#he has no concerns with being productive in the slightest

[wereh0gz]

I think sonic should be shown lazing around more often. Guy who does fuck all

[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.)

[golden-afternoon]

Yeah I was working on another actual fic but uhhh the 'Nari brainrot took over so uhhh here take me going insane over him and rambling about what comes to my mind. Kay? Kay.

Warnings - nsfw, mating cycle talk from a person who only has google by her side, absolutely not proofread having gone straight from brain to paper, and just know there is a solid chance I'll have more to say about this in the future.

Tighnari, by his very nature, is a very compartmentalized person. His own problems stay within himself to be dealt with later when he is done and everyone else's needs are already attended to. Always concerned with helping others and keeping things in order, even to the point of staying up into the early hours of the morning, less concerned with himself than those around him. If he’s ever struggling with anything at all, he will do absolutely everything in his power to keep anyone from knowing about it, much less something as personal as this.

In the early months of the year, especially as Lantern Rite nears, Tighnari becomes withdrawn. Quieter, more distant. The Forest Watchers have been talking for forever back and forth swapping theories and rumors in not so hushed tones.

“I heard Master Tighnari lost a family member around this time of year.”

“Really? I heard he just reeeeally hates any kind of festivities especially Lantern Rite because it's so noisy, even when not in Liyue.”

“I dunno, maybe he's just sensitive to the cold?”

Unlike the usual case where he was quick to nip such chatter in the bud and tell off the Rangers for gossiping, he remains entirely silent on the issue, otherwise carrying on as usual. Setting up excursions, documenting his findings, helping and guiding wherever he was needed…

Until he just can't stand it anymore. With hardly a word, save perhaps to Collei to ask her to care for things in his absence, he retreats, hiding himself away in his hut, barricading himself in completely so no nosy Rangers have any reason to loiter around.

He hates it.

He understands it's natural and it's going to happen and blah blah blah, but it was such a nuisance to his life he would give anything to not have to put up with it. The worst of it usually lasts a week or two before he can at least carry some semblance of normalcy and feel willing and able to return to work, but while he's in it, it drives him insane.

Some years it's so bad that he can't even focus on anything other than the absolutely filthy thoughts that plague his mind, his hands shaking so hard he can't even hold a pen long enough to attempt any sort of work. Even like this he just doesn't feel right not being productive especially when he's always running around here and there the rest of the year, why should this be any different?

Head slamming into his desk with a groan, a flush curling up his cheeks and neck. Eventually he has to crack, begrudgingly caring for the needs that grow and grow and grow and become nigh insatiable during his rut.

It starts out almost clinical, looking to just take care of a symptom of an illness almost. Face flushed, lips curled into a deep frown, he sits at his desk, fisting his cock with precision, hoping to get it over with as fast as possible by hitting everything just right.

But no. After dealing with this for years you think he would have known by now that just once isn't enough, yet he still hopes year after year. It only gets worse. Over and over and over again until he's just sore and it hurts. Until he can't keep jerking it lest he make his own skin turn raw. By this point he usually finds himself in his bed, ears flat and face buried into some blankets to muffle the pathetic whimpers that left his lips as he kept grinding his hips into the pillows over and over and over and over, chasing even the slightest modicum of relief.

And most of the time, as annoying as it is, it was completely fine for him to just be stuck imagining some faceless, nameless mate beneath him as he struggled to sate these urges. However, if Tighnari has a bit of a crush… Well, he'd be in for a rude awakening if he hadn't already acknowledged his feelings for you.

I could see poor Tighnari getting almost ill as he realized the cute moans he was imagining sounded a little too much like your voice. Everything freezes for a moment, his stomach lurching both from the realization and the sudden loss of friction when he faltered. He tries so hard to brush it aside, chastising himself for pulling you into his filthy mind right then. But it doesn't stop. Your face, your voice, your skin. Everything. Everything stays in his mind and he cannot stop it. He feels such overwhelming shame about it, but… he does eventually give in and just let whatever fantasies take root, especially since it seems to ease the feelings when he does.

But when he sees you after the worst of it is over and he leaves his hut, guilt grips around his heart and memories of those fantasies rush into his head, leaving him turning on his heel to avoid you at all costs, honestly risking you thinking he hates you with how intensely he's ignoring you.

It's even worse because Tighnari considers hiding in his hut again for even longer as usually he was fine when the worst of it passed, he could resume his duties, but with you around, he could feel his hands shaking, the intense urge to find you wherever you were and pin you down immediately was so strong it scared him a little. Sometimes it caught him off guard too, like he would catch your scent on the breeze and while in his rut, he would genuinely get so horny so fast he's gotten lightheaded, having to catch himself on whatever was nearby so he didn't go crashing down.

If he hated his rut before, the shame of all this made him absolutely loathe it.

Maybe one day you can find a way to make it a liiiiittle more bearable for him ♡

[charkie-ee]

team bolas rojas gas masks designs??

in THIS day and age?????

it may be more likely than you think..

this was my first time drawing a series of different gas masks, no idea if they’re accurate at all, but it was really fun!!

**notes & closeups under the cut :-D**

it’s a lot of notes so be prepared for an info dump.

NOTES:

Philza: honestly, what more is there to say than “CROW MAN!!”? aside from his goggles being glow-in-the-dark, theres not much more to the mask design. however, i decided, “hey! this is purgatory! i can fuck up these characters!” so, he has a ripped ear(?)wing and messily cut back hair. (i didn’t pay too much attention to the hair in this design, i was mainly trying to get the gas masks down, but maybe i’ll go further into later.)

Cellbit: this is definitely one of my favorites, he looks pretty scary, i would NOT stop my car if i saw him on the side of the road. its based off of a cat mask(obviously) and a painted white streak goes through his mask, inspired by his hair. i didn’t include it, but circles in the goggles are supposed to retract with different emotions (kind of how cat’s eyes do, saucer and dagger pupils.) he’s also covered in blood because he’s going through it lore wise.

Slimecicle: ngl, it was my first time drawing code charlie(other than all the wips i have that i’ll never finish),but i think he’s pretty spooky. his mask is the worst quality, like it USED to work well until he wore it out. thus, there are broken air tubes that let the gas in. (he should probably get those replaced.) the holes for his horns are kind of like an airlock, so the gas can’t enter through them (phil helped him make it.) however, it makes it difficult to take off.

Baghera: baghera’s mask is kind of built like charlie’s, except in much better quality. aside from the loose air tubes, the mask almost goes all the way around her head, not letting even the slightest bit of gas in. theres also a plastic duck beak on top of the regular breathy-thing(i have no idea what i’m doing, so, no, i don’t know the technical term for that) to give it the “bird touch.”

Jaiden: jaiden’s mask was FUN. like i kinda went overboard. i did these all on different days, and this was the night after the big egg battle day. i saw she had fnaf bonnie ears along with her bird gas mask, and said “ok cool. i’ll add that.” she has the same feather/beak thing i gave to baghera. also, hair-wise, she gets a hair bun and her brown roots showing through(we love messy haired cubitos ^^)

Foolish: foolish was interesting, not sure i like the final product, but i’m tired, so it’ll do. his mask is based off of a lemon shark. he gas glowing green eyes and golden splotches on the leather. the air tube foolish has is REALLY long. like unnaturally long. so he wraps it around his neck to get it out of the way. the other members are extremely concerned it’ll choke him one day, but foolish thinks it’s cool and will scare other teams away. kind of like a “yea, i’m crazy, i could choke and die at any minute, and i don’t care.” phil, being the protective father figure of the group, does not like this at all.

Carre: and finally, we have carre. ah, sweet, sweet carre.(he is my favorite.) his mask is based off of a snow leopard because i hc he’s half feline. carre has the lightest, and most simple mask, since it’s entirely plastic, and more so based off of skiing or snowboarding goggles.

ANYWAY, i hope these notes make sense, excuse my rambling about silly designs, i tend to doodle messily, and not really have a plan when i draw, lol.

thanks for reading, BYE!

[piepiepiemag]

What Glitters Isn't Mine

Golden Gear Midas (Fortnite) x Young(er)!Montague (Fortnite)

Summary: midas is worried sick about accidentally turning his not-so-obvious crush into gold the first time they share a bed. surely nothing will go wrong

Tags from AO3: Hurt/Comfort, Psychological Horror (???), Touch Starved Midas (Fortnite), Touch Starved Montague (Fortnite), Midague, Proofread (barely), Trans Male Character, Trans Montague (Fortnite), Trans Midas (Fortnite), T4T Midague Real

thank you to my duo for always showering me with plenty of ideas to write about!! <3 this one could work as a standalone story, but i recommend reading (Lighthouse) for full context!

Sleep has always been one of those commodities Midas could rarely afford. He  tended to stay up late into the night and wake up around daybreak, running on 5 hours of sleep and an unhealthy amount of caffeine in his system.

It’s gotten significantly worse ever since he got a noisy roommate, who preferred to stay up even later than him, then proceed to sleep through the entire day. He couldn’t get too mad at him for it though.

Montague had it a lot more rough. His vision was healing far slower than his other wounds, and he’s been plagued with nightmares since the day he laid hands on that cursed relic. He never told Midas about it, but it was quite easy to tell. 

Most nights Midas would wake up to the sound of him suffering and crying deep in his sleep, all alone on the living room couch he used as a bed. He would wake him at times like this, but it slowly got to the point that Montague would rather sleep during the day when Midas was busy elsewhere. He didn’t want to be a nuisance, he was already staying there rent free after all.

Midas could tell something was wrong even if Montague never spoke about it. He shut himself away most on days, cooking and cleaning to spend his time productively, then latching onto Midas’s Xbox for comfort.

Midas was worried, but he never asked. He didn’t ask him about that night, the night Montague came crawling to his house, bloodied up and on the brink of death. He didn’t ask about the amulet he decided to wear so close to that strange scar over his chest, the one right above his heart. 

He didn’t want to bother him, thinking that he would open up with time, when he was ready.

The amulet was concerning, they knew close to nothing about its properties, besides being able to heal people fast, and turning the blood around Montague’s wounds into crystals one time. It was a complete mystery to both of them, but Montague insisted on wearing it at all times, even though he couldn’t explain the reason why.

Montague was hard to read in general, but Midas was getting better at guessing what his actions would mean if he put them into words. Cooking and cleaning probably meant something like “thank you for letting me stay here”, and so on.. This night was no different.

“It’s cold in the living room..” - montague said as he opened the door to Midas’s room. He looked exhausted, even though it was only 1 am. In his arm he was clutching his blanket, looking like a scared child who  just saw a monster under the bed.

The gears were turning in Midas’s head, he could vaguely figure what this was about. He was probably just tired and didn’t want to sleep alone.

“Yeah..” - he replied, shuffling around in his bed awkwardly. A sleepover was honestly a pretty terrible idea..

With Montague around, his golden touch was near unmanageable. Pots, pans, plates, silverware, bedding, the couch, even the fridge had to be replaced by this point. He couldn’t exactly figure out why he was losing control this easily.. Well, he had a pretty close hunch, he just didn’t want to admit it outright.

Either way, he didn’t want him to stay, not in the slightest. Just the thought of it was making him queasy, his fists balled up, focusing on not turning his bedsheets gold with every fibre of his being. 

“You can sleep here if you want.” - he blurted out without thinking, mentally punching himself in the face in the process. 

He’s probably scared of having nightmares again. What kind of asshole would let him stay alone like this..

Montague nodded, quietly walking up to the bed and throwing his blanket down. He began undressing and Midas could feel his blood run cold.

“You haven’t been sleeping in that, have you?” - the question came out far more accusatory than he intended it to, the tone reminding him of his own mother’s. He felt disgusted. 

“Ugh maybe..” - Montague said as he looked down at his binder, fiddling with his hands. Even though Midas brought him 12 new pairs as a consolation gift, he still decided to wear that silly lemon pattern hand me down all the time. The one he was given by Midas the first time they truly met. 

It was kind of sweet, Midas’s heart would always skip a beat whenever he caught a glimpse of it, peeing out from under his shirt. 

“You really shouldn’t you know.. it’s real bad for your health and-“ - midas was so ready to start his lecturing, telling him all about the safety precautions he needs to take and stuff, but he was interrupted.

“You want me to take it off?”

The question hit him like a brick to the face, the room suddenly felt a lot more hot than it did before, and he could feel gold spilling over from his hands, onto the blanket below.

Just how the hell did he get into this?

“I-“ - he began, stopping himself immediately. Yes, he wanted him to take it off, but not in a weird way. More-so in a “hey friend who i like a lot, please don’t destroy your ribs while you sleep” type of way. Nothing more. Nothing less. He started again. - “Y…yes?”

“..whatever..” - Montague muttered, his face visibly flushed as he began to peel the fabric off of himself. Midas looked away immediately, but not fast enough, catching a glimpse of him in nothing but his boxers and that relic around his neck.

This was bad. Real bad. So bad. 

When he was done, Montague climbed into the bed, cozying up in his blanket on the other side of the bed.

Midas’s worst fears were slowly coming true as he felt more and more drops of gold spill from his hands. He wiped them off on the bedsheet not so nonchalantly. If this kept up he would run out of bedding.

He was not going to turn anything to gold. Not his sheets. Not the bed. And most definitely not his-

His blood froze the moment Montague scooted closer to him, quietly draping his arm around Midas’s torso, his face inches away from his chest. He could feel Montague’s warm breath on his skin, quickly forming goosebumps all around.

They cuddled before on the couch, at times when Montague had his nightmares, but it was never like this. Those only lasted until Montague fell asleep again, and they were all dressed up. This felt more than friendly, almost intimate. And while he wouldn’t have minded it in any other situation, right now Midas was mortified.

He took a deep breath as he folded one shaky arm over Montague, strategically placing it over his blanket. Midas could see the man’s lips curl into a soft smile. It was a rare sight, and he made sure to etch it into his memory.

It was nice. He wished they could always sleep like this. The only sound he could hear were the crickets outside, and Montague’s breathing getting slower and slower by the minute, him falling asleep not soon after.

Midas’s eyes were getting blurry, sleep threatening to take over him, but he just watched as Montague clung to him, his eyelashes fluttering occasionally, his face more peaceful than he’s ever seen before.

He was stupid for feeling like this, but he was beginning to like his roommate more than what you would consider friendly. He would never admit it though, it was clear to him that Montague was not interested. At least that’s what he got from it, him being so hard to read and all.

In a moment of bravery Midas raised a hand and swept it over the man’s hair, ruffling his locks softly. It was fine. Everything was fine. He kept petting his hair with a smile on his face, almost getting lost in his beauty.

Midas was stupid, but it was fine. Just for a short while Montague was his, and that was enough for him. Admiring him like this was more than enough.

Midas’s eyelids slipped shut more and more as time passed, even as he tried to stay awake and be in control until-

Montague screamed, so loud that Midas immediately jumped, confused for only second, as he caught a glimpse of glistening gold under his fingertips, intertwined in his hair.

“Wha- Stop! It hurts!” - Montague gasped and heaved as the gold began to spread, spilling over from his hair, onto his arms and back. 

“W-Wait! No! Please-“ - midas pulled and yanked on his arm but it wouldn’t budge, it was like his fingers melted into the flesh of the man next to him. 

Montague cried and trashed around in horror only for a short while, within mere seconds his muscles began to freeze up, the gold seeping into his bones and rendering him near unable to move. All he could feel was an overwhelming amount of pain and terror, he felt like his body was on fire and freezing in an ice cold lake at the same time.

Midas tried with all his power to stop, to at least slow it down or reverse it somehow but nothing was working, he grabbed his arm with his other hand but it also began to weep gold, leaving him unable to movie as well. He tried to calm Montague but it was all in vain, he couldn’t even calm himself.

The room was filled with their wails of despair until the gold finally fully overtook Montague. He suddenly stopped all his sounds, staring up at Midas, his eyes full of fear and hate as gold dripped down his face.

“WHY!?”

 “Please- I’m sorry I- Stop! No-“ - midas cried out as he tried to free his arms, glistening gold spilling out from them more and more with each passing second. Montague’s whole face contorted from the pain, his jaw looking almost unhinged as he screamed and screamed without stopping for a second. Then gold fully overtook him, silencing him as his expression remained frozen in absolute terror.

Midas stared at him in horror, before shutting his eyes, crying and screaming at the top of his lungs for help, any help, until he felt someone shake him by the shoulders.

Blue and brown eyes greeted him, inches away from his face.

“You kicked me in your sleep..” - montague stared down at him, his face back to normal, completely unharmed. Despite his cold words he had an awfully worried expression on his face.

It took Midas a moment to realise what just happened. He looked down at his hands, looking just like they did before. 

He almost felt stupid about it, before lunging forward, hugging Montague as close as he could. He was startled for a second, but he still ended up draping his arms around Midas, pulling him even closer. 

“Sorry.. I had a weird nightmare..” - midas mumbled as he buried his face in Montague’s shoulder. He never felt more relieved before in his life.

“Yeah.. i figured..” - montague replied, softly petting Midas’s hair with one hand. Guess their score was settled now.

[sigyns-drafts]

Can you do a ror loki and child reader hel needing help taking care of her rotten skin, so they do like skincare? Thank you!!

A/N: Gladly Anon, I absolutely adore these ideas with reader Hel and Loki. Thought I didn't expect RoR! Loki, how interesting~

This is going to be to write about~ <3

A fathers healing touch! 💜💚

➩ In the halls of Asgard, Loki, the god of mischief, found himself facing an unexpected challenge. His youngest daughter, Y/N, had been suffering from a mysterious ailment that caused her skin to rot.

Desperate to help her, Loki was desperate to find a solution, despite his usual penchant for chaos and mischief.

➩ Reader type: Reader!Child Hel and RoR!Loki

⚠: Struggling with skin conditions, rotten skin, single father Loki trying his best! 😭

“Y/N, my dear daughter, fear not. We shall find a remedy for your skin.."

Loki tries his best to reassure Y/N who found herself sobbing uncontrollably. She was panicked, distraught over her condition.

The constant pain, the oils and creams that never seemed to heal her, helping her in the slightest. It was tiring and she had almost lost all hope!

"But father! We tried everything, and nothing seems to work. I fear this rot will consume me.."

Y/N sobbed, about to throw away what the two had been brought to possibly heal her rotten skin. She hated this and herself for being born this way!

But right when she was about to, Loki grabs her wrist gently, never harsh towards her but understanding of her struggles.

She lowers her hand carefully while the girl sobbed, calming down from her fit of blind rage. Loki takes the ointments out of her grasp and makes Y/N face him.

"Nonsense, my child! There is always a solution. I'll travel out to find something, you stay home alright?"

Loki smiles reassuringly at Y/N, wiping away her tears and snot from her round little face, like he had done ever since she was a baby.

His precious little baby.

“Alright.. Please be careful.”

Now filled with the same goal as the previous one. Loki, concerned for his daughter's well-being, decided find help.

He knew he couldn't rely on the traditional remedies the gods used for this issue.

Instead, he had no choice but to venture into Midgard, the realm of humans, in search of a solution.

He hated that it had come to this, that he needed to seek out the humans' remedies instead of the gods.

He almost felt a little ashamed since It was supposed to be the opposite! But he would do anything to help and insure his daughters happiness and health.

Arriving at a bustling marketplace, Loki in disguise stumbled upon a small stall adorned with an array of skincare products.

Intrigued, he approached the vendor, met with an elderly woman who gave him a gentle smile.

"Excuse me, my lady," Loki began, not even trying to sound nice but just to get this over with. He needed to save his daughter!

"My daughter is in dire need of assistance. Her skin has taken a turn for the worse, and I seek a remedy to heal her."

The vendor studied Loki for a moment, the god suddenly feeling anxiety wash over him, he was worried she would see through his disguise for a moment before she just nodded knowingly.

Much to Loki's relief who thought he had been caught!

"Ah, the skin is a delicate canvas, especially in harsh conditions. Fear not, for I have just the solution for your daughter."

She handed Loki an assortment of creams, oils, and serums, explaining their benefits and how to use them.

Loki, grateful for her guidance, paid for the products and hurried back to Y/N in their divine realm.

Upon his return, Y/N greeted her father with a mix of curiosity and scepticism.

"What is all this, Father?" she inquired, eyeing the skincare products in his hands.

"These, my dear child, are the tools to restore your skin to its former glory,"

Loki declared with a confident grin.

"We shall test these out on you, it will be like us doing some skincare together~"

Y/N hesitant at first, trusted her father's judgement and agreed to give it a try.

With Loki's guidance, they began their skincare routine, applying the creams and oils with care and precision on the parts of Y/N's body where her skin had rotted.

Loki always made sure to stop if it brought Y/N any discomfort or was starting to hurt.

After all, the rotten skin was almost like burn marks, they were sensitive and could easily hurt by the slightest touch.

As they worked together, Y/N couldn't help but notice a change. Her skin, once dull and lifeless, started to regain its vitality.

The cracks began to heal slightly, and a healthy glow returned to her complexion but the scars were still there.

"This is remarkable, Father!" Y/N exclaimed, marvelling at her reflection.

"I never imagined this was possible to heal, thank you so much father!"

Loki beamed with pride, his heart swelling with affection for his daughter.

"Nothing is beyond our reach when we work together, darling~"

Loki spoke softly, pulling Y/N into a gentle hug before kissing the top of her head with love and compassion.

[afreakingdork]

Soft Spot - Chapter 5

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader

Donnie has a question for you in this week's chapter art by @garbagemilkshake

Rated: Explicit

Warnings/Tags: Romance, Established Relationship, Married Couple, Married Life, Aged-Up Mutant Ninja Turtles, Villain Donatello (TMNT), Love, POV Second Person, Babies, Pregnancy, AFAB reader, Vaginal Sex, Rough Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Fertility Issues, Pregnant Sex, Pregnancy Kink, Reader-Insert, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Cum Eating, Turtle Noises (TMNT), I have a Biology Degree and I’m Using it, Menstruation

Synopsis: First comes love. Then comes marriage. Then comes the next step about as smooth as the others arrived. The baby-oriented sequel to Weak Spot.

Also available on Ao3

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LAST WARNING FOR THE 🍋 UNDER THE CUT. MINORS DNI!

“Donnie!”

For the simplicity of his nickname, there were so many ways you could say it. Even at a higher volume the slightest twang could manipulate the meaning. You had yelled for him, at him, and in calling. You’d sought him out of crowds. He’d surprise you. You fought. It was range, you supposed. It was the kind that illustrated your relationship by emphasizing one particular point.

It was one he was keen on undulating.

He already had a mastery of your noises on the barest level, but he’d come to elicit everything from your euphoric screams. It might have been your increased sessions where you went at it furiously for about a week straight, but you had really been taking notice lately.

He wanted you to know exactly who was inseminating you.

It was a thrill just to think and in practice it wasn’t something you realized until your throat was hoarse. He’d bring you to the brink in an all consuming way where all you could think was to scream out his only calling card. It was him in an essential distillation. It seemed ridiculous that there was ever a time when he disliked the shorthand of his name. It was all he wanted to hear now and hear it he did.

You gasped back to clarity and he was still there.

Too much of him in fact as you were immediately hoisted into the air.

You’d already shouted his name more times than you could count about this particular occurrence. Since your second month of trying for a baby, he had started grabbing you by the ankles after lovemaking. The pair fit easily in his hand and was, in his mind, the best handle to lift you with. Since baby imagery was on the mind, the fact that you were lifted up from there gave you nothing but the appearance of needing to be changed. The way he had to lay a pillow underneath you only increased said imagery which you had protested hotly until he finally relented.

The end product was ultimately the same, your hips would be propped up, but he at least used a scooping arm instead of a demeaning lift of your legs now. He had the angle down to a science and an exact pillow picked out. Your hips were laid upon the cushion and you relaxed. Your knees would bob in the bottom of your vision and you’d grown used to being stuck on your back.

“Alright?” Donnie’s head darted as he appraised you.

“Yup. Cool.” You stared dully at the canopy. “So cool.”

That same yank of concern pinched his brows. “Dearest…”

“It doesn’t get better, ya know?” You sighed. “I get the pillow thing. I get it helps the sperm gravity slide to the uterus. I get it, but it still sucks just… in general. “

“I know…” He took care in sitting beside you so you wouldn’t be jostled.

All it did was make you more acutely aware of how you couldn’t stop your complaints. “For 20 to 30 minutes I’m stuck on my back! We can’t have any regular cool down anymore! After care? Nope! Cuddling? Impossible! We need to do everything possible to make sure our stupid gametes mix!”

Donnie was quiet. You knew he wasn’t waiting for you to finish; he was letting you vent. It felt like he wanted you to stop though. There was something to how he couldn’t meet your eye. His protests were loud enough without a single action.

You both wanted this so why would you complain?

He had never pressed the matter, only presented it. Using the pillow wasn’t any sort of guarantee. There was barely science to support it. After your first month’s failure, it felt like you were already on desperate measures. The science that barred him from actionable ways to stimulate fertilization wore on his being. He hated being denied.

Like how he was currently being denied children.

Amongst everything else.

Why couldn’t you just lie on your back and take this one thing?

You reached for your knees as no logic query would abate your fury. They came to you with a flare in your mate’s interest because of course it did. While hugging your knees to your body could support the maneuver, you were already in a primped position. If you were moved you chanced the slightest slip of semen and it would certainly end in you unfertilized if that were up to chance.

Rage had you tugging your legs down anyway.

Donnie came to primp your posture.

“Donnie.” You protested softly.

His hands were out in an anxious hover to correct you.

“You act like it’s the end of the world if we don’t do this!” You told him with tears in your eyes.

It cracked his expression.

There it was.

Everything underneath.

The same toil you knew was there.

He was holding so much back.

You hated this process.

You hated that the moment he ejaculated, he had to leave you.

You hated that you couldn’t soothe him.

It was only your second month.

With your chances this could go on for any number of months or even years.

How could you break so soon?

“Hurry…” You decided on.

He was lightning fast in angling your body.

You couldn’t even feel the linger of skin contact.

It left you cold. 

It was too soon for this.

Time stretched on in an infinite sort of way and the not knowing was also there.

“Timer.” You spoke something that sounded chilled to your ears.

It appeared and read something to the tune of 22 minutes.

You turned your head away from it and felt how cold your wet cunt was.

Donnie lightly brushed your arm.

He was there.

He was stooped beside you so he could get to your eye level.

He was off the bed and opened connection lines.

You felt his similar abysmal thoughts commingle with yours.

Within your band it felt like there was a space all your own. A room where your most essential beings could meet as long as both parties opened the connection portals. There was feedback streaming in all day in a regular sense, but over time the two of you had honed that into something more defined. There was you, there was him, and there was you both.

You slipped into that space with your eyes closed.

You’d visualize it for the sake of your currently lonely body.

Donnie’s essence wrapped around you like an embrace. You thought his name loudly and in an imprecise way he responded with yours. A calling that you’d both done in many senses, this one was the reassurance; that you shared the same strife. He was obviously sympathetic that you took on the physical portion and you were sure that was only going to continue were his sperm to ever take.

The pain.

There would be extreme pain, the likes of which others could only be compared to. Giving birth was considered the metric. It could take hours, it often did, and it ravaged the body even more than growing an entire other little person already did. It came with chemicals made distinctly by the body just to help you forget the process because without that little biological factor, the human race might have died out eons ago with their maladaptive forms, gaits, and pathetic pelvis formations.

To say you weren’t looking forward to it was an understatement.

How would that feel to Donnie?

Neither of you had suffered real injury since completing the ritual of your martial bond. There had been toe stubbings and bug bites, but you hadn’t felt those inaugurating pangs. What you felt was a zip of magical energy that read as distress. It was the emotion you felt and not the pain itself.

Except for Donnie’s scars.

He had tissue all over his body that had been ravaged and it was why he wore compression gear. Those aches didn’t read like anything distinct. Donnie had been dealing with that chronic pain for most of his life. It wasn’t something he thought about specifically as it was omnipresent. The only times it really came up was on cloudy days just before the skies opened. It was then that he would move just a bit slower. 

You still weren’t exactly sure and hadn’t brought it up, but it was in your special room that you felt what you believed was a facsimile of it. It was like there was a dull throb to the space itself. Since the space was an equal mix of both your beings, it melded into your mind as something encompassing, but ubiquitous. You supposed that was how he felt about the pain’s existence and it read to you like a rash. It lingered with a burn along your imagined limbs and settled into something you could forget if you were still enough in the right position. It intrigued you that it was something that could be shared through your wedding band though its ramifications haunted you.

He felt enough pain and you didn’t want to pile on more.

Could you control that during childbirth?

How could you not instinctively claw and call for your mate, your ultimate source of comfort?

You’d probably want to kill him under false pretenses of him putting you through it.

You were frustrated enough as it was with him having only asked you to lay on your back after every session.

It was unreasonable.

Your frustrations stemmed from elsewhere.

It was the tenderness of a child, you thought.

A culmination of everything you hoped not coming to fruition made you as soft as a baby. Your emotions were raw and nubile. You bet it also had something to do with the treatment of pregnancy throughout your relationship. It loomed and had become commonplace due to your kinks. It seemed cosmically unfair that your proclivity was unreachable when it could easily be commonplace.

Donnie had said something about his kink coming about because of how he hadn’t thought he could impregnate someone.

It was sad in a way.

Sad in the same way you were laying with your hips raised on a pillow.

No, that was cruel.

Infertility was not synonymous with your willing act. 

You were a mess.

Wasit all just because you were frustrated?

What else could it be?

You blinked your eyes open slowly.

In one of Donnie’s many talks he had said something about hormones.

You felt like you knew, but you were in a state of second guessing yourself. “Am I ovulating?”

“No.” Your husband hadn’t moved and was watching you.

Something about that didn’t sound right. “That’s… Wait, bring up the calendar.”

It appeared before your eyes.

You found the dot marker that said what day today was.

It also clearly read that today was the first day of your ovulation phase.

“Donnie…” You let the weight of knowledge heap upon his name.

“It’s an estimation.”

“Based on you tracking me.”

“Correct.”

“Then who’s to say?” Your shoulders moved slightly with your protest.

The timer appeared like an irritant to say you still had two minutes and thirty-six seconds.

You shot him a warning glare and it disappeared.

“Me.”

“You what?”

“I’m, as you put it, to say.”

“You can’t know that.”

His lips turned down in challenge.

“You can’t! You can use your best estimation! You can feel the state of my discharge or whatever. I’ve read the same things you have!”

“Y/N-!”

“Why else would I be like this!?” You huffed.

“You know why…” His voice dipped low for the sensitive subject matter.

“Sperm live 3 or 5 days, whatever, yeah, sure.” Your voice sounded like you didn’t believe him.

That would trigger him explaining the science again and you saw him take a breath in preparation for it.

“No!” You shouted to cut him off.

You blew out a breath.

“No.” You tried again. “You don’t have to explain it. Let me… Yes, I know they do, or can, but it’s just like… I could be ovulating and this could be helping or I could not be and this isn’t doing anything! It’s like a catch 22! It sucks. It sucks if we know. It sucks that we don’t. The whole thing sucks, but it’s a necessary suck…”

“Y/N, you don’t-”

“So it’s not ovulation… Can this be the new diet thing?”

You heard a blessed ding that your time was over and sat right up.

Donnie fumbled to get some tissues.

You currently didn’t care how you soaked the damn pillow. “It’s what we figured out we could up our chances with!”

You snatched a tissue when he offered it and cleaned yourself up.

“We can’t stimulate hormones with medication, but we have a level of control over natural consumption! Omega-3 fatty acids are known to increase the likelihood of conceiving-!”

Your voice grated on your ears.

“Full fat dairy boosts ovulatory regulation! You’re eating more vitamin E for sperm! Lycopene for sperm!! Antioxidants for sperm!!!”

Donnie caught your hands.

You turned to him and felt that hopeless welling in your chest. “I know and I’m sorry! I’m sorry I keep complaining. I’m sorry I’m not taking this well! I’m sorry I’m trying to blame my shitty attitude on a hormone imbalance especially because like why would you even let that happen to me!? I’m just… Ugh!!!”

He squeezed tightly.

It was paired with a probing in your wedding band.

There was no false equivalence this time.

Now he was actually waiting for you to finish.

You cracked an eye to view him.

He watched you warily and waited until your calm was assured before he spoke.

“Y/N, I might be mistaken. Which case, feel free to berate me accordingly, but… it seems you are under the impression that I have only tracked your cycle in human terms.”

“What… do you mean? We had to limit blood tests because the damned government was concerned with your needle consumption and it’s not like we invested in an in-home scanner…”

“Because both were wholly unnecessary…”

“Yeah, because we have the schedule you set up. That’s why you did those daily exams for months. You figured out all the timing. You keep adjusting it for whenever my periods start and stop.”

He readjusted the grip on your hand and seemingly his sanity.

You frowned deeply.

“It’s not you.” He felt compelled to explain.

You soured further.

“It’s not.” He pressed both his voice and your wedding band. “While I adore research, the field of obstetrics haunts me. There is an alarming amount of misinformation and it is grossly available and perpetuated. You give my distress voice in a way I cannot.”

That sounded very honest and you felt worse for thinking he meant it maliciously.

“My heart…” He had only adoration and lifted up to nuzzle you. “We act as each other’s strengths. I cannot succumb at this time, but know if you had the fortitude I would.”

“You’re saying you want to though… That isn’t better…” Your voice warbled.

“Would you not step up if I were at my wit’s end?”

“Of course, I would!”

“If you were also taxed?”

“Donnie…”

He pulled back enough so you could see his knowing smirk.

It brought a bubble of happiness up from the abysmal lake in your chest.

He saw to it and kissed you.

You allowed yourself to release more of that building steam.

You stole a few more pecks before you pulled on him.

He crawled up into the bed to join you and you immediately coiled around him.

You did not miss how he kicked your prop pillow out of the way with a palpable ire.

You hugged him tightly.

He sighed straight into a churr.

“What were you talking about then…?” You murmured, feeling quelled.

“We spoke of tracking you in so many means, I failed to inform you of what was arguably the most important case…”

“There’s also a huge chance I missed it or… forgot…”

He thought for a moment before he returned to rumbling against your head. “Possible, but regardless.”

“Was it the home ovulation test? I feel like that was something we decided not to do, but I can’t remember why…”

He chuckled.

“Or the pregnancy tests? No, we go through a mountain of those every few weeks...”

He gave you a nudge before he sat up.

You rolled onto your back of your own violation to watch him since he seemed to have something prepared.

“Y/N.” He addressed you with importance.

“Yes?” You debated sitting up, but you were finally comfortable.

“I’ve trained myself to smell your ovulation.”

His gravity took on an air of comedy.

You let out a puff of laughter.

He held steady in a way that appeared to be enhancing the joke.

You chuckled a few times and lightly shoved him as you sat up. “Good one, Don. I’m feeling better. What was it really?”

He continued to wait beside you.

You looked him over.

His brows only rose in a way that told you he wasn’t joking.

“That’s… not a thing. There’s no scent to it. I read the studies.”

“Body odor.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“Y/N.”

“There’s no smell.”

“Not that humans can pick up on.”

“This goes way far back to before any of the baby making stuff! There’s no human sex pheromone! I remember you said that line exactly!”

“Then you’ll remember what came next.”

“That you could smell I was turned on because you could smell when I got wet! Not that I was giving off a pheromone; you could smell my discharge!”

Donnie’s head bobbed as if that was the answer.

“You can’t smell when an egg gets released!”

“No.” He leaned into you. “I can’t.” 

Something about his intensity caused your stomach to flip.

He smiled as he glanced down your body, satisfactorily.

You squeezed your legs together.

He took it as a demonstration and traced down your thigh.

Goosebumps were left in its wake as he knew exactly what type of pressure was teasing.

You squirmed slightly before you released your tensing.

His hand trended inward and caressed the sensitive skin there.

The many sessions had your body especially keyed in and you felt your core stir.

He finally pulled from you only to inhale deeply from what was obviously the scent of your sex. “I can’t smell the functions. I can’t smell gonadotropin-releasing hormone or follicle-stimulating hormone or luteinizing hormone or estrogen or progesterone.”

You felt dizzy from the list and his hand heavy just above your sex.

“But I can smell your discharge. I have long been attuned to it. I believe I mentioned tasting notes all those years ago. Do you know how diverse yours are? They are like your brand. You have a distinct scent like none other.”

You bit your lip.

Donnie churred loud and had to interrupt his own throat. “Throughout your cycle it continues to read as such, but with daily examination, I found I could smell certain fluctuations. The thickening of the endometrium. The nutrients meant for the blastocyst. The flow of your cervical fluid.”

You reached for him.

He offered you his arm.

He allowed you to puppet him into touching between your legs.

You felt the wet in your mouth as your pussy lips parted.

“Donnie…”

“Alone these scents were mere deviations that could be credited to diet, but when I became hyper aware of your cycle?”

His fingers dipped into your folds.

“Y/N…” He spoke only desire.

You tried to mouth the same, but made little noise.

He quirked his hand so both his digits pressed your entrance. “I wouldn’t say believe; I know when you are ovulating. It is the scent of the ripest, juiciest, sweetest fruit that only you produce.”

“Again…” You urged him. “Let’s go again…” 

He grinned predatory and spread his fingers to open you up.

Cold spilled inside of you as you imagined the scent equally poured out.

It hit Donnie in an exaggerated inhale that was nearly immediately cut off.

Your mate stopped breathing.

Worry tinged you immediately and you pressed his limb.

“Donnie?”

His eyes opened and it wasn’t just the light that moved his pupil.

You watched it explode in growth.

He then shifted darkened attention to your face.

Your heart skipped a beat. “Don...?”

“Ask me again…” His words were soaked with drool.

You saw a bit of it in the corner of his mouth and almost wanted to wipe it were your blood pressure not sky high. “Am… I ovulating?”

“Yes.”

You crashed into each other like it was a given.

It gave you a strange sense of clarity as you did your best to consume one another.

That sort of accuracy was startling.

If Donnie’s nose was that acclimatized then you bet he could smell anything that translated through your sex. You knew the taste of your juices could be affected by food and that smell was an extension of that. You bet that he could probably tell from your scent now if you’d had a soda that day.

It was an exciting revelation. Already your sex was something you considered to be under his jurisdiction, but knowing you couldn’t conceal anything from him there was further titillating. Your entanglements revealed even more to him than just your wedding band and you liked it that way. You were solely his in both that way and the way he took you down to the sheets.

He was biting, you could feel it. He nipped your skin as he traced down you like a starving man. It was as if you hadn’t done it twice today already and an amount you’d lost count of in this entire cycle. That obsession you both craved now had a tangible output besides the small goal of cumming and the larger aim of closeness. You were going to mix your beings in more than just the room of your wedding brand; you were going to make a child.

Not just the rousing lead up conversation, but your body’s alarming poignant timing had charged your mate. Your last cycle, he must not have smelled when you started ovulating because of work. Now, he’d scented the exact moment and he was crazed for it. He palmed over you in a heavy way that said nothing was enough. You chirped heady for him to speak something similar and it spurred him further on.

He groped you unable to leave a tactile sense free from consumption before he hooked your hips and turned. It spun you around so you were staring down the mattress. It had been awhile since you’d seen it like this and, on your hands and knees, you spun to find him ready to mount with his cock in hand. Despite his shaded gaze, he was fully cognizant as he lined himself up.

You groaned at the sight and popped your ass plush for him.

He churred loud for it and sank into you. You spread your fingers to take the weight and he immediately coiled around your waist like a belt. He was your safety bar as his cock settled fully inside you and he rumbled out ecstasy before he rut.

You imagined he might clamp down on your mating mark since the need reminded you so much of his heat, but instead his voice rose.

“Gonna fill that perfect little cunt of yours. You always say I was made to breed, but look at you. You present like my cock sleeve. You get wet by my words. You ache for my seed. You're ready and willing whenever I want and this damned fit…!”

Your face exploded on contact.

Your mate was no stranger to dirty talk, but he rarely said more than a few key lines.

You could only mewl in return.

He poured over you as he slammed into you repeatedly.

“Astonishing. Astounding. Awe-inspiring-!”

He continued to run through an alphabetical list of praises until he switched his angle and you lost sense of what he was spouting.

“We said…!” He pulled out his length to the hard press of his spread.

“Donnie!!”

“How… it was that you took me, but never why!”

“Why!?” You tried to envelope him, but he kept you at bay.

“Because…” He spoke directly into your ear.

You gave an all too eager mating call.

“You weren’t just made for me…”

His cock hung like the peak before the drop on a rollercoaster.

You chirped out a babble.

He snaked a hand up to catch your jaw so you’d look at him.

Your eyes leaked as you did.

He smiled too sweetly for his actions.

“You were made for me to breed.”

He slammed back in, struck your g-spot, and you screamed.

He followed through, repeating the maneuver until only he held you upright as he humped into your gangle of limbs. Still, your muscles spasmed from the taxing position. Your leg twitched and you felt the makings of a Charlie Horse that Donnie fucked away. He plowed into you with a purely animalistic drive to breed. It coaxed something primordial out your brain and you shoved with the last strength of your elbows.

Donnie allowed your torso to drop to the bed and continued to fuck the pyramid of your body. You drearily had a final thought about that being something for gravity’s sake before a flashbang went off as your orgasm. You only imagined his name amongst the white noise and it became palpable only when the scorch of his cum was pumped into you. You were seeded deep, plowed down for safety’s sake, and left for the crops to take in the optimized soil.

You didn’t remember Donnie leaving you because this time he didn’t.

He stayed right there, holding you up and himself in all the way, until he went soft and retracted into his body.

Only then did he animate, longer still after the extra seminal fluid flowed down your leg.

It was pooling on the sheets when he moved away from you only enough to catch your hip.

He immediately kneaded the flesh and revealed that your muscles had locked up. You groaned once for the sharp pain it started with until you became putty in his hands. He molded the clay with a sentimentality that said something about his staked claim. Your body was his and he was taking the necessary care of it.

He eased you into the mattress where your body became a pool. It was a drifting comfort as you kissed him and pulled him in closer so you could doze with him actually there against you to make him equally your own.

-

A scooping arm hoisted your legs up. You allowed the maneuver as you drearily stared at the ceiling. A pillow was set under you and, maybe under any other circumstance, you might have thanked how it wasn’t under your hips. Instead, it was under your ankles and you felt the new angle of your body land in the apex between your hips.

It helped alleviate the cramps that were taxing you there.

It was the next thing Donnie tended to as he gingerly tapped the hands you had folded to apply pressure to your uterus. 

You thought it might be instinctual to protect your womb even if it had betrayed you for a second month in a row.

Your period was heavy enough that you didn’t want to bother with the tests you’d soon take for that supposed ‘just in case’.

No, this was some hellish version of your normal cycle.

You knew this all too well.

Periods fluctuated. 

A heating pad brushed your fingers in hopes you’d allow it to give you some respite.

You barely thought you deserved it but a small spasm had you lifting your palms.

A perfectly weighted and hot thing landed on your lower abdomen and you breathed relief.

Your hands settled atop it to protect that instead.

You’d keep it there.

Gravity would keep it down, but you would add additional pressure. 

Not for thirty minutes, but until you grew numb to the heat and would need a break so you could try once again.

💜 NEXT 💜

You know my betas are bosses! @tmntxthings and @thepinkpanther83

[spyderlondon]

( IDEA )

Jax angst that doesn’t have to do with abstraction or y/n stuff, no crushes, no lovers, just something like him feeling useless, mabye ragatha finally speaks out and he feels hurt, mabye he’s suffering in silence?

im dying to see angst other than the same old things, but this is just an idea! I love your work so do what you feel like :)

have a good day!!

A/N: Glad to know I've written Jax well enough to get a good amount of asks for him lol Also, thank you! Always glad to make stories people enjoy :D

Angst with no abstractions or love, huh? Hmm... I can make that happen! I would be a terrible creative writing student if I stuck to the same old, same old.

Kofi

Digital Chess AU by @digital-chess @shavs-media-productions

CW: Obsession, fear, panic attack, anxiety, blood, violence, trauma (Chess!Queenie scares me with her tactics-)

The Golden Child

---

"Wha-?" A pair of yellow eyes blinked open and the man immediately had to use his hand to block out the blindingly white light of the room he was currently in, "Bright..." He grumbled out. He took a moment to let his eyes adjust while trying to remember how he got here... the most he could recall was being drawn to a computer screen. He had turned it on to see why he wanted to be in front of it and... nothing. He was just suddenly in this room. Was it a room? He couldn't tell. He couldn't even remember what he looked like...

He tensed up in slight panic. He lowered his hand as he looked around with wide eyes before freezing as he spotted what looked to be a large black queen chess piece with a yellow cloak with white fur lining and.... are those... multicolored eyes? Odd choice of fashion but...... ARE THOSE EYES MOVING?!? He took a few steps back- he could hear her speaking but he wasn't listening. His flight or fight instincts were starting to kick in as he felt himself stiffen up as she slowly began to approach him, holding her free hand out as if to comfort him, "Dear, are you alright?" She questioned, her voice sounded like she was concerned but something sounded... off. As if she was hiding her true tone with him... there was something... cold about her...

The woman got too close, he was terrified and chose to fight. His eyes were pinpoint as he abruptly wrenched the three-pronged staff away from her red gloved hand before attempting to slam it into her side as self-defense, "GET AWAY FROM ME!!" He snarled, his voice full of panic and desperation. She was quick to move a bit away, her eyes wide in shock- apparently she never expected anyone to react that way.

But before he could actually strike her, another pair of larger hands came out of nowhere and snatched the staff away from the young man, "I didn't bring you in here to try to attack my queen." Blue and red eyes glared down at the new arrival with his eyes glowing some, he was obviously angry for what his new pawn, "Were you listening to her in the slightest?" He narrowed his eyes. The young man just stared at him- the chess piece was larger than the queen with a black robe that slowly changed it's gradient to a dark red and finally a blood red at the very bottom as well as black fur on the top and bottom of the outfit. And the multicolored eyes... they were on him too...

The new player backed away in his fear before freezing as he noticed that he was now covered in purple fur with a white, long tank on that had gold borders as well as a chess piece pictured on the center on the shirt... a rook? He had yellow pants on to match the tank and gold gloves. His breathing quickened as he stumbled backwards so he could be further away from the large chess pieces. He couldn't speak, couldn't move a muscle. He could only only stare as the two- a married couple apparently- seemed to argue a bit about... him?

"This rabbit has the same traits as that mangy mutt on my black team, my queen." The white king piece spoke up, snapping the rook out of the clouds he was in, "It would make the most sense for someone like my own rook to join him." He explained, moving one of his hands up and down in the air as if to emphasize his words.

The black queen piece shook her head as she took her staff from her husband gently, "You see a rook that has nothing left to lose and will fight to survive like that mutt of yours." Her voice came out calm and smooth as she responded, "I see something more in him. I'd like to make him into my new pet bunny- I can see to it he behaves." She moved her staff closer to herself as her eyes became stubborn- it was the main way the young man could even guess the emotions right now.

The king piece sighed and a small, floating hand of the queen was placed on his cheek, "...you're lucky I love you so much, Queenie... and I trust that you know what you're doing..." He mentioned, not moving an inch as to continue looking somewhat threatening to the new rook. He shook his head, "Send him to the board once he's ready." With that, he hit the ground with his staff and teleported away.

Queenie looked at the rabbit with a hum, "I still haven't named you, have I, bunny?" She questioned, tilted her head in thought as she grabbed his chin and moved it around some.

The young man flinched and pushed her hand off of him, "Hey! I'm no one's pet! Certainly not yours!" He hissed as he backed away from her, trying to avoid showing his fear in his eyes. Although it was quite impossible with this woman.

She huffed, "Jax. That will be your new name." She mused as she watched him with slightly narrowed eyes, not amused by how he pushed her hand away but took in stride. He was new, he was anxious. At least that's what Kinger would tell her about the new players anytime they came in.

The purple rabbit frowned as he stared at his body momentarily before looking back up at her, "'Jax'?" He grunted, "Why 'Jax'?" He grimaced.

"It means 'God is Gracious'. Something you do well to remember." She explained before lifting up her staff, "No more time to explain. White team needs you." She hit her staff on the ground, teleporting him away. Once he was gone, Queenie stared at where he once was and smirked to herself- she had gotten a pet all for herself. Oh, how she was going to make sure he never forgot....

-----

Jax laughed as he ran off as Zooble yelled at him from a few feet away, shoving banana cream pie off their face with a hiss. They paused before fleeing back inside their room as they saw the prankster run straight into Queenie who had come by after hearing from Max that he saw Jax causing a big mess with the pies and banana peels. The mutt just wanted to get the rabbit in trouble.

The purple rabbit's ears fell as he stared up at the white team's AI and tensed up, "H-Hey there, my-my queen-" He gulped, she had always crept him out. It seemed no matter where he went, she would have her eyes on him and knew when to show up to stop him from causing a bigger mess or more trouble.

"Jax, pet, what were you doing just now?" She questioned with narrowed eyes, noting the little bit of whipped on his hand before looking back at him, "You weren't making a giant mess by playing practical jokes on your teammates, I assume?" She grabbed his chin, forcing him to look into her eyes so she'd know if he even attempted to lie to her.

Jax's eyes widened a bit as he could feel the familiar coldness and hidden anger from around her. It gave him the feeling of dread that something was going to happen if he wasn't smart about his next move... too bad he wasn't often the smartest of the bunch, "Oh, c'mon, my queen! You're just jealous you weren't there!" He quipped, "Next time I'll save the best prank for my favorite hellcat!" He grinned at her. He froze... oh god, he just spoke so rudely to the queen of the white side.

The queen piece suddenly stopped when she heard him say that, "...excuse me?" Her voice dropped an octave, her grip on his chin a warning sign, "Do you know exactly who you're speaking with?"

She stared at him, watching him writhe as he opened and closed his mouth like a fish a few times as he tried to think of what to say, "Y-Yea- I-I mean, yes!" He stuttered out, his ears pressed against his head, "Y-Yes, my queen! You a-are the number one bitch on whit-...." He trailed off before just zipping away before he could get punished.

Queenie watched him go with a flat look before turning to leave the area- she needed to get her husband. If only so she could have him stop her if she went to far with her plan of punishment.

----

"Hey! Let me go! I'm sorry!" Jax yelled as he was dragged by his ears to the main chess board by Queenie. He was kicking his feet, struggling and grabbing at the hand that gripped him, trying to shove her off of him in the fear that he wished he didn't have of her but she was obsessive.

"You're going to rip his ears off." Kinger stated flatly when he came into view, making the rabbit's eyes widen before also noticing a certain other member of his team. Ragatha. His fellow rook.

Queenie looked down at the male rook for a moment before back at her husband, "Does he really need them, my king?" She asked in an almost sweet tone. She knows that she's hurting him. She does not care. She never does. But she still released his ears.

The king piece sighed but held his hands up in defeat, "Alright, alright. He's in your team." He allowed her to win the argument, always the soft spot for his queen.

Jax was quiet as he looked at the two chess pieces then over at Ragatha before speeding off to check on her... only to be blocked by a golden staff that belonged to the queen, "What- hey!" He hissed at her, his tone hiding a small tremble of unease, "Why's she here?! I was the one who disrespected you!" He held out an arm to defend his fellow rook.

Queenie quirked a brow before using her staff to knock him into Kinger's hold so he couldn't intrude as she approached Ragatha who was currently shaking like a leaf, "Now, now. You know better to interrupt a punishment, bunny." She glanced at the rabbit, "Just stay there and watch~" Her tone turned cruel as she raised up her staff before stabbing it into the female rook's left eye before turning up the electricity in her staff. The rag doll screamed.

Jax tried to look away by Kinger forced him to watch the scene fully- that had to been the queen's idea... Force even more trauma onto him. Make him see the pain that occurs when he tries to be smart towards the white team's queen. All he did was make a couple crude jokes! What's so wrong about that?!

The female rook continued to scream as the queen continued to push in the prongs of the staff, electrifying the girl further. She was finally stopped a few minutes later when her husband took at the weapon from her and shook his head. The black queen scoffed as she took her staff back with a grunt but accepted her king's order. She didn't even apologize or claim she went too far.

Queenie turned towards Jax next who kneeling by Ragatha's pool of crimson blood while trying to stop her eye from bleeding, not noticing who was approaching him or how a very weakened rag doll was attempting to warn him of something. Not until a non-electrified staff slashed his cheek. And the blood below turned a bit more of a rust color.

He yelped loudly- more in shock and surprise than pain. He held his cheek where he was slashed as he stared at the queen in complete silence and disbelief. She spun her staff to fling the blood off of the prongs, she seemed satisfied and proud of how utterly terrified and traumatized the rabbit looked- oh, and hurting the rag doll was fun too.

Queenie used her index finger and thumb to firmly grip Jax's chin, forcing him to look at her stern and narrowed eyes, "Now you understand what will happen if you disobey or back talk me again, right, bunny?" She asked in a low voice that sent chills down his spine.

"I-I..." He glanced at Ragatha, the blood then back at the woman in front of him, "...yes, my queen..." He mumbled quietly, fear and guilt lacing his tone. His eyes became dull as he looked down and his ear fell low.

She examined him in silence before giving a curt nod, "Good." She removed her fingers, "I'll leave you to drag your fellow rook to her room and for you to return to yours as well." She waved off as she walked off with Kinger by her side.

Jax glared as she walked away- scared, guilty, angry. But... he couldn't do anything to her. He couldn't risk himself... no, he couldn't risk Ragatha or his teammates because of his actions again.

He carefully helped the female rook to her feet and began to walk her back to her room. He made a decision that night- he would avoid leaving his room as much as possible. Avoid others. Avoid being himself.

He would just be his queen's loyal pet bunny who wouldn't ever try teasing or talking unless spoken to again.

[snowbaamgyu]

Drunk in myself

This one's here is for @dudadragneel :)

hope you like it!! thanks again for the idea 💞

Prompt: Soobin with a high fever that gets mistaken for being drunk (I added my personal touch, a little bit of angst between him and Beomgyu)

His body is so saturated with heat, it's almost painful. His skin is hot to the touch, his breath is short and heavy. His pulse is pounding, and his head throbs with every passing moment. Even though he knows that he needs rest, it's impossible to relax. Every inch of his body craves water or movement or sleep, but nothing seems to satisfy. And in the back of his mind, the fever continues to grow.

Soobin's body has been wracked with fever all day, his head pounding and his body overheating from the slightest activity. He's been trying his best not to make too much noise or disturb anyone, even though he knows his teammates would be more than happy to care for him. He's been trying to drink plenty of water, but even with each sip he feels as though the liquid is just evaporating from his stomach before it can be absorbed.

The heat is getting even harder to handle, if that's even possible. His head and body are both on fire, his heart practically thudding outside of his chest. The fever is unbearable, but he can't stop trembling. Every muscle in his body feels tense and twitching at once, like the whole thing just might explode. His eyes burn, his throat is like parched sandpaper, and his breath is ragged and hoarse. He needs to find some way to cool off.

But first, he needs to get home, he was out all day practicing and practicing, it was really dark by now, he had mentioned he would go out with some friends if he felt like it but at the end he didn't, he was too focused on practicing the new dances they were taught.

It was somewhat an easy task to arrive, but he was struggling with not falling asleep on the taxi he took.

And the last thing he was expecting was having to argue with Beomgyu.

The argument had started off when Beomgyu burst into the living room and started yelling at him, convinced that his friend was drunk. Soobin was so flustered by everything, he could barely keep his thoughts straight. His body was already wracked with fever and the pounding headache, but the reality was that it was just a by-product of the fever. "I swear, I'm not drunk, I just..." He was interrupted by yet another coughing fit, his body racking harshly.

"Yeah, you get to have fun but we all need to stay here in this routine because we do are busy unlike you Mr. Perfect."

The argument soon got loud enough for Yeonjun, Kai and Taehyun to hear it from across the hallway. It had started off as an innocent question, but as it went on, it became more and more heated. Beomgyu was convinced that Soobin was drunk, and Soobin was adamant that he was not. The shouting match was interrupted yet again by Soobin's coughing, his body wracked with fever and shaking intensely at this point. Yeonjun, Kai and Taehyun exchanged a look before stepping into the room to assess the situation.

They were just about to ask if they could help, but then another coughing fit hit Soobin. His head was spinning and his body heat was intense, the fever making everything so much worse. Yeonjun stepped forward and looked Soobin over, his voice becoming concerned. "Are you okay?"

Soobin struggles to control his body's tremors, his fever making him so incredibly shaky. His head is pounding as his stomach continues to churn up more. He can just hear Yeonjun asking if he's okay, but he's too delirious to answer clearly. His breathing quickens as the fever worsens, his hands and legs growing numb. Yeonjun and Taehyun grab him, Kai just watching, too shocked to move, and as his vision fades, he hears a voice...

"—ung?". Beomgyu. That concerned voice was the last thing Soobin heard.

Soobin feels his head being lifted and his body being carried. His vision is hazy, but he gets brief glimpses of Yeonjun's and Taehyun's faces. He can barely stay conscious at this point, and he can hear his heartbeat hammering out of his chest. Yeonjun is asking him something, but his head is spinning too much to make out his words. He can feel his body being taken somewhere, but his sense of awareness is starting to slip.

Then Soobin drifts into a feverish delirium as his body is placed onto a bed of some sort —his bed—. It's quiet now, but his fever is still getting worse. He feels his temperature rising and his body shaking. He can just make out a voice talking to him from somewhere off in the distance, but he's not sure if it's real. The fever and fatigue are taking over, and soon, he no longer is able to perceive anything around him. Darkness takes hold of him, and he drifts off into a deep, restless sleep...

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Soobin is slowly beginning to come to. He's lying in bed and can feel the residual heat and discomfort of the fever. He's still trembling, but not as badly as he was before. As he begins to get his bearings, he becomes aware of his surroundings. The room is quiet, and only his own breathing can be heard. It's comfortable here, but it's also lonely. Soobin just wants to sleep again and forget about everything for a few more minutes.

Just as Soobin closes his eyes, he hears a knock on the door and a voice. With a sigh, he knows who it is before looking up. Beomgyu is standing at the door, his own worried look on his face. Once Soobin meets his eyes, the worry turns to relief. "Hey," Beomgyu murmurs quietly, and Soobin gives him a small nod. Despite their recent argument, there's something comforting about seeing him. Beomgyu steps into the room.

Beomgyu walks over to the side of the bed and looks at his friend. "How're you feeling?" he murmurs quietly, placing a gentle hand on Soobin's forehead. Soobin's temperature is significantly lower than earlier, but it's still enough to make him feel like he's swimming. He offers a small smile and nods. "I'm still a little dizzy..."

Beomgyu nods, his eyes full of sorrow. "Yeah... I'm sorry." Soobin's eyes widen a bit, surprised at his friend's apology. Beomgyu shrugs. "I shouldn't have reacted the way I did when I first saw you," he murmurs regretfully, his hands moving to his arms. "But I could've sworn you were drunk, you only look like that when you drink."

"I should've just listened to you," he continues, shaking his head slightly. "I don't know... it could've just been my paranoia getting the best of me. I shouldn't have assumed..." Soobin raises an eyebrow, even more surprised, and then says softly, "You didn't let me explain myself before you started yelling."

"That's... yeah, you're right on that..." Beomgyu sighs and hangs his head, his brows knit together with regret. "You think you know what's happening, and then one thing sets off your alarm bells, and then you just... I don't know... you just lose it, I guess."

"Beomgyu, it's fine, I know y'all are stressed because of the comeback and everything, but it's okay I forgive you." Soobin said with a small smile.

Beomgyu smiles apologetically. "I really am sorry. For jumping down your throat like that and for not listening to you." Soobin shrugs, smiling a bit himself. "It's alright. Yeah, it was upsetting when it happened, but I get why you reacted the way that you did." Beomgyu nods, and the two friends exchange a look of mutual understanding. Then, he leans forward and wraps an arm around Soobin's shoulders, offering him more comfort than he's given to anyone all day.

"Okay you two, no more fights about nonsense, Soobin needs to rest" Yeonjun once again, the maknaes behind him, the mood was lighter now.

Soobin took some more days to fully recover but Beomgyu claimed to be the one who looked after him to fix his mistake, sure everyone else still took care of him but the latter took the task as serious as he could, making sure everything remained okay between them.

[e-steamedtea]

Courtroom Headcannons

SPOILER ALERT: GENSHIN 4.0 ARCHON QUEST

(Technically, I'm pretty vague about it.)

AN: I've been working on this entirely too long-

Status: Unedited

Headcannons of the reactions during 4.0 and after the trial.

The initial reaction

Lyney: Stressed out of his mind. He's freaking out and feels super guilty. He thought the trick was safe and his mind could only think about how it could have been Lynette. The sounds and sights are burned into his mind.

Lynette: Her tail immediately puffed up and she was startled. It took all of her effort to stayed in character. She's also stressed as an accident happening at a show doesn't mean anything good for their reputation.

Revealing the trick

Lyney: Would honestly rather cut if his hand or die before he'd reveal one of his tricks. They're all his sacred brain babies and a product of his creation. He never wants anyone to know such details. If it weren't for Lynette telling him to, he probably wouldn't have cooperated. Then again, he'd prefer if people knew nothing about him in general.

Lynette: Contemplated pretending to be a puppet. She was honestly surprised that they were being tried for a case that they were even old enough to ask on when it initially started but she wasn't going to say anything. She just wished Lyney would cooperate so it would go fast but that was just the way he is and she doesn't blame him.

Detainment

Lyney: He spiraled hard. Initial they'd put them in different rooms but he'd manage to convince the guards they needed to be together. Even then, Lyney struggled to stay present. He knew he wasn't a serial killer, but he felt so guilty. All the bad habits he suppressed we on full display. He should have known better and it was his show, so it was his fault. No matter how he looked at it, he should have known better.

Lynette: Agitated. Not only where they framed and it caused someone's death, but they were being tried over a bogus claim. She was tired it was a performance day and she normal spent the time after relaxing and here she was being watched constantly. It put her a little on edge, but her main concern was her currently pacing twin. She'd tried to get him to calm down but nothing seemed to work. At some point she had to physically intervene to prevent him from hurting himself on accident from clenching his fist to hard. Even now, some older anxious habits were showing.

Trial

Lyney: He was an internal mess. He didn't want to be in the court room in the slightest. In fact, he never wanted to go there ever again. He could feel all of their eyes and the way they look at him makes him feel dirty. He tries to distract himself with the case and making sure nothing happens to Lynette.

Lynette: She wanted to go home and take a nice nap in her nice bed and have the fastest slice of cake she could possibly have. She wants nothing more than to enter standby mode and space tf out. She didn't because she needed to watch her brother and pay attention to what they're saying but it's tempting. The people are giving her the ick and this entire situation is just absurd.

Confession

Lyney: He's so stressed, man is barley keeping it together. One of his closest guarded secrets just revealed in court to be used against him. What made it worse, is everyone believed that because he was Fatui, he was automatically guilty. Internally he's pacing up a storm but he makes sure to keep this mask up. What the Traveler said only made him feel worse. He said awful things about himself, but when other's said it just hurt way worse. He couldn't stop thinking about what he would do if the Traveler decided to leave. He was determined to not drag Lynette down with him.

Lynette: Didn't really want to be there. People aren't her thing, she good at sneaking around and listening. Talking in slightly emotionally charged situations? Not unless she has to. She did feel a little bad for not tell them earlier but in her defense when would she have time to say something.

Acquittal

Lyney: He's relieved that he's not going to the Fortress of Meropide but the damage is done. Cowell, no matter how awful he secretly was, is still dead by his prop at his performance. No matter how he looked at it, it was his responsibility for him to go through and make sure any assistance were reliable people. If it slipped past him, it meant that things weren't as safe as his thought. An agent of someone else's manage to infiltrated his staff and almost got away with a crime under his nose. What was stopping the victim from being Lynette? Absolutely nothing but dumb luck. They could have really hit him where it hurts and if he wasn't careful, someone else could in the future.

Lynette: She was relieved that she can go home. This was too much peopling for her today. Listening to people talk bad about her and believe the shoddy reasoning if the Archon only annoyed her. It was just the way it was, but she could still be mad about it. The whole thing was an unpleasant reminder that they needed to be more careful but she couldn't fix it now, it was over.

Afterwards

Lyney: His confidence has been destroyed. Cowell was closer to him, so his feelings of safety have been destroyed. His self image was in shambles. He's closed up more emotionally then he was originally. He's absolutely shaken up but pretends everything is fine. Mentally, it's done nothing good for him. His paranoia is through the roof.

Lynette: Concerned. On her end, she was just glad it was over and she could finally go home and recharged. She needed sometime to do things she enjoys and process her emotions. However, he brother simply went to pretending like it'd had never happened despite how much it was effecting him. She could physically see the effects but he refused to talk about it.

Lyney Headcannons

Lyney Character Analysis

[hoeseamatthews]

Sick Day

A/N: First piece in a veeeery long time, slightly nervous!!

Pairing: Charles Smith x Reader

Word Count: 1,034

Summary: You’re sick and frustrated with being on bed rest, so Charles comes in to comfort you.

“Ugh, dammit!”

With a sniffle, you grumble to yourself while you attempt to sit upright in your bed. Bed rest wasn’t your first choice, but ever since you’ve taken ill, Charles has insisted that you stay in bed and take the time to recuperate, as opposed to attempting to go about your days as though you haven’t been coughing and sneezing your guts up for the past few days.

You can’t fault Charles - he’s not complained about doting on you and being at your beck and call. Not even once. Any and every little thing you’ve needed, he’s done for you without as much as a huff or a mutter under his breath. He’s not been overbearing about it in the slightest, either. He’s let you at least try doing things for yourself, as long as you continue to take it easy.

“Hon? You okay in there? Need any help?”

Charles calls out softly, overhearing your struggle on his venture to your room. He pokes his head around the bedroom door that’s cracked ajar, one hand resting against the oak, the other holding a fresh, hot cup of tea for you. When you don’t reply, he nudges the door open with his foot and takes a step inside.

You look downright exhausted and fed up as you lay there, but you’re still unable to fight the soft smile you offer Charles as he strolls his way over to the foot of your bed. You briefly brush stray strands of your hair back with a hand before carding your fingers through the rest of it, and Charles sets your cup down on the bedside table before he perches himself next to you on the empty side of the bed, gently reaching out to take your hand and bringing it to his lips to plant a few tender pecks on your knuckles.

“Hey, don’t struggle by yourself. You need anything, anything at all, you call for me. Okay?” he tells you, maintaining eye contact until you give him an affirming nod, “But other than that, you actually get some sleep this time? Feeling at least a little better at all?”

“More than the night before last, I think. Little less in and out of it, but…more than anything, I’m just getting frustrated. I’m getting so sick of being stuck in bed by myself. It’s so lonely. I wanna be outside, actually doing something productive,” you gesture towards the open window to your left, “It’s driving me crazy, Charles. I’m tired of this damn flu already.”

“I know, I know.” he softly shushes you, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead, “But you need to take it easy, rest up. Try rushing it, you’re gonna make yourself even worse.”

Slumping back against your pillow, you sigh. Charles is right. You know he is, but you can’t help feeling helpless, lonely, and slightly stir crazy from your time on bed rest. He’s been amazing in caring for you, you can’t fault that even if you tried to, but you’d give anything to be helping out with the animals or even helping in general on the homestead with him as opposed to being cooped up in bed for days on end.

The wistful look on your face doesn’t go unnoticed by Charles, either. He reaches over to the bedside table,  hands you your cup of tea, and he waits for you to finish taking a sip before he takes the cup away from you once more to set it down on the nightstand, and he hums while he cracks a smile at you.

“Tell you what,” he begins, regaining your full attention, “I’ve done a lot on the land so far already, so…would it make you feel any better if I lay here with you for a while? Sadly, I can’t take the flu away, but I can help cure the loneliness.”

“But won’t you get sick, too? You’ve risked it enough just by kissing me and all.”

You furrow your brow in concern, but Charles is quick enough to shake his head and wave a hand in dismissal. Instead, he kicks off his boots before peeling back the covers and sliding into the bed next to you, aiding you in getting yourself comfortable once more before he slouches down and does the same.

“Nah, I’m not worried about that.”

Charles smiles and angles himself towards you, opening his arms to invite you in. You’re still hesitant, the thought of potentially getting him sick is still fresh in your mind, but you don’t have the heart to turn him down. Scooting closer to him, you’re soon enveloped in his warm embrace, curling your own arms around him while you lay your head flat against his chest with a sigh of pure contentment.

“You’re allowed to blame me if you do get sick, y’know. I warned you.”

You hum, eyes fluttering shut once Charles begins to play with your hair, absentmindedly yet tenderly twisting and curling stray locks around his fingers. A chuckle rumbles deep in his chest at this, the sound and feel of it against you prompting warmth to bloom in your chest.

“I’m not blaming you for anything.” he tells you, and he plants a kiss atop your head, “But even if I do get sick, make it up to me by getting some rest right now. Think you can do that?”

“I can try to,” with a hum, you nod your head yes at him, “You still gonna be here when I wake up?”

You ask, and you allow yourself to fully settle down against him, nestling under the covers while Charles continues to toy with your hair with one hand and traces soft, haphazard patterns across random sections of your back with the other. He stops only to fully pull the covers over you both while attempting to make himself comfortable in the process, cocooning the two of you in the bed to wordlessly hint to you that he’s here for the duration.

“I’ll still be here when you wake up, hon. Get some sleep, okay?” he smiles, drawing you in closer to his chest, “Not leaving this bed until you’re awake again, I promise.”

[wishing-stones]

Don't imagine Error, Boss or/and Axe dealing with an s/o who has debilitating cycle/endo pain and all the cute things that come with!

(Please note that my Don't Imagines are largely still closed, but she gets Partner Privileges<3)

Hard to write as "Don't imagine" so it's gonna be the usual Headcanon style!

Error doesn't.... know what to do, really. Why is his human doubled over in pain? Why are you crying and unable to move? This is usually something humans go to the hospital for, right? He knows about cycles and whatnot, but he doesn't know until it's explained to him that it can come with extreme amounts of pain like this. He does his best to help-- you don't have to move or get up except to change sanitary stuff, which... if he has to, he'll carry you to go do that and then... wait until you're done to carry you back. He'll gladly get painkillers and a hot pad and whatever else you need. He tries to play it off like he's cool and only mildly inconvenienced, but you can catch the sidelong, deeply concerned looks he gives you when he thinks you don't notice them.

Boss has a similar "whatever you need I'll get it" sort of deal, but he does know what's going on because... he reads. Humans fascinated him so much when he came up to the surface, he spent a good six months reading medical texts before he discovered a love of shredding paper-thin defenses in a courtroom. He will gladly sit with you and a hot pad, offer gentle lower back massages, nuzzles, makes sure you have painkillers, and whatever else you need to feel comfortable. He also gleefully cooks for you, and picks easy-to-eat, gentle meals that he hopes won't make the problem worse. He also, notably, unflinchingly goes to get whatever supplies you need, too. He will proudly waltz out of a store with a box of tampons under his arm. Axe is exceedingly gentle with you, landing somewhere in the middle of Boss' "Everything you need at the drop of a hat, and comfort" and Error's "I don't know what I'm doing but I'm doing my best." He does know what's going on and why, but he isn't sure how to help beyond being an errand boy and helping you where you need it. He also offers little massages, and is almost always in contact with you unless he needs to get up to make food, or when you have to go change your sanitary products. Shockingly, the blood doesn't bother him in the slightest-- it isn't fresh, arterial blood and smells a little different. Plus, it's not in his line of sight. He's even okay to handle any stained sheets or clothing-- he is brilliant at getting blood out of things. He's a little reluctant to sleep around you, though-- he's afraid that the combination of your noises of distress and the scent of blood will wake him up in a state no one wants him to be in... ...He winds up falling asleep on you, so he doesn't really get a choice in the matter. He wakes up fine, and between his head on your abdomen and the hot pad, the warm pressure probably helps a lot.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

Administration of the Defence of Canada Regulations (DOCR)

"Administering the DOCR proved to be a boon to the careers of RCMP men. At the start of World War II, the Intelligence Section of the RCMP was a six-man operation at headquarters, attached to the Criminal Investigation Branch. By 1943, there were now 98 in the headquarters operation of the Intelligence Section, with important increases in the field: twenty more men working in Toronto, nineteen in Montreal and nine in Vancouver.

The effect of World War II on the overall size of the RCMP was also impressive. The RCMP force was immediately increased by 700 at the start of the war. On June 6, 1940, the list of police officers who could enforce the DOCR was expanded to include all RCMP officers from the rank of inspector and up, and officers of similar rank in the provincial police forces in Quebec and Ontario, as well as chiefs of police in municipalities with populations of more than 10,000. There were still not enough police. 

On June 24, 1940, RCMP Commissioner Wood wrote Ernest Lapointe to complain that he could no longer meet demand, especially in Toronto, Montreal, and Vancouver. Wood went so far as to express concern for the health of his men, so busy and over-extended were they. So, on August 30, 1940, authority to administer the DOCR was extended once again to include almost all police officers in Canada, whether at federal, provincial, or municipal levels.

One of the products of the increased RCMP workload were the monthly security bulletins issued by the Intelligence Section to senior federal officials and the Prime Minister’s Office (PMO). Right from the beginning, some of the recipients of the bulletins were wary of the value of the reports. Jack Pickersgill, second-in-command in the PMO, analyzed the bulletin of October 30, 1939. His comments reveal some of the deficiencies in the RCMP analysis; they bear summarizing:

no distinctions between fact and hearsay;

no distinctions between subversive doctrine, and legitimate social and political criticism;

obsession with Communists, to the exclusion of information about Nazis or Fascists;

no evidence of sabotage or espionage directed against Canada;

no co-ordination with military intelligence, censorship officials, immigration officials, or External Affairs;

police spying on law-abiding Canadians, thus making the police political censors;

lack of capacity and training for real intelligence work directed against the real enemy.

Also wrote Pickersgill:

It is more likely that there are secret, German agents in the country. From a casual reading of these ‘Intelligence Bulletins’, one would scarcely realize that Canada was at war with Germany; there is not the slightest hint that anything is being done in the way of intelligent and well-directed anti-espionage work.

Pickersgill suggested that an intelligence branch be created within Justice, to whom the RCMP would report, in order to co-ordinate government intelligence efforts. 

Nonetheless, King, Lapointe, and the Justice Department continued to support the work of the RCMP in spite of criticism both internal and external to the government. When the tide turned against the government’s policies of repression of the left, the RCMP ceased the widespread distribution of security bulletins. One shouldn’t expect just administration of a law that is itself unjust.

The violations of normal, legal protections under the DOCR might also accrue to another element, however, which explains why internees were never explained the full nature of charges against them. Some information obtained by the RCMP was retrieved secretly from informers within the Communist Party, sources that had to be protected were they to continue to be useful. There is a series of letters that establishes the policy of the RCMP and government about this secret information. In the first of these letters, the Justice deputy minister wrote to the RCMP:

If you have evidence which has been obtained through the medium of a police secret agent, the identity of whom it would be extremely undesirable to disclose, then I suggest that you are not compelled to, and should not produce such evidence, even by withholding it you may have little in the way of other evidence to support the order for internment. The recommendation of the tribunal is only a recommendation and not a judgement, and the release of the appellant after the finding of the tribunal is a matter which is in the absolute discretion of the Minister of Justice, and he may, with or without assigning any reason, order the further internment or the release of the appellant. In cases where you do not disclose confidential information to the tribunal, you should notify the Department so that all the facts may be brought before the Minister when called upon to act in the matter.

When the RCMP asked if the instructions about secret information were to apply to enemy subjects, as well as to British subjects, Lapointe responded in the affirmative, adding that he would consult with the RCMP before freeing internees. At least, some of the explanation for the functioning of the DOCR, therefore, lies in the government’s protection of its espionage network among communists.

In fact, during the 1920s, an RCMP Staff-Sergeant, John Leopold, had become a highly placed informer within the Communist Party. Leopold, who used the pseudonym ‘Jack Esselwein’, had provided  evidence in 1931 that permitted the government to prosecute Tim Buck and seven of his  leading colleagues in the Party. During World War II, we know of at least one other RCMP informer within the Party, although there probably were more. A certain ‘Koyich’ was active in Alberta, a fact uncovered by Patrick Lenihan, a Calgarian, and Ben Swankey, from Edmonton, both of whom were interned in Hull."

- Michael Martin, The Red Patch: Political Imprisonment in Hull, Quebec during World War 2. Self-published, 2007. p. 76-80

[ofgreatart]

'this term of great art, which seems to me to be necessary to qualify Proust.' (Robert-Ernst Curtius)

Marcel Proust: "I became aware of the tangible reality of Wagner's work again when I revisited these insistent and fleeting themes that visit an act, only to depart and return, sometimes distant, drowsy, almost detached, yet at other times, while remaining vague, so urgent and so close, so internal, so organic, so visceral that it seems less a reprise of a motif than of a neuralgia." (French text)

Photo: Kristen Stewart reads Marcel Proust

Robert-Ernst Curtius: "What did we experience at our first encounter with Proust's books? The sudden surprise of touching something unknown; of feeling a new substance whose structure eluded us. We felt disoriented and compelled to engage in a mode of expression for which none of the habits of our mind were prepared. Strange encounter. Initially bewildered, then intrigued, and finally captivated, we soon found ourselves drawn in by a mysterious allure. Barely having entered this unexplored territory, we were charmed, then conquered, and something of our most intimate life was changed. Like Ulysses' companions in the land of the Lotus-eaters, we had tasted a fruit that made us forget the past of our mind and removed the desire to return to our former nourishment. Intoxicated by our discovery, we couldn't distinguish whether it was a new form of art or a new plan of life that was presenting itself to us. But upon regaining our composure, retracing the path through analysis, we recognized this very impossibility of distinguishing between aesthetic emotion and the upheaval of our entire being as the infallible sign of the revelation of a great work of art.

I would like to give full significance to this term of great art, which seems to me to be necessary to qualify Proust. Certainly, there is no lack of fine, engaging, and powerful works in contemporary production. But do almost all of them not seem to have their starting point in transmitted literary forms—either continuing them or taking them in the opposite direction, which is just another way of depending on them? But alongside this production grafted onto earlier literature, the steady growth of which would be sufficient to attest to its somewhat secondary quality, there are few works that arise as if outside the literary concerns of the time; they do not seem called upon by the "moment" or motivated by an artistic movement; they differ profoundly from usual literature but without any sense of a desire to differ. These works, which do not depend so much on literature as literature will not depend on them, born from the original effort of a powerful mind focused on life itself, are the ones I was thinking of when using the term great art.

In Marcel Proust's work, the creative power presents a spectacle all the more admirable in that it has been exercised upon the richest literary and intellectual culture, which, in a less powerful mind, could have posed an obstacle to such a fresh realization by either paralyzing it or leading it astray into delightful yet bookish alexandrines. Proust's art, instead of being hindered by the treasures of his literary memory, manages instead to highlight them or, furthermore, to render them anew to us. He knows how to blend spontaneous life with the entire inheritance of the past. In handling it, he maintains direct and immediate contact with the elusively fleeting material from which our life is woven. Proust presents himself to it with a sensitivity that seems untouched by any prior contact—otherwise, how would it succeed in capturing nuances of reality that had previously eluded us? The slightest layer of transmitted experience or habit that would have intervened between them and the receiving apparatus would have acted as a barrier, preventing them from being inscribed there. But this sensitivity is accompanied by a mind nourished by the richest and most diverse tradition—and one that lives in familiarity with Ruskin as well as Saint-Simon. It is from the encounter of two things that seem to exclude each other— the most freshly spontaneous sensitivity and the most culturally laden intelligence— (but which, in him, by penetrating each other, mutually lend support) that Proust's art derives its new and moving beauty.

In a more general sense, the profound originality of the great artist who has just passed away is revealed in this, that attitudes of the mind that we are accustomed to consider as distinct penetrate each other in him to the point of forming a homogeneous whole. Intelligence does not merely overlay emotion but becomes one with it. Feeling and analysis do not appear as two opposed terms between which a relationship can be established. Art will be life, and vice versa. Lastly, thought in Proust never gives the impression of being a foreign and external element. One can consider separately in his work psychology, poetry, science, observation, emotion. But it will always involve an artificial isolation that distorts the truth. All these elements that analysis attempts to separate form in him not a mixture, not even a fusion, but the blossoming of an identical, primordial, and indivisible experience. By pushing the analysis further, I believe one would be led to understand this profound unity that is perceived beneath the delightful complexity of his work as the externalization of the creative impulse from which it originates. His art arises from this unified and total vision that constitutes the life of the mind at its principle and in its fullness. In Proust, I can never dissociate beauty from truth. The profound and purifying emotion suggested by the evocation of the mysteries of life; the intimate contentment caused by highlighting the infinitely small aspects of our existence; the happiness felt in the revelation of its unsuspected richness; the introduction to a deeper inner life—these are the gifts we receive from Proust's art, but bathed in the same atmosphere and melted into a single harmony.

It is a new era in the history of the great French novel that begins with Proust. Solely to better delineate his originality and without aiming at a judgment at this moment, which is one of homage to a great deceased, one can nevertheless say that he surpasses Flaubert in intelligence as he surpasses Balzac in literary qualities and Stendhal in the understanding of life and beauty. Therefore, he must be regarded as the founder of a realm that he shares with no other.

To our intelligence as well as to our admiration, he imposes himself as a master among the greatest.

He is among the three or four names in contemporary French literature that are already or will be European names. Rooted in the most authentic French soil, he nevertheless far exceeds the boundaries that some seem eager to set for the French spirit. He has expanded the domain of the human soul; he has embellished all our lives. Allied with the great classical lineage of his homeland, he has nevertheless strayed from the confines of a too timid classicism. He has given himself free rein without conforming to a pre-established aesthetic. Here again, he has shown himself to be a creator. With the freedom permitted by mastery, he has annexed to the French tradition domains hitherto left fallow.

Emerging at a time when intellectual Germany was turning away from manifestations of the French spirit to focus more exclusively on its own heritage, he made us feel once again—speaking on behalf of a few, until others may come to know and offer their testimony—that today, as in the past, there are treasures common to the nations of our divided and troubled Europe."

ROBERT-ERNST CURTIUS

Tribute to Marcel Proust, La Nouvelle Revue Française, 1923

VIDEO:

'He who this love into my heart had breathed, whose will had placed the W��lsung at my side, true only to him, thy word did I defy.'

(German: 'Der diese Liebe mir in's Herz gehaucht, dem Willen, der dem Wälsung mich gesellt, ihm innig vertraut, trotzt' ich deinem Gebot.')

Brünnhilde: Gwyneth Jones Wotan: Donald McIntyre Die Walküre The Ring of the Nibelung (Der Ring des Nibelungen) Bayreuth 1979, Patrice Chéreau / Pierre Boulez

Photo: Kristen Stewart reads Marcel Proust (On the Road, Walter Salles)

[d-andilion]

is it love?

back for @whataboutthebard!

prompt: wuv - sweet confession of feelings

(valskier, T, modern au, established relationship, meeting the parents, fluff, love confessions, 2.3k, read on ao3)

Dinner is coming along unexpectedly well. Usually, any meal where Jaskier is involved in preparation is an inevitable disaster, but Valdo has been careful to keep him away from the big-ticket items. His main job has been opening packaging and throwing it away later. Aside from a small disaster involving a glass jar of tomato sauce (Valdo thankfully had a spare), he’s been successful.

Valdo crosses the kitchen with the finished pot of pasta noodles in hand, silky green sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows, and dumps its contents into the colander Jaskier very helpfully placed in the sink for him. He mutters about the steam ruining his hair, but his mess of black curls looks the same to Jaskier. With the army’s worth of products Valdo puts in his hair every day, the frizz he’s worried about is probably impossible. He just wants to look nice, Jaskier understands. It’s a big night.

Jaskier has never actually met a significant other’s parents before, but he knows it’s generally considered a major milestone. They’ve been together for nearly six months now, so Valdo asking Jaskier to meet his mother wasn’t unexpected. Nervewracking, on the other hand, it very much was. Jaskier has been buzzing on the edge about it all week and as the moment of truth draws nearer, he feels like he might vibrate right out of his skin.

Not-at-all-frizzy hair aside, Valdo has been infuriatingly calm about the whole thing. He’s spent the last few days talking Jaskier off the ceiling despite the fact that it’s his mum causing all the ruckus. Even now, he stirs their pasta and checks on the pre-made breadsticks in the oven with calm and poise. 

Jaskier recenters the napkin holder on the kitchen table for the third time and looks back at his annoying relaxed boyfriend. “Are you really not worried about this at all?”

Valdo pauses, spoon still in hand, and hangs his head with an exasperated sigh. “Jaskier.”

“She could hate me.”

“She will not hate you,” Valdo says, firm but patient. “My mum is half-mad, she’s going to love you.”

“And you aren’t concerned in the slightest about this going well.”

“No.”

Jaskier slaps his hands dramatically on the table in front of him. “How?”

Valdo sighs again, more thoughtful this time, and sets his spoon down before turning to face Jaskier. “She’s just… not that kind of mum.”

Jaskier cocks his head curiously, still fiddling with the napkins. Valdo crosses his kitchen to Jaskier in a few long strides and shoves the napkin holder out of Jaskier’s reach with a chiding tsk. Before Jaskier can pout, Valdo begins running his fingers through Jaskier’s hair, nails scraping the back of his head the way that makes him want to purr like a cat.

“Not that she doesn’t care,” Valdo continues, still stroking Jaskier’s hair, “but she trusts me. She trusts me to know myself and what’s right for me. Even if by some miracle she didn’t like you, she’d be civil because I like you. So long as I’m happy, she’s happy.”

“She sounds amazing,” Jaskier says, leaning into his boyfriend’s touch.

Valdo snorts. “Don’t tell her that.”

He stills his fingers and tugs lightly at Jaskier’s hair, urging him to look up. Jaskier meets those big brown eyes with his own and something warm settles in the center of his chest. He’s been finding that feeling more and more when he and Valdo are together. It doesn’t make his nerves disappear, but it calms him easily. He slides an arm around Valdo’s waist to pull him closer.

“My mum is going to love you and you are going to love her,” Valdo says softly. Then he smirks. “If anything, I’m worried that I’ll be left out.”

Jaskier laughs at that. “You are not.

“I am!” Valdo exclaims. “I’m condemning myself to spend the rest of my days being ganged up on by the two of you.”

Valdo leans in for a kiss, pressing his smile to Jaskier’s for half a heartbeat before slipping out of his grasp to stir their supper. There’s still a grin on Valdo’s lips and light blush painting his pale skin, but he looks otherwise unphased by the words that just came out of his mouth. Jaskier, on the other hand, is reeling.

The rest of his days?

He might not have meant it like that. They both have a flare for the dramatic. Jaskier has certainly said things to that effect before, but this isn’t trivial banter about whose turn it is to pick the movie or whether Jaskier stole Valdo’s blue jumper (he did not and he refuses to search his closet of principle). This is about their lives together, their future. Jaskier and Margaret Marx, ganging up on Valdo for the rest of his days.

Is Valdo really thinking that far ahead? Does he think they will be together months and years into the future? Is he thinking forever? It’s been a good few months and things have been going great between them—better than great. Have they really been going forever great?

But Jaskier keeps watching his boyfriend stir another round of spices into their dinner, cheeks still pink because it takes forever for his blushes to fade, and the questions vanish from his mind. He knows he could do this forever. He could smash jars of tomato sauce and recenter the napkin holder and let Valdo soothe him when he’s being neurotic every day for the rest of his life. And he might just get the chance.

~

Margaret Marx is undoubtedly a host unto herself. Jaskier wouldn’t call her mad, exactly, but if he’s ever met a woman like her, he can’t recall it. And one would recall such a person.

She’s tiny, barely over five feet tall, and thin as a rail. Her straight, slate-gray hair falls down to the small of her back, flowing when she walks, along with her bright yellow floor-length skirt. Her wrists are covered with beaded bracelets and her neck is adorned with chunky pendants.

When Valdo told Jaskier his mother was a lawyer, it conjured an image of the stiff characters the Pankratz’s have always employed. Fitted suits, leather briefcases, dismal senses of humor. Marge—she insists Jaskier call her Marge—looks like she should be selling healing crystals in a beach town somewhere, and yet somehow he can still picture her commanding a courtroom with ease.

Watching her move about the kitchen beside her son, helping him set the table even as he harangues her to sit down, is an enigma all its own.

It’s hard to imagine Valdo could have in any way come from this woman. He’s her direct opposite; towering over her modest height, black curls artfully mussed beside her sleek gray curtain, pale as the driven snow compared to her generous tan. Even his gestures set him apart from her, always so measured, where she seems to float around the room on a carefree breeze. 

Yet, even with their many, many differences, there’s a familiarity between mother and son that feels entirely foreign to Jaskier. They lay the table and plate dinner in perfect harmony with all the airs of people who have performed this task a thousand times before. Jaskier is certain he’s never seen his own mother lift a plate before, much less scoop food onto it and set it on the table in front of him the way Marge does. He wonders if he ought to feel a tug of jealousy, and maybe it’s in there somewhere. But right now, watching Valdo smile and roll his eyes under his mother’s light teasing, Jaskier only notices a bloom of warmth in his chest.

Dinner is delicious, and talking to Marge is easy as breathing. Every so often, Jaskier feels Valdo’s hand on his knee under the table, giving him a reassuring squeeze. The evening is going swimmingly, just like Valdo promised him it would.

The conversation turns from school to careers to friends, and inevitably, to family. Valdo and Marge are mostly on their own, but Jaskier is drowning in sisters and aunts and uncles and cousins. He tells Marge about his niece and newborn nephew, and she demands to see pictures at once.

“I don’t know what I would do with so many relatives,” Valdo says between bites of his breadstick while she coos at Jaskier’s phone.

“It’s easy to manage when you avoid most of them at all costs,” Jaskier says with a shrug.

Valdo stops mid-chew, looking guilty, and Marge has a glint of sympathy in her eye. Jaskier hadn’t meant to bring down the mood. His nonexistent relationship with his family has been a fact for so long, he forgets to be bothered by it most days.

“Better we make our own family anyway,” says Marge, patting Jaskier’s hand. It wasn’t sympathy he saw in her eyes, he realizes. It was empathy. 

“I did it,” she continues with a grin. “Soon as I finished school. I changed my name and never looked back. I found my own people.”

“Really?” Jaskier asks.

Valdo snorts. “Of course she did, have you seen her?”

“Watch it you!” Marge exclaims, poking her son playfully in the side.

Valdo laughs, scooting out of his mother’s reach. He’s so soft right now, Jaskier thinks. Warm and open and relaxed the way he only ever is when they’re alone together. How many people have the privilege of seeing Valdo like this? Jaskier has a feeling that, at present, the only two are sitting in this room. 

Jaskier reaches out under the table and lays his hand gently on Valdo’s thigh, earning him his own private little smile. What a precious thing to be trusted with. More than gold, than jewels, than any round of applause.

“Even this one was a choice all my own,” Marge says, reaching again for Valdo’s side while he wiggles out of reach. “I wanted a baby and I was tired of waiting around for someone to have one with, so I went and had one myself.”

Jaskier feels a bit in awe. He knew Valdo’s mother was the only one in the picture, but he had no idea she’d chosen to have a baby all by herself. Could he ever be so brave? So sure of himself, so unafraid of the world and its challenges?

“I wouldn’t have had it any other way.” Marge looks at them contentedly. “Got me the best kid anyone could ask for. You’re a lucky one, Jaskier.”

Valdo groans dramatically and Jaskier laughs along, but he meets Marge’s eye for a moment, trying to convey everything he can’t say aloud right now. 

I know, he tells her. He’s precious to me, too. 

~

They finish dinner and dessert along with a few glasses of wine each before Marge decides to turn in. She excuses herself to the spare room, but not before reminding them that the walls are thin and she would very much appreciate them keeping it in their pants tonight. Valdo turns beet-red while Jaskier chokes on his own tongue. Marge is amused and unapologetic as she shuts the door behind her.

“How did you manage to get the coolest mum in the history of mums?” Jaskier asks when he finally recovers.

“She isn’t that cool,” Valdo says with a heavy eye roll. He stands to start clearing the table and Jaskier follows suit, collecting their empty wine glasses. 

“My parents wouldn’t allow my sister and her husband to share a room—even the sitting room—until they were in a Gods-honoring marriage. This includes a seven-year relationship and the period during which they were engaged to be married. They had a small child together, Val.”

Valdo snorts. “I think that says more about your parents than my mum.”

“It definitely does,” Jaskier concedes. “She’s still cool.”

“If she were cool, she would learn to keep her nose in her own business. I still can’t believe she said that.”

Valdo’s blush creeps back up his neck as he remembers their conversation. Just as they were finishing their meals, Marge asked them both rather bluntly if they thought it was love. Valdo was absolutely mortified and changed the subject at once, but Jaskier was surprisingly calm. He’s been bouncing that four-letter-word around in his head for months now if he’s honest and it doesn’t scare him at all. It feels right.

“She’s just looking out for you,” Jaskier says.

“She’s just being meddlesome like usual,” Valdo replies with a pout.

Jaskier chuckles and they clear up in silence for a few beats. He can hardly blame Marge for her comments, flustered as Valdo was over them. She saw right through Jaskier tonight. Maybe Valdo isn’t ready to say it yet, but Jaskier is.

“It is, you know,” Jaskier says, pausing by the sink while Valdo stacks dishes inside.

Valdo doesn’t look up. “What is?”

“It,” Jaskier replies. “This. Us. It is.”

“Is what?”

“Love.”

Valdo’s head whips up at once, his eyes blown wide, and their plates clatter in the sink as they slip from his hands, but neither of them is focused on the dishes right now. 

“I love you,” Jaskier tells him with a soft smile on his lips, and fuck, it feels so good to say it. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while. I just wanted you to know. You don’t have to say anything—”

“I love you, too,” Valdo breathes. His cheeks are still pink and his shirt is a little wet from the sink, but right now he’s the most beautiful thing Jaskier has ever seen.

“Great.”

Valdo chuckles light as air and steps into Jaskier’s space, wrapping his arms around Jaskier’s neck. “That’s your big line?”

“I think I’ve pulled my share of big lines this evening,” Jaskier snarks back. His hands find their familiar perch on Valdo’s hips.

“That’s no excuse,” Valdo mutters. Then he pulls Jaskier into a kiss, slow and sweet, and whispers those three words against Jaskier’s lips. It makes them both smile like idiots.

Jaskier laughs breathlessly, touching his forehead to Valdo’s. “I love you, too.”

~~

w.a.t.b. masterlist

[jacquelinemerritt]

Diamond is Unbreakable: Episode 4 Review

Originally posted May 19th, 2016

Tension rises as Bad Company is revealed.

“The Nijimura Brothers, Part 2” is primarily focused on the conflict between Josuke and Keicho Nijimura, and as a result, thematic depth is for the most part abandoned in favor of building a suspense-filled battle. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that either; Bad Company is one of the most creative Stands in the series, and Josuke and Keicho’s fight unquestionably requires an entire episode to do it justice.

The fight itself deploys a significant amount of tension to keep itself interesting. Josuke is made to wander through a poorly lit house, checking all of his surroundings for a threat that could emerge from anywhere, and the full destructive power of the Stand is only revealed when he’s been trapped in a room with Koichi, surrounded by an army of what ultimately amounts to toy soldiers.

After Koichi reveals his own Stand (which is, for now, fairly useless), Josuke separates himself from his friend in order to fight off Keicho alone, and Josuke acquires victory in the most typical Jojo fashion: being two steps ahead of his enemy (as well as the audience). Even though Josuke’s method of victory comes as a bit of a twist to us, it, like most Jojo victories that happen this way, is satisfying because it doesn’t violate the rules of the established universe in the slightest; we know Crazy Diamond can repair things, so finding out Josuke was clever enough to repair the missiles fired into his arms and redirect them at Keicho is entirely gratifying, as Josuke’s victory simply came from him using his own abilities to win in a unique way.

The animation of “The Nijimura Brothers, Part 2” is fairly impressive as well, though not for the typical reasons animation is usually praised for. Like most every episode of Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure to come before it, character motion is often stilted, meaning there’s little fluid motion performed by any of the characters. Now, this is likely due to budget concerns, as the characters themselves always look gorgeous, and animating such a detailed character fluidly would take a lot of time per frame, and therefore cost a lot more money than the show likely has within its budget.

Yet, despite the often stilted animation, Diamond is Unbreakable has been able to use a variety of tricks to sell its tone and keep the episodes evenly paced. Josuke’s approach up the stairs of the house early in the episode is a good example of this, as we linger on a close-up of his eyes while he scans his surroundings, which are superimposed over him, adding motion to the frame and limiting the amount of visual information we have about the area.

Now, I’ll admit here that I would unquestionably prefer to lose a little detail on the characters in order to allow for fluid movement in addition to these clever techniques David Production uses to set the mood, but the fact remains that these techniques are ultimately as effective as they need to be on their own, and DavidPro’s constant use of them keeps the show from being visually uninteresting.1

This episode also does have some thematic depth, and all of it comes from the interactions between Josuke and Okuyasu, who have a bit of an extended debate concerning why Josuke chose to save and heal Okuyasu at the beginning of the episode. Josuke tells Okuyasu that his decision to save him wasn’t complicated, as he saw the wounds he had taken from Keicho’s Stand and came to the realization that there wasn’t any reason Okuyasu had to die.

Josuke even makes a point of healing Okuyasu after he’s refused to reveal any information about Keicho’s stand, simply telling Okuyasu to stay out of his way. Okuyasu returns the favor here by following Josuke into the house and using The Hand to help him reach Koichi safely, giving Josuke the opportunity to save his friend like he saved Okuyasu. Their justifications for their heroic behavior are quite similar: Josuke acted on instinct to save the life of someone he saw no reason to let die, and Okuyasu chose to “act on what’s in [his] heart,” feeling that he is generally too “stupid” to know any better otherwise.

For both of these teenagers, there’s a recognition that goodness and virtue comes from a combination of instinct and action, and it shows us that these two former enemies aren’t nearly as different as they may have seemed just an episode ago.

Rating: 4/5

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Stray Observations

1You are welcome to disagree with me here, but Phantom Blood suffered a lot from being visually uninteresting, in my opinion, and it often felt like a graphic novel with some motion added rather than an animated show. I’ll, of course, argue that DavidPro upped their game for Battle Tendency, but they also seemed to slip back occasionally during the less important episodes of Stardust Crusaders.

I can’t recall if Keicho’s name gets used in this episode, but I think it hardly matters that I’m using it in the review anyway.

“That’s a flawless plan… If you ignore the fact that it’s impossible!” C’mon Josuke, you can do so much better than this.

“Just like Moses, who parted the Red Sea and walked across its floor, I’m gonna make my way through this army and beat you down!” Now that’s the Josuke I know.