#person who has these thoughts ah LOLL

[wellexcusemeagain]

@megamhafan YOU ARE SPEAKIN MY LANGUAGEEEE- yay hot evil fictional men from uhh questionable source materials‼️ And tbh. He is one of my favorite characters to draw atm……ANYWAYS! My favorite is the ‘lactose intolerant’ thing bc I’ve joked about that too, and also the plastic chair thing, cuz..damnnn ugggghh. Also him having a fart kink himself if so big brain and I’m here for it. Very in character tbh, that man would have any “weird” kink under the sun- but YEAH. I agree, he wouldn’t fuckin care in his own house 😭😭 let it rippp boyyy

If somebody somehow recognizes my art style. Shhhh

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

It's a Match! || poly!141 x Reader

[Chapter 25] || [Chapter Pre-27] || [Chapter 27]

Pairing: 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.2k~ cw: smut, penetration, oral sex (m!receiving), gay sex (anal) Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you? a/n: we're almost THERE

Chapter 26: Smart mouth

If you thought last time you guys did this was too much, you weren’t ready for this afternoon.

Had you had all your braincells intact, you would’ve pondered HOW John would end up adding to this, if it was even possible to add an extra person…

But they weren’t intact. You were utterly fucked out, stars prickling at the corner of your eyes…

You were lying on your tummy, legs spread apart to either side of the bed, Kyle steadily snapping his hips against your ass, the sound of his cock plunging into you wet and slick echoing in the room, not even concealed by your muffled moans.

Your head was craned back, your neck straining a bit in that position to allow for Johnny’s cock to plunge deep into your mouth, muffling any of the cries of pleasuring coming from you.

It didn’t help that Johnny was not controlling himself, his cock hammering into your mouth with wild abandon.

But that must have had something to do with the fact Simon was fucking him from behind, a hand gripping Johnny around the hip, the other holding your hair to make sure he stayed buried in your mouth.

The corners of your mouth hurt, Johnny’s shaft so impossibly thick, just like the rest of him, that you couldn’t help but whine and whimper at the stretch it forced your mouth to perform.

And Kyle with his damn moans and sighs behind you, his lengthy cock plunging so deep inside you, his thighs nearly permanently glued to your ass more often than not.

“Tha’s it… Wanted to ‘ave a fucking smart mouth, did ya?” Simon taunts who you know is Johnny, but frankly he feels like he could be speaking to any of you really.

“I-I… I’m sorry L.T.!” Johnny whines, his eyes rolling back, his back pressed firmly against Simon’s chest, head lolling against the taller man’s shoulder.

“Don’t apologise to me. Apologise to the pretty thing that’s got you all the way down their throat.” Simon replies, his tone bossy and authoritative.

“I-I’m sorry, bonnie… A-Ah…” Johnny got interrupted halfway as Simon’s hand bobbed your head back and forth, causing some audible sounds of you choking.

“Fuck… Looks so good…” Kyle huffed behind you, bent halfway over your body, panting right against your shoulder blade.

All he could see from that angle was your nose burrowed to Johnny’s pelvis, Simon’s hand in your hair, tears in your eyes…

Simon’s hand left your hair for a moment, allowing you to swallow the build up of saliva in your mouth and to breathe better through your nose, instead caressing Kyle’s cheek, his thumb grazing his bottom lip.

“You’re all doin’ so good f’r me…” Simon tells you, Kyle’s eyes closing at the praise, his lips parting to suck Simon’s thumb. “Good…”

Your eyes watch the entire scene, or… they would, if you weren’t already 2 orgasms in, too fucked out to think of anything at all beyond the fact this all feels too good.

-

You find yourself stirring awake by a sudden lack of warmth and groggily look around to notice Kyle leaving the warm pile of bodies on your bed, revealing your back to the cold air of the bedroom.

Grunting softly, you're shushed by a kiss on the crown of your head and an arm wrapping around you tighter, rubbing your bare back.

You’re hugging onto Simon, who has an arm around you. Kyle had been behind you this whole time, spooning you, and Johnny had been behind him.

“He's going to let John in,” Simon tells you as he keeps rubbing your back, gentle kisses pressed to the top of your head.

Johnny is sleeping soundly, just like you had been, his breathing steady, not quite a snore, but loud enough.

“John?” You murmur, rubbing your eyes.

“Yeah, he texted me about an hour ago, asking if we wanted dinner.” Simon tells you.

“Dinner?” Johnny murmurs in a half-awake state.

“Bloody ‘ell, did’ya wake up at the mention of food?’ Simon quips with a soft rumble of a laugh against your ear. It sounds like he's purring…

Johnny scoots closer, taking up the space that Kyle had been in until now, his lips beginning to press kisses to your bare shoulder.

“I'm so sore…” You murmur, lamenting how sluggish you feel, not to mention your cotton mouth.

After your session, you had all taken turns showering and Simon had made sure to get you all to drink water, but that did little to help your sorry state.

“At least ye don't have a bum knee.” Johnny quips behind you.

“And don't pull a muscle while sitting down,” Simon remarks.

“Or fuck up your back while having a one night stand.” John announces when he shows up at the bedroom door, Kyle right behind him.

Besides Simon, John’s the only one that's dressed, a pair of dark blue jeans, a white undershirt and a brown sweater on top, his hair slightly disheveled from having taken off the beanie he usually wears as a civvy.

“Hi…!” You greet him lazily.

“Hi, darling.” John replies as he approaches the bed.

He drops a kiss to Simon’s head, a peck on the lips for you, and runs a hand over Johnny’s messy mohawk.

“I see you lot had some fun, hm?” John teases before crouching by the bedside.

“‘f course we did, sir.” Johnny jokes with what you know is a sly little smirk on his lips.

“How about you lot get dressed and get some food, hm?” He quipped and ran a hand through your hair as you remained warm sandwiched between Johnny and Simon. “I brought Indian.”

“Ooh, butter chicken?!” Johnny remarks and immediately bounces up, trampling over you and Simon to get off the bed, causing you both to groan.

“I just said I'm SORE!” You scold Johnny as he starts gathering his clothes, which Kyle is also doing for himself.

“Clearly not sore enough! Guess I didn't fuck yer throat hard enough if your mouth is still yapping.” Johnny retorts, causing you to gasp.

“Johnny-” Simon replies as he slowly shifts and stands up as if already threatening him with another fucking to get the attitude out of him again.

“Tough talk for someone that had a cock up the ass 3 hours ago.” Kyle quips from beside him.

“HAUD YER YEESHT! You’re just bitter Simon didn’t fuck ye!” Johnny retorts as he nudges Kyle, the two of them picking up on their usual bickering.

“I wouldn't count that as fucking, more like putting you in your place.” Simon replies swiftly, joining Kyle in tag teaming Johnny.

“My PLACE?!” Johnny gasps.

John takes a seat in the spot Simon had been occupying, letting you curl up to him instead as the lads descend into the madness that is their usual bickering.

John’s arms pull you up onto his lap, wrapping you in a warm hug, his chin resting on your shoulder as you both gaze at the loud men in your bedroom.

“I'm sorry you have to deal with them.” He tells you playfully.

“And I'm sorry that you've been dealing with them for so long.” You retort.

You both share a glance and a chuckle.

"You know if you ever want a break from them... I've got my own place..." John suggests with narrowed eyes and a smile, puffy cheeks lightly pink.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I've been dreaming of the Ruler of the Abyss.

Kneel to the Thorn Fairy, who shall make manifest one’s dreams—the wishes made by the heart.

He promises happy endings for all. Woe to those who doubt and defy his vision.

How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die?

Alone.

He has always been alone.

But alone he is no longer—not when he is in his castle, surrounded by hordes of his people. He will never be alone again. No one will, all thanks to his efforts.

Never, never, never.

Malleus easily traverses the thorn-crusted lounge, floating across them like a specter. The bodies of school staff and fellow students lie limp in chairs and couches. Eyes closed, chests rising and falling rhythmically.

As he passes, he runs a hand along their scalps. Brushing their hair, patting their heads. Tender touches wishing them well.

Here is a king's domain, and here are his subjects. He, the dragon guarding his trove of invaluable treasures.

Malleus turns to face his captive audience, arms spread out toward them. “Today is something of a special occasion: Night Raven College’s Founding. I do believe this warrants a celebration—and, of course, all are invited to the festivities.”

A wave of magic washes over the room. Conical party hats manifest on each person's head, decorations appearing from thin air. Banners drape across the walls, streamers spill from black-clothed tables laden with food, and balloons tuck into the corners, safe from the needle-like thorns.

He projects applause, stunned oohs and aahs. Here, he is not a monster, but fellow man.

"Hmm, we're still missing something." Malleus strokes his chin, deep in thought. He snaps his fingers. "Ah, that's it! Music. It's not a proper party without any music."

With the wave of his hand, he summons a series of floating instruments. Bass, cello, viola, violin, harp, each bathed in an eerie green glow. They start playing by themselves, as if being handled by skillful, invisible hands.

Soft orchestral song fills the venue.

The guests rise, puppeted by the strings of his magic. Thorns on the floor retreat, allowing his peers to spill over onto the area repurposed for dance. Heads loll over--Malleus frowns and fixes them.

"There we are."

A glittering assemblage.

He smoothly conducts the bodies into neat pairs.

A waltz, he thinks, is ideal. It is also one of the few forms of dance he is familiar with. A waltz it shall be.

Palms link, fingers intertwine. Hands upon shoulders and upon backs. And then they are set to the hypnotic swing of the music, slow and sweet and intoxicating, like a steady drip of honey into one's mouth.

Malleus threads past the avid dancers and to the one person that has not been matched. The little bat who had almost flown away, far out of his grasp.

"Lilia," Malleus breathes raptly, "look at how happy everyone is. No one was left out. No one was forgotten. No one has to be alone anymore."

With this gift... my blessing... I've protected their smiles.

The duty of any Draconia.

He's proud--elated--but Lilia, alas, does not share the sentiment. Instead, the ancient fae wears a placid expression, eyes sewn shut. The same as all the other guests.

Malleus chuckles. No one hears it but himself.

"How exciting your dream must be. Action and adventure, at the best of your strength... I'm afraid this humble gathering cannot compare."

He’s sure Lilia would agree with him, were he awake.

“Never mind that," Malleus says, dispelling the thought. No more what ifs, only there ares. "Would you care for food? You'll need to keep your energy up for the celebration--it just may last all night."

He beckons with a finger, and a platter with a large cake hovers over. It is an extravagant seven layers, each a different flavor. Details are piped on in buttercream icing, invoking the image of each dormitory. A chocolate raven, wings open and prepared for flight, crowns the dessert.

A cake knife slides into Lilia's hand. His fingers slowly closer around the handle. With Malleus's guidance, he cuts into the topmost layer--Diasomnia--of the cake.

Something thick, red, and sticky leaks from the insides. The knife is coated as it is pulled back, freeing a slice. The violet crumb is fine, the frosting neon green with a dark chocolate drip.

Devilishly decadent.

"Come, you must try this," Malleus insists, stabbing a fork into the cake. He stuffs the bite into Lilia's mouth--but it doesn't stay, just rolls out and lands with a squishy splat on the ground.

Malleus eagerly waits for Lilia to beam at him, to praise him for its deliciousness.

It never comes.

Malleus laughs as though Lilia has responded as he imagines him to. He's drunk with delirium.

The strings abruptly screech, the dancers ceasing in their revelry.

He lets the unfinished slice fall. The plate shatters, reflecting one hundred Malleuses, one hundred Lilias. So many realities, and yet this is the one he has been dealt.

He guides the corners of Lilia's mouth upward, forcing a smile.

"Happy Night Raven College Founding Day," Malleus whispers, "and may you all have the sweetest of slumbers."

To his guests, to Lilia, to himself. And to the world that will soon be joining them in this delightful, never-ending dream.

Raising a hand, he unleashes fireworks from his palm. They explode in wild shapes and colors, emitting warmth and dazzling lights. The display is beautiful but fleeting--long shadows running along the walls before they blip out of existence and return to the darkness.

Every dream is like a firework, he surmises. A fiery flower frozen in time at the height of its bloom. They shall never wither nor fade.

Malleus reclines into his seat--a spiked and scaled throne, mounted high above the party venue. A lone king, untouchable.

Seated upon a mountain of lies, he looks out at his twisted kingdom. It’s a scene of his own creation, props lovingly places and toys carefully posed, acting out situations in his head.

The average school day at Night Raven College: students bickering, teachers watching over them. They see him, smile and wave. Talk with him, invite him.

Stay with him.

A loop playing, forever and ever.

Malleus sighs contentedly.

This is his happily ever after—from now until the end of eternity.

[tenderwatches]

“We will need to obtain shimmer soon, Jayce; we cannot delay,” he states, and Jayce nods. Time is their enemy now; Viktor can’t afford the danger of flirting with caution and delay of their work. “Of course. You said you might know someone down below who could help. If you tell me where to go—” he begins, but Viktor’s sharp head shake stops him short. “Absolutely not. I will go to him,” Viktor states with no uncertainty. Jayce blinks, shock rippling through him. “But, V… your breathing… Is that really the best?” “Jayce.” The warning in Viktor’s steely tone snaps Jayce’s mouth shut with an audible click. “I have lived in the Undercity most of my life. I know it; we do not need you wandering around getting into trouble.”

Chapter 20: Endure, my heart...

“Of course, I know you know it better. But with the Gray, is that wise?” Jayce tries, gentling his voice even as his mind floods with horrific visions—Viktor alone in some filthy alley, blood streaming down his face as merciless coughs wrack his frame, help impossibly distant. But Viktor’s gaze holds nothing but adamant resolve.

“Is venturing into the Undercity to make contact with a person I am less than pleased to encounter again to obtain a highly dangerous and illegal drug… wise?”

Jayce is almost finished packing away the last of Viktor’s books when tiny footsteps shuffle through the open door. “Ah, Jayce, I thought I might catch you here when I received Viktor’s note about no longer needing this space!” The professor’s eyes dart about, taking in the pristine lab and its practically empty state. As Heimerdinger surveys the space, it’s clear he recognises that Viktor has never truly needed the offered laboratory, yet he chooses not to comment. In his wake, the ever-present shadow of his poro (the Porofessor, as he calls it) scuttles past to snuffle at Jayce’s shoes, its little tongue lolling in greeting.

“Oh yes, he just… needed me to pick up the last of his things,” Jayce confirms, gesturing to the box of books at his elbow. Heimerdinger acknowledges this with a nod before moving to scoot out a chair three sizes too big from a nearby workstation. He scrambles up with a small hop and pins Jayce with an assessing stare that sends him straight back to feeling like a fresh-faced academy apprentice.

“Now, my boy, tell me. How is he?” He asks, fluffy eyebrows lifting over wide, empathetic blue eyes. The question catches Jayce unprepared, though perhaps it shouldn’t. News of Viktor’s collapse and hospital stay was bound to circulate among those who keep track of his partner. Jayce looks away, teeth sinking into his lip to stem the threat of worried words. If Viktor hadn’t bothered to tell the professor himself, he would likely disapprove of Jayce sharing too many details.

“It’s… been difficult, Professor. I’m certain Viktor could give you a clearer picture of what he’s facing, but… It’s a serious diagnosis.” His voice trails off lamely. Heimerdinger’s face softens as he studies Jayce, his moustache quivering with a sigh.

“I know, my boy. I’ve heard about the nature of his diagnosis. I’m more curious about how he’s handling it. I’m not so much of an old fool that I’m unaware he has few friends here. You and I might be two of the only people who truly understand how extraordinary that young man is,” he explains. Jayce’s hands curl into tight fists, an increasingly familiar frustration rising in his chest. The thought that one of the city’s brightest minds is dying while so few would even pause to mourn him makes him clench his jaw until it aches.

“Viktor is, as he always is, Professor: impossible to stop. He wants to… accomplish something before that’s no longer possible for him.” His mind drifts to the Hexcore, undulating in their makeshift garden of plants back at their laboratory. If their recent botanical trials succeed, that breakthrough might be within their grasp. Of course, they still need to obtain shimmer, as Viktor suggested, before any of that can come to be. For one mad moment, he considers blurting it all out to the professor, seeking wisdom like in days past. But he swallows the urge. Heimerdinger is a brilliant scientist and a good mentor, but he’s also overly cautious. Jayce has learnt to keep their work close when dealing with those who might interfere.

Heimerdinger’s tiny legs kick out, his shiny boots catching the light as his hands clasp over his rotund belly, thumbs twiddling in contemplation.

“You know, one might say Viktor has already contributed more than most scientists ever dream of in their lifetime. Those Hexgates of yours have changed everything in this city.” Jayce huffs out a bitter half—laugh, the sound catching raw in his throat as he grabs the remaining tomes from the shelves. He stuffs them into the box with enough force to make the worn spines creak in protest.

“Sure, we can see it that way, but the rest of Piltover are quick to forget how much he’s given them.” The words taste of bile and old regrets. Heimerdinger’s boots tap softly against the floor as he hops down, coming to stand at Jayce’s side. Those bright blue eyes peer up, searching Jayce’s face with careful scrutiny.

“What happened to Viktor after you made your complaint was wrong, Jayce; you and I both know it. But you’ve done what you could to correct it,” he offers, but Jayce drags his palm over his face, trying to press back his mounting frustration.

“This… isn’t about that, Professor.” His voice emerges controlled, each word measured despite the tension coiling in every muscle. “It’s not about my guilt, or even the fact that Viktor is dying; at least… that’s not the whole of it.”

His gaze sweeps the laboratory—the glittering windows, the pristine brass instruments. Every Piltover scientist’s dream: a space to focus on their work unhindered. But Jayce sees it now with unclouded eyes. The countertops housing the instruments tower too high for someone like Viktor, who often needs to sit while working. The space sprawls wide, but tables jut out at angles perfect for catching a crutch. Though the lab was granted to Viktor alone, nothing about it suggests he’s welcome at all.

“Did you know that Viktor’s name isn’t on our Hexgate blueprints?” He asks the question without thinking about it first, his untethered energy carrying over and setting him to pace the room. His eyes roam, unwilling to land on Heimerdinger, who still watches him with that penetrating gaze. The cabinets loom three times too large for Heimerdinger as well, Jayce notes. He has personally seen, however, that the professor’s own lab has lower tables and access to step stools and chairs all built precisely for yordle proportions. Who decides, Jayce wonders, who has earned their place enough to have a world that will accommodate them?

“It isn’t?” the professor questions in response.

“No!” Jayce’s hand slashes through the air in wild emphasis. “And I don’t know when it was removed, if it still exists in the official records within Hextech, or if it’s only in the early drafts.” He clasps his hands behind his back as he paces, irritation tremoring. “Viktor deserves more—he should have a legacy that is secure—one that can’t be erased or ignored. “

“Legacy isn’t everything, my boy—” Heimerdinger begins, but Jayce’s temper and frustration break free of him at the words.

“No, but to a dying man, it means leaving behind more than a grave.”

Heimerdinger’s shoulders slump a bit in response to his anger. The professor doesn’t turn to face him, but Jayce can hear the solemn note in his response. “I’ve buried a great deal of dear friends in my lifetime, Jayce; it isn’t their scientific contributions that are most mourned.”

The wisdom of ages resonates in those words—Heimerdinger speaks from watching not just individuals die but generations, the march of time an endless cycle of death and rebirth. Grief must work differently for him. Jayce has respected that wisdom, been frustrated by its limitations, and stood in awe of its perspective. What can one say to someone burdened with too much time rather than too little?

“It just… It isn’t fair!” In his exclamation, Jayce feels every bit the childish fool Heimerdinger must occasionally see him as. He forges forward anyway, angry and exhausted by trying to understand how a city like theirs, so invigorated by progress, can remain so wilfully blind to where it’s needed. “Everything he fought for and worked for—it deserves to be recognised.”

The professor turns back, his moustache drooping in a frown as he slowly makes his way closer. “Of course it does.” Agreement settles between them as he comes closer, peering at Jayce. “Viktor has always been a determined boy, one of the brightest minds I’ve encountered in my long years, and that’s rather an impressive compliment, I assure you.” A wry note colours his words, and Jayce can’t help the slight smile that tugs at his lips. He can picture a younger Viktor, even more brash and impossible, the sharpest mind in every room. The other academy scholars must have been at a loss with him. That must have been lonely, his mind whispers unbidden, and his smile falters as the thought settles like lead in his stomach. Pushing aside the ache of empathy for his partner’s younger self, Jayce focuses on Heimerdinger’s next words.

“Promise and potential are only the seeds of genius, of course. Viktor has always been determined to make them grow.” He’s moving again, taking a short series of steps forward that allow him to glance up at the windows overhead. The sunlight streaming through them illuminates the little shimmering gold threads that shoot through the yordle’s puffball of reddish—blond hair. Melancholy shadows his features, as if he too sees that younger Viktor—a boy full of hope and the burning desire to help.

“If there was ever someone who could carve a legacy out of nothing, it’s Viktor. Even in these final days, I know he can make a real difference, particularly with good friends at his side.” The words hang in the air, an invitation to find comfort in shared wisdom. But something in Jayce rebels, and not just because he refuses to accept the inevitability of Viktor’s demise. Something else keeps him from nodding along, as he might have years ago; a new fire ignites in his gut, raging against how even good men like the professor seem ready to accept that brilliant, kind, talented people like Viktor must slip through back doors into spaces that should welcome them with open arms.

“Why does he have to always fight so hard for it, Professor? For… scraps of what other people are handed?” He’s all but shouting now, shoving the box of Viktor’s books along the workstation. He plants himself in front of Heimerdinger, a stubborn object of defiance. “He’s dying. He’s in pain—he deserves to be able to rest. He shouldn’t have to race the clock like this.”

Composure slips through his fingers like sand as red bleeds into his vision—red like the blood streaming from Viktor’s nose, red like the evidence of collapse still staining his lab coat.

“He’s hardly the only one either; how many brilliant scholars are there now that are choking to death in the sumps below while we debate the cruelty of things that we helped to build?” His chest heaves with the kind of impassioned fire he hasn’t felt since screaming at the ethics committee. Heimerdinger absorbs it with the patience of someone who has weathered countless passionate scholars’ outbursts.

“As expected, you’re never short on difficult questions, Jayce,” he notes, approval warming his tone. He pauses, though, and seems to think on Jayce’s words. “I don’t know that I can answer that question for you. Why these things are the shape that they are and how we might go about changing that. Perhaps it’s a simple matter of time and dedication to create a future for the hopeful scholars of the Undercity.” His hand strokes thoughtfully through his moustache as he speaks.

“It’s not enough,” Jayce presses, passion still cascading through him like a waterfall released. For the first time since Viktor’s return, he has a chance to pour these ideas out to someone who might help him do something about them.

He fixes his stare on Heimerdinger—this man he’s admired most of his life, this genius who helped establish their city of knowledge and invention and hunger for the future. But people like Heimerdinger, like his own father, what good were their dreams of a better world when that world demanded you blind yourself to those barred from entering it?

“I’m sorry, but Professor, your life gives you wisdom, but it also steals perspective.” The accusation falls heavily between them. Heimerdinger tilts his head, arms still behind his back, watching Jayce’s face with a polite interest he likely doesn’t deserve. “People like us, like Viktor and me, we have to live in the now. This is the reality we’re given; we can only be products of our time. I can’t accept that this is the best that the City of Progress can do for its people.”

“Always hoping to change the world, aren’t you, my boy?” Heimerdinger responds, shaking his head gently as if he should have expected Jayce to launch into a speech about how the city needs sweeping social reform.

“I promised him.”

The words emerge small and fragile; anger and outrage burn away to reveal the raw wounds beneath. He’s watching the man he loves die. Even as they race to save him, the knowledge of his own powerlessness cuts like glass.

“I need him to see that our work will build a better future for the city, for all its people. He needs… I want him to have seen that… before he—” Tears threatening to spill, a crack in his voice. His humiliation burns hot; the last thing he needs is to break down before Professor Heimerdinger of all people.

The professor’s hand on his calf startles him; those large blue eyes brim with empathy. “You have, can, and will save lives with the work you two have established,” he assures, voice gentle. “You have forged a new future for this city, despite the hesitance of old—timers like me. Maybe the change you seek is already in motion. Now, perhaps the best you can do for Viktor is help him see his hand in that.” He pats Jayce’s calf in consolation. “Peace is the kindest thing he can have right now. I suspect you may be the only person who can give it to him.”

Jayce has to look away, swallowing past the thickness in his throat.

“Yes… of course… Thank you, Professor,” he manages, his voice remarkably steady. Gratitude fills him for the professor’s kindness, for the clear regard he holds for both him and Viktor. But that coil of stubborn refusal winds within him once more, even as he acquiesces.

“Of course, my boy, and tell Viktor I’d like to come by and see him when he’s feeling up to company.” Heimerdinger beckons the Porofessor to follow as he moves toward the open door. Pausing on the threshold, he turns to glance back. “Do take care of yourself as well. The city will always be a better place with the genius of someone like Jayce Talis in it.” A kind smile and wink punctuate his words as he turns to leave.

Jayce listens to Heimerdinger’s footfall fade before turning back to collect the box of books. He considers the professor’s parting words and can’t help but disagree. I wouldn’t be anything without him. Saving him is the best thing I can do for this city.

—·—

By the time Jayce approaches Viktor’s door, he’s so deep in thought that this is his first invitation since Viktor’s return hardly registers. He’s just beginning to rake through his memory of how they used to conduct themselves in these circumstances when Viktor’s door swings open.

“Ah, the delivery service has arrived,” Viktor snarks as he beckons Jayce through the threshold before moving inside, his crutch clicking against the small, tiled landing of his entryway.

Jayce huffs out a laugh and follows, momentarily stunned by the sight of Viktor moving about his own space. He looks softer like this, vest and tie absent, wearing only his brown pinstripe shirt. As Viktor settles onto his couch, Jayce notices the shirt is missing a silver button. The fabric gapes slightly at the centre, offering a glimpse of the tender pale white skin of Viktor’s stomach. This sight has Jayce’s pulse racing. He tears his gaze away rather than fixate and sets the box of books on Viktor’s coffee table.

He straightens up, still off-balance, and opts to study the surroundings instead of risking another glance at Viktor. His eyes drift curiously to the small kitchenette across from the sitting room. The countertops stand mostly bare save for a tin—which Jayce would bet his life contains bags of Viktor’s preferred cheap tea—and a small, chipped glass bowl housing sugar cubes that Viktor’s more likely to eat than add to anything.

A fond smile crosses his face as he notes these familiar signs of his partner’s life, tiny habits asserting themselves in the space. Viktor still has far too many throw pillows to be considered reasonable for his couch, and he can’t help but notice that more than half of them have made their way to the floor. It reminds him of Viktor’s old apartment before he left, though this one is brighter and larger. Yet something about the space feels bereft and lonely. With a sharp pang of sadness, he realises this space still carries the air of impermanence. It bears the mournful quality of a place one doesn’t intend to occupy for long. The rooms of a dying man. Ever practical, Viktor hasn’t hung a single picture; the only personal touches Jayce can spot in the sitting room are the throw pillows and a large, heavy knit blanket that he thinks he remembers from times before.

The signs of Viktor accepting his transience here twist something painful in Jayce’s chest. His conversation with Heimerdinger still rages in the back of his mind. He hears Viktor laugh softly behind him and turns to find himself being assessed with as much intensity as he has given to the rooms. “Would you like the grand tour, Jayce, or would you prefer to sit?” Viktor teases, and Jayce lets a chagrined smile play across his face.

“Sorry, I’m being nosy.”

Viktor shakes his head, regarding Jayce with a fondness that constricts his chest. “You? I’d never have guessed.” Jayce slumps down beside him, playfully jostling Viktor’s good leg with his own. Viktor’s smile lingers; he’s not wearing his oxygen today. Jayce is working on trusting that this means he doesn’t need it, but he can’t help listening for any hint of wheezing, any slight disruption in his breathing.

“Jayce, you must stop trying to see through my lungs every time we are in a room together.” Viktor cuts through his pretence of nonchalance, seeing straight to the knot of anxiety that’s made its home in his brain since Viktor’s collapse. His partner lifts a slender finger to brush a lock of Jayce’s dark hair from his eyes, and Jayce finds himself fighting the urge to catch that hand and press his lips to its soft palm. Instead, he offers another sheepish grin.

“Sorry, I’m on edge. Ran into Heimerdinger,” he explains, and Viktor’s face tips towards him slightly. His posture maintains its casual air, but Jayce catches the subtle tension that ripples through him at the professor’s name.

“And what did the good professor want from you?” The question remains airy despite Jayce’s certainty that Viktor fears he’s shared every secret of their research with Heimerdinger. He’d be more offended if the thought hadn’t crossed his own mind. He simply leans back into the pillows and lifts a hand to unbutton his vest.

“He sends his well wishes and asked if he could check up on you when you feel up to it,” Jayce explains, and Viktor tuts softly.

“Of course, he can come by anytime. I need people to stop acting as if I have entered a period of quiet contemplation. I’m only dying—everybody does it,” he complains. His boldness in facing the grim reality of his prognosis leaves Jayce struggling to catch up. He blinks once and lets out a bark of startled laughter. Viktor looks triumphant, pleased to have coaxed Jayce into sharing his gallows humour.

“I’d love to see his face if you sent him that in your invite,” Jayce shoots back, and Viktor’s answering laugh vibrates through the space between them as he settles back into the pillows next to Jayce. Their shoulders brush, and Jayce leans into the pressure where their bodies connect.

After a moment of weighty silence, Jayce ventures to ask, “Viktor, did… Heimerdinger ever help you while you were at the academy?”

“In what way?” Viktor’s voice carries an edge of hesitation, as if testing the ground beneath this line of questioning.

“Well… we were talking today about how far behind this city is in creating opportunities for everyone,” Jayce starts, now feeling wary as well. “I asked Heimerdinger why you had to work so much harder to get ahead. He didn’t have much of an answer, but… I mean, I know you were his assistant. He sponsored you at the academy; clearly, he thinks highly of you. It seems reasonable that he might have been someone you could turn to when you needed help.” The words tumble out, and Jayce prays he hasn’t stumbled onto some hidden landmine.

It occurs to him how little he’s reflected like this with Viktor, and he feels remarkably young and stupid doing it now. How could he love this man and never think about this? All their time together, and he’s never really bothered to consider the circumstances of his partner’s rise here—the profound solitude Viktor must have endured. He hopes his fumbling efforts now aren’t as foolish as they feel.

“Ah… well…” Viktor lifts a nervous hand, twisting a lock of hair around his finger in that familiar gesture of deep thought. “Heimerdinger was a mentor to me, yes. In a way, I suppose he looked out for me, supporting me when I had little chance of obtaining a patronage. But…” Discomfort radiates from him as he considers his next words. “I am keen to avoid anything that could give the impression of special treatment.” His eyes catch Jayce’s, and colour rises on his cheeks at the admission, so striking that Jayce’s mouth goes dry. “I am not in the habit of asking for help, as I am sure you’ve noticed.”

“Yeah… yeah, you could say I’m vaguely aware of that,” Jayce manages, his voice rough. “I like it when you ask me, though, V. You know that, right?” The question emerges soft, intimate. Every point of contact between their bodies burns with heightened awareness—thigh pressed to thigh, shoulders aligned, the heat of proximity making his skin prickle.

“Yes, Jayce, I know,” Viktor breathes. They speak in hushed tones now, faces turned toward each other. Viktor’s hand falls from his hair, and tension crackles in the fractional space that separates them as his hand finds the warm expanse of Jayce’s chest, slipping beneath parted fabric to rest over his thundering heart.

Jayce freezes, terrified that the slightest movement might shatter this crystalline moment suspended between them. He’s just gathering the courage to reach out in return when Viktor jerks away, seized by a fit of coughing that bends him double. Jayce’s hand finds Viktor’s back, sitting forward to soothe him. Each ridge of Viktor’s spine presses against his palm before giving way to the metal brackets of his brace. He rubs his hand back and forth until the coughing subsides.

Viktor’s breath tears into his lungs on a hard wheeze as he straightens. Though no blood marred his lips, frustration radiates from every taut line of his body.

“My oxygen is in the bedroom, Jayce. If you please,” he asks, voice quiet and rough with effort. Jayce launches to his feet so quickly he almost careens into the coffee table, muscles responding before thought can catch up.

“Right, be right back,” he manages, already moving toward what he assumes is Viktor’s bedroom door.

The room beyond stands as unadorned as the rest of Viktor’s quarters. His bed lies simple and unmade, a steamer trunk stationed at its foot. Against the far wall, a desk drowns in all manner of notes—clearly the most frequented corner of his home. Jayce stoops to check by the bedside when something familiar catches his eye.

A notebook rests in the far corner of the desk. With its cover embossed with the Talis crest, it is unmistakably one of his own. It’s worn soft around the edges—not recent, he notes. He flips open the cover, skimming over the date on the first page that marks the notebook as one from their early Hextech days. Under his signature there is a photograph he remembers with stark clarity. Viktor and he at the distinguished innovators competition, his arm slung around Viktor’s neck as he beams at the camera. Viktor’s eyes fixed on Jayce’s face instead, smile brilliant and unguarded. They both look achingly young. The realisation that Viktor kept this even during his exile below spreads warmth through Jayce’s chest. Another burst of coughing from the other room snaps him back to purpose. Finally spotting the oxygen tank by Viktor’s bed, he hurries to retrieve it.

Viktor murmurs thanks as he positions the cannula, the room falling quiet save for his measured breaths. Jayce channels his restless energy into movement, puttering about Viktor’s kitchen while those keen eyes track his progress. When he returns with steaming mugs, Viktor’s breathing has eased, though a new gravity has settled over him. He sips his tea contemplatively before setting it aside, giving Jayce an intent stare that makes his spine straighten in response.

“We will need to obtain shimmer soon, Jayce; we cannot delay,” he states, and Jayce nods. Time is their enemy now; Viktor can’t afford the danger of flirting with caution and delay of their work.

“Of course. You said you might know someone down below who could help. If you tell me where to go—” he begins, but Viktor’s sharp head shake stops him short.

“Absolutely not. I will go to him,” Viktor states with no uncertainty. Jayce blinks, shock rippling through him.

“But, V… your breathing… Is that really the best?”

“Jayce.” The warning in Viktor’s steely tone snaps Jayce’s mouth shut with an audible click. “I have lived in the Undercity most of my life. I know it; we do not need you wandering around getting into trouble.”

“Of course, I know you know it better. But with the Gray, is that wise?” Jayce tries, gentling his voice even as his mind floods with horrific visions—Viktor alone in some filthy alley, blood streaming down his face as merciless coughs wrack his frame, help impossibly distant. But Viktor’s gaze holds nothing but adamant resolve.

“Is venturing into the Undercity to make contact with a person I am less than pleased to encounter again to obtain a highly dangerous and illegal drug… wise?” Sarcasm drips from Viktor’s words like acid, burning through Jayce’s composure. Heat floods his face, the sting of Viktor’s derision burrowing deeper than usual.

“Viktor, that’s hardly helpful.” His own temper simmers beneath his skin, threatening to boil over. “You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I do.” Viktor snaps upright, so suddenly he dislodges the cannula, a curse hissing through his teeth as he grapples with the brass nozzle. “I understand that you think I am not capable of making the trip without expiring on the bathysphere down,” he mutters coldly, metal clinking softly against metal as he fits the cannula back into place.

“Not what I said.” Jayce crosses his arms over his chest, feeling mulish in response to Viktor’s waspishness.

“No, but what you meant.” Acid still laces Viktor’s words as his eyes rake over Jayce’s defensive posture.

“Viktor…” A sigh escapes him as he pinches the bridge of his nose, the ghost of their earlier warmth slipping further away with each passing second. The threat of a headache pulses behind his eyes.

“Jayce, let me do this, please.” Viktor rises, crutch steadying him as he tucks the oxygen tank under his free arm. He moves to stand before Jayce, close enough that the air between them feels charged. “I don’t need you fighting me when I tell you I am capable of things.”

“I’m not fighting you because I think you’re incapable.” The words emerge, softened by pleading, Jayce’s anger dissolving beneath his desperate need for Viktor to understand. “I’m just… concerned,” he finishes, each syllable weighted with the effort of containing his temper. It isn’t helpful to get angry, and he knows it.

“And I appreciate your concern,” Viktor snaps, frustration radiating from him even as Jayce cools. “But this… whole… experience is difficult for me.” The admission bursts from him like something torn loose, his golden eyes burning into Jayce’s face with accusatory heat, as if Jayce had wrenched the words from his throat. “I can feel my body eroding, Jayce.” He turns to set the oxygen tank on the table, his movements precise and controlled as he adjusts his crutch. His glare pins Jayce like an errant child. “Let me at least have the grace of making the choices I’m still able to make without having to battle your good intentions.”

His arms fall to his sides, defences crumbling before Viktor’s rebuke. He’s ashamed of himself for falling into old habits again, so soon after he’s promised Viktor he’d do better. “I—of course, Viktor. I’m sorry.” His gaze drops to study the base of Viktor’s crutch, unable to bear the weight of his admonishment.

“Stop, that’s not—” Viktor breaks off with a sigh, and the shift in tone catches between them, like  air has been let out of both their rising tempers. His tone softens, and Jayce feels Viktor’s hand settle back against the centre of his chest, the weight of it anchoring them together. He lifts his gaze to meet Viktor’s golden eyes as his partner starts again. “I know it is kindly meant. Just…” There’s a note of apology there that makes something twist in Jayce’s chest. He shakes his head, the motion sharp and decisive.

“No, you’re right; you shouldn’t have to explain,” he responds, trying desperately to show that he has truly heard what Viktor has asked of him and that his apology is unnecessary and unwanted.

“Perhaps not.” Viktor’s fingers press into the muscle of Jayce’s chest, tracing a path up towards his tie and back down again with the same careful attention one might use to gentle a spooked horse. “But maybe I can have the grace to consider this isn’t easy for you either,” he offers, and Jayce’s lips curve into a small smile—it’s so quintessentially Viktor to extend consideration when he fears he’s been too harsh.

“You don’t need to coddle me either, Viktor,” Jayce assures him, reaching out to settle his own hand on Viktor’s shoulder.

“No, but perhaps I’d like to work on being… aware of what you might need from me in return.” The list of what he needs from Viktor is long and full of far too much better left unsaid for the time being. He forces himself to focus on the immediate concern, pushing back his brain’s supply of desperate suggestions.

“Then… can you at least tell me when I should expect you back? Is that fair?” The words come out soft and gentle, but the thought of waiting without knowing when to start worrying sends ice beneath his skin. “That way I’m not worrying you’re somewhere down there in need of help or… something,” he finishes, the words falling flat even to his own ears.

Viktor rolls his eyes at that, the motion carrying more fondness than irritation. “Ridiculous,” he mutters, more to himself than to Jayce, before continuing with a slight sigh. “But… fine.” His partner’s body language has softened, the earlier tension easing from his shoulders. The sight stirs something protective in him—a physical ache that spreads beneath his ribs.

“I anticipate returning in the afternoon, around lunchtime,” Viktor offers, voice pitched low and careful, a cautious olive branch. The words settle in Jayce’s stomach, not quite relief but something adjacent—a ballast for his anxiety. He nods.

“Okay. Just… be careful, V.”

Where Viktor’s hand rested moments before, Jayce still feels a bit of warmth that he wants to cling to. He lets out a slow breath to urge himself to let go with a reminder to himself: sometimes the best way to help is to simply trust.

[first chapter | previous chapter | next chapter on AO3]

AN: am i scheduling these ahead of time so i don't forget YES and are we super ahead on AO3 like posting chapter 38 ??? omg dang . tomorrow?? also yes. cheers to ppl who are reading the monster-sized chapters on tumblr tho like dang

[pocket-watcher]

I got a call from an advertisement and now I have an idea for you. An advertiser is calling a person. The person decides to troll them, but suddenly becomes mesmerized by their really attractive offer. (You know, when you want to ask tricky questions to a caller, but he still sticks to his program. It really sounds like the advertiser is hypnotized and is trying to subordinate you to this program as well. It seems that after the call, you will become the next one who starts calling everyone in a row, distributing a hypnotic program.)

Oh this is too good not to write! I hope you enjoy :)

Ring ring.

Oh man, Tashi thought, this could be it!

She didn’t recognise the number, but Tashi was waiting for a call from her (hopefully) soon to be new landlord!

“Hello?” She answered.

“Why, hello there. Is this Tashi?” The deep voice on the other end asked.

“Speaking!” Tashi fidgeted with the hem of shirt nervously. Man, I really need this, she thought. I can’t last another day living here.

“Why hello there Tashi.” The caller sounded exhausted. Almost half asleep. “I’m calling about a great new offer from Neru Tech. Would you mind answering a few questions?”

Oh great, she thought. A cold caller.

Now this could… interesting. She has some time to kill, right? And she could always end the call when her future landlord called.

“Go ahead.”

“Firstly, how are your sleep patterns looking?”

Tashi thought that her sleep patterns would greatly improve if she continued listening to the slow monotoned voice on the other end.

She yawned slightly. Great, this caller had just made her aware of just how tired she was. She felt herself sink into her chair slightly.

“Oh, yeah, just terrible! Night terrors and all that! Just all these horrible dreams about cold callers.”

She waited for a reaction.

But it never came.

She yawned.

“And, your stress levels? How would you rate them from 1 to 10 - 10 being extreme stress.”

Her stress? On a normal day she’d say pretty high. But on this call? The slow voice was a surprisingly nice change of pace. So methodical in the way they spoke. But, Tashi was committed to wasting as much of their time as possible.

“I’d say with the current state of the world I’m sitting at a 94.” She chuckled, her words being more truthful than she’d care to admit.

She lazily lolled her head around waiting for the next question.

“And finally, how hard is it to think right now?”

How hard is it to think? What kind of question was that?

She thought for a moment. Sure she was tired, but she was relaxed. She could think just fine. Ugh, what kind of product were they even trying to sell?

“Oh it’s super easy. A million thoughts a minute! What with all that stress and all.” She rolled her eyes. “How hard is it for you to think right now?”

She heard the person on the other end of the line laugh.

“I don’t think. Neru Tech thinks for me.”

Tashi suddenly felt very off. What was this? Had she even ever heard of Neru Tech?

“So… that offer you mentioned?” She tried to change the subject.

“Ah yes. It helps improve sleep quality, stress, and empty’s your mind of any pesky thoughts that might be troubling you…”

Tashi laughed nervously.

“Okay… I’m going to hang up now.” She hovered her finger above the “end call” button.

“No you aren’t.”

The voice didn’t sound threatening. Or cocky.

It had no personality whatsoever.

“Uh, yes I am. And I’m going to report this number too!”

The audacity, Tashi thought.

“You aren’t going to because you can’t.”

Can’t?

Her finger hovered still. Why was she still listening to this idiot. Why couldn’t she hang up the phone.

“Just relax Tashi. This is all the wonderful work of our latest offer. Let yourself sink into your chair. Unroll your shoulders. Let your mouth hang open.

She couldn’t move. Her body just relaxed on its own. Like every sentence was hardwired into her brain.

“That’s it. So obedient. Just keep losing yourself in my words. Listening and following along. Slowly drifting.”

Tashi felt goosebumps along her body. Each thought was a battle. All she could do was listen.

“Very good. You’re doing so well for me. For us. You want to be one of us, don’t you?”

She did. Tashi wanted whatever they told her she wanted. She nodded, despite the fact they couldn’t see her.

“Excellent. You’ll make a fine addition to the team. Just stick to your script and you’ll do perfectly, okay?”

Tashi felt so good. To have a new job. A new purpose.

She hung up and a text appeared on her phone.

It was a number to call.

[diodellet]

carpal tunnel of love

wherein jamil soothes lou's wrist pains and irrational midterms thoughts, mostly.

cw: in spite of the title there is not much in-your-face romance, its just 2 guys being 2 flavors of awkward with eo. making a one-off reference to this jamil hc i have (and maybe i might perhaps be foreshadowing another drabble scenario of his fire magic coming into play). unbetad, all mistakes are mine.

As midterms loomed closer and closer, after-school study groups became increasingly common.

The library? Too crowded. The Mostro Lounge? Demanded an overpriced drink per hour you stayed. And there were barely anymore free empty rooms to reserve on campus. So wherever the Ramshackle duo were invited, there they would shamelessly make use of the hospitality offered to them.

Correction—Grim was shameless.

Lou was so full of shame and intent on studying on her own that in a roundabout way, she would be pushed into spending the night instead of breaking curfew to walk back to Ramshackle.

Combine that mix of personalities with Scarabia's trademark hospitality—which slowly pushed the dorm up Grim's personal top seven list—and that should mean the Ramshackle duo were set for midterms right?

"Where's…" Lou's paused her second round of note-taking, idly flexing her wrist as she searched for Grim. "…oh."

Jamil, who was sitting across from her, glances up from his own work to follow her gaze. Seeing that the direbeast was curled up under a pile of the lounge's throw pillows, pitchforked tail lolling over the edge of the seat. "Well, that was to be expected."

"I should wake him up, shouldn't I?" Lou goes to stand up.

"Leave him be." He sighs, returning to his own studying. "Don't you still have three more chapters to reread?"

"Ugh, you're right." Her shoulders slump. Of course she saved the longest and most info-filled chapters for last. "I'd punch them out if my hand wasn't killing me."

Despite her lighthearted words, she picks up her pen and goes back to silently reading the mess of doctors' writing that was her lecture notes. Or was it her first round of notes? The handwriting was indistinguishable from each other.

And the current set of notes she was writing looked like a marked improvement.

"For starters, don't grip your pen that hard."

"Easier said than done, this is what it'll look like if I ease up on the pressure." The end of her pen taps against the chicken scratch.

He presses, "cursive writing also lessens wrist strain."

"Yeah, but it also makes my writing harder to read. Grim needs to be able to understand my handwriting." Lou waves off the rest of his concern. "I'm fine."

Truth be told—he's been sneaking looks at her, out of habit from keeping a watchful eye on Kalim's guests. Watched as the furrow in her brow creased the more she dragged herself to finish each chapter. That the resulting soreness and brusque tone was at the forefront of her mind instead of alchemical equations.

Don't say I didn't warn you, Jamil wants to say. Instead he sighs, more annoyed at himself for expecting that he would have to tutor some more freshmen. "All right."

The resulting silence is terse. Textbook pages flipping, old quizzes crinkling, and her pen scratching increasing in tempo. With aggression, with frantic and scattered thoughts that were stubbornly bottled up. As much as she was good at spinning a lot of empty words into a semblance of something, the same can be said vice versa—with her demeanor speaking volumes in spite of her determined silence. And just when she seems to reach her breaking point…!

"Ah, I guess that's it." Her pen clatters atop the surface of the low table. "One and a half chapters left, I was kinda hoping I'd be able to leave just one more chapter for cramming." And she has the audacity to give him a strained smile.

(At least Jamil knew how to vanish into the background—had that instinct trained into him from a young age. Watching Lou try to fold herself into taking up less space was irritating.)

Jamil closes his textbook, pages and hardbound cover making an audible Thump. She flinches in surprise.

But she says nothing as he moves to sit beside her, eyes him blankly as he asks to see her hand.

"The other one." Annoyance creeps into his voice as she stretches out her right hand, makes each word come out clipped and harsh.

Lou's voice wavers with nervous laughter. "I don't think it would be good to bring out the little flames for my left hand."

"I'm not going to." Jamil pauses. "Will you just let me take a look?"

Her left hand has a noticeable writer's callus on the side of her ring finger, another one on her pinky, and a third bump on the inner side of her thumb. The skin on each of those points of contact red and warm from her earlier exertion, and a stark contrast to the smoothness of her palm. Like all calluses, these weren't a result of today's intensive studying. Rather, they had been accumulated through years of habit.

"Tell me if this starts hurting." Jamil's touch goes to massage her wrist and part of her forearm.

"Oh, it's hurting," she says without missing a beat.

He presses down hard as a warning—once is enough—making her arm spasm and yank back. "Don't joke around."

To some relief, Lou doesn't attempt any more backtalk. Just watches him work.

Having her gaze trained on him was a strange sensation, making the back of his neck warm with embarrassment. "Review what you've written, this will take a while," Jamil says.

To a greater sense of relief, Lou remains quiet.

Right until he finishes, letting go of her left hand.

"I didn't know massages didn't have to hurt." Lou's gaze is pointed to one of the other sofas in the Scarabia common area, looking back on an experience that carried both wistful nostalgia and long-buried pain. It was pointless to get her to make eye contact with him. "Um, thanks."

"Just don't overexert yourself for the rest of the week." Jamil stands up, gathers his things. "Let Grim do your note-taking instead."

"I can't ask that of the Great Grim." The laugh that spills from her is the most genuine sound she's made. "Would it be too much to ask you to teach me those pressure points? Just in case I'll have to do it for Grim when his paws get sore?"

"After midterms." How strange that his heart felt lighter, that this conversation was easy.

As if remembering where they were and who she was talking to, as if on cue, red blooms across Lou's cheeks. "Yeah..! A-After midterms, definitely."

And that reaction pulls an amused smile from Jamil.

tagging: @viperwhispered @scint1llat3 @bibi-cha @moonyasnow (if anyone’s interested in being tagged for yuusona shenanigans, lmk throughda replies!)

[genderdotcom]

ffxivwrite2024 day 4: reticent

the warrior of light makes a comparison. (shb)

“You remind me of someone when you talk like that.”

The Exarch lets his head loll back until it hits stone. The sky is bright, as it has been for a hundred years, but the breeze is pleasantly cool.

“Who do I remind you of?” He asks.

“Bloke I used to know. I asked you about him, once- G’raha Tia.”

She doesn’t glance over, but he is as still as the crystal he is half-made of. Not now, not at the eleventh hour, when the final Lightwarden is nigh within their grasp- not now!

“Is- is that so.”

“Not in a complimentary way, mind. The two of you get- well, got on my nerves the same way.”

“I, ah… I see.” Wonders upon wonders, he thinks as breath returns to his lungs- he will never be able to predict what she will say next.

“He always thought I was the biggest damn hero in the world. No one but you could have done it, and such. No matter how much I disagreed…” She sighs. “And then he was gone before I got to learn anything about him. He was a good friend, too. So since I don’t know much about you, that’s another thing you have in common.”

Oh, Fickle.

“I cannot deny that I have been… reticent, about my personal affairs. And I apologise for the mistrust that choice may have sown.”

Indeed, her first act upon coming face to face with him was to threaten him bodily with just about every weapon she had on her person- yet he was so overjoyed at the fact that she had arrived with weapons on her person at all that he didn’t mind in the slightest as she brandished a katana in his face and demanded he return her friends. That enmity had not lessened easily, even as she travelled across Norvrandt and saw her friends hale and hearty (if not whole) with her own eyes. He had endured it without complaint. She was alive to mistrust him, after all.

“Then tell me something about yourself. Doesn’t have to be big.”

“I…” What’s left of him, really? What is there to say? Soon enough, he will depart this world and all others. The future that shaped him will never come to pass.

She notices his hesitancy, eyes gleaming white- they’d been golden before the Lightwardens. Soon, they would be again.

“What’s your favourite colour? At least that much.” His life for hers for two worlds intertwined. He'd have done it for far less.

“Gold.”

[feuqueerfire]

Century of Love Live Blogging

For a couple weeks before this show's release, I had been getting some DaouOffroad videos on my Twitter timeline and man, I was really getting into them despite never having watched Love in Translation. I knew this was releasing 2 eps a week and the concept was interesting enough, so was eyeing this for live-watching since like July 2, a week before the show released. Now I'm finally watching it after my other on-air shows (My Stand-In, Wandee Goodday) are done and 6 episodes of this have released. People seem to be really liking this, even though some people were critical about the concept once the trailer was released. Hope I love it, I enjoyed To Sir, With Love which I think is the same team? Gotta love a lakorn BL.

Ep 1 (July 27)

1-1

1924

old-timey lakorns really do have the same vibes as the indian serials or historical bollywood movies, loveee

the graphics when San's being healed are killing me

San and Wad are cute from the 2 seconds we get to see of them lol

tragedy strikes

eat half of the stone now -> body frozen for a hundred years but endure pain every night -> Vad feeds second half to him when they reunit and San's body returns to normal

1944, 1974, 2004 - so it's like a new generation of the Savant/shring caretaker's family

2024 - 100 year anniversary

100smth-year-old young-looking San is so funny, especially the grandpa calling San great grandpa

so true, young Juu teaching old ass great grandpa San about victim blaming

Juu is soo cute omg

omg a century's worth of wounds and injuries reopen every night?!?! girl, love cannot be worth this much pain

1-2

2 more months left until March 15

pls this would've been romantic and beautiful if this was a different show and her name is even Wad

SanVee first meeting

ah, Vee just moved here, so that's why they just met

1-3

omg the make-shift red string of fate in front of the goddess

the ring going to Vee, how cute

Juu is seriously sooo attractive

Khun Wad reminds me of Namtan a bit

Vee is quite charming

incredible lack of dust underneath that cabinet

San being charmed by Vee despite not wanting to be

I wonder if Vee knows he likes men/knows he's starting to like San? He seems like he'd know

1-4

okay Vee knows

I know this scene is a dream that San's having, I wonder how it was watching it without knowing that omg they went from 0 to a 100 for seemingly no reason

120smth year old grandpa's wet dream smh

Vee reminds me of somebody but who... I thought it was Lee Dohyun for a second but I don't think so. Maybe OnePact Oh Seongmin??

Suchhh a good first episode. I was anticipating this show and really hoping I like it and so far, it's great. Can't wait to watch ep 2.

Ep 2 (July 27)

cryinggg at San going to tell Tao about his wet dream

Vee has a sick grandma. I think I read about this

Actually I think I also read a stray post or tweet about grandma and Vee living same man, so I’m gonna assume this guy who saved grandma as a little kid is San lol

not the kind pratfall kiss

loll Juu knows about the dream and being able to perform again

hmm this uncle who made a bad investment… is the police record real

a literal tiny child 120smth year old great grandpa!!!!! I was spoiled about this too but omg

not Vee being in trouble and chased the way San kind of was in ep 1 beginning

lmfao San finding a way to get Vee's birth time, location details

Juu: "If you can't accept that he's a man, then just have him complete the ritual and part ways." okay I was thinking this esp because some people are guessing a bit that maybeeee Vee actually isn't Vad reincarnated. So if that theory's true, maybe San will indeed meet the correct reincarnation and just have them feed him the stone but continue being in love with Vee?

Vee saying what comes to his mind but it clearly stings deeply for San. Vee saying that he wouldn't want the other person to wait if he were Wad because when would he come back, what if he looks different, what if he has a worse personality, like omg these are all San's current struggles

who took that video of San healing? was it Vee or somebody else?

Vee possibly linked to a shady businessman who searches for the 5-coloured stone

oh, the people are straight up robbing them for the stone

omg, San is so mean to Vee here yelling at him about the stone and calling him a thief and letting it slip that he'd done a background search on him

but if indeed Vee knew about San and is after the stone, then Vee is a great actor within the show

ah, the shady businessman

Ep 3 (July 28)

wtf the Youtube vids don't have English subs? agh

dang, unexpected time to turn into a child

pls San has never needed to think of a name for the kid version? I guess he can just use San because usually it's not like people know that he's related to San somehow

plsss not the naked San + Vee toppling over him + fall into the bathtub and turning the shower on + the family all coming home and seeing them

ah, marriage is brought up because of this

aw, Vee got framed for that criminal record bank account thing. the bank account fraud also reminded me of DFF

Vee's lack of money or status reminds San of how he originally was with Khun Wad

ever since I first saw the clips of the scene of San describing who he loves and their characteristics and Vee being like "o! that describes me!" it has reminded me of a very similar scene with a different Vee... Love Mechanics Mark telling Vee his ideal type's character traits and Vee being like oh! I fit all of them! even though he fits none loll

dang, he's plainly telling his grandmother about the fake wedding and getting paid for it and she doesn't seem to care. kinda interesting, i'd expect more scolding and disapproval

don't hide your face in the towel you were using to clean her feet!

but Vee doesn't deny liking San oof

the uncle guy doesn't approve of the wedding, who would have guessed?

San being so grouchy to vee during the wedding while Vee's trying his best and is so smiley >:(

ahh the serendipitous bride veil

I wonder if Vee will ever ask why they call San Great Great Grandfather lmao

not the attacks and gunshot wounds! how must San feel to see Vee take a bullet for him when Wad had died that way

Vee finally finds out about San's situation and the stone + that he's maybe/maybe not Wad's reincarnation

I think I saw something about Vee trying to steal the stone... will it be for his grandmother?

kinda bad acting when Vee's sad about his grandma but the situation is indeed devastating and he's going through so much

beautiful, gorgeous Juu

Ep 4 (July 28)

Vee's plan to steal the stone step #1: start living in the house lol

my poor fucking Vee fr

stoppp San being rude and clippy but still being like if you want anything tell Juu + puts some meat on Vee's plate

San's nightly pain and horrors being stopped by touching and being near Vee omg, this show is soooo good and handles the tropes so well

"It must hurt a lot... but it's better than being dead, right Phi?" Vee... it might be worth it for San who has a mission but it's senseless to have your grandmother go through that when she has lived a full life

the first night in a 100 years since he's had good sleep was when Vee was near him, running his hand through his hair, like bruh the tropes and the implications!!

this annoying ass uncle mans

I think it'd be nice if Vee really isn't the reincarnated Wad but just shares the same fate as people keep saying

ah, Vee going sneaking and getting caught by San, though he managed to not give his position away

Aw, San's kinda cute, putting on the music and smiling while watching Vee go through the photos and such

yaas bisexual king Vee who's dated and messed around with men and women lol

grandpa San having a breakdown hearing about homosexuality like whelp you're gonna have to come to terms with it sometime

not Juu telling Vee about San's horny dream about him to console him and tell him that San's actually into him lmfaooo

Vee's next plan is to seduce San lol but Vee looks so good with slightly messy hair standing at the doorway omg

San to Vee: "Where your clothes at?"

kitsune Vee! San's wet dreams are great lol and the water glass motif in all of them too lmfaoo

girl you're married! fuck meditation, go have sex with your husband

a fake stone in place of the real one?

oh man, cliffhanger with injured Vee who found the (fake I guess) 5-coloured stone but then was stabbed by one of the guys searching for it who then took it from him. + the grandpa got taken too.

also the robber guy has to be the annoying uncle mans right

Ep 5 (July 28/29)

as expected, the uncle is in kahoots with the stone stealers

damn, San meant that the doctor was a fraud who doesn't know about the stone's realities, right? not that the doctor was working with San or anything. because mans got shot in the head

hmmm Suchat and them escape, right?

San being so nice to injured Vee, cooking for him and feeding him

ah, especially because San believe Vee got injured in a fight to protect the stone from the thieves, not knowing that Vee was stealing it himself

the stone stealing has to come back some time later for angst purposes, right? can't be a secret forever...?

ah, the Prince Trai who killed Wad accidentally is back as Wee's friend and doctor Third

omg nightmare where Wee takes Wad's place in the dying scenario...

damn, San even being rude to Third who's like ...? but hmm why did San seem familiar to him, did he just happen to see him around or is he really reincarnated Trai and somehow remembers from his past life?

lol Vee really invited Third to San and the family's house to hang out pls

San seething with jealousy and stalking Vee lol

Vee being like wow this grumpy poser dinosaur sure reminds me of San

I was wondering if San and Juu were gonna be seen at the back when they were taking selfies! he just saw it later

ahhhh San doesn't quite want to reaaaally find Wad (as he's falling for Vee) but that obviously makes him feel confused and aimless

Love to see Vee being straightforward like don't be controlling and say what you mean, i don't like to guess

ahhh cute cute cute even though they didn't actually kiss

Ep 6 (July 29/30)

insecure San

ahh the perfume wrist sniffing scene i’ve seen around so much lately

not Vee going to get hotpot with Third

what a gracious back down from Third compared to the gun! that Trai had brought out lol

ahh I thought Vee was gonna come from behind and hear the confession and it’ll be a comedic moment but it just became angsty though i wonder if Vee hadn’t actually heard… and is trying to avoid San bc of it…

them looking at each other and smiling as Juu guides Vee up the stairs to get ready is sooooo good

ah date and dance

okayyyy Vee did indeed hear

confession and kiss ahh

okkk i was wondering if i can continue watching this on my phone at work (i’ve been watching this ep on phone) but uhhh they are shirtless and maybe sleep together so ig id rather not. will watch when i get home today huhu

now what does San even know about sex, man hasn’t had a boner for a century

ok vee started leading the sex thing after a bit

idk whether to believe Vee really is the reincarnation or not

oh, grandma and San became friends afterwards, I thought San and her only met like once when he apparently saved her

grandma and grandson in love with the same man reminds me of Blank where mother, father, daughter all loved one woman loll

Nuwa is crying and the weird dreams…

omg a kuhn wad lookalike/real reincarnation? is she for real or is she possibly sent by the enemies?

I sooo wish the YouTube episodes were subbed bc it’s a hassle to watch it on random sites lol and i can’t just easily download it for commute

omg antsy teaser for next ep, so glad I only have to wait one day and that we’re getting 2 eps within the next 48 hours. I'm excited to see what questions and conflict and angst is in store.

Ep 7 (July 31)

I'm getting to watch this finally 7 hours after its release. I hope it breaks my fucking heart.

the thing is i kinda want her to be rencarnation fr bc its angsty and means more if san still chooses vee but also i just don't think shes her fr

san didn't even do anything fr he caught a scared crying girl in his arms but ig it can seem that way when you don't know the background info...

I need her to say something from her memory that nobody else except her and San would know because he might've told somebody else/the nephew-uncle mans and he might've told the new Wad if she is indeed a ploy from him

damn, they're just showing every single step to get this stone

the stone not giving a clear answer but still San can die if the wrong Wad reincarnation feeds it to him oof

Ouchhhh Vee being like "at first I thought she's stealing you from me but in fact, I'm the one who came later" as he's leaving San's place back to his own. but San's gotta stop him cmonn

good Vee and San still sleeping in the same bed

she's too insistent on Vee giving up San + her being the real Wad, hmmm. like girl you don't actually even know San

...Wadfah said she remembered... but Third walked right beside her, did she not realize that he looks exactly like the guy who killed her?

oof, Vee really wants to save his grandma with this stone. girl it already bestows a lifetime of pain on San, your grandma's gonna get even more fucked up if you feed this to her without San's permission since the stone's tied to him

at least Vee's telling the grandma about it instead of secretly feeding the stone to her, whew

Vee's so naive and eager and sad and DESPERATE when it comes to his grandma owwww this convo so sad

Wadfah trying to sow discord... I mean she's correct that Vee did steal the stone to save his grandma but... she's too eager to declare she doesn't think Vee is trustworthy... then again, if we were following a story of a reincarnated Wad who comes to the house to find somebody else has been thought of have been her and is living the life that's supposed to be hers and has fooled everybody into trusting them, we'd be on Wadfah's side in this story

San in tears after confirmation that Vee stole the stone omgggg

THIS IS SO FUCKING SAD, THE WHOLE FAMILY FEELING BETRAYED and the story of Vee trying to originally steal it resurfacing even though they thought he'd tried to protect this whole time omggg

returning the ring !!! T.T

nooo San steal loving and believing in Vee and calling after him owowowowowowowwwwww T.T

aw man Vee living with Third for now

stoppp don't think about the cute good and hot times while looking at your bed you shared with Vee, San :( also they do a whole lot of flashbacks to scene we've seen (and repeatedly too like 5 times seeing flashbacks of the same scene), so I'm glad that they showed a completely new cute scene of them together.

this fucking perfume coming up multiple times T.T

ahhh San's intense confrontation with Third omg, this was so good and it felt in character with both of them and the amount of drama/the conclusions that people drew from the confrontation also made sens

okay I just feel like San should at least bring up Wadfah's lack of reaction to seeing Third what the hell

nooo my poor Juu crying nooooooooo

San kneeling in front of Wadfah gave me a heart attack like omg 120smth year old guy please get up

OH MY GOD WE'RE REALLY GETTING SAN CHOOSING VEE REGARDLESS OF WHETHER HE IS WAD OR NOT AHHHH

now why did it start raining and thunder and lightning appears

girl, Wadfah outright asking for the 5 coloured stone... if the antagonists sent her, then they could've sent her to get the strong from San out of his own will

tears down Nuwa's face pls

whelp goodbye stone. i don't think San has another stone decoy to give to her

ah, he's again weak and in pain as the stone is far away

Wadgah's delighted smile while looking at the stone...

The angst is so good because it's something tangible and real and has been leading up to this for the whole show and there are so many people involved like San and Vee but also the family and Wadfah and the stakes are so high (100 years of waiting, true love, death if we have the wrong person, etc.). Becuase of it all, the angst doesn't feel over-dramatic or drawn-out, like this is big enough that people would be having these sorts of reactions. Similarly with San and Third's conflict, that was also violent and dramatic but it makes sense that San would get angry with Third because he's been jealous of him from the beginning and can't let go of Third's past life Trai's crimes while Trai is like mad but not over-the-top until he sees Wadfah and thinks San cheated and so everything came crashing down; the escalation to the punch and yelling made sense then. ahhh so good

I got San choosing Vee without knowing whether he's the real Wad or not, which was great and incredible (even though it hasn't led to their romance again yet) and even gave up his fucking stone for it. We also know Wadfah isn't really a good person and was after the stone. Ideally for me, I think the show would have Wadfah indeed be Wad's reincarnation but just be a different, worse person - not the same Wad as a century ago, the same way Third is a better person than Trai a century ago (unless he too is hiding something and is secretly a villain...). So have Vee and San end up together even though Vee's not Wad. However, I think maybe Vee really is Wad because somebody's gonna have to feed San that stone and if Wadfah's not a good person, we're gonna have to have Vee do it. so idk maybe neither of them are 1-1 Wad's reincarnation since we know both Vee and Wadfah share similar fates? and were born same time and place nad the stone glowed for them both... so maybe Vee and Wadfah could both have the power to feed San and Vee ends up doing it.

What a good episode omg

Although that's not to say everything was perfect and dandy; I think some more reasoning or conflict from Vee's end about stealing the stone would have been good. Like stealing it again without any thought to San? crazy. they should've at least had something like Vee believes very strongly that San would be fine without the whole stone, just a little bit. or like when Vee asks San for the stone, we don't see what San says except no but maybe they could've had San downplay the problems if the stone was gone and just been like no, not worth it to make your grandma be in pain, making Vee think there aren't too many consequences from San's end. or SOMETHING because it's wild how callously he just stole it and ran. or at least stronger sense of regret once he come out of the panic of thinking his grandma was dying and being like omg what have i done? i was in a zone when thinking about my grandma dying that i didn't stop to think omg like at least acknowledge it on text.

Also, Wandee’s necklace returning scene was a let-down fr, so I’m glad it hurt more and had more weight here

Okay somebody mentioned that in First Love, Again (I've watched this kbl but don't remember a single thing), the reincarnation started 1 cycle earlier and during that time the 2 men were together? or smth? and so maybe there was an earlier incarnation of Vee and San and then San and Wad came later. Also I'm nosy and forgot and so went to look through First Love Again, wasted 10 minutes of my time but couldn't find that part while skimming. whelp

Ep 8 (Aug 1)

ummmm why did I see some screenshots on Twitter with San clutching Vee's (??) body on the floor and crying... If this episode doesn't end happily/ends on a cliffhanger, I'm gonna lose my shit

ouchh San and Vee's scene

kiss w/ tear-striken faces aw

damn the ash baggie got lost so quick

Third is here too

not the "I don't wanna live if it's not with you" and resignation to die in a few weeks without the damn stone. San I'll smack you

okay they made up hehe hug

loll maybe Third really is a clueless nice dude like I've been hoping. confused af at these revelations

bro i'm so freaking sleepy but i also wanna finish watching this episode...

Juu my beloved finally realized Wadfah not recognizing Third is weird

lol not her being a seasoned criminal okayyyyy let’s go loll

fake stone trick again

man i can’t chill knowing that those screenshots exist like Vee probably gonna get shot this episode

did Chen and whoever keep the fake stone or give it back to wadfah bc it’s annoying if they kept it

not them all actingggg lmfao both Wad and San’s side putting up a play

ah oof, the stone not with Wadfah, I wonder if she will also come up with some fake stone to trick

oh nvm she got the stone from Chen unless They gave her a fake stone lmfaooo

they’re so fucking cute man

now why is San the bold one while Vee is shy, Vee’s the one who was talking about fucking people loll

cryingggg at Juu swearing on Dr. Tao’s life that the fake stone is the real stone lmfaoo

ohhh omg we’re the screenshots from San’s vision that Nuwa gave him?

girl i’m nervous the stone gonna suddenly stop glowing

lmfaoooo just in time

replicas so good neither of them can tell the difference?!

oh it’s flowing for Vee fr

are they gonna have to team up with Wadfah?

the shooting is very funny idk

the end?! girl what the hell

Pretty enjoyable show so far, I think the writing for this is quite strong, which is fairly rare. Hope the next 2 episodes hold up and that the show ends well.

[slavemoron]

The carpet part 1

I had finally escaped him 2 years ago, I wandered blindly with nothing to guide me until i met Jon. Jon fixed me up and gave me confidence. He showed that sex and love could be more than a brutal coring out with my face shoved into a piss stained carpet. But even still after all this time I remembered that carpet, the musty house that smelled like Him, and the utter and total devotion i had given him.

I couldn’t escape the feeling that part of me had wanted all that, “words of an abuse victim” Jon told me. But finally I felt I had to confront Him, to tell him i was better and didn’t need him. I could finally be free.

When i arrived i found the house as I had left it, somewhat rundown and surrounded by an unkempt yard. Scott had threatened once to chain me up in there and offer me as a donation to the local homeless community. The sight of me, hair shaved entirely, locked cock, with an abused “fag pussy” upward in broad daylight was a shameful and disgusting thought, only those things.

This was my last chance to turn back, to run to Jon and never face Scott again, but i got out of my car and stared the house down. The windows seemed to glare down at me, imperiously laughing at me crawling back. But I wasn’t crawling back, I was upright and proud and happy, i didn’t need him. I took a deep breath and knocked on the door forcefully, a voice came echoing out, “Oi faggot!! Get your cunt in here!!”

I froze, I hadn’t told him I was coming. That same old fear started coming back but I silenced it and opened the door confidently.

“Faggot, you better be ready for a beating. Come in here, hands and knees, and I better not see any clothes on you!!” His voice echoed past me and into my spine, but I couldn’t stop. At least no urge to OBEY kicked in like it once did. I did none of those things, I just walked briskly into view and said, “my name is chris…”

Scott looked at me in astonishment and then grinned broadly, “ah!! Not the fag I was expecting!! How have you been my boy?”

I didn’t smile back, I just said, “I’m not your faggot, I’m a person and I’m here to end this.”

“Oh?” He asked, innocently, lounging on the couch shirtless and wearing torn jeans. “Where’s the ‘it’s good to see you.’ After all we’ve been through I deserve that much right?”

I shook my head stiffly and said, “you deserve nothing Scott, I’m not coming back and you should know why.”

“Okay then,” he said, amused, and he gestured to the spot next to him, “come in close and tell me …chris…why is that?”

I shook my head and said, “I’m not doing that Scott, that won’t work.” He shrugged casually and said, “okay,” then he gestured to the couch across from him and said, “then sit, and tell me.” I hesitated for a second before doing just that, stiffly on the couch. It still smelled the same, Scott used to fuck my fag puss….my hole while making me look outside, telling me to scream so people could see who I truly was.

I crushed those thoughts and continued, “Scott, all those years you abused me and I let you….”

Scott lolled back on the couch and stretched him arms out, showing his pits in full. The smell wafted over in the room, salty bitter and masculine, my cock twitched but I ignored that. He said, “come now Chris, you can’t tell me you hated all of it. what happens to all those times on the carpet.” He nodded right, to the shitty square rug by the front door, he used to fuck me there, his favorite spot, my hands behind me back and his right toes in my mouth. My cock raised again but I suppressed that, “no I didn’t, I was scared and you used me.”

He shrugged and said, “sure, you’re a faggot. That’s the point.” I glared and he cackled, “don’t tell me that little boyfriend of yours has fixed that too?”

“Jon loves me and treats me well,” I said, “as I deser-“ Scott put his right foot up on the table between us, his toes moving slightly. The smell carried over and I was cut off. Scott continued, “when I had you poppered up and passed around, you didn’t like it?”

I, eyes locked on the toes and at war with myself, shook my head, unable to process thoughts.

“When I’d hogtie you up and use that throat of yours, that moaning was what….fake?” I was furious, I was outraged, but my cock was up, at attention.

“It’s okay chriiiiiis, you don’t have to lie to me,” he schmoozed, “Jon doesn’t know what you are, I do. You don’t need to fight me, just do it…….faggot”

I fought with everything thing I had but slowly and inevitably those years of training kicked in, my pupils dilated, I went almost blank, and I slid off the couch and onto my hands and knees. I started at the sole of his foot and felt my ho….my faggot pussy perk up.

“That’s it faggot, Your Master is here to take care of you. Just give in…….”

No thoughts in brain, only Masters words echoed in my…..no his faggots head.

“Kiss Masters foot,” his voice washed over me, “love Masters foot.” My head moved forward, that masculine sweaty smell pulling me by the nose and I kissed his foot, MASTERS foot.

“Now kiss up the sole and look at me faggot,” the faggot complied, its rebellious streak gagged and bound, and kissed deeply four times, each up until the faggots eyes saw over Masters foot.

A flash knocked me out of my revert, I was on my hands and knees, breathing in Scott’s intoxicating smell, and looking right into Scott’s phone camera. I was trapped, I had succumb and had to leave. But I couldn’t, when the word “trapped” entered my brain my cock got harder and, under some stupid faggot instinct, the faggot put its lips around Masters toes and stared into the camera.

“That’s right faggot, I’ve got you, you’re never leaving again. When I’m done with you, all that work your Ex-boyfriend did to undo your progress will be gone.” His words fucked the faggots brain, deep, hard, and raw as the faggot humiliated itself on camera.

“When I’m done with you faggot, all of these videos are going to your Ex, and you’re going to give me his number.”

The faggot was terrified, but the taste of Masters sweat kept it balanced, it was all that could keep it balanced.

“Maybe your exboyfriend can become my new faggot!!” Master said, and the faggots brain emptied even more, the stimuli forcing it to only OBEY, only OBEY, only OBEY, only OBEY

Master Fagbreaker looked the faggot in the eyes and said, “yeah that’s right, let the conditioning kick in faggot, you know who I am. I am everything to you and you are nothing to me.”

The faggot kept worshiping the feel before him, it was on autopilot at this point.

“Who am I faggot, into the camera for sweet old Jon,” Master fagbreaker said and the faggot did just what was expected, putting Master fagbreaker’s foot in its mouth and mumbling through it, eyes into camera, “Master FAGBREAKER SIR”

the faggot forgot who Jon was, he wasn’t Master FAGBREAKER and a faggot just obeyed, just OBEY, just OBEY, just OBEY, just OBEY, just OBEY.

[sage-lights]

Hey, first off I want to say thank you for creating a space where we can have a respectful but honest discussion about everything that’s been going on with smosh. I just want to put something put there regarding Olivia. I’m not excusing her in any way, but I find it interesting how people bash her for things that other smosh members have done without receiving the same amount of criticism.

A lot of people are calling Olivia ableist, and she may well be, we don’t have anything to go off of apart from the handicapped spot l, but declaring that based only on the parking spot thing from who memed it seems unfair. First of all, while not an excuse, Olivia seemed to be trying to play up the clueless persona she has established and in doing so dug herself deeper into a hole the more she spoke. I actually saw the clip before they edited it out, and it seemed that she tried to make a joke, albeit an unfunny and insensitive one, but that does not necessarily make her ableist. Smosh’s pathetic attempt to cover it up by editing out the clip and deleting comments speaks more to how the company tends to sweep things under the rug. Also, it was mentioned in a funeral roast that Courtney has also parked in the handicapped spot in the smosh parking lot, which relatively few people have called them out on compared to Olivia.

I love Tommy, but in one TNTL he made a quadriplegic joke that he acted out that involved stiff limbs and head head lolling to the side, which no one had a problem with. Maybe it’s not the same, but it stood out to me. There is also the infamous OCD reddit stories, and while there was justifiable backlash, Shayne, Chanse, and Kimmy didn’t have people calling them out specifically as being ableist after the initial backlash and the fandom as a whole seems to have forgiven and forgotten.

Moving away from ableism, other cast members have said questionable things, such as Keith defending michael jackson on an old SmoshCast episode. I feel like if we call Olivia out on her bullshit (as we should) we should extend the same standards to the rest of smosh.

Regarding zionism (Free Palestine, always) Olivia is not the only person from smosh to say something in support of Israel on October 7. It’s not an excuse, but many of them may not have known the full story. American media on that day basically reported it as “terrorists attacked innocent people” and while that is a load of bs, without context, I can see how people might believe it. Again, I am not defending Olivia or any other smosh member who has stayed silent since then, I am only pointing out that people tend to jump to conclusions when it comes to Olivia while letting her cast mates off the hook for similar things. N*ah of course is a different situation I don’t want to get into here, this os long enough.

Again, I am not justifying Olivia’s actions and I am not saying we should not hold her accountable. I just wanted to point out the discrepancies between holding different smosh members accountable.

Sorry for the long post, but I wanted to hear your thoughts. Thank you!

hi anon! thank you for sending this! yeah, i don’t think i called olivia ableist in my post, and i apologize if i did. what she said did cause quite the stir but i completely forgot that part about courtney in the funeral roast too. after these past couple days, i have overall mixed feelings about olivia and i don’t think i’m going to avoid her in videos but you’re right, a lot of the cast has made some mistakes and said/done questionable things. i try to believe the best in people because again, we don’t know them irl but it’s the company/brand of smosh that i begin to get a little cynical about because businesses can be so okay with being gray most the time (if that makes sense).

and yeah, i agree with what you said about keith too. i’m not a fan of how he chooses to ignore all the bad that michael jackson has done so that he can keep idolizing him. but also, i’ve just never really been that big of a fan or keith (or noah) from the beginning.

again, really appreciate you leaving this long ask! the reason why i make posts about smosh and palestine (plus other discourse) is because it’s such tricky territory to navigate as fans. thank you to you (and everyone else) for sharing your thoughts and extra info!

[waynes-multiverse]

Alex, this was amazing!! I absolutely loved this! I think I laughed throughout without pausing. Like, I was cackling vividly 😂😂

Dean:

He’s not sick. Because he doesn’t get sick. Dean claims he has the constitution of a horse, but you still take the beer out of his hand before he can take a sip at 10:00 a.m.

That already took me out. First two lines. Bravo. You've done it 🤣

I'm guessing this is post Chuck lmao

“I’m find,” he insists, even as he begrudgingly accepts the gentle pressure of your hand on his back and shoulder, pushing him down to the bed.

You know why I picked it 😝 (👏👏👏) And not the flannel and the runny nose, yikes. Loved this exchange (and callback) lol

He knows that you care about him. That you love him. But this is one of those moments where it hits him, just how much.

Took a brief second from laughing, so I could push tears out of my eyes 😭

But absolutely agree, you'd have to wear Dean down and force him into it lmao

Beau:

His coughing sneeze makes you grimace. You didn’t even know someone could sneeze and cough at the same time.

Back to laughing. My God, that was the sneeze of the century 😂😂

“Nah, can’t be sick. Gotta lot of work to do today,” he says.

Mutually exclusive, obviously 🤷‍♀️

“How long until I’m allowed out, warden?” he asks.

Seems like the man flu hasn't swallowed the charm either 🥰

He stops you by grabbing your wrist. “Hey, uh…can I have some chicken noodle soup later?” “Of course, baby. I’ll swing by the store now and get some stuff for you.” “And some saltines?”

And that's the moment I realized Beau's like my husband when he's sick 😂 (🙄)

It's like you were in my house and wrote a transcript of the last man flu epidemic of 2024 😆🤌

(PS: Real proud for finding that gif 😂)

A good add-on for Beau would be talking about his symptoms and aches... constantly loll. ("Babe, my throat is still dry and very weird right here. I googled and it says it could be laryngitis, cancer or the Marburg virus." 😂)

Ben:

Oh and then, Ben. Ben, Ben, Ben, Ben... I thought for sure he'd be the worst, like this virus is a personal attack on his virility 🤣 But I was pleasantly surprised when you brought in memories of his mother 🥹😭

“Fuck,” he groans, dragging a hand over his face before he turns onto his back.

That immediate fuck got me so hard 🤣🤣

He’s a sourpatch grumbly patient who only begrudgingly stays put in bed when you ask him to.

Ah, yes, gramps 😂🫶 (And he honestly shares that with a lot of old man in hospitals and nursing homes who have to be repeatedly told to stay in bed lol)

“Hey, sweetheart,” he calls to you from the bedroom, his voice croaking all the while. “I’m getting you a yacht for Valentine’s Day. You want it all white, or throw in a bit of gold? Actually, check out this one with the navy trim.”

*snorts* Of course the brat's online shopping for yachts 😆

“Why can’t you put some fucking steak in it or something?” he grouses. He tries and fails to hide another wet cough. “Why can’t you just eat what I lovingly made, just for you,” you snipped back.

Oh God, all their bickering was amazing! It's honestly always one of the most fun things when writing SB – the sheer frustration of the reader 😭😂🙈

And I loved the addition of Priestly!! 😍💚💙🤘 (I've been thinking of finally writing that one-shot for him lol)

“Aw, that’s still good,” he argues.

Great idea, man. Add a stomach bug to that man flu lmao

“Know what would really make me feel better?” he hedges. He tries to guide you down to him by tugging on your hand, but you resist him.

I could also totally see him turning into a Monica there 😂

“When you’re feeling better, you can ask me that question properly.”

Oh, oh, thank God! The relief I felt 😂 I mean, it's so, so sweet, but also you're very sick, dude, and germy... like, it's a lot 😆

(And I also sincerly hope there will be a proposal follow-up one-shot/drabble... maybe? 👀)

I loved this so much! You were spilling nothing but truths here! 😂💯🩵

HEADCANON: Man Flu

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader || Beau Arlen x Reader || Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader || Boaz Priestly x Reader

HC: When Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen, Soldier Boy (Ben), and Boaz Priestly get sick, how would they act when you (try to) take care of them?

AN: After reading I Got You by @bettystonewell (Dean x Reader) and The Best Kind of Medicine by @lamentationsofalonelypotato (Soldier Boy x Reader), I realized that I've never actually written a sick-fic before. Here it is in headcanon form, since you guys seem to like these! lol 💜

Also adding Priestly to this lineup for the first time because some of you have been requesting more of him recently. 😉

Tags/Warnings: Established relationship, hurt/comfort, sick-fic, some needy affection-starved men who don't want to admit they're needy, lots of fluff.~

Dean Winchester

He's not sick. Because he doesn't get sick.

Dean claims he has the constitution of a horse, but you still take the beer out of his hand before he can take a sip at 10:00 a.m.

He's too busy interrupting himself, namely by coughing half a lung, wheezing, blinking teary eyes -- the whole phlegmy nine yards.

Sam shakes his head, casting you a look that frankly says, Good luck.

He knows his brother is stubborn as hell, and one of the things Dean dislikes most is being fussed over for "no reason." Being seen as weak. Not being able to just shrug his shoulders and shake it off.

To be fair, Dean tries. Except this time it's accompanied by a body shiver and a reluctant sniffle. His pallid face is drawn, and his usually strong and solid frame looks unsteady as he leans a hand on the War Room table.

"Okay, come on, Rambo. Let's get you back into bed," you say, guiding your boyfriend back to the room you share with him.

"I'm find," he insists, even as he begrudgingly accepts the gentle pressure of your hand on his back and shoulder, pushing him down to the bed.

"Sure you are, baby," you say with a smirk. "You're in the primb of libe."

Dean shoots you a narrowed look. Damn you for forcing him to binge-watch all those episodes of Friends late at night when you both can't sleep.

Right now he's Monica, trying to convince you he's in tip-top shape, while you're Chandler, just trying to get him to use tissues instead of his flannel sleeve to wipe his runny nose.

After taking his boots off, you get him to change out of his jeans and back into his sweatpants. Then you manage to get him to lay down under the covers with the promise of coming back with medicine and soup.

"I don't want soup, damn it," he grumbles. You just roll your eyes and rub his arm.

"Just rest. I'll be back with the Vicks."

As you might expect, Dean is not an easy patient.

He refuses to drink tea, but he does down the pills you bring for him, with a measured toss of his head that still makes his head swim. He groans.

He swallows a couple of cautious spoonfuls of the soup, pausing when he realizes that its warmth actually feels good down his sore and scratchy throat. It tastes pretty good too, especially with the warm, buttered slices of bread on the side.

"You made this?" he asks.

"Mhmm," you nod, smiling. If nothing else, good food will pacify this man. "Chicken and wild rice, made especially for you."

"Hmm. S' good," he nods in reply. He manages to finish the bowl.

He has to admit, if just to himself, that he does feel like shit.

He won't admit that the way you're rubbing his back, the gentle pressure of your nails between his shoulders and down his spine relaxes him, makes him feel better.

He knows that you care about him. That you love him. But this is one of those moments where it hits him, just how much.

It's a little overwhelming. A heavy swell of pressure fills his chest, so he tries not to let himself think about it for very long.

(He fails.)

After he's done eating, you take the plates away and help him back into bed. You linger there, slipping your fingers through his soft brown hair and pressing a kiss to his clammy forehead.

"I really need you to rest, okay," you say quietly. "If you need anything, just text me or Sam. Don't get out of bed."

Dean grasps your hand before you can move away from him. Since you're probably going to wash your hands anyway, he lays a kiss on the back of your hand.

"Thanks, sweetheart."

Beau Arlen

Sheriff Beau Arlen is the type to run himself into the ground because he's so damn into his work.

He wants to do well in his station of responsibility, and he feels like he has to make up for his performance during the summer madness of Buck Barnes and Avery...and everything in between.

You just have to make Beau realize that he needs to slow down, before he well and truly burns himself out.

You put your foot down one morning.

He tries to get out of bed but has to pause, his head swimming. He takes a couple of steadying breaths while sitting on the edge of the bed.

You notice with a frown. "Hey, you okay?"

"Fine. Just fine," he answers a little too breathlessly. He raises a hand to his head. His throat is sticky and coarse. He wrinkles his nose when he also feels a sneeze coming on.

"Just need a...a...mugh-ah-ha-hugh."

His coughing sneeze makes you grimace. You didn't even know someone could sneeze and cough at the same time.

"Aw, babe. You're sick," you say as you move over to him, resting a hand on his back. He shakes his head and groans.

"Nah, can't be sick. Gotta lot of work to do today," he says. His voice is like gravel blended with broken glass. It would actually be sexy, if for the distinctly un-sexy way he tries to clear the great wad of phlegm from his throat.

He tries to rock himself onto his feet, but there he sways on the landing. You hurry out of bed to grab his arm and steady him.

"Oh no, you don't. Back into bed," you say.

"Aw, sweetheart. I'll be fine--"

"No. Lay down. You're not going in today," you say more firmly, all while you tuck the man back into bed with the blankets covering him.

"All right, all right. No need to be so pushy," he can't help but tease.

It earns a small smirk on your face. It seems like his man flu hasn't yet deprived him of his sense of humor.

"I thought you liked that though," you reply. You sit on the edge of the bed and rub his chest. He groans in defeat.

"Can't believe this," he grumbles. "Today of all days--"

"There's always going to be another case. This is your body telling you that you need to slow down," you tell him. "So how about this. I'm gonna call in one of my sick days, and we'll bunker in together."

You stroke his bearded cheek. He quirks a smile, grabbing your hand and squeezing warmly.

"How long until I'm allowed out, warden?" he asks.

"Until you can stand without keeling over," you dryly reply. A smile tugs at your lips. "Remind me to stop by CVS to grab you a Life Alert."

"All right, har har haugh--" His sarcasm ends on a very real, wheezing cough. Your amused smile drops. You relent from your teasing and stroke his chest once more.

"Okay, just rest. Let me get you some actual medicine and I'll be right back."

He stops you by grabbing your wrist. "Hey, uh...can I have some chicken noodle soup later?"

"Of course, baby. I'll swing by the store now and get some stuff for you."

"And some saltines?"

"Saltine crackers on the side. Got it."

You're about to head to the bathroom to brush your teeth before you start getting ready to go to the store, but once again, Beau's needy hand stops you.

"Before you go, some tea with honey and lemon would be good. Just something for my throat," he croaks.

You smile and nod. "Yeah, for sure. That'll be better for you than coffee."

"Oh, and can you gimme that quilt over there?" he asks, pointing to your favorite knitted blanket at the edge of the bed. You graciously lay it over his form and drop a kiss onto his forehead.

"And some cough drops. Thank you, darlin'," Beau adds.

Your lips begin to press together, but you nod and continue getting dressed.

You can already tell this man is going to settle into you taking care of him just fine.

Soldier Boy (Ben)

Neither of you thought it was possible, considering his super genes that allowed him to eat and booze and drug harder than Andre the Giant and Keith Richards put together.

But one day, your over six-foot super soldier goes down hard. The warning signs came the night before, when you could hardly sleep with the way he was snoring like a grizzly bear.

In the morning, he wakes bleary-eyed with a runny nose and a coughing fit hard enough to shake the bed.

"Fuck," he groans, dragging a hand over his face before he turns onto his back. "This's gotta be some kind of bullshit hangover."

You move over to him in bed and feel the intense warmth of his clammy forehead. Your brows draw together in concern.

"No, I think you're sick."

"Not possible," he grumbles. "I haven't been sick since..."

Well, since he was a kid, probably. He won't admit it, but he's surprised he still has that memory lodged in the back of his mind.

It comes to the forefront now: your hand on his cheek unknowingly mimics his mother's gentle touch, her soft, kind voice.

"Aw, my sweet boy. Let's get you feeling better."

He can almost recall the floral scent of her perfume, echoes of it in the shampoo you use.

Ben claims he's fine, that he doesn't need your help or want the medicine and tea you bring for him. (He tries the tea, grimaces, and spits it out when you're not looking.)

He's a sourpatch grumbly patient who only begrudgingly stays put in bed when you ask him to. He doesn't mind lying around and watching movies all day, not to mention episode after episode of Below Deck. It reminds him that he wants to get back into boating.

"Hey, sweetheart," he calls to you from the bedroom, his voice croaking all the while. "I'm getting you a yacht for Valentine's Day. You want it all white, or throw in a bit of gold? Actually, check out this one with the navy trim."

You roll your eyes to yourself when you step back into the room. You're carrying a tray with a large bowl of soup and a fifth of whiskey. He claims the latter will help soothe his throat, and you don't have the heart to argue with him when he's clearly feeling so shitty.

"You mean you're getting you a yacht," you reply wryly. "We live in the city. Where the hell would we put a boat?"

"In a yacht club, where it belongs," Ben retorts. He hooks an arm around your waist and peruses what you've brought him on the tray. He doesn't look all that interested.

"Look, I know you're not exactly a soupy kinda guy, but this'll make you feel better," you say.

"Why can't you put some fucking steak in it or something?" he grouses. He tries and fails to hide another wet cough.

"Why can't you just eat what I lovingly made, just for you," you snipped back.

He rolls his eyes at your attitude, but he pipes down. In that silence, he's conceding that you have a point. There was a time were all he had to do was glance in someone's direction, and there'd be some fucking moron to fulfill his every whim.

Now, you're probably the only one in the world that would actually do what you're doing...

Cooking for him, putting your heart into it, for the simple reason that you do care.

Ben takes the bowl of soup from your hands. Raising a brow, you offer him the spoon as well.

He eats without further complaint.

You smile and reward him with a sweet kiss on his forehead, brushing his hair back as you do so.

"See? That's not so hard, huh?" you can't help but needle him. "It's okay, baby. I'll take care of you."

He eyes you dryly, but he won't admit that there's a different kind of warmth coiling in his chest.

Boaz Priestly

"Uuuughhh, babe," he groans. "I feel like death on toast."

You're standing beside the bed with a smile playing on your lips. You brush back his for once un-gelled hair back from his face. It's weird to see it all limp and lifeless, slightly damp with sweat.

"Unironically, I should make you some toast," you reply. "What kind of medicine do we have?"

Priestly unearths his head from under his pillow to look up at you with miserable red-rimmed eyes and a sniffling, stuffy nose. "Can we count the tequila in the mini bar?"

"Maybe later," you laugh. "How are we on groceries?"

Priestly struggles to think. He takes your hand and rubs it back and forth across his chest. Maybe your sweet, loving touch has the power to clear away his congestion without him needing Vicks. Too minty.

"We have that pastrami I brought back from the shop," he says.

"That's six days old already," you shake your head.

"Aw, that's still good," he argues. "But uh, other than that, I think I have half a cheeseburger left from last night."

Last night's date at TGI Friday's, he means.

You heave a sigh. "Okay, clearly I'm going to the store. You just stay in bed and rest. Drink your tea."

He grimaces like a child. "I don't like tea."

"I know you don't like tea, but you need to drink it. It's good for your throat and your immune system."

He groans and flops back over onto his stomach. You bite your lip against a smile. He's such a whiny baby when he's sick.

Talk about Man Flu.

"Come on, be a good boy for me," you say, smacking him lightly on the ass. "Soon enough you'll feel better."

A smile creeps across his face where it's pressed against his pillow.

"Know what would really make me feel better?" he hedges. He tries to guide you down to him by tugging on your hand, but you resist him.

"Oh, no. You're not gonna get your germs all over me," you say.

"Hey, what happened to in sickness and in health?" he croaks. Even while under the weather, he's still plenty strong enough to grapple with you. He manages to yank you down. Laughing, you stumble into a seat on the edge of the bed.

"Huh, I don't remember exchanging any vows. You see a ring on this finger?" you tease, flashing your bare hand in his face to try and distract him and weasle out of his grip. "I can jump this ship anytime I want."

Priestly pouts. His arm hooks tighter around your waist. "Huh, guess you got me there..."

He turns his head and coughs roughly into his arm. Your amusement fades into concern and sympathy. You lay a hand over his chest while he struggles.

Once again, he clasps his free hand over yours. He glances up a bit hesitantly into your eyes.

"Well, maybe it's time there should be something on this finger," he murmurs.

You blink your eyes wider. Your head tilts, wondering if you just heard him right. Is this delirium fever talking, or is he serious?

"O-Oh yeah?" you ask.

Priestly tries to gauge your reaction. Seeing your face break out into a cute, shy smile raises the corners of his lips. Hope blooms in his chest, right beneath your hand.

"Yeah," he says, trying to clear his cracking throat. "I mean, if you're okay with that. If it's not too soon--"

You slip your fingers over his plush, chapped lips, and your smile brightens.

"When you're feeling better, you can ask me that question properly."

AN: 😆 I hope you liked the first ever addition of Priestly!! It was so fun to try and write him again (it's been a while lol). Feel free to imagine this vignette in the same storyverse as The Miracle Man and Code Red.

But I also hope you enjoyed the "Big 3," as I call them, even though Russell is starting to give Beau a run for his money on one of those slots. 😂 Let me know which guy you had the most fun reading on this one! 💜

And if you want even more fluff before Valentine's Day, check out my friend @waynes-multiverse who just posted her set of V-Day headcanons with Dean, Soldier Boy, Beau, and Russell: Headcanon: Valentine's Day 💕

Join My Patreon 🌟 Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories, send me requests, and more!

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[ajqwrites]

COD: Modern Warfare Reboot (Under Siege - Book 1)

There's only one way in.

John knew this.

He knew because there was the point-of-no-return.

And he never thought much about how he'd die—not seriously anyway.

He spent most of his life outliving his enemies but if he thought about it. He wouldn't have pictured this.

Across the room, Harkin smirked, smug and certain like he'd already won. He had a knife in one hand and the other gripping behind her neck, enough to apply pressure for her breath but he would squeeze her out if she scream or say a word. And she was bound to a chair. Her head lolling forward like a rag doll, her breathing too shallow for my liking.

It wasn't supposed to go like this.

He'd come in prepared to kill and get her out. Simple. Direct. Ruthless. That's how he operate but one look at her—at the way her lip bled, her wrists rubbed raw against the bindings—everything inside of him twisted into something desperate.

This wasn't an op anymore.

This was her.

The only person who made him feel like there was more to life than duty.

"You're out of options," Harkin said. He toyed with the knife in his hand, like he had all the time in the world. "You've got one shot before I finish what I started with her. You ready to take it?"

He clenched my jaw, my fingers tightening around the grip of my firearm, equipped with a suppressor. Every fiber of his being screamed to pull the trigger, but he couldn't risk it. Not while he was close enough to her that even a stray shot might—

"Let her go," he growled and repeated, the sound of a man with nothing left to lose. "You want me? I'm right here."

Harkin chuckled, like I'd just told him the funniest joke.

"Ah, but where's the fun in that? No, I think I'll make you watch before I put you down like the dog you are."

Three.

His finger shifted to the trigger.

"Go ahead, old man. Take your shot. I'm close and I'll slice her."

Two.

His grip on the knife tightened as he moved it closer to her neck.

Her eyes were wide and full of fear. She didn't speak—she couldn't—but the silent plea was there. He locked eyes with her, willing her to trust him, to hold on for just a few more seconds.

"Please," she whimpered and cried as the bastard jerked her head back by her hair, exposing her throat to the cold steel.

"Shut up," he hissed at her. The blade pressing just enough to make a thin red line appear on her skin.

His stomach churned at the sight, but he kept his mind set on him.

"Easy," he said, very calm. "You hurt her, and I'll make you regret you were born."

Harkin laughed again, that mocking sound grate against my nerves.

"Oh, you're the scary one? Let's see how tough you really are when she starts screaming."

One.

His finger tightened on the trigger as my breathing slowed, everything narrowing down to this moment—he remembered the words Gabby has said at the club during their undercover mission. He'd took her word like a promise.

"You get two shots because if he laid his hand on Charlie once and did it again. I want you to kill that fuckhead for me."

Time's up, fuckhead.

The suppressed shot barely made a sound, just a soft hiss as the bullet left the chamber.

It was a clean shot and the bullet hit its mark dead center—his forehead.

His expression froze for a split second before his body crumpled. The knife falling from his hand as he hit the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. 

She screamed after the shot. And when she turned around and saw the body on the ground. She whipped her head back to him, tears streamed down her face as if she was trying to process what just happened.

He began to move, crossing the room in long strides. The SIG Sauer was still raised, his eyes scanning for any threats. 

Clear.

As he holstered his weapon before pulling out his knife and crouched in front of her. His hands went straight to the ropes binding her wrists.

"Hey," he said, my voice softer now but urgent. "It's okay. He's dead."

Her tear-filled eyes met mine. "You... how..."

"I've got you," he interrupted gently, freeing her hands. "It's over."

She collapsed forward and her arms wrapped around him like he was her lifeline. Her face buried to his chest and she began to sob. My hand went to the back of her head, holding her close. John closed his eyes and exhaled in relief. Silently thanking God. Holding her like she was the only thing keeping his heart beating. One hand cradled the back of her head, fingers threaded in her tangled hair, the other wrapped protectively around her waist.

"I've got you," he repeated, voice barely audible now. "I've got you."

And for the first time in years, maybe longer.

He let himself feel it.

Not just the rage or the instinct but love.

The broken, aching, overwhelming weight of almost losing the one person who had made him human again. Charlie clung to him, her body shaking with sobs. The adrenaline was wearing off now, leaving her dizzy and disoriented. John stroked her hair, murmuring soft reassurances as she wept into his chest.

"It's alright, love. I've got you now." His voice was a soothing rumble, his embrace warm and secure.

After a few moments, Charlie took a deep, shuddering breath and lifted her head from his chest. Her eyes were red and puffy.

"I want to go home," she said weakly.

Johnathan nodded, his eyes soft with understanding and he lifted his fingerless glove to move some strand of her hair behind her ear and kissed her forehead. She closed her eyes and sighed breathlessly.

"Can you stand?"

She nodded 'yes' as an answer.

When he gently helped her to her feet, keeping an arm around her waist for support. Charlie leaned into him, grateful for his solid presence. Her legs were shaking, and she wasn't sure she could have stood on her own. She felt the warmth and strength of his arm around her as they slowly made their way out of the room. She never looked back at the dead body, nor think about it.

This was enough of a nightmare she had experienced of being kidnapped in this unfamiliar area she had never been in.

"Where are we?"

"Under the tunnel, love," he answered gently.

"Oh," she said weakly. Her legs were unsteady, her mind still reeling from the ordeal.

"Can't remember the last time something scared me that bad," he added quietly, then almost smiled. "Your mother has told me about Cam being sent at the hospital at Germany, after someone lend a hand that I wish I could thank him. I almost thought I wouldn't see her again, and now, I thought the same about you."

Those words he had said made her heart constricted more, knowing how much his unspoken emotions between her and his daughter, it almost made her heart race the more he opens his heart and confess. She could feel the warmth of his large body next to hers as they made their way through the dimly lit tunnel. She was still in shock, barely processing what had just happened. John kept his arm firmly around her waist, supporting her weight as her legs threatened to give out.

"Almost there," he murmured. 

Charlie blinked slowly, trying to focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

Whatever the drug that Harkin had injected in her, it left her limbs heavy and still her mind fuzzy. She leaned into John, letting him guide her along.

"John, I don't feel good. Can we stop for a minute?"

He stopped and glanced at her. His eyes softened with concern as he took in her pale face. The adrenaline that had fueled him through the fight was fading, leaving him hyper aware of her vulnerability.

"Yeah," he said gently. "Let's sit you down for a minute."

He guided her over to a stack of crates off to the side of the tunnel. Charlie sank down gratefully, leaning her head back against the rough wood. John crouched down in front of her, tilting her chin up to study her face.

"How are you feeling?"

"Dizzy," she answered weakly. "And kind of numb all over."

His jaw tightened, anger flashing in his eyes. "Bastard must have drugged you. I'll have my team get you checked out as soon as we're clear."

Charlie managed a faint smile, reaching up to lay her hand against his bearded cheek.

"You came back," she said in half-whisper, though her voice was weak.

The corners of his mouth quirked up a little. He turned his head to press a light kiss to her palm before enclosing her hand in his own.

"I'll always come for you, Charlie. No matter what." His voice was low and fervent.

Her heart fluttered at the intensity in his icy blue eyes. The way he had said held truth like he would move heaven and earth to protect her. Still, seeing that iron determination directed at saving her made warmth bloom in her chest.

"Did you come all this way alone?" she asked.

"No, I had my men who volunteered for you," he answered while smiling. "Speaking of that, they must wonder about me."

As he turned on his radio, Charlie watched as he set up his radio and there was static of many different voices and channels until he held his mic and spoke in command, "Bravo-Six to Seven-Zero and Six-One, mission complete. Target down. Package secure."

Seconds later, a reply came through. 

"Roger that, Captain. Extraction ETA five minutes." Ghost finally said, almost his tone held with relief and calm.

John helped her to her feet again, keeping one arm around her waist for support. "Almost there. They're on the way to get us out."

Charlie nodded, still feeling dizzy. She concentrated on taking each step as John led her through the shadowy tunnel, knowing the way to the exit.

✨Return to Masterlist (RTM)✨

✨Chapter 122✨

👉🏽 Return to Main Post (RTMP) 👈🏽

[m1ckeyb3rry]

HAHA shidou the only one whose fanon is basically canon…people who live on wattpad don’t know how to appreciate true art….definitely just feeding into whatever cliche drama trends and tropes exist etc….

Wait I never thought about that LMAO that’s true how does no one know about Ego even though he played alongside Noel Noa???? Looks like there’s still a lot of lore to be unraveled it’d be funny if they made an Ego light novel LMAO
NO FR its fate but also yeah that tag was also quite dry…I remember lurking that tag along with some others like megumi too during my jjk phase and ofc it was dry too….after PI im gonna go back and look through your masterlist for jjk again because i have a feeling I might’ve read your other works too LMAOO

Their dynamic is just so >>>>> no because I LOVE how they care so much for each other without being romantically involved with each other?? Just goes back to our convo of how deep and meaningful platonic love and relationships can exist too!!

Ok I see what you mean because I forgot yeah age wise he’s just kinda like an oops early child kinda thing but either way I love that sort of older guardian (??) type of vibe looking out for everyone honestly chaotic (very)big brother fits LMAO uncle gojo…that’s good too, goofy young uncle LOL (also I read pi as like, calculus pi at first then it hit me that it’s an abbreviation)

Ok wait commentary continued this is basically my thought compilation up through XII:

I laughed at this part

“Wait,” you said, cutting her off, “For the sake of the visual, is this guy Noritoshi or not?”“No? I said super handsome,” she said. Your jaw dropped, but she ignored it.

LMAOOOO and then the hypothetical situation “Nuta” LMAOOOO I also love stupid oblivious y/n

Ok so I definitely think I read through the sister school exchange but not beyond, I know this is supposed to be Yuta focused but I love the friendship dynamic with Noritoshi…also LMAO The chapter content warning about Naoya is so funny and honestly so real LOLL

I love the way yuta and y/n’s relationship develops like there’s so many complexities in terms of things that are holding them back from being able to be together like a normal couple that just kinda reinforces their relationship?? Kinda in a way that like even without a formal label their relationship is even more solidified in a way

SELFIE WITH NAOYA I’m crying like “we need proof that we actually did this together so we HAVE to take a selfie” ah yes raging misogynist Naoya not him using his foot to poke y/n HSHSHS very in character though…

THE KITCHEN PHRASE good bye it’s sometimes comical how misogynistic he is but also what baffles me is how HIGH he ranks on popularity polls like 1st of all we don’t see THAT much of him 2nd like are we ignoring his whole personality or

Anyways omg my girl Tullia>>> truly inspiring y/n and also the blood chugging??? She really took one for the team (y/n) I love the way we can feel Yuta’s desperation through the screen like we can feel the trauma LMAO I like how it shows his character development too…like in jjk0 throughout it all there’s definitely that feeling like Yuta is very meek and whatnot (understandably) but I like how this kinda almost shows his shift/blooming development towards his current self? Where he has a stronger conviction and is a lot surer of things

-Karasu anon

shidou fanon if anything is tamer than his canon counterpart 😭 and LMAOO i’m sure there are gems hidden away on wattpad they’re just harder to find due to the algorithm being so odd!!

an ego light nov would go crazy tbh!! and HAHA my jjk works list is v random…one of them is for kashimo of all characters LMAOO he’s barely even relevant to the actual manga but you know me and my random characters HAHA

w pi (abbreviation not calculus 😜) i rlly tried to show how important platonic and familial relationships are!! like y/n + tullia, y/n + gojo, y/n + her mother, etc etc i think you can tell how much i enjoy writing non-romantic relationships in it DHSKJS

LMAOOO oblivious y/n my beloved 😩 she picks up on other people’s relationships and problems so quickly but as for her own…it’s def rough at first 😭 but tbf she spent most of her childhood without many friends so she’s learning!!

naoya is my actual enemy i fear…like not even in the joking way that otoya and kaiser were HAHA he genuinely is just a character i hate and who should not have been given as much manga screentime as he was

y/n and yuta’s relationship development my beloved 😩 and yes yuta def changes a lot between vol0 and the main show so i tried to show that happening in the story as well!! although ofc a lot of his development does take place while he’s in africa unfortunately 😩💔 OMG TULLIAAA she’s the best hahaha one of my fav characters fr…her and elakshi are the ones who have gotten hate (especially elakshi in this fic) and i’m like…well the plot couldn’t happen without tullia and elakshi is just a fun way to add drama without messing too much with canon so idk what you want me to do…

[mrpenguinpants]

Green Slumber

— "Ah, look! Is Alhaitham taking a nap?" "Shh...You're too loud, Paimon." "Th-That's not true…Paimon was definitely whispering-wait, who is that beside him?"

— Alhaitham

Ayato Ver: Pale Blue Slumber Traveller & Paimon lines are taken from the official Genshin Twitter post. [Masterlist]

Congrats Alhaitham, your birthday postpones the fic where I tear you apart for scamming me. I usually don't write birthday fics but pretty art. Can you tell I'm not used to writing second pov and rushed again :)) I don't know how to end fics.

"Ah, look! Is Alhaitham taking a nap?"

Lumine looks in the direction of Paimon's voice, her floating companion peeking through a room with a giddy face. No doubt hatching some sort of plan to get back at the scribe for his words during their quest to rescue Lesser Lord Kusanali. On one hand, she should probably scold Paimon for immediately jumping to payback since the reason both of them are here is to wish the man a happy birthday before departing to the next region. But on the other hand...

“Shh…You’re too loud Paimon,” Lumine whispers as she tip-toes towards the door and gently pushes it open further. She's pointedly ignoring the face Paimon is throwing her for acting just as bad as she is. If anyone asks, she'll make an excuse that she was just being a polite guest and if Alhaitham was sleeping, she would excuse herself quietly. In no way is it her curiosity to see the ever-serious Alhaitham in any mode that's defenseless and relaxed. So with Paimon’s head hovering above hers, they both poke their heads into the room. Alhaitham doesn’t look any different from the last time they met, although asleep, he looks far less intimidating. He’s leaned back in the wooden chair, arm propped up to hold his lolling head in place. Calculating amber and teal eyes are closed as his chest falls up and down slowly with each breath while the gentle sun paints him in warm yellows and soothing whites. If Lumine had never met Alhaitham before, she would have thought he may have been the Dendro archon with how serene the scene itself is. Something that almost makes her want to reach out and touch him just to check if he’s real or not.

"Th-That's not true…Paimon was definitely whispering-wait, who is that beside him?" Paimon’s voice tapers off at the end, eyes alight with confusion. Lumine tears her eyes away from Alhaitham to look at where Paimon is pointing. Seated on the desk right in front of Alhaitham’s sleeping figure, a stranger hums softly with their ankles locked as they swing their legs ideally in the air. In their hands appears to be the beige book Alhaitham usually carries around, the one about physics and motion if she remembers correctly. Now that she’s looking - she can't believe she missed an entire person because she got distracted by the image of a sleeping Alhaitham - the stranger looks far more comfortable in the room than she is. Maybe they're another roommate? Although Alhaitham doesn't seem like the type to have an extensive list of friends and she's positive she's met most if not all of the people Alhaitham could call close enough to have them in his home. She shares a look with Paimon who returns it with a shrug of the shoulders. Neither one of them has ever seen this mysterious person before.

"Haitham, this section here about..." the stranger's voice brings blue and yellow eyes back to the room. Lumine watches intrigued as the stranger finally looks up from the book to see Alhaitham fast asleep. A soft sigh escapes their lips as they close the book, shoulders dropping into something more relaxed, and they just sit and look at the man. They have the same look in their eye but instead, their hand slowly reaches out until their fingertips meet the tips of soft silver hair. Pushing strands away from his face before waltzing down to caress his cheek. It's an intimate touch and Lumine isn't sure whether she should be here interrupting the moment. The stranger surely seems to be having fun as they return to playing with silver strands. Through it all, Alhaitham remains asleep yet, his body seems to lean into the touch naturally. As if these practiced movements have happened before.

Oh. Oh, she understands now.

“Hey, Paimon…” Lumine starts as she slowly picks herself off the floor as quietly as possible lest she disturbs the peace. "We should leave."

"Huh? But why? We've never seen this person before right? What if they're one of those bad guys that are after Alhaitham because he's the acting grand sage!" Paimon adamantly nods, small hands clutched into little fists. It would be cute if it weren't for the fact that Paimon has no sense of volume. Before Lumine can reach out and press her palm against Paimon's mouth to stop her from shouting again, a light chuckle rings out. They both freeze in place, flicking their heads back inside the room.

"You know...if you talk any louder you will actually wake him up," the stranger drops their hand as they turn to face the duo. There's mirth dancing in their eyes and Lumine has enough decency to look embarrassed at getting caught red-handed. Paimon on the other hand has no such reservations.

"Ah, sorry! We didn't mean to! Wait-Hey! Don't turn this on Paimon. Who are you and what are you doing in Alhaitham's house?!" Paimon stomps her feet in the air, crossing her arms as she pouts at the stranger. Her frown further increased by the stranger laughing harder.

"I basically live here. There's no need to be so on edge. I doubt Haitham could sleep so easily if a stranger was in his home," they say, gesturing to the still peacefully unaware scribe who hasn't moved a muscle since they arrived.

"Ohh, so you're like that blond guy from before! Ka-Ka something? But wait, why were you touc-"

"Ahem, sorry for barging in. We just wanted to say Happy Birthday to Alhaitham. We'll visit again some other time when he's awake," Lumine cuts Paimon off, successfully managing to slap her hand against Paimon's mouth. She can feel the back of her ears turning red as she bows and practically sprints away and out of the house. She'll just write a note to the scribe instead.

+

You blink a few times before chuckling again. Wow, that girl sure can run fast. You've heard stories about the Traveller and this "Paimon" character, patiently waiting for your turn to stumble into their journey. Although you wish you had met them with better first impressions, they seem like a lively bunch. Your eyes slide over back onto the sleeping figure in front of you, and there's a slight nudge of his lips. The smallest of smiles threaten to burst before it placates into something more neutral. A small detail that hasn't escaped you.

"I know you're awake Alhaitham," you state blankly, your gentle hands reaching back up before suddenly turning harsh and tugging at his cheek. Pulling the skin so he has a lopsided smile. True to your words, teal and amber eyes open without an ounce of shame. "Weren't those your friends? Don't be rude and ignore them when they came all this way to say happy birthday."

He offers a half-hearted shrug before the hand supporting his head moves to take your fingers still tugging at his cheek. Intertwining them together until his face is free. His smile is still small but his eyes shine with fondness that you're forced to look away. Sometimes you forget just how pretty Alhaitham can be.

"Weren't you the one that said I should indulge on my special day? Is it so wrong that I want to spend it with you and you alone?" He adds to his point by brushing his lips against your fingertips before pressing a kiss to your palm. There's a small smile as he extends his other hand out, eyes taking in how pink your ears become. "So let's indulge."

“For such a pretty face, you sure are…” you trail off but you take his hand and let him move you onto his lap. It's unfair how fast he can turn the tables on you and how easily you let him do so. It was fun being able to poke and prod the man to your heart's content since he had to hold the disguise of being asleep, even if you do feel a bit bad that the Traveller had to postpone their greeting, but now it's his hands that roam over your body. Slipping under your - his - shirt and rubbing small circles into your hip before growing bored and moving onto another patch of untouched skin until there's nothing left to take. Lip hungry as he kisses away your words because every breath that isn't mixed with his is worthless. Perhaps it's a blessing that you need to take a proper breath because you're sure that Alhaitham would keep taking until there's nothing left. Disregarding how tightly your hands cling to him and refuse to let him stray too far away.

"Greedy."

"Pot meet kettle."

---

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[miekasa]

slow hands

+ pairing: levi ackerman x reader

+ genre and warnings: fluff, some angst? but hardly, levi is the sweetest, please do not mistake his quiet affections for apathy or lovelessness

+ word count: 3k

+ summary: based off of a request about physical affection and acts of service being levi’s love languages—which i agree! i’m so happy you asking about that, i could write essays about how physical touch is important to levi, but instead, i will leave you with this for now lol

i. in crowded spaces (so you don’t get lost, or so he claims)

Levi isn’t particularly fond of the way you like to go shopping in the inner walls. He is, however, fond of you; so he forgoes the prissy upper-class men and overall stingy aura of Wall Sina’s inhabitants just so you can get your favorite kind of bread and fruit.

Today, it seems like everyone and their mother wanted to visit the outdoor markets, despite the scheming merchants and obviously overpriced merchandise. From the crowd to the noise level, none of it is really up Levi’s alley; but he has to admit, watching people fail to successful haggle the price of eggs is immensely amusing to him.

What isn’t amusing is the way you keep stopping in the middle of the square, distracted by anything remotely shiny or with a pleasant smell you come across. Levi stops in his tracks, sensing a lack of your presence behind him; he turns around, and sure enough, you’re standing a few meters away, squinting at the price written above the basket of apples in front of you.

He sighs, trudging back to you, and watching from a step away as you scan over the fruit scrutinizingly. The merchant behind the stand does his best at selling you his product, boasting about how the fruit is fresh and hand-picked, and some other bullshit.

“These look good,” you muse to yourself, picking up a single, red apple in your palm for closer observation, “I could make a pie for the kids later.”

“Ah, pretty and she cooks, what a woman,” the bearded merchant smiles, adjusting his hat as he looks at you.

He only seems to notice Levi’s presence when he pushes forward just a little bit, looking at the apples, bored, then to the man, who speaks to him next, “Can I interest you in a basket, too, sir?”

Levi doesn’t respond with anything but a slight shake of his head, before looking back to you. You’re standing upright now, having placed your sample apple back with the rest, unfazed by Levi standing next to you; like you were completely unaware you’d left him in the first place.

He holds back a scoff. You can be so unaware of your surroundings at times, he honestly thinks it’s a miracle that you make it back from your missions alive. You’re also seemingly unaware of just how many inner wall pigs flirt with you, as you look completely oblivious to the advances of the merchant, who offers you two baskets for the price of one—the only caveat being that you allow him to take you on a date later that evening.

Levi lolls his head to the side, tired eyes gazing at the old man who tries to cut himself a bargain. He knows you’re prepared to give an overly polite and nonchalant response to wave the man off, but Levi doesn’t have time for your pleasantries today. 

Quietly, he reaches for your free hand, lacing your fingers together firmly before pulling you away from the merchant and the stand.

“Levi!” you call for him, borderline whining, “I wasn’t actually going to agree to a date with him, but the apples—”

“There’s a stand a few streets over that Hange claims is better than anything she’s ever eaten,” Levi grumbles, questioning under his breath about where the hell the piece of shit men in the interior get their audacity from, “And you don’t need two baskets. One is enough.”

Levi doesn’t turn your way, so he misses the fond look in your eyes and the small curve to your lips. He does, however, feel the way you wrap your other arm around his, leaning into him gently as to not disturb your stride as you keep walking.

“But I want to have enough to make a pie for the kids, later,” you tell him, slowly rubbing your thumb against the fabric of his blazer.

Levi scoffs audibly this time. “You don’t have to make shit for them.”

“I don’t have to do shit for anyone,” you smile, “But they’re just kids, Levi. Besides, I know you like pie, too, you big baby.”

Levi doesn’t say anything at that, only choosing to flash you an unamused scowl, before pulling you down a smaller, less crowded street.

“Let’s just get the fucking apples and go home,” he says, decidedly, passing by a group of MPs sharing a flask, “I don’t know how much longer I can stay in the interior without snapping some pig’s head off.”

ii. during long meetings

Levi thinks that if Erwin weren’t Commander, he could probably make a living as a pastor with the way he preaches for hours on end.

It’s going on hour two of this long, drawn-out strategy meeting, and Levi knows that he’s not the only one about to lose his fucking marbles. Albeit, he’s much more composed than some other people around the table; he still wants to retire to his office for the evening. Even the mountain of paperwork waiting for him would be more entertaining than this.

Levi listens, admittedly a little more carefully, when you speak up, offering information about the layouts of a small town destroyed on your last expedition, where you’d lost a member of your own squad. Erwin nods, looking back down at his map to take your words into consideration.

Levi looks to his right where you’re seated, notices the guilt flash in your eyes as you think about your last failed expedition. It wasn’t your fault, and you know that; but he knows, more than anyone, how difficult it can be to lose one of your own soldiers.

Quietly, he lifts his teacup with his right hand, and places it down in front of you. He says nothing beyond an almost unnoticeable nod towards the cup once it’s within your reach, before looking back towards Erwin and Armin.

If anyone else seemed to notice his gesture, they don’t make it known. Except for Hange, of course, who flashes him a knowing grin before resuming her conversation.

Levi knows you’ve finished the tea when he feels your hand resting lightly atop his knee, tapping your index and middle fingers against his pants—a silent thank you. In the middle of his own conversation, he doesn’t turn to you or say much other than slipping his right hand on top of yours, loosely curling his fingers between the slits of yours.

His hand stays there for the rest of the meeting, his thumb rubbing slow, unidentifiable patterns into the skin on the back of your hand; an empty teacup, and a mutual gratitude between the two of you.

iii. when you’re working too hard (or for too long)

If not the gigantic humanoid monsters out to swallow you whole, the paperwork is probably the worst part about being a captain in the Survey Corps. Levi would know, having spent countless nights up reading proposals, approving plans, signing documents, filling out death certificates.

It can be grueling work, even if it is, essentially, reading and writing whilst being sat at a desk. And while, sometimes, he can admit that the paperwork is more bearable than his own nightmares; he knows that for you, it holds no such solace.

If anyone thought that Levi worked himself to the bone, they must not have met you. Your meticulous mannerisms and work ethic could almost make him seem sloppy by comparison. It’s not uncommon to find you training yourself or your cadets into the ground, theorizing with Hange and Erwin, or—Levi’s personal least favorite—hunched over your desk, eyes scanning away at stacks of ink-ridden papers.

You must be five or six hours in by now, if he’s calculated correctly. The last time he saw you was around midday, when he’d been watching you spar with Jean. It’s dark out now, the other cadets and soldiers having retired to their rooms for the evening after dinner. 

“You’ll end up a hunchback if you keep this up,” he drawls upon entering your office. He watches as your head snaps up to him; he figured you hadn’t even heard him enter, seeing as you didn’t respond to his knocking. He wonders how it’s possible for you to be so aloof, yet so scrupulous all at once.

Embarrassed, more likely at your lack of awareness than his comment, you push yourself up a little bit, elbows on your desk and fingers crossed. “You’re not exactly one to talk, you know.”

Levi only hums at your jab, inching towards your desk. He likes the way your eyes track his movements as his proximity to you increases, stepping around your desk to stand behind your chair. 

“Sit up,” he orders, voice soft yet firm.

He waits for you to straighten your back, but frowns when you scoot your chair closer to your desk after doing so. He takes it upon himself to move your chair back, ignoring the terrible squeaking of the wood scraping across the floor. Well, at least that was an indication that the floors were clean.

“I can’t write if I’m this far from my desk,” you complain, just as the palms of Levi’s hands make contact with your shoulders.

“Good thing I’m not asking you to write anything,” Levi replies, digging the heels of his hands into your shoulder muscles. This would work better with your shirt off, he muses to himself, but this would have to do.

You open your mouth to protest, but your words fall short on your tongue, an exhale of relief coming out instead as Levi continues to massage your shoulders. Levi can feel you melting into his actions, your body going slack and the knots in your muscles uncoiling themselves. He counts about five minutes in passing before he hears your breath calm, too; the shallow exhales of your overworked body replaced with deep inhalations and extended sighs.

He lightens his movements as his massage comes to and end. The palm of his left hand runs across your throat gently, allowing him to tuck his thumb and index finger under your chin, and tilt your head backwards for you to face him. Levi’s thumb pads against your jaw line as you look up at him, and him back at you. 

Finally, he leans down, his lips making contact with your forehead for a gentle kiss, “You work too hard.”

“I learned from the best,” and just as gently, you reach your arm up and backwards, your palm clumsily finding its way to Levi’s hair, pulling him down, towards your lips this time, “You take such good care of me.”

“Obviously,” Levi mumbles, stealing another kiss between his words, “That’s my job, brat.”

iv. during dinner time

The Mess Hall is among Levi’s least favorite places, for obvious reasons; but he does enjoy sharing a meal with you, and ensuring that you’ve eaten a full serving to sustain yourself.

He can look past Hange and Nanaba’s overly enthusiastic conversations, despite sitting directly across each other, Erwin’s sloppy eating habits, and the overall rowdy atmosphere of the Mess Hall, as long as he has you beside him to numb the pain. Which is why he’s been exceptionally grumpy these past two weeks, as you’ve taken to sitting with some of the younger cadets during dinner time. 

It’s not unusual and it doesn’t surprise him, or anyone really; everyone can see how much they all adore you. Especially Mikasa, strangely enough. Probably because of the way you treat Eren, and how much he and Armin look up to you; and probably because she was your first pick to fill a vacancy in your squad. 

He walks with you across the floor, the both of you holding your own tray of food—a watery soup, some bread, and a piece of fruit as a treat. He knows you won’t finish your soup, and that he’ll have to give you half of his bread to make up for it; but he also knows you’ll slice up your apple for him to eat in exchange.

So Levi is not too happy when he sees Eren waving your way, the clumsy idiot almost hitting Armin in the head from the uncoordinated shaking of his hand. You smile at the younger boy, turning your body to walk towards his table.

Levi, however, stops your stride before it can begin, pulling tactfully at the back of your shirt, and forcing you to turn back around. He pokes at the nape of your neck, gently pushing you forwards, and in the direction of the table where Erwin, Hange, Mike and Moblit are seated.

You seem to get his silent message, flashing Levi a sweet smile before turning to offer Eren a sorry glance as you continue to head in the direction of the table with your colleagues. Levi hums when you start walking again, following closely behind you, and turning back to offer Eren a not-so-sorry, not-so-friendly glare.

Levi was getting his apple sliced for him today, whether the brats liked it or not.

“You know, you should sit with them sometime,” you tell him, breaking his small loaf in half to dip it into your soup, “They admire you a lot.”

“I think they’d shit their pants if shorty even came near their table,” Hange jokes, earning chuckles from some of your colleagues.

Levi says nothing and refrains from rolling his eyes. He could care less about the admiration they hold for him, or for you. If Eren and Amin wanted to spend time with you that badly, then they should train their asses off and make it onto your squad.

“Oi,” you call to him, mocking his voice and tone, “Here, they gave us yellow ones today, I know they’re your favorite.”

Levi shoves you with his elbow affectionately, before taking the slice of apple from your hold. He chews gratefully, heart beating against his chest in admiration as you carefully place the rest of the slices on his tray.

He squeezes your thigh in thanks under the table once you’ve finished slicing both apples for him. Sure, he could do it himself, and sure he could technically see you in your room whenever he wants, but that’s not the point; Levi will be damned if he catches any of those other brats with his apple slices.

v. when you come home

It’s not often that Levi becomes overly worried about your well-being, as backwards and apathetic as it may seem to other people. He trusts you, and knows that you’re stronger than you look—stronger than him, even—and he has no reason to doubt you; you’ve always come back to him.

But now, it’s going on eleven days since your squad was supposed to return from specially designed and assigned mission from Erwin himself, and Levi was beginning to let his nerves get the best of him.

He knows he’s not the only one getting antsy for some kind of message—any kind of sign at all—that you and your men were okay. Two days ago, Hange had pestered Erwin for the greater part of an hour about sending just one more tracking squad to look for yours; Mikasa and Armin hovered around for any news that you had returned, and that you’d brought Eren back unharmed; hell, even Mike had come to check in with him, rocking on his feet, asking Levi if there had been any news from you.

It’s dark out now, the day coming to a close, marking the twelfth night since your estimated return date. Levi sighs, untucking himself from his desk, intent on marching down to Erwin’s office and demanding he let him go look for you.

“You know we have to give it fourteen days, at least,” Erwin sighs.

“That’s a bullshit rule and you know it,” Hange interjects, having burst into the room only seconds after Levi; hung up on your lack of return just as much as he was.

Of course she is—you’re Hange’s closest friend. Not to mention, you’d taken Moblit with you on your mission, setting Hange’s work back significantly without the presence of her valuable second.

“I know,” Erwin nods, “But the first tracking squad found no evidence of any bodies. They’re most likely alive.”

“All of them?” Hange questions, incredulous and hopeful.

“That’s what we hope for,” Erwin responds, voice heavy. He looks to Levi, “She’ll come back. She always does.”

Levi knows that; he knows. But he still can’t shake this feeling. He opens his mouth to refute, when Sasha comes bumbling into Erwin’s office, heaving.

“Commander Erwin, Captain (Y/N)’s squad has just returned!” Sasha squeaks, “No casualties, four in the infirmary now with minor wounds, but nobody’s in critical condition, sir.”

Levi can barely register the young girl’s words, before he’s storming towards the infirmary, desperately searching for your familiar face amongst the soldiers in the cots. He sees Moblit amongst some of your other men and hastily asks him about your whereabouts.

“She had Eren,” Moblit tells him calmly, wincing slightly as a nurse rubs alcohol into the cut along his arm, “I thought she’d take him here—maybe in one of the smaller rooms across the hall?”

Levi nods, grateful, and moves so that Hange can squish Moblit with her affections, heading towards the hallway. He sees just a sliver of light coming from a room two doors down, and he doesn’t hesitate to search for you there.

He all but bursts through the door, relieved to find you tying and cutting a bandage around Eren’s forehead. Levi wants to scold you for taking care of someone else wounds before attending to your own, but he doesn’t have time for that right now.

You stand up straight after you’re finished wrapping Eren’s larger cuts, with barely enough time to register that Levi’s entered the room before he has one hand around your waist, and the other cradling the back of your head.

Levi can feel that he’s knocked the wind out of you, but that doesn’t stop you from slowly wrapping your arms around him to complete the hug. He tucks his head into the juncture of your neck, ignoring the faint scrapes along your skin.

“You’re back,” he hums, holding you a little tighter against him.

Levi feels your laughter reverberate through his own body, as you mirror his hold on you; your right hand coming up to cradle the back of his head, your fingers loosely coiling into his hair.

“Of course I am,” you hum, reveling in Levi’s shallow breaths that tickle your neck, “I’ll always come back to you, Levi.”

[lizhly-writes]

tried to write something for normal orv fan knw for an ask.  it didn’t work, i ended up with this instead. context: this takes place at a point where our normal orv fan knw no longer thinks that kdj is going to kill him on sight.

This is the most useless ability ever.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Kim Namwoon says as he scrolls through all of the ORV stuff on his Twitter timeline. Seriously? This is what he gets? Kim Dokja gets the whole text of WoS with revisions, and Kim Namwoon gets the ability to scroll through orvtwt?

That can’t be the only thing he can do, right? It’s not like he ever downloaded a copy before, but he should have a copy of ORV, shouldn’t he? Ah, but Kim Dokja got a system notification when he received his copy of WoS. Kim Namwoon hasn’t gotten any such thing, so does he just not have the text at all? If he doesn’t, maybe he has to level up or something so he can access it? Though even that’s looking at it really positively. It could be that he doesn’t have any chance of obtaining the text all and he’ll just have to rely on his year-old shitty memory of the webnovel because everything is —

“Are you trying to crush your phone?”

Kim Namwoon comes amazingly close to punching Kim Dokja in the face. It would probably be really satisfying if it actually hit, but as it is, Kim Namwoon’s fist touches nothing but air; Kim Dokja sidesteps neatly away, eyebrows raised like a schoolteacher who’s just witnessed his student do something truly ridiculous. It feels like Kim Namwoon’s going to get a scolding for wasting valuable education time any moment.

It’s annoying. It’s really annoying. Kim Dokja is really annoying. Kim Namwoon knew that before ever entering this novel, he thought it had been really funny. But it’s one thing to read it in text, another thing to be stuck with that smug smirk in actual meatspace.

“What do you want,” Kim Namwoon says.

“Oh, nothing in particular,” Kim Dokja says breezily. “Problem? It seems you’re experiencing technical difficulties.”

Out of spite, Kim Namwoon shoves the screen at him, which is, of course, stopped on a beautifully rendered picture of Kim Dokja making out passionately with Yoo Joonghyuk for like, the millionth time. Kim Namwoon isn’t much of a Joongdok fan, to be honest, but the artist did really well with the color palette and subsurface scattering. Kim Namwoon would be full of envy if he had the energy to spare for it right now.

Kim Dokja takes in the screen for only a moment before his eyes flick back to Kim Namwoon’s face, completely unfazed. “Did you expect the internet to work fine through all this?” he says, confirming Kim Namwoon’s assumption that ORV-related shit gets censored through this skill. Maybe his screen’s blank or there’s a connection issues pop-up or something.

“I don’t know, maybe there’s some guy with an internet skill out there and I could just stand next to him for wifi,” Kim Namwoon says.

Kim Dokja almost looks surprised — there’s the slightest twitch in his brows — before he says, like the irritatingly smug person he is, “Well, it’s good to have imagination.” As if they don’t both know that yeah, there is actually a guy out there who can act as a walking talking wifi signal.

…Well, Kim Dokja doesn’t know that Kim Namwoon knows, at any rate. Kim Namwoon wonders if he can push it. How much knowledge can he pass off as lucky guesses before it becomes apparent he knows something he shouldn’t? Not that he’s planning on doing anything like that. It would make Kim Dokja suspicious. Make him poke around. End up asking questions Kim Namwoon doesn’t know how to answer. It’s not an ideal situation.

…Then again, it’s not like Kim Dokja likes him much anyway. Kim Dokja might decide against poking around and just kill him on the spot.

“Ahjussi, you’re such a pain,” Kim Namwoon says, letting his head loll back. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

Kim Dokja smiles thinly. “Frequently, actually.”