#Mathematic suffers thanks to this

[the-blossica-fan]

Since it's essentially canon (I think?) that 37 can speak both fluent English and Greek, I had the mental image of her doing a maths class for the Arcanists in the suitcase, and explaining it in English, before noticing an error.

She corrects it. But then finds it makes another error.

The next thing everyone sees and hears, 37 is speaking in Greek to herself while frantically trying to figure out where the problem started 😭

I WATCHED A VIDEO LIKE THAT

A Chinese man had to switch to Chinese in order to understand the problem. It also happens to me 😭

I can imagine 37 explaining basic mathematics to the Rayashki kids (I imagine they have a lot of teachers now that they're in the foundation/suitcase) and since it's been a long time since she made the most basic of mathematics, she had to stop at a medium difficulty problem to check

She would start by pointing out something like density, then suddenly she went to division and when you notice it she's rambling in Greek and writing in a separate blackboard to see the problem

Turns out she mistranslated a word

Sophia would have fixed that- okay I'll shut up 😊

[abyssalpriest]

can i be borderline controversial and say that i do think there's a correlation between the love and adoration for the other kings, Leviathan's brutal honesty about grey-morality and involvement in war when you know him as Leviathan, and his lack of worshipers here under that name. the controversial part being that the other kings seem way more into propaganda flourishing and part of why i say that is because ive known both of them and they fucking do that oops hashtag UPG (PVG) spilled outta my pockets there

ie its always people who work for the other kings i see so caught up in how loving and pure the kings and ''demons'' are, and you COULD say that's just because Lev doesn't have many worshipers under that name but I think its more so because when you know "Leviathan" uhhhhh. like you could say lack of lev worshipers = lack of lev propaganda but i think its more so lev isnt going to pretend to be a beautiful siren man in a suit who tells you he loves you so so much even tho he just met you two seconds ago

[vasiktomis]

Born to write smut ab a vampire freak, forced to do university work

[hivemuthur]

A Deer and a Man - Ch.5.

viktorxfemale!reader explicit - somewhat more debauched than last time. From warnings, the earlier mentioned age gap makes a brief appearance and maybe there is a small mention of unrelatable to current day and age dating advice.

Ch.1. | Ch.2. | Ch.3. | Ch.4. | Ch.6.

word count: 6,8K

tag: #d&m

summary: You are the eldest daughter of a noble family, soon to be married to one of the most eligible bachelors in the region—Viktor, the adopted son of House Talis. The arrangement is simple: a marriage that secures your family’s wealth in exchange for access to Hextech. What could possibly go wrong?

author’s note: @mithrava and @rennethen thank you for reading before publishing! Playlist on Spotify. Please remember that you have to trust me and that if anything happens to me after I publish this you won't get chapter 6!!! :v

also the artist behind art is here!

Cross-posted on AO3

—

Emboldened by Eliza’s remark, you have been spending far more time in your husband’s company. The days pass in shared meals, conversations that stretch beyond necessity, and the occasional reading session on a rare, unoccupied Sunday.

Jayce’s visits have become a frequent occurrence, as he and Viktor steadily ascend the mountain of progress. During those times, you busy yourself with your own musical research, reaching conclusions that unfurl new paths in your mind.

But even the new paths and distractions are unable to erase what is already there. It is a slow, simmering thing—the frustration prickling beneath your skin, winding tighter with every prolonged moment spent in Viktor’s company. You have been careful, measured, reigning yourself in as best you can, yet he tests your restraint at every turn. A glance held a beat too long, a touch that lingers just past propriety, the way his voice dips into something softer, something intimate, as if he, too, forgets himself. And it is unbearable, this game of almosts. He speaks as though there is no distance between you, yet never crosses the space that remains. He teases, draws near, only to retreat just as quickly, leaving you feeling restless, your pulse ever heightened in his presence.

And yet, you are not blameless either. You lean into his attention, bask in it, even as it vexes you. Every time his gaze flickers over your hands as you play, every time he hovers just behind you, close enough that his breath stirs the fine hairs at your nape, you feel yourself falter. You ought to ignore it, to accept the terms set between you and continue as if you are unaffected. But how could you, when he unravels you with the smallest, most maddening gestures? It would be easier if he were cruel, distant, indifferent. But he is none of those things. Instead, he lingers—always lingering—until your restraint is worn thin and you find yourself wondering if he enjoys this torment as much as you suffer it.

It all clatters in your head on one of those inconceivable Sunday afternoons you both spend poring over books, lost in research—Viktor tracing the paths of physics, you unravelling the intricate bond between music and mathematics. He moves about restlessly, sighing and muttering to himself, his sharp mind leaping from one thought to the next as he periodically reaches for a new tome, only to abandon it moments later atop the ever-growing pile beside the couch where you sit.

At some point his fingers drift absently over the spines of the books wedged onto the lower shelves, searching without intent until they settle on a worn volume of mythology. He pulls it free, the pages crackling faintly as he flips through them, skimming past Olympian feuds and mortal tragedies until a familiar name catches his eye—Artemis. He lingers, scanning the depiction of the huntress goddess, poised with her bow, forever untouchable, her gaze fixed ahead as if daring pursuit. The text beside her tells of Actaeon, the hunter who strayed too close, who dared to watch and was punished for his folly. Viktor exhales sharply, pressing the bridge of his nose between his fingers. How fitting—he, too, had looked when he should not have. Had lingered, fascinated, when reason dictated he turn away. And yet, had you not looked back? Had you not, in your own way, invited the chase? A dry, exasperated chuckle escapes him before he can help it. Across the room, he feels the shift in the air as you glance up from your work, your curious gaze landing on him.

“Something the matter?” you ask innocently, your brows knitting at the sight of his fingers loosening his shirt collar in a restless gesture.

“Ah, nothing,” he waves a hand dismissively, shutting the book with a decisive snap. “Just the universe having its fun with me.” He turns back toward the shelves, as if the spines of the books might conceal the blush creeping up his face.

He cannot bring himself to voice the nagging truth of it—that he has let what should have been a small, fleeting thought fester into something resembling a mythological tragedy. A tragedy in which he, once a man, has been turned into a stag, unworthy of the sacrosanct essence before him, and soon to be devoured by the very hound of his own self-doubt. How fitting.

He twists his cane into the floorboards, staring so intently at the books before him that he doesn’t notice when you slip behind him and swipe the tome from his grasp.

The pages fall open in your hands, right where his fingers had pressed into the inner spine, revealing the very passage that had left him so restless. Over his shoulder, he catches the ghost of a knowing smile as you murmur, “Oh, Artemis. How fitting, is it not?”

Viktor swallows, his gaze flickering away before he slowly turns to face you. His head dips low as he exhales, voice quiet but weighted. “Eerily so.”

You watch him carefully, your gaze flickering between the book in your hands and the way his throat bobs as he swallows. The weight of his admission lingers in the air between you, taut and expectant. He has been teasing you for weeks—sidelong glances, lingering touches, remarks laced with just enough suggestion to leave you wondering if you were imagining it all. But now the way he hesitates, the way his ears burn despite his best efforts to appear unaffected—you see an opportunity. A game he has unknowingly invited you to play.

Your grip tightens around the tome you hold, a slow smile curling at the edges of your lips. If he enjoys toying with you, then perhaps it is time he experiences the other side of the game. You take a breath, steadying the thrill that hums beneath your skin, and step forward.

“Viktor,” you say softly, taking a measured step toward him, the book snapping shut in your hands. “Would you say you are still a man?”

His mouth falls open, words failing him when you are so near. He is within reach—so unbearably close that he can feel the warmth of you, the quiet pull of your presence. You rest the book on the shelf behind him, and your hands, unhurried, slide up his shirt, nails grazing the stitching. Viktor’s breath catches in his throat.

“Undoubtedly, a man still,” he answers, though his voice trembles. A foolish one, he thinks. His fingers clench around the head of his cane until his knuckles pale, while his other hand lingers at his side, twitching—caught between reaching for you and restraint.

Your breath fans against his skin as you inch closer, your mouth hovering over his. When you speak, your lips brush. “Then why do you quake like a stag about to be ripped to pieces?”

You hold his gaze, waiting—for permission, for surrender. It is the closest you have ever been to him, save for the innocent peck he bestowed upon you on your wedding day. Since then, you have remembered the taste of his breath and the feel of his lips against yours—so fleeting, so proper—that it left your soul thrashing within your ribcage in frustration.

Viktor exhales a shuddering breath, and the war between restraint and want is lost to the latter. His hands seize your waist, cane clatters to the floor, and his mouth crashes into yours, all hesitation dissolving between breaths. Heat pools low in your stomach as his torso presses against yours—you can feel his pulse beneath your palm. He leans into you, one hand gripping your neck, noses pressed together as his tongue invades you with a need you’d never have accused him of. The feeling floods you, ardent and searing, and you slide your fingers into his hair, ruining its arrangement further. Viktor groans into your mouth, twists you around and, with a dull thud, presses you against the library shelves, knocking the air from your lungs.

Your first real kiss, and already so perverse, so filthy. God help you, how much you want him in that moment. You swallow his tongue and moan at the feeling of his hand trailing up your nape to grasp the hair at the base of your skull. He could toss you around like a ragdoll and you would let him, for a promise of those lips leaving burning marks down your belly.

For Viktor, it is the embodiment of everything he has tried to imagine alone in his bed when his hand wandered shamelessly down his stomach. He can feel himself growing hotter as he steps between your legs, his palms falling, hesitating around your backside before he grasps it greedily, pressing your pelvis into his. You release a hot moan into his mouth at the feeling of his hardness against you. For a moment, Viktor forgets all the thoughts that tell him it is impossible for a man like him to have everything he ever wanted, landing so unexpectedly in his lap. That it is impossible to be loved and wanted, not merely for his achievements, but purely for who he is.

And you want him so much that your hand slips down his chest, reaching lower to palm him through his trousers—and Viktor groans, unable to stop himself from leaning in, deepening the kiss. His body responds, urging him to let go, to fully give in to the moment. He kisses you, his lips demanding, but as the intensity grows, so do the dark thoughts in his mind. You deserve someone more—someone whole, someone who isn’t weighed down by his frugality.

Viktor’s heart stutters, and he pulls away abruptly, the heat between you suddenly unbearable. He stumbles back, his chest heaving, and though the urge to reach for his cane is strong, he doesn't. Instead, he steps back, limping, the weight of his own self-doubt pushing him further away. His mind is filled with the painful truth: he is unworthy. He turns his face to the side, struggling to regain control, but the distance between you both only deepens the ache in his chest.

“Forgive me—I have forgotten myself,” he stutters, panting. He runs a hand through his hair, smoothing it back into place. “You… you don’t need to do this. Forgive me,” he says again, his face flushed a pretty pink, lips still glistening from where he’d kissed you.

“What is there to forgive?” you ask, your voice unsteady, suddenly frightened you’ve done something wrong. You pick up the cane and step toward him, confused, but he moves back once more. Your brows knit in worry.

“As this was never a marriage of love, only a contract of mutual benefit, this—” Viktor gestures vaguely, as if pointing to something obvious, though his voice betrays uncertainty. His fingers twitch before he forces his hand back to his side. “You are not obligated in any way to—”

“What if I do?” you cut him off, the words sharp, almost reckless. You tell yourself to be brave for the both of you, because Viktor looks like he is about to faint from the strain any minute.

“Love you, that is.” The words leave your lips in one of the boldest acts you’ve ever committed.

Viktor blinks, once, twice. His mouth parts in surprise, but nothing comes out at first. And then—he exhales a quiet chuckle, one that holds no real amusement. For a moment, you think he laughs at himself, but the words that come next cut cold through you. “Oh, you don’t love me, sweet girl.”

The dismissal lodges itself in your chest like a blade, twisting.

“And how would you possibly have the faintest idea of what I do feel?” Your voice is measured, but heat creeps into it, simmering under the surface.

“I just…” Viktor hesitates, his fingers pressing against his temples before he forces himself to meet your gaze again. “Forgive me. What I meant was that I don’t need you to say or do such things. I respect the terms of our contract, and—”

“Well, have you ever considered respecting me and my wishes?” Once more, you step toward him.

His expression tightens. “I am respecting you. By respecting the contract.”

You let out a sharp breath, disbelief curling at the edges of your voice. “Are you truly this devoid of emotion?”

With that, the cane is pushed into his hands. Viktor flinches, but his jaw sets, his logic a shield against the confrontation. “Are you sure you are interpreting yours well?” he counters, voice low. “I am aware that spending a lot of time with someone might feel like love, yet I am also aware that this is not something we would have chosen, had we been given another option.” Trying to regain his ground, he supports both hands on the cane and straightens, looking down on you.

“So, we are to stand blindly by the unwavering sentiment?” Your voice rises, cutting through the space between you. “There are at least three contracts we are entangled in. Which is the one you are respecting so dutifully?”

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I’d like to believe that the respect extends to all of them.” His tone is edged with frustration. “And I would expect the same of you.”

“What if they mutually exclude each other?” You cross your arms, the anger burning now, holding you upright when the weight of his words threatens to push you down. “The ‘do as thou wilt’ and the ‘love and cherish’ seem not to come along so smoothly.”

They do, Viktor imagines himself saying. And then he imagines himself kissing you senseless again, the taste of your lips still lingering on his. But he just stands there, twisting his cane into the wooden floor, denting it.

“I never thought myself someone who would ever want a man, not after the encounters I was granted,” you say, seeing him resistant. “Yet, I was proven wrong. So even though I do resent having my choice taken away from me, I am grateful that fate has granted me you.”

Viktor’s lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, you think you see something waver in his expression—but then he shakes his head, the walls he’s built around himself hardening once again. “That is… very kind,” he says slowly. “Yet still. Such bonds, the ones you speak of, they form over years, through experience. And you—you do not know me, not truly.”

“I do not?” You let out a sharp, humourless laugh. “And what else do I possibly have to do every waking hour other than either speaking with you or observing you? Watching you eat, work, rest. Have I not had enough opportunity to form my own opinion? Do you truly think me this stupid?”

“This is not—” He exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose, visibly flustered. “I do not deem you stupid. On the contrary. But you are… so young.” His voice softens, as if trying to convince himself of something he’s not yet ready to admit. “I fear that what you feel might be an illusion. A—a youthful infatuation at best, and—”

“How many years part us?” You cut him off, not allowing him the chance to finish.

He blinks, startled by the sudden shift. “Uh. Eight. Eight years.”

“And do you think that within those eight years I will gain the wisdom I am apparently lacking now?” Your arms cross, a challenge sparking in your eyes. “Do you think an eight-year-old is wiser than a newborn?”

Viktor exhales through his nose, tilting his head slightly. “Actually, significantly, yes.”

“And why is that?” You arch a brow, daring him to justify his argument.

He shifts his weight onto his cane, his fingers tapping against the handle as if sorting through his thoughts, fighting to maintain control of the conversation. “Other than an ability to walk, formulate sentences, and be much more independent than a newborn—possibly even the ability to read, if they are fortunate enough to receive such a learning opportunity.” He pauses, his voice light but firm. “And I could go on if you wish me to.”

“Well, I disagree. I asked you about wisdom, not intelligence or learned skills.” Your voice does not waver, and Viktor’s brows lift ever so slightly at the confidence with which you speak.

“A newborn is able to express their emotions and needs without inhibition, therefore receiving all the attention, feeding, and care they require almost instantly,” you continue, leaning forward. “They know no shame, no social cues to obey nor they fear anyone’s judgment.”

Viktor is silent, but his gaze is fixed on you, searching. Admiring, almost.

“So tell me, in those eight years that part us,” you press on, your voice quieter but no less firm, “have you been granted some elderly wisdom that I will also gain in time? Will it make me see better, make me ascend to the pedestal from which you speak to me now? Or am I safe to say that from the pit I am standing in, I see myself expressing my needs and emotions freely while you are the one obeying restrictions and cues laid upon you by yourself only?”

His throat bobs as he swallows, his lips parting slightly, but no words come.

“Why is it so unthinkable that you’ve married a woman who has fallen in love with you upon getting to know you better?”

His eyes flicker with something deep and wounded, and for a fleeting moment, you pity him, until he speaks again.

“Because…” Viktor draws a slow breath, his voice barely above a whisper, the weight of his own conflicted thoughts crashing against the defences he’s tried so hard to build. “I don’t dare to deem my fate this gracious. Ever.”

You stare at him, your chest tightening. “Are you such a vile man, Viktor, that your fate should be cruel?”

“No.” His response is immediate, almost startled. His fingers twitch where they rest on his cane, fighting the urge to reach for you. “I’m simply… not a man to whom miracles like that happen.”

Your breath catches, but you do not let the moment pass unanswered.

“So,” you murmur, tilting your head slightly, eyes burning into his, “your hypothesis is based purely on your personal restrictions, not upon any scientific research or wisdom?”

He hesitates, something in his face flickering again—like a man standing on the edge of belief but refusing to fall, the fight between reason and heart battling within him.

“Please forgive me if I have offended you,” he says at last, voice careful, placating. “I didn’t—”

You shake your head, cutting through his words like a blade. “I am not so quick to offend.”

He stills. This is all beyond anything he would deem possible. Not only because your agreement on paper was supposed to be beneficial and comfortable on both sides—there should be no reason to move it so abruptly. But would it also be possible that you’ve seen right through him?

And as if he is not ruined enough, you open your mouth again. “What plagues me,” you continue, voice soft but heavy with meaning, “is the audacity with which you stand before me and lie to my face.”

Viktor’s brow furrows, his lips parting slightly before he speaks, his biggest fear about to be confronted. “What are you talking about?”

Your fingers curl at your sides, nails digging into your palms as you take a measured breath. “Why do you think I am such an imbecile? Because of my youth, is that it?” Your voice does not rise, but the sharp edge of it cuts through the space between you. “I will inform you now that I do have a pair of eyes, ears, and a brain. And my eyes not only truly see you, but they also see the way you look at me.”

Viktor tenses, the muscle in his jaw twitching. His fingers flex against his cane, but he does not speak.

“My ears hear the way you talk to me,” you press on, stepping forward, “and they hear you whispering my name to yourself at night when you commit your depravities alone.”

His breath audibly catches, his composure splintering again. He stiffens as if struck, his eyes flickering wide before darting away, shame bleeding into his features.

“And my brain,” you continue, relentless, “connects all of this information into a conclusion of which I am not ashamed—but you are.”

Viktor exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“So I ask again,” you demand, voice trembling with emotion now, “what is so unthinkable in two people falling in love? What repulses you so?”

His eyes snap back to yours, startled, almost wounded.

“Is it me, or is it you?” Your voice softens, but the accusation in it lingers like a ghost in the air. “Is it my bluntness? Is it the way I eat or the way I speak? Am I truly so foolish that I have mistaken the look in your eyes for love?”

His mouth opens, but all he can offer is silence.

“Do you not lust for me but secretly curse me in the middle of the night?” Your voice trembles now, the fire burning in your chest threatening to crack. “Or is it you who fears something that shouldn’t be feared—because you prefer to be miserable for some godforsaken reason?”

Viktor’s breath stutters, his entire body visibly rigid. He looks utterly stricken, as though you have peeled him open and laid him bare.

“Darling, I—” His voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper, reaching for you instinctively.

But you step back, your hand lifting between you—a final barrier.

“No.” The word is firm, final.

His eyes darken, his fingers curling into a fist at his side.

“I have no interest in excuses.” Your voice does not waver, but your breathing is uneven, chest rising and falling with the force of your emotions. “I wish for you to know that I am furious with you and need to be alone.”

Viktor flinches slightly at the raw honesty of your words, but he does not fight them.

“You can continue to dwell in your misery,” you finish, turning sharply away from him, “if that is what makes you whole.”

You do not look back as you walk away since the tears piercing your eyes would make seeing anything impossible anyway.

And Viktor—motionless, breathless—lets you go. He watches you go, his throat constricting around words that stubbornly will not come. His hands twitch at his sides, fingers aching to reach for you, to stop you, to—what? Apologize? Confess? No. That would unravel everything. His heart pounds against his ribs, a traitorous thing, as if trying to break free from the prison of his own making.

You have laid him bare, stripped him of every excuse, every justification he had carefully built between you. And yet, he does nothing. Not because he does not want to—God, how he wants to—but because a man like him has never been enough to be able to want. He has always been the one who watches from the sidelines, the one who reaches too late or never at all. You think him a coward, and perhaps you are right. But he has spent a lifetime learning that the things he desires most are the very things he is fated to lose. So he lets you go. Because he does not know how to hold onto something so bright without dimming it in his grasp.

***

The following days are agonizing. Eliza does her very best to cheer you up to no avail. She fusses over your hair, braiding it messily with ribbons in a way that once made you laugh, but now only earns her a sad smile. She brings you tea sweetened just how you like it, offering biscuits with a hopeful raise of her brows, yet you nibble absently at the edges, appetite lost. She chatters about the household gossip, about Master Jayce’s latest visit and how he nearly tripped over the hound outside, but even that fails to coax more than a hum from you.

You go to bed early and wake late, ensuring you miss Viktor at meals. When Eliza asks if you’d like to join her on a morning walk, you decline with a shake of your head, burrowing deeper beneath the covers. When you finally rise, the house is already alive with movement, but you drift through it like a ghost, keeping to the quieter corridors, seeking solitude. You play the piano only when you know Viktor is deep in work, your fingers coaxing out the saddest tunes—mostly requiems by John Field, the notes bleeding sorrow into the air, though no one dares to comment on it.

For Viktor, it’s equally harrowing. In the lab, he finds himself distracted, his mind slipping from equations and mechanisms to the faint strains of music drifting through the halls. More often than not, he catches himself leaning toward the door, tilting his head as if to better hear the mournful tunes spilling from the piano. Each note is an audible wound, a requiem played just for him, and he sighs deeply, rubbing a weary hand over his face.

Jayce notices. “Alright, what’s wrong with you?” he prods one afternoon when Viktor stares blankly at an open notebook, his quill poised but unmoving. “You’ve been off for days.” Viktor dismisses him with a terse shake of his head, returning to his work with forced concentration, but the weight in his chest does not lift.

He lingers in the dining room longer than usual, poking absently at his food, glancing toward the doorway with misplaced hope. Each time, disappointment settles heavier in his stomach when you do not come. Some nights, in the quiet hush of the corridors, he stops before your bedroom door, his fingers hovering near the wood. He stands there, poised to knock, his breath shallow and uneven. But in the end, his hand falls away, and he walks back to his own chambers, the ache in his chest deepening.

One day, when you have exhausted your repertoire of requiems, Eliza finds you in the music room, chest heaving, eyes wide. You are slumped over the instrument in resignation, your finger pressing the same key over and over, the dull note echoing through the room.

“Miss, forgive my intrusion,” she says hastily, a hand holding a short stay and a brush clutched to her chest. “But a carriage is approaching. It’s… most likely your Lady Mother.”

You stop pressing the key, the last note fading into tense silence as your head snaps up to look at her, quiet panic tightening your throat. Your hand flies to your undone hair, then to your chest as you try to form the words, “How long?”

“Five minutes at best,” Eliza says, already moving toward you with purpose. She tosses the brush and short stay onto the piano bench before grabbing your hands, tugging you upright. “Come, we must—oh, Lord, miss, this is a disaster—”

“I know!” you hiss back as she hastily pulls at the laces of your gown, working to fasten them properly. The two of you grunt and mutter through the ordeal, Eliza’s fingers fumbling in her haste while you attempt to twist your hair into some semblance of order. “This is impossible!” you whine as a stubborn curl springs free.

In the corridor, a similar chaos unfolds.

Jayce groans as he struggles with Viktor’s cravat, attempting to loop it into something presentable while smoothing down Viktor’s hopelessly unruly hair. “Hold still, damn it,” Jayce huffs. “It’s just your mother-in-law, not the bloody King—”

“She is worse,” Viktor mutters, shoving Jayce’s hands away to fix his cravat himself.

As they pass the music room, Viktor glances toward the open door—and then promptly regrets it. A swish of skirts, a flash of petticoats, the sight of your bare legs as Eliza yanks your gown into place—he freezes so violently that Jayce walks straight into him, their foreheads colliding with a loud crack.

“Fuck!” Viktor curses, reeling back and clutching his head.

Inside the room, you and Eliza startle. Then, to your own shock, a laugh bubbles up from your throat, spilling into the tense air. Eliza claps a hand over her mouth, giggling as she hurriedly finishes the last adjustments to your dress.

By the time you all converge in the main hall, everything is rushed, frantic—Eliza fussing with the last stray wisps of your hair, Jayce straightening his waistcoat, Viktor rolling his shoulders as if that might somehow ease the tension thrumming through the air.

You, however, stand still, pulse pounding, hands tightening into fists at your sides. Your mother’s carriage is nearly at the door, and dread coils tight in your stomach.

Viktor notices. Before you can retreat into yourself, his hand lifts—fingertips brushing against your cheek, then cupping it fully. The warmth of his palm is grounding, and your breath catches. It is the first real touch, the first true interaction, since that day.

He leans in, his voice a low murmur against your ear.

“Calm,” he soothes, his thumb stroking over your cheekbone. “You look gorgeous.”

You beg whatever god is listening to freeze this moment in time—his hand on you, his breath tickling your ear, the scent of his hair filling your airways. You place your palm over his in silent thanks, failing to notice the way Jayce smiles at the scene or the exact moment Algernon swings the door open and announces your mother and sisters.

The squeal of your name echoes through the room as both Kitty and Tess squeeze past the butler, tumbling forward to wrap themselves around your waist and knees. You kneel to hold them properly, only then realising your eyes are prickled with unshed tears.

“Why are you crying?” Tess asks, tugging at a stray strand of your hair.

“I’m just so happy to see you,” you lie, burying your face in her small shoulder.

You sniffle the moment up and straighten at once, smoothing down your skirts as you rise to greet your mother properly. The warmth of your sisters' embrace lingers, but you push it aside as you step forward and dip into a practiced curtsy.

"Maman," you say, keeping your voice even.

"Darling," she replies, her lips pursed as she takes you in—your hasty attire, the remnants of Eliza’s rushed handiwork in your hair. You see the flicker of disapproval in her eyes, but she says nothing, merely offering her hand for you to take. You do, squeezing her gloved knuckles with a weak smile.

Viktor steps forward next, inclining his head in a small bow. "My Lady," he greets, his voice composed but restrained. He takes her hand lightly and brushes his lips against the air above her knuckles, the way one might approach a queen, detached but polite.

Your mother watches him with the same cool appraisal she granted you. She neither scowls nor softens, merely observes. "Mister Viktor," she returns, voice unreadable.

Jayce, ever the charmer, takes her hand with a dashing grin. "It is a pleasure, My Lady. You honour us with your presence."

Your mother gives a faint smile, the first hint of warmth she has shown, though it does not quite reach her eyes. "Mister Jayce. Ever the gentleman, I see."

What follows is an unbearably awkward meal. The silverware clinks too loudly in the strained silence, and the small talk is stilted at best. Jayce does his utmost to fill the gaps, speaking of inconsequential things—the weather, the state of trade, some dull anecdote from the city. You nod along, offering practiced smiles, while Viktor remains reserved, answering only when addressed. Your mother partakes little, her expression unreadable as she dabs her lips with her napkin and hums noncommittally at each new topic.

At last, as the meal nears its end, she sets down her utensils with a quiet clink. "Eliza, dear," she addresses your maid, "why don't you take the girls for a proper tour of the house? I would like a moment alone with my daughter and her husband."

Eliza hesitates, glancing at you for approval, but you only nod, not trusting yourself to speak. She rises from her chair on the side of the room, gesturing for Kitty and Tess to follow. The girls glance between you and your mother, sensing something unspoken, but obey without question. As their chatter fades into the hallway, an uncomfortable stillness settles over you.

Once Algernon leads the remaining adults into the drawing room, your mother settles onto the cushioned couch, folding her hands in her lap as she levels you with an assessing gaze. "Now, my dear," she says smoothly, "why don't you tell me how married life has been treating you?"

You lower yourself onto the second couch beside Viktor, careful to keep your posture poised under your mother’s scrutiny. Viktor, ever the tactician, takes your hands in his—awkwardly, hesitantly, as if the gesture will anchor the illusion.

"Very well," you answer, the words brittle with forced brightness.

"Very well," Viktor echoes at once, his tone so unconvincing that even Jayce shifts uncomfortably.

Your mother’s mouth twitches, amusement flickering behind her cool gaze. "I take it your little scheme was worth it, then?"

Jayce coughs out a chuckle before quickly disguising it as a clearing of his throat. Viktor leans forward, already forming a rushed explanation, but you cut them both off.

"My scheme," you correct, lifting your chin. "It was me."

As you level her with a stare, the misery that has weighed on you for days begins to lift. In its place rises a familiar defiance—one that has always been yours, steadfast and unyielding. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, confidence surges through you, not as a fractured piece of yourself, but as something whole. You are no longer a collection of selves fighting for dominance; you are one, moulded by every version of yourself that has ever existed. And now, with conjoined hands, you face your mother at last, stepping into the duel your father had warned you about.

"Gentlemen," she says, her gaze fixed on you, unwavering. "If you would be so kind as to give me and my daughter a moment alone."

"My Lady, if I may—" Viktor begins, but you silence him with a touch, your hand landing gently on his cheek.

"It's all right," you murmur.

He stares back at you, eyes full of admiration. In a moment that belongs only to the two of you, he nods, his fingers squeezing your knee in silent acknowledgement. Then, without a word, he rises, inclines his head respectfully to your mother, and beckons a bewildered Jayce toward the door.

Your mother watches the exchange, her expression unmoving, betraying nothing. Only when the door clicks shut behind the men does she turn back to you, her gaze sharp and assessing, bright like a hawk preparing to strike.

"What do you have to say for yourself?"

You meet her stare unflinchingly. "I could ask the same of you." She exhales, a slow, measured breath. "The contract was horribly unjust," you continue, your voice steady. "Did you truly believe I would sit back and accept it without protest?"

"It truly eludes me how you are so quick to dismiss your own blood over a man you had met only once. Oh, the power of love—so mysterious," she says with a venomous smile.

"No need to be cruel, Maman," you reply, your voice measured.

"I am not being cruel. Simply wounded that you, my own daughter, went behind my back for some—"

"Some?" you challenge, cutting her off before the insult fully forms. You watch as she swallows whatever sharp remark was poised on her tongue, the hesitation almost imperceptible. Pressing forward, you add, "In all honesty—would you have reconsidered if I had come to you first?"

She exhales, waving a dismissive hand as she leans back against the couch in a way you've never seen before—relaxed, almost resigned.

"Probably not," she admits. "You could have told me sooner, though. I made a complete fool of myself in front of your father. He was utterly delighted to know something before I did."

Your eyebrows lift in surprise, and you let out a startled chuckle. "Is that all? You're not going to reprimand me? Tell me how I’ve endangered the family?"

"You are married now. And the research is going well, from what I’ve heard. The only ones who can endanger the family now are your sisters—though, thanks to your efforts, the pressure on them is significantly lower."

"That’s… what?" You blink at her, caught off guard.

She sighs, then tilts her head slightly as if studying you. "I apologize for surprising you. Though I must admit, I was hoping you would invite me sooner."

"Maman, I—"

"No need." She moves from her seat to sit beside you, reaching for your hand in a gesture so unfamiliar that you tense before allowing it. Never in your life has your mother been this loose with you, this… human.

"Oh, darling," she murmurs, giving your hand a light squeeze. "I am glad to see you well. Though…" Her sharp eyes scan you with barely concealed disapproval. "I see my teachings have done nothing for you. Quite the opposite, in fact," she adds, her gaze flicking to your bare ankles peeking from beneath your skirts and your hastily pinned hair.

"But who am I to dictate now," she muses, her tone wry. "If your husband doesn’t object."

"He… he cares not," you mutter, your brows knitting as you glance down at her hand still wrapped around yours.

She tilts your chin up, a smile, a warm, strange smile curves her face in a way that is so uncharacteristic your mouth falls open. “That,” she says quietly, “I find hard to believe.”

And you don’t know if it’s the whirlwind of emotions that have coursed through your veins in the span of mere hours or the sheer surprise of your mother acting—well, like an actual mother for the first time since you reached adolescence—but the tears you had managed to hold back before can no longer be contained. They spill down your cheeks as you press your face into the nape of her neck and whisper, "He doesn’t want me."

She stiffens at first, caught off guard by the way you fold into her like a child, but then—slowly, hesitantly—her arms lower, encircling you in an embrace. One hand smooths over your hair, the other presses firm against your back, as if she could hold you together through touch alone.

“My darling child,” she murmurs, her voice softer than you have ever heard it. “I have seen men upon men in my lifetime, and trust me when I tell you—if Viktor wants something, it is you. He just doesn’t know how to ask.”

You freeze. Her words settle deep in your chest, cracking open something raw that you have kept hidden even from yourself. The weight of the past few days—the sleepless nights, the aching uncertainty, the cold distance that has built between you and Viktor—collapses in on itself. The dam breaks.

You tell her everything. Or as much as you dare. You skirt around the details that would surely make her regret this moment of motherly indulgence, but you pour out the rest. The tension, the longing, the way Viktor had held you at bay, the way he had looked at you like you were something fragile, something to be preserved rather than touched. How that look had made you feel cherished and unwanted all at once. And your mother listens. Truly listens.

When you finally sit back, pressing yourself against the couch with a shuddering exhale, you feel—lighter. Not entirely, but enough. Enough to look at her without that old wariness between you.

Your mother studies you for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, she sighs and takes your hands in hers again, holding them with a kind of deliberate care that unsettles you more than her usual sharpness ever did.

“I might have failed you here and there as a mother,” she says at last, her voice filled with a rare honesty. “But this one thing—I might be able to fix.” She squeezes your hands, her grip firm with intent. “We are not supposed to chase them. They are supposed to chase us.” A knowing smile tugs at the corner of her lips as she leans in ever so slightly. “Let him chase you, for once.”

[mysteryfawn]

Hihi!! So I was thinking about a highschooler c00lkidd and a nerdy y/n that are in the same classes as him, and here's my request: Scenario where C00lkidd and Y/N are doing homework together and then they decide to gossip about other stuff :3

HI HII!! I'M SO SO SO SORRY, I'VE BEEN CAUGHT UP WITH SCHOOL LATELY- will be writing all requests now!!

Chalk scraped through the blackboard, every movement making the irritating noise louder and sharper. Yet the whispers of students inside the class somehow overrode it. The teacher, writing math equations, constantly looked at the clock, as they only had two minutes of class time left.

A forced cough drew the teenagers’ attention to the adult, who waited and anticipated what she had to say. “Unfortunately, my time is running out, so… For tomorrow, please solve these two Imaginary number equations! It’ll be a part of your test, and Factorial equations.”

Groans and sighs came from across the room as the educator took their stuff from the desk and walked off. Some students left the classroom, finding other parts of the school more interesting, while others, who didn’t, either slept on their desks or simply blocked off reality with their phones.

The once so loud room was quiet again, as only you remain active and starting to do your homework early, so you’d have a free afternoon… Although that plan was quickly going to be scratched once your deskmate kept staring at you eagerly.

“C00lkidd?” You responded to his silence, catching the red-skinned boy by surprise. Looking over to him, the 15-year-old coughed awkwardly and chuckled slightly, recomposing himself and his posture.

“Sorry! I, uhm… Thought you were smart… I mean- ARE smart! So, I kinda needed help with erm… The work, if that’s alright?” He struggles to speak, making you smile slightly from the sudden entertainment.

C00lkidd was an old student at this school, he’s been here since the 7th grade (being homeschooled prior)… It was mainly due to his skin condition and the fact that he and his father went missing alongside many of Robloxia’s big shots years ago. He was unsafe at other schools, as he’d suffer bullying and his grades would worsen… Not that he isn’t bullied or doesn’t have bad grades, but it’d just be more drastic anywhere else.

Because of his past, skin, and his weird mannerisms and psychopathic tendencies, he’s left alone by most students… There are the “brave” bunch that pick on him, but they’re usually left with a black eye or a broken bone.

“Well… Sure, I guess? This subject isn’t that hard… Just lots of numbers.” You straighten up, moving your notebook near his part of the desk, as you start to demonstrate and explain the mathematical problems.

The ringing of a bell startled you two after 20 minutes, although you knew that you could stay in the room for longer. All of the students that wasn’t you and C00lkidd left the classroom, leaving you two to your own devices.

“Y’know… You’re not as scary as they say.” You mumbled, accidentally letting that thought out of your mind uncontrollably, causing the red teenager to stare at you creepily. “I-I mean… People talk badly about you, I only really hear them, but… Talking to you directly proves them wrong.” Straightening your back, you cautiously explain, not wanting to get hurt or hurt his feelings.

A small nod came from C00lkidd, whilst you looked up at him empathetically. “You’re cool to talk to, you don’t judge or comment on every error, small or big, and you learn quickly. Sure, you have your own creepy or scary moments and phrases, but I can look past that since you treat me with basic decency, unlike the others.” You relaxed into your seat, gazing at him.

“Thank you…” He smiled, giggling a bit afterwards. “You’re weird.” He said simply, making you jokingly punch his shoulder softly, as you both laughed. It didn’t take long for the conversation to direct itself into many topics- Dinosaurs, dragons, which teachers are cool and which one sucks, which classmates would you be friends with, family, and much much more.

Once school ended, C00lkidd ran happily towards his dad’s almost worn-out car, hugging 007n7 excitedly. “I MADE A FRIEND!”

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

When you point out how neurodiversity affects whole areas of the brain, not just what we see as the presentation symptoms, it seems so obvious. I've known that many neurodivergent conditions have high rate of co-morbidities, but haven't thought about what that would mean. I really liked your explanation of what else dyslexia affects, it made me recategorise some of my sister's mom behaviours. I see time blindness, some executive dysfunction, organisation difficulties and go, yup, I've got that too, it's normal, and forget that most people don't struggle with that (I've suspected I have undiagnosed ADHD for years, but never got checked for it, since I suggested it my dad freaked out, insisting there was nothing wrong with me. I really should though)

May I ask how your synaesthesia manifests for you? I'm always curious about how neurodiversity manifests in people and how it affects them, because there are so many minor and major things not talked about. I apologise if that question makes you uncomfortable, you don't have yo answer it.

Anyway, thank you for your explanation! It made a lot of things click all at once for me.

If you want lots of examples of how my synaesthesia works, I have a tag you could trawl here. But, I have a few different types; the common numbers-have-colours one, but I also get textures and sensations and feelings, and about... literally everything. Numbers, words, people's voices, names, personalities, the plots of media, images, everything.

Soooo, yeah. Sensory overload is the big impact; trial and error over the years has shown me it's primarily auditory, so if I can wear earplugs I can cope for longer in 'busy' environments. The other thing is that it really does a number on my mathematical ability, though, because, I shit you not, the colours get in the way. When I was a small child I was shown that 3 + 5 = 8, and my brain went "Yes, orange + pink = brown, got it" and ever since then if I see a 3 and a 5 together in a sum it DOES NOT MATTER what the operator is, I immediately assume the answer is 8. 3 plus 5? 8. 3 minus 5? Also 8. 3 times 5? Buddy you'll never guess. But it's 8.

It takes conscious effort not to do this T_T

The other thing is that I really, REALLY suffer from this thing where someone goes "Hey, we should watch Program X" but the problem is, you see, the problem is, I cannot stand the sensation I get from the name Program X, and therefore I will not watch it out of disgust that is totally unrelated to the actual show. This applies to all media, places, human beings, etc. (It is obviously a thing I have to be careful of when it's human beings.)

I think everything else I have is ADHD-related though, so that's probably everything I can put down to the synaesthesia.

[thatweeboverthereisthirsty]

Could I please request 17, Idia x reader? Thanks!!

A/N: again with randomly dropping content and then disappearing but I suppose that's just how it is. Anyways in case you were wondering I'm still stuck on Chapter 6 so here's some Idia content just in case he decides to be forgiving with me :,)

Ask: #17: Tucking their hands beneath the other person’s shirt, just to watch them break the kiss and gasp in surprise at the sensation of cold/warm hands on their skin.

You loved your boyfriend more than anything in the world but sometimes he could be denser than a brick. It always amazed you just how oblivious he could be when it came to certain things and then a genius about everything else. His mathematics and engineering? Stellar! His social responses? His ability to take a hint? God awful. No one had told you how hard it would be to have a gamer boyfriend but you were seeing now that it required just as much, if not more work than an average relationship. Not that you minded; you always liked a challenge. 

Your current predicament was one you had experienced several times before, you just weren’t sure what to do. Idia obviously loved you and adored having you around but his social awkwardness and fear of the outside world made it hard for him to do anything besides games and experiments. It wasn’t uncommon for him to invite you over and you end up sitting on his bed while he cackled deviously into his mic while he took out the opposing team almost single handedly and then complained about “nerfed” characters. 

Most of the time you were totally down, either working on homework or a project or using your laptop to game as well but some days like today, you were craving a little more… stimulation. You stared at him with contemplative eyes, a part of you completely infatuated with his passion and excitement over the game, another part of you begging him to look away from the screen for just a second and notice you. Finally the defeat scene flashed across his screen and he scowled at it with contempt. You jumped at the opportunity to grab his attention before he delved into a new game. 

“Idia?” you slid into a seated position on his bed. He turned and looked at you expectedly as his thumbs moved over the controller to start up a new game. “Could you come lay with me for a second?”

The tips of his hair flared pink for a second and his cheeks stained the same color. He looked at his screen for a moment and muttered something under his breath that sounded an awful lot like “oh gods it’s a boss level.” 

Finally he stood and nodded awkwardly as he moved over to the bed. You slid back until your back touched the wall and waited patiently for him to sit on the edge of the bed and stiffly move into a lying down position. Despite appearances Idia was quite large and took up a pretty decent amount of space so the twin XL administered to each dorm room wasn’t exactly spacious enough for the two of you to lay side by side. 

When you saw that he was comfortable you promptly scooted down and maneuvered yourself until you were laying on top of him. Your head rested on his chest while your legs tangled in the messy comforter. He made a nervous noise and you couldn’t help but smile as you saw the blue glow around you turn a steady pink color. 

“Aren’t I uncomfortable? I’m probably too bony to stand for very long.” You rolled your eyes at Idia’s antics and pushed yourself up to peck him on the lips in between each word.

“You. Are. Perfectly. Comfortable.” When you finished he blushed a deep pink and looked at you with wide eyes.

“I knew it, you were using an Ultimate halfway through the battle to revive to full HP so you could K/O me with one move.” He stammered out and you laughed. 

“You’re partially right Idia, I was reviving to full HP. But you haven’t even seen my Ultimate yet. I’ve been charging up for it by laying on top of you and now you will suffer my most powerful attack.” You grinned and leaned forward to press your lips to his in a long and slow kiss. It was only pressing your lips together but that was what made it such a dangerous attack. It left the receiver feeling unsatisfied.

You pulled back only a little so your breath was mingling, it wasn’t the most comfortable position but that didn’t matter so much as Idia took a breath and then pushed himself up so you met again. 

Your eyes fluttered closed and comfortable warmth flooded all around you as he heated up in response to the contact. He never got hot enough to burn you but when you were together he had a tendency to run warm. His lips moved against yours hungrily as he got bolder, hesitancy and insecurity slipping away as you kissed. 

One hand slid up to your thigh and he gripped you gently as he sat up, moving you into a sitting position on his lap. The hand rose a bit higher and you didn’t even notice he had slipped it under your shirt until his fingers grazed your stomach. You gasped and he chuckled when you pulled away before burying his face in your neck as his fingers slid higher and higher until they were running along your ribs. You bit your lips and pouted at him. 

“What?” Idia smirked, “Couldn’t handle my Ultimate attack huh? Did you really think I’d let you win?”

[tanadrin]

Hey I just wanted to say that despite formally studying and doing research in physics my entire adult life, with a particular interest in standard model field theory, I never felt like I really understood the weak force until your angels / god / physics post. You've got a real talent for this stuff, and the understanding of these topics you have without a formal education on the topic is genuinely astounding. The other knowledge I've seen you display too, heck even just the questions you know to ask.

So thanks for the insight and, if it matters, you have this random physics researcher's seal of approval to be ridiculously proud of your understanding of physics.

Thanks! I had a thing a little while ago where I was absolutely determined to try to finally understand the weak force/electroweak symmetry breaking even though I had literally none of the mathematical background necessary to do so, and thanks to a ton of really good explainers online and some very patient mutuals on Tumblr I think I finally got to a point where it made some kind of sense.

I do think this area of physics is one that sometimes suffers from suboptimal analogies when trying to communicate these concepts qualitatively--there's a problem where formally correct analogies are sometimes difficult to use to build intuition and where intuitive analogies deviate from formal correctness in important ways. There are a ton of stock analogies in physics that I think get repeated because they are seen as canonical somehow, but which are actually kind of misleading if you're not very careful about how you explain them. Most explainers of electroweak symmetry breaking definitely suffer from this a little bit!

[the-impulse-to-love]

the more i listened to caramel, the more i thought about euclid. and ykw?

euclid and caramel are two sides of the same coin.

"euclid," in the sense that it's the closure to the "Trilogy," laced with callbacks and acknowledgements of everything that's happened in the past. all the references to earlier works like tndnbtg and one ep serving as fun easter eggs for the fans, sort of as treats for them to recognize. it's vessel supposedly getting closure n accepting everything that has occurred and him being ready to finally start a new chapter. and don't even forget him taking out his in ear monitors (i think that's what those were...) during the latest euclid live to hear the fans sing the tndnbtg verse back to him. i've seen the song be described as a love letter to the fans, thanking them for all the support they've given to sleep token up until tmbte.

and now "caramel," a song directly addressed to the fans, but as the title implies, in a bittersweet way. i don't think i have to explain it too much given the discussions around it lately but yeah. vessel is fucking stressed from the fame and attention and the unmasked identity craze from some… insane “fans”. he's. feeling a multitude of emotions about it, to say the least. does he have a right to complain about it? he's unsure. he's just setting his boundaries. nonetheless, he's ultimately grateful for the fans:

but i'm still glad you came, so let me see those hands

and

stick to me like caramel / walk besides me till you feel nothing as well

which i see as "join me on this journey together so that neither of us are alone." after all, vessel has constantly emphasized his gratitude for the fans (the room below, potato heart shenanigans, other ritual speeches, etc) along with the fact that we all ultimately share pain and suffering as people.

both songs involve the fans, albeit in different ways/views. euclid addresses the support and gratitude to the fanbase, whereas caramel addresses the discomfort and stress that comes from the fame and boundary-violating fans.

and also. some references caramel gave us in relation to euclid lyrics:

all my own interpretations btw. heads up

i’m fallin’ free of the final parallel -> yet in reverse you are all my symmetry / a parallel i would lay my life on

for the euclid line, i initially had some thoughts on it more aligned with the "lore" between vessel and sleep. but ykw, it can still be somewhat applied to fit the lens here.

first off, "yet in reverse you are all my symmetry." reverse is just going back to the beginning of things, whereas "all my symmetry" would mean being the perfect half of something, typically a shape or form. so "in reverse, you are all my symmetry" would be "going back to the beginning, you are the perfect half of me." the other half in this case would be us, the fans. similar to above, we all share pain and suffering. a bit similar to shelter's lyrics perhaps, in the sense of "darling i'm noticing your flaws / and i'm matching them with yours."

now, "a parallel i would lay my life on." mathematically, parallel lines are lines that run in the same direction, yet they will never cross. similar to the previous point, it could indicate how many of us feel "paralleled" to the emotions vessel tries to convey in his music.

"falling free of the final parallel." not too sure what "final" would entail in this sense. whatever it is, vessel is no longer bound by it. perhaps it could be referring to the "final parallel" between fans and the band’s real identities. many people find parallels in their music between their own lives and vessel's lyrics, but some push too far and try to find more parallels/similarities in their real identities -- thus, the final parallel of trying to find similarities and shared experiences.

so, “i’m falling free of the final parallel” would mean that vessel isn’t bound by this. he doesn’t need people to match his experiences exactly, he doesn’t need them to know every exact detail about him, and we certainly don't have to know that either to interact and praise the music. him and the band are (and should be) free to operate without the pressure of people finding "final parallels" in their own lives.

bit of a reach but. yeah. if anyone has any other theories for a connection between these two lines Feel Free To Explain

missin’ my wings in a realm of angels -> so if your wings won’t find you heaven i will bring it down like an ancient bygone

i've been especially pondering this line. if we take the line from euclid as being about us (the fans) it would read as vessel bringing heaven "down like an ancient bygone." perhaps heaven in the sense of finding comfort and peace within their music. and also, the line "your wings" with the mention of heaven in the same line evoke imagery of angels, beings that inhabit heaven. yet, we can't find heaven -- peace or solace -- even with our wings. (you could also take this as a sort of "fallen angel" theory too.) the wings in itself could represent a multitude of ideas -- falling in line with other sleep token themes, perhaps love and passion. and yet, even so, we cannot find peace with those "wings" of ours, no matter how hard we try. so, vessel offers it (or something pretty damn close to it) to us in the artistry and music that is sleep token.

so, we are given "heaven" and it is brought down to us. yet, now vessel is "missing [his own] wings in a realm of angels." he's missing them, whether they represent passion, love, creativity, etc. "realm of angels" would be referring to us, going off my previous paragraph, of course. he's brought down heaven and made it accessible to us, but at what cost for himself?

basically, i feel that yes, caramel is ultimately an offering to the fans similar to euclid, but it is a bitter offering that tells a harsh truth about the fans, whether or not we wanna hear it.

[lisbeth-kk]

First Sentence Game

Thanks for the tag @thetimemoves

Rules: share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written less than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway.

Creative Camouflage

John has never been particularly good at mathematics, at least not the more complicated parts, though he can see the beauty of it. He wishes he was better at it, but he thinks that his brain isn’t built for such complicated matters. His mate, Bill Murray, is of another opinion.

Powerless Against Affection

It never occurred to me how similar John and I were as children. Not until he told me his story. He was obviously not as quirky as me, but we had one particular thing in common – our need for closeness and touch.  

For him, it had been his aunt, for me my grandmother. I’m sure a psychoanalyst will have a field day picking that addiction apart.

Enamoured With Poetry

After we moved from Baker Street and London, I had an epiphany. It was rather commonplace, but breathing in the clean air Sussex provided, was a relief. I felt cleansed, if that makes any sense. After all, for the most part of my life, I had inhaled the polluted air of a big city, and my lungs had surely suffered for it, but I had never felt particularly stained. Still, there was no denying that breathing had become easier.

What He Has Been Hiding

Everything about Sherlock is opulent, regal almost. Certainly dapper. From his soft, thick mop of curls, his sharp cheekbones, the plush lips, delicate fingers and hands, the neck, his broad shoulders and chest, the mile-long legs, to his delectable arse.

The first time I met him, I just stared, and that was before I’d heard his voice. If ever a perfect man was created, it was Sherlock Holmes. I felt small and insignificant in comparison.

“Afghanistan or Iraq?”

Irresistible Temptation

I have never told Sherlock about my previous life. At least not the part from before I met Frank. I’m still disgusted with myself that I fell for his charm. Granted, the sex was fantastic, even in the end, but physical attraction shouldn’t be everything. It can be a start, sure, but if a relationship shall survive and grow, there should also be devotion, shared interests and respect. With Frank there was only the hungry need that bound us together. Considering my past, you would think I knew better. Hindsight is an evil beast.

Polychromatic Wrapping

I am currently telling John about how Mycroft and I challenged each other to make the perfect marshmallow. The challenge started at Halloween, but that was just the warmup. We enhanced the game once December was upon us. It became a serious matter. Too serious according to our father.

The Lost Chord

I was not prepared for how insistent Holmes was that he needed to bring his violin and staff paper on our trip.

“You are supposed to rest, not composing,” I scolded him. “Composing always makes you restless and irritable.”

“Nonsense, Watson! I know exactly what it is I am composing this time. Not to worry.”

Beyond the Horizon

He hasn’t been home since November. Now, it was the middle of December. The negotiations with the Balkan PMs, had been exhausting. Mycroft wanted nothing more than to curl up in his luxurious bed and sleep until New Year’s. Alas, he had obligations in London as well as in Serbia. Christmas was around the corner, and Mummy had already pestered him about presents, and to remind Sherlock, again, that he and John must come to celebrate this year.

A Magical World

Books have always been a big part of my life. As a toddler and small child, my books were brightly coloured with more pictures than text. I loved them dearly, which shows. Most of them are worn, with scratches, notches, and some even have tooth marks. I’ve kept some of them in a box under my bed.

Dad thinks it’s fine, but Papa is appalled by such molestations.

Graced by Death

The door creaks, making John wince. They need to be quiet, and that sound seems to reverberate through the mansion. He senses the excited energy from Sherlock, who for once, is behind him. John has his gun ready. Just in case. The house is supposedly empty, but he doesn’t like to take any chances. This case has been so full of surprises that even Sherlock could not predict the outcome.

This was fun! Play along if you like @meetinginsamarra @the-reading-lemon @holmesianlove @elwinglyre @enterthetadpole @chriscalledmesweetie @cumbercurlygirl @stellacartography @keirgreeneyes @khorazir

[whencyclopedia]

Alexander Selkirk

Alexander Selkirk (or Selcraig, 1676-1721) was a Scotsman famously marooned for four years and four months on a desert island in the Pacific Ocean until his rescue by a passing British ship in February 1709. His story inspired the title character of the acclaimed 1719 novel Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe (c. 1660-1731).

Selkirk was on a privateering expedition in the Pacific when he was marooned on the remote Juan Fernández Islands. He might have suffered over four years of solitude but he fared better than his shipmates who were subsequently shipwrecked and taken to a Spanish prison. Selkirk’s fortunes improved remarkably following the capture of a Spanish treasure ship by the expedition that had rescued him. Living well off his share of the booty in England, Selkirk became an officer in the Royal Navy before dying at sea in 1721.

Early Life

Alexander Selkirk, sometimes given as Selcraig, was born in Scotland in 1676. He was the son of a shoemaker and had six brothers. His first appearance in the historical records is that he was found guilty of indecent behaviour, of all places, in church. He then went to sea and became officer material thanks to his skill in mathematics and using navigational instruments. In 1703, he joined the fateful privateering expedition of William Dampier (c. 1651-1715), destined for adventure in the Pacific Ocean.

Continue reading...

[shinjirev]

The bizarre adventures of Ritsu Shinjo, legal consultant episode 2

Disclaimer: i'm sorry if there are any grammar mistakes. English is not my first language. Hope you can enjoy

Ep 2 – The – suffered – confession () author's interventions/ thoughts - - Added considerations I**: Actions in the middle of dialogues That morning Ritsu woke up early to be able to better prepare for that decisive and particularly delicate moment. He had already prepared everything: the clothes were already ironed and put in the closet correctly, his speech was ready and the flowers were only to be picked up from the florist. Once again Ritsu wondered if flowers were necessary after all, but then he was quite easily convinced that, if as per customary norm the flowers were brought to the beloved ones, then even in that context it would be appropriate. If the girl would have felt uncomfortable with that gesture, he would have cited his sources and justified all the precedents that made him make that choice.

According to his behavioral model, at that time (9:50) she would have been at Sho's kiosk (because Sho's kiosk is always there) and then she would return to the main building at 10:15. In the moment of transit between the two buildings he would have waited for her passage, guaranteeing the almost mathematical certainty that she was alone -only in 7% of the cases observed she had passed there with Kaito or Lucas-.

So Ritsu, with perfect punctuality, placed himself on the path of the scholarship holder and settled down one last time to check that the weather conditions of the day had not had a deleterious effect on his composure. He tidied up his hair, checked his suit to be in order and began to wait, hoping that all those gestures and precautions would not be in vain because of his insecurity. Because yes, at that moment Ritsu would have sworn that he felt insecure in many respects. After a few minutes of waiting, a well-known figure arrived and approached humming. Ritsu immediately felt reassured by her good mood and considered it a positive sign

Ritsu: good morning my associate, *he brings his hand to his chest with a casual and elegant gesture* I observe with pleasure that your day is going on in a pleasant way. If it doesn't bother you, I would need to confer with you. Mc: oh Ritsu good mor- * she notices the bouquet of flowers in his hand and freezes* oh- of course... you can talk to me *immediately understands what is going to happen and approaches Ritsu but does not say anything, considering it correct to rather listen. She immediately notices that Ritsu seems less confident than usual and almost smiles to see Ritsu flaunt his confidence and professionalism so much even at a time like this*

Ritsu: Well, as you may have guessed, I waited for you here for a reason that... does not concern my professional field, but private motivations. Now, before I get to the point of the matter I would like to give you this present. *passes her the bouquet of flowers with a courteous gesture* Mc: Thank you Ritsu for this gesture... they are really beautiful... *she takes the flowers with care and approaches the white petals to smell their scent* Ritsu: well these flowers... (here comes the hard part) *a slight, almost imperceptible, shade of pink makes its way onto his face* were chosen for you in order to represent my feelings towards you. The composition you see is made up of the following flowers: violet, as a vector of affection and sincerity, gardenia for my commitment to you and finally the lily (which symbolizes love and sweetness, but Ritsu does not say it). It is therefore with this present that I would like to formally invite you to (go out with me) expand our collaboration outside the professional sphere.

Mc: *now she really smiles, moved by Ritsu's tenderness in being so formal and seeing him get excited to the point of even blushing* I... *she thinks about the best words to choose to be equally serious* I sincerely appreciate your gift and I would be honored to be able to... Expand our relationship outside of work. Ritsu: *evidently happy with the answer but still serious and composed* can you confirm that your answer is formally equivalent to a yes?

Mc: *holding back a laugh at Ritsu's behavior* yes, I confirm that I told you yes. Ritsu: *begins to feel seriously emotionally compromised and considers it useful to postpone judgment... that is, the date because of his feelings too voluminous at the moment* Perfect then... I leave you to your own occupations and... I will contact you soon for a meeting... of a (romantic) personal nature *he feels compelled to specify it, he fixes his hair and with a newfound confidence, after a courteous gesture he slips away from the situation while she remains there to observe the flowers and smiles at Ritsu's quick disappearance, having noticed in his words and even in his movements something new and sweet.*

[aaseelgaza]

*Support Aseel and Her Children Through Their Time of Crisis*

*A Message from Aseel:*

Hello, my name is Aseel, and I am a 26-year-old widow from Gaza. I have two beautiful daughters who are orphaned, and since the tragic death of their father, I’ve struggled to meet their most basic needs. My daughters have suffered not only the loss of their father but also the devastation of war, bombings, fear, and hunger. I find myself playing the role of both mother and father now, doing my best to care for them, but it’s a constant struggle.

My beautiful daughters ❤️

I’ve thought long and hard before writing this, but the truth is, I’m out of options. I need help. The urgency to save my children from further hardship, to meet their needs, and to secure a future for them, has led me to make this request. Before the war, we lived a simple but beautiful life. We were a family, with my husband working hard to support us, even though we didn’t have much. My dream was to become a mathematics teacher, but due to the financial struggles my family faced, I was unable to continue my studies.

Then, after I married, life seemed to improve, but soon after, my husband died in the war. We lost our home and everything we held dear. The war has stolen so much from us, and now my children are living through a reality I never wished for them. They are deprived of the most basic rights and have experienced more trauma than any child should.

I never imagined that my children would grow up in such conditions, surrounded by destruction and fear. I dreamed of a better life for them, a life free from the constant shadow of war and deprivation. But here we are, struggling each day just to survive.

This is how my daughter grew up , in fears 🥺🥺

It is with great sadness and hesitation that I ask for help. I feel embarrassed to be in this position, but I have no other choice. My heart aches to ask, but I know that without help, I will not be able to provide my children with even the basics they need to survive and thrive.

I truly believe in the goodness of others, and I hope that there are people who will see this and feel the compassion to help. Your support, no matter how small, will bring hope into our lives and will provide us with the means to rebuild what we have lost.

Every donation you make will go directly to providing food, medicine, shelter, and necessities for my children. It will give them the chance at a future they deserve. No amount is too small, and your generosity could make a world of difference.

If you have any questions or concerns, please don’t hesitate to reach out. I’m here and happy to share more details or clarify anything you need to know.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for your kindness and support during these very challenging times. Your help will give us the strength to face the hardships ahead and the hope to see a brighter tomorrow.

---

*How You Can Help:*

- Any amount of donation will be deeply appreciated. Your generosity will go toward providing essential needs like food, medicine, and shelter for Aseel and her children.

- Sharing this campaign with others can help spread the word and encourage more support. The more people who know, the more likely we can make a real difference in Aseel’s life.

---

Please join us in supporting Aseel during this crucial time. With your help, we can bring light into a life that has been overshadowed by unimaginable hardship. Thank you for your compassion and for believing in miracles, just as we do.

❤️‍🩹

[iscariotapologist]

That was such an interesting poll! I picked infinite nuance because I don’t read the Bible as a modern history book but as a holy text. I subscribe to the Nicene Creed and I don’t read the Bible as metaphor but that doesn’t mean I read it uncritically or unthinkingly, it’s just using a different brain muscle so to speak.

For instance, the ‘fully God, fully man’ dogma. Mathematically this makes no sense, no-one can be 100% one thing and 100% some completely other thing. But how are you supposed to see that as metaphor? What would that even signify? I read that in faith, I believe it on a spiritual level and take it to mean that Jesus knew all human experiences and suffered thus, but is also and has ever been God, in a way that is not naturally possible.

When I read archeology, ‘did that really happen?’ is fascinating, because we are looking for material, historical facts. When I read the Bible, ‘did that really happen?’ is the most boring question. Maybe it did, maybe it didn’t, but when I read it I have faith it happened and start thinking about what that means.

it does seem like that would be an almost irrelevant question from this perspective. thank you 🌻

[neodymiumcuilz]

HELP MAHA IN GAZA!!

Hellp everyone!! This campaign is for our friend @gazamaha4 who has reached out to me asking for help, help in rebuilding her life ruined by the destruction. Please listen to her message;

"I am Maha Ashour. I currently live in the completely destroyed city of Gaza, specifically in Rafah, and I was displaced to the city of Khan Yunis. I am 20 years old. My life and future have been destroyed, and my education has stopped. I was studying at Al-Quds Open University in the Faculty of Education (Mathematics). I am seriously thinking of leaving Gaza to complete my education and build my future, but I will not be able to secure the travel expenses and the educational expenses abroad.My dear sympathetic friends all over the world, with your generous donation, even if it is small, it can save my future and education and allow me to build my future outside Gaza. With my greetings and peace to you."

If you are able to please spread her message, please do so. Visit her account @gazamaha4 and interact with the account and posts, share her campaign, reblog, please use your account and voice to bring attention to her and her campaign!!

The people of Gaza have not stopped suffering and still require your attention. They are displaced amidst the rubble, and cannot afford the most basic necessities, like food, water, shelter, education, clothes, health care. Even a loaf of bread can be up to $330!! They need urgent funds to survive. Be a light in the darkness, be a kind person here;

ONLY 4% OF GOAL REACHED. HELP @gazamaha4

Thank you for having humanity.

[myuiis]

incorrect lookism

these were really popular on reddit back in my mxtx days so :)

1:

vasco: so what if i press the gas and the brakes at the same time?

daniel: the car takes a screenshot

zack: please shut the fuck up

2:

zack: why are you like this

johan: i used too much 'no more tears shampoo for kids' as a child and haven't felt any emotions since then

3:

goo: me, an intellectual--

gun: you, an intellectual?

4:

samuel: he died of natural causes

jake: you pushed him into a fucking fire

samuel: fire is natural

5:

daniel: oh boy, its pretty cold today

jay: here, daniel, borrow my coat

goo, looking at them: damn, it's cold today

gun: well shit, not like i can change the weather

6:

daniel, trying to flirt: hows the sexiest person here doing?

jay: i dont know, how are they doing?

daniel, blushing: i- 

zack, from across the room: i'm doing great, thanks for asking

7:

samuel: pass the chili

jake: whats the magic word?

samuel: or else

jake: thats two words but point taken

8:

jake: it's really muggy outside today

samuel: if i go outside and all our mugs are on the front lawn, i'm going to kill you

jake: sips coffee from bowl

9:

goo: yall know what? if youre not perfect, that's okay

goo: you don't have to be perfect. you don't have to feel bad about yourself for not being perfect

goo, putting on sunglasses: because obviously, nobody can be as perfect as me is and that is completely normal

10:

jace: can you recommend me a book that made you cry

zack: general mathematics 6th edition

11:

sinu: what if we inverted our initials? i'll start: hinu san

jake: kake jim

jerry: kerry jwon

jason: yason joon

brad: lrad bee

samuel: samuel se-- this is a stupid game

12:

eli: i unironically believe that i have suffered more than jesus

13:

daniel: *sneezes*

gun: bless you my favorite successor

johan: *sneezes*

gun: get that diseased trash away from me

14:

zack: dating tip: hold the door for your date. rip the door off its hinges. use the door as a weapon to fight off other men. establish dominance

daniel: i really begin to see why youre single

15:

[lookism at disneyland on the spinning teacup rides]

eli and warren: [spinning slowly while calmly talking]

gun and goo: [spinning slightly faster while having a heated argument]

jake and jerry: [flying past them, spinning as fast as they can, screaming]