#auditory cues

[vulcanette]

[ateacherwhogames]

My Fallout hot take is that enough time passed between the NCR taking the dam and the events of the series. Anything could've happened.

And that Amazon needs to sell replica posters and magazine covers.

[metropolitant]

JBL QUANTUM GUIDE PLAY: A BREAKTHROUGH IN GAMING ACCESSIBILITY FOR THE VISUALLY IMPAIRED

[solxamber]

Trash Novel Chronicles: My Knight is Too Loyal || Sebek Zigvolt

You wake up as the villainess in a novel that had to be written as a joke. The heroine is trying to ruin your life, but if you refuse to acknowledge her, then it’s not happening. Right? …Right??

It doesn't help that your knight, Sebek, is annoyingly endearing.

Series Masterlist

You were finally done.

After a grueling week of unpacking, assembling furniture that came with instructions written in an eldritch language, and resisting the urge to commit arson when you realized your kitchen had exactly one electrical outlet, your new apartment was finally livable. Spacious, well-lit, and with an actual window that didn’t face another building? A true luxury.

With a sigh of contentment, you set your trusty roomba loose to clean up the dust bunnies while you kicked back with your favorite pastime—reading an absolutely garbage webnovel.

This particular one had come highly recommended in the “so bad it’s good” category, and hoo boy, did it deliver.

The plot, as far as you could tell, was this:

Prince Malleus (overpowered second male lead) was best friends with the villainess (actually cool).

Sebek, loyal knight, was also sworn to protect the villainess. He liked her. They were childhood friends. He was ride or die for her.

Enter the heroine, who spawned out of nowhere, latched onto Malleus, and immediately decided that she needed Sebek’s loyalty so she could get closer to him.

She then proceeded to sabotage the villainess at every turn, and somehow no one thought this was weird.

The villainess, kept fighting back—until she got poisoned on Sebek’s watch.

Sebek, devastated, exiled himself in disgrace.

And then the Duke of the North (where did he come from???) married the heroine.

You had to put your phone down because you were WHEEZING.

How. HOW???

How was this woman out here killing the prince's best friend and still pulling a wedding out of it?? Who was writing this? Why did Sebek go into self-imposed exile when the obvious answer was to punt the heroine into the sun???

You wiped a tear from your eye, clutching your stomach. "Exiled himself in disgrace—oh my god, bro, what are you doing—"

Feeling the desperate need for a snack to recover from this literary war crime, you got up and made your way to the kitchen.

At that moment, your roomba—your once-trusted ally in the battle against dust—made a choice.

It bumped into the precariously stacked pile of moving boxes you had yet to sort through.

You turned just in time to see your doom.

A full avalanche of books, kitchenware, and your entire collection of novelty mugs came crashing down on you.

Your last thought before the world faded to black?

"Should’ve never trusted a roomba."

There were several ways you expected to wake up. A soft ray of sunlight filtering through your curtains? Sure. The soothing sound of birds chirping? Ideal. Maybe even a hangover if past-you made bad decisions? Understandable.

What you did not expect was to be jolted out of unconsciousness by the auditory equivalent of an angry airhorn.

“LORD MALLEUS, SHE'S STILL UNCONSCIOUS—PERHAPS SHE HAS FALLEN INTO AN ETERNAL SLUMBER FROM WHICH SHE WILL NEVER—!!!”

“Sebek,” another voice interrupted, eerily calm in comparison. “It will be fine.”

Sebek?

Like. The Sebek?

Your eyes snapped open like a possessed doll in a horror movie, and standing in front of you were none other than—drumroll please—Malleus Draconia and Sebek Zigvolt, looking like they had been ripped straight out of that godawful webnovel.

Sebek was vibrating with fury, looking a split second away from detonating like a nuclear warhead. Malleus, meanwhile, seemed vaguely relieved that you were awake.

Your brain struggled to reboot.

You looked down. Fancy dress? Check. Lace gloves? Check. Suspiciously villainous vibes? Check.

Oh no.

OH NO.

You were the villainess.

Malleus, in his infinite patience, took your absolutely deranged expression as a cue to explain, “The heroine tripped you, and you lost consciousness.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

You covered your face with your hands. “So now I have to deal with that dumbass?”

Sebek immediately whipped out his glove, preparing to slap someone into another dimension. “THIS INSOLENCE CANNOT STAND. I SHALL CHALLENGE HER TO A DUEL AND—”

“Sebek, no.”

“—VANQUISH HER FOR DARING TO—”

“Sebek. Put the glove down.”

“—BESMIRCH YOUR HONOR, MY LADY—”

“Sebek. No.”

Malleus, amused, simply observed as if watching an entertaining stage play. Probably because his solution would be to turn the heroine into a very apologetic pile of ashes.

Sebek begrudgingly reabsorbed his rage (for now), but he was still seething.

Malleus, after ensuring you were probably not about to die, excused himself and left the room. Sebek remained, arms crossed, radiating enough protective energy to function as a personal bodyguard and a security alarm.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Sebek, from now on, I’m just going to ignore her.”

Sebek visibly short-circuited.

“You—you're just going to let this blatant disrespect slide???”

“Yes.”

“But—”

“Yes.”

He looked like he had been personally betrayed by the laws of honor and decency, but after a long moment, he reluctantly agreed. Probably because you had the final say in this.

As soon as he left the room, you immediately face-planted into your pillow and let out the most guttural, despairing scream of your life.

Then, with great suffering, you dragged yourself up, because it was officially time to make a game plan to survive this absolute trash novel.

You did not want to go to this tea party.

In fact, if given the choice between enduring this or being launched via medieval trebuchet into the ocean, you would’ve chosen the ocean. At least drowning would’ve been fast.

But no. Your father insisted.

Something about “maintaining your standing,” and “showing the nobility that you are still strong,” and “not letting some lowborn upstart make a fool of you.”

As if the heroine had any power over you besides the supernatural ability to generate plot conveniences. As if you weren’t already suffering enough in this stupid novel, trying to survive a romance plotline with all the grace of a cat thrown into a bathtub.

And thus, you found yourself seated at an expensive table, sipping lukewarm tea, pretending to be interested in whatever the hell the noble ladies were talking about while resisting the urge to flip the entire table over and walk out.

To make matters worse, Sebek was having an existential crisis.

Not that he’d admit it, of course. But the way he was standing, practically vibrating with tension, scanning the tea party like a very aggressive meerkat���yeah. It was bad.

Sebek was on edge.

At any given moment, his gaze would dart from one thing to another, as if expecting a chandelier to drop on your head, a poisoned biscuit to be slipped onto your plate, or a rogue assassin to emerge from the hedges wielding a butter knife.

You finally had enough.

Turning toward him, you gripped his shoulders. Firmly.

“Sebek.”

His eyes snapped to you.

“Buddy.” You gave him a little shake. “Friend. You need to chill.”

“I AM PERFECTLY COMPOSED—”

Shake, shake. “Sebek. Chill.”

Sebek blinked. For the first time in history, he shut his mouth.

And then—oddly enough—you saw pink.

Like, an actual blush. A faint, barely-there dusting of color across his cheeks, the kind you’d associate with a lovestruck noble maiden, not a half-fae knight who could probably break your spine with his bare hands.

For a moment, you wondered if he was overheating. Should you dunk him in ice water?

But miraculously, Sebek actually calmed down.

At least, he stopped looking like he was about to tackle a waiter for breathing too close to you. That was progress.

And just when you thought you could finally coast through the rest of this miserable tea party in peace—

You saw her.

The Heroine.

She was across the garden, standing under a carefully curated arrangement of roses, twirling a delicate teacup in her dainty hands, looking exactly as picturesque as a main character should.

And she was batting her eyelashes at Sebek.

Like a lot.

Like some kind of malfunctioning Victorian doll trying to send Morse code with her eyelids.

Sebek, for his part, was slowly backing away. It was clear he wanted nothing to do with her.

Unfortunately, his retreat only seemed to embolden the heroine further. As if she had mistaken his disgust for shyness.

Sebek Zigzagged.

She Zigzagged.

Sebek took a sharp left.

She matched him, too fast, like an NPC with broken pathing.

And that’s when you decided enough was enough.

With the most subtle movement possible, you lifted a hand and motioned for him to come to you.

Sebek sprinted.

Like, full-speed, knocking over at least one butler in the process sprinted. By the time he reached you, he was breathing hard, eyes wide like he had just escaped something truly horrifying.

“Sebek,” you said, voice casual, “Stick by my side.”

"UNDERSTOOD," he immediately responded, standing directly next to you like a sentient stone wall.

And thus began the worst tea party of the heroine’s life.

For months, the heroine had followed the same battle strategy.

She’d make small, calculated jabs at you—little insults hidden under layers of fake concern, “Oh, you look rather pale today, are you unwell?” or “That color looks so… unique on you! Not many would be bold enough to wear it!”

The old villainess would always take the bait.

She’d snap back, argue, cause a scene. And in the process, the heroine would look like the poor, innocent victim just trying her best to be kind.

But you?

You ignored her.

And that? That was unacceptable.

The first attempt was a comment about your shoes.

She tilted her head, voice sickly sweet. “Oh, those shoes are… interesting. Are they custom-made?”

You blinked.

That was it. Just blinked.

Nothing more.

Then, without breaking eye contact, you turned to Sebek and pointed at the cake.

"Sebek, do you want some cake?"

“OF COURSE—”

The heroine twitched.

The second attempt was a jab at your hair.

She giggled, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear, voice dripping with faux innocence. “Oh dear, your hair looks a little tangled today! Perhaps you should try this new serum I discovered—”

You did not react.

Instead, you casually picked up a sugar cube, inspected it like it was the most fascinating thing in existence, and dropped it into your tea.

Then you slowly turned away.

Like she was scenery.

Like she was part of the background.

The heroine’s eye twitched.

Then came the third and final straw.

She physically stood in your path.

Like, full-on NPC blocking a hallway in a video game levels of obstructive.

Waiting.

Wanting you to react.

You did not.

You simply stepped to the left and walked around her.

As if she were a particularly annoying potted plant.

That was it.

That was the moment.

The moment she realized you were not playing her game.

And she SNAPPED.

In a last-ditch effort, she actually grabbed at your dress like a cranky toddler in a tantrum. Unfortunately for her, you were faster.

With all the grace of a trained assassin, you sidestepped her so effortlessly that she nearly tripped forward. For one horrifying second, she flailed—arms windmilling—before catching herself.

Then, with a furious huff, she turned bright red, grabbed her skirts, and stormed out of the tea party.

Absolutely. Defeated.

The entire garden was dead silent.

Then, softly, Sebek cleared his throat.

“…Does this mean I can have another slice of cake?”

You took a victorious sip of your tea.

+1 point for you.

This was a mistake. A grave, sweaty mistake.

Sebek, in all his knightly wisdom, had decided that you needed to learn self-defense. That was fine in theory. In practice?

You were dying.

It had started simple—stance, grip, footwork. Except your stance was wobbly, your grip was weak, and your footwork consisted of tripping over absolutely nothing .

Sebek, ever the determined instructor, refused to give up on you.

“Again!” he barked, adjusting your posture for the hundredth time. “You must hold the blade firmly!”

You tried. You really did. But the moment he stepped back, the sword dipped dangerously in your grasp like it was actively trying to escape you.

Sebek sighed through his nose. “You need to engage your core!”

“Sebek,” you panted, struggling to lift the sword back up. “I have a core. It just doesn’t want to engage.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose like a disappointed tutor watching their pupil fail basic math.

“Again.”

You half-heartedly swung the sword. It wobbled like a particularly useless noodle.

Sebek looked physically pained.

After several more embarrassing attempts—including a particularly tragic one where you almost dropped the sword on your own foot—you finally gave up.

You collapsed onto the ground, dramatically splaying out in the dirt like a knight who had perished not in battle, but in sheer spiritual defeat.

“I can’t do this,” you groaned, flopping an arm over your face. “I’m not built for the knight life.”

Sebek’s shadow loomed over you, exasperated. “You’re giving up already?”

“Yes.”

“Unacceptable. A true warrior never surrenders!”

“Well, I’m not a warrior, Sebek. I am a delicate aristocrat. My hobbies include drinking tea and not getting stabbed.”

Sebek crossed his arms, preparing to argue—but before he could launch into a speech about honor and duty and the sacred art of not dying, you simply muttered:

“That’s why you have to be my knight forever.”

The complaints instantly stopped.

Sebek didn’t say a word.

You assumed he had accepted your logic.

You didn’t see the way his back straightened slightly, or the way his expression softened into something oddly pleased. You definitely didn’t catch the way a smug, satisfied little smile flickered across his face—like a knight who had just secured his lifelong oath without even trying.

Instead, you remained on the ground, still dramatically sprawled out, waiting for him to launch into another lecture.

But nothing came.

“…Sebek?”

“Hmph.” He turned, suddenly far too content to argue. “If that is the case, then I suppose there’s no need to force you into training.”

You squinted up at him. “Wait. That’s it? You’re giving up?”

“I am merely accepting my duty,” he said smoothly. “After all, a knight must always protect their charge.”

You stared.

Suspicious.

Sebek was never this agreeable.

But, ultimately, you were too tired to question it.

With a sigh of relief, you let yourself fully relax into the grass, already looking forward to a nap.

Meanwhile, Sebek stood guard over you, looking far too smug for someone who had just lost an argument.

This was supposed to be a normal afternoon.

A nice, quiet, peaceful moment of watching Sebek ride his horse like he was leading an army into battle while Silver sat on his, perfectly relaxed, looking like the human embodiment of a soft exhale.

Meanwhile, to your right, Malleus and Lilia were having a debate that was growing increasingly unhinged.

"I'm telling you, Malleus," Lilia said with the confidence of a man who had never once been stopped from committing a crime. "If you want someone, you simply steal them away! That’s romance!"

Malleus, who had the power to obliterate reality with a flick of his wrist, rubbed his temples like a deeply tired office worker. "Lilia, that is not romance. That is abduction."

Lilia waved him off like he was swatting at a fly. "Semantics."

You turned your head just in time to see Malleus pinching the bridge of his nose, which was deeply funny because what did he even have to be stressed about? He was practically untouchable. And yet, somehow, Lilia was succeeding in emotionally exhausting him.

You had no idea how to contribute to this conversation, so you simply accepted that your afternoon would be full of crimes against logic.

But then Lilia’s sharp, ancient gaze zeroed in on you like a sniper locking onto a target.

"So," he said smoothly, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Have you decided who you'll take to the ball?"

You blinked.

The ball? Oh. Right. That was a thing.

You mulled it over for a second, tapping your fingers against your knee.

Logically, Sebek was already glued to your side at all times. He was practically your own personal security alarm, complete with flashing lights, blaring sirens, and the sheer, undying volume of a man who had never whispered in his entire life.

Taking him would be easy.

"I'll probably take Sebek," you said casually.

There was a beat of silence.

Then—

Lilia’s smile widened.

Not just any smile. A knowing smile. The kind that said, I have seen civilizations rise and fall, and yet nothing amuses me more than whatever is about to happen next.

Malleus, previously neutral, now looked deeply, deeply intrigued.

You squinted at them. "Why are you both looking at me like I'm a stray dog that just solved a math problem?"

Before you could demand answers, Sebek and Silver came back.

And Lilia—menace incarnate—immediately turned to Sebek and declared, with the utmost delight:

"Sebek! You've been chosen as their escort for the ball!"

Silver looked politely interested. Sebek—

Sebek crashed.

Like he hit an invisible wall.

For a second, he just stood there, expression frozen in a mix of shock, honor, and the sheer terror of being handed a social situation he wasn’t prepared for.

Then, in a grand act of buffering, he stiffened, clenched his fists, and proclaimed with all the force of a man declaring war:

"OF COURSE! AS YOUR LOYAL KNIGHT, IT IS ONLY NATURAL THAT I ACCOMPANY YOU!"

And then—before you could so much as blink—he turned on his heel and stomped off, as if he had just been given an urgent mission from Malleus himself.

The moment he was gone, you turned back to the three remaining culprits—only to find all of them looking at you like you were the underdog in a sports movie who had just pulled off a game-winning shot.

Lilia’s grin was downright diabolical.

Malleus was observing you like a scientist who had just discovered a new species.

Silver nodded, as if he had been let in on a joke you weren’t privy to.

Your eye twitched. "Okay. WHAT."

Lilia clapped you on the back like a proud father. "Oh, don’t mind us," he said airily. "We’re simply excited to see how this unfolds!"

Malleus inclined his head. "Indeed. It will be most… fascinating."

Silver hummed in agreement, eyes twinkling with something dangerously close to amusement.

You stared.

Sebek was still stomping off in the distance, probably preparing himself for battle against an imaginary threat.

Meanwhile, these three looked like they had just bet on a winning horse.

You were so bored.

As someone who had once lived in the glorious era of internet, memes, and instant entertainment, being isekai’d into a medieval fantasy novel was actual hell.

Your choices for passing the time were:

Sitting at a tea party listening to Lady Whatever gossip about how her second cousin’s neighbor allegedly married his horse (scandalous).

Shopping, which involved pretending to care about embroidery while avoiding getting guilt-tripped into buying a hat the size of a carriage wheel.

But today? Today was different.

There was a theater performance. And you were going.

Sebek, of course, was accompanying you, because you weren’t allowed to go anywhere without your personal security system.

The two of you arrived, found your seats, and settled in as the play began.

It was a forbidden romance between a noblewoman and her loyal knight.

You squinted.

That was it? That was the forbidden part?

What, was it slightly inconvenient for them to date? Were they going to act like this was the most tragic love story of all time when the biggest obstacle was mild disapproval?

You were expecting a real problem—an ancient family feud, a cursed bloodline, maybe even a dragon kidnapping someone for fun.

But no. It was just a noble and her knight, staring deeply into each other’s eyes while the orchestra swelled dramatically.

You side-eyed Sebek, about to make a snide comment.

And that’s when you noticed. Sebek was sweating.

His jaw was clenched. His hands were gripping the arms of his seat like the very concept of upholstery had personally insulted him.

And most importantly?

He was actively avoiding looking at you.

On stage, the knight fell to one knee, passionately declaring, “My lady, I have sworn to protect you—but in truth, my heart has belonged to you from the moment we met.”

Sebek’s grip on his seat tightened.

You turned back to the stage, more confused now.

The noblewoman gasped, placing a delicate hand on her chest. “Sir Knight, I—!”

Cue dramatic embrace. Cue Sebek looking like he was experiencing an existential crisis in real time.

For the next twenty minutes, Sebek refused to so much as glance in your direction.

The show ended with a completely unnecessary death scene (the knight got stabbed protecting the noblewoman from a bandit with the world’s worst aim), and as soon as the curtains fell, Sebek practically launched himself out of his seat.

You walked out together, the evening air cool against your skin.

Sebek, still refusing to look at you, was marching forward with the kind of stiff, overly formal movements that meant his brain was short-circuiting.

You raised an eyebrow. "Are you good?"

"I am perfectly fine," he said, a little too quickly.

You shrugged, brushing it off. Sebek being Sebek. He was always like this.

You didn’t notice how his hands twitched at his sides.

Or how, for one painfully fleeting moment during the play, he had imagined what it would be like—just once—to take your hand, without the excuse of duty.

But only Sebek and the dark theater would ever know that.

Festivals were supposed to be fun.

Supposed to be.

But for Sebek, this was nothing short of a battlefield.

The night had started normally enough. Malleus, Lilia, Silver, Sebek, and you had all arrived together, the festival in full swing around you. Lanterns glowed softly in the trees, music played from all corners of the square, and the air was thick with the smell of food—grilled meats, sweet pastries, roasted nuts. It was the perfect evening for a carefree stroll.

And then, suspiciously quickly, things took a turn.

“Ah,” Lilia suddenly said, snapping his fingers. “I just remembered—I must go investigate the historical significance of festival games.”

Silver, who had been mid-bite into a fried pastry, blinked. “What?”

Lilia was already gone.

Malleus nodded sagely. “Indeed, I must also depart. There are… matters of great importance I must attend to.”

You stared at him. “You’re about to go stare at gargoyles, aren’t you?”

Malleus did not dignify this with an answer.

Then came Silver’s turn. He at least tried to make it convincing.

“I, um—” He paused, brain clearly short-circuiting. “I have to—”

Sebek, ever the loyal soldier, stepped forward. “SILVER, WHEREVER YOU GO, WE SHALL—”

Silver immediately put a hand on Sebek’s shoulder. “No. You both stay.”

Sebek froze.

Suspicion bloomed in his sharp green eyes. “Why?”

Silver looked at you. Then back at Sebek. Then at you again. And then—like a father setting his son off into the world—he simply patted Sebek’s shoulder and said, “Have fun.”

Then he left.

Just like that, you and Sebek were alone.

You turned to Sebek, shrugged, and grabbed his hand. “Alright then! Let’s go have fun.”

Sebek ascended into a new state of panic.

One: You Held His Hand.

His hand.

Which was now holding your hand.

He was a knight. A protector. His hand had wielded swords, raised shields, sworn loyalty—

His hand had never done this.

“W-Wait, I—!”

You, completely oblivious to the fact that you were literally ruining him, simply smiled. “Come on, let’s get food first!”

And just like that, he was dragged into the festival.

Two: You Fed Him.

Sebek had prepared for many things in life.

Betrayal? Yes. Combat? Absolutely. The burden of responsibility? Without question.

But he had not prepared for you pressing a warm pastry into his hands and saying, “Try this! It’s really good.”

He stared at it like it was an enemy.

“I—this is unnecessary! I should be watching for threats, not—”

Then you, with absolutely zero hesitation, took a bite from your own pastry, hummed thoughtfully, and then just—just held it up to his mouth.

Sebek froze.

“…What,” he said, voice dangerously unstable, “are you doing?”

“Letting you try mine.”

Unacceptable.

UNACCEPTABLE.

This was wrong. You were a noble, he was your knight. His duty was to protect you, not to—to—

To have feelings.

To want things.

But you were still holding the pastry up, completely unaware of the sheer war happening in his mind.

So, with the slow hesitation of a man walking into a death trap, Sebek leaned down and took a small, precise bite.

…It was delicious.

…This was still unacceptable.

“See?” you said brightly, taking another bite yourself. “Tastes better when you share.”

Sebek almost dropped dead on the spot.

Three: The Smile.

Oh, that smile.

You were leading him from stall to stall, still holding his hand, still treating this like a perfectly normal outing and not the absolute nightmare it was for his fragile, suffering heart.

And every time you turned back to him—every time you laughed at something ridiculous, or smiled when he grumbled about stall vendors trying to scam you, or simply looked at him with that casual, easy warmth—

Something in him broke.

Not in a bad way. But absolutely in a way that would jeopardize his purpose. In the way that made him want to 1v1 the entire world just to make sure you always smiled like that.

Sebek was not meant for this.

He was a knight. A warrior. A protector.

He was not meant to look at you and wish, with every inch of his being, that he could hold your hand not because of duty, but because you wanted him to.

The ball was going well.

Which, frankly, was a miracle.

You were three glasses of wine in, the music was pleasant, and—most importantly—there was no heroine in sight.

Malleus was at peace, sipping his drink like an ancient dragon who had finally hoarded enough gold. Lilia was across the room, very seriously trying to convince a noble to invest in bat jousting (“Picture it, my dear baron—tiny suits of armor, high-speed aerial combat, think of the prestige!”). Silver was half-asleep at the table, so still that he was practically furniture.

And Sebek? Sebek was eating with the sheer intensity of a man who had never been allowed to sit and enjoy a meal in his life.

You were basking in the rare moment of peace when—

She arrived.

The heroine waltzed in, all curls and delicate elegance, scanning the room like she owned the place.

Immediately, you activated Ignore Mode.

But then—

Then she spoke.

“I challenge you!”

You blinked.

Challenge me to what? A duel? A political debate? A staring contest??

And then, with the smuggest expression known to man, she stepped aside to reveal her new(?) knight. You choked on your drink.

Because her knight—

Looked like Sebek.

Like, exactly like Sebek.

Same height, same build, suspiciously similar armor—but the worst part?

His hair was green.

Like she had dyed it.

You nearly dropped your wine.

You turned to Sebek.

Then to knockoff Sebek.

Then to Malleus—who was so absorbed in his perfect night that he hadn’t even registered the incoming disaster.

Then back to fake Sebek.

Sebek, who had been peacefully eating his steak, suddenly froze.

“WHAT IN THE GREAT SEVEN—” His chair scraped across the floor as he stood, eyes wide with pure fury.

The heroine beamed. “My knight will prove his superiority over yours! A true battle of skill and honor!”

You were still stuck on the hair.

"DID YOU DYE THIS MAN’S HAIR GREEN?!"

Fake Sebek smirked, folding his arms. “A knight should be willing to make sacrifices for his lady.”

Sebek looked ready to commit several war crimes.

“This is an INSULT!” He stepped forward, eyes blazing, voice booming. “YOU THINK YOU CAN MATCH ME WITH A PALE IMITATION?! I—”

Oh, hell no.

You had already suffered through so much stupidity in this world. You were not about to let Sebek engage in a battle of the bootlegs just because the heroine had gone completely off the rails.

You grabbed Sebek’s arm.

He whipped around like an enraged storm god. “MY LADY, I MUST—”

“No,” you said flatly. “Not worth it.”

“But—”

“Sebek.”

“She—”

“Sebek.”

“She dares—”

“Sebek. Please.”

His jaw locked. He looked like he wanted to argue. Like he needed to argue. But then you let out a long, exhausted sigh and said,

“Just dance with me instead.”

Sebek stopped breathing.

The entire ballroom faded. The heroine? Gone. Bootleg Sebek? Who? The audience of nosy nobles? Irrelevant.

All that mattered was that you—the person he had sworn to protect, the one he had dedicated his entire being to—had just asked him to dance.

He swallowed thickly. “O-Of course.”

And so, you took his hand and led him to the ballroom floor.

Sebek was stiff at first, like he was concentrating too hard on being perfect, but as the music swelled, he relaxed into the rhythm, his movements smoother, more natural.

And as he guided you across the floor, one hand firm at your waist, the other clasping yours, Sebek couldn’t help but stare.

You were laughing softly, still tipsy, the golden chandeliers casting a warm glow on your skin. The silk of your gown shimmered as you moved, and your smile—

Gods. Your smile.

Sebek knew, without a doubt, that he would do anything to keep it on your face.

And you?

You had no idea.

Because to you, this was just a dance.

But to Sebek—

You looked like a dream come true.

It was finally here. The moment where, according to the absolute literary war crime that was this novel, you were supposed to get poisoned, collapse dramatically, and set off a chain reaction that would end with Sebek exiling himself like a tragic Shakespearean protagonist.

Except this time?

You knew it was coming.

And you were about to flip the script so hard the author would feel it in whatever dimension they were in.

The heroine, as predictable as ever, had invited you to yet another tea party—probably hoping that by the time the poison kicked in, she'd have a perfect view of your untimely demise. You, of course, had accepted with a sweet smile and a mind full of schemes.

Now, seated at a pristine garden table with floral arrangements worth more than some small villages, you watched as she made her move. It was almost laughable how obvious she was. Her eyes flickered towards the maid as your tea was poured, the subtle anticipation in her expression so transparent you were honestly a little embarrassed for her.

You daintily lifted the cup, swirling the tea, inhaling its floral scent. Then, you pretended to take a sip.

Then, you threw yourself into the most dramatic, gut-wrenching, Oscar-worthy performance of your life.

Your body convulsed. Your hand flew to your throat. You gasped, choked, wheezed like a dying fish, and flung your arms out as if desperately grasping at the heavens themselves. You knocked over a plate. A fork clattered to the ground. A lesser noble screamed.

And then, with the grace of a Victorian woman in a corset two sizes too small, you collapsed onto the ground, limbs twitching for good measure.

Chaos erupted.

Ladies shrieked. Servants scrambled. One elderly duke fainted in the background. Even you were impressed. If this world had award shows, you would’ve already been giving an acceptance speech.

And then.

You heard it.

A chair screeching against stone. The heavy, unmistakable clang of armor.

Oh.

Oh, no.

You had made a critical miscalculation.

Sebek.

Sebek, who had been standing behind you the entire time. Sebek, who had just witnessed his charge collapse in agony.

Sebek, who was now standing over the heroine with his sword at her throat.

The entire tea party came to a screeching halt.

The heroine was frozen in terror, because Sebek wasn’t just angry—he was absolutely seething. His hands were steady, his grip unwavering, but the rage in his eyes? The barely-restrained fury crackling in the air around him? That was the look of a man seconds away from turning this entire tea party into a medieval execution.

“How dare you,” Sebek growled, his voice low and deadly, “I swear upon my honor—you will not leave this garden alive.”

You were so close to victory. So close. But no. No, Sebek had to go and initiate an actual murder.

The heroine, pale as a ghost, opened her mouth—probably to sob out some terrible excuse—but Sebek applied just the tiniest bit of pressure with his blade. A thin line of blood beaded at her neck.

The heroine whimpered.

Sebek narrowed his eyes.

Oh, he was fully committed to this.

Then, from your position on the ground, you made a small choking noise.

Sebek snapped around so fast he nearly decapitated her anyway.

His fury instantly shifted into sheer, unfiltered panic.

“My lady—!” He abandoned the heroine entirely, dropping to his knees and scooping you up into his arms as if you were seconds from death. "Stay with me!" His voice wavered, as if sheer willpower alone could force you to keep breathing. "You will not die here, I swear it!"

Okay. Maybe you should have accounted for this.

Before you could get a word in, Sebek scooped you up like a sack of potatoes and booked it inside.

The moment he deposited you onto a chaise lounge like a damsel in distress, you sat up and gave him your best sheepish grin.

“Sebek, I—”

But Sebek did not look relieved.

Sebek looked furious.

"You mean to tell me," he began, his voice escalating, "THAT WAS A LIE?!"

You winced. “Sebek, I—”

"You were NEVER in danger?! NEVER TRULY POISONED?!" His entire body was vibrating. "YOU—"

His voice kept rising.

He was pacing now, movements erratic, his heavy boots thudding against the floor. His breathing was uneven. His hands were shaking.

Gods. Gods, you felt bad.

Before he could work himself into an early grave, you grabbed his face and pulled him close.

"Sebek," you said firmly. "Breathe."

His breath hitched.

You could feel the tension in his jaw, the way his entire being was still radiating panic and betrayal.

Slowly, his breathing evened out. His hands, still clenched at his sides, relaxed.

"I'm sorry," you murmured, thumbs brushing lightly against his cheeks. "I should have told you."

Sebek swallowed hard, staring at you like he had just walked through hell itself.

"I could never bear to lose you." His voice was raw, barely above a whisper.

And then, as if exhaling the weight of the entire world, he bowed his head slightly and said, “Forgive me for my insolence.”

Before you could even process what that meant—

His lips were on yours.

Soft, hesitant, yet utterly consuming.

It lasted one perfect moment—

And then reality kicked in.

Sebek stiffened. His eyes snapped open.

"I— I HAVE OVERSTEPPED— I APOLOGIZE—"

And then.

Sebek fled.

Full-speed.

Out the door.

Down the hall.

Possibly into another plane of existence.

You sat there, dazed, stunned, blushing so hard you were about to burst into flames.

-

You were losing your mind.

Malleus, on the other hand, was having the time of his life.

He sat there, sipping his tea with the serene patience of a man who had definitely seen this coming, while you paced back and forth in front of him, unraveling like a badly-knitted sweater.

"It was just stress!" you declared, throwing your hands in the air. "Right? I mean, high emotions, near-death experience, classic knightly panic—textbook impulse decision!"

Malleus hummed, his expression one of deep, profound amusement. "Oh?"

You pointed at him like you had just presented irrefutable evidence in a murder trial. "YES. Right?! That has to be it!"

Malleus took a slow sip of his tea. "Or…"

You froze.

Malleus paused dramatically—like he was a host on some medieval reality show about to drop a major plot twist—then said, "Perhaps he has feelings for you."

You made a noise. A noise that had never existed before, somewhere between a gasp, a wheeze, and the sound of a tea kettle violently exploding.

Malleus raised an eyebrow, watching as your soul actively left your body.

"That’s—" You flailed. Actually flailed. "That’s absurd!"

Malleus nodded sagely. "Yes. Very absurd." He took another sip of tea, his tone so dry you nearly threw something at him.

You began pacing again, hands on your head, thoughts spiraling into the abyss.

"Maybe—maybe he thinks he has feelings for me," you reasoned, grasping at straws like your life depended on it. "But really, it’s just—devotion! Yes! Classic knightly devotion! It’s not romantic, it’s duty! He admires me, respects me, honors me—"

"—Kissed you."

You choked.

Malleus was smirking now. He was actually enjoying this.

"Okay, but," you continued, desperately trying to dig yourself out of the emotional pit you had fallen into, "what if—what if it was just a slip-up? A moment of weakness? What if he didn’t mean it—?"

Malleus tilted his head. "Then why did he run away? Why did he not apologize?"

You stopped dead in your tracks.

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Because he did run away. Full speed. Maximum acceleration. Like a man who had just realized what he had done and could not face the consequences.

Your hands slowly lowered from your head.

Malleus set his teacup down with a soft clink. "I would say that is not the behavior of a man who does not have feelings for someone."

You sat down in the nearest chair, staring into the void.

Malleus observed you with quiet satisfaction.

The way you were actively short-circuiting before his eyes? The absolute catastrophic mental gymnastics you were performing to deny the obvious?

Oh, yes.

This was better than theater.

Meanwhile, Sebek was also suffering.

And Lilia was having the best day of his life.

Sebek was pacing, marching back and forth across the room like he was preparing for battle, arms gesturing wildly as he ranted to no one in particular.

"I—I do not—I cannot—" His voice cracked slightly before he squared his shoulders, forcing himself into a state of denial so powerful it could deflect magic. "IT WAS MERELY A MOMENT OF TEMPORARY EMOTIONAL INSTABILITY!"

Lilia, sitting cross-legged on the sofa, was vibrating. His hands were clasped in front of his mouth, his entire body shaking as he barely contained his laughter. His eyes gleamed with pure, unfiltered joy.

"Ah, young love," he sighed dramatically, swaying slightly as if overcome by emotion. "So passionate! So tumultuous!" He clutched his chest. "So full of suffering!"

Sebek whirled around, offended to his very core.

"It is NOT love!" he practically roared, and Silver, who had been trying to stay calm, rubbed his temples like a tired therapist dealing with a particularly stubborn client.

"Sebek," Silver said, voice steady, soothing, rational. "You kissed her."

Sebek's eye twitched.

"It was an accident!"

Silver raised an eyebrow. "How do you accidentally kiss someone?"

Sebek flailed. "IT WAS THE HEAT OF THE MOMENT!"

"Mmhm~" Lilia hummed, practically swaying with delight.

Sebek turned to him, pointing like he was about to declare war. "STOP—STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT!"

"Like what?" Lilia grinned. "Like I just witnessed the most entertaining thing to happen in centuries?"

"YES!"

Lilia cackled.

Sebek turned back to Silver, desperate for support, but Silver was already shaking his head.

"Sebek," Silver said patiently. "You’re in love."

Sebek physically recoiled. His entire soul left his body for a second before it returned, but not before his brain short-circuited.

"NO!"

"Yes," Silver said simply.

"Preposterous!" Sebek thundered, arms flailing again. "I am a knight! Her protector! I have sworn my loyalty to her! I would give my LIFE for her—!"

"Yes," Silver interrupted, nodding. "Because you love her."

Sebek froze.

His mouth opened. Then closed.

Then opened again.

Nothing came out.

Lilia, who was practically incandescent with joy, clasped his hands together and leaned in, eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Oh my," Lilia purred. "He's realizing it."

Sebek visibly malfunctioned.

His arms tensed, his jaw clenched, his brain clearly trying to override the obvious conclusion with pure willpower alone.

And then, because he had absolutely no idea what to do with himself—

Sebek turned on his heel and sprinted out of the room at full speed.

Lilia howled with laughter, throwing himself back onto the couch.

Silver simply sighed, rubbing his temples again. "You know he's going to deny this for at least another week, right?"

"Oh, let him struggle~" Lilia giggled, delighted beyond words. "This is better than theater."

The heroine was losing her goddamn mind.

This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. She was the main character. She was supposed to triumph over adversity! She was supposed to defeat her rival, claim her rightful place at Malleus’s side, and bask in the admiration of high society as they all realized how special and wonderful she was!

And yet—

You.

You, the person who was supposed to be her greatest adversary, her foil, her dramatic counterpart—

Did. Not. Care.

Every time she tried to one-up you, every time she schemed and plotted and prepared some devastating social maneuver to put you in your place—

You ignored her.

Not even with thinly veiled contempt. Not with cold, calculated disdain. No.

You ignored her like you would ignore a particularly unimpressive rock on the side of the road.

Like a piece of furniture. Like she was a background character in her own goddamn story.

She had thrown everything at you.

She had made subtle barbs about your outfits—Oh, what a… bold choice of color. Not everyone could pull that off.

You had simply nodded and thanked her before returning to making googly eyes at your knight.

She had gone out of her way to outshine you at every event—grander gowns, more dramatic entrances, carefully curated conversations that should have drawn everyone’s attention to her.

You?

You barely registered that she was there.

She had even dyed her own knight’s hair green for fuck’s sake.

And you had just—

Ignored it.

You hadn’t even looked surprised. No scandalized gasp, no pointed glances, no passive-aggressive remark about imitation being the sincerest form of flattery.

Nothing.

The absolute indifference nearly sent her into a breakdown right then and there.

But still—still—she had held out hope.

Because there was one final, tried-and-true method to defeat a villainess.

Poison.

A noblewoman’s tea party. A carefully laced cup. A gasp, a choke, a dramatic collapse.

It was foolproof.

Except—

Except you had pretended to drink it.

She hadn’t even noticed at first. She had simply sipped her tea, waiting for your inevitable demise—only to watch you pull off an Oscar worthy performance.

And now?

Now the entirety of high society hated her.

Not because they actually cared about you, no—

But because attempting to poison someone at a social gathering was just so terribly gauche.

It was uncivilized. It was desperate. It was cringe.

And worse?

She had failed.

One noblewoman had sighed, shaking her head. “Poisoning your rival? How utterly common. If she were going to do it, the least she could’ve done was be subtle.”

Another had tsked, “Imagine—spending all that effort trying to destroy someone only for them to sit back and make googly eyes at their knight instead.”

That one nearly made her explode.

Because that? That was the worst part.

Through all of this, you weren’t even fighting back.

You weren’t scheming. You weren’t plotting revenge. You weren’t even paying attention to her anymore.

No.

You were too busy pining over Sebek.

At first, she thought it was coincidence. A weird little side note in this battle.

But no.

She saw it everywhere now.

You, brushing your hand against his as he held a door open for you. You, laughing at something he said in that ridiculous, overly loud voice. You, looking at him like he was the most precious thing in existence while he continued to act like a knight-shaped golden retriever with too many feelings.

It was infuriating.

And now, after everything, after all the time and energy and sanity she had lost trying to make you engage, she woke up one morning and realized—

She had lost.

Not in some grand, cinematic battle of wits. Not in an explosive confrontation.

No.

She had lost in the most humiliating way possible.

Because you never even considered her a threat to begin with.

She had spent all this time clawing her way to the top of a rivalry that only existed in her own head.

And the person she had chosen as her nemesis had treated her with the same level of importance as a salad garnish.

It was over.

She was done.

She picked up a pen, wrote a letter, and signed it with the exhausted resignation of a woman who had fully accepted defeat.

Lady,

I give up. I’m leaving. Enjoy your ridiculous romance with your ridiculous knight.

—Heroine

Then, without any fanfare, she packed her things, walked out of her estate, and left the country.

And you?

You didn’t even notice until a servant handed you the letter over breakfast.

You blinked at it, took a bite of toast, and read the whole thing while casually sipping your tea.

Then you folded it neatly, set it aside, and promptly forgot about it.

Sebek Zigvolt was avoiding you.

Not in the dramatic, storming-off, I-shall-never-speak-to-you-again way that some lovesick noble might after a scandalous incident at a ball. No, that would have been too easy.

Instead, he had apparently decided that the most rational way to handle his predicament was to maintain a perfect six-foot gap between the two of you at all times.

Like some sort of ridiculous, self-imposed restraining order.

You noticed it immediately, of course, because how could you not?

The first morning, you stepped into the drawing room, still slightly groggy from waking up, and found Sebek already there, standing so rigidly that he looked like he had been installed into the floorboards.

“Good morning, Sebek.”

Sebek, a man who had never once in his life failed to respond to you immediately, took a full three seconds to react, his head snapping toward you like a marionette whose strings had been yanked too hard.

“MY LADY!” he barked, far too loud for this early in the morning. “GOOD MORNING TO YOU AS WELL!”

Then, before you could say another word, he pivoted sharply and took three steps back.

Three big, deliberate, backward steps.

And then?

He stared past you.

Not at you. Past you.

Like he had suddenly developed an intense fascination with the wall.

And this? This continued.

For three. Entire. Days.

At breakfast, he sat exactly six feet away from your chair and stabbed his eggs with the precision and fury of a man attempting to exorcise a demon from his plate.

At social events, he positioned himself like some tragically lovesick ghost, haunting the edge of the room with a tormented expression, still very much guarding you but now also acting like being within arm’s reach might cause him to spontaneously combust.

Even in casual conversations, if you took a step forward?

Sebek took a step back.

And the worst part?

He was so obvious about it.

Like, if he was actually trying to be subtle, you could at least pretend it wasn’t happening. But no, this man was out here moving like an NPC whose pathfinding AI was breaking.

By the third day, you had reached your limit.

You had tolerated his weird little knightly existential crisis long enough.

So, that morning, when you saw him standing—once again—exactly six feet away, rigid as a lamppost, pointedly pretending that the tree outside the window was the most interesting thing he had ever seen in his life, you snapped.

“Sebek.”

No response.

“Sebek.”

Nothing.

You took a step forward.

Sebek immediately took a step back.

You took another step.

Sebek tried to escape.

Absolutely not.

With all the swiftness of a person completely done with this nonsense, you closed the gap, stepping right into his space, and before he could even think about scrambling backward like some flustered fawn, you grabbed his face and squished his stupid, handsome, stubborn cheeks between your hands.

Sebek made an absolutely incomprehensible noise.

“W-WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! THIS IS HIGHLY—!!”

He was spluttering. Stammering. Eyes darting around wildly like he was searching for an escape route despite the fact that you were holding his actual face.

“Sebek,” you said, exasperated, thumbs pressing into his cheeks as he failed spectacularly to regain any of his usual knightly composure. “Do you like me?”

Sebek, in his infinite, ridiculous wisdom, chose the absolute worst possible response.

“I—! I AM YOUR KNIGHT! TO ENTERTAIN SUCH FRIVOLITIES WOULD BE A DERELECTION OF DUTY!”

You closed your eyes, took a deep breath, and then, with the patience of someone trying to explain basic math to a particularly dense brick wall, you groaned, “Sebek, we are not in a play. Do you like me or not!?”

Sebek made a noise somewhere between a strangled honk and a dying animal.

His entire face turned so red that for a moment, you were genuinely concerned that he might be about to pass out.

Then—

He nodded.

It was tiny, barely perceptible, like he was afraid saying it too loudly would cause the heavens to smite him on the spot, but it was there.

And that was all you needed.

Before he could start raving about duty or oaths or whatever dramatic monologue he was preparing, you surged forward and kissed him.

Sebek froze.

Completely, entirely, utterly still.

For half a second, you worried that you had broken him.

But then—

Sebek kissed you back.

With the fervor of a man who had been waiting his entire life for this exact moment.

It took thirty full minutes to convince Sebek that you were, in fact, not in a tragic, forbidden love story.

Ten minutes of him pacing, ranting about duty and propriety, gripping the air like an overdramatic stage actor monologuing in the rain.

Thirty minutes of you, standing there, patiently waiting for his brain to catch up to reality.

"Sebek," you said for the fifteenth time, arms crossed, exasperated but fond. "We are not in a Shakespearean tragedy."

Sebek opened his mouth to argue, paused, frowned, then slowly closed it.

You could see the war happening inside him. His knightly instincts were screaming about honor and responsibility, while the part of him that had just kissed you—twice now—was standing in the corner, sweating profusely.

He inhaled deeply, squared his shoulders, and nodded.

"...Very well," he said, stiffly, as if forcing himself to accept that the universe had, in fact, allowed him to be happy.

You smirked and reached for his hand. "Great. Now come on, we’re late."

Sebek made a dying noise when you intertwined your fingers with his.

When you arrived, Malleus, Lilia, and Silver were already gathered in the garden, basking in the afternoon sun.

The moment you and Sebek showed up—hand in hand—Lilia's entire face lit up.

"Ah-ha!" Lilia cried, delighted, spinning toward the others with a mischievous flourish. "Pay up!"

Malleus sighed, deeply, as if betrayed by fate itself. Silver grunted, reaching into his pocket.

And then, right in front of you, the two of them handed Lilia actual money.

You blinked. “Wait. What just happened?”

Lilia grinned, tucking his winnings away. “Oh, just a little wager~”

You narrowed your eyes. "What kind of wager?"

Lilia, positively glowing with mischief, said, "I bet that you two would get together sooner rather than later."

Malleus, looking far too composed for someone who had just lost a bet, adjusted his sleeves and said, "I, on the other hand, estimated that it would take at least another year."

Silver sighed. "I thought it’d take two."

You gawked. "YOU WERE TAKING BETS ON THIS?!"

Sebek was mortified.

"YOU GAMBLED ON OUR HONOR?!" he thundered, appalled, offended, visibly vibrating.

Lilia cackled. “Oh, relax, dear boy! I was simply invested in your happiness!"

Sebek looked like he wanted to die.

So, naturally, you turned toward him, leaned in, and kissed him on the cheek.

Sebek stopped yelling immediately.

You could physically see the protest die in his throat. His entire body locked up, his ears turned red, and his eyes darted away as if you had just knocked the ability to argue right out of him.

Malleus, entirely too amused, hummed. “Curious. That seems to be an effective method of silencing him.”

Lilia beamed. “Oh, I love this development.”

Silver, utterly exhausted, rubbed his temple. "I don't even know why I bother at this point."

You just laughed, perfectly content, sitting beside your knight and the people you loved.

Masterlist

Can't believe this is the 15th part already!

[apas-95]

Natural talent, inasmuch as it exists, is honestly something of a hindrance in my opinion. Early success is a bad teacher, it trains you not to bother preparing - since you don't need to. But natural talent only goes so far, and, if you intend on ever pushing those boundaries, you need to have the built up the skills of self-critique and self-improvement.

I have auditory processing issues. I've dealt with them a long time, and I've built up a corpus of mechamisms by which to deal with and mitigate these issues, as well as just the experience and reinforcement to recognise that "[inaudible]ou [crosstalk]th[inaudible]or [inaudible]y?" with that intonation probably means 'are you going to the store today?' - and that I can just ask 'hm?' if I still don't feel confident in my reconstruction. I still find radio chatter difficult to comprehend, but I'm working on it.

What I've noticed, however, is how many people without auditory processing issues, when they do mishear something, have no real means to handle it. If I mumble, or there's noise, and I'm misheard, I'm usually the one that has to question if they heard right, since otherwise they just continue on, completely self-sure that I must be some sort of idiot who asked "are you going to the floor today?", without questioning their own hearing or establishing an accurate level of confidence in their knowledge.

I have something similar when it comes to social situations - being autistic, and having significant difficulty reading social cues intuitively, I've had to build up over my life a more coherent and conscious understanding of social dynamics. Often, I generate more accurate and precise predictions of social behaviour than the allistics around me (something that usually only bears out over time, if it contradicts the 'intuitive' reading), despite still, for example, being completely oblivious towards courtship.

All of this to say, don't denigrate yourself if you have difficulty with something socially considered easy. Your growth is more powerful than predetermination.

[asterafroditis]

hiiii

ik your requests are closed rn so please ignore this until you have time :>

i just really need more of that forgetful reader fic, and i would forget about requesting this unless i sent it quickly lol.

but i'd like for it to either be with vice housewardens (+ruggie, platonic for ortho or no ortho) or just anyone you'd want to write for lmao

with a gn reader thx

Love-Anon

𐔌 . ⋮ memory markers .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓��� Vice-Housewardens (+ Ruggie) x forgetful gn! reader

𓏵 1316 words

ᝰ.ᐟ headcanons, no pronouns used, fluff, (once again, like for every work I make with Rook, the French may not be totally accurate)

This has been rotting in my drafts for a very long while, and it's not exactly proofread and sticks to the idea of the original request/housewardens ver., so yeah; but I hope this fulfills your request!

feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

Trey notices your memory troubles pretty early. He’s used to watching out for others, especially in a dorm like Heartslabyul. You forget small things often: if you turned off the oven, where you left your notebook, or what someone just asked you to do seconds ago. But Trey never calls you out in front of others or sighs in frustration.

Instead, he quietly adapts.

“Did you tap your ring twice before walking away? That’s how you mark when you finish something, right?” he asks, cleaning flour off his fingers during a baking session. You nod, a little embarrassed. He gives a soft, understanding chuckle.

“Hey, if it helps you remember, it’s not silly. Everyone’s got their own systems.”

Trey’s always gentle and straightforward. When he helps you in the kitchen, he’ll pause and ask, “Want me to say something out loud when you start the next step? Might help it stick.” If you're feeling overwhelmed or second-guessing yourself, he never rushes you—he just stands by, ready to pick up where you left off.

He encourages you to build consistent, repeatable patterns, not just for yourself, but so he can support you better. “You snap when you're done with the eggs. Okay. I’ll watch for that, and if you don’t do it, I’ll give a nudge. Sound fair?”

He never pities you, though. Trey is practical and calm, and he knows stress doesn’t help memory one bit. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. You remembered to bring me that weird strawberry-salt combo I mentioned once in passing. That says a lot.”

He respects how observant you are in other ways; how you notice when he’s clenching his jaw whenever he's unsure, or how he adjusts his glasses twice when he’s thinking. You may forget instructions, but you remember people. Trey sees the effort, and that means more to him than perfection.

─────────────────────────

Ruggie catches on fast, probably because he’s spent his whole life working around other people’s messes. When you forget something the third time in a row, he doesn’t get mad; he just sighs and offers a solution.

“You do that snap noise every time you finish a chore, right? Kinda weird, but hey, it works,” he grins. “Wanna teach me your system so I can back you up?”

He jokes a lot, calling your forgetfulness “goldfish mode”, but the teasing is lighthearted and never cruel. If anyone else dares mock you, he’s quick to defend you with a sharp glare and a, “You ain’t perfect either, y’know.”

Ruggie starts building reminders into your shared tasks. “Let’s clap twice before sweeping. That way you’ll know it’s done. Boom. Efficiency.” He’s surprisingly clever at helping you make your memory tricks fun and quick— “Work smart, not hard,” he says, tapping his temple.

He especially notices that you always remember his favorite food, how he likes his tail scratched, and how he stashes bread rolls for later.

“Ha! You forgot which class we had, but remembered I hide stuff in the third drawer? You’re somethin’ else,” he says, shaking his head but grinning.

─────────────────────────

Jade is… a little too fascinated.

“I see. So, your memory retention increases when associated with physical or auditory cues. Intriguing.” His tone is polite, but you can feel the curiosity burning under the surface.

He watches your routines intently. You snap your fingers, then spin once to remember you watered the plants. Jade does not intervene—he observes. Quietly, thoroughly.

When he starts assisting, it’s subtle. You go to double-check something, and it’s already done. Jade did it after watching your pattern break.

“I noticed you didn’t make your usual snapping sound. I assumed the task slipped.” He smiles, eerie but sincere.

He offers experimental solutions, too: “Would associating smell improve recall? I could prepare small samples for you to test—harmless, of course.”

If you forget and panic, he never scolds. “Calm down. The mind is complex. Yours simply takes a different path.”

You once recited the exact way he brews his special tea— from timing to the tealeaf brand. His eyes lit up, impressed.

“Fascinating. So you forget where you placed your book, but recall my blend perfectly? Truly… selective memory is a marvel.”

─────────────────────────

At first? Jamil felt some frustration. Not at you, but at the situation.

“Didn’t I just say—ah. Right. You didn’t mark it.” He sighs and rubs his temples.

But once he understands your condition better, he adjusts. He’s practical, organized, and deeply perceptive.

“You remember sounds and movement? Then let’s make a checklist. Dance-step it, if you have to.” He even helps choreograph simple foot taps or claps for tasks.

“Brush teeth: clap and snap. Got it?”

He never babies you, but he always keeps track. You can rely on him to step in when your memory hiccups mid-way through something important.

You’re checking the doorknob for the fourth time? “It’s locked. You tapped the frame three times. I watched.”

You once mentioned the exact number of times he adjusts his collar when he’s stressed. He stopped mid-fidget.

“…You really remembered that?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah. It’s one of your tells.”

That… hit him deeper than he let on.

“Even when your brain’s a mess, you notice that? Hmph. You’re something else, huh?”

─────────────────────────

Rook notices your forgetfulness right away— not just because you space out or repeat tasks, but because you use little actions to anchor yourself: tapping your knuckles, humming softly, or snapping your fingers after completing something.

He finds it fascinating.

“Ah, magnifique,” he murmurs the first time he watches you knock twice on the desk after finishing an assignment. “You remember the smallest details of those around you, but daily tasks vanish in an instant… how endearing.”

Rook never mocks you, never sighs. Instead, he picks up on your cues and gently reminds you when needed. If he sees you hesitate, he calmly says, “You tapped your fingers just now, non? That was your signal.” He’s observant enough to reinforce your system without making you feel embarrassed.

When you get frustrated, Rook reassures you with a warm smile. “Mon ami, do not let this trouble your heart. The memory of the soul is far more valuable than any fleeting errand.”

Around the dorm, Rook smooths things over when others get impatient, whether it’s teasing Epel to relax or reassuring Vil that you’re doing your best.

To Rook, your forgetfulness isn’t a flaw; it’s a unique trait that makes you even more intriguing.

“Life is full of moments we forget,” he tells you softly one evening. “But do not worry… I will remember for you.”

─────────────────────────

Lilia finds your memory lapses endearing.

“Ah, déjà vu! Or perhaps… you’ve simply forgotten again? Either way, it's charming!”

He playfully teases—“You asked me that three times, my dear!”—but he’s always gentle. And he offers solutions, often magical in nature.

“I once knew a knight who tied bells to their sleeves to remember chores. Want me to enchant something for you?”

You hum, tap, snap, and he starts joining in with your rhythms, dancing as he hands you reminders:

“Brushed your teeth? Tap twice and do a spin!”

“Fed Grim? Knock on the counter and hum a tune!”

He’s surprisingly good at helping you feel okay when you’re overwhelmed. When your voice cracks from forgetting something important, he just pats your head. “Even I forget things after these many years. Don’t fret, sprout.”

You once mentioned remembering the song he hummed under his breath in his room—something he hadn’t sung in a long while.

“…You remembered that?”

You nod.

“…My, my. Your mind holds treasure in the strangest corners.”

[monstersholygrail]

Dragon lover anon again! Pls know I knew exactly what you mean lmao They deserve it 💞🥳 Also, I luv mention about the wings and their sensitivity!!! Got an idea of their scales being the most sensitive part about them while also, them whining for you to scratch them, mark them. I also headcanon them to be intense lovers who value auditory cues. Example, there is a roaring ritual dragons have with their mates as they both reach orgasm. The idea is that the lover dominates the dragon to use them in the way the dragon demands. Proving themselves while making the dragon fall in love further from their newfound position of vulnerability. Bonus points if the dragon's lover is shy and timid.

Yesss, Dragons deserve all the love and honestly way more hype.

Rrrreksjdiwjd imagining a dragon begging for you to scratch at them and mark them in whatever way you can. I imagine it would be hard to mark a dragon too due to their scales or general rough skin. So you’d have to dig in even harder, making the emotions all the more intense.

I also had this idea of the skin beneath a dragon’s scales to help super sensitive. So imagine you’re holding onto your dragon as he’s fucking the life out of you and your small fingers slip in between his large scales, digging into his sensitive flesh that needs its protecting. And he just roars and cums so hard you’ll be dripping with him for days.

Also totally love the idea of them being very vocal. Hearing a man make literally any sexual noise is too damn hot, it’s unfair. Plus, ofc ofc dragons are definitely intense lovers. I love the example you give, literally over here drooling and slobbering over the thought of it and the possibilities.

[svt-meiying]

┈୨♡୧┈ CHILDHOOD ┈୨♡୧┈

𓆩♡𓆪 Meiying was left at the doorstep of an orphanage in Haicheng under the year's first snow, with no belongings aside from a jacket much too large for her small frame and a dog tag around her neck, containing the five years old girl's name.

𓆩♡𓆪 The child retained no memories from before this very moment and despite making small sounds in attempts to be understood, she did not speak. The most heartbreaking detail about her however was the fresh scar carved across a nearly white eye, blood dripping onto the snow when a caretaker found her.

𓆩♡𓆪 Prospective parents always became hesitant when learning about the way that many auditory cues failed to be picked up by the little girl despite not being entirely deaf along with the uncertainty of whether she would ever speak.

𓆩♡𓆪 With the hearing disability becoming increasingly concerning caretakers took her to an audiologist who then diagnosed her with unilateral hearing loss, revealing that it was impressive that she managed to live normally despite her right side losing 60%.

𓆩♡𓆪 The orphanage unfortunately did not have enough money to spend on a hearing aid so they decided to instead use hand gestures, teaching her sign language.

𓆩♡𓆪 Meiying adapted very quickly despite the many uncertainties surrounding many aspects of her life, showing great academic promise and even demonstrated strong independence to the point where the caretakers would send her out to buy bread.

𓆩♡𓆪 There were instances where the young girl would wake up crying, uttering pleas for an unknown figure to stay, and those were the only times words would be spoken.

𓆩♡𓆪 Meiying was very active in athletic school activities so since adoption seemed less likely with every passing day, the orphanage enrolled her in a studio that taught numerous styles of dance - focusing on traditional Chinese dance and ballet.

𓆩♡𓆪 It was at age nine that the child spoke, the melody in the faint voice shocking the caretakers as a boy introducing himself as Minghao lead her back to the safety of the establishment with their hands intertwined.

𓆩♡𓆪 Meiying had gotten lost in the market's unusually large crowd whilst running habitual errands and the older child stumbled upon her crying form huddled in an alleyway. It was intense overstimulation laced with distress that made her voice reappear for the first time in four years as she cried in his comforting embrace, mumbling clumsily about how she could not find her way back home.

𓆩♡𓆪 The children rapidly became very close friends, especially after discovering that they went to the same school, and although the girl did not speak much, they both found ways to communicate past the verbal boundaries.

𓆩♡𓆪 In early 2012 Meiying left to South Korea with the orphanage's approval in order to become a trainee under BigHit Entertainment, where she met her future brother.

𓆩♡𓆪 Yoongi immediately took the young girl under his care, bringing her home often to the point where even his parents began loving her as their own. At the insistence of their son, they eventually adopted Mei in January 2013.

𓆩♡𓆪 Unfortunately, due to the lack of monetary resources as well as the parents constantly working, Yoongi was presented with an ultimatum ; since he was the one that wished to give Meiying a family, he would be the one to take care of her.

𓆩♡𓆪 He was made legal guardian to his sister and this authority was used to pull her from the company after learning about severe mistreatment, keeping watchful eyes on her condition when she joined Pledis Entertainment.

𓆩♡𓆪 Yoongi was the one that gave her the Korean name 'Nari' due to its meaning being 'Lily', a flower representing peace and purity.

𓆩♡𓆪 Taiyang was restlessly searching for his younger sister despite years of failure and happened to stumble across a billboard in New York in 2017, which announced the upcoming 'Diamond Edge' world tour of K-Pop group Seventeen. The sole girl amongst 13 men drew his attention and he was quick to recognize the scar adorning her strikingly colored blind eye.

𓆩♡𓆪 It was during the fan meeting preceding said concert that he faced her once again, tears brimming his eyes as this curious girl looked up at him with the brightest gaze he had ever seen. Meiying could see him, feel the familiarity of his hands as she reached out to touch him, but Taiyang saw no recognition in her face.

𓆩♡𓆪 Realizing that the memories lost to trauma induced amnesia had not yet returned he reached out to her adoptive brother with proof that the two were indeed biological siblings, asking for his help in truly reconnecting with the only family tie that remained.

𓆩♡𓆪 Yoongi arranged for the three of them to meet so that she could still anchor herself to someone familiar, and although Taiyang did not explain the situation to Meiying, she surprisingly took to him very quickly.

𓆩♡𓆪 It took several months for the maknae to recover certain memory fragments and when everything clicked into place the siblings became practically inseparable, with the older man making the decision to move from America to South Korea.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

[cripplecharacters]

Hello! Thank you for your time!

My problem is the following: I have a completely deaf character who mostly communicates with hearing characters by reading their lips. Sometimes I will have him openly miss things and ask for repeats, but it’s mostly words he doesn’t know or things being said when he can’t properly see someone’s mouth or they’re speaking too fast/slow. It’s a first person pov and I was just wondering if him being able to communicate this way would be realistic. I know that lip reading is very difficult, but he has issues asking people for things in general, and I figured that would include accommodations. I have other deaf characters, they don’t/can’t lip read at all, and he speaks ASL with them.

I was also thinking that even the “complete” sentences of dialogue from his pov would be mostly guesses. After all it’s his pov and it would be fine for dialogue to be just what he figures it is, and not exactly what is being said. So, to be clear, I’m not writing somebody superhuman who can lip read extremely well, but someone who can lip read well enough to fill in gaps himself and communicate without much issue with hearing people. When writing sentences he mostly understands, I write a complete sentence including what he’s guessed. While when he catches just a few words, I write the words that he’s understood, and that’s it.

Is this fine? I can’t write third person to save my life, and I’m trying to make his portrayal as realistic as possible.

Hi!

Everything in the first paragraph sounds fine. Lip reading is challenging and exhausting, yes, but it is a valid and not uncommonly used communication method.

One thing to add, though, is that it's hard to lipread without auditory cues, or with too many like in loud environments, since a few clear sound cues can enhance understanding significantly. The fewer sounds one can hear and understand, the exponentially harder lipreading becomes.

For the second part, filling in gaps works. One thing I've seen used that I like is using dashes in the sentence to indicate missed sections, then the narration details the character working through what might have been said. For example:

"'--Ow can I --------- ay?' the cashier said, her voice temporarily muffled as she turned away from me."

Here's it's fairly clear from context clues that the cashier is saying "how can I help you today" or something along those lines, though it still will take a second to decipher. You can also fill in guesses through the narration, and show when he gets it wrong, if he asks another character to repeat themself or they correct him on what they actually said.

First person is actually a great way to put a reader into the shoes of a deaf character who's missing probably half of the conversation at best.

Mod Rock

[caitlynkiramommy]

Originally, I thought Isha was nonverbal. That was until I saw a video saying she was deaf and mute, and it makes much more sense now. There are many scenes that have some sort of auditory cue and other characters react, but Isha does not. I believe that there are a few scenes as well (including the gif) where Isha tries to sign to Jinx, but I dont think she understands. This also explains how Jinx often talks to Isha but also seems like shes talking to herself. Speaking of that, that seems like another example of Jinx seeing Isha as Powder.

[melodic-haze]

Can I ask about sub Arlecchino being fucked with a strap-on in his office? I love your writing and sub Arlecchino is so... 😩

☆ — DEMO TRACK: sub!Arlecchino x dom!fem!Reader

☆ — TYPE: NSFW

☆ — CONTENT WARNINGS: Mommy kink 😜 aka reader is the 'Mother' figure to Arle's 'Father' ahahahahahah, reader with a strap referred to as a dick, overstimulation, semi-public? It's in her office so

☆ — NOTES: THANK YOUUU OMG I'M HAPPY YOU LIKE MY WRITING ANON❗️❗️SORRY THIS WAS ROTTING IN THE ASKBOX I had to do some stuff 😭😭😭 but it's okay bc I come back with a VENGEANCE

Ohhh dude the thing that just popped into my head you're NOT READY (delusional)

While she thought that battling her own children + the Traveller was the best move, it had kinda very much irked you. "I had trained them, it's fine," she says dismissively at the time when you confronted her and something inside you just kinda! Snapped!!!

If a Father has to have a hard hand on his children, then a Mother contrasts that by giving them a gentle touch

That DOES mean that you are to put anyone who threatens your children in any way, and Arlecchino is NO exception whatsoever

And what better way to punish her than to give her a taste of her own medicine in.. a different context?

One hand grabbing a fistful of her hair as you pushed her head down on the desk and the other clenching onto her hip as you moved her on your length, you're drilling into your lover relentlessly despite the slurred sobs that she had let out.

She had cum so many times by now, you didn't bother to keep count after the third time. Through that, however, you hadn't even entertained the mere thought of stopping, only reluctantly doing so when you ran out of stamina or needed to drink water—it's not as if you let her catch her breath as you did so, with the vibrator you had shoved into her at max setting whenever you needed to step away.

Your assault hasn't relented in the least, no matter how many times Arlecchino begged you to stop, no matter how many times she said to do better, no matter how many times she pleaded for you to go easier on her.

"Why would I give way to lenience when you hadn't done the same?" You mused coldly as you continued to plow into her over and over again, "You deem yourself exempt to my wrath, Peruere?"

You feel her try to shake her head in response before quickly following it up with a slurred defense, "N-No, 'm nn-- mmng! Not.. I--"

You clicked your tongue and gave her ass a loud smack, which earns you a garbled moan from the one underneath you, "You can't even form coherent sentences because of something you initially regarded as an 'unnecessary' action.. but that's okay."

The auditory mixture of her excess of slick between her thighs, your skin coming in contact every time you bottomed out inside of her, the pornographic noises that escaped her lips... It was all downright sinful, something completely unbecoming of her position.

But right now, she didn't care less. Or couldn't, more like, considering the complete lack of thought in her head. The only remaining thing within her mind was you and the way you put her in her place.

And the both of you knew that she relished the feeling of having things out of her control.

"You don't need to answer me," you continued, leaning down to press a kiss on the back of her neck.. before shoving her face down roughly as you straightened back up, "you just need to be put in your place, baby. Understand?"

You actually receive a desperate nod amongst the constant surge of white-hot overstimulation and constant orgasm.

"Good... Just don't resist and let mommy discipline you properly."

As if on cue, she cums again with a jolt, much to your delight.

Wanna fuck her so hard that her juices drip onto the floor and slide down on the side of the desk 😞😞 oughhghghh

There's that RISK of being caught in the midst of your lil session too—you could have it locked all along and while normal everyday Arlecchino would've noticed it perfectly fine, the Arlecchino you have underneath you is wayyyy too fucked out to actually realise in the moment so she's panicking but also? Her arousal is actually RAMPED UP are you kidding me

She won't admit to exhibitionism but there's smth There when she thinks of how the world would know that you have such a powerful Hold on her 🫶

But rn she doesn't care to move, not when her thighs are quivering and her pussy's aching to be filled all over again, practically getting used to the feeling of you inside her

Godddd break her enough and she might not be able to live without you ☺️☺️ or maybe you already have who knows ☺️☺️☺️☺️☺️☺️ just saying the moment you donned the title of a Mother was the moment that she was indesputably yours for you to do as you saw fit ☺️☺️☺️☺️☺️☺️☺️

[prattpunk]

The Pen

*Warning there is hypnotic language used. Read at your own risk

Years back I was listening to a podcast by @h-sleepingirl. She was talking about fractionation with a counter....like the ones people use to count how many people enter a building.

It has a window where you can see how many times you push the button. She used for fractionation. You push the button and sink all the way down. Then count yourself back up only to push the button and plummet right back down again. She gave her sub a number of times to push the device and to check the number each time they dropped.

I really enjoyed this idea. The only thing is that most people don't have one of those devices at the ready. So of course my brain started problem solving. And I decided to switch the people counter with a clickable pen, since almost everyone has one of those handy. It gave a similar auditory cue along with the tactile one. There was just no easy way to track it. SO......I decided that there should be some kind of timer. This way people didn't need to count and take themselves out of going deeper and deeper but also put in some fail safes so you don't end up going for hours on end....not that there is anything wrong with that but we still have lives and can't always allow ourselves to just go for that long. Anyways...

Now for those of you that would like to try this.....keep reading.

With all trance things, make sure you are in a nice and safe place. Use the bathroom and eliminate as many distractions as you can. And know that no matter how deep you may go, you can easily come back up if there is an emergency or something that needs your attention.

Now before we start. Set a timer for how long you want to get lost and fuzzy for. Once you have done that....grab your pen of choice and just continue to read.

Lets take a moment and center ourselves with a few cleansing breathes.

Breath deeply in through you nose. Letting the air fill your lungs. Hold for a moment and exhale through your mouth. Letting all the worries....stress.....negative thoughts out along with that breath. Lets continue to just breathe and relax for a moment. Just focus on my words and your breathing.

Feel the calm. Enjoy the stillness. Allow yourself to be in the moment. This exact moment, with me. Preparing to let go and go deeper.

As you let both your mind and body relax, you feel your thoughts starting to slow. Its ok, you don't really need them right now.

You just want to sink and feel that comforting embrace of trance. In fact, you can already start to feel it. Feel it spreading. Washing over you in intoxicating waves of relaxation. That nice incredibly comfortable feeling easing its way in. The world around you is fading away. Your focus is only on my words and that fantastic heavy feeling spreading through your body with every breath.

Your vision...your mind are just filled with my words.

You let them push everything else out.

As those pesky thoughts fall away like leaves in the autumn breeze...as you sink more and more.

And as you keep slipping further and further down ....you know that you can't completely let go until you click that pen. Like it is the last part of your consciousness left. Like it is the only thing keeping you from closing yours eyes, letting your muscles melt, feel that heaviness consume you completely and just plummet down into that nice comfortable place. All you have to do is just click that that pen.

But its not quite yet. You know that as soon as you click that pen, you give yourself permission to sink. To sink as far as you can go. And when you hit that point. You will count from 5 to 1 to bring yourself back up. Only to click that pen again and take yourself right back down even deeper than before just to loop over and over again. Clicking yourself deeper. Clicking that mind away. To just be that delicious fractionated mess. Clicking everything away.

Until that timer goes off. Once the timer sounds, you will stop pressing the pen. And allow yourself to come back to reality. To shake off those cobwebbs and become awake and fully alert.

But that is for later. Right now it is time for you to let go and find new level of depth. To let yourself sink as far as you can. To shed away the world and sink deeper into yourself. Into that mindless oblivion. Its ok. You are safe and want this.

Feel your finger on top of that pen. Feel how ready you are to push it. To let go. To start your journey to true depth. Go ahead. Push it. I'll see you on the other side.

[bethanythebogwitch]

Wet Beast Wednesday: channel catfish

I like cats and I like fish, so it's a bit silly that I haven't done a WBW on catfish yet. Time to fix that. The channel catfish may not be the most spectacular of all catfish, but it's a skilled survivor and a tenacious little fish worthy of respect.

(Image: a channel catfish swimming in clear water. It is a long fish woth a round body and a broad, flat head. The fins are rounded and the anal fin is long and runs under the back half of the body. A fleshy adipose fin is on the top of the tail. The eyes are round and protrude from the head. Four pairs of barbels grow from around the mouth, the the largest extending from the upper lip. The body is a murky brown, with a white underbelly. End ID)

The majority of channel catfish (Ictalurus punctatus) reach 30 to 60 cm (1-2 ft) in length and weigh between 1 and 2 kg (2-4 lbs), but they grow throughout their lives and can occasionally get much larger. The world record channel catfish weighed 58 lbs (26 kg). Channel cats possess traits typical of catfish. The bodies are cylindrical and scaleless and four pairs of long, sensory barbels grow from around the mouth. The pectoral and dorsal fins have spines that are filled with venom which can cause stinging and numbness in humans. I know this from personal experience.

(Image: a channel catfish swimming over rocky substrate in murky water. End ID)

Channel catfish are heavily adapted to live in low-visibility environments by heavily focusing on senses other than sight. They have a powerful sense of smell thanks to heavily packed olfactory receptors in their nostrils. A channel cat can smell amino acids at concentrations of 1 part per 100 million. In addition to their mouths, channel catfish also have taste buds covering their skin, essentially turning their bodies into one big tongue. The taste buds are most concentrated on the barbels, which the catfish uses to help detect sources of food. Catfish hearing is enhanced by the presence of a Weberian apparatus, a complex system of bone and ossicles that connects the auditory system to the swim bladder. This allows the swim bladder to amplify vibrations, allowing sounds too quiet for the inner ear to normally detect to become audible.

Pogfish (Image: a channel catfish with mouth open, about to bite onto a baited hook. End ID)

Channel catfish are found in the eastern half of North America from Canada to northeastern Mexico. They can tolerate salt and brackish water, but are mostly found in freshwater, where they can inhabit everything from crystal-clear streams to murky lakes. While channel cats are omnivorous, they are specialized to act as predators in murky water. They are nocturnal ambush predators who retreat to deep water in the day and move to shallower water to hunt at night. They will either sit still and wait for prey to pass or slowly search through rugged areas, using their barbels to investigate crevices where prey could hide. Their nostrils and taste buds help finding prey, specifically by detecting the amino acids L-alanine and L-arganine, which are shed by animals. When catfish detect amino acids, they have been observed getting excited: turning, biting, and maneuvering themselves toward prey. As with other catfish, they rapidly open their mouths to create suction and force prey inside, where it is swallowed whole. Catfish will eat just about anything they can find, including small fish, various invertebrates, snakes, amphibians, insects, small mammals and birds, algae, seeds, nuts, and other plant material. Their diet becomes more carnivorous as they get older. Channel catfish are not social outside of mating and establish territories. They appear to follow a dominance hierarchy with larger animals claiming better territories and fighting to maintain them.

(Image: a channel catfish swimming amongst rocks. End ID)

Channel catfish have a complex system of communication using both chemical and auditory cues. Catfish in general can produce pheromones that can be used to recognize other specific individuals. They use these to advertise their presence to each other and mark their territory. Channel catfish can use pheromones to determine the sex, age, and size of another member of their species without ever actually encountering them and can differentiate between other species of catfish that share their habitat. When a channel cat detects another in its territory, it can mark its territory by altering its scent through a chemical change in the composition of the amino acids in its mucus. This scent does not linger long and is used as a challenge to the intruder, telling it to either leave or be prepared to fight. The change in scent may be regulated by club cells, specialized pheromone-producing cells found in the skin. The cells don't directly open to the water. It is hypothesized that injury may expose the club cells and cause them to release their contents. This would inform other catfish in the area of the injury, which could lead to a change in the local dominance hierarchy. Sound is produced through stridulation: clicking and grinding the bones of the pectoral girdle and the spine that leads the pectoral fins. By moving the base of the spine over the pectoral girdle, the fish can make a variety of noises. These noises vary in based on the movement of the fin and based on size and possibly sex, allowing channel catfish to learn about others that they hear. Channel cats will use noises to communicate dominance with each other and to startle predators, allowing for an escape while alerting any other catfish in the area of the predator's presence. If you've every caught a catfish and heard it make a croaking noise, now you know what's happening. Curiously, individual channel catfish will have a preference for which fin they use to make noise, with the majority favoring their right fin. This could be analogous to right and left handedness in humans.

(Video: a catfish that has been caught by an angler. It is being held by a tool and is making croaking noises. End ID)

Channel catfish spawn in spring and summer, when the water is consistently warm. Males will look for a cavity of some kind, which could be a crevice in rocks, a bank underhand, a spot beneath a log or other structure, or artificial objects like the inside of litter. He will clean the area of silt and mud to expose a hard bottom and then release pheromones to attract a female. Other males may attempt to drive him from his nest to claim it for themselves, leading to fights. When a female is interested, the two will enter the nest and remain there for up to 6 hours as eggs are laid. Females can release 2,000 to 4,000 eggs per pound of her weight and will do so in batches, with the male fertilizing them as they are laid. The eggs are yellowish and stick to hard surfaces. Once the eggs are laid, the male will chase the female from the nest and guard the eggs until they hatch. Until then, he will fan the eggs with his tail to keep oxygenated flowing over them and aggressively attack any perceived threat. Channel catfish in the wild only mate once per year, though males raised in captivity may attempt multiple matings. Larvae are hatched with the egg sac still attacked and survive on yolk for a few days until it falls off. After that, they have an algae-based diet that will gradually shift to carnivory as they age. Young channel catfish are a yellowish-brown with dark spots along the body while adults are a muddy brown all over.

(Image: a juvenile channel catfish held by me. It is a miniature version of an adult, with proportionately longer barbels and eyes. The body is a yellowish color. It is smaller than the thumb in the image. End ID

Channel catfish are classified as least concern by the IUCN, meaning they are not in danger of extinction. Channel catfish are the most widely distributed and populous catfish in North America. In the USA, channel catfish are a major food source and the channel catfish aquaculture industry is the largest aquaculture in the country. Channel catfish are raised in artificial ponds or other structures and are usually harvested for their meat at two years old. That's a lot for an animal that tastes like congealed air. Channel catfish are also a popular sport fish for their edibility and the fight they put up when hooked. Their use as food and for sport is a major reason for their introduction outside of their range. This has led to them becoming an invasive species in multiple countries, where they outcompete native species.

(Image: a POV shot of someone wearing rubber waders holding a channel catfish just above the water. End ID)

[boimann]

A while ago you made a post abt neurodivergent headcanons for the TF2 characters, and included Medic having chronic mania/hallucinations. As someone who experiences those very things I’ve been wanting to hear further on your thoughts surrounding this headcanon (that I share myself :D). If you’re up for/comfortable with writing abt it, I can understand if you’re not :) Still! I wanted to say I enjoyed seeing a headcanon abt medic dealing with psychosis that wasn’t an angst fest or “grr scary and evil!!!” Type deal

I feel the same way I'm exhausted of seeing psychosis always get demonized (that headcanon was basically just me projecting on my favorite little guy) also i have been dying for an excuse to expand on this headcanon so thank you anon!!!!

as said in my previous post medic has hallucinations on the daily, mostly minor auditory stuff

I don't think he would be freaked out by his hallucinations, he'd be fascinated by them and he would want to study them (he follows cartoon logic: he hallucinates a big scary monster and he sticks his head in its maws and marvels at its teeth)

sometimes tho he gets too wrapped up in his hallucinations and has a hard time separating what's real from what isn't and that's where Archimedes comes in

medic trained him to pick up on certain cues to which he responds by perching on his shoulder and applying pressure therapy by pressing on the side of his neck

other times he tries to get medic to pet him to distract him and make him focus on something soothing instead

occasionally tho it's better to ask the other mercs for help and he just goes up to them and straight up asks them if what he's seeing is real

he's told them of his situation and they are all pretty used to it at this point (also this is probably one of the more normal things about the guy who sews animal organs into people)

although sometimes when he's alone with scout he gets to have a little fun with it: he gets really close to him, stares into his soul with his cold blue eyes, points at the nearest corner and goes "do you see zhe grinning man?"

medic has put the fear of god in scout for the funnies and scout has shit himself on numerous occasions

he just likes to be silly in true medic fashion

here are some silly sketches about this headcanon

Scout pov:

How scout sleeps since medic started pulling these pranks

[fanged-fanfics]

Okay so i saw your post with dress to impress

And the second i finished my mind just said "what if monkeys played doors?" And yea

So could you do that 🙏🏻

Oh and have a great day!!!

👑🧡 Doors — 💜🌙 Stonefruit Trio HCs 💛🍜

Genres: Comedy || they/them pronouns for reader || No warnings needed

˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁⋆˚｡⋆୨🍜👑🌙୧⋆˚｡⋆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧. ݁₊ ⊹

- Right off the bat, MK is TERRIBLE with horror. He really does try his best to be brave about it and puts on this confident front when playing, but quickly gets unsettled by the entities

- The cues for the entities make MK always panic and fumble trying to get away cause it just immediately stresses him out and he keeps flailing while mashing the controls

- Keeps you there with him 24/7 to try and make it easier but it mostly just ends with him aggressively clutching to you whenever he gets freaked out by something

- Wukong is surprisingly better with it. He's seen thousands of years worth of terrifying demons, so the entities don't scare him too bad, and that already makes the game easier for him

- His problem is that he can't really remember what cues go to what entity unless he's played the game for endless hours so he does get frustrated when he's caught off guard by something

- He pays you in snacks to stay beside him and help him out with the game to navigate what to do. After that he's mostly good to go, but he will still get surprised every now and then and need you to console him

- Macaque doesn't really have any reactions to horror whatsoever, he's seen way too much to have entities freak him out in any way. His main problem is not being able to get a grip on the controls

- He kinda cheats and uses his six ears to sense auditory cues before they happen so he's always at least a little bit prepared for those. Visual ones though he can't predict ahead of time and then you see him struggle a bit

- Keeps you there with him to help with the visual cues that he can't see very well, and for whenever he has to take a break from getting too frustrated. If you do get scared at any point though he will tease you about it relentlessly

[rottenpumpkin13]

Hello I’m here about the uhhh *shuffles papers* missing dragon report you filed? We have him right here and were told to bring him to a mister… *adjusts glasses* Sephiroth on the Shinra SOLDIER floor. We were also told by the sassy sounding guy on the phone to inform him that this dragon was a rescue because his mother was slain by some rogue knights and that he’s been trained to chew on… *squints* “crash test dummies wearing glasses and lab coats. Happy birthday, from G.” Anyways here he is *dumps very cute baby dragon in cardboard box on the floor*

*Lazard sees Sephiroth playing with a baby dragon*

Lazard: WHAT THE—

Sephiroth: Before you panic and chastise me, know that it was Genesis who gifted him to me, and I've prepared everything necessary for its care. I've taken measures to prevent any unregulated fire breathing, I have a training regimen in place with responsive hand signals and specific auditory cues so it knows not to act without my command, and a balanced diet plan for optimal health. And yes, it's imprinted on me and I'm it's designated parent now, but I intend to be responsible.

Lazard: …

Lazard, sighing: Fine, I trust you. Why is it chewing on a pair of glasses?

Sephiroth: It's part of the balanced diet plan.

Lazard: What did it eat?

Sephiroth: Professor Hojo.

Lazard: ASDFGGHJKLSJFKH