#I do believe very hard in the right to be useless. As a useless thing

[adhdo5]

I was prompted to post these a bit ago bc of my madness posting abt the Xiyao laundry audioextra upload someone posted like last week and I think there is really a lot there in the Xiyao laundry thing in general (hashtag release the Yunping tapes) and not all of it is smth I see ~talked abt as much as I think it deserves SO . Collected thoughts on Xiyao laundry

OK so like Yeah they're cute. I absolutely get why people's primary reaction to this is that it's cute and I think this is not even wrong. The politics of uselessness r complicated and I Will be returning to this but a legitimate angle of this is that LXC, who has spent his life largely defined by the fact that he pretty much excels at everything expected of him, has nothing expected of him and gets to be incompetent at something he ~feels obligated to do and have that not actually be a fail state, still get offered the same kindness regardless of his ability to be exceedingly capable/responsible etc.; meanwhile MY, who historically has had pretty much no one ever gaf about whether he's struggling or overworked or generally about him as a person (and the audiodrama extra version even has a bit where MY's coworkers are shit talking him including talking abt how he's probably not even actually doing any work), has someone earnestly caring about that, if ineffectually, and materially recognizing his workload as important and effortful and trying to help him with it. That is I think legitimately kind of sweet! Especially if one interprets the "he didn't even know who I was" line as true and as in the audiodrama extra this is set b4 MY figures it out! They appreciate each other in ways they don't usually get to be appreciated and it's nontransactional in this way and ;x;

HOWEVER. #Nuance. There's Other Angles.

I've talked abt this before inc on my blog but I do kind of never get tired of thinking abt it: there's a reason LXC is incapable of doing laundry and it's not just inexperience it's that he is physically incapable of the task bc of his cultivator strength!!!!! And the disparity of cultivation level is explicitly a class thing w/ JGY wrt 3zun especially!!! No matter his intention Zewu-jun CANNOT SULLY HIS HANDS WITH THE TASK bangs my head against a wall. It's such an innocuous detail yet it captures how from even this early on in their relationship and in this context it's not ignorable how much LXC is in fact a nobleman where JGY is not and this is a literal physical difference and it's in his very flesh and it has explicitly destructive results. See again vampire AU posting

And going off that it's notable how this does in fact also end up creating more work and while MY doesn't begrudge that in the moment and it's pettier here and arguably inextricable with the first point (LXC is not only incapable here he's actively bad at something, he actively makes smth worse and he's forgiven for it and that's genuinely kind of nice) it's it's also worth noting more grimly given how their relationship ends. It's not just destructive it's destructive to MY specifically

And on the notes of "inextricable from first point but also tragic" – it's sweet tht LXC gets no external consequences for this (yet lol) but is that really something he can Accept. It is an arguably underexamined element of Sunshot Xiyao how fucking miserable LXC is; he might be in an environment where this isn't fucking him up but he did bring his complexes here and you don't suddenly know how to accept that kind of grace yknow – and, and this is tangentially related to the stuff I was posting earlier today, this is one of the first of several kinds of vulnerability that LXC's almost only able to experience with MY/JGY. Considering how much that's arguably a running theme for them and considering where that leads that's also quite Foreshadowing Dismal!!

This is an audio drama exclusive but the way in the audiodrama extra ver that MY realizes who LXC is here and then ~lies about it is also crunchy as helllllll

AND between the coworkers thing in the audiodrama extra and the added scenes in the donghua and this and the notion in general (which comes from MXTX's post) that it's important they do the laundry themselves bc the robes would give LXC away it's a highlight of how genuinely precarious this is for MY which is another thing that both makes it more sweet and more. Despair.

It's just so lovely how it is both indicative of how genuinely good they are to and for each other, the ways in which they're meaningfully and significantly compassionate and helpful to one another, and also of the ways in which their situation here is precarious and high-stress and dangerous as fuck, AND also the ways in which they hurt each other so so bad, and how all of those things are largely different facets of the same qualities and the same significances. And That's My Post. Stream Apple Pie by the Scary Jokes

[feral4daryl]

masterlist || MDNI

sweet scent.

perv!daryl x fem!reader

summary: while looking for his crossbow around the house, daryl ends up finding a pile of your dirty clothes and... used panties of yours. and when no one's looking, he decides to have some fun with them.

warnings: EXTREME AGE GAP (daryl is in his late 30s/early 40s and reader is 18), not entirely proofread, smut, mean!daryl sort of, corruption kink, daryl being an absolute pervert, panties sniffing, daddy kink, masturbation, cussing, daryl imagining himself doing the dirtiest things to you (unprotected p-in-v, squirting, face fucking, praising, loss of virginity, cunnilingus and i think that's pretty much it)

word count: 2.8k

a/n: please proceed with caution, this piece of work portrays a few extreme or unusual fetishes, so if you're not comfortable with any of those i've listed above please do not ready this. the idea that inspired this work originally belongs to @dilfsandmartinis.

if there was something daryl absolutely hated, it was the feeling of uselessness.

since andrea had mistaken him for a walker and shot him from afar, grazing his head, useless was exactly how he felt, having to lay down on a bed the whole day and night, doing absolutely nothing but be left alone with his own thoughts. and oh, what a disgraceful fate.

everytime he wasn't focused on hunting, fighting or surviving in general, the farmer's sweet younger daughter flooded his mind. your hair, your face, your stupidly adorable sundresses, everything about you was so... distracting.

daryl wasn't ever the kind of guy to simp for a woman, but that one specific girl made him feel emotions and sensations that were hidden deep within his being for years, maybe even decades. feelings he thought had vanished from his heart a long time ago were now blooming all over again, like he was some stupid teenager looking at a playboy magazine for the first time.

there was something about your innocence, your adorable mannerisms, your sweet voice and your kindness that had awakened something in him, something he wasn't quite sure what it was.

no, he wasn't exactly a young man. and while being aware that you were very young, he couldn't help but feel so guilty for having those feelings. whenever you bended over to pick something up, he had to fight demons not to have a glimpse of your panties. he often wondered how could you be so careless by exposing yourself like that, even if you didn't do it on purpose.

and there was him again, thinking about you. it's like no matter how hard he tried to push those thoughts away, they were like water, always finding a way in.

he huffed, feeling defeated. he knew he was still recovering from the incident, and that he should rest, but why was he following orders around anyways? he wasn't a damn puppy. plus, everybody else had left him there to go looking for sophia. he wanted to be able to help too. he was alive after all, and if he was alive, he believed he should be on his feet.

so that's what he did. he slowly lifted his right foot, resting it on the floor, then he did the same with his left one. his body reluctantly lifted itself up, and he immediately could feel the consequences for laying down for so long, his back killing him and his vision a bit foggy. anyways, he ignored any discomfort and started walking slowly, his head still a little dizzy.

then, he remembered he needed his trustworthy crossbow, he couldn't just leave unprotected like that. he looked around the room he was settled in but it was nowhere to be seen. he knew it was still in the house, so he left the room. he started walking down the corridor, his eyes attentively looking for any signs of his crossbow. he was even starting to think that his mates might've hidden it to force him to stay in the house when he spotted a halfway open door.

his calloused hands pulled it open, revealing a small bedroom, all pink themed and stupidly decorated. no, his crossbow wasn't likely to be there, it just looked like it belonged to one of hershel's daughters, but it was like something was calling him in.

he stepped in the room and it almost looked messy. the dressing table on the corner had lipsticks, combs, all sorts of make-up and girly stuff all piled up and... a perfume.

it was happening again, images of you flooded his mind and it was like he could almost smell you. oh, your sweet scent had the power to make him hard like nothing else. just by looking at that small bottle, just by imagining your scent, he could feel little shock waves travelling all the way down to his cock, threatening to awaken it.

he knew it was wrong, so fucking wrong thinking about a much younger girl like that. and it was even worse considering that you were the daughter of the man that provided him shelter in such difficult times. it felt ungrateful.

when he saw you for the first time, he didn't think much of you. he was actually careful, treating you like the stranger you were. and even when time passed, he never really got close to you. now and then you tried to share a word, even if just a little bit, but it seemed useless since he would reject all your attempted approaches. he didn't hate you like he tried to after acknowledging his disgusting desires for you, but he just couldn't allow himself to interact with a girl that made him sick to his stomach for all the wrong reasons.

your sweetness was almost annoying. the entire world had gone to shit, for goodness sake! dead bodies walking around and eating all the people they could find. how could you act so clueless all the time? daryl even wondered if you had ever seen a walker before, if you knew what was really happening out there. after all, it was very obvious that you were a daddy's girl, always protected under your father's wing.

but strangely enough, acknowledging that only made him protective towards you. he was always somewhat watching, always around you making sure you were safe and he barely knew why, he just felt like he should.

so he didn't stop himself from reaching over to your small perfume bottle. the design was very simple, no labels to be seen, time had probably faded it away. the cap was baby pink and heart shaped, and when he removed it, he immediately brought the bottle to his nose, giving it a gentle sniff.

fuck.

now, he was 100% sure that was your room. the fragrance was the same one that filled his nose and made him drunk in you everytime you walked by. he wondered if that was the scent he would feel if he ever hugged you, burying his face into your chest.

in that moment, he couldn't think about anything else, not rick, not carol, not his chores, not surviving, not even sophia. you were everything that he had in his fucked up mind.

he wouldn't feel so fucking guilty if his thoughts were only about your innocence and sweetness, but they were also dirty as fuck. countless were the times when daryl imagined groping you, running his hands all over your delicate body, feeling every texture, squeezing every junk and listening close to your every little whimper. he would pull your hair, gently at first, just to get it off your face and neck so he could pamper them with little wet kisses, gently scratching his teeth along them. he imagined he'd have to keep you on your feet himself, since you'd struggle to because of how weak your knees would get at all the sensations he would provide you and...

wait, no.

what was he thinking? was he out his fucking mind? he needed to stop those absolutely disgusting thoughts right away. he couldn't keep having those thoughts about you, not when you're out taking care of such important business with the others. he put the perfume bottle back on the dressing table, determined to let all that go. he knew he couldn't just let himself get so distracted like that over something so mundane and unimportant as his own sexual desires but then...

...he spotted a basket filled with clothes when he turned around to leave. his mind immediately started to rush all over again, and for the 100th time that day, he turned careless. he slowly approached it. shorts, tops, pants and so on could be seen at the top of the pile.

in that moment, he had totally forgot why he had entered that bedroom or even left his bed in the first place. he couldn't even remember the existence of his crossbow or his duties.

and then... he gets an idea. he starts going through the pile of dirty clothes and in no time, he finds your panties. they were white with a pink ribbon on the front, a clear reminder of your innocence. for a moment, he just looks at it, contemplating the possibilities. then, he remembers seeing you in it when you bended over to pick some off the floor the day before. he remembers catching a glimpse of it under your yellow sundress when you went to change his bandage.

that meant that those panties had been freshly worn.

if just your perfume ignited such vile desires in him, he couldn't even imagine what your natural scent could do to him. and he was oh so curious to find out. he still felt guilty, but that man had been sex deprived for so fucking long, he didn't even masturbate very often. he knew damn well he was about to commit a big mistake, maybe even starting something he was sure he couldn't finish, but he finally made up his mind.

he flips the small piece of cloth over, eyeing the soft-looking lining of the panties. he gulps, feeling his mouth water right away. god, what was he doing? what was right, what was wrong wasn't even important to him anymore. he just wanted to embrace his sickness.

there was a small stain on the lining, probably from you wearing it. just that sight alone was enough to get him off, and once again, he found himself having to face that tingling sensation inside his pants. he knew damn well what that meant and what was about to happen. but honestly, he couldn't give a single fuck anymore.

in one quick motion, he brought the fabric to his face, giving a long sniff while he rolled his eyes to the back of his head. that fucking scent of yours got him drunk the moment it filled his nostrils. so intense, so feminine and raw, daryl couldn't remember the last time he felt that type of pleasure, or if he had even felt anything like it before.

it made him needy like a horny teenager. he felt himself going back to puberty when all he could think about was jacking off day and night. and it was all your fucking fault.

daryl palmed himself through his denim pants, never taking your panties off his face not even for one second. the natural scent of your cunt was more than successful to make him hard as a rock, the sensation of being in his pants started to get uncomfortable as his dick grew bigger and bigger.

just palming himself wasn't enough.

he slowly unbuttoned his pants and unzipped them, inserting one of his hand in his briefs to catch his hard cock in it, freeing it for the first time in a while. his angry-red tip was literally pulsating while a clear and sticky liquid dropped down his length.

he wasn't able to hold a small grunt as he wrapped his calloused hand around his cock, the rough sensation of his fingers causing him to feel a jolt of pleasure so fucking delicious and guilty at the same time. the archer brought his hand to his mouth, catching some of his saliva to use as lube.

oh, how he wished you were there. he'd make sure you'd get his cock nice and wet with your spit so you could rub it up and down. and then, without warnings, he'd just shove it down your throat, forcing you to prove how much of a good girl you could be just for him.

and just for him. he wanted you all for his own. daryl never really liked to share, specially when it came to a girl like you, so princess like, so adorable looking. your plump lips looked so fucking perfect, and they would look even more wrapped around his big cock.

knowing how fragile you were, he knew you would definitely choke and gag on him, struggling to fit all of him in your mouth. he would whisper sweet encouragement words to you like “tha's it, tha's ma good girl”. he imagined how he would hold your head in place and keep a hand on your throat so he could feel his cock while he aggressively pumped it in and out, making you drool all over him. “just like tha', yeah, show daddy how fuckin' good ya are fer him”.

in his imagination, you would look up at him with those big doe eyes of yours, with a mix of uncertainty and desire to make him proud. “am i doing this right, daddy?” he could almost hear your voice saying it whenever you would take him off his mouth to catch your breath for a moment, never disconnecting your small hand from his thick length.

he started pumping faster, squelching sounds were all that could be heard in that silent room, a proof of his degeneracy. the grunts and stifled moans were only getting harder and harder to hold back. he was sticking those panties to his face and sniffing on them like his life depended on it, like he was a desperate virgin.

a virgin. he wondered if you were one. you sure looked like it, your dad never let you out of sight for long enough for you to try something like that, he supposed from what he knew about your relationship. he imagined how would it feel like to be the one to pop your cherry for the first time.

oh, he would teach you so many things, everything he knows. he would guide you through it all along, teaching you where to touch, where to kiss, where to lick. he would make your virgin little cunny cum so many times it would get all puffy and red. he even wondered if he could make you squirt, stuffing you with his fingers, brushing against your sweet spot over and over again until you were a quivering mess, squirting all over his skull tattoo. and yes, he would make you lick his fingers clean, your sweet little tongue dragging across them, and then, he would kneel down in front of you, not wanting to waste a single drop of your sweet release, attacking your sensitive clit and slit with his lips and tongue.

fuck, fuck, fuck.

he was so fucking eager to taste your slick, to revel in your salty taste. he imagined how fucking good the smell he was getting from your panties was from the actual source. he would lick it all, your lips, your slit, even your ass, but he would give special attention to your little clit, flicking his tongue on it, making it cum again just for him. he would never grow tired of it.

and when he felt you were finally ready for him, he would bend you over just like you used to do so absentmindedly. he would be gentle at first, but knowing himself, he knew he wouldn't be able to hold himself back for too long before absolutely railing the shit out of you, making you cry out and scream his name in pleasure and pain.

and when he flipped you over on your back, he would be able to see the bulge on your lower belly caused by his big cock inside you. just by imagining that he felt himself getting close to the edge. he would press his hand on it, making the little room inside your pussy even tighter. fuck, he imagined the sweet sounds you would make just for him.

all those dirty thoughts and your sweet scent from your panties were more than enough to make shivers run down his spine and his whole body tremble. he kept his eyes shut tight as he licked a stripe on the lining of your panties, trying to get some of your delicious taste. meanwhile, he hadn't stopped his hands not even for a second, harshly rubbing his cock up and down until it was too much.

in a strangled moan, his cock started shooting spurt after spurt of thick cum onto the floor, the dressing table and pretty much anything that was around. he couldn't remember the last time he had such an intense orgasm, the sensation making his mind completely empty except for your image.

his movements got slower until they stopped and he let go of his now sensitive cock. he sighed after catching his breath. he was left with that afterglow and the feeling that he made a huge mistake. suddenly, he felt dirty like before. he opened his eyes slowly, removing your panties from his face and putting them in his pockets. yeah, he knew it was wrong, but he was still planning to keep them for later.

then, when he averted his gaze to the mirror on his side, he saw...

you. standing on the doorframe with a shocked look on your face.

“u-uncle daryl?”

[PART TWO]

a/n: i know, i'm disgusting. i'm sorry. (just a quick reminder, english isn't my first language, so please excuse any grammar mistakes or awkward phrasing lmao, and tysm if you read it this far)

[luffydotcom]

worst fears

synopsis: one piece characters worst fears in a relationship feat: straw hats (luffy, zoro, nami, usopp, sanji, robin) + ace and law warnings: angst + slight spoiler for ace's past notes: i honestly was a bit stuck for law's part so bear with me PLEASE also yeah not me finally posting things after ages sorry pookies

luffy

losing you.

LUFFY'S worst fear is that when worst comes to worst, he won't be able save you when you need him the most.

although he always tries to protect you, LUFFY has experienced losing loved ones before because he wasn't strong enough, and he never wants it to happen again. he loves everyone in his life so much, especially you, and never wants to lose them. but what if one day he slips up and the cost is losing you forever?

zoro

not being able to protect you.

ZORO'S unwavering loyalty to those he cares about means that he has made it his sworn mission to protect them at all times. in fact, that's practically his main role in the crew - to protect everyone from danger, so he believes he has to always do this right.

he works hard to protect those he cares about, and would never be able to forgive himself if he let something happen to you or was too late to protect you from danger.

he can't predict the future and he can't guarantee your safety at all times, and he hates it. he knows how unpredictable life is and that anything could happen at any moment, which makes him scared of what could happen to you.

nami

being powerless when you need her the most.

NAMI knows what it's like to have no one there to save you or protect you when you're in pain, suffering or in danger. thankfully, she found her way out thanks to her friends, but what if she can't help you?

when it comes to someone she cares about, she can't just rest easy when they need help because she hates seeing those she loves in pain. despite what people think, she would be ready to go above and beyond for someone she loves. she wants to do whatever she can as soon as she can to help you, and she fears that something could happen and make this impossible for her to do.

usopp

being replaced by somebody else.

USOPP wants to believe that he's just the guy you need, but he can't ignore his insecurities that tell him that he's useless and weak all the time. and this feeds into his biggest fear when being with you.

while you don't have an issue with his flaws, to him, his 'negative' qualities and weaknesses mean that he is easy to abandon. he feels like you being with him is just holding yourself back from something - or someone - better.

his worst fear is that you'll have had enough of the 'weak' parts of him, and that one day, you'll get tired of him and just replace him with someone else.

sanji

being a burden to you.

SANJI doesn't just love you - he practically worships your entire being and sees you as flawless and capable of no wrong. he sees you as someone who deserves only the best and nothing less. in comparison, he sees himself as someone who deserves basically nothing.

although you offer warm smiles in his direction and constantly assure him how much you care about him, he can't possibly understand how you could ever love a 'failure' like him.

he hates himself for thinking it, but he sometimes is afraid that your feelings are just fake or out of pity for someone like him. his biggest, worst fear is that he's just a burden to you and someone you're wasting your time on - and that and one day, you'll let him know it by just leaving him for good.

robin

you giving up on her.

ROBIN'S worst fear, in a way, is a little similar to sanji's. she doesn't want to be a burden to you because she can't forget how she was treated her whole life. people around her treated her like a nuisance and a monster just for her existence and where she came from, making her feel like she had nowhere to belong.

it's something she's been trying to unlearn ever since joining the crew, and she knows it's not very likely, but her worst fear is that you won't see her as someone worth fighting for, protecting, or loving anymore. instead, you too will see her as someone who doesn’t belong anywhere.

she's afraid that you'll see her just as how everyone has in her past - a devil whose existence only brings trouble to everyone.

ace

you stop loving him.

ACE has always felt like love is something that needs to be earned, especially for him. sometimes, he can't even believe how lucky he is to have someone like you - someone who doesn't care about the blood that flows in his veins because you know that doesn't matter to who he is.

however, his biggest fear is what happens if that love diminishes for good. he's afraid you'll start to be remember who he exactly is - the son of the world's biggest criminal, the pirate king himself. he's scared that you'll find him a nuisance to be associated with, and stop loving him altogether because of it.

law

disappointing you.

LAW knows that he isn't very openly affectionate and that he struggles to show his his feelings at times, making him appear closed-off and cold to others. although he does know that he really and truly loves you - his worst fear is disappointing you in the relationship because you may feel like he doesn't.

he knows what a healthy and loving relationship is supposed to look like and how other people show love, but he's afraid that he'll fail you by not being able to give you that. he hates the thought of letting you down when you deserve so much better than he is.

[axkirak]

Kiss and Make up

(𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

Read in Ao3 : here

Pairings:  Viktor x f!reader

Fandom : Arcane (TV Series)

Content waring : 18+ smut/nsfw, fingering, oral (f!receiving), p in v, vanilla sex, creampie, slightly OOC because they fucking COMMUNICATE

tags : porn with plot, argument, makeup sex, angst and fluff and smut, purposeful teasing, workaholic viktor, canon compliant, these character's aren't perfect and sometimes do stupid things (english isn't my first language)

Summary: As a Zaunite, Viktor always knew he had to work five times harder to prove himself in Piltover. His work always came first, even before you. But when you finally reached your breaking point and decided to leave him, he realized what truly mattered.

A/N : just binged Arcane season one and and immediately decided I had to write a Viktor fic. Please enjoy my 6,517-word smut fic Lol.

Viktor’s workaholic tendencies were, without question, his greatest flaw, one no amount of effort could ever fix.

He was painfully aware that his place in Piltover society was worlds apart from everyone else’s. After all, he had been born a Zaunite. He wasn’t one of the privileged from the Upper City, blessed with wealth and comfort. On the contrary, he had grown up in crushing poverty. His body, too, had never been his ally—frail, thin, and broken. His right leg was useless, permanently braced with metal and reliant on a cane he could never part with.

But for all his physical shortcomings, Viktor’s brilliance more than made up for them. His intellect bordered on the extraordinary. At a young age, his talents stood out so starkly they caught the attention of Professor Heimerdinger himself. It was Heimerdinger who plucked Viktor out of the Undercity slums, gave him shelter and a scholarship that opened the doors to the University of Piltover. Viktor graduated with a doctorate in his early twenties, becoming the youngest PhD holder in the city’s history, and secured a position at the academy as assistant dean not long after.

Nothing in Viktor’s life had ever come easily. Every inch of progress had to be earned through sheer determination and relentless effort. From his school days through to his professional life, he worked at least five times harder than everyone else. All of it—every sleepless night, every sacrificed comfort—had been for one purpose: to prove he belonged. That he wasn’t just some crippled, penniless boy from Zaun who had lucked out and stumbled upon Heimerdinger’s charity.

His relentless need to prove his worth had slowly consumed him, transforming what was once an admirable work ethic into outright obsession. What began as ambition had long since crossed into compulsion—until, at last, Viktor became the very embodiment of a workaholic.

Every breath he took was devoted to his work and research, which had become more important to him than anything else in the world.

…Perhaps even more than you.

You and Viktor had been together for years, lovers since your university days, when you, two years his junior, first crossed paths in a physics class. It was your sharp wit and incisive questions that caught his attention from the start.

You weren’t afraid to challenge him, especially when it came to his research, which you believed still had plenty of room for refinement. Viktor had expected to be irritated by your constant critiques. Instead, he found himself utterly captivated. Your confidence, your mind, the way you spoke with such unwavering clarity drew him in completely.

He fell for you hard, and fast.

And it terrified him.

Despite being hailed as a prodigy among his peers, Viktor knew he was painfully inexperienced in matters of the heart. His attempts at courting you were nothing short of disastrous. He was always awkward, flustered, and hopelessly out of his depth, fumbling over words every time he tried to talk to you.

So it was a complete mystery to him, what did you see in a crippled, ordinary man like him? Why did you say yes when he finally confessed his feelings? He had braced himself for rejection, fully expecting a ninety percent chance that you would gently turn him down. But you didn’t.

You said yes.

And from that day onward, Viktor felt like the luckiest man in all of Piltover.

You cared for him with quiet devotion, never once faltering through all the years you’d been together. You made him meals three times a day, brewed his favorite black coffee each morning so he could take it with him to the Academy. You reminded him, almost pleadingly, to eat at proper hours and to sleep at least six hours a night. You begged him not to get so absorbed in his research that he worked straight through until dawn, just like he used to during his university days.

Viktor always promised you he’d try. He meant it, every time. But he never managed to keep his word.

Time after time, he would lose himself in his work, completely oblivious to the hour. He would drag his body home near dawn, exhaustion etched deep into his features, as if this was the only way he knew how to live.

He assumed, mistakenly, that you had grown used to his way of life, too.

It never once crossed Viktor’s mind that the day might come...

The day when your patience finally ran out.

Tonight is another night Viktor returns to the apartment later than expected.

After spending countless hours working in the Academy’s lab, exhaustion weighs heavily on every inch of his body as he steps through the door. The clock on the living room wall strikes three in the morning just as Viktor enters.

All he wants right now is to crawl into bed, wrap his arms around you, and drift off to sleep with your body warm against his chest. That’s the moment he cherishes most—the fleeting pause when he can let go of his burdens, wash away the physical and mental fatigue, simply by lying beside you each night.

But tonight is different.

You're wearing a silky sky-blue nightgown, your favorite color and a familiar sight to him. But this time, you're not lying on the bed like you usually do. You're sitting at the kitchen table, chin resting in your hand as you gaze blankly out the apartment window. Moonlight spills across your face, casting delicate shadows and making your features appear even more striking in the dim room. Your brows are slightly furrowed, as if you're lost in thought.

Viktor frowns as well, sensing that something isn’t quite right, though he can’t put his finger on it, and that uncertainty leaves him uneasy. He quickly shrugs off his coat and hangs it by the door before carefully walking toward you, the soft tap of his cane on the floor the only sound breaking the tense silence.

“You’re late. Again.”

You speak without looking at him. Though Viktor hasn’t yet seen your expression clearly, your tone carries a trace of irritation, and that alone is enough to tell him exactly what kind of situation he’s walking into.

Viktor sighs. This isn’t the first time the two of you have argued about this, even though it doesn’t happen often. Still, he never quite gets used to dealing with your anger. You’re not the type to snap or raise your voice when you’re angry. Quite the opposite. When you’re mad at him, you become eerily calm, quiet like the surface of the ocean before a tsunami.

And that, frankly, terrifies him.

Viktor’s expression softens slightly as he steps closer, steady but careful, stopping just short of where you sit, close enough to reach, but not close enough to invade your space. He braces one hand on the edge of the table to steady himself, amber eyes fixed on you.

“I didn’t mean to,” Viktor says simply. “I lost track of time.”.

There’s no excuse, and he doesn’t offer one. The two of you know each other too well for lies. A single glance speaks louder than any words could. And Viktor knows he’s at fault. He buried himself in work and forgot everything else, including your request for him to come home on time.

Once again, he’s broken his promise to you.

You fall silent, not saying a word or even glancing his way. Your gaze stays on the window, your thoughts miles away. “Go to bed, Vik. It’s late. You have to wake up early tomorrow.”

Your voice is cold, emotionless. You don’t even bother to look at him, as if he isn’t here at all.

Silence stretches between you. Viktor watches you closely, his sharp eyes scanning from head to toe before settling on your face beneath the soft glow of moonlight. It’s the face of the woman he loves, steady and unchanged, just as it has been day after day.

“You’re… still upset,” he says bluntly. It’s not a question, just another one of Viktor’s logical conclusions. To him, everything runs on cause and effect—patterns he can analyze, break down, and solve.

It’s one of the things you both admire and resent about him: that analytical mind of his, always dissecting everything and searching for a clear answer, especially when it comes to you.

You let out a long sigh. “I’m not. I’m just tired,” you reply flatly, still refusing to meet his gaze. Your eyes remain fixed on the night sky beyond the glass, as if there’s something out there far more interesting than him.

Viktor scoffs under his breath, clearly unconvinced.

His slender fingers gently take your chin, coaxing you to look at him. “Don’t lie to me,” he says, voice low but firm. His gaze pierces into yours, unwavering and intense, refusing to let you look away. “You’re angry because I came home late. Aren’t you?”

You meet his gaze coldly before pulling his hand away. “Do I even have the right to be mad at you, Vik?” you snap, sarcasm edging your voice. “This is your life. Your job. None of it has anything to do with me.”

Viktor’s eyes narrow, brows furrowing. There’s hurt in his expression, mixed with a flicker of frustration. “Nothing to do with you?” he echoes, stepping closer until only inches separate you. His jaw tightens as tension builds in his chest. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re my girlfriend. Of course it has everything to do with you.”

Now it’s your turn to scoffs “Oh, so now you remember I’m your girlfriend? I thought you were already in a relationship with your work.”

The words hit him like ice water, chilling him to the core and leaving a dull ache right in his chest.

Viktor presses his lips into a thin line. His expression hardens, laced with hurt and barely restrained anger. But he keeps his voice steady, not wanting this to spiral. “Don’t say that, Zlato[1]. You know how important my work is.” he murmurs, his tone softening. “I’m doing this for a better future. Not just for the world, but for us.”

You know exactly what he’s talking about.

Hextech—the revolutionary arcane technology project that’s taken all of Piltover by storm. A project he co-founded with Jayce Talis, another rising young scientist at the Academy.

"Hextech will change the world.”

That’s how he once described it to you. And deep down, you’ve always known Viktor is an ambitious man. He’s always wanted to make his mark. That’s why he’s poured everything into this project, because he truly believes it’s the key to making his dream come true.

So when he says he’s ‘doing it for both of us’ you let out a quiet, bitter laugh.

Because you know it’s not true. It never has been. He’s doing it for himself.

But you don’t argue. There’s no point. You’ve tried to change Viktor before, more times than you can count. Every time, it ends the same.

Disappointment. Loneliness. Being left behind.

And each time, it chips away at something inside you. You’re growing tired. Tired of chasing him. Tired of waiting.

Maybe... maybe it’s time for you to be the one who changes.

"I don’t want to talk about this anymore, Vik. Let’s just go to bed." You cut him off, rising from the chair and heading back to the bedroom.

You’ve given up, at least for tonight.

But Viktor hasn’t.

His eyes stay fixed on your back as you walk away. His expression remains unchanged, firm and determined. He grabs his cane in haste and follows closely behind.

As soon as he steps inside the bedroom, he shuts the door and turns to face you again.  "No. This isn’t over," he says firmly. "You’re angry with me. And we need to talk this through. Now."

His stubbornness makes you pinch the bridge of your nose. You exhale slowly, doing your best not to snap. But it’s getting harder, especially with those amber eyes locked on you, relentless and unwavering.

"What’s the point, Viktor?" you say, your voice growing colder with each word.  "In the end, you always go back to being the same. You’ve never once cared about me"

Your words are sharp now. There’s no hiding your anger anymore.

"Maybe you really are better off alone than in a relationship."

That line cuts deeper than anything you’ve said before.

Viktor freezes, momentarily speechless. Your words strike like a blade: deep, merciless, straight to his heart.

And he knows. Deep down, he knows you’re right. He’s never been the boyfriend you deserved. His work has always come first. You have every right to be angry with him. But hearing you say it so plainly hurts in ways he never expected. It feels like you’re no longer his lover, just a stranger who happens to be sharing the same roof.

He swallows the sting of your words, forcing his face into a hard, unreadable mask. His fingers tighten around the cane until his knuckles turn white.

"Maybe you’re right…" he finally says. His voice comes out hoarse and flat, an attempt to sound unaffected, but the pain in his tone is unmistakable. "Maybe I’m just not cut out for this. Maybe it would be better for both of us… if we ended this."

He doesn’t mean it. Not really.

Somewhere inside, he’s hoping you’ll take it back. That you’ll say you’re sorry. That you’ll realize you still love him. That you don’t actually want to leave.

But what he gets in return is the exact opposite.

You look at him with that same icy expression, unflinching and unreadable. You don’t argue. You don’t apologize. You simply walk over to the wardrobe, pull out your things, and toss them onto the bed. Then you grab your suitcase and begin packing, swift and eerily calm.

Viktor’s eyes widen. He never thought you’d actually go.

He wants to say something, anything, to stop you. To make you stay. But his mind is a storm of emotion: panic, guilt, and sorrow, all hitting him at once. He’s too overwhelmed to speak, too paralyzed to act. So he stands there, frozen, watching as you shove the last of your belongings into the suitcase.

He snaps back only when you finish packing and drag your suitcase to a stop right in front of him.

“You’re in the way,” you say flatly. “Move.”

And that’s when he knows you’re serious.

Once you step out of this room, this apartment, it’ll all be over. Nearly a decade together, gone in a single night.

And in that moment, it finally hits him.

Hextech was never what mattered most.

It was you.

You were the one thing he couldn’t afford to lose. You were what truly mattered, more than his work, more than his legacy. And now, he's about to lose you for good.

He can’t let that happen. Not now. Not ever.

Viktor still stands in place, unmoved by your command.

“Where are you even going to stay? It’s so late,” he says, desperate to stall and grasping at anything that might buy him time to fix this.

But you shut that hope down instantly.

“Not your business,”  you snap, locking eyes with him. You're standing close now, close enough to see the tiny mole above his thin upper lip and the one on his forehead. “Move, Viktor,” you say again, firmer this time.

His jaw clenches. He stares back at you without budging, plants himself firmly in front of the door.

“No,” he says, voice steely.

Viktor knows how pathetic this is. He knows he's being selfish. He never once treated you the way he should’ve. You were always second to his work. He thought you’d stay no matter what. Only now, as you’re walking away, does he realize what he’s losing.

Deep down, he knows he doesn’t deserve your love. You should be with someone who treats you right.

But there’s a part of him, buried deeper and darker, that refuses to let you go.

He has no right to ask you to stay. And yet, he says it anyway.

“I don’t want you to go.” The words come out barely above a whisper, raw and pleading. The sharpness in his voice is gone. “Please don’t go, Koloušek[2]”

Then he moves. His tall, wiry frame steps closer. One hand still grips his cane, while the other latches tightly onto your suitcase handle, refusing to let it go.

You caught off guard by his sudden action. “Vik! What the hell is wrong with you? Let go of my suitcase!” You yank it, but he only tightens his grip.

“No,” he snaps. His eyes blaze with stubborn fire. There’s no way in hell he’s letting go.

You struggle for a while, tugging the suitcase back and forth, but he won’t budge. He’s not strong by any means, not physically. But adrenaline gives him an unexpected surge of strength, and he uses all of it just to keep you from taking it.

Realizing he’s not going to let go, you finally give in. For now.

You release the handle, cross your arms with a sharp sigh, and glare at him in frustration.

He meets your gaze, unflinching.

For a few seconds, neither of you speaks. The silence thickens as you stare each other down, testing and daring each other to move first.

The air thickens, saturated with an unspoken tension that weighs heavy between you.

And in the end, it’s you who cracks.

“I hate you,” you say, hoping your voice will sound firm, resolute. But it comes out soft and trembling, like even you don’t quite believe your own words.

And he sees it. Of course he does. 

Viktor lets out a short, dry laugh and shakes his head. “No, you don’t.”

He steps in, this time closer than before. So close your chests nearly touch. He’s only slightly taller, so when you’re face to face like this, his amber eyes are nearly level with yours. You catch every flicker of emotion in them. And you know, without question, he reads yours just as clearly.

“You’re just angry. I get it,” he murmurs. “But you don’t actually hate me.”

He speaks with such calm certainty that it’s maddening.

“You’ll never hate me. Even if you try. Even if you push me away or tell yourself a thousand times you’re fine without me. It’s a lie, and you know it.” His voice drops to a whisper, warm breath brushing your skin as he leans in. “Want to know why?”

You already do. And Viktor does too.

“Because you know I love you,” he breathes. The words fall like a confession, weighted and unshakable.

His hand lifts to your face, fingers tracing the line of your jaw before stopping at your chin. He tilts it up gently, his eyes never leaving yours. He sees the hitch in your breath, the flicker in your gaze, both undeniable signs that he’s right.

“And you still love me.”

You freeze, stunned by the sudden kiss that follows.

His lips crash into yours, and before you can step away, his arms wrap around your waist and pull you flush against him, leaving no space between your bodies and no chance to escape.

The kiss is desperate and deep, hungry yet heartbreakingly tender. It steals your breath away. You can feel it all in the way he kisses you: the longing, the guilt, the silent apology he can’t voice but tries to show with every motion of his mouth against yours.

And for a moment, the world fades.

Your mind goes blank. Everything disappears except for the feel of him, his lips devouring yours over and over, his tongue slipping past your lips with impatient yearning.

Without realizing it, your hands reach up to circle his neck, and you kiss him back, just as fiercely, just as helplessly.

You only realize it when your back hits the mattress, guided down by Viktor’s gentle push.

Now, you're lying beneath him, completely bare, your nightgown already stripped away. Your hair fans across the pillow, and your half-lidded eyes shimmer with the heat of unrelenting desire. Your cheeks burn, flushed a deep red. You breathe in ragged gasps as you stare up at him, questions trembling behind your gaze, waiting to see what he’ll do next.

You catch the way his eyes roam over every inch of you, drinking in every detail now exposed to him. His palm glides over your body like a man desperate for redemption, his fingertips trailing across your soft skin with a touch that feels both reverent and ravenous. Then he lowers himself, pressing his bare chest flush against your warm body. His lips move to your neck, sucking and nipping lightly, just enough to leave a mark.

Suddenly, he lifts his head and leans toward your ear. “Say it,” he whispers, voice low and possessive. “Tell me you want me.”

His hand drifts lower, fingertips teasing the sensitive peak of your breast until it hardens under his touch. The caress is featherlight, intentionally to make you squirm.

You jolt, sucking in a sharp breath. Your desire is unmistakable, tangled with frustration, both at him and at yourself. You want so badly to say no, just to deny him the satisfaction, to bruise his ego. But instead, what slips from your lips is, “I want you.”

And that’s exactly what Viktor wants to hear.

A faint smile curves across his lips as he watches you shudder beneath each increasingly intimate touch. Whatever resistance you were trying to hold onto is slowly crumbling, melting into the fire steadily consuming you.

His hand continues toying with your breast, fingers brushing over the swell, feeling the rapid beat of your heart beneath his palm and the shallow rise and fall of your breath. He doesn’t make you wait. Leaning down, he exhales warmly against your skin before wrapping his lips around the sensitive bud. His tongue curls and licks as his other hand rises to cup your other breast, kneading the soft flesh with purposeful pressure.

A moan escapes you before you can stop it. The pleasure surges, impossible to contain. Your hands grip the sheets tightly, desperate for something to hold onto as his mouth ravishes your chest, licking, sucking, biting, driving you wild with every deliberate stroke of his tongue.

His mouth and tongue travel lower, slowly, almost torturously. From your ribs down to your navel, he worships your body with kisses that alternate between soft and firm, leaving behind damp heat and the occasional playful scrape of teeth, gentle enough not to hurt, sharp enough to mark you as his: a claim, a brand.

Viktor halts when his lips reach the warm, damp heat between your thighs. His breath makes you twitch. You instinctively try to close your legs, but his hands catch your thighs and hold them apart, keeping you open beneath him. His eyes fixate on your glistening sex, unblinking, as his fingers slide gently through your slick folds. The more he touches, the wetter you get.

He can feel the tension coiled in your body, every breath hitching with anticipation. And it only excites him more.

Without wasting another second, he lowers his head and presses his mouth to your core, giving you a deep, lingering kiss between your thighs. He takes his time, tasting you thoroughly, his tongue lapping through every crease and fold with worshipful precision. He lingers over your clit, drawing it into his mouth with a suck that makes your hips buck. Then, he slips his index and middle fingers inside your tight heat, pumping them slowly in and out, stirring you with maddening rhythm until your sanity begins to fray.

Your head falls back against the pillow as your hands abandon the sheets and move to clutch his hair. A sob of pleasure escapes your throat while Viktor remains utterly focused, devouring you with lips and tongue, touching you with fingers that seem to know your body better than you do. He worships every inch of you as though your body were sacred.

He’s mesmerized by you, by your reactions, by the way you respond to him, by every trembling moan that spills from your lips. Everything about you drives him wild. He could spend hours like this, savoring every moment, tasting you, exalting you, pushing you over the edge again and again.

But no, not yet.

The moment Viktor senses your body twitching in small spasms, an unmistakable sign that you're teetering on the brink, he abruptly pulls away. A frustrated moan escapes you, irritation flaring as you're left aching and unsatisfied.

“Vik! I want to come,” you protest, voice thick with need, eyes pleading for him to return to you.

That look in your eyes nearly breaks him.

But he forces himself to hold back. Just for now. He needs something from you first.

He shifts his weight, bracing himself above you once more, lining up his eyes with yours. You see the glisten on his lips, still slick with your essence. His hand moves to your hip, giving it a playful squeeze.

"You want me to make you come, don’t you?" he murmurs hoarsely against your ear before dragging those messy lips down your neck, leaving wet, deliberate kisses that mark your skin anew.

God, you feel even wetter just hearing him talk like that.

Dirty talk isn’t exactly a common feature when the two of you are in bed. But every time he lets it slip,  it wrecks you in the best way.

And he knows that. He always knows how to push your buttons.

You nod rapidly, breath catching. “Vik, please don’t tease me…”

That sly grin returns, curling at the corner of his lips as he looks down at you, shaking, desperate, pleading with that raw, aching need in your voice. He knows you’re exactly where he wants you. And he’s not about to waste it.

“I’ll give you what you want,” he says, voice slow and deliberate, as his hand glides lower. His thumb traces lazy circles on the inside of your thigh, stoking the desire already burning within you. “But you have to promise me something first...”

“...Don’t leave me. Don’t ever break up with me again.”

You freeze, staring at him in disbelief. You can’t believe he’s using this moment to negotiate terms. “Seriously, Vik?” Even though you're squirming and desperate, you can't help but throw some sass back. “Did you forget you’re the one who said, ‘Maybe it would be better for both of us if we ended this’?”

He lets out a long sigh. He knows he’s partly to blame, but he never meant for you to leave. And now, he’s doing everything he can to find a reason, any reason, to convince you to stay.

“I know I said that, but I didn’t mean it,” he mumbles, kissing along your jaw now, soft and slow, almost apologetic. “Just… promise me, Milaček[3]"

You hate to admit it, but part of you is starting to soften. Still, the bitterness from your last fight hasn’t fully faded. “Didn’t mean it? Of course you never do. Unless it’s about work, that’s the only thing you ever seem to mean,” you shoot back, quick and sharp.

Viktor stops short, then pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes narrowing at your jab. “You really have a talent for ruining the mood, you know that?” he mutters, dry and irritated.

“Oh, really? I don’t think so”  You smirk knowingly, teasing glint in your eyes. “I can tell how much you love it when I get under your skin like this. It turns you on every single time, doesn’t it?”

You don’t wait for an answer. You grind into him, and the way he hardens beneath you says it all.

Your movement catches him off guard, and he stiffens, a low growl slipping from his throat as the friction sets his nerves ablaze.

Viktor isn’t the only one who knows how to push buttons. You’ve mastered his just as well.

His hand lifts to your face, fingers pressing into your cheeks in mock frustration. His eyes are dark with want, breath coming shallow and uneven. He knows he’s about to lose control, just from your taunts and that wicked smile on your lips.

“Quiet, you,” he growls, trying to sound scolding, but his hoarse voice betrays him, showing just how right you were.

You chuckle softly, raising an eyebrow at him in defiance. “Then make me... Miláček.”

And just like that, the final thread of Viktor’s restraint snaps.

“You asked for it.”

He doesn’t silence you. Quite the opposite. He pulls even louder moans from your lips as he grips your thigh, pushing you open and thrusting into you with a single, forceful motion, burying himself deep inside your dripping cunt. The way you're already wet makes it easier, though you're still so tight that Viktor has to pause, his face pressing into the crook of your neck as he collects himself. The sensation of your velvety warmth tightening around him, enveloping him so perfectly, is almost too much to bear.

Then, he braces your hips and begins to move, slow and steady at first, but with growing intensity.

Moans rise and fall from your lips along with the rhythm of his thrusts, growing sharper as he goes harder and deeper. His tip hits that perfect spot inside you every time, grinding against it with relentless precision, drawing gasps and shivers from you, your whole body trembling from the pleasure building inside you, coiling tighter with each push.

Your voice cuts off  when Viktor captures your lips in a bruising kiss, mouths and tongues tangled, the taste of him like coffee, his scent a heady mix of sweat, metal, and chemicals. Everything about him makes your head spin.

Viktor may be a scientist, methodical and precise in every thought and action when he’s working. But in bed, he lets go. Here, he moves on instinct alone, hips snapping forward in steady, punishing rhythm. And the moment he feels your inner walls clenching tighter around him, his control slips even further. He grunts low in his throat, pace turning rough and uncoordinated, lips abandoning your mouth in favor of your neck. He kisses along the frantic pulse under your skin, dragging his teeth over sensitive flesh, leaving fresh marks wherever he can reach.

You melt beneath him, every inch of you yielding to his touch. Your hips lift to meet his every thrust, bodies tangled and pressed so close there’s no telling where one ends and the other begins. The room fills with the sounds of their fervent coupling, the slap of skin against skin, and your moans mixing with him echoing through the room.

He starts to lose his rhythm, thrusts growing uneven and frantic as the edge pulls him closer. He’s close, so close, and he knows you are too. Just a little more. His hand slips down, thumb finding your clit, circling and pressing the sensitive bud in sync with his driving thrusts. The dual sensations of being filled and rubbed, stretched and stroked, short-circuit your mind, all of it igniting sparks of ecstasy that race along your nerves. You arch with a gasp, clutching at him when suddenly your climax crashes into you like a tidal wave, a sharp cry tearing from your throat louder than before, eyes rolling back as intense pleasure seizes your entire body in a blinding surge, consumed by all-encompassing bliss.

The sound of your voice, the way you clamp down around him is more than enough.

With a final string of ragged thrusts, Viktor follows, groaning against your shoulder as he spills into you. His cock pulsing as he empties himself deep inside your clinging heat. Jet after jet of hot seed coated your sticky walls, his hips jerk with the aftershocks, then finally still. He rests his head there, letting out a long, shuddering breath. Neither of you has ever minded finishing inside; Viktor knows you’ve never once missed a dose of birth control.

For a while, he just stays there, catching his breath. His body still quivers with the afterglow, and he can tell you’re just as wrecked. Both of you lie there in silence, panting, drained from the intensity of what just happened. Too tired to speak. Too blissed out to think. The only thing left is the quiet gaze you share.

Eventually, Viktor slowly pushes himself up, bracing on one arm, though he doesn’t pull away. He’s still inside you. His eyes roam over you, studying every detail: the mess of your hair, the sweat glistening on your skin, the steady rise and fall of your chest. You look completely undone, and yet you’re breathtaking. So beautiful that he can't tear his eyes away.

Then suddenly, something inside him bursts without warning.

“I love you,” Viktor murmurs, his voice low and trembling as he presses his forehead to yours. He inhales deeply, as if the weight of his feelings is too much to bear. “Please don’t leave me. Stay with me,” he whispers again, this time his voice thick with raw emotion. “You’re everything to me. I don’t even know who I am without you.”

The image of the cold, unfeeling scientist who once lived for nothing but his work is gone. Now, he’s just a man, desperate, pleading, terrified you’ll walk away.

He kisses your forehead, then your cheek, the tip of your nose, and finally your lips in a slow, lingering kiss. His arms wrap tightly around you, as if even the slightest distance might make you slip through his fingers forever.

“Are we... good now?” Viktor asks as he pulls away, his eyes soft with yearning. He is trying everything he can to coax a bit of forgiveness from you.

You let out a tired, breathless laugh, half amused and half exasperated. Though your expression says he’s being ridiculous, your touch tells a different story. Your hand moves gently over his shoulder, fingers trailing across the sweat-damp skin with quiet affection.

“Alright, fine. I forgive you,” you say affectionately, poking his nose. “But you’re still annoying, just so you know.

“I probably am,” he replies with a relieved smile, grateful beyond words that you’ve finally forgiven him. “But we’ve made up now. No take-backs. That’s final.”

He studies you again, then reaches up to brush a damp lock of hair from your forehead. His fingertips linger as he caresses your cheek with a gesture so tender it makes your breath catch.

And in that moment, he realizes just how lucky he is to have been given a second chance.

He knows he doesn’t deserve you. Not even close. But he’s far too selfish to let you go.

“I know I’m not exactly the best boyfriend,” he whispers against your skin, planting soft kisses all over your face. “I’ve got plenty of flaws, and I drive you crazy more often than not. But I’m not going anywhere. And I promise I’ll love you for the rest of my life.” He lifts his head to meet your gaze, eyes filled with sincerity. Then his voice turns playful. “So you better get used to me, Milaček. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

After a while of cuddling, Viktor finally, reluctantly rolls off you and lies down beside you. But even then, he pulls you back into his arms, unwilling to let you go. Your head comes to rest against his chest, where you can hear the steady beat of his heart. He places his chin atop your head and closes his eyes for a moment. “Just try breaking up with me again. I dare you.”

“Oh yeah? And what would you do if I did?” you tease, your voice full of playful defiance.

Viktor squints at you, grinning slyly as he tightens his hold. “I’d just do this all over again. As many times as it takes until you change your mind.” His hand glides over your thigh, massaging gently near the sensitive spot he’s just thoroughly explored. The touch makes you jolt from overstimulation, and in retaliation, you nip his earlobe, drawing a low growl from his throat.

“Maybe that’s exactly what I want,” you tease, giggling softly before nestling back against his chest. You breathe in the faint scent of sweat clinging to his skin, strangely comforted by it. “But for tonight, let’s just stay like this. I want a quiet cuddle. Let’s save the arguing and round two for another night.”

Viktor can feel how exhausted you are in the way your body relaxes and melts into his embrace. His hand strokes your back slowly, coaxing you toward sleep. “Goodnight, Milaček,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head and lingering there for a long while. 

Once he’s sure you’re truly asleep, he shifts carefully to make you more comfortable, then reaches down to pull the blanket up over both of you.

He knows he should get some sleep too. He has to be at work early, with a thousand tasks waiting for him. But his mind refuses to settle. He lies awake in the dark, eyes fixed on the ceiling, replaying the night’s events again and again.

He almost lost you.

The thought terrifies him more than anything ever has. It’s a kind of fear he’s never known before. So he reminds himself over and over that you’re still here. Still in his arms. Still his.

Viktor knows he’s never been the easiest person to be with. Reserved, withdrawn, too wrapped up in his work to truly connect with people, he’s pushed others away for most of his life, sometimes without even realizing it. And he never cared who stayed or left.

But not you.

You’ve always been a part of him. His other half. But he never truly saw how deeply you were rooted in his life. He didn’t realize how much you meant to him until he almost lost you.

Now he has another chance, and he swears he won’t make the same mistake twice.

The road ahead won’t be easy. Even after everything you’ve been through together, there are still things you’ll both need to work on. There will be days when you’ll make him want to pull his hair out, or when he’ll drive you up the wall. But Viktor is ready for that. He’s ready to fix things and do better every single day, because you matter more to him than anything. Even his work.

You are the best thing that has ever happened to him. And he’s never letting go.

He listens to the steady rhythm of your breathing. The quiet presence of you beside him eases the tightness in his chest. Slowly, he begins to relax, and his eyes finally drift closed. He exhales, surrendering to the pull of sleep. But even as drowsiness settles over him, his mind keeps moving, quiet and focused on tomorrow.

Viktor has made up his mind.

Starting tomorrow, he’s going to change.

And for the first time in years, he’s taking a day off. Just to be with you. To savor every moment of the second chance you’ve given him.

『• • • ✎Footnotes • • •』

[1] Zlato is a Czech word meaning darling, gold, or something precious.

[2] Koloušek is a Czech word meaning little deer and can be used as a term of endearment. (In this fic, Viktor never calls the reader 'Koloušek,' before, but uses it here to be affectionate, like 'Please don’t leave me, my little deer.')

[3] Miláček is a Czech word meaning "darling" or "beloved." It is commonly used as a warm and affectionate way to refer to a loved one or someone who is important in one's life.

[luveline]

hi jade! I remember a while back you wrote a drabble about hotchner!reader having a really bad panic attack and Spencer and Aaron helping her at the hospital, and it gave me a lot of comfort to read it. would you be interested in writing something about Spencer and Aaron taking care of hotchner!reader as she adjusts to her new meds?

—Spencer and your brother, Aaron, take care of you when your new prescription gives unexpected side effects. fem (adopted) 2k

When things got quiet at home, you’d get tense. 

Your apartment is silent. No whir of the heating, no washing machine clatter, no voices. You sit on the couch with your legs pulled up, turned to the armrest with your cheek pressed to the seat's backing. Your phone is in your hand at a low percentage. You’ll get up to charge just as soon as you can remember what you’d wanted to be doing in the first place. 

Spencer was going to call you. He’s sweet, really. You didn’t expect for love to feel easy; you never thought someone could like you without allowances. You’re quiet sometimes, your nerves are shot. You ask for reassurance too much, too often, and you don’t believe them when they’re given. 

You aren’t smart, or funny, or particularly hard-working. 

But Spencer loves you, you’re almost certain. Or maybe he’s just content to be half happy. It wouldn’t surprise you if he called you to break up with you —what use have you been to him lately? You’re tired everyday. You can’t sleep, you can’t eat, you never want to go out. You can barely make it through the working day. 

Your phone beeps in your hand. 

Outside, it says. If Spencer’s there, please make sure he’s fully dressed.

You manage to smile weakly. Aaron saw Spencer once getting out of the shower, and he was dressed, thank you very much. You hadn’t done anything salacious as he might’ve assumed from the situation, just showered together, but Aaron always lets you know before visiting now. 

Doesn’t ask, by the way, but you don’t actually want him to. He’s like, the only good thing in your life beside Spencer. 

Aaron lets himself in and finds you immediately. “Hey, honey,” he says. 

He slipped into the affectionate older brother role not long after meeting you, and he’s been worse since you were in the hospital. Which is to say, gentler with you. 

He slips a bag of groceries onto the counter. He pans around the room. It’s cleaner than usual here, but none of the lights are on, nor the TV. You can see him notice it. 

“You okay?” he asks, pulling groceries from the bag. He’s brought milk, bread, eggs, and fresh soups from the nice store nearby. “It’s quiet in here.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Yeah? Any wobbles?” 

He’s asking if you’ve had a panic attack or anything like it, but for the last few days you’ve felt veritably numb. “I’m okay,” you say. 

You should bring up your symptoms. Clearly, lexapro either isn’t right for you or the dosage is too much; you’re a zombie these last couple of days. Medications don’t always work straight away, so for a time you’d felt like your script was useless, serving only to make you nauseous, but the sickness has finally gone away. 

He opens the fridge to put away the groceries. He’s sliding the bread into your bread box when he says, “Honey, aren’t you gonna answer that? Your phone?”

You blink down at your phone. Spencer’s contact glows in front of a green background. 

You click answer and pull it to your ear. “Hello?” you ask softly. 

“Hey, angel. How are you feeling today?” 

You clear your throat. “Fine.” 

“I was thinking I’d come over?” 

“You’re outside?” you ask. 

“How’d you know that?” 

“Must be something in the water.”

“I’ll come up now. I brought some things for dinner.” 

You manage your first laugh that dreary day. It’s nearly normal. “Okay. I might not have room.” 

Spencer promises to be up quickly and disconnects the call. You lift your chin to find Aaron already looking at you. “Do I look okay?” you ask. 

“Beautiful, don’t worry.”

“Is this an ambush?” you ask. 

“Not an intentional one. Can I make you something to drink?” 

He’ll make you something you like, you trust. You try to sit properly on the couch before Spencer gets here, rubbing under your eyes, checking there’s nothing on your t-shirt and sweatpants. It might not matter if there were, you know Spencer thinks you’re pretty without makeup or fancy clothes, but he doesn’t necessarily have to be truthful about it. 

“Aaron,” you say, before you can forget, “did… was Jack’s soccer okay?”

He passes you a mug, squeezing your shoulder lovingly. “It was great. I’ll show you the photos.” 

“I’m sorry I didn’t go.” 

You were supposed to. Spencer even drove to pick you up, but he got here and your meds weren’t working and your heart was beating wrong, so you stayed home. 

“It’s okay.” Aaron looks like he wants to hug you, but he doesn’t. “Nobody’s mad at you for that.” 

“For other things?” 

“Nothing.” 

Your door opens again. Spencer bursts in with two things, a brown paper bag of groceries and a bouquet of flowers. It’s a pretty huge bouquet, as they go, white and pink flowers, cornflower blue chrysanthemums spotted throughout, the end of his scarf stuck in the flowers and his coat unbuttoned in the struggle. “Hey. Hi, Hotch.” 

“Spencer,” Aaron says, which is strangely warm. 

Spencer shoves the bouquet aside to see you. “Hi, you okay?” 

You force yourself to stand. It’s obvious you’re not feeling right, your head whirring, but you have to make sure he still wants you. “Spencer.” 

He puts the bouquet down. The groceries next. “Angel,” he says, meeting Aaron’s eyes quickly, then back to you, where he smiles sympathetically, “How long have you been feeling like this?” 

You’ve only taken a few steps toward him when he catches you for a hug. It’s nice and polite, but not without tenderness. He doesn’t pull your weight in like he would if you were alone, but he holds your back and sits a quick kiss against your cheek as he pulls away. 

“I don’t really know, a few days?” you suggest. 

“You could’ve told me. Or Hotch, you know?” 

“I know, I was going to, just–” You press your hand to your eyes. “Didn’t really notice it was happening.” 

“Don’t get upset,” Aaron says, coming to join you both in the kitchen. “It’s alright. Spencer isn’t scolding you, he just wants you to know we’re here for you no matter what happens.” 

“I don’t feel like myself,” you say.

“That’s okay,” Aaron furthers, holding you by the shoulder, his hand settling behind the nape of your neck, “we can talk to your doctor again, this isn’t permanent. We’ll talk to them today, if it’s what you need.” 

“I’m sorry. Not many people have such an adverse effect to lexapro, I was hoping you wouldn’t be an exception,” Spencer says. 

To your surprise, Aaron answers for you, “You couldn’t have known. This is just something we’ll have to keep doing together.” 

Someone sits you down. Aaron warms his fancy soups and toasts the bread he brought, making a plate and bowl for each of you without asking. Spencer barely balks. You manage another laugh, for which you’re rewarded with two smiles. 

Aaron can’t stay much longer, having to pick up Jack from Jess’, but he offers to come back. You decline, not wanting Jack to see you feeling as depressed as you are. He promises to call the doctor tonight and leaves in a rush. He must’ve stayed longer than he should’ve. 

Spencer is more forthcoming with soft touches once he’s gone. He didn’t eat much but neither did you, pushing the plates across the coffee table. He’s still wearing his coat. 

Fond, you reach for his chest and begin slipping buttons from the eyelets. “You’re staying, right?” you murmur. 

“If you’ll have me.” 

You open his coat and push it away from his shoulders. He dressed fancy even when he’s not going anywhere, it’s so strange, the button up and the tie and the sweater vest, all of it, but you love it. You run your hand down his vest. He lets his head dip forward. Not for kissing, just to be near. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. 

“Just feel wrong.” 

“It’s not really a good idea to stop taking the lexapro now. It’s technically an antidepressant, and your body won’t adjust well.” He holds your waist as you hold his. “But this is weird, huh?” 

“Feels weird.” 

“Short term, uh, I think we should just try and make sure you feel alright today. Is there anything you need?” he’s murmuring, rubbing his thumb into the soft of your stomach. “I can get anything. Or we can do anything.” 

“You don’t have to… worry about me.” 

“Are you kidding?” he asks softly.

“We haven’t been…” You trail your hand to his stomach, where it stays. “I just don’t expect you to deal with this, you didn’t sign up for this.” 

“I don’t think that’s true. I had no idea what I’d find out about you or what you might go through when we first met, but I wanted to find out. I wanted to take care of you then, and I do now,” he says simply.

“It’s not good timing for me to be like this.” 

“Stuff happens all the time. I wouldn’t want to wait for you to be perfect before we met.” He smiles genuinely. “Not that you’re not perfect.” 

“I really feel like I’m not even me.” 

“You’re you,” he says, dipping so close to you that you can’t see his face anymore, just his skin.

You slouch into his chest, coaxed by long, lithe arms cradling you, as kind as anyone’s ever touched you. He smells clean, your nose finding its way to his stiff collar. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. 

“You don’t have to be. Nobody wants you to be sorry, okay?” 

It’s a new feeling. Spencer spends the night with you on the couch and doesn’t for a moment seem like it’s something he doesn’t wanna do. You end up laying on his chest, his fingers drawing lines like a meandering figure skater up your back. Twirls and loops, long laps around your spine. When your phone rings, he’s nice enough to click answer and hold it to your ear. 

“Aaron?” you ask sleepily. 

“Hey, honey. I’ll be by tomorrow to take you back to Dr. Chester’s office, alright? If you don’t want to keep taking your lexapro, don’t. But if you can manage it, take another tonight, and we’ll figure out the new plan after your appointment.” 

“Okay,” you say, feeling very small. “Thank you for doing that for me.” 

“I’d do anything. Jack says he loves you, he’s making you a painting of yourself. He’s very good at the colours.” 

“I bet he is,” you say loudly. In the background, you can hear Jack’s pleased little thank you. 

“Do you want to talk a while?” he asks.

“That’s okay, Aaron, I’m half asleep on Spencer right now.” 

“Good, that’s good. Tell him to take good care of you, okay? Or I won’t be happy.” 

Spencer laughs above your head. “When is he ever happy?” he jokes in a whisper. 

“Shh,” you say, giving Spencer a light shove. “He says he will.” You swallow a lump, as you’ve had to do all day, but it isn’t rawness that colours your voice now. “I love you. Thank you for, uh, calling the doctor. Thanks.” 

“I love you too. I’ll leave you to sleep now. I’ll come at eleven, alright?” 

“Alright. See you tomorrow,” you say. 

Your voice is weak. Spencer pulls the phone away and hangs it up, tossing it without force onto the coffee table, before wrapping his arm around you snugly. 

“It’s gonna be fine,” Spencer says. “You’ll see, things aren’t going to be like this forever. It’s statistically impossible.” 

“Ooh,” you croon, pressing your tired face back into his chest, “I love when you talk statistics to me. Tell me more.”

He draws shapes into your back, his voice a murmur as he starts to talk. 

[maacbrem]

Absolutely insane about the Thelyss brothers in Vasselheim cause like

Essek the Bright Queen is RIGHT THERE SIR PLEASE - but then, so is his brother, his little brother he probably still thinks of as a child because they were allowed to be children so briefly before anamnesis failed to come and they had to make something of themselves as new souls in an ancient Den, and Verin is the youngest Taskhand of Bazzoxan and a highly accomplished Echo Knight but he’s going to war??? Against aliens and would-be god killers and Ludinus Da’leth???? And Essek is a heretic fugitive and selfish to his bones, but he loved his brother even when he didn’t think he was capable of love at all, even if he wasn’t very good at it. So he stays in Vasselheim and he makes sure that these strange, awe-inspiring legendary heroes know his brother’s face, his voice, his armour, so that maybe if he falls one of them will deign to pick him up. He thinks about his friends, far from him now (Caleb, out of his reach and likely preparing to do something reckless but too brilliant to be called foolish), and looks at his brother, who will also go, who might never come back.

And Verin??? The youngest son of his Den, the second new soul prodigy by necessity who never really understood his brother but loved him anyway, who mourned their father so hard that he tried to become him by throwing himself against the endless hordes of the Hells, who now answers the call of all the gods and Exandria itself to fight a war with impossible odds, offering himself and his soldiers as potential cannon fodder so that the legendary heroes of the age might emerge victorious? I need to know how long he’s known what Essek did (because I know that Essek confessed and part of him hoped that Verin would condemn him, his righteous, devoted brother), and I need to know if Essek faked his death or just vanished, and I need to know if Verin wept for him. Verin who loves his people and his country and his god, who believes in things like faith and loyalty because he’s never really had cause not to, who has to find a way to believe in his brother, too. He learns to recognize this Archivist disguise and a few others that Essek favours, and he stops referring to his brother by name ever just so he doesn’t forget at the wrong moment, and he carries the beat-up booklet of Ashari poetry that he first learned to read Common from that still has child-Essek’s penmanship in the margins and he thinks about how seasons change and how winter doesn’t really kill, it just rests, and the process of a butterfly’s metamorphosis isn’t really that far off from the Luxon’s decree to become your ever-bettering self.

Essek doesn’t say “come back” but he does say “fight smart” and Verin knows what he means. Verin wraps him in a spine-cracking bear hug, uncomfortable in his armour but Essek has gotten better about physical affection in the past few years and one day Verin intends to thank the Mighty Nein personally for that. Verin says “stay sharp” and then quieter he says “i’ll see you again” and Essek hears ‘in this life or the next’ and he very calmly and sanely doesn’t start screaming, but he does press a pearl to Verin’s forehead (Caleb’s variation of the somatics, a useless bit of sentimentality made powerful that Essek adores). And then they have to part ways before Verin rejoins the Kryn contingent and Essek disappears back into the crowd, two brothers finally on the same side but unable to stand together.

Anyway, I think they’re neat.

[cultven]

Butch Wolverine Headcannons

(General Headcannons and X Female! Reader)

This is sooooo indulgent, my mind is just taken over by her�� Here are some head cannons I daydreamed up with my pussy 

Warnings: Some very very mild sexual implications

Female! Logan doesn’t shave. Like ever. Due to her animalistic properties, the hair just grows back in a matter of hours, so it’s not worth the upkeep. She occasionally tries her best for special events, but it’s always rendered useless. Plus, she knows you don’t mind anyway, it’s just so much work. 

Bras are her worst enemy. Occasionally she’ll fight in a sports bra, but you will never catch her in one of those frilly Victoria's Secret bras. Unless you ask, of course. Then she’ll gladly drop a small fortune on a cute little bra and underwear set just for you. 

Every month the day before her period her cramps hit her like a truck. Despite her advanced regenerative properties, her uterus seems to be the exception. Seeing her outside her room during this time is an accomplishment as she is practically bedridden. The only way she truly survives these times is due to your care and support. You provide all her favorite foods and offer her numerous heating pads and other soothing ointments. Female! Logan will never admit it, but she absolutely adores being babied by you. 

She is usually the big spoon, scooping you up in her muscular arms. She presses you firmly to her chest and sometimes, if you're lucky, lets you turn around and practically smother yourself in her tits while cuddling. It’s like a small dosage of heaven. Wolverine would pepper small kisses in your hair, smelling your sweet shampoo. 

Other times when she’s feeling particularly soft, she’ll allow you to embrace her from behind, acting as the big spoon. 

Her arm is always around you, no question whatsoever. She’s far from insecure in your relationship, knowing how loyal you are to each other, but she just loves flaunting you to others. This pretty little thing on her hip? Yeah, that’s her girlfriend. Jealous? You should be. At least that’s Female! Logan’s mentality. 

When it’s your turn to cling onto Female! Logan, it’s always onto her arms. You love feeling the hard and soft muscles flex under your fingertips. It always gets you going.

Female! Logan is not a fan of Scott Summers. Not in the slightest. The first time you came around Xavier’s to meet the other mutants he was instantly intrigued by you. Some light conversation led to flirting on his part. Usually, he’s smart enough not to mess with Female! Logan, but he hadn’t assumed the two of you were dating until he got a swift punch right along his jawline. From then on Female! Logan has assured you were never left alone in a room with Summers for longer than thirty seconds. 

Instead of adopting regular Logan’s alcoholism, Female! Logan tends to stay more on the side of smoking. Hand her a fresh pack of Marlboro Reds and she’ll reward you that night. ;)

Admittedly, she doesn’t smell great. It could be worse, but hygiene is not one of her top concerns. Every year as one of the smaller gifts you give her is a bottle of Bath & Body Works body washes, and every year you end up just using it yourself. She believes taking brisk showers is most effective, she doesn’t have time to slather herself in expensive products. You always wonder how her hair stays so fluffy. You suppose it’s just natural.

Speaking of her hair, you are OBSESSED. She has a short layered wolf cut with the classic ear tufts, which you’re pretty sure are natural since you never see her style them. If you’re ever having a rough night just pet and play with your girlfriend’s hair for a few minutes and you’re out like a baby. Sometimes you think she has you under a magical spell. 

Backtracking to showering, you end up showering together a lot. Female! Logan always happens to need to shower at the same time you do, but you know it’s her way of asking if she could join. Of course, the answer is always yes. Her mentality of quick showers immediately goes out the window when she watches you strip down and stand under the running water. The shower wasn’t the only thing wet at that moment.

After your extracurricular activities in the shower, the aftercare is always sweet and loving. Hot water falls over both your bodies as you rub each other's skin with soap lovingly. You scrub the shampoo into her scalp, she exfoliates your legs. Once you’re both done you immediately get into your pajamas and cuddle under a nice blanket, watching something until you’re both soundly asleep. 

Everyone at the mansion thinks you guys are so cute. They constantly tease Female! Logan for being able to snag such a positive, sunshiny girlfriend. She typically shrugs them off with a mean glare and a snarky comment back, but deep down she knows she’s truly lucky to have found someone as accepting and loving as you. Sometimes she doesn’t feel she’s worth the hassle, but you always find a way to reassure her. 

It takes a few years for Female! Logan to propose, mostly because of her insecurities as a mutant, but when she does you are instantly in shambles, bawling out your acceptance. 

Female! Logan never thought she would get married, especially not to a regular human. She never thought humans could ever fully understand and accept a mutant the way that you do. Additionally, she fears her lifestyle will get you hurt, something that haunts her nightmares. But after seeing your beautiful bright smile after she popped the question there was no doubt in her mind she needed you as her wife. 

A big wedding was never what either of you wanted. If she was being honest, Female! Logan would have been happy with just eloping, but you wanted to do something small and she could never say no to you. 

On a warm day in spring, the two of you finally wed, the other residents of the mansion applauding the two of you. It was a small crowd, only a few select friends, but it couldn’t have felt more perfect for the two of you. 

a/n: I could easily write more. Someone please request a oneshot with her (and also name ideas, I don’t want to keep referring to her as Female! Logan. I’m not sure if there is already an agreed-upon name for her.)

[casuallyanidiot]

Omg your yandere coworker *chef's kiss*

I imagine he's just frustrated and angry because he can't believe he's fallen for a loser like reader. Like they are such a mess all the time. So soft and easy to tire. They look so out of place in this workplace environment.

But over time it starts to click that all he was to do is take them away and keep them at home. Reader shouldn't even be at work! Reader should be sitting pretty at home like the good little spouse he knows they are all that they are good for!

Man he'll have to come up with a plan to make that happen wouldn't he?

Thanks! He's awful! :)

I think the worst part about Yan coworker is that he believes he's actually a good person. Maybe if he just acknowledged how scummy he was, he wouldn't be half as bad.

He he's had enough of you stumbling all over yourself like an idiot. Yandere Coworker pulls you aside one day into a storage closet. He's trying so hard not to snap and fuck you stupid against some half empty shelves, so instead he settles for gripping your arms. Isn't he a gentleman? Anyways, he lays it out for you.

"You need to quit," He says simply. His voice is gruff and firm, and you blink in surprise. "What?" You stammer out. He's tall, intimidatingly so, and you tremble as he holds you. "No, no I'm not- I can't quit! This is my job! I know you don't really like me, but that's out of line," You hiss out and squirm away from him.

Yandere coworker realizes you really are very, very dumb. There's nothing in that stupid little head of yours, is there? You can't even tell how much he's looking out for you. You're crumbling under the weight of this job, and he can't stand seeing you so unhappy.

But he makes enough money for the two of you. He can handle this while you can't. In fact, the more he thinks about it, he can't figure out just what in the world you would be good at. He tries to picture you as successful at anything and comes up blank. Huh... You really are good for nothing. Except,,, you would probably do well if you didn't have to do anything at all.

Yandere coworker starts to think about how much prettier you would be if you got proper sleep. He likes the way you look in corporate attire (That is on the rare occasions where you don't look like a hot mess), but he bets you'd like to be in expensive and revealing loungewear even more. The only thing you would have to do is keep your house tidy, and keep yourself nice and presentable for whoever provided for you. Yeah, you'd be perfect for that. And guess what? He could give you that.

Yandere coworker knows that you're far too stubborn for your own good. He begins to actively sabotage your work. He inserts spelling errors into your reports, changes the numbers of any potential client before you have the chance to make a sale. He allows himself to be more officially promoted, and with the new power he has, he assigns you increasingly difficult tasks.

You try and report him for essentially bullying you, but the complaint is thrown out with little care. He's one of the best employees the company had ever seen, and you were just some bumbling broad who couldn't even spell their own name right on official documents.

Before long, you're fired. Yandere Coworker uses his position in the company and many connections he has to essentially black list you.

You can't get a decent job in your field anymore. Plus you begin to get behind on rent and bills. Your life is going to shit, yet you still refuse to take him up on his many offers. It's infuriating, and he just wants to put you in a place that he knows you'll be safe and happy in.

Yandere Coworker just thinks your too dumb to realize how kind he's being. He hopes that you're smart enough to recognize how nice the trunk of a luxury car is. After all, you're going to be there for a while until he can get you to his home where you'll never have to use that useless brain of yours again.

[samara444]

everything i learnt during my break (ie all you need to know about manifesting)

hi guys, i took a months long break from tumblr. i used to be depressed, suicidal, constantly looking for results, having only failures, whining, being affected by the 3d every turn, crying almost everyday, to now not being affected by the 3d at ALLL, knowing my true power, and having it all easily conform in the 3d, i dont have anxiety/depression anymore and i feel so blessed, now i literally cry happy tears.

i used to be someone who used to spend my whole day on here, morning to night, looking for answers and the final "key" to manifesting/shifting, taking a break was much needed. here are the things i finally learned after so long.

dont be double minded // i would like to start by saying, see its a choice. we have 2 very distinct sides in this world, one full of lack, negativity, failures, sadness, losing, wishing, wanting....and the other of fulfillment, belief, positivity, determination, persisting, having, being, awareness etc. and whatever we choose, stick by it. i see so many people complaining and trying to say manif/shifting isnt real, and yes thats true FOR YOU in your reality. whatever you have choosen, a life of suffering or one of happiness through the law, please stick to it. if you want to say the law doesnt work, great, but if you have even a slight hope that its true and real, then give it a shot, and dont doubt, and with faith watch how it changes your life.

no circumstance can stop you // be it time, or the past, or trauma, every condition and circumstance only exist because we identify with it. the difference between a broke guy working a 9 to 5 that they hate, no purpose in life, debt and all relationships failing and a multimillionare, who doesnt have to work a single day in their life, life full of luxury and happiness, people who love them etc who probably doesnt even deserve their money but still gets to enjoy it, is simply their beliefs. believe better for yourself.

thinking from your desire and not of it // wishing and wanting and creating up fake scenarios is very different from knowing you HAVE your desire rn. the former is daydreaming, the latter is creation. you can waste years of your life thinking you're manifesting but its just us THINKING OFFF our desire. the results only show up when we HAVE right now. not to get, not to change the 3d but haveeee right now.

imagination is the only reality // we live in a multiverse, idc if people believe in that or not because its true for me, and every possible circumstance is possible and already created. already done. all our job is to HAVE it, and to CHOOSE to live in the state of having. and being fulfilled in our imagination instead of looking for in the 3d. if we look now we'll forever be looking, but when we close our eyes and know its done because our minds is the true consciousness, thats when it actually shows up.

stop manifesting with the intent of changing the 3d // physically trying to change the 3d is so hard, its so tiresome, its futile and useless, but being fulfilled and in the present moment, not worrying about the past or the future. just focusing on staying in the state of the wish fulfilled with our eyes closed is the key, dont worry about what you see with your eyes open. the 4d is the creator, the 3d will AUTOMATICALLY follow.

stop overconsuming/more techniques and enjoy life // you know already what you have to do. most of us know that living in the end means being the person who already has it. so does your dream ideal self do a million techniques trying to get? does you ideal self spend their whole day scrolling on tumblr looking for another technique? another magic affirmation? subliminal? post? that will fix it all? no. they enjoy their lives knowing its done. their wish is in the greatest hands and its all done. so really, stoppp STOP with the overconsumption, trust that you know everything that you are supposed to. everything is within you. stop searching for it outside.

i yap a lot. i love to write so dont blame me, but i wont make this post too long, my dms are always open for help/ or to make friends. ily guys, i feel so happy now being on tumblr, i used to read others success stories and now i have my own hehe so yes slay. bye

-love, sam <3

[vvousmevoyez]

tw: watersports.

mentor!aeri, who helps you destress when you're having trouble with your session.

“let’s try it one more time, okay?” aeri's voice echoed through the booth, strong tone announcing an order rather than a question. “remember to breathe through your nose and keep your head aligned. you tend to do it when reaching your high notes. now from the top, y/n.”

you nodded, closing your eyes to keep the nerves away. despite started recording over an hour ago, no progress has been made. you sounded like a trembling mess.

so far, your first time recording a song is nothing short of a disaster.

“yes, miss.” it was hard not to use formal language. aeri only smiled instead of correcting you for the nth time. your muttering follows, mixed with frantic desperation, “breathe in through my nose. breathe in through my nose.”

ever since the final lineup of your SM's new girl group has been announced, aeri and her band mates have been incredibly supportive. the senior idols frequently gave your group media training advice, and made sure to drop by regularly to give you singing tips, like now. you were thankful it was giselle and not the cold, harsh staff correcting you.

but it was late, and the two of you were the only ones left in the booth. her patience must be wearing thin.

unlike the other girls in your group, you were casted for your dance skills rather than your singing. while it has always been easy for you to conquer a stage, your voice was noticeable weaker than the rest. while they did it effortlessly, you'd never reach high notes as a second nature. not even in your most perfect dreams

surely it wasn't that hard. it was just singing, such an easy thing to do.

so why couldn't you? why were you so useless?

once again, your voice cracks— and it's more than enough for you to break. you burst into tears, hiding your face in your hands in hopes part of the humiliation would vanish.

being an idol was something impossible. you were so stupid to think you could ever handle it.

“shh. hey, y/n, love. look at me.” aeri's strong arms gather your frame with little effort. with a steady hand on your back, she guides you to the small couch in the mixing area. the sensation of her touch is calming, grounding your troubled self. the older girl's voice is a quiet murmur, soft hands brushing wet strands from your face. “it's your first day, darling. don't be so hard on yourself. i would know… i messed up all my lyrics on my first time.”

it's an honor to have someone so talented confess something so personal to you. a small smile blooms on your face at the thought of giselle, who's worked so hard to the top, struggling too. your eyes glow, thankful for the right words she chooses to use. “really? no way.”

aeri nods, gently guiding her small water bottle to your lips. her touch is soft, encouraging you to take a sip. which you do, desperate to please her. your own bottle lay forgotten in the recording station, long empty thanks to your nerves.

“every single one of them.” she assured, clasping your foreheads together. it was actually the first time she was sharing this memory without the intent of justifying herself or mock her trainee days. no, this time there was only a quiet, insecure young aeri, who wondered if she would ever be good enough to debut. “i stood in that very spot, being criticized for hours an end. and i wasn't even half as good as you are, y/n. trust me, you'll get the hang of it.”

upon her words, the weight of the world was just lifted from your shoulders. you could breathe again, and life didn't seem so heavy all of a sudden. if giselle believed in you, then there was nothing you couldn't do.

“thank you, unnie.” you bow, wiping stubborn tears that insisted on falling down your face. “your support means so much to me. truly.”

lines grow blurry under her touch, so sweet and patient. giselle's hands rest on your thigh, scratching small circles on your fair skin with her nails. you stare at her eyes, full of reassurance, and press your lips onto hers without thinking twice. there isn't much to wonder— you crave aeri's validation like the air you breathe.

the thought of her praising you, touching you, marking you everywhere fills your cunt with arousal.

aeri tastes sweet, and you make sure to savor every last drop of her until you both break the kiss, breathless and a mess of hair and clothes.

“oh,” she whispers, smiling despite the surprise. all the worries about your reckless actions vanish as soon as you see her smile. aeri pinches your cheeks, pulling you close for another kiss, “what a bold thing you are, huh?"

you've envisioned this too many times, in your dreams. her body all over you, praising and licking every inch of your skin. aeri did not disappoint: her skilled, calloused hands explore your body with ease, trailing everywhere as if you wore no clothes at all. unashamed and confident, giselle cups and squeezes your small breasts, scratching her way down your body with all the time in the world. time stops when she squeezes your waist, laughing at how you've seemed to forget about air.

“unnie…” your whine is suppressed by a surprised huff the second she finds your sex. giselle's fingers duck under your skirt, pulling your panties aside for easier access.

she doesn't answer, instead pressing encouraging, wet kisses to your neck. “good girl, baby. so obedient.”

and oh, does she know what she's doing. you start to think there isn't a thing the idol doesn't excel at. her thumb circles your clit, hard and fast to match her other ones, who taunt your slit with a ghost of stimulation.

“how are you feeling, dearest?” giselle asks, with a wide smirk. when you don't answer, her fingers press harder. “tell me, y/n.”

you roll your eyes, too focused on how good she’s filling you up to answer. your hips rock against her hand, pleasure building up on your lower abdomen. “I'm feeling n-nice, unnie. your fingers are divi—”

the praise dies in your lips the moment aeri's fingers enter your pulsating cunt. you're hot all over, feeling a delicious pool of a arousal hit with the curl of her knuckles against your walls. aeri licks her free hand and lowers it to your clit, replacing her thumb with faster, harsher movements.

white dots dance in your vision, confusing your body with a high amount of pleasure in such little time.

“you sound much better then any songs you've ever performed, darling.” giselle encourages you, pressing wet kisses on your shoulders. melodic moans fill up the empty room, echoing sounds the older girl wanted to memorize forever.

you could tell you were near your high— the familiar sensation building up on your lower abdomen announced itself in strong waves. but your bladder added to it, pressing on your core each time giselle thrusted on your g-spot.

the last thing you want to do is to move away from her, but you do it anyway. squirming, you fail in moving anywhere, trapped in giselle's strong grip on yout hips. “unnie, stop… I- I really need to use the restroom…” upon her lack of movement, you frown. was she not understanding your words? you'd articulate better, but your bladder was killing you. she had to let go of you. “I need to p— pee, unnie.”

giselle's hands only press harder, palm against your lower abdomen that had you whimpering.

“you do, darling?” she bites her lip, not sounding at all impressed. aeri's canines brush against your jaw when she adds, simple as that, “do it here, then. go on, y/n.”

there's no time to think. her command is immediate, despite the protests that die in your mouth when she silences you with a kiss. your body reacts to aeri's words as soon as they leave her mouth— your warm, wet release comes immediately, until your bladder is empty and the small couch is soak, announcing the mess you've made.

you could carve a spot on the ground. there are no words to express how humiliated you feel. this has never happened to you before.

“I…” the worlds die in your mouth. you bite your lips hard enough to draw a thin coat of blood. “I'm so sorry, unnie. I'm— I've never done this.”

to your surprise, aeri laughs.

"so cute.” she laughs, kissing the tip of your nose with a big smile on her face. “don't get all red like that! it was hot, darling. trust me. you're such a dear, answering all my commands immediately, ugh. such a good girl.”

you don't stare back, too flushed and embarrassed. but as aeri's hands, soaked and sticky with your arousal, don't stop stroking your thighs and hips, your worries are unhurriedly soothed away.

[sunrisecaminus]

hello !! can i have some headcanons for starscream, knockout, breakdown, and airachnid (or any of them) with a human artist reader who follows them around and wants to draw them ?? thank you ><

Message - All four of these mechs are egotistical as hell, they would cherish everything their human made so this is perfect as headcanons.

Starscream/Knockout/Breakdown/Airachnid x Artist Reader Headcanons

Summary - Decepticons react to their human painting/drawing them.

Warnings - None

Starscream

Honestly he is the best mech for this type of thing. He LOVES when you draw him doing things that make it look cool. Sometimes whenever you draw him in a bad angle, he quickly tells you "Scratch it!" and watches as you quickly scribble the portrait and flip to a blank paper to restart. Starscream sees you as his secretary and pretends to order you around. "Y/n write that down!", "That is perfect for my new profile.", and "Draw me like this". If you couldn't draw him that day for being sick or being too tired, he would check up on you every hour from being so worried about you. He loves when you follow him like a puppy and doesn't want his human to die. He gets super protective about your work and would give someone a hard time if they said your art sucked. Starscream would hide you all the time from lord Megatron; he was never going to let his leader hurt the sweet little pet he got from earth. Look, Starscream understands you were a weak useless little bug for the war, and could never help them out when it comes to battling, but he doesn't care. He doesn't want you to feel alone like he use to feel, wanting you to stay safe with him and let you draw any of your masterpieces without insulting you. No he is not really good at drawing people, but after helping him learn how to draw, you realized he was very good at backgrounds.

Knockout

He has to be one of the worse people to draw, surprisingly. Knockout would go in position to let you draw him, but than thinks of a better position to draw and switches it half way for you to redraw him even though you were already focused on the first. The more the mech loves themselves, the worse it is for them to SIT STILL. Thankfully now you don't tell him when you are drawing him and secretly sketch him when he works. When Knockout sees the final portrait, he would give you compliments for the rest of the day. "My! You even got my fingers right. You flatter me~" Get ready for kisses of approval. If anyone said your drawings was shit, he would actually kill them during surgery or put them in the most torturous situations. For example, lets say a guy tells you in the face that the sketch looked like aft; If that soldier was ever injured after a battle, get ready for Knockout to just deny him his medical services. He treats you like an equal, but some would say he treats you like you were higher than Megatron. Anything you asked of him, he would answer. If you wanted something, it was his mission to give it to you. Nothing would stop him from loving you, now please give him more drawings of himself. If you taught him how to draw, he would be AMAZING at drawing people. He makes really good blueprints of Cybertronian frames and even can draw you very well. Honestly, you probably have a new drawing buddy.

Breakdown

This big boi gets so flustered every time you draw him. Breakdown can't believe his human looks up to him like that and cherishes you for showing him love in your own way. Every paper you give him makes him feel very nervous on touching it. Breakdown doesn't ever want to ruin your stuff. He will keep every single one of them and look at them in his Birth room anytime he felt stressed or angry about something. You were everything to him, wanting to protect you from the other rough soldiers he works with. Anybody that says your art is crap will get the beat down of a life time. People don't understand why he cares so much, but honestly he is one of the sweetest souls that could be with you. You mostly draw him when he is in action, taking in all the good angles of him smacking Autobots. Breakdown is proud of all the shots you got of him and pats you on the head for such good sketches. He understands you will be losing your supplies the more you sketch, so he tries to rob trucks going by to try and steal some for you. It is cool from how many different paint products he can find for you and it gives you a bigger variety of things for creativity. If you helped him figure out how to draw, he would be good at emotional paintings. Breakdown is good at making shapes and splattering paint perfectly where it should be on the canvas.

Airachnid

So we all know this freak would replace species heads with your art. She would force you to draw every species she was able to collect so she could have your achievements on paper forever. She loves it when you draw her, and hangs them everywhere on her ship. Airachnid is really good at complimenting or critiquing your work, being able to tell you where something needs to be fixed while also saying she doesn't care if you don't and still loves your style. No one would insult you for the mere fact that you are Airachnid's pet. No one would dare call your art a piece of scrap because Airachnid would murder them in front of Megatron, even if he tells her not to. Yes, she has little star stickers to put on the edge of your paintings to show which one she likes the most…yes she stickers all your art so you can't figure out which one her favorite is. Don't try to ever draw other people in front of her, she will get jealous and keep you hostage in her ship as punishment. If you had trouble finding art supplies, she would destroy a Walmart for you in no time. Her human will have a storage full of supplies, don't worry you will never run out. If you taught her to paint, she would be really good at graffiti style. Making animals or spraying bubble letter graffiti around where she killed to tease/anger the Autobots is her favorite pass time.

[milliesfishes]

౨ৎ꣑ৎDon't Worry Darling౨ৎ꣑ৎ

[fem reader] contains: kidnapping, childbirth, angst, murder, revenge pairing: coriolanus snow x fem reader summary: yours and coriolanus' daughter is kidnapped author’s note: requested by a very lovely anon- I didn't post with the ask because it has the plot in it, but I hope you know who you are and I hope you enjoy! much love, thank you for sending this in <3 Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

He would kill for you.

That wasn't nothing. It was everything he would do for you summed up in five little words. All one syllable. Forming a threat to any who wronged you.

Coriolanus knew his soul was stained, tainted by the wrongdoings of his past, no matter how justified they were in his survival. Awful or not, he had made it this far, and now he had you. So how bad had it been, really?

You were a heart-shaped, lace-trimmed, sugar-filled surprise whom he'd fallen head over heels for instantly. How was he expected to resist such a treasure, a jewel in the worn crown of the Capitol?

No, you were perfect. And he knew he didn't deserve you. That didn't stop him from courting you, however, from making you promises with sweet kisses in tow. It certainly didn't stop him from spoiling you with both pleasure and pretty things, or from sliding an engagement ring onto your finger.

You were the sparkle in his eye, the shine to his reputation. But more than that, you were his love, his darling. Coriolanus had the best of everything, and his wife was absolutely no exception. You were the best of his best.

When you became pregnant, he was absolutely doting, making a point to spoil you even more than before if that was possible. His hands barely left you, except to reach for his credit card. Being the president, he had leeway to take as much time off of work as he needed to be by your side.

Coriolanus coddled your growing belly, spooning you every night with his arms wrapped protectively around it. He cocooned you with his affection and you made no move to break out of it.

You glowed under the effect of pregnancy, just as he knew you would. It filled him with a sense of pride, seeing you all round and full of his child. It was a sign that you were purely, undoubtedly his.

Childbirth very nearly sent him into a frenzy. Here, nature was taking control. Which meant he had none. Memories and thoughts of his dear departed mother flashed through his mind, and he tried not to let his fear show as he held your hand, smoothing sweaty hair from your face and telling you how well you were doing.

It scared him because his money was useless here.

Regal even as you were birthing his child, you spoke meekly, trying not to squeeze his hand too hard in fear of hurting him. He wanted you to break his hand if you needed to, whatever would alleviate your pain. But no, you were soft and kind even in agony.

When your baby girl slid into the world, he sighed in relief, even if only because your suffering was over. And as the doctor handed her to you, he could see tears shining like pearls on your face. There was that familiar pride. He leaned down and kissed your forehead, lips lingering there for a moment. "You're amazing," he muttered against your skin.

Then he saw his daughter fully for the first time. Coriolanus didn't believe in love at first sight. But now here he was, staring at his little daughter swaddled in your arms. You made a pretty picture. His girls.

Right then and there, his very first vow was remedied. There were two people he'd kill for now.

Penelope Snow was his purest love, held at equal status with you. Affectionately nicknamed 'Penny', she was the absolute apple of his eye. You always said she looked more like Coriolanus, and he supposed he could see it in her blonde hair and blue eyes. But when he really studied her, all he could see was your ethereal beauty reflected in his daughter.

Although Penny was an absolute darling who loved all she met, she was a daddy's girl through and through. He held her whenever he could, bouncing her on his knee and winding a hand through her blonde curls.

Often you would walk in on the sight of him in his study, Penny sleepy against his chest while he dotted i's and crossed t's on some proposal. He'd look up, smiling tiredly and patting his daughter's side. It was heartwarming- how much he loved her.

Because he was a pushover when it came to her, Coriolanus spoiled Penny beyond anything. You worried to him that she'd become some sort of monster because of it, but she remained sweet, always adorably thanking her daddy when he gave her something new. That only encouraged him more.

Penny loved walking in the garden with her parents, playing with her dolls, and reading. You made a point not to let her spend too much time with a nanny, conscious of the way the children of other socialites in your circles clung to their caretakers in place of their parents. When you brought up this concern to Coriolanus, he agreed, carving out time in his schedule to spend as a family.

Not only did he adore Penny, he also adored you as a mother. It filled him with joy to witness you with your daughter, and he let you know in every way possible. He held you closer than ever, hands wandering past your hips, whispering how much he loved you, how in awe he was of you.

It was a wonder you didn't fall pregnant again sooner. Penny was three when you received word from the doctor.

Of course, you both were overjoyed, and thus began his pregnancy routine again. He felt he'd never been happier than now, with his beautiful daughter and enchanting wife. The three of you were splashed across every tabloid in the Capitol. The envy of everyone, Panem's model picture-perfect family.

That was just the way he wanted it.

Coriolanus watched you adjust your earrings in the mirror, silently admiring you from behind. You caught his eye in the mirror, a lovely smile overtaking you. "Tonight, I'm unsure which part of me you're looking at."

When you stood, he was immediately encircling his arms around you, kissing your forehead twice. "All of you. Every bit. You're beautiful."

"Not too much?" you fussed with your dress as you said it, smoothing the sheer red fabric.

"Perfect," he nodded, holding your face in his hands and pressing his lips to your hairline. "You're absolutely ravishing, my love."

You smiled, your eyes sparkling. Reaching your delicate hands up, you smoothed his collar, fixing his tie. "You look so handsome," you said softly, leaning up to kiss him. He didn't care if you got lipstick on his mouth.

"Daddy?" Penny poked her head in, her face lighting up when she saw the both of you. She ran in, burying her little face into Coriolanus' knee. He scooped her up, balancing her on his hip and smiling.

"Isn't Mama pretty?" he asked, and she nodded enthusiastically.

"Mama's so pretty," she said with all the sincerity of a child.

You cooed, kissing her cheek and smoothing her hair. "My baby."

Coriolanus gave you a little frown. "We can't take her with us?"

"Oh, she'd be tired halfway through," you slid your arm around his neck, and he wrapped his free one around your waist. "These things go far past bedtime." You stroked your daughter's cheek for a moment. "Penny, give Daddy a kiss so we can get going."

She pressed her lips to Coriolanus' cheek, and he set her down with one last squeeze before she ran off to find her nanny.

Attention turned fully back to you; he thumbed a strand of your hair. "Shall we?"

You nodded, and he gave you a quick kiss before offering you his arm. He helped you down the stairs and into the car. Even though you were in the early stages of pregnancy, that didn't stop him from being overprotective.

The gala was typical of those kinds of events- champagne and allied conversation. It wasn't anything too precarious- you stayed on his arm sipping sparkling cider, playing the diplomatic First Lady wonderfully as you always did.

He could see you getting tired though, about three hours in. Parting ways with the Head Gamemaker, he turned to you, fingers running up and down your waist gently. "Would you like to-"

There was a sharp noise like shattering glass. Coriolanus immediately ducked, bringing you down with him to the floor. Gunshots. Thinking only of you and the baby, Coriolanus held your body close to his, arms protectively wrapped around you, his back facing the direction of the sound.

A hand on his shoulder made him look up, and he saw one of the Peacekeepers gesturing to him. "To the safe room, sir. You and your wife."

Coriolanus stood immediately, gathering you in his arms. You wouldn't be able to run in heels. He carried you hurriedly to where the Peacekeeper directed them, where a few more security and several partygoers were hiding away. A chair was produced, and he set you down, checking to see if you were okay.

Smoothing your hair, he reassured you that everything would be okay. The two of you were safe now. You slid a hand over your belly, inhaling nervously. "How long do you think we'll be here? I'm worried about Penny."

He ran a soothing hand down your face, stroking your cheek. "Penny's fine, sweetheart. She's safe back at the house. It'll be okay."

But still you worried, insisting something didn't feel right. Coriolanus did his best to keep you calm, kneeling at your side and holding your hand and reminding you to breathe steady.

It was nearly an hour later that he noticed the Peacekeepers speaking amongst themselves, casting glances back at them occasionally. He perked up when one started to walk over, his face serious.

Coriolanus stood to meet him, not letting go of your hand. "Has the shooter been apprehended?"

"Yes," the man started, and Coriolanus felt you stand up beside him, squeezing his hand. "But there's been other news."

"What happened?" you asked softly, and Coriolanus wound his arm around your waist, hand slightly over your belly. You touched that hand with your adjacent one, twining your fingers together again.

The man looked grim, and Coriolanus' hold tightened on you. "Sir, your daughter...she's been taken."

You fainted. As soon as the words left his mouth, you crumpled in Coriolanus' arms, and he held on tight, kneeling on the ground and saying your name frantically. He looked up at the bystanders. "Someone get her water!"

Once he heard footsteps hurrying away, he looked back up at the man, face incredulous. "What do you mean, taken?"

He nodded solemnly. "Not fifteen minutes ago. Her caretaker was held at gunpoint, and when she refused to relinquish your child, she was shot. And then they took her. We're trying to figure out where."

"Send every Peacekeeper you can afford," Coriolanus snapped, looking up at the young man. It was funny in a way. He'd once been in that position and now he was giving orders. The thought made his heart soften a bit. "Leave no stone unturned. Find her."

The man saluted and went to tell his comrades. Coriolanus turned his attentions back to you, stroking your cheek and breathing in relief when your eyes fluttered open. He managed a small smile. "Sweetheart...how are you feeling?"

"They took Penny?" you choked, trying to sit up, and he supported you with an arm around your back.

"We're going to find her," he assured, taking the water retrieved by someone nearby and holding it to your lips. "It's going to be okay. She'll be okay."

"You were saying we should bring her...and I said no..." you panicked, your breathing growing unsteady. Coriolanus shook his head, pressing your face to his chest.

"This is not your fault," he whispered into your hair, aware of all eyes on you. "Never. It could never be your fault. They're going to find our daughter. I promise."

You looked up at that. Coriolanus had never made you a promise he couldn't keep, and the certainty in his voice calmed you. He kissed your temple, had you drink more water, and thus began the wait.

It was agony, worrying about his daughter while trying to keep you stable. His mind wandered to the worst possible conclusions, horrible images appearing before his eyes. He waved them off, praying you weren't wondering the same things.

Eventually, the Peacekeepers deemed it safe for everyone to go home. You remained worried, crying softly into Coriolanus' shoulder as he carried you up the stairs into the bedroom. He called for a sleep aid, one of your pregnancy ones, in an attempt for you to get some rest.

The pill kicked in, and he sat beside you, your head in his lap. He idly stroked your hair, anxiety not letting him sleep. The future's possibilities scared him more than anything had before. This is what he fought for. His family, the one thing he wanted to protect more than anything. If he couldn't keep you and your daughter safe, what kind of man was he? What kind of husband? What kind of father?

The phone beside the bed rang, and Coriolanus picked it up instantly as not to disturb you. "What did you find?"

As the person on the other end spoke, his heart beat hopefully. He gave an order in response to the information, and then made a call to send the car to the front. He'd be down in a moment.

Looking down at you, a sense of dread filled him. He didn't want to leave you here, so vulnerable and emotional, especially in your delicate condition. With that in mind, he picked up the phone once more, making a final call.

"...Tigris? You heard the news?" he listened to her for a moment. "Would you come over for a little while? Just until I get back. I don't want to leave her alone...thank you."

Hanging up, he resumed stroking his fingers through your hair, wanting to wake you up and tell you what he was about to do.

But it would only send you into further hysterics. For he'd never told you of that first vow.

Getting out of the car, Coriolanus squinted at the concrete building hidden under the guise of darkness. He looked at the nearby Peacekeeper, who nodded.

Moving swiftly, Coriolanus allowed them to direct him up the stairs, past the freshly murdered bodies splayed bloody across the ground all the way to the top. He barely paid them any mind. The only thing on his mind was Penny.

When he reached the door to the room, there were already several soldiers standing by, guns raised. He could hear noises from the inside, one of which he recognized as his daughter's crying.

The sound spurred him on, and he gave a signaling nod, triggering the head Peacekeeper to kick the door down, a line of his men trailing behind him and shouting things at Penny's captors.

Coriolanus waited a moment before walking in. He surveyed the scene coldly, looking at the men pushed against the wall by the soldiers, held at gunpoint. Then his eyes found Penny. His baby girl.

Messy hair, dusty clothes, scratches on her arms, she was a sorry sight. Tears were streaming down her rosy cheeks, and his heart broke to see it. He went to her, kneeling in front of the chair where she was tied up and undoing the binds. She sniffled, her chin wobbling. "Daddy...Daddy..."

"Shh, princess." He got the ropes undone, scooping her into his arms and standing up. She leaned her face against his shoulder, one ear against it, and he rubbed her back. Since he was still in his dress shirt from the gala, she mussed his collar with tears, but he couldn't care less. "Daddy's here...Daddy's got you."

Over her shoulder, he gave the head Peacekeeper a look, and then turned back to his daughter. "Close your eyes, Penny. It's going to be very loud for a minute but then we're going to go home."

She nodded into his shoulder, squeezing her eyes shut. He steadied one hand over her uncovered ear, and the chaos began.

A dozen fired shots sounded, and Penny winced, but her eyes stayed closed. He dropped a kiss to her hair. She still smelled like the flowery lotion you put on after her baths to keep her skin smooth.

Once the shooting was over, he uncovered her ear, whispering that it was okay, she was safe. She looked up at him with that same sweet smile, despite the fact that she'd been through who knows what. His happy girl.

Then there was another shot. He heard Penny's scream before his brain registered what had happened. It was only when he felt the blood leaking onto his arm that he realized.

Penny was crying, her sobs smashing what was left of his heart. Her arm was bleeding where the bullet had grazed her. The man who'd fired the gun was immediately tackled by a nearby Peacekeeper, who beat him unconscious.

Coriolanus held Penny tight to him, trying to hush her. "Shh, princess, it's okay. You're going to be okay. I've got you. Daddy's got you. Don't worry, baby."

He whispered this to her all the way down the stairs, into the car, and through the ride to the hospital, but she couldn't be calmed. Not that he blamed her-it must have hurt like hell.

It wasn't a problem getting her into a room. The doctors worked quickly, telling him the bullet wasn't lodged in her little arm, that it just needed to be taped up and rested. Still, Penny squirmed when they took bloodwork, cried some more when they stuck an IV in her, and clung to Coriolanus when they came to clean the wound.

He held her through it, ordering the doctors to do everything as gently as possible. She was a three-year-old for heaven's sake.

It was all over soon, not as quickly as he'd have liked, but still. A nurse gave Penny some melatonin, and she was out like a light, sleeping peacefully in the hospital bed. He sat beside her, an arm around her sleeping form. Your daughter was safe. That was all that mattered.

Except for one thing.

The door of the car shut behind Coriolanus, and he looked chillingly up at the familiar concrete structure. Once this was all over, he'd have it burned. This place wouldn't taunt his family with its existence any more.

He took his time walking up the stairs. They would have seen that he was here by now, and he wanted to make his captor squirm.

As he casually ascended, his mind dwelled on the events of yesterday. You had come running into the room, still in your beautiful dress from earlier, makeup slightly smudged, but still his stunning wife. Like a magnet you'd been drawn to your baby girl, joining him on the bed and weeping out of pure relief and exhaustion.

Coriolanus had put his arms around both of you, holding his girls tight as you stroked Penny's hair, asking him questions he'd given smooth answers to.

Yes, he'd found her. No, that wasn't his own blood on his shirt. She'd been very scared, but she was going to be okay.

He knew she wouldn't remember most of what happened, thank goodness. The doctor had spoken of memory loss as a trauma response, and he was grateful for it. Not just for Penny's sake, but for yours. You didn't need to know the extent of what had happened that night.

He reached the top floor. Now he was thinking of that sweet, sweet image of you and Penny in his arms, both sleeping against his chest. If he could've commissioned a portrait right then and there he would have.

Penny was safe. Your unborn child was safe. You were safe. And he intended to keep it that way. His status as a husband and father was duly maintained.

There was just one more thing to take care of.

Pausing at the door, he listened for a moment to the groans coming from inside. Pathetic. Deciding he was tired of waiting, Coriolanus pushed the door open, meeting the eyes of the man tied up in the middle of the room, just as his daughter had been twenty-four hours prior.

It was him. The man who'd shot Penny.

The Peacekeeper standing nearby took Coriolanus' suit jacket and handed him his pistol. Rolling up the sleeves of his white dress shirt, he stared the man dead in the eye. "I assume you've had time to think about the offer."

Glaring up at him, the man spat at his feet. "I'd sooner die."

"You will." Coriolanus didn't flinch. "Either you walk out of here with a sense of dignity and disappear or you never walk out of here with a shot through your head."

To his hidden horror, the man's lips twisted in a wry grin. It was disgusting to behold. "Ain't doin' nothin'. I'll get out. And next time it won't just be your daughter. It'll be that bitch you call a wife-"

Coriolanus pulled the trigger before he could finish. He was tired of listening, of being patient. And after insulting his wife, well, he'd signed his own death warrant.

Handing the pistol back to the Peacekeeper, Coriolanus turned his back to the body, putting his suit jacket back on. Maybe on the way home he'd stop and get you flowers. Yes, that'd be just the thing. And something for Penny too. A new book, perhaps, one of the fairy tale ones she loved so much.

Tonight, he'd erase this man's memory from his mind. He'd tuck Penny in and read her new book out loud as she fell asleep. He'd go to you and pamper you and make love to you as slowly and softly as you wanted. And then he'd sleep soundly knowing his promise had been and would continue to be fulfilled.

It was a kick in the face to anyone who'd ever doubted him.

He would kill for you.

[windvexer]

I actually do think that doing magic takes a lot of work and is kinda hard and there aren't very many good shortcuts, and many modern shortcuts actually just amount to leaving out steps, which means you either have to be powerful enough to brute-force it or it fizzles.

Look, I know some people are just much better at magic and witchcraft; anything they do works with little effort, and the lengths some of us have to go to accomplish magic seems bizarre to them. Those people are cool and I wish I was like them but I'm not.

But I also think some of the truth of how to work effective sorcery gets paved over by these "witchcraft has no rules, do anything you want" support posts.

Because A) that is not true, I believe that witchcraft has lots and lots of rules (it's just that nobody else can tell you what they are), and B) I think do anything you want is taken to mean anything you do should work, which is also not true.

I feel like I always see advice given that you don't need to do things (like use physical tools, or cast circles, or whatever). But I never see anyone explaining the techniques and paths of power that are supposed to replace them.

Let's just imagine for a moment that clear quartz really is a universal substitute. Discordians would say that it totally is. So does that mean all you have to do to sub out clear quartz is to just put it on the altar and do the ritual as if it's something else?

Or do you have to do something more?

Do you have to consecrate the stone as being something other than what it is? Do you have to ritually birth it into a new life and baptize it like a baby? Do you have to spend weeks or months honing your technique of focus and beliefs so that you can mentally shift from consensus reality to a personal reality where there is literally no difference between clear quartz and sodalite?

Do you have to raise energies of sodalite and imprint them into the quartz crystal, perhaps working over it for an extended period of time? Do you have to use energy work to tie the clear quartz into Ideal Sodalite so that it becomes like an avatar?

No, you don't have to use physical tools if you don't want to. But that shouldn't be taken to imply that tools are useless or can be replaced in a way that matters by just visualizing that you have them.

A witch spends six months propitiating a tree, ingratiating themselves with the land, offerings and acts of fealty to the tree, a week-long branch harvesting ritual, blood offerings at midnight on a holy day, then another year curing the wood and crafting a wand. Big effort, right?

And you don't need to do that. But if you want that power, what are you going to do instead?

Same with circle-casting. Same with magic on the full moon. No, you don't have to wait until the full moon. You don't have to wait until the moon is in Libra. But there's a really good reason people do those things. So if you want those effects, what actions can replace those effects?

You literally could not do the spell while the full moon is in Libra. That's fine. But then what will bridge the gap? Will you have to raise more energy somewhere else? Include a new aspect? Modify the spell for the moon you can work with?

"You don't have to follow the moon phase for magic" doesn't mean the moon phase is irrelevant and some witches just like to inconvenience themselves for no reason. But it does mean that you can probably adapt your working to overcome the moon being in the inopportune phase.

Every time I talk about how much time, energy, and effort magic can be I feel like someone always replies, "well, it's just not that hard for me! I do what I want with what I have when I need it and it always just works, with very little effort."

Which I think is very great for them, but I also don't think that most people can get results with such low effort.

So anyway my entire point is that I think sometimes the reason people struggle with getting witchcraft to work is because they are operating off of out-of-context soundbites that make it sound like you can just completely cut out some of these foundational concepts of witchcraft.

Maybe you don't have to accomplish those steps in traditional ways. Maybe you don't need all of those steps for every spell you're doing.

But if you've just cut out swaths of steps only because you heard someone say you don't need them (not because of your own experiments working with magic and determining what works best for you), then is there enough left to constitute a functional system of magic?

[hai7ani]

inspired by this tiktok

Ran gifts you a Jellycat bunny on a random Thursday, right after you reach home from class.

You're in his lap talking about your day, twirling hair around your fingers as you ponder, recap, and speak. He still sees glistening stars in your orbs despite the heavy bags under your eyes, the youth in your crooked smile while you tell him about the campus cat who'd recently gave birth to five sweet kittens 一 all in different colours.

And then he reaches beneath his bed to shove an expensive looking box into your hands. He had been waiting for the right moment to show it to you, and he finally found it.

You grow red after seeing it. Ask him why he even bought it at all because it's so expensive and it's not a necessity. At all. It's just gonna sit in your bed and attract dust and it has no proper practical use for someone your age. You're living together in a one-bedroom apartment juggling studies and gigs and a little bit of this and that while struggling with paying rent on time and a Jellycat is definitely not something that he should be spending his money on.

He gets annoyed as you go on and on about it, because this is something that he wants to do for you. He got it for you. Why are you even doubting him? Scolding him for something innocent that he poured effort into?

Though the frown on his face disappears very quickly when he sees the little red on your nose, the tears pooling in your eyes after you stop and take a deep breath.

You're trying so hard to be brave. To remain a big girl.

He knows.

Because despite this stupid toy not being a necessity in your household; despite the awful things you'd said to him and to yourself 一 and about the poor bunny stuffed with cotton that has no feelings 一 to try and make yourself believe that this is as useless as you said it was 一 it is still something that the little girl in you have always wanted.

He sees right through your front 一 right at her, small and shy, crouching in the dark, little hands holding onto the bunny that you've said mean things about just earlier 一 and he softens.

A part of childhood that you never got to have.

You couldn't deny it after all.

He knows.

"You're not worried?" Your voice is small, just like the way you're discretely pushing the bunny close to your chest, squishing its cheeks, flapping its ears, hiding a wet sniffle in between. He hums as a question, for you to continue.

"You spoil me too much. People are gonna say you're dating a spoiled brat."

He knows you're referring to the gifts he likes buying from time to time. Just last week he'd gifted you a pair of earrings way out of your budgets and you'd given him the same reaction then.

Angry and confused.

You're not used to being pampered. Being treated so gently.

And it is true 一 Ran spoils you way too much to be seen as normal, or 'appropriate', traditionally. Been this way since you've started dating. He likes pampering you in his own ways, though you've still yet to grow used to it and you're not sure why. Perhaps it's the guilt for spending money on yourself, or because you're used to not being important at all.

He combs fingers through your hair.

"It's alright." A kiss to the side of your head. Ran has always been open with affection.

"Who the hell cares?" A hand is pressed against your back, pushing you closer to himself.

Into his heart.

"If I don't spoil you, who will?"

[weneeya]

hi, i had this idea for a while that jason is very s/o that thinks they're too hard to love (plus if they've never been treated right) x guy that loves them as easily as breathing</3

maybe I'm projecting and honestly thinking about it gives me a lot of comfort because I've never experienced something like that, and that's why I decided to request this anonymously, i feel a little ashamed T-T

too hard to love m.list | rules

pairing. jason x reader

note. hi! don't be ashamed it's fine to find comfort in this, and i hope my writing will help you get even more comfort <3

You couldn’t be loved, that was what you kept repeating to yourself all the time since your last breakup. Why? Because it was what everyone always told you. You had never, ever, been treated well before, but in your eyes, it was all your fault. You weren’t loveable ; you had your own problems which always ended up ruining your relationships. Your lack of confidence was probably the worst thing, you knew it, but you couldn’t do much about it. You tried, really, but everything just brought you back to this fact. You weren’t loveable. 

Until you met Jason. The man was surely traumatized and tortured himself, but when he met you, it was like everything made sense for him. He fell in love with you in one look, and it was easy as breathing was for him. He knew the troubles you had believing it, but he never understood it. How could you think you were difficult to love? It was the simplest thing he had ever done. 

It took months for you to accept to go out on a date with him. Not only you thought he was doing it to make fun of you or because of pity, but you also thought it was useless. A date for what? To see the disappointment in his eyes? You’d rather not. But after weeks of him asking you again and again, you finally said yes. 

It went well, you couldn’t deny it. Jason was a sweet guy, probably the sweetest anyone had ever been with you before ; but it might hide something. it had to, you were sure of it. He spent months and months of yearning for you not silently until you agreed to go out with him, for real. 

You were afraid, because you haven’t been in a relationship since so long ; and the last one surely didn’t end well. But Jason kept on reassuring you that it would be okay, and that everything would only be fine. He was enough of a sweet talker to convince you. 

But the doubt never left. It never left the back of your mind, and even if sometimes it was easier, there were nights where everything was so difficult. Jason was out tonight, because the man was a vigilante after all, so it wasn’t rare for you to spend nights on your own.

Tonight was specifically rude for you. You couldn’t sleep at all, and after turning around over and over in your too large bed, you decided to leave it. You walked in the living room, going back on your own steps. Your mind was driving you mad, until you began to feel dizzy. You sat on your kitchen’s floor, your breath heavy. A panic attack. Great. 

Your nails were scratching your poor damaged wrist, your eyes lost the void, not able to focus on anything else. You didn’t even realize the tears which were falling down your cheeks, until you noticed a broad figure in front of you. You looked up, only to meet Jason’s worried face. He wasn’t touching you at all, knowing it would overwhelm you more than anything else. 

“Deep breath, baby. It’s okay, you’re okay,” his soft whisper slightly brought you back to reality, making you close your eyes to try to focus on him and nothing else. “That’s it, listen to me.” And it kept going for a few more moments until you were able to calm down at least a little. 

Once you were feeling a bit better, Jason took you to the couch, making you lay down there while he was on his knees next to it, your hand in his own. He stayed silent for a moment, waiting for the right time to ask you the question that was burning his lips. “What happened?” He finally asked, and you took a deep breath, trying to explain it to him. 

It was your own insecurities that made you like this, the way you were so scared that he would disappear one day because he had realized how difficult you were and how better his life would be without you in it. You expected him to frown, be frustrated, anything ; but it never came. His fingers reached for your face, putting a strand of hair away from your face with the most gentle touch anyone ever had towards you. 

“Loving you is not difficult. Actually, it’s the easiest thing I've ever done. You’re the sweetest person I’ve ever met in my life, and if you want me to, I could make a whole list of everything that makes me love you so much.” You slowly looked up at him, expecting everything but this. You blinked a few times, before you simply nodded a little, which made him chuckle a bit. 

Sitting down on the floor next to the couch, his fingers gently playing with your hair, he began to say one by one all the small things that you were doing that made his heart race like crazy. It made you realize that perhaps he really wasn’t lying at all ; and maybe you weren’t as hard to love as you thought you were. It would be a long path until you completely accept this, but you knew that Jason would be by your side during the whole process ; and it warmed your heart.

thank you!

[dearpearlyy]

Susato Mikotoba and Internalized Misogyny

Susato holds herself in such low regard. This is one thing, but it becomes even more gut wrenching once you begin to interpret why she does. Given the raging misogyny and prejudice for women that permeated society in the 19th century, it’s not hard to imagine that she harbors internalized misogyny. We see her put herself down, especially in the first game, she quite literally hates herself.

She wanted to leave London, and she was caught about to throw her British Law book into the sea, the little self confidence she had as a judicial assistant was all but lost.

She felt that she did not deserve to practice law, not only because she recognized that she tampered with a crime scene, but also, how can a girl ever be worthy of the title ‘judicial assistant’? Where is a girls place in the field of law?

Do girls HAVE a place in the field of law?

From the very first case it has been made clear that women are barred from entering a courtroom in Japan. Even in British courts she is belittled and belittles herself. Even though her creating the peephole actually SAVED Gina’s case, she cannot recognize her own feat, she saved Gina, yet her internalized misogyny clouds her mind.

Moving on to dgs2, the first case has her breaking societal norms and pretending to be a man to defend her dearest friend Haori. Women were forbidden from entering a courtroom in 19th century Japan, despite how the laws of the land apply to EVERYONE.

This case also shows us more insight into her mind. If you press one of Hosonaga’s statements, she says this. I have seen the fandom brush this line off as a joke in favour of how Hosonaga replies. To me, it’s a perfect example of her internalized misogyny.

While in the position of Ryutaro, she regresses back into misogynistic rhetoric. There’s something about the horrific treatment of women in her time perpetrated by men that Susato feels she must comply with in order for the court to see her as a man. How else would they believe that it’s Naruhodo Ryutaro standing there at the defenses’ bench? Even if saying so hurts, what would become of her if they found out that Naruhodo Ryutaro did not exist? How would they react if it was found out that there was a girl in court?

It’s not her fault for worrying, even if the judge knew.

Dgs2 also reveals that her father, Yujin Mikotoba, travelled to Britain for six years. The first six years of Susato’s life. Her mother died and she was given to her grandmother while her father abandoned her.

We do not see Susato get angry at her father for doing so.

She always sings his praises and calls him “my brilliant father.” But how can that be? I’ve talked about how I think Susato deserves to lash out at her father, but does she feel like she deserves that luxury?

She clearly loves her father, but she may have felt deep resentment for him at times. How dare he come back into her life so suddenly? Did she feel bitter? Did she feel angry? But how could she be angry? Girls don’t get angry at their fathers, they treat them with utmost respect, No matter how they are treated by them. Even thinking about her father like that feels sinful. The Father was revered with great expectancy and honor, disrespecting him by showing anger would be absolutely unthinkable, right? Susato would feel terribly guilty for feeling even the slightest negative feelings about Yujin. Who is she to get angry at him, after all? How could she be such a terrible daughter?

Susato Mikotoba isn’t a person who flaunts her achievements for all to see. After a trial she congratulates Ryuunosuke.

“You did it! we got an acquittal thanks to YOU!”

What about all she’s done during trials to point her friend in the right direction? What of her own efforts? She does so much, yet she never gives herself credit where it’s due. Internalized misogyny is a powerful thing, it makes her think she’s useless, even if she were to be the one who turns the trial on its head.

There’d be countless opportunities for her, opportunities for her to thrive and learn to love herself, if only society gave her a chance.

Moved from my Twitter