#it might take a quarter of an hour if you're the only person there

[icryyoumercy]

'please stand in front of this toilet in the most uncomfortable and counterintuitive position possible, and then pee in this cup while under direct video surveillance'

... and then the people making me do this wonder it doesn't work?

like. if you need to observe people peeing in a cup, at least you could set up the surveillance in a way that doesn't require them to stand sideways to a toilet while holding their feet uncomfortably close together, that shouldn't be that difficult

[starleska]

If you're still taking writing requests, could you do possessive Wally headcanons?

*cracks knuckles* oh anon, i most certainly can 😈 yandere!Wally fans (me too 😳), this one's for you! (this is less headcanons and more a oneshot... kinda wanna write the whole thing 🙈)

content warnings for possessive behaviour, manipulation, threats, arson, entrapment and kidnapping!

Possessive/Yandere!Wally Darling x Reader headcanons

👁 it all started so well. Wally was a Darling both in name and behaviour, and you fell hard and fast. such an attentive sweetheart, from the moment you moved into the neighbourhood it was as if he were always at your side. anywhere else, you may have been unnerved, but Wally's simple warmth and easy smile dispelled all of your doubts. while you tried to spread your time equally between your kind new neighbours, you somehow always found yourself in Wally's presence, talking to him for hours.

👁 in time, you found yourself becoming bolder. you start returning Wally's curious glances, and soon allow your eyes to linger a touch longer than they should. curiously (and with a little bit of a thrill), you notice that Wally seems incapable of breaking eye contact - no matter how long you stare, he'll always stare right back, unperturbed.

👁 one day, you find yourself closer to Wally than usual. you're half-pressed against one another on your sofa, Wally's cheek nestled in the crook of your shoulder. he's drawing something in his sketchbook: an indistinct, wobbly shape that you can't make heads or tails of. while Wally's right hand scribbles furiously with his pencil, the fingers of his unoccupied left hand spill at your side, reflexively clenching every now and again with the automatic motions of his drawing.

👁 the closeness imbues you with a newfound confidence. you take a breath, steady yourself...and reach across, brushing your fingers lightly across Wally's own. Wally's eyes snap towards you. for a moment, his pupils blow so wide you think they might just swallow you.

👁 the next day, your house catches fire. such an incident is unheard of in this neighbourhood, and all your neighbours are horrified for you. however, Wally is strangely calm. "I'm sorry you lost so much," he says, still smiling. "Would you like to live with me?"

👁 you're shaken - but accept Wally's offer. the shock of the fire takes a few days to wear off, but nothing could be more unsettling than living in close quarters with Wally Darling. existing within the living, breathing (creaking? squeaking) walls of his Home has an atypical effect on the puppet. Wally's voice is lower, and he moves with more purpose, as if he and Home are one and the same: symbiotic entities which exist in tandem with one another.

👁 to add to your creeping sense of dread, Wally flips the script on your personal space. now he is the one letting his fingers slip easily around your waist, and fixing you with uncomfortable, impossible-to-ignore stares. you try to laugh off his behaviour, questioning him openly if he enjoys having you as a guest so much. for once, Wally doesn't smile when he replies, "I love you living with me."

👁 it isn't until a week has passed that you learn all the doors are locked, and Wally never gave you a key. you try wrestling with the door handle, but it doesn't budge. then you try the windows, but they're sealed shut. 'I'm not trapped!' you think to yourself. 'Wally is just being a good neighbour - he wants to keep me safe.' but that still doesn't stop you from panicking, scouring the house for the heaviest thing you can find and trying to smash the window. the glass does not break. Home suddenly groans with the sound of a thousand old floorboards and overloaded pipes - a dreadful, ear-rending noise - causing the glass in the window to triple in height and thickness right before your eyes.

👁 terrified, you scramble backwards to run out of the kitchen - only to run smack into Wally. you collapse to the floor and gaze up at Wally, standing in the doorway with his hands tucked behind his back, that cat's smile of his holds some private amusement.

👁 "did you try to leave Home?" Wally asks. "Silly, silly." he takes a step towards you, and then another - slow and loping steps, his cute puppet form now moving in a way equal parts unnatural and sinister. he crouches next to you, those eyes now whirlpools of void which obscure all but the slight white rim of his scleras. "Try again," Wally whispers. "I'd like that very much."

[mythicmanuscripts]

What do we think about the boys with a Stark Spouse who brings a lot of blankets and furs from home to add to the bed? Especially with Aemond slowly growing closer they first seek out their blankets for comfort meanwhile Aegon and Jayce are just face planting into them after a hard day.

Love your writing btw!

This idea is so fucking cute I adore this.

I've kept this answer SFW but we can absolutely continue this concept into NSFW themes so if anyone would like to read that or has their own thoughts on it, let me know!

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

AEGON:

So my immediate thought here was that you'd bring one of your blankets to your new shared quarters with Aegon. Even though you weren't actually staying there with him every night yet, you just wanted one of your comfort blankets there. Aegon immediately zeros in on it when he first enters the room and that's when your realise that he might have a thing for soft textures.

As you get closer, you have a servant put one of the blankets on the bed in his private quarters for him. When he spots it he literally just stands in his room crying for a little while until he composes himself enough to go looking for you and thank you.

Once you get closer, Aegon absolutely loves stealing all the blankets and nuzzling against them. You keep on adding more blankets thinking he can't possibly steal all of them and you keep on being proved wrong. Of course he can steal all of them.

And when Aegon discovers the absolutely incredible sensory experience of cuddling you naked with one of the blankets wrapped around you both? Well good luck because he's just found his sleeping position for the rest of his life.

JACE:

I don't know why, but I like the idea that Jace gets very cold very easily? Especially before falling asleep. And he's also very particular about fabrics and how they feel against his skin.

You learn both of these things before you marry him during the countless hours you spend chatting and getting to know one another, and so at some point during that time you gift Jace one of your favourite blankets. At first he tries to say he couldnt possibly accept this from you but then you promise him that he can put pack on your joint bed after the wedding and well... he blushes so hard he has to hide behind the blanket.

So anyway, yeah he loves them too. I also think he'd put blankets all around your chambers? There's always a blanket on your favourite reading chair or at your dressing table, just in case.

Also, because Jace is a gentleman at heart, he always ensures you're nice and warm before bed. Even if you've just wrecked him, he'll still double check you arent cold and that there isnt any part of you the blanket isnt covering. He takes is very personally if you get cold, absolutely not he must ensure you are always comfy.

AEMOND:

Aemond wouldnt even know about your blankets at first because he most certainly wouldnt even consider entering your private quarters for the longest time. Even when you get married, he's still very strict about only ever going to your shared quarters and having a servant summon you there.

As you get closer though, I think maybe he'd find himself outside your room? He didnt mean to, but he was so frustrated, (Sidenote: I think one of the first things Aemond realises when he meets you is that you just... get him? You never ever make him feel frustrated, you always understand him, he never has to explain himself to you or worry about you being confused when he tells you things). So one day when he really was considering just pushing Aegon off a balcony, he finds himself outside your quarters, like his subconscious knew he would only be able to relax in your presence.

You're surprised to see him, but you let him in of course. You pull him onto your bed, letting him cuddle up to you and discuss what's gotten him so worked up. Once he's sitting on the bed, he kinda just strokes the blankets in awe? He's never felt something so soft before, and when you notice his reaction you immensely grab another blanket and wrap it around him. He pulls it tighter over his shoulders and leans against you.

After that, Aemond comes over to your quarters every single night before bed. He'd lay in bed with you and discuss his day, hearing your advice and listening to you telling him about your day. Even when things get sexual, he still comes to your private quarters first and then goes with you to your shared chambers. You try to say he must just summon you to the shared chambers because then it would be much easier but he refuses.

The way I picture it is that Aemond's actual quarters and your assigned shared quarters would be near Aegon and Alicent's quarters? All the most important people are close together and very well guarded. Before your marriage to Aemond you stayed in one of the guest rooms that were on the other side of the keep. Aemond absolutely loves this, loves that he can come to you and be comfortable and he feels so much safer because his family is physically further away.

(One last sidenote: maybe you track down a floor or tower that hasn't been used for years in the keep and you get the servants to help you make it into a living space for you and Aemond? It's far far away from everyone else and the only people with keys are you and him)

[rockatanskette]

Semi-related to my post on how human conservation practices, but I have a cold today, and it's got me thinking about biological altruism—the biological imperative to put other creatures ahead of yourself, to benefit the group.

When talking about possible interactions with other species, we talk a lot about humans being crazy and thrill-seeking and impossible to kill. Never use a warning shot as an incentive to keep humans out of a fight; it'll just make them angry. And that's true. But a valid criticism I've seen in the "Earth is a death world" community is that according to our understanding of evolution, every planet must be some form of death world. Competition fosters evolution—the wolf with sharper claws survives when its litter mates die. You can't reach space travel without some casualties along the way.

But the dog survives because it makes friends with the strange ape carrying a sharp stick. And the strange ape survives because it befriends the wolf. Underneath the death world is an inextricable and undeniable layer of the bond world; the love world; the world, together.

I imagine some worlds are not death worlds. They're peaceful and tranquil. I suspect there are worlds far more deadly than Earth, where the skies rain diamonds, harder than any substance we know with the species to match. And I imagine that they are united in their confusion at the duality of humankind.

Today is a great example: I have a cold, and I want someone to take care of me, but the people who would are immunocompromised, also sick, or live 8 hours away, respectfully. I also want no one within the walls of my apartment or I will eat them. I feel gross, I feel tired, and I don't want a single human being anywhere near me, even if they did bring soup.

In my constant scrolling through my phone today, I decided to look up why the hell I feel so bad—why everyone feels so bad when they're ill. And the answer surprised me. I always thought it was because your immune system is active, so it's using a lot of your energy. That is part of it. Another part is that your brain and body are communicating across the blood-brain barrier to fight the infection, which is rare and energetically expensive.

But that doesn't explain everything, and according to more current research, it could also be what's called the Eyam Hypothesis: that we feel so gross, so we instinctively isolate from other people. We're too tired to deal with others, and so we don't infect them. Misanthropy for the good of the species. Of course, it can also backfire: one of the criticisms of the Eyam Hypothesis is that humans also instinctively care for each other. If my brother has a headache, I drive to the store for Advil.

Personally, I think it's a little bit of both: biological altruism. Either way, the majority live on. The first thought I had this morning when I woke up wasn't "I feel gross" it was "there's no way I'm going to work today." And while that might not be everyone's first thought, you don't even have to be a particularly altruistic person to not want to leave your home or your bed when you're sick. It's inborn.

And so when the human named Ismail comes down with a case of the interstellar common cold, his alien friend Dyos grows very concerned. Ismail is usually intensely social, almost off-puttingly so. Some crew members joke about how his quarters are for sleeping and prayer only; if he's home alone? You should be worried. But when Dyos demands an answer to the severity of Ismail's malady, the other humans just nod knowingly.

"Nah, he's okay, the medics already cleared him. It's not a severe infection."

"But there are so many...fluids. And his body has changed color."

There is a moment of confusion there until they remember that Dyos's species can see in the infrared color spectrum.

"Nah, that's just a low-grade fever. It should break in the next couple days."

"But he doesn’t want to play chess today," Dyos insists.

"Ohhhh," says human Claudia, finally understanding. "No, that's normal. Humans don't like being around other people when they're sick, it's supposed to be one of the major evolutionary advantages. Protect your community from your illness and the genes live on."

"So we're just going to leave him alone?" Dyos is troubled by this. He can go for weeks without speaking to another life form, but he has seen Ismail grow despondent when unable to participate in social gathering.

"Oh, no," human Claudia says, laughing. "We're going to employ one of the other most longstanding human evolutionary advantages."

There are many to choose from and Dyos settles on, "middle age?"

"Sort of," human Claudia opens up a small shipping container and holds up a brown paper bag tied with a colorful ribbon. It glows brightly in Dyos's vision, almost as brightly as human Claudia's smile. "His nanni's hot soup, express delivery."

[yan-critter]

Anon request for a Scara fic! Hope you enjoy :)

Yan!Scaramouche x GN!Reader (Smut, Dubcon, Scara 'hates' you, No gendered terms but reader is receiving)

As a skirmisher, your only honor is in serving your harbinger to their utmost satisfaction. Which is why you can’t help but feel wronged when the weight of Scaramouche’s disdainful glares follow you around every corner. 

You absently wonder if it was something you did, perhaps a mistake you made while out on an assignment with your fellow soldiers. ‘Or maybe something I didn’t do?’.

But before you can think yourself in circles, your hair stands on end at the now familiar feeling of his gaze. You quickly turn on your heel, standing at attention hoping he’ll pass your group by. It seems the Tsaritsa does not favor you today though, and you accidentally meet his eye, wincing when he stops and frowns at you. You’re used to this by now, bracing yourself to get berated and hoping to just grit your teeth and get it over with.

He pauses, staring for a moment with a look that you don’t recognize. You cock an eyebrow and he scoffs, but it only makes you more confused.

“Follow me, we’re doing a review of your training. You’ve been especially disappointing this week, and it’s getting on my nerves.”

Oh. That’s new.

As you awkwardly trail behind him, you almost feel… hopeful. While his comment was a little rude, at least he didn’t yell or make you do some insane punishment like the other lords. Yes, this was an improvement, and he was even going as far as personally retraining you! You let a small grin slip, excited to redeem yourself and return to Scaramouche’s good graces. Who knows, you might even find out why he hated you so much.

But.. 

This isn’t the way to the training hall.

★━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━★

This was not part of your training.

You grunt, faced now pressed against the cool tile of Scaramouche’s quarters as the man ruts into you from behind. You squeeze your eyes shut, biting your lip as he speeds up, taking on an almost impossible pace while your body rocks with his movements.

He leans over to whisper in your ear, caging you in as he repeats what he’s been babbling on about for nearly an hour now.

“I hate you, I hate how easily you burrowed into my mind and I hate how much I like it.”

He gives an especially harsh thrust and you whine, nails scraping uselessly at the floor in an attempt to ground yourself. You’re losing it now, any coherency eclipsed by the unending pleasure as you begin going slack beneath him.

 “I hate that I need you”

Scaramouche’s hips stutter, and you know he’s close. His arm wraps around your midsection for purchase, gripping you as he continues his assault on your twitching heat with a newfound vigor.

You choke on a moan, eyes watering as you can feel your own climax approaching. You tighten around him and he huffs, eyebrows furrowing in concentration. His thrusts are sloppy now, frantic and losing rhythm as he chases his orgasm.

He gives one final push, sinking in all the way to the hilt as he comes, and the feeling of his warmth filling you has you coming undone in seconds. Your eyes roll back and you whimper, pushing back into him as your combined spend drips to the floor in a puddle.

He sits back and turns you around, pulling you into his lap as you curl into his chest in exhaustion. His grip is possessive, holding you tight against him like he’s afraid you’ll leave, though it’s not like you can with how sore you are.

The fatigue is catching up with you now, and as you begin to fall asleep, you think you faintly hear Scaramouche say something. But you are far too tired to understand it, and before long you're drifting off. He hums, an unhinged grin adorning his face as he stares at your spent form secure in his arms. Taking one last moment to admire your face, he nuzzles into you and sighs.

“Not even the gods can take you from me now."

[ms0milk]

𝐀 𝐇𝐘𝐌𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 || 𝐦.𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

On a diplomatic trip far from home, Prince Bakugou must contend with his hatred for you. A woman who lives to take orders. The last thing the warrior prince needs is a babysitter but it’s a feat, not a coincidence, that you are the only apprentice to the captain of his royal guard. Feasts, balls, and festivities await you and your new friends at Takoba, and in the seaside kingdom you must reconcile with the idea that your prince is not so noble as the queen who raised him. All while something half dead and long forgotten festers on high tide.

𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 [𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔] MDNI prince!bakugou x royal guard!(fem) reader, slow burn to eventual smut. y/n has a personality and it is business formal, she grows. individual chapters will have specific tags-warnings-ratings— in general please expect violence/descriptions of injuries, strong language, two aloof fools, the classic motley bnha crew, seaside shenanigans. bakugou is an absolute piece of work, y/n is professional to a fault and it drives him insane. travel companions ー civil teammates ー genuine enemies ー confused friends ー lovers. plenty of ridiculous tension accompanied by angst and 𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒄.

❂ ー 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 this story has been my baby over the past few months (was this a direct response to mha ch 362? yes) — so I hope you cherish it as much as I do. I am not immune to roy/riza and many of the dynamics in this au are inspired by their relationship. be prepared to absolutely hurtle this man out of harm's way TAGLIST | AO3

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈

𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆. ✦

You terrify him and it breaks his heart.

𝒐𝒏𝒆. 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐚 𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐩

In the warm forests of Aldera Castle you and the prince grew up in periphery. A soldier without magic and the boy who never spoke to her. Suddenly, he is your only responsibility.

𝒕𝒘𝒐. 𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞, 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠

With the first day of travel under your belt and introductions well collected, your Alderan company finds time to unwind together. Thankfully, nothing bad ever happens around a campfire.

𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒆. 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝

Are all carriages of the east made for prisoners of war? Prince Bakugou despises the close quarters and their snagging silver fixtures, but it is a special kind of fate that would deliver you to the safety of the sea and to the feet of the fire that bars your entrance. And deliver you together at that.

𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒓. 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐞

Hats off to dying!

𝒇𝒊𝒗𝒆. 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

What a vivid dream you’ve made, of the prince and his heavy hands wrapped around your body.

𝒔𝒊𝒙. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐨𝐛𝐚

It is at exactly the wrong moment that you realize where all the guards have gone, and just how desperate you must appear for the prince to take such pleasure in destruction.

𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏. 𝐡𝐞𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭

Would he treat you this way in the presence of others? Is it only when you're alone like this that hell raises?

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈

𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕. 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐚 (𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 & 𝐭𝐰𝐨.)

In the immortal words of your prince, this was a dogshit idea for a dinner party. You are haunted by blue flames and scarred ghosts no matter how hard you focus on work, and a punishment for your distraction is in order.

𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒆. 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐭

He has no right– your prince is a hypocrite and alone in a haunted seaside garden confrontation is, finally, inevitable.

𝒕𝒆𝒏. 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐟𝐨𝐚𝐦 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐟 (𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 & 𝐭𝐰𝐨.)

You will eat the flame mage alive before he lays a finger on your prince, but why gods has Bakugou chosen now to fear for you? To treat you so gently?

𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏. 𝐰𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝

Thirty-one hours awake and every second spent thinking of you.

𝒕𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒗𝒆. 𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫

Gods help anyone that might try to hurt you, even if that person is the ocean, or a god– even if that person is you. You finally find your prince's bedchambers after a fight at sea.

𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒏. 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐳𝐤𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐠

The end of your fever comes with realizations. What happens when two people unable to speak stand too close for too long?

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈𝐈

𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒏. 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠

You always think you're well enough to train and if Bakugou has to tie you to a hospital bed himself he will, but he doesn't mean to watch you win for so long and he certainly doesn't mean to join you.

𝒇𝒊𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒏. 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧

Can devotion come before forgiveness? Can you control it? The last two sober Alderans carry their friends to bed.

𝒔𝒊𝒙𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒏. 𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬

You don’t mean to bite him, he startled you. You don’t mean to laugh together or beam about magic that is not yours. You do not mean to kiss him.

𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒏. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐥 (𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 & 𝐭𝐰𝐨.)

(9/27)

[copperbadge]

Custom Wax Stamps

banesidhe

Would you be willing to share the source for custom stamps? I also do these and have had a hard time finding stamps with what I want on them

Oh sure! I hope it's okay that I pulled this out into its own post, I didn't want to spam the OP on the other. Apologies in advance if you know any of what I'm about to say, I'm just going to infodump and I want to make sure I don't miss anything. I will say that the process was smooth and pretty painless for me, much more so than I expected.

As preface, if you haven't been to the Craspire website, they have acres of stamps for very cheap, and I think the vast majority of sellers on Amazon/Ebay/Etsy actually just dropship from Craspire. If you're looking for variety, I'd definitely look there. (If you have, again, apologies, it just took me a while to find it and I spent more than I should have on a couple of my stamps before I started buying direct from them, so I like to make sure I mention it.)

There are a ton of shops on Etsy offering custom stamps, with wildly varying prices -- when I was doing research I saw one that was $55 for just the stamp, and another that was $30 because you couldn't buy the stamp without a starter-kit bundled in (furnace, spoon, wax). Definitely don't pay that much. I didn't get super exhaustive with my research because I couldn't really find a better price than a shop that I'd already done business with, and I knew they were reliable, so I just stuck with them. The shop is PraeyDesigns -- they have reasonable rates overall and everything I've bought from them has been good quality, so they're one of my go-tos for both stamps and wax (there's cheaper wax available but I like their selection). They offer a number of different sales pages for custom seals, so I'll link direct to this one, the one I purchased.

On that page, the third image lists the sizes they offer -- I bought the 3cm oval because I needed it "long" to accommodate the tail on my image. For reference, most larger stamps you buy prefab are 4cm rounds, most of the smaller stamps are 3cm rounds; that particular page only offers up to 3cm but PraeyDesigns does have other custom stamp pages that offer 4cm. In any case, it looks like the page just offers you the chance to pick from a variety of designs, but they do explicitly offer custom engraving from your own image; under "add your personalization" you should give the size head you want and then say, "I have an image for a design, please message and I will send it to you."

They reached out about 24 hours after I purchased, through Etsy, and asked for the image; this is what I sent them, also through Etsy's messenger function, and the result:

I'm given to understand that they generally have to retrace the image regardless of size or quality to turn it into a vector, so they can take a fairly low-res image and do a lot with it, but I tried to give them as clean a JPG as I could to work with. While the result is not absolutely identical, for an engraving smaller than a quarter it's pretty damn accurate and I think most of the minor shifts in design were for clarity's sake.

But I was pleased it really was that simple -- I bought the item, they said "Please send the design", I sent it, they confirmed they had it, and I didn't hear from them again until they sent me the shipping notification. Potentially if you don't have as clean an image they might need to talk to you about issues with the design, so I would make sure you have a very clean-line black-and-white image to send, but they seem pretty competent and they do good work.

Love to see what you get if you end up getting one! Definitely tag me. :)

[kiefbowl]

hi! do you have any advice for negotiating a higher salary? i think the job i was hired to do a few months ago deserves a better pay but idk how to go about asking for it

This is so spooky I was literally thinking about making a post about asking for more money this morning. you must have been listening to my thoughts lol

Yeah, I have some advice, but keep in mind that different companies and industries might have little quirks I'm not aware of, take these points as very broad advice you might want to adapt for your own personal situation:

If you company does any kind of raise schedule (as an example: every year on your anniversary you are entitled to a 1-3% raise based on performance) - if you're about 8-12 weeks until that time, try to hold out until after you get that raise. I only suggest this because almost all companies will tell you the raise you negotiated takes over as your new raise schedule, so this is really just to get more money in the long run. The 8-12 weeks benchmark is just a suggestion to try to keep your request to negotiate and your scheduled raise in different financial quarters, which might help.

Have a clear goal of what you're asking for. Clear doesn't mean "super specific" but it can. At minimum, have the number you're going to be asking for. What's probably better though is to have the number you're going to be asking for if nothing else changes, and what more you'd be willing to do for even more money than that.

Only answer questions that are asked, only provide information as needed. You can start the conversation by saying "I'm coming to you requesting a raise" and let them respond to that. You can say things like "My duties have expanded including xyz" and you can say things like "I think my skillset is valuable" and "I think I provide x value to the company because of y reasons," but don't just launch into a spiel about what you think you deserve without seeing how they react first.

Talk in numbers. Just get straight to the point when they ask how much. Have a number for the amount per year if salary/amount per hour if hourly, plus convert that number into the percentage raise it would be. Asking for 20% more is a big ask, you know what I'm saying? Even if it's fair on the market for you industry, if they're paying that low from the market it means it's built into their business plan and you might want to consider a different company. and if they set a precedent with giving you 20%, they don't have much to stand on when you go tell all your buddies and they start asking for 20%. And if that's the situation at your company, at that point, you might wanna consider just unionizing instead lol.

It's good to consider the other guy on the other side of the table when you're negotiating. People give you things you want if you're considerate of the things they want. Some things to keep in mind that might be on your boss's plate: annual budgets, quarterly budgets, hiring quotas, hiring freezes, established pay structures decided by powers that be way above them that they have no control over, the fact that they will have to take your request to their boss and/or HR to get approval...like speak intelligently to these concerns as best you can. And be in a quid pro quo mindset. The argument is either "I already do this incredibly valuable thing you don't want to lose so give me more money or I will stop doing this by going elsewhere" or "I will do even more incredible value you don't want to lose if you give me more money, or I will do nothing by going elsewhere." Focus on what do they get and what do they lose if you don't get what you want. Except in professional parlance :)

Have confidence that you have every right to just ask. You are not some shit covered indentured peasant speaking to your god appointed king. You are a human person who is allowed to have adult conversations with other adults. If you can keep that confidence of "I'm just an adult having a normal conversation" it'll keep you on track and not get swayed into whatever tangets your boss my hem and haw on. Short, sweet, and to the point as best as possible.

Your boss is probably not fantastic at negotiating because almost no one is. So don't even sweat it. Ambush them a little, be polite, lay it on the table, then ask them what's next. If they seem to be hesitant, weird, put off...you could read malicious evil intent into it, but they're probably just woefully under-prepared and might flail a bit as some distraction. Just be like "Well, we can table this and I'll follow up with you on Friday" if it really seems like they can't get nail down an answer, or if you know they have to talk to their higher up anyway.

You might just get it. It might be the easiest thing you've ever done. I've countered and gotten exactly what I've wanting in 0.005 seconds flat. That's always a bit bittersweet because you just know you could have asked for more lol. Your boss might already have numbers at the ready for when people ask for raises, they just need people to ask. If you're company is doing well and pulling in good revenue, you will probably have a very easy conversation. So go get 'em.

Most importantly, show them your switchblade have fun and just be yourself!!!

[nanamis-bigtie]

Round 2: It's a Match!

about, rules & navigation | previous round

After a few hours of browsing the app you settle on nine the most promising candidates. They set the bar of your expectations quite high, and you're itching to finally get to know them a little bit more...personally. Of course, it's still FAR away from making any binding decisions but the first conversation will make for a big part of the final score.

Remember you vote for a character you don't want to advance further! The character with the biggest number of votes will be eliminated.

Profile One: Toji Fushiguro ELIMINATED

Profile Two

The first message comes almost immediately after you swipe right: a simple hi and a quirky kaomoji. You can't help but chuckle: what kind of adult man would type like this? It's a little weird but endearing—and matching the vibe you got to taste from his profile. Well, if you already swallowed that bait, you gotta accept those little consequences.

He types fast—and you catch yourself trying to match his pacing, answering faster than you normally would. Now you understand why he uses so many abbreviations, writing has close to no chance of following his thoughts. Despite that and his general extravagance, he's good at keeping conversation in line—and keeping a smile on your face. He's just so silly and charismatic.

From time to time, when too many typos make his messages unintelligible, you have to pause and ask for explanation. He answers then slower, apologizing for his clumsy hands, too big for his phone, but can hold himself only for a few exchanges before he returns to prior craziness.

Conversation stops as abruptly as it started, leaving you a little uneasy—have you said something he found offensive? He keeps you antsy for a few hours before he returns as if nothing happened, chirping about a snorkeling class he's taking. And then comes a photo. He's showing you colorful shells on open palm, you get a glimpse of blue beach shorts (with a trace of happy trail poking over the hem) and a really good view on his tum, still wet and showing the first signs of slight sunburn. He's not flexing but you can easily spot the outline of his abs and v-cut. That's...a surprise. He didn't look so athletic in the photos you saw before.

Profile Three

It's already dark outside when notification from him finally pops out. You're on your way to a local bar, to catch a glimpse of more traditional adventure hunting, but you change your mind almost immediately. Frankly, you're not quite in the mood for dealing with drunk people right now, and he's just offered you a perfect opportunity to withdraw with dignity to the smaller and calmer bar by the pool at your hotel.

He starts with a profound apology for keeping you waiting and an explanation for his absence. Apparently, he's been invited to a spontaneous bird watching trip and couldn't resist the temptation of trying something new.

As expected after his introduction, he's an amazing conversation partner. You worried you might end up overwhelmed by his volubility, but he smoothly adjusts to your style instead of expecting you to follow his—right as if he knew what kind of thoughts bother you. He even apologizes here and there for being too talkative, giving you the impression that he's not as confident as you assumed at first, hiding his insecurities behind a neatly built wall of pretty words.

Even so, he keeps you awake late at night. There's something about his expression that has you glued to the screen; you put your phone away only two times, for a quick toilet break and for ordering a new drink. You're sitting by the pool alone, cooling your feet in the water and giddy like a teenager talking for the first time with their crush. And if he wouldn't cut the chain first, concerned about your sleeping schedule, you wouldn't be surprised if you survived like this till the morning.

Profile Four

Something tells you he'd wait for you to write first, so you give yourself an appropriate quarter and attack. Funny enough, he answers exactly fifteen minutes later, and shamelessly admits it's on purpose when you playfully point it out.

You're not surprised that he asked if you really read through his profile. What takes you aback is that he apologizes after your confirmation. As if you took a great weight off his shoulders, confirming that your dating goals align and that no, you're not looking for a sponsor for your vacation (well, you already paid for them out of your own pocket anyway).

When you think about it now, after exchanging a few photos as you two chatted about your day, he does give a vibe of someone who could have been interested in a sugar daddy kind of a deal. No suits are spotted but here and there you're flashed with an expensive-looking watch and for lunch he's ordered himself a luxurious set of cheese. The worth of the latter you wouldn't guess but he takes his time explaining every single one of his treats, how it should be paired with wine and fruits, and where exactly you could try sets of similar quality: a few proposals for a few different budgets.

Once you break the ice, he's turned into a decent conversation partner, but he has an ugly tendency for keeping you waiting. You're not sure if he's busy (he hasn't told you much over his lunch and vague plans for the afternoon) or just likes to keep you on edge. He's still hard to read to you and has some liking for flirty teasing.

Profile Five

After over twelve hours of silence, you're ready to assume he ghosted you. Maybe he changed his mind when he looked at your profile again, maybe he already found someone to occupy his time, maybe swiping you right was an accident. It's a little pity but you don't want to grieve over it, not with so many other options available.

But you wake up to a message sent at 5am. Who in their sane mind would be awake so early on a vacation? Well, you're up early too, your stomach demanding a visit at the hotel buffet, so you can't really judge him. Plus, he could be still awake after a party...or rather from some other kind of all-night escapade, since he didn't give you the impression of a party-hard guy. Either way, his next answer comes almost immediately, so he keeps you company during the breakfast.

Majority of your conversation is taken by comparing your meals. He's still quite dry and formal but way more open, compared to how he presented himself in his profile, as if talking about food genuinely excited him. He opted for a typical hotel-style buffet, but he still took almost artistic photos of what he had on his plate. Its amount could feed a small family too and when you jokingly point it out, he admits he's here to enjoy his life to the fullest, so he's not trying to tame his gluttony.

Before you part, you manage to squeeze the name of his hotel out of him. It's on the same side of the town, thirty minutes or so by foot, if you chose to walk by the beach. You take it as an interesting sign.

Profile Six

Right in the first message he apologizes for being busy today. But if you don't mind having the conversation chopped by longer breaks, he can lead it this way without a problem.

You don't mind, at least for now.

Out of necessity the conversation leans more towards his part of the day. You can't pretend you're not curious (and a little wary, you would rather not be a sneaky date for a man who plays a perfect husband or dad on the other side), and he doesn't mind sharing, at least as much as it's appropriate for this level of proximity. Apparently, he's accompanying a good friend of his during a cooking competition. It doesn't take you long to google which hotel holds it but from a few photos they shared on social media you can't spot him anywhere. Given his appearance and posture, it wouldn't be hard; apparently the official camera is not on your side today.

Frequency of his messages increases closer to the evening. He returns your curiosity and prompts you to share glimpses of your day. He even gets you to send him a photo; you promised yourself to not share too much but something about his tone—both soothing and somewhat demanding—has changed your mind. You send him a selfie that reveals a little more of your body compared to what you posted in your profile. Maybe it's a little bait, maybe an earnest opening for flirting.His answer, a very subtle compliment, is a pleasant surprise. And so is his selfie taken for you, tactfully keeping the same amount of skin revealed but very deliberately underlining his big assets.

Profile Seven

At first, the exchange has more in common with interrogation than with a normal conversation. He's so unwilling to talk it gets on your nerves but as soon as you don't answer for longer, he sends another message, so you assume there is interest on his side, just something stops him in his tracks. Maybe he's shy, maybe he's awkward, maybe he's busy, maybe everything all at once.

His desperation to salvage the mood eventually pays off as the conversation becomes more natural. He apparently needed time to warm up to you and your vibes, his messages lose stiffness with time, and he even starts talking more about himself instead of trying to squeeze approval out of you. He's still not on the level you would call a good conversation but he remains interesting enough for you to poke at his shell over and over again.

You just can't help but wonder how far his patience will reach and how much you can bring out of him before one of you two gets tired with this wary dance.

And if he's not a surprise. You assumed he would give up after three hours at best—but he keeps returning. At some point he even dares to compliment you and that's where you perk your ears up more out of enthusiasm than only out of curiosity. It's been...a while since someone told you something so smooth and almost erotic while staying in the appropriate line. In seconds he turns you from almost bored to a little flustered, to the point you lose the upper hand in the conversation. 

You can't help but wonder if his distanced demeanor from earlier wasn't just a smart bait.

Profile Eight

It's not the first time you're immediately asked out by your match, but it still takes you by surprise. You didn't expect it from him in particular and you feel a little disturbed by this sudden confrontation with reality. You decline, tad disappointed that a person so promising significantly lowered his chances with the mood-ruining hurry. A hot fling is your goal, yes, but you would rather take some proper time to assess if he's a person worth that adventure.

And another surprise—you misread his intentions! You're relieved to learn he just wanted to pass you a word about a fun party in a club he knows, not to go there with you with one goal in mind. 

He's not a tourist but lives with a relative and helps around in exchange for some "pocket money" he saves for a rainy day during the next term of college. It's not his first summer rodeo and he knows the area through and through. You propose a little game to test his knowledge: you give him very vague descriptions of your surroundings and prompt him to guess where you are now.

He makes the right guess after the fourth clue.

At times you forget you're on a dating app, with the way he advertises you the best spots all over the area and even starts to adjust them to your preferences. But you don't really mind it, he's cheerful and tickling the right parts of your mind. If only he didn't avoid any romantic inclinations like a plague, you surely would catch yourself regretting you declined that party invitation instead of letting the misunderstanding flow.

Profile Nine

You suspect this is going to be a tough row to hoe and with every exchanged word you're only hugging yourself over your intuition more. He somehow hangs in there but he's so shy it's cute and painful at the same time. At least you can read between his words that he's a rather good-natured man but someone less patient would probably abandon the conversation a long time ago.

He's prone to jokes and flirting but answers precise questions without any hesitation. For a try you share a link to your favorite Spotify playlist, and it does wonders to the ice breaking process. This way you finally learn the root of his interest in music and rather original appearance: he's in a semi-amateur band and works in one of more alternative clubs around to support his younger brother's education.

Overall, a sweetheart and a little bit of a nerd. Awkward but a sweetheart, nevertheless.

Despite everything, the words are coming together, and you manage to lead the conversation for him while not feeling frustrated with it. He's surprisingly mature and genuinely trying to connect with you, with time shedding the awkward shell and letting himself be bolder with his questions. Your profile has definitely been scanned profoundly for all possible conversation topics and something tells you he has a list of them on him because their order is weirdly particular.You even manage to convince him to share a selfie, still curious how he will present himself in his own eyes. He's striking handsome in a kicked-puppy way, with a rather athletic build to it—which you didn't expect at all.

Profile Ten

The moment you see a message from him—about an hour after you matched—you brace yourself for a tough battle. Given how mysterious he presented himself, you're ready to assume this is going to be another pull-by-tongue marathon or contrary, honest and precise to a fault statement that he wants to only fuck, no sentiments and flirting needed.

You're pleasantly surprised to be welcomed with a smooth, natural conversation.

Oh, he has the power of a preacher, you realize as the upper hand you had at the beginning just slips out of your reach. He's 100% in his element, playing that meticulously designed game of a cat and mouse. Indeed, you feel like a little mouse observed by a bird of prey perched somewhere above your head. And more, you find yourself curious how it is to be grabbed between talons.

He's not the kind of a man who would take advantage of it, though, as he keeps appropriate distance and never allows himself to go further than some smooth yet very cautious compliments. It's too considerate to pass as a part of a calculated strategy...probably. When you think about it after putting the phone away for a moment, he could convince you to believe in anything with all that smoothness. But you just can't stop yourself from reaching for it again as soon as you see a notification. Your instinct prompts you to trust him and his intentions for now.

Maybe it's that gentle smile you can somehow feel from the words on the screen. Despite everything, he's soaked in nice vibes.

Plus, he's hot.

[satureja13]

Vlad's Therapy Game - Part 4

Good news: Both, Bunny and Vlad survived the night! (And of course Diablo too :)

Vlad slept like the dead (that he actually is) even though he only had a quarter of an inch hay between him and the hard, cold soil. After he woke up, he felt like he'd been hit by a tractor - twice. He moaned and crawled up like an old man. Apparently Diablo woke him.

Diablo: 'Omg, get up already! Finish your job and let's leave this foul place! They devour me with their eyes!' Vlad, barely awake and full of aches: "Sure, pal. Let's get this over with. Keep your distance to the village until I finish work."

Diablo: 'You betcha.'

Vlad shuffled over to the sculptor's shop. From what he sees, he is a master of his craft and he has no idea why no one wanted to work for him. Well, he'll soon find out. Not that he cared much. This is just a game and he dealt with harder tasks. He'd even been to hell and back. So one day working here won't kill him. It's for Ji Ho and Saiwa - and his best friend Jack after all. There was music playing in the shop, so the sculptor is already there too, despite the early hour.

'Enjoy what'chas got, not what you have not 'tis a weak heart lamenting with sorrow When the days seem cursed, it could always be worse Fight depression with sword and arrow'

The Sculptor: "Good Morning! You're early, that's great. Take off your shirt and let's start right away. The queen is eagerly waiting for her statue!"

'When the zeppelinous clouds of trouble abound And thunder is clapping and lightning strikes ground Just when yer thinking this may be your last Throw a lash 'round the mast, hold fast!'

Eh - take off his shirt? He knows this voice. It belongs to the very person who always demands him to take off his shirt!

'When the world ain't right, and it smithes ye with strife Ye can now buckle down, it's a test they call life Very soon you will see what kind of animal you'd be Taking the bite outta life'

Leander! Vlad's nemesis! The very man who never fails to make him lose his composure! The red-haired devil who wanted to marry him. Yeah - he only cursed Vlad and dragged him down to his hell to protect him - but that does not mean he'll ever forgive him that he touched Ji Ho and almost drowned him! (Which actually wasn't Leander's fault either...)

'When they're testing the gallows, yer hung like a dog Or they're marching us out to a firing squad We just smile and recall all the good times we had It's the best 'til tomorrow It's the best day 'til tomorrow'

But of course NPC Leander did not recognize him. Because this is just a game. A stupid game! He'll have a word with Tiny Can when he's back, that's for sure... Leander: "Ah the gods sent you! You're beautiful - the Queen will be pleased! Sit over there."

'No considering surrender when yer down in the dregs If ye look down and notice you still have your legs So stand up and fight you just might seize the day It's the best day 'til tomorrow'

The Real McKenzies - Best Day until Tomorrow If you happen to like punk: this song is really good! I just found it by chance and it fits so well!

And so Vlad took off his shirt (and his pride) for Leander - again... He grit his teeth and tried not to freak out and kill this annoyingly oblivious NPC. And he reminded himself over and over again that this is just a game. And for whom he does this. Ji Ho. Jack. Saiwa. Just. A. Game.

(It seems like NPC Leander ist just as full of himself and annoying as real Leander and therefore the village folks avoids him ^^')

From the Beginning  ~  Underwater Love ~  Latest 🕹️ 'Therapy Game' from the beginning ▶️ here 📚 Previous Chapters: Chapters: 1-6 ~ 7-12 ~ 13-16 ~ 17-22 ~ 23-28

[heartfullofleeches]

Incel, femcel, or themcel. We just need a greasy, chronically online mean person to be a yandere. Any ideas on how that would work?

(The best idea I could come up with is streamer reader)

Livestream began twelve minutes ago.

"Oh? Shit, is that V? What's up, buddy- welcome back."

You're so perfect. Near a quarter of an hour late, and you still grace them with a greeting. They knew you weren't like the others they wasted their time on. No, you're kind. Inviting. God they loved you so much.

V stumbled across your channel on night during a drunken relapse into pouring their hours into viewing the lives of random strangers online. It was all they had to do after work with none of the potential partners they messaged ever responding to their texts or calls. Their lost.

You were in the beginning period of streaming with only ten followers to your name; majority likely close friends and family. V planned on giving "light" critic of your performance, but something about the brightness in your eyes as they joined the stream sobered them up and glued them to their seat completely.

"Hi, welcome. Your name is actually too long to fix on the screen. Is it cool if I just call you V?"

And they were hooked on you ever since.

Little by little, your fanbase grew to the comfortable size it was today; your first real viewer front and center for each recording. Despite the boost in popularity, you never forgot those who gave it to you in the first place. V likes to think they're the most valued member with their donations and the equipment they sent once they had convinced you to open a p.o box. Shame they never pin pointed the location before you announced your move and had it closed.

"Since you're here. I can try on that jacket you sent me before I finish packing. It's so cute."

V wipes specks of drool off their screen as you sort through a cardboard box and slip the coat on. You were wearing something they touched. Fuck, you're so cute they could just devour you alive. With no roomates, they could get away with licking their phone unlike last time, but they refrained from said temptation for now. Cat ears sprout atop your head as you pull the hoodie on. You rub your shoulders as the jacket's interior snuggles your frame.

"Whoa, much warmer than I expected. I might wear it during my flight."

You better. Since you forced the thought into their head, if they see you with anything else in your photos they might blow a gasket. Just imagining random commentors wondering where you got the coat and you answering with a nod at their existence gave V the ego boost of a lifetime.

"It's getting kinda late. We'll do some more chatting then I gotta bounce for the night."

V watches the rest of your stream with the loudest voice of the crowd. They wait until it ends to begin their nightly routine of screenshotting their favorite moments of the stream. The highlight was a frame of you posing like a cat following another's chatters request. Having so many pests ruined some of their enjoyment, but times like this they'd let slide. For now.

-

V sits alone at the bus stop the following day. The prized picture taken previously was now their lockscreen photo. The fifth change in the last two days. A creature like you was bound to have unworthy trash throwing themselves at your feet daily, but they knew that with your history it would only take one hello for you to fall as madly in love with them as they were you. You're different like that. If only they could meet you.

V is pulled from their moment of bliss by a tap on their shoulder; scowl ready for whoever dragged them from heaven - until they see whose standing in front of them.

"Hi, I hope I'm not bothering you, but do you know if this bus goes to this street? My taxi didn't drive out that far apparently...."

The stranger blinks, cat ears shifting.

"Sorry- have we met before? You seem familiar. "

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe Rating: Teen Audiences (CW: Description of attempted suicide) Words: 5.4K~ Summary: There’s more to this story, Lars can feel it brimming in his very bones. He can feel it squirming around in the tangled coils of his guts, a primal, virulent rot that threatens to consume him from the inside out. Something is off with Steven, something is distinctly wrong. And oh, does he hate being right. - When an unexpected visitor tumbles through the magic portal in his hair long after hours, breathless and bright pink, Lars must amass the courage to weather one of the most difficult conversations of his life.

Hey folks- this is a really heavy one, but it's a story I've been sitting on in my WIPs for a good four years and am very happy to finally set loose. A lot of personal experience has been poured into this particular fic, and I hope you enjoy.

Please take care and mind the content warning given above. If you're curious on what else this story entails, you can click through to see the AO3 tags as well. Love y'all!

__

Advocate

The Sun Incinerator’s bridge is unusually quiet tonight, with almost everyone spending the evening in their quarters. As such, the only sounds greeting Lars’ ears right now are the dull buzz of their FTL-drive and the gentle chimes of one of the ship’s secondary consoles in the back. (Padparadscha’s making some adjustments to the mainframe parameters, hoping to secure them more malleable control over each system’s energy output.) It makes for a rather meditative scene… focusing on these lulling, almost formulaic bits of white noise as he peers through the glass and watches entire stars and solar systems zip by as nothing but razor thin tendrils of light, the very fabric of space warping and folding around their ship in a myriad of hypnotizing colors. Content to simply be in this peaceful silence, he stretches back in his captain’s chair, allowing a wide smile to rejuvenate his countenance. There’s genuinely nothing more relaxing in all the universe than this.

Though, as he begins to muse upon today’s chaotic ventures of choice, it occurs to him that he hasn’t logged anything down for a good few cycles. And that really, really needs to change, he thinks. Keeping thorough audio records of their whereabouts and activities could prove useful if they get into any more legal scrapes with disgruntled Gems. Plus, it’s great for personal posterity— for when he and the fam want to kick back with some mixers and reminisce about old times.

He activates the mic embedded in the armrest of his seat with a single tap, and clears his throat.

“Logging… stardate one-three zero-five twenty eighteen,“ he begins, rhythmically tapping his fingers against the cool metal. “Or, uh… however that’s supposed to work,” he tags on with a bemused mumble, his nose wrinkling in personal annoyance as he realizes he might have completely jumbled the date format again. At this point, half of his logs are month first, then date, and the other half are date then month. Ugh, what a mess. Perhaps one day he’ll standardize the captain’s logging procedure, but that future is definitely not now. 

And knowing him, it’s probably not gonna be tomorrow, either.

He’s unable to help his exhausted yawn as he kicks back and unwinds, throwing his legs over the side of the armrest as he pushes ahead with his recounting of the last few hours.

“Today’s travels once again had us come face-to-face with our favorite frenemy Emerald, who claimed that her latest star cruiser had the booster technology to easily outperform all other Era 3 ships and challenged us to a race across the Stellaris Astroid Field in sector 9. We won, of course,” he says with a smug lilt to his voice. “The Rutiles’ savvy piloting saw to that, as well as Fluorite’s last-minute engine modifications. I think we hit like… a record cruising speed?” He presses his lips into a thin line and turns his head towards his friend working at the rear of the main deck. “Hey Pady? D’ya happen to remember what our top velocity came to during the final stretch of that race?”

She pauses in her self-appointed duty and hums in careful thought, sorting back through her eidetic knowledge of the recent past like it’s nothing but child’s play. “I believe… 181 klicks per second, nearing the speed of light.”

“And that was like… a record, yeah?” he asks, a sudden hair-raising twinge of… well, something settling deep at the pit of his chest. He ignores it for now. Such phantom pangs aren’t uncommon these days. He’s not exactly sure what causes it yet, and chalks it up to more ‘pink zombie’ weirdness.

“For our craft, yes,” she nods. “For all Gemkind, no. I was curious, as well. As far as I’ve read from Homeworld’s databases, the current non-FTL cruising record is 186.1 klicks per second.” 

Lars can’t help the scoffing chuckle that bubbles within his throat. “Ugh. Good grief, that’s basically light speed as it is. Like, leave some room for competition for the rest of us, yeah?”

Padparadscha gives a faint snicker of agreement as she turns her focus back to the ship’s mainframe interface. Right, right… she’s got work to get done. Which really reminds him, he needs to get back to his point too, or else this log’s gonna be stuffed with nothing but meaningless chit-chatter and asides. He sighs, leaning his cheek against the seat’s edge again.

“But in any case,” he continues into the mic, “our latest victory over Emerald seems to ha—”

With zero warning whatsoever that hollow pang at his core intensifies, its thrall pulsing louder and louder until it’s a thunderous cascade of static rippling through his very veins. He hisses in alarm, jamming his hands over his ears out of pure bodily instinct. This doesn’t help, of course— as this cacophonous feeling (not a sound, not some external input he can mute or modulate, but a feeling—) seems to be emanating from within, from a place all but intangible to the physical realm, from— 

He spies that oh-so-familiar glow emanating from the fringe of his hair just a split second before his surprise visitor tumbles through and throws off his center of balance, unceremoniously toppling both of them to the floor in a ridiculous tangle of limbs. 

Lars’ exhales become laborious as he extracts himself from under the teen and clambers back up to his knees, heart pounding with more fervent intensity than it has since he up and died a few years back.

And right on cue, about fifteen seconds too late:

“Captain Lars, Steven is about to cross through the portal in your head!”

“Yeah, I noticed, thanks,” he snaps in the shock of it all, feeling guilty for this snide remark the second it passes through his lips. (Because Padparadscha can’t help her compulsive ‘predictions.’ He knows this. Everyone knows this. He’ll have to find time to pull her aside and apologize.)

But not now.

Not yet.

Because the alarm bells rung by Pady’s next comment are enough to slap him right out of his brooding contemplation and back to the troubling here-and-now.

“I also predict that Steven won’t be in a very sound state of mind when he arrives,” she says, a noticeable tension building in her tone.

His eyes blow wide as he shifts his full attention to his friend, clad in a pair of sweatpants and a thin sleep shirt.

Steven is… oh, geeze. It seems Steven can’t even manage coherent speech right now. His cheeks are blotchy and raw with recent tears. He’s doubled over on the floor with one hand clutching at his center as he heaves for breath, glowing bright ass pink and looking halfway to hyperventilating. One thing’s for sure: it’s really, really hard to watch. His own chest growing insufferably tight in sympathy, Lars leaps to action, unwilling to let the poor guy wallow in the thickets of whatever the hell this breakdown is about any longer than he has to.

“H-hey…” he begins, edging towards him with the same slow deliberateness he always has to use with the rescue dog his parents recently adopted. And like, yeah— a part of him feels really rude for comparing his own friend to a skittish, fretful animal— but it’s a comparison that seems all the more apt the longer he drinks in the realities of this situation.

Because just like ol’ Maru, Steven is jumpy, horrifically on-edge, and ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. 

Lars frowns, considering what few options he has.

Realizing his friend’s not likely to calm down very well so out in the open like this, he turns towards his fellow Off-Color. 

“Pady, I’m taking him to my quarters. Can you let the others know, and uh… tell them not to disturb us for a while?”

“Yes, right away,” she chimes, hopping off her seat.

“Thank you,” he breathes, expression softening. “I mean it. And sorry about— well, I’ll talk with you later, all right?”

Her mouth falling into a perfectly neutral line (even if she’s incapable of reading the future, he’s sure she’s intensely aware of what he wishes to speak to her about from mere context clues alone), the Gem serves him a solid nod of acceptance and spins on her heels, striding down the hall with a level of confidence he envies. The bridge’s door slides shut after her, leaving him and his glowing, pink hued guest entirely alone.

Alone, and incredibly, incredibly vulnerable, like a live wire flailing about atop a damaged Earth power line.

(The last thing anyone on this ship needs is him having one of his infamous explosive episodes here and compromising the bridge’s airlock system. Which is why his quarters— below deck and fully enclosed— is a far more ideal locale for them right now.)

“O-okay, Steven,” he says, holding out his arm in aid as the teen struggles to clamber back to his feet. “Let’s go somewhere private to cool down, yeah?”

~~

A few minutes later, Lars has Steven situated on the one plush sofa he keeps in his quarters. Since he no longer possess any biological need for sleep and thus doesn’t keep a bed, his room on the ship is pretty sparse— just a desk for journaling or gaming and some shelves with a number of sentimental knick-knacks he brought with him from Earth— but he did find it important to keep a couch. Even if he doesn’t need to sleep, curling up for a quick hour of shut-eye still feels quite rejuvenating sometimes. Plus, it’s handy to have whenever he hosts visitors. Like now. 

Lars sits himself down right next to the distressed teen. He’s still flushed bright pink, but has regained a fair bit of emotional stability compared to how he was right after tumbling out of the magic space portal in his hair. It might take a while until the glow fades away entirely, but it’s progress, at least. 

He sighs, rapping his fingertips against his jeans as he gives his friend some time in silence to cool down. The last thing the guy needs right now is for him to wave half a dozen questions in his face. He’ll talk when he’s ready. Or, hell, maybe not at all. That’s okay, too. Maybe he just wanted a place to have a quick little freak-out away from his family or girlfriend. Who’s he to judge? Sometimes a man’s just gotta be alone for a while. 

Of course, he muses, if Steven really wanted to be alone, then he wouldn’t have crossed through Lion’s mane over to him, now would he? So this visit can’t only be due to a desire for solitude. Steven sought out him— specifically him— for a reason.

That churning, hollow pang at his core radiates even stronger, pulsing at the same interval as the dull tick of the clock he has hanging up on his wall, the one he keeps set to Earth EST as an everlasting reminder of his humble human roots and all the people who care about him back home.

Finally— some ten or so minutes later— the seventeen-year-old stops glowing, that unnatural, otherworldly pallor fading into obscurity. The kid (sorry, but Steven will always be a ‘kid’ to him at this point, don’t matter his age) deflates in exhaustion, cupping his face in his hands.

Now a little more confident that his expressions of concern won’t rile him up to destructive levels of stress, Lars makes a gentle inquiry as to what brought him here. 

“‘Course, you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” he tacks on quickly when he sees Steven’s expression widen with an almost grief-stricken apprehension, “but since I’m here an’ all, I figured…”

His guest sucks in a deep, shaky bout of air.

“N-no, I wanna talk,” he says, voice painfully hoarse. “I came here to talk, but I— it’s just so, so much, I-I’m—”

Lars’ eyes soften. “Dude, it��s okay. Take your time.”

And take his time he does. Another minute or so passes whilst Steven continues to reel himself in on the emotional side of things, breathing slow and heavy as he levels a dead-eyed stare at the blank section of wall flanking the doorway and his desk.

“Connie and I had a fight,” he begins eventually, his tone streaked with embarrassment. “Over the phone.”

Lars’ brow shoots up. Huh. All right. This is absolutely not the opener he expected.

“Really? You two fight? About what?”

“It doesn’t even matter anymore. It was nothing,” Steven mutters, clenching and unclenching his fists against the soft fabric of his pajama pants in a markedly uneven rhythm. “Just me being an idiot, as per usual. I’m sure we’ll make up over it tomorrow. But the problem is that we hung up mad. And when I’m mad about something, it just… makes me mad at myself. A-and then it’s like—” anxious, clawing hands migrate to his head, gripping at his hair— “w-when I’m mad at myself I just spiral? And it’s so, so scary how fast that can happen.”

Ever so slight, his lip presses into a tense frown as he listens. He doesn’t interject, not yet. Steven’s not finished with his disclosure— there’s more to this story, he can feel it brimming in his very bones. He can feel it squirming around in the tangled coils of his guts, a primal, virulent rot that threatens to consume him from the inside out. Something is off with him, something is distinctly wrong.

And oh, does he hate being right.

“I just… couldn’t stop thinking about it,” Steven admits.

The aching hollowness etched into the contours of his friend’s face intensifies, if that’s even possible.

Lars swallows.

“It?”

“—about killing myself,” he rasps, “and finally being done with all this.”

…

So, he’s not gonna lie.

While— much like himself— Steven’s never been the sort of person to prefer wearing his most turbulent emotions on his sleeve, he’s long suspected something like this was going on with him.

He suspected (because he’s been right there in those trenches himself), but he never said anything. 

He never mentioned these worries to any of his guardians.

And he never asked.

‘Cause like, how could he, right?? What a horrible, triggering inquiry that would be. ‘Hey Steven, hah, so random question— you don’t happen to casually fantasize about your own death or anything sometimes, do you?’ Fucking hell, what an asshole he’d make. What a disgusting, disgusting breech of boundaries. He always hated it when his parents violated his trust by butting into his own personal business unprompted, so how could he ever turn right around and do that to Steven? To one of his most cherished friends in the whole galaxy? To the guy who— despite years and years of putting up with all his toxic bullshit and daring to see the good in him anyways— literally brought him back to life?

Thus, with him never volunteering any information himself, all that was left for Lars to do was watch. 

To watch, and to listen where he can.

But still.

He’s not gonna lie.

Even if he always kinda suspected, even if so many of their interactions this past year only acted as fuel for all his constant, silent worries, hearing the kid actually say those words hurts like a bitch.

…

“Steven…” he utters with widened eyes, extending his hand.

To no avail, though.

“And that’s stupid, right??” the teen blurts out with a broad sweep of his arms, either ignoring or plain not noticing his offer of comfort as he rants onwards, his demeanor growing more and more unstable with each and every syllable. “That’s just… stupid! Normal people don’t think like that! Normal people don’t make mistakes and instantly leap to the worst possible punishment and spin that little thought around, and around, and around in your head until you’ve considered a thousand different scenarios that all end the same way.”

He pauses for breath, his chest heaving in and out— probably amidst the exertion of being so damn honest for once. Lars doesn’t even make a sound within this brief span of quiet. A part of him is a little terrified at what else might spill out of his friend’s mouth now that the cork of his anxieties has thoroughly been popped off, but he’s even more terrified at the thought of derailing him, of unintentionally stopping these truths from ever being spoken.

“And it’d be so easy, too,” Steven says, his once manic tone dropping a little lower, into something that’s worryingly more akin to numb acceptance. “I already know exactly how I’d do it! All I’d have to do is smash my gem so I don’t heal, and slit my wrists, and let myself just—” his voice cracks— “drift away, b-but—”

Lars’ brow hardens with a sudden rush of understanding as the trajectory of the teen’s sentence trails on off. “But something’s… holding you back?”

He nods, swallowing so hard that he can see the resultant lump move along the center line of his throat.

“The problem is,” he says, voice raw and vulnerable, “I’ve already seen how my family would respond to that. To… to me trying to kill myself. When I turned into that monster, I— I don’t actually remember much about it, but what I do remember is that the last thought I had before I changed was eerily similar to what I’m feeling now.”

Momentary lull. He’s rotating a thought in his head with the same intensity of a set of steam engine gears grinding against each other, that much is obvious.

“I think… for me,” he continues with marked hesitation, “corruption was a form of suicide. Which means—” he grinds his fingers into the soft fabric of his pajama bottoms as if seeking out an anchor, any anchor at all— “I already know what that would do to them. And I hate that I do, b-because… ‘cause I’m just so tired. Of all of this. I just want everything to stop. I want to stop.” 

Lars can’t help but wince as he listens to the developing theme of this admission, to how each and every new word his friend weaves into existence falls into such dissonant harmony with the gloomy, directionless version of himself he’s worked so hard to let rest in the past. Hell, he might as well be looking straight into some weird, warped mirror of his own teenage years. His lungs seize tight upon this revelation. Instinctively, he extends his hand towards the guy’s shoulder, sobered by the understanding that he’s possibly the sole person in this entire quadrant who’s capable of conveying even an ounce of sympathy or comfort for what he’s battling through right now.

“Hey, man. It’s okay. It’s over, now, you’re here with me. Those are just thoughts, y’know?”

Steven shakes his head, the motion swift and drenched with the dread of all his unaddressed self-loathing.

“But they’re not, though…”

“Wait, what are you even—?”

“Because… this time I almost carried through with it.”

His expression crumples upon the advent of this spoken revelation.

Fuck, he thinks, wishing with every last brittle nerve in his body that this conversation didn’t just swerve in the exact godawful direction he always feared it might. What the actual fuck.

He is so not equipped for this. 

With literally nothing else in his arsenal but the drive to bite his lip and listen, Lars motions for him to continue.

Sniffling, the teen backs his story up to provide what little context he feels comfortable with sharing. 

“After Connie and I’s fight… well, my dreams were really, really bad. So I woke up. Alone. And I started spiraling real bad again, an’… and then before I could even process what was happening, I—”

Sweet stars, is the poor guy trembling as he struggles to push this admission out. With a brief waver of hesitation (‘cause in normal circumstances, he’s not huge on all this touchy-feely stuff), he reaches over, angling to rest one of his hands over Steven’s.

“I had the knife in my hand,” he says. “And a pestle from the kitchen, to smash my gem. B-but I just… I just couldn’t do it! I’m just a coward, Lars! A stupid fucking coward who can’t even—”

He doesn’t utter a single syllable. 

He doesn’t even think. (How could he, in such fraught circumstances?) 

Limbs trembling in an outright terrifying cascade of adrenaline he hasn’t experienced since the day he finally found something worth existing for, Lars surges forward to wrap him into what’s gotta be the tightest, most sincere hug he’s given in his whole twenty-one years of life.

And thankfully, such an impulsive interjection is all it takes.

The walls his friend’s erected around himself this past season topples like wayward dominos. They smash against the ground, crumbling into vulnerable, vulnerable fragments. 

Steven sobs into his shoulder with a raw, shattered fervency that stretches leagues beyond any outpour of emotion he’s ever witnessed from another living person. It’s messy. It’s visceral. And in the precise context of this intensely specific turn of events, it’s a damn cathartic relief… because when it comes to training your brain out of a deep-rooted death wish, feeling anything— literally anything at all— is step number fucking one.

“I wanted to die so badly,” the teen warbles, his ugly mixture of snot and tears staining his shirt all the while. “B-but… I’m just such a worthless, pathetic failure that I can’t even do that right!”

He can’t help but cringe at this admission, but resolves to remain silent, not wanting a gentle pushback to such brutal self-loathing to spook Steven away from showing any shred of vulnerability whatsoever. He’s been there plenty of times himself. After all, when a person who’s caught in such a void of hopelessness and despair makes a last ditch appeal for help, they’re usually not looking to be told ‘everything will get better in time, you’ll see’ or ‘don’t be so hard on yourself, you’re not a worthless failure at all,’ or whatever other empty attempt at reassurance someone who doesn’t have such intimate experience with depression and suicidal ideation as he does might come up with. In many cases, such people are simply vying for their bleakest, most private feelings to actually be heard for once in their lives. 

The moment’s sanctity unhindered, the boy continues to cry against his shoulder for a good long stretch of time. Lars barely even breathes as he sits perched at the very edge of that couch, consigned to nothing but a statue as he holds him within what’s gotta be a record for the galaxy’s most awkward and stiff embrace ever shared.

A miniature eternity passes within this space before those sobs finally begin to lighten up.

“‘M sorry,” Steven mumbles through a face full of snot, pulling away from his offered comfort as a flicker of shame wrests control of his features. 

Lars shakes his head in a vehement refusal of the habitual guilt spiral he’s sure the guy’s a split second from slipping right into. “Dude, don’t be. Stars, I— I’m just glad you came over to me, okay?”

Then, swallowing… and doing his upmost best to consider the most respectful way to broach such a sensitive topic, he continues:

“I… I don’t mean to pry, but… are you… taking anything for this?”

Steven’s glassy expression scrunches into a configuration that screams nothing but blank confusion. “What?”

“Like… medication, or—?”

A bright understanding dawns within his gaze like the glow from a passing star system, before immediately collapsing inwards into a bitter, shadowed singularity. 

“No… no,” he protests, gesticulating all the while, “I keep telling everyone— my therapist, my dad, the Gems— I don’t wanna take any medicine! I’m not sick, I’m not, I don’t need drugs in my brain, I just— I just need to stop acting like this, just need to do better, to be better, I-I need—”

“Steven, no offense, but it’s called mental illness for a reason,” Lars says in the most deadpan tone he can muster, crossing his arms as he leans back upon the plush of the couch cushion. “Your brain is ill. That’s literally what this is. If you had the flu, you’d be taking flu medicine to help yourself get over it, right?”

“I’ve never had the flu,” he says in miserable contradiction.

“Yeah, well— come on, man, just work with me here,” he half-snaps, throwing a hand up for emphasis. “You agree that someone who is ill deserves medicine to feel better, right?”

The teen merely shrugs, his features growing cold and sullen. And good golly does he super want to smack all this noncommittal, self-sabotaging bullshit out of his stupid fucking system right this instant— because it reminds him so damn much of himself, and he hates that it does— but… aughhh. He’s gotta be more mature than that, doesn’t he?

As the older of the pair, he’s gotta be the role model here. 

“Then, don’t you think you might benefit from the same thing?” he presses.

Steven responds in the negative, swiveling his head from side to side. “I don’t know how it’d interact with… well—” 

He flashes a sharp gesture towards himself. More specifically, towards his very center, where his gem sits. Lars has no need to live inside his thoughts to pick up on the tricky little issue he’s hinting at here… he’s worried about how human medications would interact with the complexities of part-Gem physiology. And to be fair, it’s a reasonable concern to have.

But then again…

“That’s how it is with humans, too,” he shrugs. “It takes some people a lot of trial and error to find a drug and dosage that works for them. For once, you wouldn’t be any more an unusual case than anyone else. Do what you want, but—” deep inhale— “if it were me, I’d really consider talking with a psychiatrist about this.”

The teen issues a dull huff through his nose. It’s the sort of response that makes it clear he reluctantly agrees with Lars’ logic, but should he actually follow his advice— and stars, he hopes he does— won’t be doing so with a willing heart. That’s fine, though. Sometimes, being the most supportive friend one can be means that the other party won’t always like what you have to say. He knows this from intense personal experience… from being the person on the other side of this kind of conflict. Sadie was never afraid of serving him the tough love and cutting perspective he needed when he opened up to her about his own experience with suicidal ideation, and he’s forever grateful for that. Thus, the least he can do now is try to be that kind of advocate for Steven, too.

Which brings him to the next vital topic rattling within his brain.

“Oh, and one other thing,” Lars says, folding his hands in his lap and looking him directly in the eye. “This is important, so please be honest with me. Have you told anyone else you’ve been struggling with these kinds of thoughts?”

“Not really,” he mumbles, his own gaze slipping aside amidst the turbulent throes of his clear shame. “I just… I wanted to deal with this myself. I don’t want them to be disappointed. They all think I’m doing so well these days, but then—”

“Steven.”

There’s no acknowledgement of his call, at first. He’s just too damn tangled within his own thoughts— expression glazed over and restless fingertips drumming in an endless thrall against his thigh.

“Steven, come on. Look at me,” he implores, interrupting his manic fidgeting with the reassuring solidity of a hand over his. “Please. Promise me, when you go back through my head, you’ll call someone else— anyone else— and tell them. Tell them, and then have them contact me. I want to hear you promise.”

“Lars…”

“Promise me,” he repeats with an even stronger fervency, his normally sluggish heartbeat surging halfway to its old full-strength status quo. “Listen, I don’t want to invade your privacy any more than you want me to, but if you don’t do this by the end of tomorrow… if that very clock—” he jabs a finger towards the so-mentioned object hanging upon his wall— “hits midnight and I don’t hear anything from your family… then I’m calling your father and telling him myself.”

Steven’s expression twists with a sharp jolt of dismay, his mouth falling ajar. Lars cuts off any pending protests with a swift flash of his hand and continues undeterred.

“I’m not joking. I’m like, a billion light years in space, man. You need someone closer to home in your corner, too.”

Unable to ignore the hard hitting truth of this statement, his friend finally acquiesces to his request, his shoulders slumping inwards.   

“Fine,” he mumbles, folding his arms to his chest. “I promise I’ll tell Dad.”

“Thank you,” he breathes in sheer spine tingling relief. And by golly, does he uber mean it. 

Because holy shit, have the past fifteen or so minutes of conversation been an absolute stress-soaked ordeal. He doesn’t know if he’s ever felt so emotionally exhausted in his whole ass existence.

“In the morning, though,” Steven adds. “I—” the kid heaves a long, exhausted sigh— “I really don’t think either of us are prepared for that kind of conversation this late.”

“Absolutely fair enough.”

His friend sniffles a little, gaze averting once more. “Can I— can I stay here, for tonight? I really, really don’t want to be alone right now.”

“Of course,” he nods. In his mind, Steven’s request was never a matter up for debate. “Always. I’ll… I’ll go get some blankets.”

Hooking his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans, Lars pushes himself off the couch and slowly shuffles his way to the door. (The storage closet he keeps all his extra personal elements in is a short distance down the hall, past Rhody and Padparadscha’s shared room.) He keeps his expression as blank as he can muster… at least until he’s moved well out of both visual and auditory range. And then… once he’s absolutely positive that Steven can’t overhear… all that built-up worry and emotional strain simply overflows.

He’s not outright crying— not in the way that others might— but damn if he’s not real close to it.

Lars’ whole body shudders with a burst of delayed grief as he braces himself upon the closet door. He clamps a hand over his mouth, stifling the impact of the shaky exhale that spills from his lips otherwise unhindered. Just… fuck. What the fuck. All of this feels like a horrible nightmare. When the hell did things get so bad for him? Who let things get this bad? Is he at fault—? Like, geeze— he always knew something felt awry with the kid (and that’s half the issue, isn’t it? He’s not just a sweet little kid with simple lil’ problems anymore, and in many ways he never was), but should he have said something? Confronted him about it? Told his guardians about his concerns, privacy be damned? 

He grits his teeth as he muddles over all the infinite complexities of this problem.

Ugh.

What if, what if, what if.

It’s all useless conjecture.

The bottom line is, Steven doesn’t deserve any of this. Not then, not now, not ever. He shouldn’t have to be dealing with any of these horrid, horrid thoughts. Stars, if anything had happened to him— if he actually did follow through with his plan, then—

Lars drops his head against the door panel, doing everything within his power to will the thought to evaporate from his mind.

No.

No…

He doesn’t even want to consider that possibility. Steven’s like a brother to him at this point. It’s not gonna happen. Not now, not ever. Not on his watch.

He’s not sure how yet, but he’ll make damn sure of it.

…

Once he’s cooled himself down, Lars returns to his quarters with a couple of blankets in hand.

Upon passing through the doorframe, he’s met with a somewhat reassuring sight: Steven already sound asleep on his ratty old couch, curled up against the armrest and snoring softly. Heh. He sure doesn’t blame him for tuckering out so soon. Poor guy must’ve been exhausted after such a rigorous emotional outpouring. Moving with calm intent so as not to disturb him, he quickly lays the blankets across his slumbering form before retreating to the far wall to keep watch for the night. He stretches back against the metallic panel, inhaling as deep as he can muster to erase the quavering tension staining his countenance.

Standing vigil over a soul in need… just in case.

[chsrcat]

SMALL THINGS THEY DO !

what are the small things they do in ur relationship ?

gn!reader x hobie, miles, miguel & gwen, (fluff). pls interact with me !! :p

miles — !

he thinks that you deserve to experience only the best cinematic masterpieces !! one could thing that miles displays a bit too much dedication when it comes to your movie dates ! he spends hours, and even days, searching for movies before the weekends since he treasures those moments a lot. indeed, it feels incredibly intimate for him, as if it's just the two of you in your own world, (even though you're actually in his room and rio checks in on you every quarter). but can you really fault him ? there's no way you can pretend that you don't appreciate this small yet sweet gesture that miles does for you.

hobie — !

special gifts 4 his special lover !! he skillfully creates unique gifts for you using whatever materials he can find ! despite his abundant talent, it seems like a bit of a curse on hobie. indeed, he hates when he finishes making your gift too quickly, it almost annoy him since he prefers to invest significant effort and dedicate minutes, hours, or even days to crafting it. also, don't underestimate him ! the outcomes never appear amateurish. for instance, the necklaces he has made for you all resemble professional work, yet you can still discern his personal touch, which imbues each crafted item with uniqueness !

miguel — !

there's literally a whole place within his brain where he stores every detail about you ! it's as if the man effortlessly takes mental notes whenever you speak and even when he simply observes you, it's just natural. interestingly, miguel doesn't fully recognize his extraordinary memory when it comes to you unless you bring it to his attention. nevertheless, when he wants to purchase something for you, he's grateful for his mind because it faithfully remembers the things you've mentioned liking !!

gwen — !

one might say that she teases you a lot with the endless array of nicknames she offers you, ranging from the corniest to the most embarrassing ones ! however, only you and she truly grasp the underlying affection in those nicknames. after all, gwen reserves this unique treatment exclusively for you, which hints at the special place you hold in her heart. indeed, she would get jealous if anyone dares to address you with one of those endearing nicknames she gave you !!

[fandomtherapy44]

Klaus x reader

Summary: This story is from the perspective of Y/n Marshall the younger sister of Hayley Marshall. Side note I love Hayley one of my favorite characters. Basically Y/n will be pregnant instead of Hayley and I will be changing some things up but then that it should stay pretty close to the series. I hope you enjoy the story! Also, if you like I have a Castiel x reader

Paring: Klaus x reader

Word count: 1,449

Warnings: Some language, Typical the Originals violence, Spoilers for season one of The Originals, Pregnancy

I got the divder from

saradika

 Chapter 4: Girl in New Orlens

POV (Y/n)                      

“Look I'm sure Y/n feels great right Y/n.” “Uh well-” “See she’s fine.” Agnes the witch had suggested that we go see a doctor for the baby and Hayley was not happy. “She’s overdue for a checkup Hayley.” I would love that but I can’t get my sentence without my protective sister talking for me. “ What is she gonna do? Pop into the Quarter for a quick ultrasound? A pregnant werewolf escorted by a witch and another werewolf? Nothing to see here!” I was about to speak for myself before Rebekah had something to say herself.

“A lot of women would kill to have a child. It strikes me as odd that you're not letting your sister take better care of hers.” I can hear the resentment in her voice because I use sound and feel the same way whenever I saw a pregnant woman before. “Um If I may Hayley I appreciate your concern but I do need a checkup and I'm sure there has to be some doctor that will see people in my special condition right Agnes.” “Yes there is, out in the Bayou, off the beaten path. Now, I took the liberty of making an appointment for you. Tonight, after-hours, just us. Vampires will never get word of it.” “See Hayley everything will be okay plus I'll have a werewolf bodyguard.” I moved to hug her and she rolled her eyes and caved in. “ Okay, fine. Bayou-baby-doctor it is.” I squeezed her with excitement. 

Agnes and Hayley walked out the room and I was left with Rebekah. “Shouldn't you be off to get ready for your appointment.” Ahh there’s the venom in her words again. “Look Bex, I hope that’s not to forward . I don't know if you knew but before a couple months ago it was a fact that I could not make my own children.” She looked stunned. So I went on. “So I know that pain of seeing around what you want but can’t have. But I was given a miracle so my wish is that you have the same.” I looked at my stomach with a small smile and walked out. “Wait, why tell me?” “So you wouldn't feel alone.” 

We drove up to the bayou doctor’s house and from the outside it did not look promising. “This is the doctor's office?” Hayley was looking and was thinking the same things as I. “Dr. Paige is only this far out because Marcel's men kept terrorizing her patients. Go! She won't bite!” Hayley and I get out and walk to the shady looking front door. 

“Alright dear you can go ahead and lay down here.” Dr. Paige patted the bench for me. “So first off all why don’t we go ahead and do the ultra sound huh?” She pulled out some gloves and blue gel and an old school medical tv screen. “Please lift your shirt and it might be a little chilly.” She put the gel on and I looked on the screen and there was my little girl. “Oh my gosh Hayley, do you see her!” Hayley grabbed my hand. “Yes I do, I can already tell she’s going to be beautiful.” At this moment only one more person could make it perfect, Klaus.

“Would it be possible to get some copies of it?” I asked with so much hope. “Of course darling just give me a few.” She came back with some pictures and I wanted to cry. “Thank you, thank you.” I was almost clutching them. “Why don't we finish the checkup so mama can get home and rest.” “Yes of course doctor.” “Your baby's heart rate is perfect.” “I knew it. She's a tough one, like her mom.” I said and smiled in response. She hands me some tissue to clean up the gel and looks at my shoulder.

“That's a unique birthmark.” Hayley handed my sweater to me. “We're pretty much done here, right?” She responded standoffish.  I looked at her in wonder as to what was happening. At that moment Bex sends me an text reading "Where are you?"” I responded quickly. “Your blood pressure is a bit high, I've got something for it.” The doctor turns away and Hayley get startled by a wolf howling. We get up and look out the window and see a car pull up and some not so friendly men get out. The doctor turns back with some medicine and Hayley gets on her defensive stand.

“Ahh, you know, I'm-I'm actually not that good with pills.” “Heh, neither am I, truth be told.” She turns around again to prepare some kind of shot when We see the men start to come to the house. She turns around with the shot but I quickly headbut her. And Hayley grabs the syringe and gives her the whatever was in there. At this point those men were about to enter the room I locked it. And we ran out the window into the woods just in time as they bested in.

The men who raided the clinic are still looking for us in the woods behind the clinic, and they pass us, not seeing that we are hiding behind a tree. Hayley runs up to them and kicks the first man she encounters in the gut before knocking him to the ground. I jump and kick the second man down as well as I snap his neck.

A third man tries to attack us but Hayley grabs a knife from his hands and cuts his neck with it as she spins in the air. When a fourth lunges toward her, I grab his shotgun and knock him to the ground, and possibly kill him as I kick him and beat him in the head with the butt of the gun. As I crouched into a defensive position on the ground, my eyes flash werewolf-gold as I look around for any more threats. A large, burly man descends upon her, but before Hayley can react, his neck is snapped from behind by Rebekah, who has just arrived.

"Have to say, I'm impressed.” “How did you find us?” I ask. “Your text got me halfway, vamping here did the rest. Who are they?” “Witches. Warlocks. Whatever.” “There're more of them. Run!” Bex yelled out and we ran as she fought them off. We hear grunt and i turn to see a arrows enter heart. “ Rebekah!” We both yelled out as we did arrows shoat us in the shoulder making us pass out.

I wake up with one Hell of a headache and realize I didn't see Hayley. “HAYLEY!” “Y/N!” I ran to give her a hug. “What happened?” “I have no idea N/n but let's try to find Rebekah. “I nodded my head in agreement. 

As we walked back to the clinic I saw the person I really wanted. “Klaus…” I whispered to myself. “Y/n! What happened? Tell me what happened.” He rushed over to me and started to check to see if I was visibly hurt. “ I can't remember. Can you Hayley?” “No.” “You've completely healed. There's not a scratch on you.” Klaus at this point was holding my face.

“One of the perks of being a werewolf, remember?” “No, not that fast.” Bex ran over to me to help sit me down on the steps. “Leave her alone! [She thinks for a moment] It's the baby. The vampire blood-- Klaus' vampire blood-- in your system. It can heal any wound.” “This baby really is a miracle huh.” Klaus just started at me smiling a little bit.

“How did you escape? You were outnumbered, unarmed? Those men were ripped to shreds!” Hayley answered for us. “ I think it was the wolfs. I think there trying to protect us.” “The witches were supposed to protect you! When I get my hands on Sophie Deveraux–” “ It wasn't Sophie. It was Agnes.” I now said with venom. “ Fine! Agnes, Sophie, it's all the same to me! I'll slaughter the lot of them!” “Not if Elijah gets there first.” “Elijah? Did you find him?” Hayley asked with hope.

“He's been in touch, and he has a plan. All he asks is that we take care of you two.” She finished looking at the both of us. “ Hey, so... can we go home now? I'd really like to sleep for a few days…” I started to get up but my body could not handle it and was about to collapse when Klaus caught me. ”Ooh, I've got you, love. I've got you.” That was the last thing I heard before I passed out from pure exhaustion. 

Hey Yawl hope you enjoyed the chapter. It was so fun writing about the werewolf fighting and of course Klaus concern with y/n. See you in the next one! Also if you like supernatural I have a Castiel x reader.

[sugar-omi]

Hi Naeomi 👋

Thank you for replying to my inquiry so diligently (omg, me trying to sound like Baxter XD dead)!

For my Baxter request, I want to understand his character more, so I wanna pick ur brain for some ideas 😄

He is a very considerate person as his approach to the MC's comfort level changes between nervous, relaxed, and direct (i think 🤔😅). I just want to know how he reacts with an MC (on crush/love) who is only anxious around him but relaxed with everyone else. MC would be trying to fluster the crap out of Cove and talking excitedly about nerdy stuff (anime/manga, video games, books, random facts on their interests, a tv series, etc.), but when Baxter comes around they simmer down and smile all giddy his way and talk about stuff they he may like or be interested in.

Honestly, my MC would feel a bit unsure how to act around Baxter at first, but eventually, they become more comfortable over time as he is revealed to be easygoing and welcoming to MC's quirky side. Makes my heart flutter just thinking about it, so cute~ 🥰☺️

hii !!! omg your mc sounds so cute n honestly like me when I was younger lol, so sweet<33 excuse to the format I'm on mobile rn and I'll fix text color n format n stuff once I'm on my computer😎👍👍👍👍honestly i had fun writing this, two darlings taking their time to open up n love each other, embracing each others quirks... its so sweet, pls i feel like i could write another lil drabble abt how happy n cute baxter would be w a playful reader like this, mmm many thoughts

tags : fluff, nervous crush/love status w baxter, multiple choice text, headcanons/drabbles

*edited for format

this man is too cocky for his own good, baxter can easily tell how someone feels about him.

but I think that excludes people he has a crush on, as you couldn't possibly like/love him back.

he has some shame! although it's only enough to not assume everyone is in love with him or likes him in any capacity...

anyway, we'll get to that later~

at first he thinks it's because you want to impress him or maybe you don't want to bore him with what you think is brain rot to someone so mature and elegant as him.

(+ a "small" but darker part of him thinks you might hate him, that you don't want to show a piece of yourself to this weird stranger on your block. he squishes the thought)

so he finds out your interest through terri/terry and by spying on snippets of your conversations with your family or with cove.

and even though he will only admit it if you threaten him with something terrifying, like angry dragons, early mornings, or worse- color. then and only then will he admit he wants you to tease him the same way you do with cove.

you're so close with him, snuggling up to cove's side, and you smirk so tantalizingly as you lean i. close to whisper it in his ear, and you say something dirty or perhaps its something cove finds especially scandalous but now cove is blushing and he's pushing you away with a chastising "y/n!"

and baxter wishes it was him...

he wants you to curl up behind him and blow on his ear the way you do cove. he wants you to pinch his butt as he walks by and he wants you to flirt with him.

and he wants you to show up on his temporary doorstep to show him your favorite volume of a manga that you finally got your hands on.

and when baxter is a hopeless romantic because he's so vulnerable under the blanket of night, he imagines you laying next to him in this big bed and he imagines the music is blending in with your voice as you babble on about something before it drifts off into your soft breath when you fall asleep due to the late hour.

but time goes on and his vacation nears the quarter mark and whenever you two talk he notices that you are getting into some of the things he likes, like rock music, and when you see him walking lazily back to his condo you come rushing off the steps of your porch, abandoning your snickering moms, and showing baxter the new song you found that he had not listened to before.

you light up at the praise in a way that makes him wish he could capture it forever...

finally baxter comes to the conclusion that he should speak to you about the things you like, and the first time he mentions something about your hobby you clam up a bit.

you don't want to bore him or scare him off with your excitement but in the end you're showing him your craft/collection and telling him every shiny detail and he's so happy to watch the light in your eyes as you speak.

eventually though you two get to the point where you try to fluster him.

it's not often, baxter makes you far too nervous and he can see anything coming from a mile away. he's so cool and you love him for it but God is his smirking face irritating when you just want him to blush, giggle and kick his feet like a love sicken school girl.

but you finally get him to flush. it takes more than half his vacation for it to happen but you're standing behind him as he works away at plating the dinner you two cooked up together.

it's simple, both of you combined have the cooking skills of a sea turtle but it's good enough for one night and it's edible.

it's good enough, you know your way around a stove well enough not to burn the house down and with baxter as your assistant you're more focused on how fun it was than anything.

it's perfect, you know how to whip up something delicious and baxter did more chopping and passing of the seasonings than anything.

he doesn't process it at first but then it hits him like a ton of bricks.

you just... said something flirty?

he's short circuting and his ears are red, and baxter pretends that his blush isn't spread down to his neck.

it's such a reward for you, you can't help but gape for a moment because baxter alexander ward is walking away from you with a blush from his ears to below the collar of his shirt and he definitely squealed a bit when he beckoned you to the living room.

it takes a whole summer of talking to you about things you like that he has little or no knowledge in, doing an activity that caters to/is apart of your interest, and soothing you when you cut yourself off when talking (it's okay, he does want to hear whatever you're looking to ramble about, be it something exciting, something that happened when practicing your hobby, or venting about something you thought was terrible or sad in a show/comic you saw earlier that week.)

and he finally gets to a point where you're teasing him a bit more often, even if you don't get the flustered reaction you want, and you're taking a page out of cove's book and the two of you spent a secret night in baxter's condo, talking about everything and nothing all at the same time.

but then he leaves, and he let's you down gently but his rejection stabs like a knife anyway.

so when you meet again, half a decade later, baxter feels his heart fall out his stomach so bad he sucks it in to try and make up for the way his heart clocks out and air leaves his lungs...

you look sad. this wasn't what you either of you were expecting to be faced with and having no time to prepare yourself to face the man who ended your relationship that summer has your eyes glassed over and your fingers dig into your skin to ground yourself.

you look indifferent. somehow that hurts more than if you were sad or angry at him, not that he'd prefer it but the smaller part of him thinks that your empty gaze shows he's lost any part in your life and you stare through him like you can see the rawness of his heart...

your face is schooled into a stony expression and you've folded your arms to match the rest of tour cold posture. he can't tell what you're thinking even though he's searching your eyes and this time baxter can't tell if you want to cry, scream at him, or if you're looking past him to the scenic view. but he sees your fingers twitch, like you want to either grab him by his tie or run.

you look angry. you try to mask it, not wanting to display the unadulterated rage you feel but your lip quirks up and your eyes are sharp and the words that escape your lips lick at baxter's ears like fire. if your thunderous glare could kill a man he'd be a goner..

he knows he's fucked up either way.

and the whole time you're working together, you're distant. although sometimes you snap back, you confront him and you joke with him sometimes.

you're both too nostalgic, you're both too in love.

somehow, you let him start over.

perhaps its the nostalgia and sentiment that came from making the groom cake together, or how beautiful scott and jude's wedding went, or perhaps its the way the other person laughs and smiles that has you drunk.

but now you two are sitting on baxter's couch and you're letting him start over.

he messed up, it's something hard to move past. something you did, for better or for worse but now it's for the better and you're moving on together.

and you're almost as nervous as you were when you first met but this time it's more that you're reserved than anything else.

sometimes he thinks he's fucked up too much, that when you cut yourself short while rambling and when you take more interest in his hobbies than your own, baxter puts a stop to it quickly.

it takes while. you both try too much to insert yourself into the other person's likes, as if that will make the comfortable relationship you had once come back quicker.

but finally, you and baxter are sharing a bed in the middle of your new apartment, and you're laughing about something funny Miranda sent you earlier that day and in the morning you two are spinning around your new kitchen in a guideless dance with your hands intertwined and you're laughing...

and baxter loves both versions of you.

the version of you that's so in love with him you quiet down, letting him take up all the space in the world and the other version of you that rants about something stupid in an anime and pinches his pale thigh when he's searching through his messy pile of clothes for that one specific shirt.

and he's so happy you opened up to him and you still open up to him everyday, loving him the same no matter how shy you are that day <333

[danikamariewrites]

Hello! Could you write a story where the reader has a panic attack and Helion comforts her? Thank you!

P.S love your stories. I reread them often.

I’m With You

Helion x reader

A/n: Thank you anon! I hope you like this one. As someone who has anxiety and has suffered panic attacks this was therapeutic to write out. Honestly might do ones for Az, Cass, and Eris.

Warnings: mental health struggles and panic attack

Today had been a very long day. All day you had been pushing your feelings down. You were anxious about meeting with the governors, you had this gnawing feeling like you were missing something, and you hadn’t seen Helion all day.

Usually you two would have lunch together but today you just kept missing each other. You also felt nauseous thanks to your anxiety. The only thing you could stomach was water but you were starving. You were hoping to have dinner with him but you assumed he already since it was so late.

You had always struggled with your mental health. You tried to hide it from Helion but that made things worse. As your relationship progressed he was always there to help you when you were feeling down. He’s a great listener and very in tune with his emotions.

He always made you feel better, reminding you that you're strong and he loved you no matter what. When you felt like a burden Helion was there to remind you that it was never a burden to be with you.

As you walked toward yours and Helion’s living quarters you rubbed at your temples. Your heart had been beating sporadically for hours. You were shaking and your breathing was coming in quick, like you couldn’t get air down fast enough.

Walking faster and faster, with tears blurring your vision, you threw open the living room doors. Slamming them shut, you rest your head against the cool wood. Trying to take deep breaths you sink down to the floor.

After a few moments, you feel a large hand being placed gently on your shoulder. You jump, turning quickly to face the person who your brain thought was going to harm you. Seeing Helion’s concerned face, you relax as best you can.

You didn't know Helion was in here. You felt bad interrupting him with your problems. You couldn't help but feel like a burden no matter how much you try to talk yourself down. Hell, you didn't even want to deal with your anxiety, so why should he?

“Hey, hey, sunbeam. What’s wrong?” Your breathing was scarily uneven. You were pressing your lips together as hot tears streamed down your cheeks. Starting to shake your head, Helion sat on the floor across from you.

Helion noticed the uneven breathing and your shaking hands and immediately knew you were having a panic attack. “Is it ok if I move you to the couch?” You give him a tight nod. He scoops you up and gently places you on the couch, your back to the arm rest.

He sits in front of you holding your hand, tracing circles on the back of your hand with his thumb. “Ok, y/n lets take a deep breath ok.” He leads you through breathing exercises as he slowly brings your hand closer to his chest.

He lays your hand flat above his heart. “Can you feel that?” “Uh huh.”

“Good. Now more breathing.” Helion said softly as he lead you through more breathing exercises. You were finally able to move your hand on your own, the stiffness wearing off. You bunch up part of Helion’s shirt and let go, spreading your fingers. You repeat the motion a few more times.

Closing your eyes you let out a shaky breath. You're through the worst of it but you know there will be a lingering sad feeling inside you for the rest of the night. Your eyes meet Helions and he gives you a soft smile.

“Hey, baby. Are you feeling better?” You nod, “Yeah I'm ok.” You move closer to him, curling into his side. Helion wraps his arms around you.

Helion leaves soft kisses on the top of your head. “Let's go to bed, baby.” You mumble out an ok and he stands with you in his arms.

He sits you on the bed, arms still around you, “Do you want a sleep shirt?” “No. Can we...can we sleep without PJs tonight?” Helion nodded and started taking his shirt and pants off as you slip out of your dress. Helion pushes back the covers, you both get under and he pulls you onto his chest.

Sleeping skin-to-skin with Helion always helped after a panic attack. It was soothing and made that lingering sad feeling fade. “Thank you, Helion.” He runs his hand down your back, “I’ll always be here for you y/n.”

tags: @nyotamalfoy @auggiesolovey @bubybubsters @baybay123455 @msiecrane