for this au, meaning he will bare the crown.

(But that doesn't mean I haven't thought about the "what if" of if Huey or Dewey got it instead.)

Cult of the Duck

So, before I really get to this I need to explain one very important detail:

All the ducks? Yea, they're dead. All expect Louie of course. (or one of the other triplets but we'll get to that later). This, of course, means Donald, Della, Scrooge, his brothers, and frankly and other duck within the series are, well, gone.

Like the lamb, Louie as the last of his kind. There are no other ducks. He has no one to protect him, and no one to protect. He is completely and utterly alone.

So when he's sent to be sacrificed in order to prevent the "prophecy", there was not much he could do. Sure, it was absolutely terrifying! No one wants to be sacrificed, and he was damn well sure that "prophecy" was bogus!

"Come closer, little duckling, for I still need you. I will grant you back your life, in return, I ask for a cult in my name. Do we have a deal?"

But as he looked up to the Bishops, gods amongst the people, those who always knew what was right, those who should not be questioned, as all he could do was bow his head and squeeze his eyes tight, hearing his heart beat agents his ribs as he prayed.

But when no pain had arrived, curiosity got the best of him as he opened his eyes and looked up. It was so bright.

Something beckoned him forward, and he followed. A voice gently assured to him as he made his way forward.

And with new found life, Louie escapes with the help of one of Oswald's children, a previous vessel to The One Who Waits.

And the story continues as per usual from there with one of Oswald's kids taking the place of Ratau (at least until I think of someone better). The first follower to be saved by Louie would be Max, who after this point is pretty darn loyal.

Louie, at first, is pretty upset about having to work and build the cult in the first place. He wasn't used to doing so much hard work, nor did he enjoy it very much. But, it was better then basically every thing else he'd been through, so he'd learn to tolerate it.

After some time of going on crusades (which, frankly, he hates more), he'd get a pretty good flow going between growing the cult and relaxation. He'd upgrade quickly, recruit (or as he'd call it; "Sweet talk") people, and find ways to make it so everyone could care for themselves so he'd have more time to relax.

Occasionally he'd go on crusades, but only if he absolutely needed to. (Food, supplies, gold, stuff like that.) He'd avoid the Bishops as long as he physically could, only caving when he didn't have a choice but to face them.

Sure, it be a heavy learning curve at first (learning to be selfless and what not for the sake of the cult), but eventually he'd be a pretty decent leader. His favorite days are when the whole cult (also known as his "community") would take one big break and not work at all, but he also enjoyed the days where everyone would hand him gold and/or do all the work for him. Because man does he hate having to do hard work. And yes, he's still the greedy, money loving guy we all know and love.

He'd often have Max be the one looking over the "community" when ever he leaves. Max would also probably be the tax collector and such considering he was the first follower and is the most loyal. Him and Max are close.

I can also see Louie marring many people, for tax purposes of course.

But what about the other 2? What would happen if they were given the crown instead?

Well, the sacrifice process may as well go the same. Oswald kid still takes Ratau place, Max still being the first follower and being loyal beyond belief, but that's likely where the similarities would end.

Dewey, being the prideful and adventures guy he is, would absolutely LOVE crusades. Sure, he'd love his cult and would enjoy being around them, but he would be nowhere NEAR where Louie would be in growth in the same time frame. He'd spend far to much time doing crusades and fighting monsters or even the bishops. Tbh I can see him taking out the most amount of bishops in the shortest amount of time out of all his brothers (with Louie taking the longest).

He'd probably come back to a hungry, angry followers because he'd be gone so long thanks to his crusades, which would inevitably lead to a LOT of damage control after. Would he ever learn? Probably not.

That's basically all I got for now, still a lot of stuff to work through and think about, but it's a neat idea that's been plaguing my mind for the past few days.

Huey on the other hand would spend an equal amount of time on crusades and with his cult. He'd most likely have everything under control from the get go. Plus, he now has a healthy way of letting out "The Duke of Messes" via crusades. Occasionally he'd have to preform damage control, especially with any new stubborn followers, but for the most part everyone is happy and capable of functioning orderly with or without him (mostly due to his schedules). Let's be honest, he's just glad people are finally listening to him.

His cult would probably embrace nature to it's finest, tents and all. It would probably be more put together and more advance then Dewey in most regards, but not nearly as advanced as Louie.

In other words: Louie is basically running a really weird town, Huey is running a camp, and Dewey is uh- doing his best.

[markberries]

television romance ﹒ km [preview]

synopsis﹕ being a self made singer was not simple, nor was it handed to you on a silver platter. a decision between your management and those at pledis ent. to have you date kim mingyu was not making your life any easier.

genre + ﹕ fluff, angst, idol au, fem reader, bit of wonu x reader in the FUTURE (what do u expect i'm a wonwoorideul.) y/n is a girl boss 🤞🏻

wc ﹕ 691

warnings ﹕ none

note ﹕ a lil something ive been working on! enjoy!

“you have got to be kidding me.”

you look between your personal manager and the ceo of the company you were signed at, dream records. they purse their lips, your manager looking down awkwardly.

“i don’t need to have a fake boyfriend for more traction, my last album did well without it,” you try your best to reason with them.

“yes, that is true, but more sales is always good!” your manager, junho explains with emphasis on the sales aspect.

ever since you were a mere teenager, you craved being onstage. you wanted to sing in front of crowds, change people’s lives, and hopefully make a difference.

you got signed to the dream record label when you were eighteen, fresh out of high school. before that, you were making cover videos on youtube in your tiny bedroom. your record label wasn’t huge, the only reason you joined was to assist one of your friends who was a producer.

you were fairly popular now, mostly in the west when it came to your pop punk sound of music. you worked hard to get where you are, and you thought that it was enough for the company you were under.

“i was doing okay without any pr stunts, i’m sure i’ll be alright without one now,” you huff, sinking into the black leather chair.

“i’ll talk to her,” junho states apologetically to the ceo. he pushes you by your shoulders outside of the office into the brightly lit hallway, and as soon as you’re out of earshot of the ceo, you turn to junho with a glare on your face.

“i don’t want to fake date anyone,” you grumble, placing your hands on your hips, “you’re one of my closest friends but i wouldn’t do this for anybody.”

“y/n, just think about it! yes, you’re doing great, no one is discrediting you for that, but you could always do better,” junho reasons with you. you roll your eyes, walking away but he follows you.

you weren’t a difficult or mean person, but what they were asking of you was just unbelievable. you’ve been working here for years, and you were their main money maker. you’ve given up so much for the sake of this company, and now they were asking you to give up the freedom of choosing your own relationships.

“i’m just frustrated, and the fact that you didn’t consult me before talking to the other party in this business deal irritates me too, this guy could be a complete weirdo!” you exclaim, pacing towards your studio.

“he’s not, i promise, he’s actually quite nice.”

you look at junho with an unimpressed expression, “how do you know that?”

“i.. met him..”

“you’ve even met him before me! junho, you know i trust you with my life. i’d do anything for you but listen to what you’re asking me to do,” you open the black door to your studio, flipping the light switch on your left. you’re greeted by your soft lights and awards sitting on your shelves.

“then trust me when i tell you this is good for you,” junho plops down on your black leather couch, the short man leaning back into the cushions. “his name is mingyu, and when we met he seemed very kind. he already signed the contract.”

your face contorts into a grimace while taking a seat in your comfortable office chair, still not even a bit convinced to go along with this agreement. you aimlessly begin spinning the chair, tapping your fingers against the arm rest.

“would you like to meet him?”

your head snaps towards your manager’s direction, eyes squinting with suspicion.

“why are you asking me this?”

junho shrugs his shoulders, “maybe if you two got along you wouldn’t mind it as much. you’ve probably heard of him anyway, he’s in the kpop industry.”

you weren’t unfamiliar when it came to kpop groups, you had quite a lot of songs in your playlists. you just weren’t an avid fan of it, probably only listening to title tracks and you didn’t know that many groups.

“hm, what group?” you ask out of curiosity.

“seventeen.”

[fea-resources]

Best SAO Abridged Lines As RP Starters Pt.1

"I am going to burn this fucker to the ground."

"I have a feeling you get beat up a lot."

“Fuck you, man, that’s like the pig from Hell!”

“The legacy of the pebble lives on.”

“Well, thanks for the quick tutorial on pig slaying, and the not-so-quick tutorial on... rocks.”

"Come on, I can't alt+F4 this shit!"

“...And the sky is bleeding.”

“Well Ballsy, I believe the locals call it a... hex...a...gon? Not sure if I’m pronouncing that right I’ll have to get back to you.”

"Man, they're really working for that M rating."

"Much like the World of Warcraft, you're not here by choice anymore. Unlike WoW however, you're being held here by me, not by the need to escape your empty fucking life."

"Sometimes things are born. They live... and then they stop. Forever."

"Yeah I'm just gonna keep that tabbed."

"As... tempting as that sounds, I really should stick with my friends back there. They're about as skilled as I am so I figure we have a better chance of surviving if we stick together."

"Well, monkeys and typewriters..."

"You might be the most unbearable asshole I've ever met, but you are really good at this. We could use you in our group, what do you say?"

"So many poor souls came to an abrupt and tragic end... some, by bad luck, others by sheer stupidity. I mean really, why would you just stand in fire?"

"Oh wow, what brilliant insight. That's so deep it loops right back around to being stupid."

"Its all bullshit metaphors with you."

"He cried... not knowing the difference between a simile and a metaphor."

"The tininess of his brain dwarfed only by the tininess of his di--"

"You can silence me but you can't silence the truth!"

"Oh jeez I am just making things worse."

"Pssht. Evidence... I don't need no evidence. Isn't that right _____?"

"Its pronounced ______, and... I don't know you."

"______, huh? That's a... pretty masculine name."

"Shouldn't be. Its a woman's name."

"...'kay, I dunno how to talk to you."

"Good, then you can shut up and listen."

"Good rule of thumb: if someone asks for money two seconds after meeting you, front lines. If they hijack conversations to rant about their political views, front lines. If they ask women to see pics of their boobs, front lines."

"Jesus, who wrote this thing?"

"Okay, so the guide's a bust, but it'll be fine! I'll come up with a great plan for us!"

"Well, we could--.... uhh... I'm open to suggestions!"

"We could group up, and hit it til it dies!"

"Fuck it, group up."

“What, a whole month? How have you survived this long?”

"HOW DO I EAT YOU?"

“It’s been...a challenge.”

"Oh I have lots of reasons for not grouping up. Mostly because they're a bunch of mouth-breathing neck-beards who think L M A O is how french people laugh."

“You sure have a way of... eh... speaking from the heart?”

"Funny, I thought I was speaking from my mouth, but shows what I know about biology."

"No one else wanted you in their group, did they?"

"Shut up, it was mutual!"

"Fine, we leave at the crack of... 2:30... I guess."

"Okay, so... apparently there were a few more stairs than we realized."

"Jesus... why don't you just take a cheetos and mountain dew break and we'll reconvene in an hour."

"Damn it I was kidding! You weren't actually supposed to actually take an hour!"

"Stop attacking from the front! Do you even know what 'Flank' means?!"

"For fuck's sake, stop playing Bejeweled!"

"Alright, this last part's going to take careful coordination... which is why I'm just gonna do it myself!"

"While both are primarily slashing weapons, a Talwar was favored by cavalrymen, as opposed to an Odachi which was mainly used for dick measuring."

"And why couldn't you say that first?"

"I like to think of myself as a teacher."

"Our best player is a girl who thinks DPS is some kind of sex thing."

"I've been doing this a long time, and if there's one thing I learned, its that lions do not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep. Just take that little voice in the back of your head that tells you to be tactful and understanding, and shoot it. Shoot it in the god damn face."

"Here's what we'll do. One counters his blows to knock him off balance, and the other switches in to attack. Rinse, repeat, victory."

"You came up with that but you can't open a menu..."

"Congratulations! That was even more impressive than that cat that learned to play."

"Oh my god, you guys can see it too?! So I'm not crazy!

“Isn't that right _____?"

"That's right ______! Now... kill them all."

"As you command my lord."

"We have traveled far, and up many stairs to get to this point, fighting side by side, noobs and elites alike. I'd like to take a moment to say I couldn't have done it without the help of each and every one of you... of course I'm not a liar, so I'm not gonna say any of that."

"I mean to be honest I could have done this whole thing myself, BUT, to be fair, I guess you DID absorb a bit of damage for me, which was nice."

"You were an adequate meat shield, and no one can ever take that away from you."

"Fuck... fuck! Shut up! Shut up!"

"Shoot for the stars! It'll make it more fun for me when I kick you back into the dirt."

"You're not better than us!"

"My sweet ass coat begs to differ."

"No, its not fabric I can cut, its a bunch of 1's and 0's."

"Fine, then give me the 1's."

"Fuck you I want the 1's."

[fizzarollitm]

.thinking about a proper loose fizzy timeline now that I've played him more and developed him Note: This is like 50% character study and build for me to better understand Fizz and how I want to interpret him. Everything is adaptable for the sake of threads or hc's!

tw; stalking

1-3: Born in Greed, he has very little memories of his bio-parents. Thinks they were low level in some mob but hard to know for sure. Never reached out (and likely don't even know/recognize Fizzy is their child once he gets famous) in his life.

3: A circus worker found him abandoned by the popcorn stand. While at first people thought it was a case of some couple losing their kid (not the first time nor the last) as announcements became more "Come get your fucking child", it got obvious no one was going to claim him. Cash saw money signs in adding another child (sweet, sweet unpaid labor) to the roster, and that was that. Cash got the name Fizzy from a random clown prop/sign (I just love the idea Fizzarolli is like HHverse of naming your kid Krusty)

5: First glimpse of Mammon; it was one of those blink and you miss it life altering moments: An ad on a TV in a shop window, a millisecond of Mammon performing at some mall before getting shoved out by security, him passing by on a float of money. He saw him and his whole brain flared to life and he saw his future ahead of him. He will be the greatest clown ever!

General childhood notes; Grew up in step with Barbie and Blitz following everything they ever do. He did any stunt they did because they didn't seem scared so why should he. He loved performing for them and making them laugh and that love spilled over into Clowning very easily. If you had asked him what his dream was at this age it was the three of them forming a traveling trio and TAKING OVER THE WORLD

13-15: Light teen fuckery like shoplifting makeup they can't afford and fabric to make costumes. He gets handy with a sewing machine and makes everything for the three of them usually basing it off of whatever Clown Fashion magazine he swiped. He also starts to experiment with his gender around here and comes out as nonbinary in his early teens!

15; Seeing Mammon was the greatest night of life. He still thinks about it as an adult and the whole night gets swept up in this haze that destroys every blemish, in his mind it was the perfect show. Blitz's (right) negative comments bleeding the jealousy filter that comes later. He will be Mammon's protege even if it means leaving the Circus. This was also when the "light" stalking he experienced hit a new high and when Blitzo became his unofficial bodyguard. Cash told him to ignore it and " Take it as a good sign of how popular you are!"

16th [Explosion]: This will be a full hc post by itself one day but tldr he spent most of the after unconscious. Later, he got told the "hero" Cash pulled him from the wreckage before the remains of the tent finished what the fire didn't. He is shocked and hurt made worse by Cash's claims it was Blitz who did it, years of jealousy turning unfortunately deadly. Barbie is in not much better shape and they are alone in the wreckage wracked with betrayal, pain, and medical debt.

16-21: Recovery time. He got fitted with prosthetics and started physical therapy pretty quickly. He focused on his goals and put his head down while also learning ASL for when 1) His voice is too weak to speak from smoke damage 2) Hearing loss in his right ear. Soon he was able to rejoin the Circus (Albeit in a much more stripped down form) and eventually after Barbie's use made her unable to perform, took on most of the performance rolls. He mostly stayed out of guilt with Cash being his "savior".

21: Things hit a boiling point. After Barbie left it was a lot on him as the face of the Circus and he started making demands as such. Cash pushed back again and again until finally he snapped and ended their professional relationship. Out of impulse, he left the Circus for Mammon's stage entering the competition in a thrown together costume and a prayer. And. He. Fucking. Won. After signing on he realized the debt he had with Mammon but shrugged it off as a reality of fame. He moved into greed and took up a small apartment and lived out the year as any other winner. This includes an AI scan to create a robot for LooLooLand.

Nebulous pre-canon I have no set date for:

Mammon announced his wish to start selling robots in his likeness. He felt a little weird about it but went along with it using a more advanced AI based off the LooLoo Land model.

Asmodeus was commissioned to work on them (Fizzbot was made by Mammon hence its...quality) and him and Fizzy gradually grew closer over the project.

Sex robots come shortly after and he just keeps saying yes because its Mammon! His Idol! ...wooh. Also the echo of Crash's words about the stalking not helping much either.

As Mammon shifted focus to the Fizzy Bots, the stage became less a focus and he started working in Ozzies. Moving to Lust as his work moved out of Greed just made sense.

[chempack]

ok everypony it is now 11pm and i am less sleepy so i will chatter about my oc idea. also @mnikhowozu hi :)

so my working name for him rn is adam white (bonus points if u can figure out the origin of these names. hint: consider some of my other characters names) but i will likely change at least the given name. i’m considering lucas but not sure, i just generally want something Classic European bc i feel like that’s what two mfs named James and Catherine would name their kid (bonus points if it’s biblical). as i’ve said i’m making the character so i can do tale of two wastelands (hopefully. if i can figure out the mod. haven’t tried yet and dk how it works so it might be complicated…) so obviously he starts as the lone wanderer

to contrast charlie (who has always dealt with barely contained rage and loathes his dad, blaming james for all the shit he had to go thru in the wasteland), adam is more forgiving to him. not that he doesn’t also have conflicting and negative feelings abt james, he does, but he also sees him as ultimately a Good Man doing things for the Bettering of Humanity. adam never had much ambition in the vault and was just kinda drifting along as he grew up, was probably gonna be a maintenance worker or something “basic”. he didn’t learn medicine from james because james never bothered to teach him and he never thought to ask to learn. BUT! later in the wasteland — most pointedly after james dies — he takes it on himself to become something of a doctor because he wants to Continue his parents’ Legacy. etc etc

i also have it in mind for him to wear a mask while traveling (think along the lines of the blastmaster helmet. except i’m actually thinking of something from the pitt i just don’t remember the name.) so just imagine this nervous 20 year old in full armor with an assault rifle comes running up to you after you were brutally beaten by a raider or something, one year post-project purity, and he’s like TRUST ME LET ME HELP IM A DOCTOR meanwhile he looks like an overblown raider boss

at his core he is a Coward and, again, not ambitious. chronically indecisive. he Wants to help but he does Not want to risk himself (though of course he does since it’s. kind of the nature of the games if ur playing a mostly-good character). this then leads him to just going along with mr. house when he gets to vegas, because he doesn’t want to rock the boat and, honestly, probably won’t even think to kill house. he has his own opinions, for sure, and he’s not a saint — the choices he does make still are bad at times. but generally, he takes the road of “what is the most helpful at large but also the easiest for Me”

also, i think the followers of apocalypse have a university in california or smth? isn’t that mentioned once or twice in fnv? not sure need to research. and also i’m aware it generally doesn’t really Match for the courier to be the lw but obviously i’m ignoring that for the sake of the mod. but, depending on whatever is going on there, the followers’ university is what i’m currently thinking of for why he went west, and he… idk, gets roped into courier work for money or for a relatively easy way to Help or something, and ends up caught up in new vegas politics

if anyone read this whole thing i love you forever and ever i’m hugging you in my mind palace rn. and if you know anything about this supposed university that i might have just made up in my head then please let me know. okay thank you love you byeee

[alexissara]

Trans People Deserve More Then Just Acceptance From Their Parents.

The bar is on the fucking floor for cis people. so many trans people think that having a parent be abusive to them, telling them to be in the closet for X family members sake is "getting lucky" because most the time they are tolerated. The amount of trans people I know who simply accepted actively transphobic abuse or were just forced to live with it because their living situation that had to take years to have their parents become decent is ridiculous. That is where the bar is at so we often say "we're one of the lucky ones" if we're at that level or just slightly better.

We deserve much better than that though. The reality is that many of us have dealt with years of abuse unknown or known with casual and uncasual ways to suppress our gender. From things like passive aggressive remarks to actual physical abuse, it runs the gambit the way parents try to control their children in general. For trans kids this often has a special manifestation in the ways they try to police gender.

I wanna talk about my situation to talk about what I think more parents need to do. On my bad end there is my mom we never had a great relationship but it was one despite my moms flaws I tried to recover. When I came out as trans though I had to go no contact which sucks because I totally lost contract with my much younger sister.

My dad on the other hand was weird about me coming out at first but he accepted it. What happened next is what I think other parents should have to do to hit the bar of being a good parent. Mind you this is an ex military man and a Latino dad. He did research on his own, met other parents of trans kids, he took the time to learn. Then he apologized to me without me prompting it, without me having to bring things up, for the times he insulted me for gender deviance and the times he sat me down about being a real man. He took me to get a Mani Pedi and sat with me and talked with me and actually listened to me.

What my dad did, that should be the bar. He wasn't always the best parent, I loved him always but he at times even got physical, in the way that's excepted by most Latnix households but shit that is none the less traumatizing. Verbally I'd get scared of him some times, he yelled a lot, he had anger issues. The man worked on himself when there was less kids living in his nest though, he got on anger meds, went to therapy, did what he needed to do to become a better man overall. He's not perfect but he is my dad, I love the guy and I actually could forgive him for everything, start healing from all the stuff that he did to me in a major way thanks to him taking the steps to actually make up for shit.

It shouldn't be enough for my mom to call me one day, say "your my daughter and I love you as my daughter", like that isn't enough. It isn't enough to say sorry, it isn't enough to buy me a dress, what I want is the root issues to be fixed and an actual apology process. That is what we all deserve even if our parents were mostly good, we deserve them putting their fucking all into supporting trans people. They could be advocating for trans people to their peers, they should be working on making a better world for their kids. Parents should be able to say they were wrong, that they made mistakes and that they are going to do better.

I think that is the bar for us to have a relationship with our parents, if we can otherwise get away with it I think if they can't reach that bar, they don't deserve you in their lives.

If you like this queer theory stuff from me, giving me cash on Patreon or Ko-fi let's me know, I should probably share more thoughts, but you could also give me money and request I shut up, I'll take that.

[longeyelashedtragedy]

gimme a whole speech on the writing of visited upon the sons, pls

ok! i hope you mean this for real and aren't going to laugh at me for giving a whole long serious answer (omg sometimes the 'i was a weird kid' instinct kicks in) but i assume your kindness 💙🤍

random trivia: i almost never write with music on, cause my head is so wild about music that it's too distracting, but i wrote this with "money" by pink floyd on repeat and i'm honestly not sure why? (i also wrote "digestif" listening to motorhead...not sure why either but u gotta roll with it)

where to start...

i wrote a really big chunk of the beginning while standing under some scaffolding waiting for a freak summer downpour to end so i could go get iced coffee. that's my favorite way to write--in a weird place on my notes app full of autocorrect mistakes and other things like that because i'm so in the zone that my brain is going way too fast for my fingers to keep up.

i was sooooo Absorbed in fact that i didn't realize until a couple days later that i had written it really oddly without realizing? You know how in 3rd person pov even if you're writing one person's perspective and you're in their head so you know their emotions, thoughts etc, you still narrate with the character's name? Like...Mason chokes on the the sip of water he was trying to take.  “Uhhh…that’s kind of fucked up?” he manages to squeak out in between coughs.  This is making him think things he doesn’t want to think doesn’t want to think doesn’t want to—He coughs again and runs his fingers nervously through his fluffy hair. that kind of thing? what i realized is that i had written this POV really strangely and tho frank is the POV he never refers to himself by name? is that a thing? i was like "well that's weird" and tried to fix it but the fic refused...it made the POV feel too distant when the point of the fic is that he's increasingly lost in his own mind. the closer you as the reader are to that, the better. i trust my writing instincts like--if i instinctively wrote that way then it must have been for a reason! (note that the middle section is written in the "traditional" 3rd person way which again just--felt way better because that section is soooooort of a coherent narrative--which is also kinda done for a reason)

however this meant i had to repeat mason's name WAY more than sounds natural so it wasn't confusing, and if i just Did that with no explanation, that's the kind of thing i'd pick up on as a reader and would consider to be unforgivably bad writing. so, i called it out directly in the fic, and gave it an in-world reason, which then actually became the fic summary 😂 (Mason, his Mason—It’s the repetition that dulls the emotions (some people would call that repression, wouldn’t they, but that word implies something wrong with one’s mental state and there’s nothing wrong at all) My fic my rules!

this fic was written really in like, 2 or 3 days of writing. it was nearly impossible to just write little bits here and there. this pov was very demanding of my full attention because i also had to disappear into franko's mind to write it and it's hard to just like, do that when you have 10 spare minutes. because of this i almost gave up on it because it felt like i'd never be able to regain the momentum of the first writing day and also--also--i struggled with the structure SO HARD. my initial plan was to have the fic start out normally, and then intersperse frank's memories with the present, and each time he re-joins the present from a memory he gets more and more fucked up. (and of course, mason is clueless to it at first, and then he's all ?????) you can see lil remnants of this throughout--i think mostly in the beginning when he pours the rosé. (His fist clenches around the bottle as he pours and Mason catches that too. For fuck’s sake, he’s not supposed to.) Initially, the first section of the memories section--Dad getting too worked up about young!frank wanting to drink something pink--was going to come right before that, so there was a direct context--oh, he's remembering that while he pours. BUT--

that happened to work there, but i realized if i kept doing it like this i was going to be imposing something way too restrictive on the rest of the fic. i'd have to create each bad memory and then make the corresponding "present day" section relate to that memory and there'd be no way to make that happen naturally without seriously forcing some part of the story, and who wants that? this got me so stressed out especially as the (self-appointed) King of the Flashback that i wondered if i should just leave them out altogether. somehow i decided to write all of the flashbacks i would want to have in an entirely separate document, and then just write the "present" parts all at once, and then decide how i'd want to combine them.

2nd trivia point: because of this, this was one of the only fics in recent memory i've ever written relatively in order from start to finish. usually i write a beginning and an end and then fuck around in no order in the middle till it's done.

i can't quite remember what happened next, but i think i then did skip a bit to writing the end, and suddenly my mind wanted to develop something that came up earlier in the fic, at the beginning, where he refers to the feeling of something pursuing him. i think i meant that more in a vague sense at the time, and wasn't going to explore it, but (maybe something from @new-berry inspired me? possibly?) considering how fucked-up i wanted him to be at the end vs the beginning, and how coming out of a dissociative episode your relationship to yourself and to the world around you can be really wonky and fucked up--at least in my personal experience--i realized what if i could make that concept a lot more Real, and put in the imagery of a ghost in the room. but what kind of ghost? well, obviously not an uwu scary ghost, but you can come to your own conclusions as to what he thinks is "haunting" him.

this meant that i could write that last paragraph, which sincerely is one of my fav endings i've written in a long time, and as often happens when i write endings, the whole fic then made sense to me. and i realized instead of writing scattered memories and having frank's behavior in the present Escalated, i was going to drop the entire memories narrative into the fic in one big chunk, creating a story within a story, and have it be so all consuming that he completely loses track of what is happening. (which i feel like is an especially wild thing to do while you're having a Sexual Encounter and thus leaves mason rightfully disturbed--love me some Wretched Sex!!! sorry!)

i had a couple people tell me they completely forgot what was supposed to be happening while they were reading it, which made me so happy because that was what i wanted!

when i see this mf i see a dude who is so tormented and repressed and shaped by how he was treated as a kid. his dad made football his life so oppressively (in some ways) that he has, as he's said, no hobbies other than football and reading and now that football is no longer a good place for him there's just nothing left. add that to the fact that he clearly has never ever really healed from his mom's death in 2008 (and you can say a lot about his disingenuousness and lack of accountability as a coach, but the extended part about how he dealt with grief and loss on the diary of a ceo podcast was so fuckin real and it was a bit wild to see a famous person be so open) i feel like someone like this has a mind like a haunted house and can't quite go about things "normally." i wanted to create this feeling in the fic.

the best writing experiences turn into therapy sessions and when i was done writing i realized that i was expressing something about myself through it, which is how uncomfortable i feel in situations with a lot of very cishet expectations, as someone who is VERY not het and stealthily very not cis. i had already known this of course from conversations with coworkers, but this fic made me realize how much i fucking resent it--how much anger i feel toward it really--which was...interesting to learn about myself i guess.

anyway that's visited upon the sons for ya. i'm sure i left something out, but i feel sad that i'm no longer writing it, cause it was one of those experiences that make me think writing is fun. i always think writing is fun, but you know what i mean?

(footnote: my fic that i've been referring to as 'bitter mutual cheating' takes place around 2 months after this one, and it's from mason's POV and he reduces the whole upsetting experience to one line (Frank sounds panicked, and there’s only one other time that Mason can remember hearing him sound like this–that night with the West Ham jersey where Frank seemed to go kind of crazy and he had to tell the guys in the dressing room that it was his sister’s cat who had scratched the shit out of his back) which is just kind of a fun mindfuck for me. 7000+ words of agony but all mason even was aware of was...that, lol.)

(OH, i forgot! in the last line: Holding his Mason tight like it loves him, that word "like" is important. is he realizing--just for a moment--that his "love" for Mason is just kind of a placeholder for something else? someone else? we'll see...)