goo34ter

[goo34ter]

good golly work has been crazy. it’s literally the first week of camp and it feels like it’s been months💔

[goo34ter]

i fear i have not consumed enough salt in the past three days. My grandpa and I are running to CVS to make sure i don’t pass tf out.

[goo34ter]

Og post

Being a jayvik fan is a spectrum

All I can say to this is:

&

[goo34ter]

dog i got a whiff of your BO from the other side of the room, how.. I-

at a loss for words i cannot even 🧍‍♂️

[goo34ter]

There’s a reading of Arcane where the message is, in part: Viktor and Jayce are so brilliant, and love each other so much, that they will destroy every world they find themselves in.

And that’s true. But there’s also an even darker reading: that Jayce alone will destroy the world for anyone he thinks cares about him.

His loneliness and his need for love are so fundamental to him. And we see in the show how readily he commits to anyone who shows him something like love—to Viktor, who becomes his partner the moment he believes in Jayce; to Mel, throwing himself in her lap, desperate for comfort and touch.

And the world is lucky in some ways that it’s Viktor he attaches to, and not someone who has wanted from the start to use him.

It would not have been hard.

[goo34ter]

six fucking thirty AM on a sunday. go the fuck to sleep no one else is asleep.

[goo34ter]

i do not like how slippery teeth feel after you brush them.

[goo34ter]

i want to draw so badly but i lost my pencil case with four years worth of art supplies.

[goo34ter]

I was never allowed to eat the food in my fridge :/

[goo34ter]

So Be it.

Do I wish to crawl my way to success, drag broken limbs to cross a fictitious finish line? This is how I feel, to reach even a simple goal. As I crawl on my hands and knees, skin scraped raw as I drag my body forward, fingers digging into the ground dragging my weight. Jaw clamped shut, a snarl working on my features, seething breaths coming out quick and sharp, spraying spit between bared teeth. As eyes focus manically ahead, heat of my anger making salty sweat drip onto open lips as screams of desperation leave my mouth. Hair matted, blood sticky and dried to my temples, arms and limbs, open wounds leaving a staggering trail, evidence of where I started. Success seems to come so easily for others, trying so little when it comes to academics, I feel I have to work twice as hard, gritting my teeth, ripping nails from the nail beds as I claw my way forward. It does make the success that much sweeter, but when I stand in second place next to those who appear to effortlessly rise to the top, it leaves little satisfaction. Have I not worked hard enough? I will get what I want, no matter the blood it costs. My sanity may suffer but it is simply a cost of my success. If that is what it takes, then so be it.

[goo34ter]

good golly i love peanut butter.

[goo34ter]

stop making mouth noises, i’m going to explode.

dead serious.

[goo34ter]

Oh, so you COULD have answered the door.

staying up to talk to a girl when i know i need to go to bed

[goo34ter]

the process of chewing is so troublesome.

[goo34ter]

Gross i have to open canvas tomorrow.

[goo34ter]

it’s ok, i hate him too

just finished s2 e3 of the walking dead and i had to just sit in silence for several minutes at how evil shane is i cannot take it anymore i HAAAAAATE this man

[goo34ter]

Take The Bridge Back to Me

short series that takes place during season one of Arcane when Viktor begins to become consumed with discovering the mystery of the Hex Core. where you, the reader ,worry for his health but also the path he is paving, trying time and time again to extend an olive branch of desire asking him to slow down and step back.

An argument ensues when emotions come to a head, but we center around the aftermath and self discovery that follows the storm. Slowly but surely you gravitate towards one another once more, like a binary star system and unescapable orbiting, walking the delicate bridge back to one another.

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

Damaged Buttresses

The night of your unwarranted fight with Viktor did not aid in your ever present and recent struggle with sleep. Only adding to the plethora of reasons you should be awake, mind swarming with guilty phrases, accusing you of being horrible and venomous. Then your mind wormed a thought so devastating after your fight, that you believed you were the worst person to walk Runeterra." Will I ever see his figure full of life again? Will the next time I see him be in a hospital bed? Will he die with my venomous words and sour accusations in his mind?” The coming few days after didn't fair smoothly either, brain addled with guilt and worry, but heart too stubborn and broken to be the first to reach out, but nor did Viktor. You had suspected as much, that a man with such pride and perseverance as himself, Viktor would elongate your time apart. Stewing on his emotions, blinding himself with work as a repercussion. But was it such a repercussion when it was his obsession? His sustenance for life, his reason for living? 

Perhaps, such a love for science and machines has delved into that of an obsession, all consuming and devouring, festering in the brain, tempting and itching till relief comes in the form of answers and discoveries. But what lengths does he go to quell the bubbling urges? Will he leave a bloody trail sodden with not only his own but the people’s around him? Will there be anything left once he decides it's enough, that he is satiated and full. Will he ever be satisfied? With so many unanswered questions you can't help but think there's more harm than good with the road he's chosen to walk. But sacrifices must be made for the efforts of success and progress, simply, they should not be the livelihood and health of the man you love. 

By the time you've racked up such a list of unanswered questions you have reached the third day with no contact with Viktor, both parties riddled with avoidance and a wounded pride, raw with vulnerability, emotions laid bare on the table for each other to examine, to scrutinize. Yet your each passing thought is of the Man, always circling back,;to the hurt in his eyes when you insulted his pride, the angry slam of his cane, his shock when you screamed your concerns. 

He's never seen you so angry, you realize, always practicing the action of letting emotions wash over you to remain steady with honesty passionately, rather than angrily. His reactions to your words may not have simply been because they upset him, but because this uncategorized eruption of an emotion was thrown in his face, leaving him unprepared while already riddled with exhaustion and fatigue. Despite his many ethereal traits and capabilities, he is human too, and possesses the fragility of the human heart, so easily wounded.

As you think about this man, so deeply affected by his soul, the third night without him, you stand in the small kitchen of your one shared apartment. Gaze occasionally shifting to the worn down couch in the living area, expecting a familiar figure to be stretched out along its cushions, lazily poised while reading a book or jotting down thoughts. Yet, each glance is only met with the emptiness of the couch cushions bare of any figure or weight, merely an outline of what should be. shifting your body weight to your left, hip jutting out to support your shift of balance as you stand, It's evening, you realize, the day seemed to slip through your grasp so effortlessly the remembrance of work seems more like a feverish dream rather than reality.

Similarly, Viktor had been struggling along the three days since your painful dispute. The first night when he had left, he had wanted to open the bedroom door, kneel at your feet and hug your knees, pleading for forgiveness, a crumb of salvation to his tormented and overworked mind. Viktor is no fool, but has many flaws, much like the rest of mankind he too possesses the ability of incapability. He can become consumed, in thought, in work, in wonder, in discovery, and in creation, that it widdles him down to nothing; leaving you to pick up the pieces and build him up from the skeleton he has left behind. A habit he deems, though, it is more a trait. It's not like the clicking of your heels before leaving home, or twirling of hair as you think, more embedded within his soul, hard to shake as it is part of him. Yet, he is capable of reflection, though you have so colorfully informed him he does no such thing; Reflecting on his actions towards you and himself he can observe where his errors lay. 

The Hexcore has consumed him, his thoughts, his time, and his attention, leaving nothing for you in return. He’s close to a discovery he knows, but it's as if the moment he solves one puzzle the Hexcore presents him with another, so tempting like a juicy steak after months of starvation, he cannot resist himself. Temptation made obsession he realizes, instead of simply being tempted to discover the possibilities of the Hex Core, what he might be able to achieve, what it might lead them to do, he has allowed himself to obsess over its every capability. But you had been wrong too, very little of his health did you know about, he made sure of that. He is the one in his body, aware of its deterioration, does not need the person he loves most pointing out something so plainly obvious. Oh but he kept you in the dark about his health. He simply wanted to bask in ignorance a little while longer, pretend his health wasn't an issue, coming home to you after a long night at work like a dog deserving of treat.Though if you pushed a little more, inquired a few more times, Viktor would have taken you with him to his next visit. Allowed the Doctors to lay out every unfixable ailment, finally allowing you to bear witness to the ugly truth.

Through thought, Viktor leans to his right, seated at his desk in the laboratory, Hex core in his peripheral. He assumes the position of the thinker, resting his elbow on the table instead of knee, the damn joint never seems to stop aching these days, much like the rest of him. He glares, not at anything in particular, but glares none the less. Frustration needing somewhere to escape, somewhere to be expressed. The only action he can think of that uses the least amount of energy is the knotting of brows and an intense stare. Then when an ache forms between his brows, he shifts his focus to the papers in his line of sight, eyes straining to read equations and diagrams. When had it become so hard to see? Ah, its evening, room no longer lit by the harsh sun, instead what little light produced by distant terrestrial bodies bleeds in languidly. Like they're not in a hurry to provide him with the ability to see, unlike the sun that seems ever eager to provide him with sight.

What must be done to right his wrongs? Leave the hexcore behind sure, but he's so close to discovering how it can rejuvenate life, it could be utilized for so much more, to heal disease, injury, himself. He can't stop now. But then there's you, sweet decadent you, deserving of the world, laid on a golden platter for your every whim and plea. He can't split himself in two, though at this moment he wishes he could. Sending his better half to your door and embracing your figure with a reverence to make even the gods jealous. No, what would he say to you? He needs more time to think, to reflect, to formulate the correct phrase of words that would soothe a balm over your broken heart. One more day over obsessing on the Hex core couldn't hurt.

 But as Viktor works, he finds himself more focused on you, your scream of what could almost be described as agony during the argument, the fisting of your lovely hair he's sure hurt and stung like venom. What would he say? Very few times has he found it hard to find phrases, oftentimes having to shorten their length or hold his tongue. But now, he finds himself lost in how to begin, in where to start, maybe actions are better? But then what would he do, how would he do it? Too many questions left unanswered, think, think! As if to mock him the Hexcore spins and pulses in a flurry of movements, as if responding to his inner turmoil. At this insulting reaction from the Hex Core, Viktor thinks back to the conversation he had with Jayce later this afternoon, and their disagreement with Hiemerdinger. The yordle had demanded they destroy the Hex Core, deeming it nothing more than a destructive bad omen for Piltover. Infuriating, how could someone as old as him see past the potential of such a device, what humanity could accomplish? But it was his selfish desires to continue living that made him more sour towards the professor. And it was with Jayce's urgings that led him to pull himself up from his desk, “do what you have to” the words rattled in his mind like an echoing voice in a cave with nowhere to go. He knew just the person to inquire about this struggle, now, understood the drive for blind pursuit. 

Love, and desperation. Truly an ugly mix.