#20 notes and ill share (some) of them

[sunny-honeytears]

I have made 5 tdv ocs and two of them needed an au to exist guys can you tell im going crazy from this musical

[venomvalley]

PILLOW PRINCESS

sevika x fem!reader // 9.7k words

SUMMARY: A woman from one of Piltover's most prestigious houses bites off more than she can chew when she steps into a bar in Zaun looking for a bit of excitement. Unfortunately for her, she entered the wrong kind of establishment.

TAGS: 18+ only! corruption kink, brat taming, biting, oral (r!receiving), shimmer strap, size kink, choking, reader is a closeted lesbian and in her mid-20s, dom!sevika. poorly discussed societal issues (for obvious reasons)

NOTES: my first foray into the arcane fandom and its a fucking novel length shimmer strap fanfic. anyway i wrote this entirely for me but yall can read it too

-> READ IT ON AO3 | PILLOW PRINCESS MASTERLIST

There are two universal truths to the city of Piltover: its citizens are rich, and the social game is deathly boring. After endless years of networking and grandiose dinners and ballroom dancing, you've dealt with the weight of propriety for long enough.

The Undercity seems the only remedy to free you from your gilded cage.

The idea comes to you one morning in the library of your family home, perched atop a velveteen chair with a thick, dusty tome opened before you on the desk. Some boring old thing about the history of pottery and dishware to prepare you for yet another meeting with a potential suitor and his family.

You still aren’t sure how to tell your sickly, neurotic mother that you prefer the company of other women, and that it's been this way for a long time. She insists on grandchildren to perpetuate the family legacy, and you’ve resigned yourself to your duty as an affluent family's eldest daughter.

But you've put off the inevitable for as long as you can. Sabotaged all potential marriage up to this point by way of faking illness and poor attitude and un-ladylike habits that your mother should have beat you for doing.

And yet—

“Did ya hear about that orgy the Enforcers crashed?”

Guardsmen making their usual rounds, passing through the library. Unaware of your presence behind a particularly imposing bookshelf (though you curl in on yourself anyway) as you watch them between a crack in the books.

The taller man laughs. “Yeah, my buddy was there. Had thirty people crammed inside the backroom of a tea shop.”

“You couldn't pay me to live in the Undercity.”

“Well, it's good for one thing, at least.”

“The whores?”

“The whores.”

You turn back to your tome as the men pass by your field of view, joking amongst themselves.

Your mother forbade you from engaging in certain… activities until you married, solely in fear of a scandal tarnishing the family name. You shared your first kiss at the age of eighteen with the daughter of a merchant family inside the pitch-black closet of her bedroom, so nervous that you soaked through the back of your nightgown with sweat. A few months later, you began stealing from your mother's collection of erotica hidden in the library, and thought about the merchant's daughter while you touched yourself shamefully in the privacy of your bedroom.

And thus ends the extent of your sexual experience. A facet of your lifestyle that you’re neither proud of nor satisfied with.

But whores. You know what whores do. By their very nature, people talk, and Piltover is no exception. Perhaps the people of the Undercity are more welcoming than your family leads you to believe, and you could find a pretty woman with kind eyes who finds joy in the inexperienced.

Or perhaps they laugh you out of the building.

A bar, then. A more natural, relaxed setting, if the stories from your peers hold any ounce of truth to them. Grab a bitter-tasting drink, sit in some dark corner of the room, and watch for the woman of your wildest dreams to walk through the door.

But you need a plan. Venturing across that blasted bridge (an added layer of your gilded cage) will be daunting due to your mother’s incessant hovering, but you have a scapegoat in mind: your aunt, currently stationed at a research outpost across the bridge. The perfect excuse.

You have a cloak somewhere in your closet to wear over your clothes, a safety measure to hide your status. Gods know that gold-hemmed dresses and silk shirts and velvet pants would not fit well with the simple outfits of the Undercity (of which you have nothing in your closet to mimic).

For the first time in a very long time, with a plan set in stone, you're excited.

You lay low for the rest of the week in preparation for The Question. You appease your mother with her odd requests, help your father in his workshop, and even smile at the man from the artisan house that your family invites over for dinner.

You play your role perfectly, and when the time comes, stood at your mother’s bedroom door as she reads a book beneath the covers, you pray the gods smile upon you.

“Mother?” you ask, stepping into the grand room. The four-poster bed is a symbol of excess, as is the lush carpet and the hand-stitched curtains and the jewels she wears to bed.

She hums, glancing up from the page she's skimming.

“I was wondering if I could take a trip to see Aunt Elise?”

With a heavy sigh, she sets her spectacles aside and fixes you with a disapproving look. “Must you go now, child? Tristan is a highly suitable candidate for your hand.”

“It'll only be for the weekend. Please?”

“In this family, a weekend is a lifetime for the unwed.”

For a moment, you consider bashing your skull against the wall. You still might, given the trajectory of your life. Tristan is sweet, skilled in his profession, but he’s painfully boring. Enjoys his pottery and discussing the weather and making tea, and not much else of substance.

No excitement for you, which is perfect for your family. They can't have their little bird growing wings.

You plaster on your sweetest smile and take a seat beside your mother, the silken sheets smooth and cool against the back of your thighs. “But Mother, does absence not make the heart grow fonder?”

She gives you a poisonous glare then scoffs, waving you away with a glittering hand. “Leave me be. I'll tell your father to inform the guards of your trip.”

You gush your thanks then leave in a rush, only celebrating once the door to your room has been shut and securely locked, dancing a circle about your room and screaming into your pillows.

Over a quarter of a century on this planet, and you've never freely roamed past the bridge, always flanked by undercover guards or the overreaching eye of your father. But the underground is fair game. Nobody would expect you to venture so far away from your house’s influence and protection, and your mother trusts you to go straight to Aunt Elise's, so she won’t assign a group to accompany you.

An entire weekend of freedom.

You aren’t sure what to do with yourself the rest of the night, too filled with energy to sleep, so you pack a bag with your least gaudy clothes, a healthy amount of gold, and toiletries for your journey.

Then there's the matter of what clothing to wear. Given the manner of your visit, you want to dress a bit… sexy, but not opulent. Flaunt your assets, but don’t expose them. A corset and tight-fitting trousers it is. Boots to match. Pretty makeup to entice the pretty girls.

The following morning, your mother frets over you as soon as you step downstairs. Don't go out after dark. Walk straight to Aunt Elise's. Under no circumstances should you make a single detour. Advice you’ve heard again and again in a thousand different ways.

A guard escorts you to the bridge, exchanging words with the patrolmen. He gives them the note stamped with your house's symbol, bids you well, and sends you off.

Your first step off the bridge thumps your heart against the wall of your ribcage. A small, defining act of rebellion that signals the tone of this entire weekend. It feels wrong, like your mother might croak in direct consequence of your disobedience, but you take another step. And then another. And another. And the guilt gets easier to cope with.

Do you not deserve this? The right to move freely like all others in the cities?

You lift your hood and tighten the lapels of your cloak as you pass through the busy streets. A group of small children kick a ball back and forth in the square. Two men stand outside a shop, covered head-to-toe in soot, smoking cigarettes. A woman kisses her lover, bidding him a good day at work.

The lives of the people across the bridge have always fascinated you. So simplistic and happy, if a lot less fortunate. You know little about them—their schedules, their hobbies, their culture. All wrapped up in a neat little bow of dangerous.

The further down you go, the more the sunlight blots out and the air thickens, settling in your lungs like bitter-tasting smoke. Neon signs top the buildings, bathing the streets in bright, beautiful lights. But there's a wrongness to the place that you can't put your finger on. Something lurks in the shadows. Eyes pierce your back.

Despite your hesitation, you keep walking, mind set on completing your mission. You think to ask for directions to the nearest bar until a man you pass says you look like you suck a mean cock, and you abandon that plan in its early stages of development.

The streets continue to wind in a dizzying maze of lights, but the flurry of laughter and noise grows closer with each step you take. You need a bar. A nice drink, a pretty girl to talk to, and a place to recline for the mercy of your aching feet.

After rounding one final corner, the crowd thickens, and you know you've reached the lifeblood of the city. Nobody pays your blob of a form much attention, too busy arguing and smoking and dragging their peers along to their next destination.

You're enraptured. The street is so much livelier than Piltover, the people more outgoing and rowdy. Loud and animated, smiling and laughing, cursing freely.

But you haven't missed the dark corners where people weep, and cry out for food, and beg for money. You see the emaciation and the sickness and the violence on the outskirts of the crowd. Two dichotomies of the same city, wrapped up in a neon package.

You never could have expected this. So different from the stories that were fed to you by your elders, and you aren't sure how to process it. What to do about it.

Your mother would kill you if she knew you were here. Would lock you in your room and throw away the key until the time comes for the inevitable wedding, and then she would order your husband to do the same.

But for now, in this moment, you have none of that to worry about. None of the people you pass recognize the infiltrator in their midst.

A sign overhead catches your attention as a group of men stumble out the front door, hollering in celebration. You wait for them to pass before glancing inside, and spot a bar with alcohol lining the shelves of the wall.

Good enough for you after all this travel.

You step inside and stare at the room for a too-long moment, a scowling-faced woman shouldering you out of the way. The interior implies grandness. Velvet couches and tiled flooring, ceilings much too tall for the assumed outside. A golden light halos the room, smoke from the customers thickening the air. You aim a dry cough into your sleeve when the smell hits your lungs.

Women of all shapes, shades, and sizes, in various states of nudity pepper the furniture. You’ve never been granted the pleasure of openly ogling the feminine form, but in this place, they welcome it. Those seated on the couches spread their legs as you pass by, curling a finger to beckon you closer; one woman leans forward to display her sizable cleavage, brushing slender fingers down your arm; against the wall, a couple kiss like only they belong to the world, a thick, pale leg thrown over the man’s hip.

Your breathing quickens in your chest, heat boiling just beneath the skin of your face as you flee to an empty corner of the room.

This is not a bar.

On the back of your neck, a sweat breaks out, and you consider your options. For a too-long moment, you curse yourself for being so foolish as to think that the Undercity didn’t hold such open debauchery, and even more that you, sheltered as you are, could navigate it successfully. But if you could pull this off, what a way to prove yourself wrong. The unbelievable story you could tell your friends. A little rabbit wandering into the wolves’ den and making it out alive.

No running. You have to stay, to finish what you started.

The room falls quiet just as you ground yourself, and you glance about the room to spot the disturbance.

You find it—her—at the entrance. A presence larger than life, such gravitational pull in the sharpness of her eyes that you dare a step forward. Thick thighs, a trimmed waist, one muscled arm freed from her cloak. Dark skin and darker hair. Mouth-wateringly tall.

A squirrely man cowers as she passes, boots heavy on the floor, before the room fills with conversation and laughter yet again.

Dangerous. The antithesis of your family’s future for you, and you find yourself enraptured. A perfect revolt against the box you’ve been locked within.

She walks up to a richly-dressed woman standing at the bar, and they talk animatedly amongst themselves for a few long minutes. Long enough that your staring crosses into the territory of unsettling (you feel the strike of your mother’s palm on the back of your skull, and hear her remark of staring is rude, child).

Before you can look away, the richly-dressed woman waves a hand in your direction, and you tug the hood of your cloak further down your face in hopes that your presence continues ignored.

Fate does not smile on you tonight.

The woman that first mesmerized you strolls—no, not strolls, saunters up to you with a gait that screams ‘top of the food chain’. Anxiety flutters in your chest when she brazenly lifts your hood just enough for the light to hit your eyes.

Worse yet, she bends at the waist to lock gazes with you, as if flaunting the intimidation her height brings.

“I think you’re lost, princess,” she says, voice low and even, and a familiar heat licks up the back of your neck.

Humiliation.

Anger rears its ugly head, a response to her flippant tone. If she knew who you truly were, she wouldn’t dare address you in such a way.

You plant your hands on your hips, mouth curling into a disapproving frown. “I most certainly am not lost. I'm free to come and go as I please, same as you.”

Just like that, the tall woman grins, gaze sharpening as she takes you by the chin with large, warm fingers.

“You have any idea where you are?” The tips of those fingers dig into your cheeks, forcing a purse to your lips. “This isn't a place for girls like you.”

You freeze beneath her touch, a familiar warmth stoking in your belly, draining the anger from your bones. A sensation once relegated to explicit books and the caress of your own hand, a shameful thing that stamps you down to smallness.

“Girls like me?” The question comes out timid, garbled from the position of your mouth.

She drags her gaze up and down the length of your body, tilts her head at the salacious sight of your cleavage beneath the knot of your cloak. “Girls who have no idea what mess they're getting themselves into.”

Beneath the shroud of moonlight, you've touched yourself in bed to the exact type of woman that stands in front of you: rough around the edges, built like she could snap you in half (with a scowl to match), an aura that reeks of experience. Gods, her hands—large and warm with long, thick fingers that would feel much better in places designed for… stretching. Places that aren't the tender fat of your cheeks.

And then she releases you, rising to her full height. Looks down her strong nose at the surprise on your face. “Go home. Before you get yourself in trouble.”

You should heed her warning. She clearly knows more than you about many things, but therein lies the problem—your want to stay. A great reminder of why the risks you’ve taken must reap reward lest you trudge across that cursed bridge with your virginity still intact.

You'll most likely be engaged before the end of the month, and then you'll be tied forever to a man that your heart could never want. You need to know the touch of a woman before your fate is forever sealed.

Once upon a time, your mother said that your stubbornness would be your downfall.

“No. I came here for a reason, and I'm not leaving until I get what I want.”

“And what could a spoiled brat like you want with a whorehouse?”

“I don't think that's any of your business.”

“I'm making it my business.”

She takes three large steps forward, and you scramble back until the cold, hard wall halts you, the contents of your bag digging into your spine. Close enough to the woman to lean forward and kiss the swell of her chest (and what a lovely, large swell it is, tantalizing beneath the fabric of her cloak).

You understand now why the man cowered in her proximity. She commands the room, sucks the oxygen from your lungs with a simple glare.

Dangerous. Enchanting.

“No, I—I didn’t know this was a brothel.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you wish you could unspeak them, and by the smug look on her face, you’ve just proven her hypothesis correct.

“Oh, you’re a treat. My lucky day.”

“I don’t—“

She turns on her heel, heading toward the bar. “I’ll get you a drink.”

“I don't drink.”

A pause in her step to call out, “You do now.”

To be fair, you do drink, but you highly doubt that this place stocks anything more than swill, especially given the refined preference of your palette.

The woman from before steps up beside her as she waves the bartender over, and you watch, enraptured, as they lean in close and talk amongst themselves. Every few moments, they turn back to glance at you, and you shift your weight from foot to foot. You're no stranger to attention, but this is a strange place. The implication sends a chill down your spine. If anybody found out the true nature of your identity, you couldn't imagine what they might do.

The woman of your dreams holds out a glass to you, half-filled with amber liquid, and you glance around the room before creeping toward the bar. She bows upon your approach in a mockery of your status, and you yank the drink from her hand with a dismissing scoff. A bit of alcohol sloshes to the floor.

You can't stand her.

She traps you between herself and the well-dressed woman, long fingers curling around her own glass to lift it to her full lips. She tosses it back, the long line of her neck on display as—

You want her so badly your knees threaten to buckle.

Your drink goes down much less smoothly. Swill, just as you predicted. It burns your mouth, coats your tongue with the taste of antiseptic. A war of expression wages within you as your teeth grit on instinct to keep a grimace at bay.

“It’s so nice of you to join us, dear. Quite rare, but we’ve had a few Pilties work here in the past.” The well-dressed woman presses a hand to her chest. “You may call me Mistress Mave, and this here is Sevika.”

Your eyes squint as you stare at her, the bitter alcohol churning fierce in your belly. When you look over your shoulder, Sevika raises her empty glass in greeting.

And then you register Mave's previous comment.

Your head snaps around to regard her. “Wait, no! No. I didn’t come here to… work.” You wince at your choice of words, once again wishing you could take them back. “Not that there’s anything wrong with it, but I would do a very bad job.”

Mistress Mave’s gaze quickly cuts to Sevika before settling back on you. “So you’re a patron of this fine establishment?”

Beside you, Sevika takes a large gulp of her refilled drink, and you wince at the phantom burn in your own throat. “Girl didn’t even know this was a brothel.”

“Well, there must be some reason you’re still here.”

To ogle at a room full of under-dressed women. “Curiosity, I suppose.”

Mave shrugs. “As good a reason as any. Can’t be much excitement in that ivory tower of yours.”

“I liken it more to a gilded cage.”

She giggles, resting a warm hand on your shoulder, and you think for a moment that your insides might burn to a crisp. A wildfire of want rages within you, and the freedom of choice for the first time in your life dizzies you beyond belief.

You could buy a night with anyone in this room.

Unfortunately for you, the only person you truly crave cannot be bought, and she stares a hole through the bottom of her empty glass, lips twisted up in thought.

As if your gaze holds a tangible weight, she looks up at you. Leers at the expanse of your body like she can see through your clothes.

“So. You want some excitement.”

You swallow thick when she leans in close. Smells of leather and bourbon and something sickly-sweet that itches at the back of your throat. You wonder about her taste. The warmth of the space between her legs. What her expressive mouth might feel like on the more delicate parts of your body.

Now is the time. “Yes.”

A glint of metal slides across the bar top from Mave’s direction, only for Sevika to stop it with a palm (without taking her eyes off you, and that shouldn't be as arousing as it is). She picks it up with thumb and forefinger and presents it to you: a simple metal ring with a dangling key attached.

“Offer's open, princess, but I'll only ask once.”

You know what the key means. A private room. Alone with the most attractive woman you've ever seen. There's only one way this can end, and you're almost at the finish line.

So why do you hesitate?

Sevika pins you with a stare, commanding the attention of your gaze, and she must see the war that wages within you. She clenches the key in her fist and turns to walk away.

Your chest pangs from the sharp spike of your heart rate, and you clamp both hands around her thick wrist to halt her. “Wait, wait. I want to, I just… I've never done this.”

Yes. It's fear that leaves you wary. Fear of under-performing, of disappointing your family, of never coming back from this.

But the fear of never having Sevika triumphs all others.

Her lips stretch into a smile, eyes darkening to something predatory and heated. “That's all you had to say, princess.”

When she holds out the key again, you don't hesitate to take it.

Mistress Mave wishes you well as Sevika leads you toward a stretch of low-lit hallway at the back of the room. She walks you past door after door, muffled sounds of pleasure breaching the privacy of each room, and glances back to gauge your reaction. Raises her brows at the sight of your wide-eyed expression, but says nothing. You've already cemented your place in the realm of naivety. No need to rub salt in the bleeding wound.

She stops at the last door on the right. Unassuming, same as the others, and you aren't sure what you expected. You shift your weight as she takes the key from you and slots it into the lock, wary of what manner of debauchery might lay on the other side.

People enjoy all manner of odd things. Whips and braided rope and dripping candle wax. Orgies and audiences. Biting and bruises and blood.

Gods, you hope there isn't an audience.

She opens the door and ushers you in.

“Here’s your mansion for the night,” she says with a sweep of her arm.

You choose to ignore her comment, instead glancing around the quaint room bathed in golden lamplight. A full-sized bed sits in the center with two worn end tables on each side. A chair in the opposite corner, covered in dingy fabric. A suspicious red stain on the wall above it catches your attention, and nausea broils in your belly when you think too hard about how it got there.

You resist the urge to curl your lip.

Sevika steps up beside you with a wry smile, and your eyes lock on to the adorable gap between her front teeth. The only thing adorable about her. “What, not good enough for you?”

“It’s… fine.” At her amused exhale, you take a step back. “Isn't there a… a time limit on how long we can stay?”

“This room is mine. Nobody will bother us.”

Your eyes widen. “You have your own room here?”

“So you are judging.”

“I'm not. I just don't understand why anybody would want sex so often. I've heard it's more of a chore than anything.”

And yet, look where you are.

“What kinda shit do they teach you up there?”

You drop your bag by the door then step over to the bed and remove your cloak, spreading it out over the dirty sheets so you can sit comfortably. Who knows what manner of bodily fluids have befriended the fabric.

“No sex before marriage, sexual urges are a distraction, make babies until you either die or get too old.” You roll your eyes, reclining back on your hands as she steps over to you with a scowl. “My family is more… conservative than most other houses.”

“I can't believe I actually feel sorry for you.”

“How sweet.”

With a flourish, she removes her own cloak, tossing it behind her to land perfectly in the chair.

Truly, you try not to stare, but the woman is a masterpiece. Strong arms and legs, a trim waist, deliciously broad shoulders. For reasons unbeknownst to you, your interest most lies in the expanse of bare skin between her tight shirt and pants. The shadow of her hipbones, the dip of her bellybutton, muscles carved from stone.

Then there’s her arm. Metallic in make with a design so intricate you wouldn't dare try to map all the parts out, faintly whirring from the fan on the shoulder. A pretty gold that contrasts well with the shade of her skin. A glow of muted pink liquid settles in vein-like structures. You want to reach out and trace each little design with your fingertips.

Fever overtakes you, sends heat down your chest and spine to settle in the pit of your belly. You've never felt unadulterated want like this before.

She takes a seat beside you to remove her boots, spreading her legs to fit a warm one against yours. It's wholly unnecessary, and yet you squirm regardless, leaning into and away from the touch. The tilt of her mouth from your view of her profile—gods, what a lovely nose—proves that your reaction was her intention all along. You eat right from her palm again and again, and you love it (though you would rather die than admit such a thing).

In a rush, you're tugged to your feet and planted between her spread thighs, and she fusses with the hidden toggles on the back of your corset. She faces your body away from her, fingers hot and teasing against your spine.

You listen to her struggle for a long few moments, biting your lips to hide your laugh.

Who knew that a simple clothing item could best such a woman?

She growls, passing fruitlessly over each clip yet again. “How do you even—get this fucking thing—”

At the sound of a popping stitch, your smile sharply fades, and you twist away from her with a scowl. “Don’t rip it, you brute. This corset is worth more than your life.” A gift from your aunt for your twenty-third birthday. Your mother would surely kill you.

Her brow furrows, a shadow hiding away the pretty grey of her eyes.

Then the world flips on its side. One moment you're standing before her, and the next, you lay on your back, cushioned by a lumpy mattress, staring up at the ceiling.

The bed dips between your spread legs, and you lift your head to find her crawling over you. The sight is dizzying, a scene straight from one of your mother's novels—the heroine at the mercy of a dangerous warrior, much like a rabbit caught between the metal teeth of a trap. What always follows is a ravishing (you pray to any being listening that the pattern continues).

You swallow down the lump in your throat when she sits back on her haunches, your thighs framing the taper of her waist. Her touch sears you, alights your nerves with such sensation that your hips roll against hers on instinct.

In three quick tugs of her metal hand, the toggles on your corset snap from end to end, seams popping in the process. The clothing item falls away, revealing your breasts to her low-lidded gaze.

She tilts her head, eyes flickering over your midsection. “Cute,” she says, splaying a large hand over the expanse of your belly, callouses rasping against your skin. The tip of her middle finger brushes the underside of your breast, and something fierce and chaotic hammers away within your ribs.

You can't even be angry. Too aroused to conjure a complete thought. Already, the place between your legs thumps rhythmically, begging for her touch. For her mouth. For those long fingers you've admired since she took you by the face.

She quirks a brow. “Nothing to say?”

You shake your head in response, breath stuttering on each inhale. The position is overwhelming, your center trapped against her pelvis, and you wish so badly that you could feel her without all the clothing between you.

“You’ve really never done this before.” More statement than question, as if the realization suddenly befalls her. And once it settles in her mind, she leans forward, sucking a rough, toe-curling kiss into the pulse of your neck. “Innocent little Piltie. Never thought I'd see the day.”

Inhaling a breath through your teeth, you reach up to comb a hand through her loose hair. If you were a bit more brave, you would take hold of that blasted hair tie and rip it out, but you resign yourself to the soft, thick strands that frame her neck.

Her treatment of you is rough, but never unpleasant. Relieving, in fact, given your perceived fragility by those around you. She sharpens her teeth on your most vulnerable spots: the curve of your neck, the line of your collarbone, the swell of your chest. Suckles at your skin like you’re her own personal canvas. Pulls you close with a muscled forearm beneath the curve of your back.

And although you wriggle beneath her, unsure of how to cope with so much sensation, you refuse to let her have all the fun. You shove at her shoulders with a low whine, and she separates from you with a sharp exhale.

“What?”

You tug at the hem of her shirt with shaking fingers, thighs tightening around her waist. “Take this off.”

She rolls her eyes, grumbles spoiled brat under her breath, but obeys anyway. Under no circumstances do you stare at the flex of her arms as she stretches them out then tosses her shirt aside.

At the sight of her wrapped chest, your excitement wilts, mouth twisting into a pout. Your fingers fit beneath the material. “This, too.”

Once the tie is undone, the wrap falls over your thighs, and suddenly, she sits before you bare from the waist up.

Your first pair of breasts, here to touch and kiss and lick, to indulge in, and though you've lived a life of excess, you know that no food or extravagant purchase or amount of gold will ever fulfill you like the sight of her. The curve of them bottom-heavy, nipples a few shades darker than the color of her skin. A puckered scar slices between her lower ribs, the perfect size for a knife, and you want to kiss it.

You want to—you—

Gods, you can't even think.

She exhales a laugh, removing the wrap from around her waist. “You've never seen tits before?”

She seeks to rankle you, but your brain locks onto the shape of her areolas. The perfect shape for your mouth.

“None but mine.” You extend your arms, desperate for the taste of her skin, its warmth. The weight of her against you. Your mouth waters. “Come here.”

“Mind your manners. Say ‘please’.”

You don't hesitate, hindbrain need driving your actions. “Please?”

Humming, she leans over you on her forearms, chest hovering directly above your face, each breath ghosting her soft skin against your bottom lip.

By the end of the night, you're sure to die of a self-induced heart attack.

In a surprising stroke of tenderness, she cradles your head in hand as you suck a nipple into your mouth. You attempt to recall the scenes from your favorite books, how the women in them enjoy their pleasure, and draw upon your lonely nights in bed for inspiration.

“Harder, princess. You won't break me.”

At her request, you suck her breast deeper into your mouth, fitting your tongue against her pebbled nipple. She exhales a sigh against the crown of your head, canting her hips against yours, and you moan around her flesh, meeting her arousal with your own.

She pulls away with a wet pop from your lips, hands darting to the buttons on your pants. Makes quick work, tugging both them and your underwear down your legs before meeting the leather of your boots. You sit up to help her, unclipping the straps down the sides.

Your need is palpable, same as hers. The anticipation makes you clumsy and off-balance, a flutter of giddiness sending you into a fit of giggles.

She rips your boots off by the soles, stepping back to let you finish as she works to remove the rest of her own clothes.

Everything happens fast. Your trousers land in a heap on the floor at the bottom of the bed, and two different hands, one organic and one metal, grab you by the legs to seat you at the edge of the mattress. You blink and her mouth is on you, teeth latching onto the seam of your inner thigh. So close to where you need it, and you reach down to guide her with a hand in her hair. In a striking display of speed, she catches you by the wrist with her metal hand and pins it down to the bed.

As punishment, she moves her lips further up your thigh, marking her trail with sharp nips of her teeth. Pain melds into a pleasure that leaves your jaw slackening, your hips twitching toward the wet heat of her mouth, begging of their own accord.

You never thought you would enjoy being pinned down and marked up and thrown about like you weigh nothing, but Sevika has opened up a deeply-buried box of desires that can never be closed again. You want more this, of her, of whatever she chooses to give you.

You can dissect the why later.

“Please, Sevika. Please.”

The sight of her between your legs, furrow-browed and glaring, mean in the best possible way, sends another wave of heat to the pit of your belly. “Why should I?”

She rests her thumb on the root of your clit, trailing along its hood. Waiting for you to respond, to give her an adequate reason behind your selfish indulgence.

You don't have one.

“Because I need it.”

She clicks her tongue, moving her thumb to tease over your labia, dipping just enough into your entrance to coat her skin with your slick.

“Brat like you gets everything she wants. About time you had to wait for something.”

When your hips begin a desperate grind to chase the sensation, she pins you to the bed with her metal arm, your wrist still gripped in hand.

Only when you stop your struggle, when you submit beneath her does she give you what you've been begging for. You clench around nothing, muscles of your thighs tensing as she finally, finally presses her tongue against you. Long, languid strokes of soft wet heat that steal your breath each time she reaches your clit. She kisses your—your pussy like she might kiss your mouth (gods, how vulgar), rolling her tongue over your clit, sucking your labia into her mouth, licking into you so deep that your back arches off the bed.

The silly books hidden beneath your mattress could never do this justice. The pathetic feeling of your own hand could never compare. How foolish of you to believe otherwise.

You feel flayed alive when she pulls away with a wet squelch, a large finger pressing into you. “Cute down here, too,” she says quietly, as if musing to herself. Your thighs shake when she begins a steady rhythm, the schlick of your insides loud in the small room. “Sensitive.”

You've never been this wet before. She's carved out your innards and replaced the empty cavern with need and heat and instinct. You thrash against her hold, desperate for stimulation, and she presses her arm harder across your hips to keep you still.

This is what you've been looking for, craving for so long. To be trapped and vulnerable and at the mercy of a pretty, intimidating woman.

You can't do much to guide her besides whimper and moan and beg and plead, the only free part of your body—your hand—fisted in the sheets beside your head. She feasts on you like it's an act of worship, messy and wet, mechanical fingers curling around your own.

Once she latches her mouth around your clit and slides another finger into you, it takes an embarrassingly short amount of time for you to reach your peak. Your subdued hand tightens into a fist, metallic edges digging into your skin, but you can't bring yourself to care. Not when every muscle in your body tightens in preparation for an atom-rending orgasm.

Time suspends just before the coil in your belly snaps, and your chest burns from the rib-stretching breath you hold, and your knees curl toward your chest to fully expose yourself to her mouth.

She suckles hard enough that the pleasure sharpens into a knife, thick fingers still stretching you open, forcing through the first milking clench of your insides, and you break.

For a moment, you believe your soul separates from your body as every nerve alights with sensation. Fractals appear in the blackhole darkness of clenched-shut eyes. You curl in on yourself, muscles aching from how tightly they wind. Her muffled groan vibrates against you, and some shoved away part of your brain purrs at the thought of her getting off to this—to pleasuring you.

As quickly as your peak came, it leaves, and you sag against the sheets, extremities gooey and useless, gasping for breath. Utterly spent, wrung out, at her mercy.

She no doubt prefers you like this. Perhaps that's why she approached you in the first place: one of Piltover's finest standing in the corner of some seedy brothel, doe-eyed and scared, ripe for the picking. Perfectly corruptible.

Fortunately for you, this is what you came for.

A wet hand pats your cheek, hard enough to jostle your head. “Hey. You alive?”

Untrusting of your vocal chords, you release a throaty whine, blinking open tired eyes.

“Good. Now scoot.” She smacks at your flank as the bed slowly dips beside you, and your body jolts into action. “Top of the bed.”

If you had an ounce of thought to your brain or the energy to move your mouth, you would snap at her for being so demanding, for ordering you around like a dog. But your face burns when your pussy clenches around nothing, drooling onto the sheets.

You actually like this.

What is wrong with you? Your fantasies never ventured into pain-filled territory, and now you silently wish for her to spank you again like a misbehaving child. You should feel shame, but you don't, and you can’t help but wonder how that could be.

She is a witch, and you’ve fallen under her spell. The only theory that makes sense inside your orgasm-addled brain.

“Can I… return the favor?”

She stands before the end table, rifling through the contents of the drawer. Long, sinewy legs on display, the curve of her bottom perfect for grabbing. “No.”

“What? Why?”

“Because. I don't teach.”

“I’m a very fast learner.”

She turns toward you with a glare, hand holding two objects you can’t yet identify. “No.”

You pout, eyebrows canting upward in your best pleading expression, and you want to taste her so badly that you consider throwing a tantrum, but decide against it once she rejoins you on the bed. As if she would budge anyway.

Your eyes are drawn to the movements of her hands and the leather straps that she buckles around her hips and thighs. High quality and sturdy with a piece of thick fabric beneath a metal ring covering her pelvis.

“What is that?”

“You’ll see.”

She picks up a phallus-shaped object from between her thighs, and your eyes widen at the sight of her slotting it into the metal ring.

A fake… cock (gods, what's gotten into you?), of thick girth and average length. An inset of flowing pink veins. It's daunting, a bit scary to look at.

She expects you to take that?

You fiddle with your fingers as she coats the thing in lubrication, and although you don’t have second thoughts, per se, you need to know that she’ll take things slow.

“It looks like it’ll hurt.”

She smooths a rough palm over the skin of your thigh, squeezing the fat beneath her fingers. “Won't hurt you unless you want me to.”

You believe this utter stranger for some odd reason, and that eases the ache in your chest.

“Can we go slow?”

She scoots in close, to the same position as before—on her haunches, your thighs around her waist. Thumbs at the fat on your hips, looking down at you with a wrinkled brow.

“I’m not a monster.”

Your face softens at her hushed tone, shoulders relaxing from around your ears. “I know you aren't.” You brush a stray hair from her brow, palm cradling the blue-hued scars on her face for half a second before she pins your wrist to the sheets beside your head.

“I'm going to fuck you now.”

You flatten your lips into a line and nod, the grim expression on her face clearly wishing for you to shut your mouth.

You can do that, as long as she makes good on her promise.

The first brush of the fake cock over your clit is warm. Warm and giving and soft as a human body, which strikes you as peculiar. Because it isn't, and it shouldn't feel like an extension of her, but it does.

You tense up in anticipation, thigh muscles flexing, tugging her closer, and she squeezes at the flesh beneath her fingers. Says, “Don't. Relax.” She thumbs over your wet clit, a sudden rush of sensation that coils around the knots of your spine, and you bloom for her, sinking into the sheets. “There you go.”

She doesn't stop until your breathing deepens and the pit of your belly starts boiling with heat, and you shudder at the press of her cock against your entrance.

“Please. Please, just—”

“I know.” Her voice softens into an almost-coo, the closest thing to tenderness you'll most likely get from her, but it's enough.

Something sweet and warm swells in your chest as she presses into you, achingly slow—an inch forward, an inch back, again and again until her pelvis meets yours, your insides stretched deliciously, full up to your ribs.

And just like that, your mission is complete. Not only have you lost your virginity, but the most beautiful woman you've ever laid eyes on is the one impaling you. And as she promised, it doesn't hurt. She sees to your pleasure like she’s paid for it, still circling your clit, metal fingers carefully plucking a nipple. Plays your body expertly, makes you melt beneath her, morphs you into something pliant and needy—sexual being first, human second.

When she begins moving, she doesn’t stop, hips rocking in a long, languid rhythm that steals the breath from your lungs. The best thing you’ve ever felt, perfection, more you need more you need—

“Harder.”

A simple request, a two syllable word that defies the impossible weight of your tongue. It comes out garbled and strained, embarrassingly weak, yet the concentrated wrinkle of her brow throws you off.

No more teasing. This is serious.

“There’s a word you’re supposed to say,” she says, voice even-toned and normal, a sharp contrast to the way she’s ripped you apart, to how you gasp and whimper.

“Please?”

Begging comes easy as the rational faculties of your brain shut down one right after the other, and she leans forward, prosthetic fingers encircling your throat.

“Again.”

A light squeeze against the thump of your pulse leaves you moaning, the chill of the metal a perfect contrast to the flushing heat of your skin.

“Please?”

This time she grins, lips stretching wide, eyelids lowering to cast her gaze in muted shadow.

“Good girl.”

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as her thrusts pick up speed, her hips slapping against the back of your thighs, each bottom-out slick and noisy. With your free arm, you cling to her, the bend of your elbow fitting over the nape of her neck. She lets you pull her close, the muscled expanse of her stomach flattening against yours (impossibly warm, the skin soft, fuzzy below her navel), her teeth biting hard at the curve of your shoulder.

You clench around her as the sharp pleasure-pain darts down your spine, tilting your head back to expose more of your neck to the roughness of her touch—the fingers still heavy against your pulse, the mouth hell-bent on marking you for her own satisfaction (and, to a lesser extent, yours).

A burning sun builds at the base of your spine, the sensation deeper set than your previous climax, heavy between your hips, unraveling you down to your bone marrow. You relax into it, spreading your thighs in invitation. A silent begging.

Her lips latch onto the underside of your jaw, and you finally steel your resolve and rip the tie from her hair. Fist a hand in the thick strands, tug hard enough that she pulls away with a groan, thrusts pausing, almost nose-to-nose with you.

And she smiles, an excited, almost vulgar curl to her lips. “Bunny’s got teeth, huh?”

You want to kiss her. She even teases the idea, taking your lower lip between her teeth, and all the heat in your body rushes to your face. Your breathing quickens, every nerve in your body bending to her will.

Her mouth brushes against your ear, breath fanning over your skin. “Roll over.”

You open your mouth to complain, and she slides two slick fingers over your tongue, deep enough to gag you before pulling back.

She tilts her head, nose brushing against the heat of your cheek. “Are simple instructions too hard for you now?”

You hum your dissent around the intrusion in your mouth, tasting yourself on her skin.

She pulls out, leaning back far enough to loop her metal arm beneath your hips and flips you over. A rough smack to your bottom (”Up,” she grouses) has you rising to your knees, face buried in the sheets. The mattress dips on either side of your legs, and she wastes no time sliding back into you, the slick sound of your pussy bringing heat to your cheeks.

In this position, her cock feels impossibly deep, heavier and thicker inside you. The hands that grip your waist keep you still as she rocks her hips, building up to the rough pace she set before as you mewl and cry and drool into the corner of the pillow between your teeth.

Your brain whites out as climax overtakes you, fizzling all the tension from your bones, her hands the only thing keeping you upright as pleasure unfurls from the deep pit within your very soul. More full-bodied and languid than any others that came before, as if she's unlocked some pleasure center you never knew you possessed.

You'll think about this night for the rest of your life.

Her thrusts slow to a crawl to give you a chance to recover, palm soothing the sweaty skin over your spine. The perfect touch to center you back inside your body.

You're exhausted. Wrung out. Satiated and purring.

You reach a hand back to press against her lower belly, a silent signal that you're done for the moment. She pulls out of you with a chuffing laugh, massaging the fat of your thigh one final time before rolling off the bed and unbuckling the straps of her harness.

“Still alive?”

At the sound of her smugness, you open a bleary eye to glare at her, though you might get a bit distracted at the tufts of dark hair between her thighs and the sheen of sweat on her skin in the glow of lamplight. You consider biting her just as she's done to you, carving your signature into the thin flesh of her wrist, though your reasoning lies more in the realm of dog that's had their tail yanked one too many times.

She joins you in bed. Sinks into the sheets with a heavy sigh through her nose, beads of sweat drying on the bridge. Picks up a metal case from the bedside table and opens it to reveal a row of thin cigars, like the ones your father smokes.

When she lights it, the smell reminds you of home, and you swallow down the guilt that rises like bile in your throat.

Then silence.

You drift for a while, basking in the afterglow, before an emptiness opens up between your ribs. A strange loneliness that can only be filled by skinship. You edge toward her, bridging the gap between your bodies, and upon your first touch against her arm, her head snaps to look at you, eyes wary, brow pinched.

“I don't cuddle.”

You blink. “Oh.”

That stings. It shouldn’t, given the nature of everything that came before, her averseness to non-sexual touch, but you need… something. A hug, perhaps.

You scoot away from her and wince at the soreness of your muscles, curling up on your side.

Definitely a long, hot bath, with the floral smelling soaps and oil infused salts you keep stocked in the cabinet beneath your bathroom sink.

Surprisingly, she doesn’t leave. She stays next to you in bed, still puffing away on her strangely small cigar, and the bitter smell settles a comforting warmth in your lungs. Like a mug of tea on a cold night, or dinner by the fire, or the smell of clean sheets.

Briefly, you wonder what memories bring her peace. If she even possesses such things.

“You really should go home,” she says, smoke curling from her nostrils. “There’s nothing else for you here.”

You pick at a cigarette burn in the comforter, unable to meet her eyes. “You’re probably right.”

“I am right. You’ll be chewed up and spit out before sunrise.” She leans in close, eyes lidded, the smell of tobacco soaking into her skin. “You’re lucky I found you first.”

You want to kiss her, to smudge your lipstick against the curve of her mouth, but you can’t find the bravery to follow through. No doubt, she would grab you by the face and say, ‘I don’t kiss.’

Instead, you smile. “I agree.”

She huffs out a breath through her teeth, settling back against the headboard.

And then she rests a large, warm hand on your head, thumb smoothing over the curve of your cheek. Tender and intimate—much too sweet for the tone she's set thus far.

“This is all I can give you.”

You lean into her touch like a dog begging for a scratch, uncaring of how pathetic it makes you seem. “I understand.”

You lay like that for a while. Soak up her warmth and attention as the air thickens with the smoke from her strange cigar.

A piece of you mourns for the future, for the inevitable truth that you'll never see this woman again. You'll leave to Aunt Elise's in the morning to heed Sevika's words, and you'll go home to your mother's cage and Tristan's proposal, and you'll accept your fate with a smile.

“My family doesn't know I prefer the company of women,” you whisper, and you aren't sure why you chose her, but you have to get your secret out before the noose tightens around your neck. “I know you don't care, and I'm not asking you to. I just needed to say it out loud for the first time.”

She sighs. Quietly says, “Well, you did.”

Her comment is not angry, or snarky, or bitter, but pitying. Sympathetic.

You don't really deserve it.

“Thank you. For everything.”

She scrunches her nose in discomfort, but says nothing. Pulls away from you to stamp out the fire of her strange cigar.

You wonder what she’s thinking. What she’s been thinking this entire time. More of a mystery than you could have ever predicted.

Why did she choose you? Was it because of your perceived status, or in spite of it? Did she enjoy what happened? Was it like scratching an itch, or will she think about you from time to time?

Perhaps you’re the one thinking too much, but your mother once told you that your first time would be remembered for the rest of your life. (Another reason why your husband should take your “purity”.) You’re an hour out from the experience, but you already know she’s right.

As the night continues, you have each other again and again and again, trying all manner of things. She lets you suck on her—“they’re called tits around here, princess”—as she stretches you with two fingers. Lets you ride her thigh for twenty minutes while she leaves kisses on the column of your throat (a particularly erogenous area for you, you discovered). Even lets you take a hit of her small cigar in between rounds, and you cough so hard you almost throw up.

During each downtime, you talk. About Piltover, and your trip through the Undercity, and your hobbies back home, and your family, and your suitor. She says little each time, simply dozing on her side of the bed as you babble away, and you aren't sure why she lets you talk her ear off. She's a puzzle you lack all the pieces to.

By morning, you’re covered in hickeys and bite marks and deliciously sore between the legs. Sevika snores next to you in bed, on her stomach, head half-buried by her pillow. Hair blanketing her face.

You take stock of yourself as you stretch out your legs. Achey but relaxed, foggy-brained by the throes of sleep. You don't regret last night. There's no guilt or shame rustling around inside your head. You accomplished your mission with outstanding success, and your heart feels lighter as a result.

But something nags at you: the prospect of going home to your gilded cage.

And after seeing the streets of the Undercity, the circumstances of the people who live here, your dread does inspire guilt. Your parents never told you about it, forbade you from ever seeing the heart of the destruction, and you feasted on the lies because you didn't know any better.

Well. Now you do.

And still, you aren't sure how to help. If you would even make a difference.

You never expected this outcome from what was supposed to be an exciting journey to sleep with a pretty woman.

For now, you'll go to your aunt's then you'll return home and play your role well and forget that this night ever happened for the sake of your sanity.

Tradition never changes. Suffering is an unfortunate facet of life. Destiny is set in stone. What's the point of trying?

All you can do is make this moment last.

You roll onto your side and roam your eyes over her face, the features you still see beneath her curtain of hair. She grumbles in her sleep, nose scrunching as she dreams.

Maybe it would be better if you left now. To rip the bandage off. There’s nothing more to say, nowhere to go from here in regards to your severely short relationship with Sevika.

You creep out of bed and collect your clothes from the floor. Choose a new outfit from your bag and quietly slip it on. Behind you, the bed creaks, and you freeze in place, turning your head to look at her.

Still asleep, stretched out on her back.

You wish you had some paper to write a note with, to share some last minute words. But you don’t, and your chest aches at the thought of leaving her without saying goodbye.

It’s better this way.

On your way out of town, you drop your entire bag of gold next to a sickly woman and her child. The same duo you saw last night, cuddled beneath a shared blanket.

She smiles at you, grabs you by the hand and squeezes as tight as she can manage.

A drop in the water to solving the issues that plague these people, but it’s a start. Not like you need the money anyway.

When you finally venture into the research outpost after a while of travel, Aunt Elise greets you with a twinkle in her eye and a crinkled nose and says, “You need a bath, girl.”

[gracieheartspedro]

Your Needs, My Needs

THE PRELUDE

a masterlist of how you can help gaza

pairing: cowboy!joel x f!reader (no outbreak)

description: you have made it to your new home in taylor, texas. your anxiety of owning your our home and being alone is coming to a head, but you need to be productive. a trip to the local furniture turns into you meeting some locals and your new cowboy neighbor.

word count: 3.7k words

warnings: there is no smut in this part. still MINORS DNI! no use of y/n! vague talk of reader's old life before texas, no real description of the reader, description of small age gap, joel being a sarcastic shithead. sarah is canon, so joel is a dad. distracted driving. talks of consuming food. reader has mental illness, mainly described as anxiety, but could be other illnesses. I make it pretty vague. the reader likes football? lmfao

author's note: this is the prelude to the many parts I have planned for these two. this is sort of just setting up everything. I want a slow burn for these two, so hopefully these first couple parts make you guys sweat with anticipation. I also wanna quickly thank all of you for the love on the preview of this fic. I hope you all enjoy it! let me know what y'all think. YEEHAW!

“Sign here and she’s all yours.”

When you brought the pen to the dotted line, you knew that this was going to be the start of your new life. 

While you were nervous about taking on such a huge project, you were ready to find solace in your alone time and work on yourself along with the beautiful farmhouse. You needed some peace and quiet, anyway. 

She was set on 20 acres of land on the outskirts of a small town called Taylor. The land looked like something out of a movie, it’s rolling hills and sprawling fields. 

The house was about 130 years old and needed a lot of TLC. You found it online after hours of scrolling. It was still liveable, but the older couple who owned it before moved to a retirement community and could not keep up with the maintenance. When the inheritance hit your bank account, you called the local realtor and told them you would be flying out there to check it out. When the car pulled up the long driveway, you knew that it would be yours. 

Texas was a new start for you. And boy, were you ready for it. 

You did not have a lot to move in, just a small UHaul full of boxes of clothes and miscellaneous trinkets. You left your furniture in your shared apartment in New York. You needed to find something that was more your style, anyway. 

You moved everything yourself. You were not sure you were ready to trust anyone to help you move in. You knew no one locally, anyway.

It took about three days to get settled, and by that, you simply put up a shower curtain and finally put sheets on your mattress on the floor. You had also created a laundry list of random things you wanted to get done around the house in the next month. Priority number one was getting the bathrooms working. The toilet downstairs doesn’t stop running and your upstairs one won’t flush at all. 

You decided that today was the day you would go out and buy some furniture for your living room and bedroom. You would also inquire to some locals about a plumber. It would take you days to work up the courage to reach out to someone in the phone book, so here’s to hoping you just run into someone on the street. 

You hop into the sedan that you were renting until you could buy a car. It was nice but it was no match for your long dirt driveway. You already expected to pay extra for all the dings on the exterior. 

The roads that lead into Main Street are long and winding. You loved driving, so when it was nice enough to put the windows down, you did so. 

Since there’s no one on this specific stretch, you decide to switch the CD you had shoved into the disc drive, opting for another mix you had made years ago. The radio never played what you wanted, especially the local stations in Taylor. 

In your distracted scramble for the CD, you don’t take note of the large stallion running next to your car. The CD is wedged between the seat and the main console and your fingers cannot reach the awkward position. 

You’re not speeding. But when a giant horse runs out in front of you, you can not hit the break quickly enough. You stop breathing, bracing for impact. You jerk the wheel slightly, swerving away from the steed.  Before your front end can make an impact, the horse is snatched back towards the divot in the road. 

You are in complete and utter shock over how abruptly it all happened. 

Your eye eventually catches a man on horseback, his cowboy hat shields most of his face, but you are more focused on how built this man looks. His biceps were straining against his button-up shirt as he held the lasso taut against his chest. His legs were locked around the brown stallion he was on, his jeans riddled with mud and dust. He had dark curls that peaked out from under his hat.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” You yell, your car slowly inching forward from its spot in the middle of the road, “Where did that thing even come from?”

The mysterious cowboy just shakes his head and trots away, clicking his tongue to guide the horse back into the field. 

Your heart felt like it may leap out of your chest. A car was chugging down the road ahead of you, so you knew you had to move out of the way. You turn into your lane and slowly start down the road again.

You do not even bother trying to find the CD, again. You would rather sit in complete silence. 

-

When you make it to the small stretch of downtown, your heart rate slows down. You spot a local furniture store that looks a bit dated. It was your best bet plus, you wanted to stand on solid ground and gain your bearings. 

You parallel park rather terribly and hop out of your car. You huff loudly, throwing your purse over your shoulder and slamming the door behind you. 

A hot cowboy saved your life. 

It’s the most Texas thing that’s happened to you since you moved here. 

You head inside the storefront. A smaller white-haired lady sits at the front desk, her head in a gossip magazine. 

“Well, hello there,” You muster in your best cheery voice, trying to act like you did not almost die, “I’m lookin’ for some furniture.”

She chuckles as she places her reading next to the register, “Well, you came to the right place, sweetheart.”

You return the laugh, glancing around the large store. Couches and recliners in rows in the front, wooden bed sets lining the back wall. You were so indecisive, you were not completely sure where to start. 

“I need a bedroom set and a couch or two. I just moved into th-”

“The old Caldwell farmhouse,” She cuts you off, hopping off her stool, “Saw you movin’ in a couple days ago. My boy is your neighbor.”

The joke about small towns is always true, you know that already. Everyone knows everyone else’s business. You could not shit without someone knowing about it. 

You raise your eyebrows, acting like you’re shocked she knows about you already. “Yes, that’s right. Your boy?”

“My oldest son, Joel. He lives across the way from ya,” She starts gesturing towards the couches, “Pop a squat on one and see which one ya like.”

You end up sitting on every couch before landing on a brown leather one with a matching loveseat. The old woman is a great saleswoman on top of being sickly sweet. She told you since you are one of her first customers of the month, she would give you a great discount on a coffee table. You were a sucker for a good deal. 

You knew what bed set you wanted immediately. It was a light-washed wood with tall pillars sticking out of every corner. It came with two matching dressers and one nightstand. It was only you, so you didn’t quite care about another side table anyway. 

When the lady starts tallying up your total, you watch the slow-moving downtown. A couple walking across the street into the small diner. An older gentleman walking his small dog. The rickety old trucks that loudly took up the roads. 

You’re so stuck in your head, you don’t even hear what your total is. All you do is hand over your credit card. She smiles and giggles as she swipes the card. 

“So I’ll have my boy deliver it to you tomorrow. He is busy workin’ today, but I’ll have him get it to you. He’s quite the handyman, always busy doing jobs around town. Will you be home in the morning?”

You would have to have some strange man in your home to set up the heavy wooden furniture. It made the hairs on your arm stand up. You knew you would not be able to haul it all, so you had to take the leap of faith and hope and pray this frail old lady’s son is not a serial killer. Or stalker. Or both. 

You needed your furniture, after all. 

It will be okay, you tell yourself. 

“U-uh, I will,” You swallow, “I don’t work right now, so I’ll be home all day.”

“Oh, goody! I will send him your way in the morning. He may have his brother with him just to get the bed up your stairs, but I promise they are good boys. If they aren’t, you come to me and their mama will deal with them.”

You laugh nervously, “Of course, thank you so much.”

–

You had woken up late, your anxiety creeping up on you last night. Your brain would not stop racing. You didn’t fall asleep until 2 am. You hop out of bed around 10:30 and wrap yourself in a cardigan. You have been leaving all the windows open at night, but you can tell the seasons are shifting because it gets so cold at night. 

The doorbell rings and it’s like your heart falls out of your chest. You know that after you open this door, you’re welcoming in someone completely new and unexpected and it makes your whole body jitter. You make your way to the front door and take a deep breath before opening it. 

Of course. It’s him. The hot cowboy. 

It made sense. The endless green across from your home had to be part of his property. The road you almost died on yesterday was right beside his land. His house was tucked right across from the end of your driveway, with countless barns spread across a couple of acres.

You were secretly hoping he would be some silly-looking hillbilly, but instead, you find out your delivery man is the ridiculously attractive cowboy from the day before. His hair is tidy and dark without the cowboy hat on. It’s peppered with some white hairs, but it only adds to his appearance. His flannel has the top three buttons undone and his jeans are stained with age. You are finally able to get a good look at his face with no shadows covering his permanent scowl. 

He had to be about 10 years older than you. You were not too far off from wrinkles, but you were still young enough to bear children without being considered geriatric. 

He squints at you when you swing the door open. The sun is hitting his eyes, highlighting the warm rich brown color. 

“Howdy neighbor,” He greets, a small smirk plays on his lips, “’m Joel. Nice to meet you officially.”

You introduce yourself, trying not to stutter as you say your name. He made you nervous. You chalk it up to just being nervous around men in general. But it’s the way his eyes trailed you as you moved just slightly.

You feel the need to clear the air because of the way he’s staring through you. 

“And uh, listen, about yesterday,” You try to apologize, but he cuts you off by raising his hand. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time an outsider got themselves hurt bein’ reckless down the backroads. Just glad you didn’t hit my horse.”

The response has a bit of a bite to it. You back up a step, your body also taken aback by his directness. You are used to confrontational people, but you’re not used to Southern folk being that way. 

“No, next time I’ll aim for the ditch and tell my insurance that there was a silly cowboy in the road that I had to miss.”

You can tell by the sheepish smile on his face that he was not expecting you to be feisty.

“Don’t think they’d give ya’ much money for that,” He says in a hushed but matter-of-fact tone.

You relax your shoulders, trying to collect yourself. “Probably not.” 

He turns back to his truck that has your bed frame in the back of it, disregarding the previous statements. “My brother is comin’ by in a few to help me get this stuff in.”

“Well, let’s not let all the air out of the house right now,” You extend the door wider for him. You are giving this man full access to your home now. You try to suppress your obsessive thoughts and instead decide that you know exactly what you can have him do while you wait. You remember his mom told you he was good with his hands, and since he wants to be snarky to you in the comfort of your own home, you would try to pick his mind about some of your home projects. “Come in, let me ask you something.” 

You begin, gesturing him into the entryway. He accepts the offer, kicking his boots off on the porch. You appreciate his thoughtfulness and for a second, you realize you may be the asshole. 

“Mama told you I was a handyman, didn’t she?”

You giggle, finding it funny that he could read the situation you were about to put him in. “She sure did.”

“She needs to stop tellin’ folks that,” His accent is so thick and syrupy, that it makes your insides tingle, “Got too many people askin’ me to fix their stuff.”

You guide him to the bathroom right off the living room and kitchen, “You know much about plumbing?”

“I’m assumin’ you don’t,” He mutters, “What do you have goin’ on?”

You point to the loudly running toilet, “This thing won’t stop running no matter what I do.”

“Well, what have you tried doin’?”

You both stand in the hallway, you looking up at him with furrowed brows, him looking down at you with anticipation. He was quick-witted, and you started to hate how much you liked it. He gave your sassiness a run for it’s money.

“I’ve flushed it a bunch of times. Cursed at it and kicked it,” He stares at you blankly. It makes your stomach roll, “Jesus, Cowboy, can you give a girl a break?”

He enters the narrow bathroom, approaching the toilet like there may be a bomb in it. He reaches towards the handle and jiggles it violently, which makes you giggle a bit. That’s exactly what you did. 

“So, why here?” He questions, squatting in front of the bowl. He continues to mess with the handle while you process his no-context question.

“What Texas or this bathroom?”

He chuckles, his smile spreading across his beautifully tanned skin. 

“You got tons of jokes, huh?” 

You don’t respond, just shrug your shoulders. He stands up, wiggling the top of the tank off the toilet. You watch his hands lock onto the sides of it, ensuring it will not drop off and shatter on the dated tile. 

“Texas,” He strains, freeing his left hand to mess with the handle. You lean against the door frame. 

You are not even sure why Texas. You just needed to get as far as you could away from New York. You did not want your past to catch up with you, and you did not want to get stuck in a city again. But you could not share all this with a random stranger. He may be in your house, looking at your commode, but you can’t completely trust him yet. 

“I just wanted a change of scenery. I always wanted a farmhouse.”

“Lots of upkeep,” He jabs, doing one more once over of the tank, “‘M thinking you may need a new float or chain. I can get my tools tomorrow and come over to fix it. May need to order a new part, though.”

You push off the wall, arms still crossed over your front. He puts the top back on and finally makes eye contact with you. 

He would come over again? To fix your toilet? 

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, ‘m sure it’s the chain or float.”

“No, I m-mean,” You start to stumble over your words. You swallow, collecting yourself for a moment so you do not look crazy to him. “Are you sure you’re okay coming back over?”

He gives you a thin-lipped smile, “What are neighbors for?”

-

His brother arrives in a rickety old truck at about 15 past 11. He looks a lot like him, but shorter. He has those same eyes though, permanently tired. 

“Nice to meet ya, ma’am. ‘M Tommy.”

You grab his hand to shake it and he lingers a bit longer than you anticipated. Joel stayed on your front porch, putting his boots back on to start unloading the furniture. 

You are thankful the weather was kind today, especially since every evening this week has been stormy. The sun was beating mighty hard on the men as they collaborated on getting your furniture inside.

While they get everything set up, you busy yourself making lunch. You get the bright idea to make them each a sandwich. It’s the least you could do. 

You pile the cold-cut turkey and cheese onto the white bread you had, topping it with some mayo. When you hear their footsteps trailing down the stairs, you race out with the sandwiches on a porcelain plate.

“For your troubles,” You say before standing in their path to the door. Tommy smiles brightly, instantly snatching a sandwich from the plate. 

“Thanks, darlin’,” He takes a big bite, humming in satisfaction. He walks around you, leaving you standing in front of Joel. His eyes are piercing, his lips ajar a bit, but nothing is coming out. 

“Turkey and cheese, I promise.”

He reaches out grabbing the sandwich from you, “No sweet tea to go with it?”

Your heart sinks, instantly becoming self-conscious of your decision to be nice to these hicks. He was so intimidating with his steely expressions and broad shoulders. There was an essence about him that did not speak to his stone-cold exterior. It was more gentle. But you could only see hints of it when he smiled. 

He can tell the wheels in your head are spinning. Before you can speak, takes a bite of the sandwich and shakes his head. 

“‘m kidding, Yankee. Thank you, I ‘preciate it.”

You settle for letting out a long sigh and returning to your kitchen. You spend a couple of minutes, putting back all the ingredients in their proper places. 

You hear Tommy yell for Joel, his voice kind of panicked. You race out the front door and see Tommy balancing your coffee table off the side of the truck. Joel is running to his aid, the dust from your driveway kicking up behind him. You hold your breath watching Joel help him balance the wooden piece of furniture. 

“Can’t have you breakin’ your back before homecoming,” Joel fusses, guiding the legs of the table to the ground, “You know damn well Maria would have me, too.”

“Yeah, what’s a homecoming game without the head coach?”

You perk up, instantly becoming interested in the conversation that you weren’t supposed to be listening in on. The two men lift the table and start heading your way, right on the threshold. 

“You coach football?” You ask Tommy, trying not to show your excitement. You loved football, it reminded you of Sundays with your grandfather. You never got the privilege to go to an actual game, even in high school. 

“Yes, ma’am, for the local high school in Taylor. We are gonna make it to the state championships this year.” 

You glance at Joel when he says it. He rolls his eyes, “Gotta win at least one game to do that, Tommy.”

They place the coffee table right in front of your new leather couch. Tommy grunts, trying not to argue with his brother in front of a strange lady. 

He can’t help himself, though. He instantly snaps back at Joel.

“You know them boys have been practicin’ day in and day out. Why ya gotta be so negative?”

Joel places his hands on his hips, “Cause Sarah told me the guys in her grade are a bunch of dummies. I highly doubt they are ready to kick Georgetown’s asses.”

Tommy starts towards the door, “Just cause Sarah says it, doesn’t mean it’s true.”

“I believe my honor student daughter before I believe my dumbass little brother.”

You are not shocked Joel has a daughter. You are just shocked that she’s in high school. He looked too young to have a teen, but then again, he did have some grays sprouting. You cross your arms over your chest, watching Joel scoot the table across your hardwoods. 

You’re staring at his hands, trying to conjure up a wedding ring on his left finger. But there’s nothing. Maybe he did not wear it when he was working. Maybe he just forgot to put it on this morning. Maybe his passive aggressiveness towards you was simply to ensure there was distance between you and him, giving you subtle hints that he was taken. 

He finally glances up at you, stopping in his tracks when he notes your gaze. 

“Somethin’ wrong?”

You have no clue what to say because you are so trapped in your head about him. He’s a stranger, god damn it.

“N-no, everything is okay.”

“Don’t look it.”

“I just was not expecting the coffee table to look so dark against the hardwood,” you lie, pulling whatever you could think of out of your hat, “Doesn’t it look dark?”

Joel looks between the floor and the table, shifting in his stance, “Don’t know bout that.” 

“O-oh okay.”

“Alright, well we got ya all set up now,” He starts to head towards the entryway. You trail behind him like a lost puppy, “I’ll be by sometime tomorrow with that part for the toilet. I’m expectin’ another sandwich for that one.”

You grab your front door as you wave to Tommy as he heads for his truck. He smiles and gives you a head nod. Joel turns back to you, his ears perked up for a sarcastic jab from you.

  You think back to something he said to you earlier. You crack a smile, “What are neighbors for?”

PART 1 COMING SOON!

taglist (ppl who asked to be tagged): @joeldjarin @taylorsmakingfuckingmacandcheese @mysaviorjoelmiller @brittmb115 @missladym1981 @jasminedragoon

[zoloft3]

happy birthday, katsuki

☆彡katsuki bakugou x gn! reader

tags -> established relationship, married, romantic dinner, no use of y/n, short and sweet

a/n : short drabble for 4/20 hehe. happy birthday to my one and only, ill never get over him, shoot me now :) it's a bit rushed so don't judge.

-------༚☆༚-------

You sighed as you placed the last dish on the table, sinking against the table in relief. Six hours of cooking, finally finished. You were going all out this year. No one turns 30 more than once.

It wasn’t a normally fun milestone, and you knew Katsuki wasn’t happy about getting any older, so you wanted to make it special. You'd made some of his favorites of your dishes and some of your favorites of his. One of the best things about marrying him was the sharing of family recipes. So much good food that only layered and improved from the both of you cooking them together. Katsuki was a tough kitchen partner, but so were you. The memories of all the times you'd spent cooking together would be cherished by you forever.

You checked the clock, only ten minutes before he normally came home from patrol. Quickly, you finished setting the table, adding a small vase with snowdrops and forget-me-nots as the final touch.

The door opened and your ears perked up. You threw your apron over the back of the couch and rushed to the door.

There he was, simply taking off his shoes, but god was he gorgeous. The sight of him still gave you the same butterflies that it did when you were fifteen.

“Hey,” You smiled, biting your lip to hold in your excitement.

“Hey,” He stepped in to kiss your cheek and hug you.

You squeezed back tightly, “Happy Birthday, Katsuki.”

He simply hummed in response, leaving a small kiss on your shoulder as he pulled away.

“I made dinner,” You took him by the hand into the dining room.

“Fuck,” He stood stunned when he saw the spread, “You didn’t have to do all this.”

You just smiled and pulled his chair out for him, “C’mon, don’t let it get cold.”

It took him a moment, a second to realize that this wasn’t a dream. He really did love you, and you really loved him. So, he did as he was told and sat. You sat across from him and everything melted into place. All the food was perfect and so was his company. You wouldn’t trade a dinner spent just talking about your days for anything. It was so rare with you both being heroes, but you savored every minute whenever the both of you got the chance.

Desert (and wine) came and went, and you guided him to the living room. His mother’s old record player spun one of your favorite albums. Soft and slow, you danced with his arms around you, your head leaning against his shoulder.

Once he caught you falling asleep, it was his turn to lead you. He brought you to bed and then you were lying on his chest, his hands on your waist and in your hair. Another rarity, sleeping in bed together. So often your schdules would oerfectly missalign. One of you on night shift while the other slept from a 14 hour work day. It happened too much for your liking. So this was another moment to be savored from the night.

It didn't matter if you talked or did anything at all, you and Katsuki worked best simply coexisting. Two planets orbiting each other. There was nothing you wouldn't do just to be next to him.

“Thank you,” He whispered to you in the warm silence, “For dinner, for everything.”

“Thank you for being there,” You turned up to kiss him softly.

He kissed you back, his heart calm and steady under your palm, “Wouldn’t have missed it for anything.”

And you slipped into unconsciousness, the thread of his pulse under you, leading you off into the land of dreams.

-------༚☆༚-------

a/n : thank you for reading!! i'm sorry it's been a minute since i last posted school was kicking my butt and I had to take a quick break but I promise im back!!

don't be shy and leave some notes/comments as they truly are my lifeblood <3

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Precaratize bosses

I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me SUNDAY (Apr 21) in TORINO, then Marin County (Apr 27), Winnipeg (May 2), Calgary (May 3), Vancouver (May 4), and beyond!

Combine Angelou's "When someone shows you who they are, believe them" with the truism that in politics, "every accusation is a confession" and you get: "Every time someone accuses you of a vice, they're showing you who they are and you should believe them."

Let's talk about some of those accusations. Remember the moral panic over the CARES Act covid stimulus checks? Hyperventilating mouthpieces for the ruling class were on every cable network, complaining that "no one wants to work anymore." The barely-submerged subtext was their belief that the only reason people show up for work is that they're afraid of losing everything – their homes, their kids, the groceries in their fridge.

This isn't a new development. Back when Clinton destroyed welfare, his justification was that "handouts" make workers lazy. The way to goad workers off their sofas (and the welfare rolls) and into jobs was to instill fear in them:

https://www.theatlantic.com/business/archive/2018/03/welfare-childhood/555119/

This is also the firm belief of tech bosses: for them, mass tech layoffs are great news, because they terrorize the workers you don't fire, so that they'll be "extremely hardcore" and put in as many extra hours as the company demands, without even requiring any extra pay in return:

https://fortune.com/2022/10/06/elon-musk-jason-calacanis-return-to-office-gentlemens-layoffs-twitter/

Now, there's an obvious answer to the problem of no one taking a job at the wage being offered: just increase the offer. Capitalists claim to understand this. Uber will tell you that surge pricing "incentivizes drivers" to take to the streets by offering them more money to drive during busy times:

https://www.uber.com/blog/austin/providing-rides-when-they-are-most-needed/

(Note that while Uber once handed the lion's share of surge price premiums to drivers, these days, Uber just keeps the money, because they've entered the enshittification stage where drivers are so scared of being blacklisted that Uber can push them around instead of dangling carrots.)

(Also note that this logic completely fails when it comes to other businesses, like Wendy's, who briefly promised surge-priced hamburgers during busy times, but without even the pretense that the surge premium would be used to pay additional workers to rush to the restaurant and increase the capacity:)

https://www.theguardian.com/food/2024/feb/27/wendys-dynamic-surge-pricing

So bosses knew how to address their worker shortage: higher wages. You know: supply and demand. For bosses, the issue wasn't supply, it was price. A worker who earns $10/hour but makes the company $20 profit every hour is splitting the surplus 50:50 with their employer. The employer has overheads (rent on the shop, inventory, advertising and administration) that they have to pay out of their end of that surplus. But workers also have overheads: commuting costs, child-care, a professional wardrobe, and other expenses the worker incurs just so they can make money for their boss.

There's no iron law of economics that says the worker/boss split should be 50/50. Depending on the bargaining power of workers and their bosses, that split can move around a lot. Think of McDonald's and Walmart workers who work for wildly profitable corporate empires, but are so badly paid that they have to rely on food stamps. The split there is more like 10/90, in the boss's favor.

The pandemic changed the bargaining power. Sure, workers got a small cushion from stimulus checks, but they also benefited from changes in the fundamentals of the labor market. For example, millions of boomers just noped out of their jobs, forever, unwilling to risk catching a fatal illness and furious to realize that their bosses viewed that as an acceptable risk.

Bosses' willingness to risk their workers' lives backfired in another way: killing hundreds of thousands of workers and permanently disabling millions more. Combine the boomer exodus with the workers who sickened or died, and there's just fewer workers to go around, and so now those workers enjoy more bargaining power. They can demand a better split: say, 75/25, in their favor.

Remember the 2015 American Airlines strike, where pilots and flight attendants got a raise? The eminently guillotineable Citibank analyst Kevin Crissey declared: "This is frustrating. Labor is being paid first again. Shareholders get leftovers":

https://www.thestreet.com/investing/american-airlines-flight-attendants-bash-citi-analyst-who-put-shareholders-before-workers-14134309

Now, obviously, the corporation doesn't want to offer a greater share of its surplus to its workforce, but it certainly can do so. The more it pays its workers, the less profitable it will be, but that's capitalism, right? Corporations try to become as profitable as they can be, but they can't just decree that their workers must work for whatever pay they want to offer (that's serfdom).

Companies also don't get to dictate that we must buy their goods at whatever price they set (the would be a planned economy, not a market economy). There's no law that says that when the cost of making something goes up, its price should go up, too. A business that spends $10 to make a widget you pay $15 for has a $5 margin to play with. If the business's costs go up to $11, they can still charge $15 and take $1 less in profits. Or they can raise the price to $15.50 and split the difference.

But when businesses don't face competition, they can make you eat their increased costs. Take Verizon. They made $79b in profit last year, and also just imposed a $4/month service charge on their mobile customers due to "rising operational costs":

https://www.reddit.com/r/LateStageCapitalism/comments/1c53c4p/79bn_in_profits_last_year_but_you_need_an_extra/

Now, Verizon is very possibly lying about these rising costs. Excuseflation is rampant and rising, as one CEO told his investors, when the news is full of inflation-talk, "it’s an opportunity to increase the prices without getting a whole bunch of complaining from the customers":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/11/price-over-volume/#pepsi-pricing-power

But even stipulating that Verizon is telling the truth about these "rising costs," why should we eat those costs? There's $79b worth of surplus between Verizon's operating costs and its gross revenue. Why not take it out of Verizon's bottom line?

For 40 years, neoliberal economists have emphasized our role as "consumers" (as though consumers weren't also workers!). This let them play us off against one-another: "Sure, you don't want the person who rings up your groceries to get evicted because they can't pay their rent, but do you care about it enough to pay an extra nickel for these eggs?"

But again, there's no obvious reason why you should pay that extra nickel. If you have the buying power to hold prices down, and workers have the labor power to keep wages up, then the business has to absorb that nickel. We can have a world where workers can pay their rent and you can afford your groceries.

So how do we get bosses to agree to take less so we can have more? They've told us how: for bosses, the thing that motivates workers to show up for shitty jobs is fear – fear of losing their homes, fear of going hungry.

When your boss says, "If you don't want to do this job for minimum wage, there's someone else who will," they're telling you that the way to get a raise out of them is to engineer things so that you can say, "If you don't want to pay me a living wage for this job, there's someone else who will."

Their accusation – that you only give someone else a fair shake when you're afraid of losing out – is a confession: to get them to give you a fair shake, we have to make them afraid. They're showing us who they are, and we should believe them.

In her Daily Show appearance, FTC chair Lina Khan quipped that monopolies are too big to care:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oaDTiWaYfcM

Philosophers of capitalism are forever praising its ability to transform greed into public benefit. As Adam Smith put it, "It is not from the benevolence of the butcher, the brewer, or the baker, that we expect our dinner, but from their regard to their own interest." The desire to make as much money as possible, on its own, doesn't produce our dinner, but when the butcher, the brewer and the baker are afraid that you will take your labor or your wallet elsewhere, they pay more and charge less.

Capitalists don't want market economies, where they have to compete with one another, eroding their margins and profits – they want a planned economy, like Amazon, where Party Secretary Bezos and his commissars tell merchants what they can sell and tell us what we must pay:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/01/managerial-discretion/#junk-fees

Capitalists don't want free labor, where they have to compete with rival capitalists to bid on their workers' labor – they want noncompetes, bondage fees, and "training repayment agreement provisions" (TRAPs) that force their workers to stay in dead-end jobs rather than shopping for a better wage:

\https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/04/its-a-trap/#a-little-on-the-nose

Capitalists hate capitalism, because capitalism only works if the capitalists are in a constant state of terror inspired by the knowledge that tomorrow, someone smarter could come along and open a better business, poaching their customers and workers, and putting the capitalist on the breadline.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/18/in-extremis-veritas/#the-winnah

Being in a constant precarious state makes people lose their minds, and capitalists know it. That's why they work so hard to precaratize the rest of us, saddling us with health debt, education debt, housing debt, stagnating wages and rising prices. It's not just because that makes them more money in the short term from our interest payments and penalties. It's because it de-risks their lives: monopolies and cartels can pass on any extra costs to consumers, who'll eat shit and take it:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/02/its-the-economy-stupid/#overinflated

A workforce that goes to bed every night worrying about making the rent is a workforce that put in unpaid overtime and thank you for it.

Capitalists hate capitalism. You know who didn't hate capitalism? Karl Marx and Freidrich Engels. The first chapter of The Communist Manifesto is just these two guys totally geeking out about how much cool stuff we get when capitalists are afraid and therefore productive:

https://pluralistic.net/SpectreHaunting

But when capitalists escape their fears, the alchemical reaction that converts greed to prosperity fizzles, leaving nothing behind but greed and its handmaiden, enshittification. Google search is in the toilet, getting worse every year, but rather than taking reduced margins and spending more fighting spam, the company did a $80b stock-buyback and fired 12,000 skilled technologists, rather than using that 80 bil to pay their wages for the next twenty-seven years:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/21/im-feeling-unlucky/#not-up-to-the-task

Monopoly apologists like to argue that monopolists can rake in the giant profits necessary to fund big, ambitious projects the produce better products at lower prices and make us all better off. But even if monopolists can spend their monopoly windfalls on big, ambitious projects, they don't. Why would they?

If you're Google, you can either spend tens of billions on R&D to keep up with spam and SEO scumbags, or you can spend less money buying the default search spot on every platform, so no one ever tries another search engine and switches:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/04/teach-me-how-to-shruggie/#kagi

Compared to its monopoly earnings, the tech sector's R&D spending is infinitesimal:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/08/11/nor-glom-of-nit/#capitalists-hate-competition

How do we get capitalists to work harder to make their workers and customers better off? Capitalists tell us how, every day. We need to make them afraid.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/19/make-them-afraid/#fear-is-their-mind-killer

Image: Vlad Lazarenko (modified) https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Wall_Street_Sign_%281-9%29.jpg CC BY-SA 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en

[solriis]

Riis Seasons, Eliksni Molts, and Key Life Events.

I personally operate with 1 Riis year is ~11 Earth years, and a Riis day is 27 hours with a longer daylight period due to their 2 suns.

Seasons

(Some of these might not be "seasons" for us, but eliksni also have very huge trade cultures in my headcanons. Some of these names use parts of @abidethetempest's conlang, but others are my own "eliksni sounding" words)

Durrdra: Rough equivalent of winter -- incredibly cold in some places, with lots of water freezing over.

Urthrys: Period when Riis thaws out and one of the shortest seasons. Used as a period of preparation for hunts and harvests. Eliksni often (and instinctually) find life partners or have hatchlings during this time.

Chihrr: Bugs come out in droves during this season and are hunted and harvest for food, or caught and bred as pets.

Shiivath: The hottest season on Riis, an equivalent of summer. A lot of schooling happens around now within Houses.

Viideks: A (typically sudden) rainy and flood season that swamps much of the planet thanks to the prior heat waves.

Liismek: "Frog" breeding season and when tadpoles are gathered and harvested. Also when weaker crops are planted to avoid flood damage.

Kicheth: Similar to spring; usually a time when more mammal-adjacent creatures have their offspring, and is another instance of insect activity.

Taneth: very long farming-into-harvest season. A very busy time of the year for most houseless eliksni and lower class workers in Houses.

Voltesk: A shorter season usually marked with increased trade and travel.

Voldryst: A period where the cold starts to creep in and eliksni bulk up their resource stores, especially amongst the houseless and places with already cold climates.

Molts

Molts are treated as life stages, comparable to us using "child", "teenager", and "adult".

Egg Molt: Nymph stage, a newly born eliksni retains their egg molt for around 67 days. (~75 Earth days, or ~2½ Earth months)

First Molt: Child stage, from toddler-like state to something like a preteen. Molting after ~67 Riis days and lasting ~3 Riis years with shorter, less dramatic molts in that time.

Second Molt: Adolescent stage, encompassing preteen to pre-adult. The start of more dramatic changes, like setae growth, fuller mandibles, and harder chitin. The molt happens at ~3 Riis years, and they stay at this life stage with a few sparse molts every year until they're ~7 years old.

Third Molt: This molt marks biological maturity, not legal maturity (in most Houses). This molt happens when an eliksni is between 7 or 8 Riis years old, and at this point they are their natural adult size (though some may have a few smaller molts that add to their size).

Eliksni can have future dramatic molts due to ether intake or triggering certain hormones to cause a sex change (I subscribe to @ahamkara-apologist's headcanons regarding that), but it can become more difficult with age. Usually, an eliksni will stop future molts when they get past 120 Riis years in age.

Life Events

[I'm going to just share this as my bullet notes lay them out. Years in this section are only in relation to Riis]

0-2: baby. spending most of the time swaddled to parents.

2-3: learns to walk on two legs rather than crawling on sixes.

3-4: begins getting socialized with unrelated peers. family trade tutoring.

4-6: basic schooling or further tutoring.

6: finds a mentor and begins apprenticeship

7-8: possible early graduation or entering higher academic classes

9: biological maturity

10: socially/legally mature

11-12: latest point of graduation for certain trades

20-30: usually expected to have at least one life partner and/or hatchlings during this period.

~70: considered "old".

~130: typical retirement point.

~150-180: typical period for an eliksni to die of age or illness.

[not-poignant]

Hi Pia,

I just wanted to say you are an inspiration to me. I'm in my twenties and also struggling with an insane amount of health issues with new ones constantly popping up, which makes me feel like I will never be able to do anything with my life. Except maybe for writing, because I can do that in my bed and I love escaping into fictional worlds.

I don't know much about your life except what you share in the author's notes, but knowing that you're living life out there and writing these amazing stories despite all your health issues gives me hope. Unfortunately I live in the US, so it's easy to fall into a spiral of doom, but maybe I can be like you one day. The choices you make every day to keep pushing forward, keep doing things that make you happy, is what makes me believe that it's possible for me to keep going, too.

Hiya anon,

Health issues suck, don't they? I started my Crappy Pokemon Collection of Chronic Health Issues in my teens but I remember I really started to get concerned in my 20s when it just kept happening. And kept happening. I think there's a sadness/grief and depression and anger that comes with that too, and a fear.

For what it's worth, science comes up with new medications all the time, new discoveries, new breakthroughs. I have started medications that have helped some issues I've had for 25 years, thinking they'd just progressively get worse. And to be fair, some of my issues do progressively get worse, and I do have new chronic illnesses or chronic or stupid health things come up fairly frequently. And as I'm sure you know, maintenance and surveillance and chasing this shit up is its own job and labour that is extremely thankless.

But outside of that, there is a great radical activism in simply being kind to yourself, loving yourself, trying hard not to see yourself as wrong in the world, as still deserving to take up your space, no matter how much that changes over time.

I have loved ones in my life who spend most of their time in their bed (and otherwise in a wheelchair), all in their 40s/50s, all who have rich lives filled with loved ones. That doesn't mean they're not sad sometimes, or not frustrated with an ableist world (especially around how quickly everyone gave up on us), but it does mean when everything feels awful and despair-filled, they have people who love them, they have hobbies and interests (game coding can be done from a bed, art can be, cross-stitch can be, writing can be, and even sometimes chopping fruit and vegetables can be if you have one of those sturdy overbed tables and can trust your hands), they have things that get better and things that get worse, they all think their lives are better now because it does just take time to...learn how to live in a body that does this when you're younger and had different visions for yourself.

I spend a lot of my time in bed. I need to lie down every afternoon for several hours or I'm non-functional in the evenings and that's on my best days. Escaping into fictional worlds is honestly such a blessing, whether it's in writing or movies or TV or anime or manhwa etc.

Sending hugs and solidarity and much love for how things are in the USA right now, especially for ill / disabled folk. There are lot of people fighting the good fight, so please make sure you take the time to rest, even on the good days, when you might be tempted to push past your limits to get everything done.

It took me forever to stop overspending energy on my good days, and I still do it all the the time, lol.

[cozmowrites]

Thief: Chapter One

Dragon Barbarian (Prince)! Bakugou x Thief Fem! Reader

Before you read ahead, this is just chapter one of many that's already uploaded on wattpad/ao3 and I wanted to share here in case anyone wanted to continue to read it as I will not be adding more chapters on tumblr.

read it all here: wattpad || ao3

=====

I chuckled digging my hands into another pocket, a whole bag of coins I felt. I think I've run this town dry of it's coins and jewels. I think it's about time to go. I left leaving the townspeople searching for their lost possessions. Back home I go and all so soon. I'm quite the thief if I do say so myself. My hands are like butter and no one notices them when I dig my grubby little hands into their pockets and bags.

I town hop, every other town is safe from me for the time being while the other town over would be robbed of their riches. My goal is to provide enough for my family who have grown sick. My father works tirelessly as a workman and my mom works at home. Both are extremely ill but keep working hard for me. If only I could be more of use to them. I started stealing little things, a few coins here and there just to pay for some food.

I count out my change I collected so that I could buy some medicine before I get home. These coins should be enough for two people. I should also find a town that I can trade these necklaces and bracelets for some money as well. "Oh well." It'll be a while for that. I have to buy the medicine and then go into the dark for another while. I have heard news in the last town that the castle has some precious items that will sell for so much money. That's my goal.

+++

"I'm home!" I say, rushing to my parent's room and redoing the towel that sat on my mom's forehead. My dad is still out working in the fields, sadly. I dipped the warm towel in some cold water and placed it back on her forehead. "I only had made enough money for one container of medicine."

Her breathing was getting worse so I hurried on getting a new glass of water for her to drink and opened the medicine. Giving her both, her breathing slowed and she was less sweaty.

"That should do it for now."

She's not too bad, every now and again she'll collapse from the house work or making food. This is one of those times. She used to sell her baked goods but ever since she's gotten sick, she hasn't been able to.

"I'll be going to Claythel in a few days for another errand run and job expedition."

I don't expect her to respond, she's finally doing okay. I'll have to go into town and do a couple jobs so I can get enough to leave father with a medicine in case for him or mother. I decide to begin dinner. Soup, easy enough, plus we don't have that much food here. I begin the boil, then cut the chosen foods. It'll be good to hear up when father gets here too. I'll try and feed some to mother before bed too. Afterwards, I'll head to town to get an earful of jobs for the night. Pubs should do the trick scouting jobs.

+++

I left a note incase father would get back before me and left out the door. Sundown was close, a good 20 to 30 minutes left. Pubs and restaurants getting filled with drunkards. I do what I must to make ends meet, even if it means selling my own body or becoming a servant. My parents would hate me doing things like this, but it means taking care of my family.

Walking into town felt like an eternity, but it was only 10 minutes. The sun was already setting, the pink and purple hues merging together. "What jobs are posted for the day?" I mumbled to myself looking at the job board. Nothing much except picking weeds. I pick that one for tomorrow and grab the paper with the address on it. It's a noble's house, I recognize the address. They don't have a maid for that? Eh, doesn't matter. It's money nonetheless.

I walk into a pub, trying to find the sketchy people in the corners. Shinso washed glasses and mugs, pouring new drinks as well and handing them to those at the bar. I walk up and sit on the stool provided. "Hey kiddo." He grumbled with a smile. This was his pub, he owned it. Shinso is so strong though, breaking apart fights and stuff. He was tall, pretty buff, dirty purple hair and purple eyes. His tired eyes is what made him more badass than when he first opened the pub back when I was just a teen. He was like a brother to me, much older, and would always treat me to sweet snacks.

"Any jobs that were talked about?" I asked, sipping on the water that he gave me.

"The boys in the back need another beer, sir." Kendo, a waitress here comes up to the bar. Her ginger hair used to be unusual, just like that girl's in the Claythel kingdom, but more people started coming out of the shadows about strangely colored hair, hair of green and blue, and purple, that it's a lot different now. The teal eyes sparkled under the dim lights, she notices me shortly after, holding her tray to her chest. She's hot, but she's not into girls. "The boys in the back are looking for company, a few silver coins as pay." She said to me, putting the beer mugs on her tray.

I look back there, a bunch of disgusting men sat flirting with Kendo. She would brush it off and make friendly chit-chat with them. I stand up despite Shinso telling me not to. I gave him a reassuring look and he sighs. He can't stop me considering I'm 19, but he really does look out for me. I pat Kendo on the shoulder slightly before leaning over the table and get into my seductive act. "I heard you boys were looking for some... attention?"

I looked them over, each of them obviously watching my chest. I stood back up and crawl over one lap to sit in between the better looking two of the 5. I leaned into one of the guy's sides making him flustered as fuck.

"I'll leave you to it. Let me know if you need anymore drinks." She leaves me and these filthy men alone. I hate this, but they said they would pay so that was enough for me.

+++

I return home after a long night and begin to pack up for tomorrow's journey. I grabbed medicine, two bottles this time, and left a note for father. I told him I would be out at Claythel getting some supplies for some tools, then explained the medicine. Luckily, between those 5 men and a few others later on that night, I scrounged up enough for two medicine bottles. I got lucky. The pub was still buzzing about this castle gemstone so that's what I was off to do. Steal it and sell it.

I'll get some sleep today and leave tonight, late night.

[a-whispering-echo]

below is a transcript of the rambles in my notes on my Pirate Au.

the concept is THERE okay? just not that thought out. Dream was originally in this au too, he has since been nerfed cus i just dont really like Dream, oops.

They're all from different ships and we're stranded on the same island - They have to work together to make a new ship and get off thhe Island

Dusts ship was infected with illness, he killed them all to stop them dying painfully from it, he planned to drown himself after killing them all, this didn't work, and he ended up washed up on the island - The grey Spirit

Most of Horrors ship died of starvation after they were low on supplies and the captain hoarded all the food for herself. when they were hit by the storm, Horror get his head wound from that and doesn't remember much of his life from before the crash, just knowing that he had a brother and that he has to make sure he's safe, he doesn't know he's already dead. - the Qualm's Tail

Killers ship had broken out into civil war, and almost everyone was killed in this war, most of them to his own hand, he was in the side of rebellion against their captain who was killing off their own crew for more shares of treasure, when they were hit by the storm, they're were only around ten men altogether, Killer doesn't much care what happened to his crew mates, he saw a lot of them as traitors and those he didn't he wasn't very close to anyway. - the Something New

Cross was sailing on his own, he was sent out by his town for supplies by his father, one of the leaders. Gaster hoped his son would die at sea, or at the very least, not come back. He got his wish when Cross' small boat couldn't handle the fierce tides of the ocean. Cross was mostly honoured to be chosen to go out, thinking it a time to prove himself, never realising that the people hated him until he spoke about his home life with the others, and they picked up on things he didn't. - the X

Nightmare was a prince who ran away when he was young due to the villagefolk believing him to be cursed by the devil due to his magic being dark in nature. he ran away and became one of the most feared pirates on the seas, stating that if everyone was going to treat him as if he was evil anyway, he might as well actually commit the crimes he was accused of. Nightmare exclusively worked alone, using illusion magic to make it seem like he had a huge crew to scare people off, but on his own he couldn't fight the tide and his ship hit a rock while he was asleep. - The Nightfall Mare

They arrive on the island withing a few hours of each other, nm lands first, relitivly unharmed, just a few nicks and scratches, but he has some food with him, just some bread and berries, and fresh water to last a good while. The mtt then wash up on quick succession, Horror first, unconscious and extremely wounded ,Nightmare doesnt know what to do, and mostly just tries to stop the bleedlng as best as he can with his clothing, until Dust washed up. He's also unconscious, and almost drowned, but when he's resuscitated by nm, he immediately helps horror, as dust was a medic in training, horror stays unconscious for a few days, but is mostly okay in the end, minus some memory problems, due to dusts help. Killer shows up about 20 minutes after dust wakes up, he's awake, but cut up pretty badly, but not in fear of death, but he has weapons, several knives, and axes on his shipwreck, dusst helps patch him up too, and then a few hours later, cross shows up. He has a bag of supplies, of water and rope, but most importantly, he knew fire magic. Together, they had enough supplies to survive, and become very close along the

[spicerackofblorbos]

Chapter 1: November

☾ Pairings ➼ Levi Ackerman x fem!mute!Reader (she/her pronouns), set in a modern semi-fictional world

☾ Summary ➼ Due to childhood trauma, you find yourself an adult without the ability to speak. After years of working on it, you have found ways to live without a voice. Now here in your late 20s, you are 5 months in getting used to a new town. On a fateful day in late November, you and your adopted sister visit a local bookstore-café, unaware of the friendships about to blossom. Throughout the months, one friendship in particular develops into something more.

☾ Content/Warnings ➼ fluff, slowburn, oblivious feelings, angst, mention of minor character deaths, trauma, illness, adoption, mentions of fire, disabilities, alcohol use, very light nsfw mentions, eventual smut (these update with every chapter)

☾ Author's note ➼ Hey guys! This is my first time writing fanfiction in a loooooong time, like the last time I wrote was probably in 2011. So with that said please be kind with any feedback or comments. I hope you enjoy! (also I made Hange's pronouns she/her/them/they)

Edit (11/27/2023): Hey guys, welcome to my little world of Unspoken Words. I have quite literally used this story as a way to better myself as a writer. As you read on, you may find that I've progressed (ofc I have a long way to go) but because of that, my first few chapters might be rough. With your patience, you may find a liking to this story as I know I've loved writing every word of it.

☾ word count ➼ ~7.1k

20-something years ago 

You’re not sure how, but you find yourself sitting in the back of a big, white van. Red and blue lights danced in your eyes, and it felt like a thousand people surrounded you. Something plastic is placed on your face then you are instructed to breathe in deeply. You thought it was funny to be told to breathe, like you don’t just do it naturally, but you follow instructions regardless. It’s hard though, every part of your body hurts, chest included. Every breath you take feels like your insides are on fire.  

‘Fire’, you think.  

Everything is on fire.

Present Day

Levi stood blank faced as he meticulously cleaned the blender station for what felt like the 100th time today. The late afternoon rush had just tapered down so he took advantage of the next to empty café to clean as much as he could before closing for the evening.  

“It’s 20 degrees outside, how are people still wanting frozen drinks.” he murmurs to himself, placing the blender back in its spot. Levi turns to the front counter and slings the towel he was using to dry things onto his shoulder.  

His best friend, roommate, and business partner could be seen restocking some books on tall shelves, a gentle smile lighting up his boyish features. It’s been about a year and a half since they started this business venture together and they had no idea at the time how successful their bookstore-café combo would be in this small town.  

Erwin’s thirst for knowledge kept their shelves as variable as ever while Levi’s love for perfecting the art of tea kept the drinks flowing. The problem, however, was Levi’s lack of people skills. He was seldom seen at the register, nor would you ever see him smile or talk to the customers. He often would leave you with a grunt and a swift turn after handing off the drinks.  

No, for that, they had hired a couple of local highschoolers to do the facing work.  

“Mr. Smith, Levi?” a soft voice rang out to the left of him. Levi shifted his attention to a taller girl with shoulder length raven hair standing next to him. Being as Mikasa is his cousin, they found early on how weird it was to be called ‘Mr. Ackerman’ as they shared the same surname. It was this connection too that got them to where they are today.  

“Would it be okay if Eren and I take off a little early tonight? We have some big tests coming up and we’d like to take some extra time to study.” Mikasa shifted her dark eyes to the darkening windows as the sun set just over the horizon. Pinks and oranges flooded the partially clouded skies.  

”Tch.” Levi could not help but roll his eyes. He raised a brow at her and leaned back against the counter behind him for support. “Sure, I guess,” he continues. “But do you really need it or is it for that blockhead?”  

As if summoned by his words, Eren comes up from behind Mikasa and wraps a red scarf around his girlfriend’s neck, both of their jackets hanging off one of his arms. Eren is a good kid, always on time and followed directions, but the amount of sass he held in his body was something else. Levi and Erwin did not mind though, as he added a certain energy in the café that the customers seemed to enjoy. The two men wouldn’t say it out loud, but they really appreciated having them both on the team.  

“Hey, I heard that. And yes, I need to study desperately. Econ is so hard and for what?!” Eren’s teal eyes widened for emphasis. To add to it he even put on a fake pout.  

“I-”  

“Just take the trash with you on the way out and you’re good to go.” Erwin piped up from behind a bookshelf.  

Mikasa nodded in acknowledgement towards the voice, a silent thank you. Like Levi, she was not one for many words. He once thought it was an Ackerman thing but then he thought back to his annoying uncle and changed his mind quickly.  

With that, she and Eren both untangled the aprons from their bodies, grabbed their belongings, and picked up the trash bags that were already taken out of the cans. They opted to leave through the back since the dumpsters were located that way. Again, Levi wouldn’t say it to anyone out loud, but he really did like those kids.  

Erwin could be heard stacking more books into the shelves which left Levi to polish the counters again. It was the last hour before they closed so it stayed quiet for the most part, only interrupted by the sounds of scuffling shoes and books being placed on hard surfaces. Light jazz filled the rest of the silence. Then the bell signifying new customers rang from the front.  

“Levi, can you grab that?”  

The raven-haired man just huffed in response then stepped over to the register. His eyes fell on two figures right in front of him. A frazzled brunette and... you.  

Due to the season, you are bundled up in a thick parka and knitted beanie. A big scarf wraps around your neck and face so that all Levi could see is your flushed cheeks and thick lashed eyes. Truthfully, you reminded him of a marshmallow.  

“What’ll it be?” he asks, deadpan. The brunette is the one to respond, the voice loud enough to make him wince.  

“Hmmm... well one English breakfast tea latte with lots of room for sugar aaaaand I’ll take a peppermint hot chocolate. Oh, and extra whip! We’ll drink it here.” She fished out a card with a dramatic thwip and handed it to Levi’s outstretched hand.  Their café is one of those where if you were to stay, they offered washable cup ware as to keep the prices down on disposable cups. Not to mention the lessened ‘environmental impact’ as Erwin would say.  

Levi glances at you before turning to make both orders. You give a small wave and smile a little, but he was already working quickly on the drinks. 

He went into autopilot as he steeped the tea and steamed the milk. He really appreciated customers that ordered anything outside of coffee, especially when it came to tea. It’s not that he hated coffee, though it’s not like he liked it either, but it just wasn’t his thing. Coffee offered a different kind of bitterness that he wasn’t very fond of. With extra whipped cream in one and extra space in the other, he whirled around to place the drinks on the counter.  

The one with glasses is the one that picks them up and they promptly walk in the direction of where you currently sit, one of the tables in the back corner by the window. You were stripped of your big parka and scarf, though the beanie stayed. Your eyes were wandering around the café in wonder, and Levi was pretty sure this had to be your first time here. But truthfully, he wouldn’t know, he didn’t make it his business to know his customers. That was Erwin’s and the kids’ job. 

“The shelves are full and I’m exhausted.” Erwin came around the counter with a couple of empty boxes in his arms, heading straight for the back to the dumpster. Levi stepped back and leaned against the counter once again, his own black tea that had steeped while making yours cradled in his fingertips. He kept looking at his only customers while he sipped the black liquid. The teacup almost slipped out of his grip as he saw you dumping a large amount of sugar into your cup.  

 There you sit, extremely focused on the cup in front of you and lips pressed together tightly, almost as if you were afraid you’d put in too much. The sight would have been funny if you hadn’t just ruined your entire tea, he thinks to himself. You smile to yourself in satisfaction and put the sugar jar back where it came from. While you stir the sweetener in gently, the brunette in front of you talks animatedly. Hands were flying everywhere, and Levi could practically feel the energy radiating from the corner of the room.  You were doing the same, silently laughing. 

Suddenly the front door flew open, the bell ringing loudly with it. Levi grits his teeth, steeling himself for yet another customer interaction. But his shoulders dropped in relief at the sight of only Carly, Erwin’s girlfriend. She saunters up to the counter with a big smile aimed towards Levi and without even asking she slid behind the bar. Erwin had already made it from the back and was in the process of putting away the leftover ingredients from the day. Carly wraps her arms around her boyfriend and plants a big kiss on his face, to which Levi quickly looks away. It wasn’t weird for her to come in right as they were about to close.  

What was weird, he thought, was the shock that flooded your face as you eyed the very public display of affection. Levi knit his brows in confusion as the brunette pivoted in her seat to see what you were staring at. Their face fell, any evidence of a good time completely erased.  

“Carly?”  

The person in question whipped around so fast at the voice and the panic that exuded from her was palpable. She quickly unwrapped herself from Erwin’s embrace.  

“Hange.”  

If it wasn’t for the jazz in the background, the lengthy silence that followed would have been deathly.  

Carly clears her throat and laughs awkwardly.  

“Uh, why are you here?”  

The person named Hange just lifts their hot chocolate cup awkwardly, not really saying anything. Their eyes shift between Carly and Erwin, clearly understanding what had happened.  

“I-I’m sorry, you guys know each other?” Erwin sounds cautious, like he already knew the answer. Of course, he would, he isn’t dumb. His piercing blue eyes survey the situation, going back and forth between the two.  

“Well, uh. I-” Carly stutters, clearly at a loss of what to say in the predicament she found herself in.  

“She’s my girlfriend.” Hange claims calmly.  

This admission makes Erwin sigh heavily, confirming what he had pieced together. Levi stared at him in bewilderment as the man just chuckled quietly.  

“Well. I suppose that’s it then.” And with that he turns on his heel and stalks off to the back room. 

“Wait, Erwin I can explain!” She follows right on his heels and disappears into the back room as well. A minute later you can hear hysterical crying and calm retorts reverberating from the back. If Levi could shrink into the cabinets to get out of this situation, he would. Instead, he focuses on the other party who were having a very quiet and rushed discussion. Well, a one-sided discussion, as he only heard one voice.  

Levi, realizing it was almost time to close anyways, rushes to close the distance between him and the front door. He really did not want to have to deal with other customers while the drama unfurled. So, he flips the door sign to ‘Closed’ and unplugs the ‘Open’ neon sign hanging in the window. A couple walks by about to open the door, probably out for a café date from the looks of it. But they were only met with a dead stare from the sharpest eyes they’d ever seen. With that, they briskly turned around and left down the sidewalk.  

Levi spins around and from here he gets a better look at the two trapped customers. You were moving your hands all over the place like you were earlier. But with an even closer look he realizes you weren’t just talking animatedly with your hands; you were talking with them. You were signing. 

You reacted to your partner’s conversation just fine, so it was clear you had some sort of hearing. Your scarf now hung loose around your shoulders, and it looked like you had tears brimming in your eyes. Levi swiftly walks back to the counter; this is obviously not a conversation he needed to be a part of.

“Hey, don’t worry about me. It’s only been a couple of months. Really, it’s better to find out now than 3 years from now.” They laughed without humor. You know when Hange was saving face for your sake, she was never as sly as she thought she was.  

‘You don’t need to be strong right now.’ You sign then reach your hand out to touch her cheek softly. Physical touch had become your second language early on, if only to emphasize. Fortunately, Hange was okay with that and often embraced it with open arms.  

“I know, my little strawberry. I just need some time to process everything.” They pat you on the head lightly with a small grin. You swat their hands, blushing at the nickname you were so graciously given so many years ago.  But you nod back, knowing they would not change their mind.  

The tall blonde glides through the back door, alone. His face was grim as he tugged loose the tie around his neck.  

“Hange, was it?” He started walking towards you and your very startled sister.  

“U-uh yeah. That’s my name! Listen I had no idea, I’m so sorry. I would have said something obviously but-”, they take a deep breath. “I’m sorry. What’s your name again?”  

“Erwin Smith. There is nothing to apologize for as I can only assume there’s only one blame to be given. I hate that we must meet under such a circumstance, but it is truly nice to meet you.” He raises a hand waiting for a handshake.  

Hange takes it after a second of processing, shaking the hand vigorously with both hands.  

“Well, unfortunately it is what it is. I’m sure Carly and I will be speaking soon. I’m assuming she’s not just hiding back there.” They flick their gaze to the back door he had just come through.  

“Ah well, yes. Long gone... how long were you two...?”  

“Only like, 3 months or so. You?” 

He flinched at that and murmured, “3 Years.” 

Thinking back to her comment not 10 minutes ago, Hange bit their cheek.  

“Oh man I’m so sorry.”  

“No, please. It’s alright. None of this is yours or my fault. We couldn’t have known, but now we do.” Erwin chuckled to himself. You wonder if he’s trying to save face the way your sister did. His gaze now shifts to you. He is a very handsome man. To your extreme surprise, he starts signing to you. 

‘I'm sorry, who might you be? I noticed you signing earlier. I know a little from the books I have read.’ His crystal blue eyes sparkle at you as he signs. You can’t help but break out into a huge grin. You sign your name back and compliment him on his raw signing form.  

‘I am of hearing, though. So please feel free to talk, and I will sign back.’ You clarify to Erwin, the smile not falling from your face.  

“That sounds like a plan. Levi, stop hiding behind the counter and come say hi.” Erwin calls out, not bothering to look over his shoulder. You hear a grunt in response and not 10 seconds later, the barista stands cross armed next Erwin. He nods a hello to each of you.  

You knew he was shorter than you, at least a couple inches, based off the interaction at the counter earlier. But seeing him side by side with his friend was almost comical. But as short stature as he was, it did not keep him from holding himself with such authority. It made you nervous.  

‘Thank you for the tea, it was very good.’ You sign, your sister translating in real time for you.  

“Tch, are you sure? I saw you dump enough sugar in it to make it syrup.” Levi retorts dryly.  

That makes you smile sheepishly. His fixated stare unnerved you a little, but you stare back regardless. Now that he was closer, a glass case no longer between the both of you, your eyes traveled along his face in close inspection. 

He’s beautiful, you think to yourself. His features are sharp and angled. Steely gray eyes pronounced a permanent exhausted look. It was a shade of gray you’ve never seen before, and they were mesmerizing. As if he could feel you staring holes in his face, he flicks his eyes to the side, clearly uncomfortable. But you can’t help it, because really the most intriguing thing about him was not his metallic eyes. It was the scars that marred his porcelain skin.  

A couple of scars ran down the right side of his face. The prominent of the two trailed from the top right of his forehead all the way down to his chin, cutting into his right eye and both lips. You’re pretty sure his eye was quite damaged due to the slight muted discoloration of the eye color.  

He’s beautiful, you repeat to yourself. You glance over to Hange, and they just look over at you with a knowing look. You know she was just begging to ask Levi too, but she just shakes her head. So, you fold your hands together and pinch your lips together.  

“Well!” Hange yells out, breaking the silence. “This human really needs a drink. Let’s all go! Erwin, I demand you let me treat you to a couple drinks!” She wraps an arm around your shoulders and laughs.  

“A drink sounds fantastic; I will gladly take you up on that offer. Let me just close up rea-” He’s cut off by Levi raising both of his hands up in protest. You notice the two missing fingers on his right hand. The pointer and middle were gone. Whatever this man went through, you just had to know. But you toss those questions onto an ever-growing pile and bite your cheek.  

“Erwin, I can close up. You go ahead.” Your sister just smiles widely and practically jumped up and down. The blonde man just clapped his hand Levi’s shoulder and smiled at him.  

“Thank you. You’ll join us after? The usual place?” Levi just shrugs his shoulders in response.  

Part of you hoped he would. You couldn’t place a singular reason why though.  

.

Fifteen minutes later, the three of you found yourselves in a well-lit and very crowded bar. Somehow Erwin had snagged a table near the back wall. Heavy rock blares loudly from a live band maybe 20 feet away. Overwhelming was an understatement, but you grit your teeth and sit down on one of the stools.  

“Whatcha want, my darlings?!” Hange yells over the music, slapping both hands down on the table and staring at the both of you.  

“Whiskey neat, whatever they offer is fine.”  

You sign the words ‘apple’ and ‘juice’ followed by a ‘thank you’. You’ve never been one for a drink. While it was tolerable to be around, you’d rather not have to taste it if you could help it.  

Looking around, you see all manners of people surrounding you. Something about it makes your stomach turn but you shift in your seat to quell it down. You’re sure it’s only so crowded because of the prospect of a Friday night and the promise of no plans the following day. The town of Jinae was not anything special, but it was quaint. You and your sister found out quickly it was a place where everyone knew mostly everyone. After only settling down here from your hometown 5 months ago, you were still learning of all the local spots.  

From the looks of it, this bar was one of those. “The Scouts” was an inviting place, decorated with dark greens and wood tones. The walls were littered with many frames of a lot of different people. You imagine it might have been local residents in various locations of the town. All of the wood was worn down, so it was clear this place has been in business for a while. A neon sign hangs above the stage where the live band played, something that resembled blue and white wings. It makes you wonder what the significance is.  

Your thoughts are disturbed as a glass is placed in front of you. Realizing the dryness in your throat, you pick up the glass and take a big swig of the amber liquid. You’re met with a burning sensation, and you gag. This alerts Hange of the unfortunate mistake.  

“Ah I’m sorry my little strawberry!! They do look quite similar though, don’t they?” They switch the glasses quickly and laugh. You notice the very noticeable cup size differences between the two and you stare at her quizzically. “I may have taken a shot while at the bar, sorry.” she adds on. It makes you shake your head, but you grab her hand reassuringly and chuckle.  

‘I’m sorry.’ You sign at Erwin, and he just smiles back.  

“Not a problem. But I have to ask, how was it?” A bushy eyebrow raises at you in amusement.  

You just stick your tongue out and make a gagging gesture at him. You laugh though, not really upset.  

Two apple juices in, the live band ends. Hange and Erwin are very deep in conversation, which you suspect might be about Carly. You can’t really hear what’s being said though. With the absence of music, chatter quickly fills the air. Honestly it was really starting to get to you. So, after tapping on the pair’s shoulders and signing where you were going, you find yourself leaning over the guard rail just outside the bar’s door.  

The sun was already far gone. A crescent moon sits high in the sky and a smatter of stars surrounds it. The cold air felt very welcome on your very flushed face. You exhale a big sigh, which garners a puff of steam. It makes you laugh so you do it again. Then you start to wonder how long you might be able to last out here before getting frostbite when suddenly a body starts leaning against the rail next to you.  

With a start, you whip your head to face the newcomer. Instantly you relax at the sight of Erwin’s friend. He was adorned in a big peacoat and his casual slacks. A tan turtleneck sweater peaks out from the jacket’s collar. His face was flushed as well, no doubt from the cold.  

Levi. 

He wasn’t paying you any mind though, instead his gaze laid upon the sky above, at the stars. You wave at him anyways and offer a small smile. He glances at you with a side eye and returns a curt nod.  

Not one for words. 

So, you both stand there in silence, staring up at the twinkling lights above. It wasn’t uncomfortable in the slightest. Something about his presence radiated a sort of calm, and you were happy to bask in it.  

After a few minutes, he shifts his weight in your direction, so you face him. He’s staring up at you and it makes you swallow hard. His eyes glowed silver from the moonlight. Truly you have never been this fascinated with a person until now.  

“You like the stars.” It wasn’t a question, more like a statement.  

You nod in agreement, smiling to emphasize your love for them. He purses his lips at that. It seemed as if he wanted to say something else to that, but nothing came out. It just makes you frown a bit. You just have more questions that keep piling up. Everything about him just emanated mystery and it made you want to know all about him.  

‘Are you okay?’ You sign to him, exaggerating your frown to show your concern. You’re only met with a look of confusion. You forget that he does not know much if any sign. And you kick yourself for leaving your communication tools at home. To be fair though, this is not where you expected to be tonight.  

You then get an idea to use your phone to type to him but before you even reach into your pocket, you’re interrupted by a sudden blast of warm air as a couple stumbles out of the bar, both in a giggling fit as they cling to each other. They take off down the road, laughing even harder. The brief warm air makes you shiver, reminding you of the cold outside.  

As if thinking the same thing, Levi catches the door before it closes and holds it open for the both of you. You’re suddenly well aware of the very loud singing happening from within and your eyes widen at the familiarity of one of the voices. You and Levi make your way to the voices and are greeted with the sight of Erwin and Hange duetting a Backstreet Boys song.  

What a sight it was. The tall brunette, face flushed and glasses askew, had their arm around Erwin. He his blonde hair was quite tousled, and he looked like he was having the time of his life. They both swayed together as they belted out the lyrics. As if their smiles were contagious, you felt yourself grin. It was kind of cute. So, you pull out your phone and snap a quick picture, sure to show Hange in the morning. It was a good thing too, because the song ends right as you put your phone away in your bag. Levi clicks his tongue and huffs. You glance over at the noise and notice a small upturn to the corner of his scarred mouth. Noticing your gaze, his face vacates itself from any emotion as he stares back ahead.  

“Oi! Eyebrows!” He calls out to his friend. Levi starts making his way to the stage, walking with a slight limp. Yet another question to add onto the pile. “I’m gone for 45 minutes and you’re already singing.”  

“I’m fine! Just a couple drinks in.”  

You all make your way to the table you had laid claim to earlier. You survey the table and count at least 6 more glasses, not counting your two. It was hard to see who drank what.  

‘Are you okay?’ You sign to your sister, concern etched on your face. They just nod lazily and give a thumbs up with both hands. Levi is regarding you with a look of understanding, and it seems he realized that you had asked him outside.  Music starts playing over the speakers again, and people start making their way to the dance floor. Hange squeals and downs the rest of her drink quickly.  

“Erwin let’s go!” She grabs his arm, not waiting for a response. He gives a mock salute to the two of you and follows without question. Levi just clicks his tongue again and heads to the bar to get himself something. So, you plop yourself down on the stool and stare out into the room. Out of nervous habit you start fidgeting with the napkins in front of you. A moment later, Levi’s hobbling over with a tray of drinks. 

“I got the idiots some water, they look like they need it.” He places the glasses down with a thud, including one of his own housing some sort of caramel liquid. Then he’s sliding something over to you and you’re about to protest that you don’t drink but you realize it’s not a glass. It’s a notepad and pen.  

“If you need something, this might come in handy.” is all he says.  

You’re quick to show your appreciation with a bright smile. You also note to yourself that you could have very well have used your phone to communicate but you were not one to disregard someone’s thoughtfulness. It makes something bloom in your chest, warm and comforting.  

Your many years of not having a phone of course meant writing – a lot. Your handwriting evolved plenty with time so that meant it was extremely neat. It had to have been so that the reader would be able to read it without an issue. 

First you write your name, as you realize no one had really said it out loud while at the teashop. Following that you add ‘I think your shop is wonderful, and I really did enjoy the tea you made.’ You also want to jot down the questions from earlier that were still swimming in your mind, but you hold yourself back. You tell yourself maybe later, granted if there would even be a later.   

When angling the paper so he could see it, his eyes flit across the words quickly and you’re given a grunt in acknowledgement. Pulling back the notepad, you bite the inside of your cheek. While it wasn’t awkward being next to him, he sure made it hard to talk to. His cold demeanor gave you the feeling he wasn’t the type to talk about himself, especially with someone he just met. So, asking questions about him or his life was out the window. Likewise, he did not really seem interested in hearing your life story, not like you were planning to spill it anyways for fear of being met with disdain. You had plenty of experiences with that growing up.  

Tapping the pen against your chin, your eyes drift around the bar room. There a multitude of people lingering about, shouting over each other to be heard. A couple sits in a corner, whispering who knows what to each other. Both of their cheeks are flushed and eyes heavy with lust. A handful of people are on the dance floor grinding away, your sister and new friend sticking out like a sore thumb as they dance with reckless abandon. All of this gave you an idea, remembering something you’ve read before many moons ago. You start scrawling on the paper again.  

‘Are you a gambling man, Levi?’ 

You shift the pad back over to him and he glances down again after taking another sip of his spirit. He was holding his glass in a way you’d never seen before and honestly it was a little weird.  

“Tch, hardly. Why do you ask?” He looks hard at you as you scratch something else down.  

‘I propose a game to pass the time. Let’s make some bets about the random people in this room.’ 

He looks at you incredulously. You stand your ground, not averting your gaze even a little. When you don’t back down, he just scoffs and shakes his head at you.  

“I literally could not care less about these people,” he clicks his tongue. “But I suppose there’s not much else to do so I’ll bite.” Knocking back the rest of his drink, he moves around you to lean back against the wall so that he is facing the rest of the crowd. You shift so that you are doing the same. You don’t overlook the proximity to the shorter man, nor the fact that your arms are almost touching. You start to scribble once more.  

‘Winner gets to ask the loser one question.’ As his eyes fall on your words, he seems a little taken aback. Levi seems to think for a moment, like he’s weighing his pros and cons.  

“One non-personal question.” He amends. You both nod in agreement. So, your eyes travel around the room, looking for your first target. It falls on a group not so far away.  

‘I bet that gaggle of young girls over there are here for a bridal party.’

You point in the direction of the said group. Currently they were taking tequila shots, lime and all. All of them sparkled and were dressed up to the nines, save for the silly little hats adorning their heads. And they were having so much fun.  

“No way,” Levi scoffs, “That has to be a 21st birthday. They all look like babies.”  

Suddenly someone comes through a parting in the crowd with a tray of assorted colorful drinks garnished with cute little accessories. They all yell in excitement at the sight. One of the girls raises her glass and starts shouting.  

“To Estelle! May your married life be full of infinite love, happiness, and orgasms!” They all cheer and take big gulps of their drinks, followed by more giggling.  

Levi glances art you, his gray eyes dull in the dim bar light. An eyebrow lifts at you as well.  

“How did you know?” 

You do a sweeping gesture starting from one shoulder down to the opposite hip. He looks back over to the women and conveniently the soon-to-be-bride had faced your direction. She was indeed wearing a white sash sporting the word ‘BRIDE’ in bright pink letters. He huffs as he rolls his eyes, and you smirk at him in return. You press the pad over to him, already equipped with your question.  

Levi scoffs at your question. As promised, it wasn’t very personal. You figured ice breaker like questions were a good start. But his pause made you question if this was a good idea, you didn’t want to run him off or make him uncomfortable. Then he clicks his tongue, and his face softens ever so slightly.  

“My favorite hobby, huh? It would have to be cleaning.” He simply states. 

Cleaning?  

‘Like mopping, dusting, all that jazz?’  

“Yeah, it brings me peace. I like the control. Plus, I can't stand filthy things, people, or places. It’s repugnant.” He scrunches his nose at the last statement. A laugh bubbles up and you can’t help but let it loose. You’re shot with a glare and a sharp tone.  

“Funny?”  

You shake your head no and smile lightly while your hands move adeptly on the pad.  

‘Not funny, just amusing because it’s not something I would have expected. It’s different. If it makes you happy then it is an admirable hobby.’ 

Levi’s looking away from you now. If it wasn’t so dim, you would have seen there was a light dusting of pink color his cheeks and ears. He clears his throat and scans the room for his victim. His eyes land on the couple in the back corner whispering to each other. He notices their not-so-subtle hand movements as they felt each other up. Nodding in their direction, he looks back over to you, leaning close so you can hear.  

“I bet that couple will get up in the next 3 minutes and excuse themselves to somewhere private.” Your eyes travel in that direction, only to look away hastily at such an intimate scene. You’re not able to think of a counter-bet because honestly, you’re thinking the same thing. Your eyes settle back to his face, but he’s already looking back at the couple. If he noticed you staring, he didn’t say. Suddenly his face is filled with a satisfied look, only to be replaced quickly with a look of horror. You follow his gaze again, afraid of what you might see.

Fortunately, it’s nothing risqué, as you catch the tail end of the couple slipping into one of the public, unmarked restrooms. But the thought of their future actions was enough to gross you out. Looking back at Levi, you scrunch your face up in disgust. He nods in understanding.  

“This is why we don’t use public restrooms, especially in a bar.” He pinches the bridge of his nose with his good hand. “When I said somewhere private, I meant like a residence or something. Filthy animals, unbelievable. They better scrub that bathroom down. Maybe I should tell the bartender when they’re done. Maybe I should help clean.” 

His retorts crack you up, your shoulders bouncing from silent laughter. He just stares at you impassively as he runs his fingers through his hair to get it out of his face.  

“Well, it’s not like we should ruin their fun. Anyways I suppose I won. Let’s see... what’s your favorite color?” 

You part your lips, dumbfounded. This was never an easy question, as you found joy in a lot of different colors. You bite your lip and start writing, but after a couple minutes Levi rips the pad from your hands out of impatience.  

salmon 

turquoise? 

canary yellow! 

orange 

dark forest gre- 

He just looks at you in alarm.  

“Just pick one.” he scolds. 

You snatch the pad back and scribble down, ‘It’s not that simple!’  

“It is to me. White, easy.” You just stare right back at him, not believing what you just heard. Out of all the many shades and hues out there, this man decides the color white.  

‘Why?’ 

“It’s clean.” is the only response you get.  

It makes sense, you think. But seriously, this man was so weird. But like you said earlier, it was different and that made it refreshing to you. You start searching for your next bet.  

As if in a scene from a movie you’ve seen a dozen times came to life, your eyes snap to a lone woman sitting at the bar, nursing a drink and playing on her phone. A couple seats down, you spot a few men chatting. One of the men is staring hard at the very oblivious woman. You nudge Levi with your elbow, not unnoticing the slight flinch from your touch. You point to the scene, and he is quick to understand.  

“I bet when he walks over to her, she’ll get up and leave.” He says confidently.  

Trusting your instincts, you scrawl back quickly as you notice the man started making his way towards the woman. Sticking your tongue out at him, you angle the pad to him so he could see.  

‘Absolutely not. She’ll tell him off right away.’  

To both yours and his surprise, not one moment later she throws the rest of her drink contents onto the man’s head. She gathers her belongings, throws a wad of bills on to the bar, then stomps out of the establishment. The rejected man staggers back to his friends, and they applaud him for his supposed gall. This event left you both stunned. There’s a moment of pause where you and Levi just stare at each other before all hell breaks loose as he starts talking and you start scribbling furiously.  

“She walked away, I win.”  

‘She threw that drink on him, that’s practically telling him off. And that happened before any walking off.’  

“That hardly counts, no words were used.” He scoffs and folds his arms across his chest as he stares hard at you. You weren’t sure if the indignation was real or not, but it was evident in his face.   

‘Words are not always needed to convey intent.’ You shoot back at him, shifting your weight to tap your foot defiantly. You would know this of course.  

This makes Levi pause. He opens his mouth to say something but then Erwin and Hange came crashing into the little bubble you two had made. Suddenly the sounds of clinking glasses and mindless chatter came rushing in and you took a step back.  

“Um, I think Hange might have had a little too much tonight.” Erwin says, to which your attention is drawn to a very drunk Hange. They were a blubbering, sobbing mess. Whining about things that ranged from Carly to her work stress and everything in between. Your sister rarely got this drunk, but you imagine the events from earlier might have been her breaking point. This was a sign to get her home.  

You hastily round the table to wrap her arm around you and prop her up. Then after whipping a $20 out of your purse and throwing it on the table in front of the boys, you give them a grateful smile and sign to Erwin.  

‘Thank you both for tonight. She and I had a lot of fun. But I need to get her home before she gets worse.’ As if on cue, they let out a loud wail and start sobbing into your shoulder. You shift your body to hold them closer so that you don’t drop them. Erwin grabs your $20 and shoves it back in your purse before zipping it up. He had left you no time to protest as he places a large hand on your shoulder and stares intensely at you.  

“Please, let me take care of this. Tell them this was an exceptional time. And to please stop by the café again, we owe each a good, sober talk.” His bright blue eyes crinkled in the corners as he smiled at you warmly. “It was a pleasure meeting you too. I hope you join Hange on the café visits as well. I think Levi has warmed up to you just nicely.” He wiggles an eyebrow at his friend. Levi just shoves him back and rolls his eyes.  

“Tch, fuck off. She’s alright, I guess.” He’s staring at you now, not as cold as before. “You owe me an answer next time we meet.”  

You purse your lips at him and shake your head in disagreement. 

‘I totally won that, don’t even think otherwise.’ You jot down lazily on the notepad still on the table. It wasn’t as neat, but you were propping up a whole human, you couldn’t help it.   

“Are you sure you’re safe to get home okay? We can he-” You cut Erwin off with a wave of the hand. Their spot of choice was actually very lucky, as you only live a few minutes away. And to be honest, you needed the cold air. So, you sign a quick goodbye to your new friends and make your way out. 

Walking down the snowy sidewalk, you pat Hange’s head as she grumbles about random things. She opted to walk herself, but you kept your hand in theirs to lead them in the right direction. She only stumbled a few times but overall, you were able to keep a steady pace. You note that before you left, her glass of water had been untouched, so you make a mental reminder to hydrate her before throwing her in bed.  

‘Alcohol was not kind to those in their 30s’ you heard their voice say in the back of your mind.  

As your steps left crunching noises in their wake, you peer up at the moon and glittering stars. A certain raven-haired and silver-eyed man etched in your brain. You wonder how soon it will be before seeing him again.  

‘Levi’ you sign to yourself with a free hand. A smile cemented to your face the whole way home.

☾ Next Chapter: December

[chains-of-destiny]

Monthly Progress Update #6

Hey everyone!

We've reached the end of another month—I hope October treated you all well! 😊

Note about the project:

This month, I focused on the Chapter 1 and prologue rewrites. I went through all your suggestions (thank you so much to everyone who shared feedback!), and I've implemented most of them to help make this game better.

Just some of the things that were accomplished this month:

A reworked prologue

A fully rewritten parade scene with different activities you can participate in.

A reworked Archibald scene in Part 1 where you will be able to choose your MC's stance regarding their grandfather and House Serin's fall from grace.

An expanded cheat menu: Now you can adjust personality values, relationship values, the MC's appearance, stats, and much more.

More options for how the MC interacts with their sister, including a choice to just remain apathetic.

Added stoic options to most choices for more variety.

Completed the beginnings of a Codex that will eventually contain lore and world-building details, but I mainly focused on the actual text before writing lore.

Also added some smaller suggestions and just generally tried to improve the text, add some choices here and there, remove unnecessary lines, or add clarification where needed.

Progress:

Here's where the rewrite stands:

Prologue: 100% complete

Chapter 1, Part 1: 50% complete

Chapter 1, Part 2: 20% complete

Codex: 10% complete

Closing note

I had a bit of a setback in October due to illness and personal commitments, but I'm aiming to make November a productive month. Hopefully, I can wrap up the rewrite of Chapter 1 by month's end.

Thank you all for your support and patience—it means a lot. See you next month!

[ofmdrecaps]

08/03-04/2024 Weekend OFMD Recap

TLDR; David Jenkins; Rhys Darby; Taika Waititi; Samba Schutte; Ruibo Qian; Rachel House Dominic Burgess; Nathan Foad; Articles; Fan Spotlight; OFMD Colouring Pages; Our Flag Means Fanfiction; Love Notes; Daily Darby/Today's Taika

Okay yall, I ended up being up all night for days with a grumpy kiddo so I am yet again behind, I'm really sorry. Here's the weekend recap. Aug 5 will go out tonight if I have to chug espresso for the next 4 hours!

== David Jenkins ==

Source: David Jenkins Twitter

== Rhys Darby ==

Our Captain is out in Edinburgh Scotland! Doing his Live Cryptid Factor show with Dan Scheiber and Buttons!

Lots of short videos on his Instagram Stories:

The Cryptid Factor Live - Edinburgh - Buttons CraftTime

The Cryptid Factor Live in Edinburgh - Dan's Book

The Cryptid Factor Live In Edinburgh - The Crypid Factor

The Cryptid Factor Live In Edinburgh - The Caves

Source: Rhys Darby's Instagram

Source: petrichorpond On Twitter (per @mon-ster-chen's Post)

= Astras TV Awards Nominee =

Rhys has been Nominated for BEST ACTOR in a Streaming Comedy Series in the Astra TV Awards! The TV Awards ill be held on Aug 18th so keep your eyes peeled around then!

Source: Hollywood Creative Alliance Instagram

== Taika Waititi ==

Happy Wedding Anniversary to Taika and Rita! (Aug 4th 2022). They were caught smooching out in London recently <3

Source: Instagram

== Samba Schutte ==

No context, but Samba called it "Man in the Mirror"

Source: Samba Schutte's Instagram

== Nathan Foad ==

Nathan's weekly Saturday Celebration

Source: Nathan Foad's Instagram Stories

= Ruibo Qian =

Just some stills from the Ms. Holmes/Ms. Watson BTS I wanted to include cause they're adorable.

Source: OldGlobe's BTS Video

= Rachel House =

So these are a week old but I found them via a more recent post from someone else there, so putting them in today! Rachel out with friends <3

Source: Instagram

= Dominic Burgess =

Dominic sending us goodnight cat pictures. What a guy <3

Source: Dominic Burgess' Twitter

== Articles ==

Thank you to @adoptourcrew for highlighting this article!

https://telltaletv.com/2024/03/20-iconic-queer-and-trans-characters-of-color-on-tv/

Source: Adopt Our Crew Twitter

https://screenrant.com/tv-shows-always-recommend-good-regardless-genre/

Source: Adopt Our Crew Twitter

== Fan Spotlight ==

= OFMD Colouring Pages =

Another set of colouring pages from our fab friend @patchworkpiratebear - I love that we're getting multiple versions each time now! These are super cool!

Source: PatchworkPirateBears Tumblr: Teacups / Flag

= Our Flag Means Fanfiction =

Another episode of the Omegaverse! This time hosted by Tessa! Check them out on your favorite listening platforms here!

Source: Our Flag Means Fanfiction Instagram

== Love Notes ==

Hey Lovelies!!! Found this really adorable artist this weekend and I thought I'd share them with you because they really express a lot of things that I tend to think--- like how much I love you all, seriously, did you know you're fucking FANTASTIC?? and fucking BRILLIANT AND AMAZING AND TALENTED!?

Whenever I'm stuck doing work, or other family/life stuff, I always come back to thinking about this awesome fandom, and how much I miss talking too you all and how much I love all the crazy stuff you all get up to every day! I haven't been interacting as much because it's really hard for me to focus with so much going on (yay neurodivergence!)-- but please know I'm watching and laughing, and crying and smiling, and wishing you all the best and cheering you on! Hope the end of the weekend and beginning of the week is treating you wonderfully <3 Take care lovelies!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by James (@sunlightafterdark)

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by James (@sunlightafterdark)

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by James (@sunlightafterdark)

== Daily Darby / Today's Taika ==

Just needing some of the Cinnamon Sugar, Salt and Pepper boys smiling together for this one <3 Gifs courtesy of more of our gif-masters @eddie-redcliffe and @thunderwingdoomslayer!

[tippertot]

I just got caught up on interpolation and I have to say I seriously seriously love that fics version of Chert

If there's anything you can share about them that's not spoilers for future parts of the fic I would seriously love to read it because I'm so curious about their history (and their relationship with Gabbro and their hallucinations and everything about them)

If you don't want to share anything about them I just seriously have to say how much I appreciate the way they're written I haven't been able to stop thinking about them since I read chapter 20 and like oh my god I can't express how much I love them and idk thank you for making me cry ::)

CHERT!!!

Chert is so important to me. i remember meeting them in-game and asking all these questions like "what is a supernova? ::)" that I, an ASTRONAUT should DEFINITELY ALREADY KNOW. but i was impressed by how they answered, really simply but also not dumbing anything down or teasing you/going off on you for asking (unlike SOME npcs (Slate)). i was immediately like "wow you're nice! i like you! sorry about the trauma!"

as far as my fic goes, they've had issues with properly interpreting reality for the past several years. this more typically shows itself as paranoia, feeling like other people are against them or wish them ill or are trying to sabotage them, but when stressed can escalate to visual and auditory hallucinations. (this whole concept stems from me seeing the notes the would leave around in the game that would say like PROPERTY OF CHERT and then me overblowing that into a whole thing lol)

as it gradually got worse, a support team was formed for them, and it was eventually realized that these were symptoms of mental illness. so from there they started the process of trying different formulas of medications to deal with the symptoms. and they were at least partially successful!

Chert now has a relatively good understanding of the way their brain works and the have a good support system and coping mechanisms they can use to help when they're in a bad mental place, but this is all still pretty new for them and their mental illness isn't 100% managed yet.

while Chert can be rather private about the specific details (mainly because of their paranoia and prevent accidental interference with coping mechanisms), they don't have any problem openly discussing their mental illness on a big-picture level. there is no stigma in the community related to it, and it did not affect their ability to join OWV.

around the time Chert was in the middle of getting all this figured out, they were spending time with Tektite outside the village. Tektite (closest thing the Hearthians got to a therapist) was the one that figured out that Chert's issues might benefit from a more medically-inclined intervention and proposed the support team, which included Gneiss and Porphy.

at the same time as this, Tektite picked up on Gabbro also having some issues and started bringing them under their wing. and Chert just like pointed excitedly at Gabbro like "oh! you're mentally ill too!" and the two of them + Tektite became a little Mental Illness Club.

Gabbro was an a pretty vulnerable period in their life that involved a lot of self-doubt, so having someone like Chert around who could happily and casually chat about brains not working right was a big help for them. and Gabbro is very good at listening and not being judgmental, so as they spent more time together, Gabbro joined the short list of people that Chert trusts enough to get into the gritty details of what they're dealing with.

we will be focusing in on both Gabbro and Chert in a couple of upcoming chapters!

[justakidicarus]

Arcane scenario!

Hi there, I'd just like to propose a little scenario set in the Arcane universe. You can reblog with your answer to how you would have handled the scenario, considering ONLY the information provided. Trust me, this will feel familiar very quickly.

So picture this, Two days ago, you were assigned a seat on the council, just after the attack on Progress Day. Important research was stolen, including a completely functional Hextech gemstone and key notes. Additonally, after being forced to put aside your principles for the sake of not only your own safety, but that of your close friends and family, your closest friend and confidant collapsed while working. He's got less than six months left to live, with the best healthcare money can buy. You know he can't afford it, and even if he could he wouldn't want to.

He's everything to you, he saved your life after all. You'd be a smear on the pavement if it wasn't for him. And he invented a potential cure for his terminal illness. But your shared mentor wants it destroyed, as soon as possible. You can't let that happen, let the most brilliant man in the world be left to die because of one man's irrational fear.

So now here you are, four hours early to the scheduled Council meeting, preparing your argument to remove him from the council. You know it's probably for the best. He's long overdue a retirement and would probably be happier with the added freedom of no longer being on the council. God knows you would. His not being able to stop your friend from saving his life may be the motive, but it would be good for everyone involved.

Then the sheriff shows up. He's tracked down a lead to who was responsible for the attack on Progress day. A gang in the Undercity known as the Firelights. He's been running an investigation on them for months now, putting his best men on the job. You know you can trust his judgement on this, he didn't get to become Sheriff without knowing what he's doing, and trained directly under his predecessors.

You two talk. The Hexgate's creation stretched security thin, sure that's another problem on the list. But people need security now. There are innocent men and woman who could be killed at any moment by this terrorist group and you don't know how to protect them. And you have to, because no one else will, and they deserve to sleep safely at night.

But there is so much to do.

Save your friend's life

Somehow convince everyone to remove the current head of the council

Address the new security risks at the Hexgates

Figure out how to stop the newly discovered terrorist group from launching further attacks

None of these are small asks, and you were never taught how to do any of them. Everyone's lives are resting on your shoulders, and you don't know how to handle it. And then the sheriff suggests something.

"Search everyone at the border."

It would be a simple, effective solution to one of your problems. Border control wasn't an entirely alien concept, and would help keep pressure down while you sorted out the current situation. Sure, some people would be upset, but it wasn't like it would be a massive disruption to trade and work. Once someone was searched, they could go through.

You have a lot on your mind, and this has such a simple solution, presented by someone who knows both the people, and the problem.

yse

I would very much like to see the responses. You think Jayce green-lighting the border was a bad idea? Fine, but hindsight is 20/20 and Jayce had limited knowledge. We as the viewer had omniscient 3rd person POV to help us. He didn't. So knowing ONLY what he did, would you have made a different choice? and what would that have been?

Prove me wrong.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hey Stephhh,

Im looking for some good post s4 fix-its, friends to lovers. Preferably smutty obvs, and under 50k (if its reeeeeeaallyy good but long ill read it but its gotta be like an 11/10)

I believe in you 🙏 thank you in advance lol

Hi Lovely!!

I've a lot of Post-S4 fics, and if I can say so, I think all of the fics on my lists are fantastic and MORE than 11/10's, but subjective, hahah.

I'm also needing a list for the weekend, so I'm using your ask as the one I'm posting the next part for, so I HOPE some of these appeal to you, as well as the fics on the additional lists!! I put word counts next to all my fics which should help you out!

And if y'all have S4 fics to suggest, please do, as usual! I've another part I'm compiling of MFL fics, so I will add them to that as well! Enjoy!

POST-S4 / S4 Fix Its Pt. 5

See also:

TFP Is Canon

Post S4 / S4 Fix Its

Post S4 / S4 Fix Its Pt. 2

Post S4 / S4 Fix Its Pt. 3

Post S4 / S4 Fix Its Pt. 4

S4 Rewrites

S3 / TAB / S4 [FIX IT] Fics (March 2019)

Post S4 and Mental Health

Evermore by SosoHolmesWatson (G, 2,068 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4,  5-Year-Old Rosie, Love Confessions, Song Fic, Parentlock, Oblivious John, Pining Sherlock, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Disney Songs, Beauty and the Beast) – For the past years, John and Sherlock have lived at Baker Street again, raising Rosie together--as friends and nothing more. Ever since the little girl has watched her first Disney movie, she is obsessed with princesses. When John comes home one day, he finds his friend and his daughter in the middle of a reenactment of her current favourite. Part 1 of Made of Music

fulfilling for other people by missselene (E, 3,957 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Oblivious John, Pining Sherlock, Unhappy Fic, Unrequited Love Confession, Virgin Sherlock) – When Sherlock decides to act on John’s advice regarding romantic entanglements, the results are far from what John expected. Part 1 of fulfilling for other people

holding steady by darcylindbergh (E, 12,724 w., 4 Ch. || Post S4, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Growing Old, Gone Fishing, Mood without Plot, Soft Sherlock, Caring Sherlock, POV John Third Person, Anxious Sherlock, First Kiss / Time, Touching, Feeling Old, Sherlock Worship, Crying Sherlock, Cuddles, Comforting, Introspection, Retirement, Hand Holding, Forehead Kisses, Caring John, Bed Sharing, Emotional Love Making) – Sitting on a thick wool blanket at the end of a rickety dock side-by-side, legs dangling over the edge, a styrofoam container of wet, dark dirt between them, they’re fishing. John knows what this is about. This is about finally figuring it out.

A Quiet Life by DiscordantWords (M, 25,176 w., 6 Ch. || Post S4, Retirement, POV Sherlock, Awkwardness, Established Relationship, Family Dynamics, Minor Character Death, Questionable Parenting Choices, Non-Linear Narrative, 20 Year Old Rosie, Meddling Mycroft, Pining Sherlock, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Angst, Sherlock Whump) – There had been three days of silence and a funeral. Sherlock had the terrible feeling that whatever happened next would depend, entirely, on him.

How To Unfold a Heart by elwinglyre (E, 25,477 w., 7 Ch. || Post S4 Fix It, BAMF John, Mentioned Eurus, POV First Person Sherlock, Case Fic, Fluff, Slow Burn, Topping from the Bottom, 3 Yr Old Rosie, Introspection, Sexual Fantasies, John Worship, Ogling, Hand Holding, Kidnapping, Domesticity, Sherlock Whump, First Kiss/Time, Doctor John, Caring John, Soft Sherlock, Sensuality, Touching, Crying, Love Confessions, Anxious Sherlock, Rimming, Toplock, Fingering, Bossy Bottom John) – To Sherlock’s dismay, John’s return to Baker Street with Rosie is only temporary. Sherlock’s daily visits to Regent Park with John and Rosie illuminate his lost childhood memories and missed opportunities. But with each trip to the park, Sherlock also feels a growing sense of hope. That is until the past horrors return unexpectedly in a cryptic note folded in the shape of a heart. To decipher the message, Sherlock must uncover the nature of the hearts around him, including his own.

Winter’s Storm by LoloLolly (M, 51,812 w., 11 Ch. || Canon Compliant Through TFP/S4 Is Canon, Alternating POV,  Established / New Relationship, Parentlock with Rosie, Explicit Torture, Mentions of Sherlock’s PTSD, Mentions of Human Trafficking, References to Child Abuse, Violence, Kidnapping, Captivity, Angst with Happy Ending, Fluff, Case Fic, BAMF / Soldier John, Sherlock Whump, Mycroft and John Work Together, Marriage Proposal, Autistic Sherlock, Lestrade Finds Out, Polyglot Sherlock, Aftermath of Serbia) – Sherlock had buried the past. Shut Serbia away in the attic of his mind palace. Muddy footprints at a heinous crime scene, however, have led him right back to old enemies. And right back to captivity. For God’s sake, Mycroft. Part 2 of the Earthly Pomp (Is But a Dream) series

Isosceles by SilentAuror (E, 56,609 w., 7 Ch. || Post-S4, POV John, Original Male Character / Sherlock Dates Another Man, Love Triangle, Jealous John, Virgin Sherlock, Sexual Coaching, Angst, Romance, Domesticity, Unrequited Feelings, Miscommunication, First Kiss/Time, For a Case, Friends With Benefits, Bottomlock, Love Confessions, Spooning) – After solving a case for a major celebrity, Sherlock gets himself asked out. When John asks, he discovers that Sherlock has no intention of going, at least not until John agrees to coach him through whatever he might need to know for his date...

Repairing the Broken Things by BakerTumblings (M, 75,252 w., 15 Ch. || S4 Compliant, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Trauma, Hospitals, Big Brother Mycroft, Misunderstandings, Realizations, Severe Accident, John Whump, Pneumonia, Medical Procedures, Bed Sharing, First Time, Healing, Happy Ending) – "I'm calling today to notify you that there's been an accident."

Swallow the Night by ArwaMachine (E, 87,873 w., 15 Ch. || TSo3/Stag Night Fix It, TAB/S4 Divergence, Toplock, Mutual Pining, PWP, Drunk / Public Sex, Anal Fingering/Sex, Alcohol-Induced Amnesia, Everyone Knows Except Them, Emotional Love Confession, Demisexual Sherlock, Internalized Homophobia [John], Parentlock with Rosie, First Kiss, Drug Relapse, Infidelity, Texting, Masturbation, Oblivious John, Emotional Love Making, Angst with Happy Ending, Dreams and Nightmares) – “Do you know how long,” John panted, his cheek scraping against the wall, looking back at Sherlock through half-closed eyes, “I’ve wanted this?” Sherlock pressed himself against John’s back, biting at John’s ear. “Not nearly as long as I have,” he whispered.

Kintsukuroi by sussexbound (E, 91,823 w., 20 Ch. || S4 Compliant / Post-TLD, Grief / Mourning, PTSD, Internalized Homophobia, Therapy, Past Abuse, Alcohol Abuse, Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Anxiety, Bed Sharing, Love Confessions, Cuddling, Suicidal Ideation, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Sexting, Frottage, Inexperienced Sherlock, Rimming / Anal / BJ’s, Emotional Turmoil, Finding Each Other) – “I love you.” Sherlock sees the words hit John with almost physical force. He reels back a little, jaw twitching and eyes filling. “I love you,” he repeats, a little softer, a little more gentle, as earnest as he possibly can. Because they’ve been teetering on the brink of this thing for years, and it had become painfully obvious over the last few months that they were at a tipping point. This had to happen. Now it has. Now they can see where they end up. The tears in John’s eyes spill over, and he wipes at them angrily. “Do you even know what that means?”  

Drawn to Stars by Silvergirl (E, 109,272 w., 60 Ch. || S4 Compliant to TLD / TFP Doesn’t Exist, Sherlock’s Italian Adventure, Sherlock/OC and Johnlock, Jealous John, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, First Kiss/Time, Idiots in Love, 3 Part Story, Slow Burn, Inexperienced Sherlock, Bottom Sherlock, Introspection, Multiple Alternating First and Third Person POV, Separation and Reconciliation, Emotional Love Making, Love Confessions via Letters, Angst with Happy Ending) – After the Culverton Smith case Sherlock is clean, working, and looking for a romantic partner—since John has told him that’s what he needs. Shame John didn’t mention he was interested in that role himself, before Sherlock went off to Rome with a gorgeous Italian copper to try to fall in love and become a complete human being.  Part 1 of the Drawn to Stars series

The Lost Special: Family Matters (As Do Relationships) by ShirleyCarlton (M, 144,688 w., 40 Ch. || S4 Fix It Fic / Meta Fic, Unreliable Narrator, John’s Mind Bungalow, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Demisexual Sherlock, Holmes Family, John Whump, Gay Mycroft, Misunderstandings, Drug Addiction, Parenting, TFP is a Nightmare, Virgin Sherlock, Slow Burn, Minor Character Death, Switchlock, John’s Past, Sherlock’s Past, Eurus, Love Confessions) –Sherrinford is not really the name of some high security prison. That was just a figment of John’s frantic coma dream. And Eurus is not actually Sherlock’s sister. That’s just something random she said to John before shooting him. Sherlock and John were never actually estranged. That was just their act to cover up what really happened to Mary – or Rosamund Moran, as her real name has turned out to be. Sherlock does have a secret sibling, though, and his name is Sherrinford. After finally eliminating Moran – though in a rather dramatically different way than they had envisioned – and exposing the truth about Eurus, John encourages Sherlock to delve into his past and to find out whether the reasons to keep Sherrinford away from Sherlock were the right ones, and to discover what really happened in 1981. Along the way, Sherlock and John gradually, finally, stop keeping each other at a distance, and eventually become a proper family of their own.

[thepromptswhisperer]

Things Your Roommate Might Do

1. Cook/Bake something and offer you some of it.

2. Knock on your door to ask you something.

3. Wordlessly move their stuff in the kitchen so that you can cook at the same time they do.

4. Hide in their own room.

5. Walk straight into you as you both round a corner.

6. Have (loud) company over late in the evening/when you have the headache of a lifetime/etc.

7. Cook something that stinks (and can be smelled in the apartment/etc. for days).

8. Tell you about their day./Listen to you telling them about your day.

9. Listen to loud (and awful) music.

10. Entertain your friends/etc. when you’re not home yet.

11. (Accidentally) Lock you out of the apartment/etc.

12. Is there for you when you just need to talk to someone.

13. Never take out the trash/clean the bathroom/etc.

14. Deal with the neighbors (when you can’t be bothered to do so).

15. Occupy the bathroom for too long/just when you need it.

16. Offer you their company while you cook/eat.

17. Change clothes with their door wide open.

18. Throw a party without informing you of it.

19. Not clean up after themselves. (e.g. shower drain, after hanging out with friends)

20. Offer to buy groceries/etc. for you (because you’re feeling ill/they are already going to the supermarket anyways/etc.).

21. Break your favorite cup/etc.

22. Is quiet when they know you have a headache/a big day tomorrow.

23. Leave you a little note (e.g. to wish you good luck for an exam).

24. Is sad when you can’t make your weekly roommate meeting. (e.g. roommate meeting is code for movie night)

25. Come home and let you into the apartment when you forgot to take your keys with you.

26. Invite someone to stay the night in your common room without telling you about it.

27. Clean the apartment (e.g. when you’re busy and don’t have time for it).

28. Worry because you’re not home yet/etc.

29. (Accidentally) Wake you up.

30. Knock on your shared wall using Morse code/etc.

31. Turn off the oven/etc. because your food is starting to look burned.

32. Invite you to hang out with them (and their friends).

33. Leave the lights on.

34. Offer to leave the apartment for a while when you have a date/your partner(s) coming over.

35. Look after your plants/pets when you’re not there.

36. Help you move in/out.

37. Use your belongings.

38. Surprise you on your birthday by having decorated the apartment/etc. overnight.