#iterative deepening

[spotsupstuff]

how to make plot relevant OCs, Spot's guide: Listen to tunes, slut.

that's it

[bobluvbot]

someone you loved

pairing: sirius black x f!reader  summary: your relationship with sirius hurt so much, that the only way forward was to forget. wc: 3k a/n: angst angst angst!!! lots of negative self talk and low self esteem, allusions to a bad childhood (not stated directly), implied emotional abuse & cheating, both sirius and reader are going through it.

snippets of his voice echo in your head like a haunting lullaby that doesn’t seem to end. its funny how the mind is known to block out the traumatic memories, but for some reason, yours kept record of the most painful ones that left his lips.

you’re just too much. 

i can’t love you the way you expect me to.

i’m ending this.

i’m sorry, but i can’t deal with this, with you, anymore.

it keeps repeating like a song once loved, now loathed left on repeat, and a stop button might be somewhere but you can’t bring yourself to turn it off. it reminds you of that habit you secretly developed when you had two large bruises on both your knees after a nasty fall, bone hitting pavement. nothing bled, which was a relief to the new babysitter as no bright band-aids would be blatant proof of her lack of attention on the kid she was supposed to keep watch on. blood kept within the skin, nothing left to do but to watch your body slowly take it back. you were curious of how the color changes each day, the angry reds bleeding into dark purples that resemble galaxies that you’d see on your astronomy books. one day spent examining your bruises again, you pressed on the reddish purple one too hard and tears spring up your eyes when the sting hits. but as it lingered and faded, a strange feeling of satisfaction replaced it, and you felt the urge to press on it again, curious to see if the same unknown feeling makes an appearance again. It does, and the fascination as you play in between the lines of pain and pleasure follows you as you grew up. Curious, you once read up on it from those muggle books, where you learn that the body itself releases pain-killing hormones that help relieve the perception of pain, leading to a temporary feeling of relief. 

you knew thinking about sirius’ words will never not hurt, will continue to bury you in a deepening hole that you have to fight to the nails to crawl out of, but you couldn’t stop. 

It gave deep seated satisfaction to that green monster in the back of your mind, responsible for only seeing the negative in each situation you find yourself in. ‘i told you so,’ it says in a tinny singsong voice, clearly pleased with each iteration of sirius’ words and the raw metal stabbing your heart each time.  

it also serves like a constant reminder of your failure. Failure to love like a decent person, failure to be the person that sirius needed, failure to gauge what was too much that the other person drowned without you knowing, failure to protect yourself and your dignity from being trampled on like nothing, and failure to just simply accept the fact that love just wasn’t made for people like you. 

being friends with lily made you forget a lot of things, fundamental parts that you realized so young. you knew better, should have after everything you’ve gone through, but somehow with her, anything seemed possible, achievable, tangible when you’re a kind person. marlene would always say, doing good things meant you can expect to receive good things back from the universe.

and for the most part it seemed to always work that way. you’d witnessed james nurture the simple appreciation he had on lily’s genuine smile at him that eased his nerves while they were in line to get sorted into houses throughout the years, growing as he’d gotten to know her innate kindness and wit, and finally erupting from him like rays of sunlight until he became brave enough to speak it out loud starting fourth year. 

Even though the marauders had acted questionably during their early years of exploring their pranking abilities, james had always been full of love. Never hesitating to share it to those he truly cared for. it took lily years to accept this, and more to gain courage and let herself experience it. 

by 7th year, you never believed a love could thrive like that whilst cradled with such young hands until you saw james and lily do it effortlessly. 

so what part of this could’ve made you think otherwise? 

were you to blame for believing in that fantasy, that something like this could be attainable for someone like you, too? 

you had always housed deep adoration and awe for sirius black, like many others, despite his wild reputation and scandalous rumors that seem to always follow when his name gets uttered.

why? Because he was once the raven haired boy who slipped the trolley witch a few sickles when he saw you return the pumpkin pasty after realizing you couldn’t afford it. 

it had been a gloomy tuesday. the trolley witch was supposed to go compartment by compartment, but the bumbling first years seemed to miss that memo and started piling up close to the cart to see what was being sold that she had to force them all in a line. you were quiet and unobtrusive as you stood patiently in line; which was nothing compared the boys’ raucous laughters and animated chatter behind you. sirius would’ve accidentally pushed or stepped on you if he didn’t see your figure. the train was loud and so was james’ mouth, so excited to be away from his parents and to have his first official Hogwarts friend, but sirius also stood close enough to you that he could hear your stomach grumbling and see your arms crossed over your midsection. he admitted once that he found the gurgling sounds funny (like an eleven year old would do) but he didn’t have the heart to poke fun at you because he remembered he’d hear the same thing from his own when his parents would send him to bed without eating. 

even before your turn, you were already overwhelmed at the amount of food and candy available, none of which sounds or looks remotely familiar to what you’ve had growing up. your heartbeat picked up when you heard loud sighs, feet tapping impatiently (both James) snorting and shushing (sirius), and just grabbed something that resembled bread, quickly apologizing to the witch that gave you a kind smile. you hadn’t eaten anything as you rushed to pack the mismatched, secondhand supplies that the headmaster had sent you, and you were dropped off to the station just in time before the train left. your fingers trembled in excitement to finally eat and in hunger as you fished out your coin purse. It took a few seconds before it sunk in that you don’t have enough to buy your pasty. How embarassing. 

You swallowed your tears back, willing the hateful voice in your head to keep quiet for a minute or two, just enough time to put back the pasty and run to your deserted compartment, where you could freely go to town beating yourself up for your stupidity. Just quick enough so no one will notice. 

It took three deep breaths before the dam opened, for the tears to run uncontrollably down your cheeks. You couldn’t even wipe it off because your hands were still clutching your stomach, trying to ease the growling, gnawing pain. Pathetic.

The compartment door opened and you didn’t even hear someone clearing their throat, only looking up when a hand dropped three pasties, a chocolate frog, and a bottle of pumpkin juice on your lap. Barely balancing it, you looked up to see who took pity on you, but only caught a glimpse of stark raven hair and alabaster skin.

you’d find him later during sorting, squeezed between three boys that couldn’t seem to shut up about what house they thought the other would go. not used to kindness, much less from a complete stranger, you hesitated approaching him. but fate always had a weird way of showing you it does listen to your wishes once in a while and you found yourself later on, scooting a bit to your left to make space for him on the bench of your shared house. you both exchanged a knowing smile, and you’d always remember him like that. The kind boy who gave you a feast even without knowing who you were. 

you’d remember that boy when the pouring rain had finally soaked through your thick coat as you waited patiently for him at madam puddifoot’s on your first Valentine’s day. Despite the fact that he was already two hours late and the cafe would be closing soon, you chose to wait. 

you’d remember that kind boy when some mean ravenclaw girls in class would pick on you for the most absurd things, embarrassment coursing through your veins as you looked back at him desperately for some reprieve, only for him to avoid your gaze and continue to guffaw at something James said, effectively ignoring your existence. 

You once asked him why. It was embarrassing how quick he figured out what you were really asking. In fact, he knew a lot of things: that he didn’t deserve your love (or anyone’s for that matter), that someone as pure and selfless as you shouldn’t even associate with the likes of him, and that he was aware of every single thing he does that shatters you whole. He knew that he should tread this conversation gently, to not let his claws rip further skin more than he already has, but the Black darkness has its way of slithering out of the deep recesses he tries to bury it in. 

Words leave him exasperatedly, like he’s not spouting words that cut through skin. “I’d been clear to you right from the start, of what I can give you and what I can’t. You knew what you were getting into, Y/N. you put this onto yourself.” 

He storms back into his dorm before he could hear your quiet sobs echo through the empty common room. 

—-

lily knew in the back of her mind that this wasn’t just a simple, silly request now, but more of an obligation to her closest friend. 

it’s been three weeks. three excruciating weeks to be handed and given and filled with so much love she didn’t need to ask for, whilst seeing her best friend chip away with the lack of, like a once-bright porcelain doll that was abandoned and exposed to the direct heat of the sun. 

you had finally gone silent by last week, like a shut door. refusing to eat, go to class, speak—- hell, lily bets, if you could also not breathe by choice, you wouldn’t. It’s like youre keeping everything you once had given to the world thoughtlessly, close. Dorcas thinks you were keeping close to heart the mundane things that make you alive, to remind yourself that you still are. She had said, like air to a balloon. lily cried herself to sleep that night, the thought of losing such a fundamental part of her life, you, inch by inch, day by day, in front of her very eyes was a haunting, damning thought. Something that she and you both thought would come so much more years later, with unsurmountable memories, many glasses of champagne and slices of cake, wrinkles and smile lines, more laughter and loving hugs exchanged. 

she had thought the silence was a welcoming sign of change. A necessary step towards acceptance and moving on. she was relieved when your crying stopped, tremors leaving your fingers, and there was a chance again for the redness to vacate the whites of your eyes. She held hope that she and the girls can start working on instilling your light back, hopeful that a few months from now their star can find its way back to its rightful place in the sky and everything could be okay once again. 

Lily looked forward to nights that were filled by snores and shuffling of sheets, not the unmistakable sound of your feet on the wooden floors, misjudging that everyone was asleep, the muffled creak of the dorm room door opening and closing, and your footsteps fading in the dark. She’d wait fifteen to thirty minutes (the longest was an hour or two on the first night) before she’d hear you return, footsteps still light but she could hear the slight drag in each step, almost as if it was taking so much of your might to even make it to the bed. the quiet whimpers would start, followed by muffled hiccups lily knew only happens when you cry too hard. it took so much of her to exercise self-restraint, to keep herself on her own bed and not lay beside you and hug you as if it’s something that could put you back together. 

She has to turn her back on you even if it felt like raw betrayal. 

Because that one time she didn’t, she couldn’t forget the look of horror, dejection, desperation, and pure unbridled embarrassment on your face when you realized she knew what you were up to late at night. She knew you came up to the boys’ dormitory, crawling into sirius’ bed, where you begged and begged for him to take you back, that you’ll be a better more doting and loving girlfriend this time around, that you won’t be too attached this time and will give him the necessary space and time he needs so he doesn’t feel suffocated, that you’ll be anything, do anything just for him to welcome you back into his arms and whisper sweet nothings in your ear until your throat was raw, and sirius has to physically take you back to the start of the staircase to your dormitory. 

this happened for days and days on end until the boys had to lock their door at night, or whenever sirius is in. 

james couldn’t meet lily’s eyes when he’d ask for her help to keep you apart from Sirius as it would do you no good. they had gotten into a fight because of this, because lily heard nothing but  ‘stop her from making a fool of herself’ and her best friend is the smartest intuitive empathetic kindest witch she had ever met; the farthest thing from a fool. 

But one day those very words came off your lips with a hollow laugh. “But I am a fool, Lily. No one in their right mind would even do half the things I do.” It would be hypocritical for lily to deny sneaking out at night and crawling into your ex’s bed and begging for him to take you back as something of a desperate fool would do. A girl once had chased and pined for Remus during the entirety of fifth year and the things she did to get his attention were laughable at that time. But she didn’t plan to see the same, even worse, done by her best friend, and she still couldn’t wouldn’t call you a fool.

After all, your only fault was that you loved. And that shouldn’t even be a fault because that’s what she did with James, marlene with dorcas, her father with her mother. even someone as selfish as petunia could find love and be loved right back. 

you of all people deserved to love and be loved right back after everything you’d been through, and james would say the same thing for sirius as well. 

but sirius was a complex person, lily could recite this on top of her head from endless times where you stood your ground, defending sirius’ honor like he’d see your great martyrdom and suddenly consider you once again worthy of his love and affection. Before, she knew of sirius as a friend and James’ brother— but she knew more than what she signed up for because you’d fill in the gaps for her when she’d try to beat some sense into you during the unacceptable treatment you’d accept from sirius. 

You’d say with such confidence “he loves me, he’s just going through a lot right now, especially after that howler his mother sent him a few days ago.”

You didn’t have to elaborate, lily remembered that day vividly, not because of the way sirius’ face fell when the howler began its assault had reminded her so much of how she’d react after getting bitter letters from petunia, but because that same day she saw sirius being manhandled by a hufflepuff, both kiss sick and all over each other, into a secluded broom closet. 

It was years worth of push or pulls, of moral dilemmas that would get the outspoken redhead to choke on her words, and dejectedly sweep them under the rug out of your sight. Because the beaming smile and flushed cheeks you’d sport when Sirius murmurs sweet nothings in your ear, the weight on your shoulders dissipating when tucked in his arms, the jump in your step whenever he’d kiss you on the forehead and wish you good luck for the day— Lily couldn’t bear the thought of robbing you with those moments of bliss, even when it’s all done in private. 

So in an empty classroom on a gloomy Tuesday afternoon, she points her wand at you, fingers trembling and tears trailing down her cheeks, but you don’t see any of these. Instead, your beautiful features wear a serene expression that weakens lily’s knees. Oh how she missed her dearest friend. She’d do anything in the world to get you back, hold your hand, and dance with you in the autumn rain. 

So she does the wand movement like she practiced for days and takes a breath. She pictures you and Sirius happily dancing barefoot during the yule ball, your blushed cheeks when you told her about the feel of his lips on yours for the first time, you on sirius’ shoulders as you carried the quidditch cup, both smiling big as remus snaps a picture from the muggle camera, you drifting off to sleep on sirius’ shoulder while your hands were laced as you rode the train back to hogwarts.

Before mumbling the incantation, obliviate.

[xamag-draws]

BBR thoughts 2024

Since I mentioned that I finally dusted off an old project of mine and was ruminating on how I'd remake it, I thought I'd elaborate a little, now that I've solidified some concepts. For funsies

This is gonna be a bit of a long and unfocused one, but I don't share my personal thoughts here often, especially the stuff about my projects I always marinate in. And for once it's something that people have existing context for, so hey why not

So for anyone who hasn't been following me for a gajillion years, The Black Brick Road of OZ was a webcomic that I posted around 2013-2015, back when I was in highschool going on college (which is kinda crazy to think about). It was sort of a darker twist on The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, although I definitely leaned a lot more into dark humor more than anything in those first few chapters

I don't think it's available to read anywhere anymore, and I know people have been asking me about it. So here's the full proper archive of BBR, as full as it can be with deceased Flash

I totally used it as an excuse to shamelessly and self-indulgently experiment. It had interactive pages and GIFs and was wayyy too overproduced for what I could handle or what was necessary, but I did have great fun making it while it lasted

Unfortunately, that excess and the fact that I've changed too much as a person by the time I was in college is what ultimately killed it. The direction I wanted to go in was practically unrecognizable from the original idea started back in 2011, so there were many old hold-ups that I felt ruined it

At the time I kinda wished I could start/rewrite it all over, but considering that I pretty much had the entire script done at that point, it felt like a pointless sisyphean task. So I just put it on a shelf and didn't look back for about 8 years, because I didn't know what else to do

Now to be fair, the nature of my art has always been iterative and cyclical; when I feel like my creative juices have run dry I prefer to leave a project to marinate and move on to something else; cycle through other old things and bring in new skills and perspectives into the mix when I'm ready again. Not very productive, but it is what makes me happy to work on my OCs; I'm doomed to hit a wall with them eventually and I need some time to be able to find a new direction

So that said, I'm glad that BBR was left to marinate for that long. I don't think I was prepared, emotionally or intellectually, to tackle it again until now. The Wizard of Oz book (and the entire series of them, really) has always been near and dear to my heart, but there's a lot of context around it that I'm only unpacking now that I'm older

I think I always inherently feel negatively about the stuff I've made in the past, like its faults always jump out to me more than the positives, especially the more time passes. I've never liked that, and I do really appreciate the kind things people have to say about BBR to this day. The fact that it still can be recognized and remembered is very sweet

When I left it, I already found it "kinda cringe", and that feeling only deepened with years. When I took my first look back at it, asking the question "how would I rewrite it now?", at first I took a very cynical approach, as in "everything would have to be torn down"

But the more I sat on it, the more I found that I still see some merit and charm in the ideas I was putting out; I just didn't know how to execute them at the time (not to pretend that I know what I'm doing now, but I certainly know more at least). Turns out a lot of my old concepts could be changed substantially with just a few small tweaks. So I'd say that's a nicer way to think about my previous work

If you haven't seen yet, I posted a first draft of my new designs for some of the characters (the main group, the Goods and the Wickeds). Definitely subject to change, but more or less how I see them now

I'm just playing with these concepts; by no means would I attempt to remake BBR right this moment. Call it a pipe dream among my other ones. But just for fun, this is the direction I'd like to take:

Nowadays I'd probably make it a visual novel, with more emphasis on the visual part than the novel because I'm no English prose writer by any means. It'd still let me play a little with the interactivity while helping cut some corners on the drawing part (only some, I imagine I'd go hog wild anyway)

I've always intended for some events inspired by the sequel books to take place in BBR's past. Stuff like Jinjur's revolt or Ozma's rule preceeds the main events here. So I think it would be fun to follow the past of a few key characters alongside the main story. One chapter focusing on the present quest to see the Wizard, then one focusing on the past events (that are maybe reflective thematically); rinse and repeat

I'm also sticking a little closer to the original text in some regards. Not everything that I enjoy from the books would be translated here, it's still just a very loose fantasy on the material; but I'd like to be closer in spirit at least

I like mature, wise and powerful Glinda, I like kind and vulnerable Tin Man, I like the Wizard being a pathetic yet loveable liar, so I'm sprinkling in more of that for example

I'd like to keep some whimsy, but make it more grounded and a bit more serious to be coherent in tone. I think the original TWWOOZ book was a more realistic fantasy in some ways, even for the standards of the time; I like its simple but vivid tactile descriptions and details like bringing attention that Dorothy needed to eat and sleep

I find it funny that Baum specifically was averse to making his books scary or unpleasant, finding that unnecessary for telling a compelling kids story, but they still can get pretty dark and disturbing, at least for our modern sensibilities. Let's just say that I intend to use the Evoldo and Chopfyt storylines for my purposes. In that way, I feel like a "darker" Wizard of Oz retelling can still mostly be tonally in line with the original and balance it with enough heart and occasional humor

I slowly grew to appreciate the quaint old-timey quality of the original series, as well. The first book is both timeless and very much a product of the 1900s. Originally I tried to give it a little modern or at least anachronistic spin, but it was moreso because it's what I knew best, so these days I'd rather intentionally lean into the time period. Still not fully historically accurate by any means, but at least directly acknowledging the influence

The events of the story span across 40 years of these characters' lives, so I'm drawing inspiration from the entire so-called La Belle Epoque: the time period around 1880s-1920s. Basically I'm cooking, and my soup is old Victorian fashion morphing into Edwardian fashion and slowly inching towards flappers

Some new Dolly outfits

Lots of crazy things, political changes and innovations were happening at the turn of the century, which I think is noted and reflected by Baum in the books as well; the character of Tik-Tok might not blow any minds now, but he was one of the first robot characters in literature at that point; and don't even get me started on Jinjur, etc. Plenty of really interesting stuff one could lightly ponder in an Oz adaptation these days

Aesthetically, art nouveau has always been a big artistic influence for me, and it'd definitely be its time to shine here. John R. Neill's illustrations of the Oz books often keep me company as well. Nouveau architecture in particular fits that fairytale whimsy extremely well imo

I'd allow myself a little bit of art deco here and there, but ultimately its intimidating geometrical splendor is an antithetical to the flowery nature of nouveau and I associate it with a completely different era. Definitely fitting some characters like my Wicked Witch of the West, but shouldn't be overused

One of my main problems with the original BBR was that eventually I lost track of what it was even about; and the original ending felt too mean and unfulfilling to be worth it. Now I'd like to stick to the theme of home and family as my main theme, but in a different, more bittersweet way than in the book

An interesting connection I made is that a lot of my aforementioned older key characters (the Witches, Jinjur, the Nome King, etc) all came from the same reformatory as kids, that's how they know each other. In my recent research I learned that in those reformatories it was usually frowned upon to release the children back to the families, which were seen as the original corrupting influence regardless of the circumstance. The reformatory did everything in its power to cut that connection and make itself the only family those wayward kids were supposed to know and love. That's an unexpected tie into the theme of home that I'd like to explore as well

So yeah that's the current state of it. I have a bunch of outfit concepts I'm slowly cooking, although I'm now sure whether I'd post them... But I do miss these funny guys, and I'm glad some people still do as well :)

[himbodruid]

Tethered Stars

Sylus PoV

A lifetime of memories could never prepare me for the moment I found her again; so different from what I once knew, but somehow still the same after all this time. When she turns her smile to me, I am left breathless, speechless, and want nothing more than to bask in her unending glory. With nothing more than a glance, she cleaves me in two- more wholly undone than that claymore could ever dare.

Beautiful. Devastating. Mesmerizing. There are so many words I could use to describe her, and yet none of them could ever hold a candle to the radiant brilliance of her. Of her soul. In her eyes, I’ve glimpsed eternity and ruin, salvation and surrender. Like a storm on my skin, her touch is raw and electric, searing through every inch of me.

Even the missteps of our reunion could never overshadow the way her presence ripples through my very being. I will always hold a quiet regret for the way I approached her in this life, for the way I sought too eagerly to connect with her resonance when she was wary of me. An oversight on my part- the elation at finding her again making me forget that, despite the way her soul sang to mine, this iteration of her saw me as a stranger, as the arch-nemesis we once were.

But, oh, I am so utterly and irrevocably in love with her. Bound to her in a way that deepens with every breath, with every beat of my heart, with every shift of my soul. More than when she took my hand in that arena and fought with unwavering courage and loyalty at my side. More than the night we fled, leaving behind a world forged in cruelty and blood.

And now, when she stands beside me in this world, defiant against its dangers, I can feel it again. That thrill rushing through my veins, roaring to life like a wildfire unleashed- fierce, unstoppable, untamed. This is where I belong: at her side, facing whatever perils this existence throws at us together. She is the inferno that fuels me and the storm that breaks me. Everything that binds me, everything that destroys me. To love her is to carry something so beautiful it aches, a spark that ignites and flourishes with every fleeting moment. She is my every waking thought, every dream when I sleep, every breath I take.

She is a vast cosmos, and I am nothing but a mere speck in her incandescence. I will fall to my knees before her brilliance in every lifetime, worshipping her in every way I know how. I am intoxicated by her very being, drawn to her soul like a moth to a flame. I would die countless deaths for her, yet it still wouldn’t be enough to capture the depths of my devotion. I would travel to the ends of the universe and back a thousand times over; if only to see her smile, to hear her laugh, to absorb myself in the sweet blooming scent of her soul. She is the warmth of the sun after a millennia in darkness. The richest, finest wine. Oh, how I long for her, like the soil yearns for the rain.

And I would destroy everything for her.

Even myself. Especially myself.

[roseaizen]

King of hearts Aizen

I wanted to post this on his birthday but here we go❤️

•In this iteration Aizen embodies a regal and commanding presence, exuding an air of calculated charm and dominance.

•He treats his queen not merely as a partner but as an extension of his rule, expecting unwavering loyalty and composure.

•Publicly he maintains a facade of gentlemanly affection offering subtle gestures like hand kisses or guiding touches. However in private his demeanor shifts to one of intense possessiveness and control.

Relationship dynamics with his queen

• Possessive Affection: Aizen views his queen as a prized possession often keeping her close during courtly events to assert his claim. He may allow her to sit beside his throne, subtly reinforcing her elevated yet subordinate status. 

• Emotional Manipulation: He employs his intellect to subtly influence her thoughts and feelings ensuring her dependence on him. Compliments are laced with underlying expectations and he may use isolation as a means of punishment to reinforce obedience.

• Selective Intimacy: While he is not overtly affectionate in public, in privaten he indulges in moments of closeness, such as brushing her hair or whispering endearments. These moments are calculated to deepen her emotional attachment.

Mannerism and Activities

• Strategic Pastimes: Aizen enjoys activities that stimulate his mind such as playing strategic board games like shogi or chess. He may invite his queen to participate using the opportunity to teach and subtly assert his dominance.

• Artistic Pursuits: He has a refined appreciation for the arts particularly calligraphy which he practices to maintain a sense of control and precision. He may offer to teach his queen, guiding her hand with his own.

• Culinary Preferences: Aizen has a discerning palate, favoring savory dishes and delicate pastries over overly sweet confections. He dislikes eggs and prefers meals that reflect sophistication and subtlety.

Intimate Aspects

• Controlled Passion: In intimate settings Aizen maintains control, guiding experiences with calculated precision. He favors his partner to be receptive to his lead, finding satisfaction in their submission.

• Sensory Preferences: He appreciates subtle forms of affection, such as his queen running her fingers through his hair. These acts, while seemingly minor, are significant in the context of his controlled demeanor.

• Emotional Boundaries: Aizen is not one to express vulnerability easily. His affections are often veiled in layers of control and expectation, making genuine emotional intimacy a complex and rare occurrence.

I hope you enjoyed!

[abstractvanity32]

Season 3

Wish Granted - 80s Soap Star

Monica, a young 20-something actress with a petite frame and long, dark brown hair, stood in front of the genie, her bright green eyes shining with excitement and a hint of trepidation. She was dressed in a simple white tank top and distressed denim jeans, her feet clad in a pair of worn-out sneakers. The genie's words, "Your wish is granted," still lingered in the air as Monica felt a strange, tingling sensation wash over her body.

The next thing she knew, she was standing on the set of a popular soap opera, surrounded by cameras, lights, and frozen crew members. The set was a mock-up of a luxurious living room, complete with plush couches and a roaring fireplace. Monica looked around, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings, and that's when she felt it - the transformation.

Her body began to shift and contort, her petite frame lengthening and expanding into a taller, leaner physique. Her skin took on a slightly more rugged, masculine tone, with a subtle scattering of light hair across her arms and chest. The bones in her face rearranged themselves, sharpening and chiseling her features into the angular, aristocratic lines of Ashland Jacobs' visage.

Her eyes deepened into piercing blue orbs, fringed with thick lashes that curled upwards at the outer corners. The bridge of her nose grew longer and more aquiline, giving her face a strong, masculine profile. The contours of her jawline firmed, the edges of her cheekbones becoming more defined.

A wave of blonde hair washed over her scalp, thickening and luxuriating into the signature quaffed style that Ashland Jacobs was famous for. The locks curled and uncurled in soft, golden waves that framed her new, masculine face. The texture of her hair changed, becoming coarser and more resilient.

As her body transformed, Monica's clothes dissolved and reassembled themselves into an outfit of Ashland Jacobs would wear on set and in chThe bright, bold slacks and opened dress shirt molded themselves to her new, masculine physique, accentuating the lean, toned lines of her body. Her feet, now bare, curled upwards as if savoring the freedom of being unencumbered.

The timbre of her voice changed, deepening into the resonant tones of Ashland Jacobs' British accent. Her words took on a new, masculine authority, as if the essence of Ashland's personality had been distilled into her being.

As Monica's transformation became more complete, the set around her began to unfreeze. The crew members stirred, the cameras and lights humming back to life. Ashland Jacobs, the newest iteration of Monica, stood tall, his piercing blue eyes scanning the set with a confident, charismatic smile.

The director, a middle-aged man with a bushy mustache, called out, "Alright, Ashland, let's get this promo shot done!"

Ashland nodded, striking a pose as the cameras snapped and the lights flashed. With a rakish grin, he raised an eyebrow, drawling, "Let's get this show on the road, shall we?" The cameras captured the essence of the 80s heartthrob, as Ashland Jacobs launched himself into the spotlight, ready to take the world by storm.

[harlivycentral]

Queer Identity in Poison Ivy (2022-)

I want to talk about the way the ongoing Poison Ivy series uses her queerness to deepen her character, exploring tensions between her tie to humanity versus the earth, her resistance to confining systems, and her problem with confrontation.

Under the cut cause I have a lot to say!

Ivy has been around since the 60s, and she was obviously not intended as a queer woman then. She was portrayed as a femme fatale, and her relationships with men were not usually ones of mutual respect. Instead, we saw Ivy weaponizing her sexuality against men in order to get what she really cared about (in early comics, that was wealth, which we later saw evolve into a concern for the planet). For example, in her earliest appearance (Batman #181 in 1966), we see her controlling Batman through a poisoned-lipstick kiss:

In her current iteration, this relationship to men/power/sexuality has evolved in interesting ways. I would consider her current iteration to have started with her storyline in Batman (2016) #41-43, Everyone Loves Ivy. I say Everybody Loves Ivy because I think that was when DC realized her character had been written in a lot of conflicting ways (in part because she had never had an ongoing solo series at that point, so got written as a side character in different series by many different writers) and started trying to give her a coherent characterization. You can read my master post summarizing that journey here, if you're interested.

In Everybody Loves Ivy, we see her at perhaps her most powerful. It's the culmination of her pheromone powers: she is able to use them to make everybody on the planet in love with her (except for Batman and Catwoman, who manage to get themselves an antidote before she takes full control of them).

As is typical with Ivy, this "love" she instills is a power grab: she intends to control everyone's actions so that they stop harming the planet. It's not a true, interpersonal connection. However, while she initially has Harley under her control, Batman (rightly) tells her that she isn't really controlling Harley that deeply, that she doesn't really want to be controlling Harley:

As we eventually see, Batman is able to break Harley out from under Ivy's control. Harley is the one who gets Ivy to let go of control of everyone else, too, by asking Ivy how she's doing and taking genuine care of her. Ivy's love for and interpersonal connection with Harley outweighs her need to weaponize her sexuality, her need for control. It brings her back to her humanity and makes her realize she doesn't want to save the planet at the cost of everyone else's free will.

In the fallout from this storyline, Ivy dies and is reborn, and we first see the new Ivy in the limited series Poison Ivy & Harley Quinn, in which Harley and Ivy are on the run from Woodrue. This sets up a theme that the current run of Poison Ivy is dealing with: Ivy running from her problems. But, again, Harley is the one to tether her to humanity.

In the Batman storyline where Harley & Ivy are finally made a canonical couple (Fear State), we see a sort of repeat of Everybody Loves Ivy. We're told Ivy has grown vines into the foundation of all of Gotham and could take the city down at any moment. She is convinced not to when Harley talks her down, though. Again, she loves Harley so much that she is able to extend that love to greater humanity and decides not to destroy them. We see the tension for Ivy between her want to use her unrestrained power to completely overturn corrupt systems with the reality of the harmful impacts the use of her powers will have on individual people.

The other love interest she has in the lead-up to her solo series is Bella. Bella is actually Ivy's ex-girlfriend, but we get the story of their past in James Tynion IV's awesome single-issue backstory for Bella, which also establishes the first coherent backstory for Poison Ivy that we have in this current iteration of her character. Her solo run ended up expanding on but not contradicting any of Tynion IV's version.Bella narrates the issue, and we see Ivy's relationship to both Bella and Harley to be quite lovely:

Above, we see her spend a "beautiful" summer with Bella. Later, when she is imprisoned, her relationship with Harley is presented as a lifeline for them both:

In contrast, we see Woodrue's exploitive relationship with Ivy. He's her professor who ends up doing experiments on her against her will, and we are explicitly told that she never loved him:

We also see her relationship to Batman portrayed as something very much outside of the flirty, femme fatale model it had in previous decades:

Given this backstory (and the fact that we have only ever seen her romantically/sexually involved with women since at least 2016), I personally interpret Ivy as a lesbian in her iteration. (They've never confirmed her sexuality as either lesbian or bi, so it's open to interpretation.) However you interpret her sexuality, her relationships with women are shown in clear contrast to her relationships to men in this comic. Her relationships with men are used to emphasize the harmful potential of power differentials and rigid systems.

Ivy's relationship with Bella is shown in contrast to her relationship with Woodrue. Ivy's relationship with Bella is about being in tune with her embodied self and following her desires. She connects to her "animal self," seeing this queer relationship outside of societal lenses which might condemn it. In contrast, her relationship with Woodrue is very much informed by the academic system in which they are working, and misuses his power within that system to coerce Ivy into an abusive relationship.

When Woodrue's experiments on Ivy ironically enable her to break free from her relationship with him, she recognizes and begins to fight the larger systems that enabled his interpersonal harm of her. However, then Batman comes in, stopping Ivy from fighting those systems and instead putting her in prison. As Ivy was dehumanized on an interpersonal level during her relationship with Woodrue, she is dehumanized on a system level in the prison system. But, again, we see her relationship with Harley in contrast to how Batman and the carceral system treat Ivy. We're specifically told that their love is borne from Ivy recognizing the way Harley has been abused like she was, and we see how both women help each other develop a sense of self that people in power and the prison system would rip away from them.

When Ivy's solo comic started, it continued to explore how individuals can hold strong against destructive systems. Ivy is shown as being outside a lot of systems in her solo comic. In Poison Ivy #10, for example, she's opposed to the capitalist system which drives the destruction of the earth:

I think this is very tied to her backstory, which shows her (whether you interpret her as lesbian or bi) as very resistant to/outside of the system of heterosexist patriarchy. We know from her backstory that she was abused by Woodrue, and that she sees Batman as another man who would try to use his power to keep her within systems she'd rather not confine herself to.

With the current understanding of Ivy as a queer woman who values overturning unjust systems, I interpret her backstory of as a "femme fatale" in earlier comics a little differently. To me, I read it as: Ivy is abused by specific men and systems as a whole because of her vulnerabilities (as a queer person and a woman). Her means of fighting back against this abuse is to sharpen her perceived weaknesses into a weapon. She leans into almost a caricature of femininity and uses it to manipulate men that might otherwise hurt her, either interpersonally or through their participation in oppressive systems.

However, this means of fighting back against the system doesn't allow room for Ivy to be her authentic self. She performs an idealized femininity for the male gaze, and--as we saw above in Everybody Loves Ivy--she can get tunnel vision on her end goal (of saving the planet, of overturning oppressive systems) at the expense of leaving herself any breathing room. In Everybody Loves Ivy, she was almost willing to sacrifice the chance for both herself and everyone else on the planet to have any sort of authentic relationship.

In her solo comic, we see a new iteration of those same impulses in Ivy. She isn't a femme fatale in this series--in fact, I don't thinks we see her almost (if ever?) weaponize her sexuality against men. Usually, she just threatens them with violence. Still, we see her at the start of the series willing to give up her personhood--her very life--in order to save the planet. She's cut herself off from her relationship with Harley and tries to keep herself from forming any new attachments on the road. Instead of leaning into what society expects of her, she's operating outside of society completely, ready to kill everyone and bring it all to the ground. But the effect is the same: she is completely cut off from what she as an individual might need or want, from room for any kind of authentic, interpersonal love. She want to be all plant, connected to a revitalized nature, and free from her human needs.

However, we start to see cracks in this stone-cold facade pretty early into her comic. First, in Poison Ivy #4, she takes on a temporary shipping job, and we see her come to the aid of her coworker, Jesslyn, after learning Jessyln's boss is sexually harassing her:

She then sleeps with Jesslyn:

I think it's important that her connection with Jesslyn, like we saw her initial connection with Harley, is borne out of a recognition of the ways they have both been abused by men in power. I think Jesslyn reminds Ivy of her own origins, that part of what initially drove her to try to overturn human society is the ways it cut her off from meaningful relationships (Woodrue luring her away from her relationship with Bella). Ivy reconnects with the part of herself that wants--not just her grand, moral wants but her small, human wants. She starts to question if there isn't something worth saving.

Say what you will about Janet, but her introduction in the series is a pivotal point in Ivy reconnecting with her human side. In Poison Ivy #8, we see her first start to really care about Janet's fate:

She ends up sleeping with Janet in issue #10:

Which she immediately regrets:

I think Ivy has two modes: either confronting everything head on, with a singular, grand goal in mind, or running from her problems. Ivy isn't good with nuance: she doesn't seem to really know how to go after saving the earth in a way where she can still allow herself any of her own identity and needs. When she starts to feel the cracks in her determination to kill all of humanity with her spores--when she starts to realize that this will mean killing innocent people like Jesslyn and Janet, people she might learn to care about, if she gives herself any breathing room--her instinct is to run away.

She doesn't run away literally this time, but I think she runs away figuratively in sleeping with Janet. She doesn't giver herself time to think about what this will mean for her relationship with Harley, about what this will mean for her relationship with Janet--she just does it. She's been denying her own personhood for so long that she sort of swings the other way, indulging in whatever she wants in the moment with no plan at all in mind.

Keep in mind that she's also just reunited with Harley, and Harley has always been the one who most re-grounds Ivy. It's a very re-connective experience for Ivy. Harley shows Ivy proof that she can still bring green things to life, not just kill people with spores. She then urges Ivy not to punish herself:

I think this reconnection with Harley overwhelms Ivy, almost, and contributes to her decision to sleep with Janet. Harley has always been the one to pull her back from the brink, and I think part of Ivy doesn't want that. She doesn't want to care about anyone. She wants to be able to save the planet without caring about the costs along the way, whether to herself or others. So I think she gives in to a bit of a self-destructive impulse, maybe even trying to blow up her relationship with Harley a bit, although we obviously see later that they work through it.

We see her work through things with Harley and literally confront her demons, defeating Woodrue and the fungal zombies. Just as she's working to find some sort of balance--a way to be in relationship with Harley, to be friends with Janet, to care for plants and humans at the same time--we see an ecoterrorist organization hold her up as their patron saint.

Now, I am suspicious about where the writers might go with this plotline, as her ecoterrorism has been pretty central to her character for a while. But I'm willing to see how it plays out, since I think an interesting point is being made that these people are dehumanizing her--in a different way than Woodrue and Batman and the prison system, sure, but by making her into an idol, they're stripping her of the nuance she's worked so hard to gain over the course of her series. Ivy's backstory shows her realizing how those with power can so easily manipulate it for abusive ends. Ivy's had power in the sense of her actual superpowers (lol) for a long time, but the idolization of this ecoterrorist group gives her social power in a way I think she's not accustomed to. She's a loner, and I think she associates the kind of power these people are putting in her hands with abuse. I think she's terrified that she'll mess up and hurt someone. She does not want or know how to use the kind of power they're giving her.

I'm also willing to see where the re-introduction of Bella goes. I do hate that there's clearly a mandate from DC editorial to keep Harley and Ivy apart. However, seeing as it's probably not coming from the creative team of the Poison Ivy team itself, I'm hopeful they'll do interesting things during Harley's absence. I love Bella as a character, and I think Ivy's instinct to fix their initial conflict with a kiss is in character for her. It's a bit of falling back to her old ways--of leaning into that femme fatale mode of from her past, weaponizing her sexuality to get what she wants, which is for Bella to make the ecoterrorism idealization of her go away.

I think it's a bit of a lot of things. I think it's a bit of Ivy wanting to reconnect with Bella on a personal level, to remind both herself and Bella of how they first fell in love just as two people, when they now find themselves meeting more as two political players navigating unjust systems with different methodologies in mind. I think it's a bit of that "run away" instinct, of giving in to what she wants in the moment to avoid having to confront all the complicated realities of what Bella coming back into her life (and in this way) means. If the writers continue to tease out all these threads in an interesting way, I'm still hooked.

This isn't to say I unquestionably love all the writing for this series. I find Janet annoying. I'm worried DC editorial is trying to soft-launch a harlivy breakup without the backlash, and that we won't see Harley and Ivy on the page together in any meaningful way for a long time. I'm worried that this current plotline is going to devolve into a very centrist/liberal take on Ivy's want to overturn the system and save the earth instead of a nuanced exploration of agency and power.

But. I also like a lot of the writing. Ivy in this series is one of the most fleshed out and realistic queer women I've ever seen in the pages of a mainstream comic. Overall, I think there's something really powerful about the way Ivy's sexuality (both her queer identity and sexual behavior) is portrayed in the ongoing Poison Ivy series. Ivy's only had a solo series since 2022, so Ivy and Harley's queer relationship was first hinted at in other comics and portrayed very differently by those writers. It was hinted at in the pages of Batman and then more strongly in Harley Quinn. At times, it's been quite sexualized in a way obviously intended to appeal to male viewers. In Amanda Conner and Jimmy Palmiotti's run of Harley Quinn, for example, Harley and Ivy are portrayed as "girlfriends without the jealousy of monogamy" (x), which allowed the writers the "best of both worlds": Harley was implied to be dating Ivy and a character Mason at the same time, and she flirted with everyone from Batman to Power Girl. Harley was often drawn in quite sexualized ways; although I personally think this run added depth to Harley & Ivy's relationship, there were other times that their implied hookups were clearly meant to just be sexy and not to add any depth to their characters.

Even the statement alone that they were "girlfriends without the jealousy of monogamy" shows that the writers didn't have a vested interest in portrayed a nuanced and realistic portrait of a non-monogamous relationship, as people actually in these relationships will often talking about having to work through feelings of jealousy as a part of making those relationships work. Non-monogamous relationships take work and communication like any other, and earlier series didn't necessarily portray them that way.

Even before her relationship with Harley Quinn, Poison Ivy has long been a character that was highly sexualized. In her current solo comic, though, she's portrayed as sexual without being sexualized. When she sleeps with Jessyln in issue #4, we're shown their shadows on the wall instead of anything more salacious. When Ivy and Harley are shown in bed together in #9, they're not drawn in a particularly "sexy" way, and the emphasis is on their emotional connection to each other. When Ivy sleeps with women in this series, as I've talked about at length above, it always deepens her character. Her relationships with these women--whether they're one night stands, situationships-turned-friendships, an ongoing & longtime romance, or an ex-turned-leftists-squabble--allow her to messily explore who she really is and what she really wants. The Ivy we see is confused about her political goals, about what using her powers for "good" should look like--and that makes sense, on a meta-level, for a character who has never had the breathing room of a solo series to be anyone besides the villain, the anti-hero, or the girlfriend in someone else's story. Let's let her be messy for a while longer. Hopefully, something beautiful will grow out of it.

[thehelpolhelpline]

Explaining Dionysos (As Simply As Possible)

So, you want to know more about Dionysos, but don't know where or how to start? Don't worry, because I've definitely been there! Hence why I've put together a little guide to give you some starter knowledge

DISCLAIMER: This is only a basic guide, I'll be including sources that I've found helpful that I recommend you check out. I'm not a fountain of knowledge, and those resources will help deepen understanding

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The Many Names Of Dionysos

Dionysos goes by a lot of different names, many of which you can find on theoi.com under "Dionysus Names And Epitaph"

But I'll explain some of the more common ones here:

- Obviously, the most common way you'll hear Him referred to is Dionysus or Dionysos. Both of these iterations mean the same thing, with Dionysos being the original Greek and Dionysus being it's Latinized counterpart - Another name He commonly goes by is Bacchus, which is where the term "Bacchae" comes from - more on that later!

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Myths And Stories

Like all the Gods, the best way to learn about them is through stories written about them by the Ancient Greeks themselves. Below, I've listed some plays and myths as well as short summaries of each. Like I said at the start though, please don't just go off of my descriptions, reading the original stories will always give you more accurate information

Plays/Poetry About Dionysos

- THE BACCHAE (EURIPIDES): A Greek tragedy about revenge and the cost of disrespecting a God. The term "Bacchae" refers to His female followers, which were also known as Maeneds - THE FROGS (ARISTOPHANES): A comedy about Dionysos' descent into the Underworld to revive the deceased writer Euripides

Myths Featuring Dionysos

Dionysiaca, the epic poem by Nonnus Panopolis, is the most detailed source of Dionysian myth, but you can probably find more accessible iterations of the stories elsewhere online. There are a lot of myths, but I've supplied short summaries of key ones below

I do urge people to look into others, which you can find a list of via thecollector.com under "10 Myths About The Greek God Dionysus" HelPol aside, they're just really interesting

- THE BIRTH OF DIONYSOS/WRATH OF HERA: Son of an affair between Zeus and Semele, the myth includes Hera's revenge and Zeus' protection of His son - AMPELOS AND THE GRAPEVINE: Details how Dionysos came to invent wine after the death of a young satyr whom Dionysos loved - ARIADNE: How Ariadne, after being abandoned by Theseus, became Dionysos' wife - HERA'S RESCUE AND DIONYSOS' ASCENCION TO OLYMPUS: How Dionysos rescued Hera from Hephaesteus, which resulted in her welcoming him as an Olympian

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Days Of Worship

I struggled with finding exact dates as to when these holidays were celebrated, I don't even know if "holiday" is the proper terminology, but hopefully this will give a decent amount of understanding on some important dates in the Dionysian calendar

- CITY DIONYSIA (25TH MARCH - 1ST APRIL): A celebration which involves a focus on dramatic arts and civic pride, as well as the subversion of societal roles

- RURAL DIONYSIA (30TH DECEMBER - 5TH JANUARY): As the name suggests, this focuses on the natural aspects of life, and honours traditional customs

- LENAIA (28TH JANUARY - 2ND FEBRUARY): This celebration focuses on wine-related attributes, as well as ecstacy and connecting to His divine presence

- ANTHESTERIA (3RD - 5TH MARCH): A celebration of Spring, and an honouring of the dead

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Of course, this is just a basic list and by no means an entire summary of Dionysian knowledge, if there's anything I missed then please let me know! I can go into more detail about other aspects (like offering ideas or devotional acts) in another post. But if you have any questions then leave a comment!

[hivemuthur]

What was that? - Ch. 13.

viktorxfemale!OFC mature

friends to lovers, co-workers, sexual tension up to the wazoo, pinning and banter that got me frustrated when I was writing it, attempt at humour, some angst and a slow burn with a happy ending and a classic Viktor for once

Ch.1. | Ch.2. | Ch.3. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.6. | Ch.7. | Ch.8. | Ch.9. | Ch.10. | Ch.11. | Ch.12. | Ch.14. | Ch.15.

word count: 6,9K

tag: #what was that

author’s note: @rennethen as beta reader. This the all-is-lost moment chapter, so tw would be angst, but I promise from now on it will only get better :')

Cross-posted on AO3

—

They kept missing each other for a week. Each of them was too stubborn, too proud, too scared to reach out. Renly had nearly turned nocturnal, convincing herself that she needed something concrete—something ready—before she faced Viktor again. Her guilt gnawed at her, pushing her forward and holding her back in equal measure.

Tonight, though, her newest iteration of the cure would finally be ready. She couldn’t put it off any longer. Steeling herself, she arrived at the lab earlier than usual, intent on finally confronting Viktor.

Only to be met by Jayce.

“Gods, Ren, I haven’t seen you in a week! Are you alright?” he exclaimed, his voice warm and filled with relief as he wrapped her in one of his massive, crushing hugs.

The embrace lingered a beat too long, and it wasn’t until Jayce realised she hadn’t answered that he loosened his grip, noticing her muffled protests.

“Ah, thanks. I might’ve actually needed that,” she huffed, her voice breathy as she smoothed her slightly wrinkled shirt. She gave him a sheepish smile. “I’ve been working nights. Sorry about that.” Definitely just turned out like this, definitely not avoiding Viktor.

Jayce stepped back, his brows knitting together as he scanned her dishevelled appearance. “Are you avoiding Vik?”

Ah, Jayce was smarter than her, of course.

“Not really,” she replied quickly, though her tone betrayed her unease. “It just… turned out like this, honestly. Is he here?” Part of her hoped he was. That she could get all of this off her chest, give him the new medicine, kiss his forehead, and say she was sorry.

“No, he went home early,” Jayce said with a sigh, his expression softening but still clouded with concern. “Ren, I think he feels like shit. You should talk to him.”

“Well, I was planning to,” she said, crossing her arms defensively, “but he’s not here, is he?” Dear Jayce, if he’d only known. Renly knew there was no bad intention underneath it and Jayce probably went through hell that week.

Jayce raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, save that look for later. I’ll leave the lecture for another time. Are you going to head over to see him?”

Renly hesitated, glancing at the stack of notes she’d brought with her. “Yes, definitely. Later.” Her gaze shifted back to him, catching the worry etched across his face. “Are you alright? Everything okay with Mel?”

“Yes, yes,” Jayce replied quickly, though his hand instinctively went to the back of his neck—a telltale sign he was holding something back.

“It’s not about her,” he added after a moment. “I just… got weird news from Caitlyn.”

“Weird meaning…?” Renly prompted, her brow furrowing as her concern deepened.

Jayce hesitated, his lips pressing into a tight line before he asked, “Have you heard anything from the Undercity recently?”

Renly thought for a moment, her mind flipping through recent events. “Uh, now that you mention it, Ekko hasn’t reached out since the last dispatch. Why?”

Jayce’s expression darkened. “Apparently, tensions are growing tighter down there. Caitlyn said they’re planning a diversion to flush out whoever’s been smuggling Shimmer through the gates.”

Renly’s stomach twisted. “Flush them out how, exactly?”

“They want to literally smoke them out. With the Grey.”

Her heart sank. “Oh, Gods.”

Jayce nodded grimly. “It’s reckless and dangerous, but they’re desperate. Caitlyn’s trying to keep the peace, but it’s hard to control the situation from above.”

Renly’s voice rose slightly. “Jayce, did you tell Viktor?”

“Yeah,” he admitted with a heavy sigh. “And he’s worried. He thinks the council will use this as an excuse to come after Hextech next.”

Renly’s eyes widened. “What are you going to do?”

Jayce’s jaw set with determination. “I’m on my way to talk to Mel about it. She might be able to sway the council or at least buy us some time.”

Renly exhaled sharply, her mind racing. “Be careful, Jayce. This could escalate fast.”

“I know.” He gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “You should talk to Viktor, Ren. He needs you.”

Renly swallowed hard, nodding. “I will.”

Her resolve solidified as she turned back to her work. With shaky hands, she carefully packed the vial of the cure she’d designed specifically for Viktor, enough to last him the next two weeks. She gathered her notes, stacking them neatly into a pile, ensuring they were ready to present to him. Her heart was pounding as she slung her bag over her shoulder and practically bolted out of the lab.

She had to stop herself from outright running to his apartment, though the attempt was futile. Her hurried steps turned into skipping over every other step, her bag clinking faintly with the bottles inside each time she slowed down.

By the time she reached his door, her chest was heaving, her breath short, and her heart felt lodged in her throat. She raised a trembling hand and knocked, the sound echoing in the quiet hallway.

A pause. Silence.

Then, faint footsteps approached, and the door cracked open.

“Renly?” Viktor’s voice was low, almost relieved. He let out a long exhale, as though he’d been holding his breath, as though her knocking on his door was a possibility he hadn’t dared to entertain. His hand rocked slightly on his cane, the hesitation in his posture betraying his uncertainty. For a moment, he seemed torn between pulling her into an embrace or keeping his distance. Finally, he settled on a small beckoning gesture with a tug of his chin.

“Hey, you.” Her voice felt so small, lodged somewhere in her throat. She stepped inside, only to find herself standing awkwardly in the hallway, unsure of what to do with herself.

This same hallway, she realised, was where Viktor would always sweep her into his arms, showering her with kisses whenever they came back to his place together. The absence of that now felt unbearable, a hollow ache settling in her chest.

She glanced at him properly, taking him in. He looked tired—no, beyond tired. Troubled. The crease between his eyebrows was deep and pronounced, etched into his pale features like it had been carved there. The flat itself mirrored his state: slightly messier than she remembered, with cups and scattered notes abandoned on various surfaces. It was a quiet confession that he’d been working endlessly, even here at home.

Renly swallowed hard, forcing herself to look past it all.

For a long, drawn-out moment, neither of them spoke. They just stood there in the dim hallway, their gazes falling to the floor. The silence stretched until it was almost unbearable.

Then, at last, she heard the faint sound of him shifting. And before she could process it, she felt his arms circle around her, pulling her close.

She exhaled shakily, her face tucking into the crook of his neck. He leaned against her fully, his weight pressing into her, his cane now hovering slightly above the floor. His fingers tangled in her hair as though to anchor himself, and she felt his chest expand as he took a long breath, inhaling her scent—a mix of flowers and disinfectant.

In that fragile moment, it felt like he was holding on for dear life.

“You came,” Viktor’s voice was soft, laced with disbelief and relief, as though her presence alone might heal him. He didn’t want to let go. The week had been unbearable. The silence at work was deafening, the emptiness of his flat crushing. Even his coffee tasted too sweet without her there to mock it.

“I... I’ve got something for you,” Renly whispered, shaking her bag gently so the bottles clinked together.

Viktor leaned back, but his arms remained loosely around her, as if afraid she might vanish. His brow furrowed slightly, his expression both tentative and curious. He glanced down at the bag she held out and then peered inside: bottles carefully labelled, a fresh notebook, sterile containers with syringes and needles, bandages, disinfectants, and other small items. He felt his chest tighten—not from his condition, but from the realisation that she hadn’t given up on him.

“Renly, what—” He stopped, unsure how to frame the whirlwind of questions swirling in his mind. What is this? What do you want me to do with it? Why are you doing this after our last fight?

“I’ve worked it out.” Her voice was steady but quiet, as though she feared his reaction. “You’re not going to like it, but this batch should work without a fault. For your breathing,” she added, almost as an afterthought, though it was far from trivial. She bit her lip, her gaze flitting to his face, trying to gauge his response.

Viktor finally let go of her, though reluctantly, and reached into the bag. He pulled out one of the bottles, turning it over in his hands. Each was meticulously labelled with dates, concentrations, and dosages. He glanced at the notebook and saw neat tables with dates and times, spaces for notes, and a carefully outlined regimen.

“Renly,” he began, his voice softer now, almost disbelieving, “did you work around the clock for this?”

“It only took a week,” she replied with a huff, trying to sound casual, but the faint bags under her eyes betrayed her.

Viktor raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by her attempt at nonchalance. “You didn’t sleep, did you?”

“I… might have to show you how to do the injection,” she admitted, deflecting slightly. “We could start today?”

“If I ask what went wrong, will I get a lecture?” he asked, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips despite the weight of the moment.

Renly’s face softened, and a knowing smile broke through. “I come prepared.” She reached into her bag again and produced a folder, thick with notes and diagrams documenting every second of the process. She handed it to him with the air of someone ready to argue every point.

Viktor sighed, setting the bag aside as he moved toward the kettle. “Tea first,” he murmured, as though they weren’t standing on the edge of something monumental.

Renly followed him into the kitchen, her fingers fidgeting nervously as she sat down at the small table. “So…” she began, her voice quieter now, “it would seem that I’ve… well, I’ve fucked up.”

Viktor turned to look at her, his expression unreadable, but he said nothing, letting her continue.

“I didn’t take the state of your immune system into account,” she explained, choosing her words carefully. “It was too strong, which is why…” She paused, exhaling slowly before continuing with clinical precision. “Your batch is crafted based on the samples I collected from you over time. Each one has a different concentration, designed to… coax your immune system into functioning properly, rather than attacking the islet cells.”

Viktor’s brow furrowed slightly, his mind working through her explanation. “What does this mean long term?” His tone was measured, though his chest tightened at the prospect of what she was about to say.

Renly met his gaze, her professionalism steadying her nerves. “It means you’d be dependent on it… indefinitely. But there’s a chance it could minimise your symptoms almost entirely.”

“My symptoms?” Viktor asked, his voice dipping slightly, as if he already knew the answer but needed to hear her say it.

“Your breathing affliction,” she clarified, her voice softer now.

For a long moment, Viktor said nothing. He looked down at the bottle still in his hand, running his thumb over the label. The meticulous care she’d poured into this, the endless hours she’d sacrificed—it all spoke volumes.

“Why?” he finally asked, his voice almost a whisper. “Why are you doing this for me?”

Renly’s lips parted, but no words came immediately. She swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the edge of the table. “Because you deserve better than this.”

Viktor’s gaze lifted to hers, his chest tightening for a different reason now. Longing warred with hesitation in his eyes, but he didn’t dare speak the thought that had lodged itself in his throat: I missed you.

Instead, he walked over to her, leaned in, and kissed her. The angle wasn’t ideal for his spine at the moment, but the sensation of Renly’s lips on his eclipsed any discomfort. At first, she froze, caught off guard, but then she softened into him, slowly rising to stand level with him.

Viktor pulled her flush against him, his hands travelling down to cup her ass as her palms fisted into his shirt. He pushed her gently until she steadied herself against the nearest countertop, breathing into her mouth, “I hated this entire week until now.”

“Viktor, I—” she began, her voice trembling, but she barely managed the words before Viktor captured her lips again in another kiss.

His touch was laced with guilt and remorse, wielded like unspoken words he couldn’t yet form. Every press of his lips, every movement of his hands, was a silent apology—a plea for forgiveness he couldn’t articulate.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting lightly against hers, he whispered his confession. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“I’m sorry I made you feel like… you couldn’t,” Renly replied, her voice soft yet steady. Her eyes searched his face, looking for even a flicker of insincerity, but there was none. His raw vulnerability mirrored her own.

Her gaze shifted briefly to the bag resting on the table, then back to him. “Should we?” she asked quietly, her meaning clear.

Viktor hesitated, reluctant to let the moment shatter. He exhaled slowly, his eyes closing as he nodded.

Renly carried the tea and her bag with her as they moved to the bedroom. She stole glances at the space—messier than she remembered. Viktor had been working, not just in the lab but clearly here too. Sketches of the Hexcore, rune patterns, and scribbled calculations were scattered across the desk and even the nightstand. A faint smell of ink and parchment lingered in the air, mixing with something distinctly him.

She placed the tea on the bedside table, setting her bag down gently on the bed. Viktor eased himself onto the mattress, his posture slightly slouched, his cane set to the side. He looked tired—more so than usual—and she didn’t miss the weight of the week etched across his features.

Renly rummaged through her bag, pulling out the bottle and syringe, the familiarity of the routine grounding her nerves. Her eyes flicked up to him. “May I?” she asked softly, her hands hovering near his belt buckle.

Viktor looked at her for a long moment, his amber eyes holding hers. Then he gave a slow, wordless nod, leaning back slightly to give her access.

Her fingers worked carefully, unbuckling his belt and sliding his trousers down just enough to expose his upper thigh. The act, once clinical, now felt different. Intimate. She couldn’t ignore the quiet vulnerability in the air.

Renly reached for the disinfectant, but before applying it, she leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his thigh. It was tender, unhurried—a gesture she hadn’t planned but couldn’t stop herself from doing. Viktor watched her silently, his expression unreadable, though something in his gaze softened.

She disinfected the skin with slow, deliberate movements, her touch losing the sterility it once held. When she placed the needle in, Viktor didn’t flinch; he simply observed her, his gaze unwavering, as if her presence was more potent than the act itself.

Once the injection was done, Renly set the syringe aside and carefully massaged the area, her fingertips working lightly over his skin. Viktor’s head tipped back at her touch, his body leaning into the sensation. The tension in his posture seemed to melt away.

Renly finished and wiped her hands before sitting beside him. She reached out, tugging a few stray strands of his hair behind his ear. “How are you feeling?” she asked, her voice soft and laced with concern.

Viktor chuckled softly, his lips curling into a faint smile. “Exposed,” he murmured, his voice low and raspy. “But not like a test subject.”

Renly smiled back. “Would you like to be touched some more? Not like a test subject?”

Viktor’s smirk was faint but teasing, and she laughed, quickly correcting herself. “Not like that, you—” But the words faltered as her thoughts betrayed her, the unspoken desire lingering in the air. She swallowed and shifted the conversation. “Is there any pain I can help you with?”

“My back aches,” he admitted after a moment, his fingers tracing gentle patterns along her hand.

Renly nodded, standing from the bed with quiet determination. She disappeared into the bathroom and returned moments later with a small bottle of oil and a warm, clean washcloth. Without a word, she set them down on the bedside table and began to undress him.

Viktor stayed still, watching her with a quiet curiosity as she moved with purpose. His woollen jumper was first to go, tugged gently over his head. The linen shirt followed, her fingers brushing against his collarbone as she unfastened the buttons and slipped it off his shoulders. She folded the discarded clothes neatly and placed them on a nearby chair.

“Do you want me to take the brace off?” she asked softly, her voice carrying no judgment, only care.

Viktor hesitated for the briefest moment before nodding. “Yes, please.”

Renly knelt beside him, her fingers carefully working at the leather straps and metal bolts embedded into his back. She undid each one slowly, her touch reverent, her breaths quiet. The closeness brought their faces near, and she lingered at times, her focus entirely on the intricate task. Viktor didn’t look at her, but he felt her presence acutely—the warmth of her skin, the gentle pull of her fingers.

When the brace was finally removed, Renly placed it carefully at the side of the bed. “I’ll clean it later,” she murmured, almost to herself. For now, Viktor was her only priority.

“Lie on your stomach,” she instructed gently.

He obeyed, shifting with measured movements until he was stretched out on the bed. Renly sat beside him, brushing her fingers lightly against the nape of his neck to sweep his hair aside. Viktor shivered at her touch, a quiet exhale escaping his lips.

She pressed the warm washcloth along the line of his spine, letting the heat relax his tense muscles. Slowly, she worked her way down, the cloth tracing the contours of his ribs and the edges of his shoulders. When she reached the bolts embedded in his back, she paused.

“I’m going to clean around these,” she said softly, taking a small bandage and soaking it in disinfectant.

Viktor only hummed in acknowledgment. When she pressed it against one of the bolts, he winced slightly, the sharpness of the sting making him flinch.

“Sorry,” Renly murmured, her hand instinctively resting on his shoulder blade, a silent apology in her touch.

“How do you do this on your own?” she asked after a moment, her voice heavy with quiet concern.

Viktor shrugged under her hand; his response unbothered yet resigned. “I just do.” He always had. Once, he’d let someone else do it for him—a long time ago. There was even a time he allowed Jayce to try, but Jayce’s hands had been too clumsy, too heavy. Now, he managed the basic maintenance himself, convincing himself it was enough—until now.

Renly’s hands moved with careful purpose, her fingers pressing gently into the base of Viktor’s skull. She started with soft pinches, holding the tension in her grip until the tight muscle beneath her fingers gave way, melting slowly like ice under sunlight. He let out a quiet hum, his breathing deep and steady as if she were unearthing a hidden well of relief.

“Let me know if it’s too much,” she murmured, her voice soft but steady, her focus entirely on him.

“It’s perfect,” Viktor replied, his voice muffled by the pillow beneath him.

Her hands moved lower, finding the stress coiled in his shoulders. She worked it slowly, methodically, using her thumbs to knead the tension loose. Gently, she pulled his shoulders upward, coaxing his chest to open as he released a soft, involuntary cough. The sound was small, almost embarrassed, but Renly smiled to herself, glad to see even the subtlest signs of release.

“You carry too much here,” she said gently, her thumbs pushing into the thick knots of muscle. “No wonder you’re so stiff.”

He huffed a breath, the closest he’d come to a laugh. “The weight of genius,” he muttered, his tone dry but laced with affection.

She pressed her thumbs deeper into the dense muscle, her touch firm but never harsh, and the tension slowly began to unravel. Viktor’s breathing grew softer, more rhythmic. As her hands travelled downward, she began to work along the length of his spine. With practiced care, she rolled the fascia beneath her fingers, gliding up and down the delicate column. She paused when she reached the lumbar region, where the tension was the most stubborn, her fingers pausing to gently probe and soothe.

“Here,” she murmured, taking note of the density. “This is the worst spot.”

Viktor only hummed in response, too relaxed to offer anything more.

Renly shifted her approach, gliding the heels of her palms along the muscles flanking his spine. She moved deliberately, tracing the length of his erector spinae, rolling and stretching the stubborn tension as she worked. The sigh that escaped Viktor was deep and unguarded, a sound of pure relief.

“There we go,” she whispered, her palms continuing their gentle, rhythmic motion. “Better?”

He nodded against the pillow, his voice almost a whisper. “Much better.” It felt... odd. To be touched for a clinical reason, but with love. Viktor found himself wondering if he could settle for his life to be this. If he could accept the momentary relief of her hands on him, the fleeting reprieve from pain. Could he make peace with his leg always being numb, his spine forever twisted? Would the ability to breathe freely be enough to outweigh everything else?

But the answer didn’t come.

Renly poured a small amount of scented oil into her hands, rubbing them together to warm it before smoothing her palms across the plane of his back. The aroma—something light and floral—wafted into the air as her hands moved over him, steady and deliberate. Her touch was soft yet firm, grounding him as much as it soothed him.

She began to hum quietly, the melody unrecognisable but comforting. Viktor let out a soft chuckle, the sound breaking the quiet intimacy of the room.

“What?” Renly asked, her hands pausing briefly before continuing their work.

“Nothing,” Viktor murmured, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. “You hum like an old woman knitting by the fire.”

Renly gasped in mock offence, a grin tugging at the corners of her lips. “I’ll have you know this is a very sophisticated tune.”

“Oh, I can tell,” he replied, his tone teasing but warm. “It’s utterly riveting.”

She pressed her thumbs a little deeper into a particularly tight spot on his back, eliciting a small grunt from him. “Careful,” she warned lightly, “or I might lose my delicate touch.”

Viktor smirked against the pillow, his eyes falling closed as her hands continued their gentle ministrations. “I’ll take my chances.”

Renly shifted her hands under his arm to help him roll onto his side. Viktor grunted softly, his body resisting the change in position, but he let her guide him. Once he was settled, she nestled in front of him, her face close to his.

“Hi,” she said, her voice light but tinged with awkwardness, a small smile playing on her lips.

Viktor raised an eyebrow at her, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk. “Hi yourself,” he replied, his tone soft as his arm wrapped around her, pulling her closer against his chest.

Her hands rested on him instinctively, palms pressed flat against his skin. She began rubbing gentle circles over his chest, her touch soothing. His fingers drifted into her hair, combing through it absentmindedly, his motions slow and tender.

“Have you heard about Zaun?” Viktor asked, his voice breaking the comfortable silence.

Renly’s hands stilled briefly. “Yes,” she murmured, her tone cautious.

Silence stretched between them for a beat, heavy and tentative. She finally broke it, her voice trembling slightly with conviction. “I’ve been thinking... about going in. About helping Ekko.”

Viktor’s fingers stilled in her hair, his body tensing against hers. He shifted slightly, his gaze darkening. “You can’t,” he said simply, the words sharp and final.

“Viktor,” she whispered, leaning back just enough to meet his eyes. “I have something—something that could counter the Grey. If they actually drop it in Zaun, I have to do something. I can’t just stand by.”

His jaw tightened, and his grip on her waist firmed. “I can’t let you,” he said, his voice low but resolute. His mind churned bitterly, painting a narrative he didn’t dare to voice. How could he support her in something like this? Sending her into danger, knowing he couldn’t protect her—knowing what Zaun might become under the chem-barons’ desperation?

She stared at him, her eyes searching his face for a sign of understanding, of compromise, but he offered none. It was just another grain on the delicate scale of his mind. It teetered in the middle, tilting from one side to the other with each emotion that clouded his heart. Could he settle for this, for her safety at the cost of everything else? And yet, surely he couldn’t. If she went, he would have to be stronger, better. If she went, surely he would have to be more than half a man.

He pulled her closer, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. “Will you stay?” His words carried layers of unspoken meaning: Will you stay here? Will you stay on the Top Side? Will you stand by me when I make an impossible choice?

Renly didn’t answer with words. She only nodded, her forehead brushing against his chest as she nuzzled into him, her warmth settling against his. Viktor exhaled slowly, his grip on her loosening just enough to rest his palm against the curve of her back.

The silence returned, heavier now, laden with the weight of unspoken fears and half-formed promises. The room seemed to hold its breath with them, the soft rustle of fabric and the faint hum of the city beyond the only sounds.

Eventually, their breathing began to even out, though it still carried an unsteady rhythm, a cadence of unease. Their brows remained furrowed, as if their worries had followed them into this fragile peace. Viktor’s hand brushed against her hair one last time before stilling, and Renly’s fingers idly traced the edge of the bed sheet where it bunched against his ribs.

Sleep came for them slowly, creeping in at the edges of their thoughts, until exhaustion finally overpowered everything left unsaid. They drifted off together, their bodies entwined but their minds restless, painted with doubts they couldn’t voice.

The morning found them clutching each other, and Renly felt as though the crease in her forehead hadn’t relaxed for even a minute during her sleep.

Renly poured them both coffee, the steam rising in the quiet room, mingling with the soft sounds of the morning. They sat close, the warmth between them shared not only through the mugs but in the tender way their fingers brushed against each other, lingering for just a moment too long before pulling away. Words seemed unnecessary as they both sipped in silence, the weight of the night still pressed onto their bodies, a quiet understanding passing between them without needing to be said aloud. Viktor reached for her hand across the table, his thumb brushing over her knuckles, a silent gesture of comfort and connection. But neither of them could completely shake the tension, the uncertainty nagging them like a splinter.

When the time came to part, they stood together, neither rushing to break the moment. Viktor’s hand found the small of her back as they exchanged one final, lingering kiss on the doorstep. “See you later at work,” he murmured, his voice thick with more than just the words. She nodded, her lips pressing into a tight smile. “Later,” she replied softly, her own heart heavy with the same unspoken thoughts. As she stepped away, the door clicking shut behind her, they both walked off in opposite directions, the promise of ‘later’ hanging in the air. But they knew, deep down, they would work through their struggles separately—for now, anyway. The heaviness in their chests weighed them down, both carrying the quiet burden of what was yet to come.

***

After a short routine back in her apartment, Renly made her way to the lab, her mind still clouded with uncertainty. She hoped she might find something—anything—that would help her make sense of it all. Inside, she found Jayce hunched over, deeply focused on the Hexcore runes scattered before him. His brows were furrowed, and a fine sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead.

"Any news?" she asked, her voice laced with quiet concern.

Jayce let out a sharp sigh, pushing a few strands of hair out of his eyes. "The council is steering clear. For now."

"But?" Renly pressed, already sensing the tension in his words.

"The Grey plan is still on the table," Jayce continued, his eyes darkening. "And... now we have Heimerdinger against us."

"What do you mean, against us?" Renly asked, stepping closer to him.

Jayce gestured toward the Hexcore. "He... thinks we should destroy it. He doesn’t believe it’s safe. I really don’t understand—if this could save Viktor, save other people—how he can’t see that."

Renly folded her arms, feeling the weight of her own thoughts pressing down on her chest. "What if he’s right?" she asked quietly.

Jayce scoffed, but there was an edge to his voice. "What do you mean? You can’t seriously be suggesting that Heimerdinger is right. It could change everything. It could save Viktor!"

"Jayce," she interrupted softly, "please listen. He’s seen so much more than we have. He has what? Over two centuries on us? More? Did you ever stop to think that maybe, just maybe, when he says he’s already seen this... he means it?"

Jayce’s expression faltered, but he quickly recovered. "I... How is Viktor?" he asked, his voice quieter now.

Renly hesitated, her gaze drifting to the floor. "He accepted the cure," she said, her words heavy. "But... his mind is still stirring. I can tell."

Jayce frowned. "Well, what if Heimerdinger is wrong? What if it’s the only way?"

"What if he’s right?" Renly snapped, her frustration bubbling up. "What if he dies? What if it changes him? Is that a price you’re willing to pay just to prove a point?"

"Renly," Jayce said, his voice rising with urgency, "I’m not trying to prove anything. I’m trying to save my friend."

Renly took a step back, her breath shallow. "He can live, Jayce," she said quietly. "Comfortably. A long life. Loved and accepted. Isn’t that enough?"

Jayce stared at her, struggling to reconcile the weight of her words. "How can you know he’ll be comfortable? How can you know it will change him?"

"How can you know it won’t?" Renly’s voice cracked with raw emotion. "Jayce, I’m not asking you to throw away your work. I’m asking you to measure the risk. This isn’t just a procedure you can redo if it goes wrong. If you go through with it, you live with the consequences. And I’m not sure if I—" her voice got lost in her throat, the bitter feeling on her tongue burning her mouth.

"What are you saying, Renly?" Jayce interrupted, his expression softening in concern.

Renly’s chest tightened, her words stumbling over each other as the reality of what she was facing hit her like a wave. She struggled to keep her composure, but the dam broke. "I don’t know, Jayce..." Her voice quivered, and before she knew it, she was breaking down, her body wracked with sobs. "I can’t... I can’t just stand by, and watch Viktor destroy himself, not now, not ever." Her breath hitched as the panic overtook her, her chest tight and her vision blurring with tears.

She felt like screaming, but the scream died somewhere inside her.

Jayce was instantly beside her, his hands hovering around her as he tried to comfort her. "Renly, hey, hey, it’s okay," he said, his voice calm but insistent. "Tell me what to do. What do you need from me?"

Renly managed to lift her trembling hands toward him, clutching onto his shirt as she tried to steady herself. "Okay... okay, I have to..." She gasped, forcing herself to breathe through the tears. "Breathe, Renly. You have to breathe."

"Okay, okay," Jayce said, his voice soft but steady. "Breathe, Renly. I’m here. You’re not alone in this." He stayed with her, letting her take the time she needed to regain control, his presence a steady anchor in the storm of her emotions.

As her breathing slowed, Renly wiped her eyes, her face flushed with the intensity of her breakdown. "I can’t just let him do this, Jayce. I can’t stand by and watch him think that he’s doing this for me. I’ve never told him that he doesn’t need to. He’s perfect the way he is, and I’ve never told him that. And now... I think he believes he has to change for me."

“Renly, he is in pain,” Jayce said softly, holding her in his arms, her body folded against his chest. Even though his argument was intact, he wasn’t sure he believed it himself. He missed something, something important in all of this.

"So what!" she snapped, her voice raw and childish in its frustration. "There are ways, Jayce, to ease the pain." Her voice grew weak as she held onto Jayce’s hands, almost crushing his large palms in her grasp. "Have you ever told him? That you love him, that he’s perfect the way he is?"

Jayce hesitated, his throat tightening. "I... I don’t know," he admitted, guilt creeping in.

"I would give him my own leg if it changed anything," Renly whispered, tears brimming again. "But it won’t. As long as he believes there’s something wrong with him, it won’t change a thing. And he will die searching, and I..." Her voice faltered, choking on the enormity of her guilt. I will forever be guilty of this. I will forever be alone in the world without him.

"Ren," Jayce started, his voice softening, trying to soothe her, but before he could continue—

“What is this?” Viktor’s voice sliced through the tension in the room. He stood in the doorway to the lab, his expression tight and unreadable.

"Viktor," Renly gasped, her hands still clutching onto Jayce’s.

“What is this?” He repeated, his tone turning sharper, more demanding.

“Vik, we’re just talking,” Jayce said quickly, his words laced with a hint of nervousness.

"Really?" Viktor’s voice grew colder, sharper still. "Or are you debating what my life should or shouldn’t be, without me being present?" He took a step into the room, his gaze flickering between Jayce and Renly, a storm brewing behind his eyes.

Renly's heart pounded in her chest, and she felt the weight of everything hanging in the balance, unsure how to bridge the gap between her words and the truth they all needed to face. “Viktor, please—”

“I am not a child. Nor do I need to be guided and guarded. Nor do I need other people to tell me what to do with my life,” he said quietly, his eyes glinting in the dark. Anger tore him apart. Anger at her, at Jayce, at himself. Surely, if Renly was allowed to make her own decisions, he should be granted the same right.

“Vik,” Jayce started but was quickly cut off.

“I will ask politely for the both of you to leave,” Viktor’s voice was cold and final, the words biting as they left his mouth.

“Viktor, you can’t be serious,” Jayce pushed back, disbelief edging his voice.

Renly only looked at him, her eyes welling with tears again, her heart sinking with every second that passed. She couldn’t say the words she wanted to. She couldn’t explain why it hurt so much, why it felt like the world was collapsing in on them.

Viktor turned toward her as she stood to leave. “I will see you later.”

She nodded, her lips trembling, but she couldn’t bring herself to say anything more. She simply turned away, the sound of Jayce’s scoff echoing in the space between them, followed by the loud thump of the door closing behind them.

Viktor stood still for a moment, his chest tight, and then a long, shaky sigh escaped his lungs. His eyes burned uncontrollably as the weight of his thoughts was pushing him down into the floor. He had measured everything, except for this. Except for Jayce’s anger toward him, except for Renly’s unspoken plea for him to listen. He had to. He had to try before it’s too late. Before Heimerdinger got his hands on the Hexcore and destroyed it. Before the Council turned it into a weapon. Before both he and his work went to dust.

A cruel joke. Finally, he was alone—with his own thoughts. The two things he had desired most, polar opposites of each other. Yet here they were, colliding in the same breath. He had to try, though.

Viktor walked to the centre of the lab; his steps measured but purposeful. He circled the Hexcore, observing it as if searching for any lingering hesitation within himself. There was none. It was so faint, so weak, and he was so ready. All the time he’d spent on this, all the sacrifices, the sleepless nights—it was all finally coming to an end.

Himself, born anew, was within arm’s length.

He sat down, his hand trembling slightly as he ran his fingers along its surface. The energy it emitted tugged at him, magnetic and undeniable. Tentative, almost reverent, his touch felt like brushing against something on the edge of existence—a fleeting spectre of both promise and peril.

Viktor’s hand trembled as it hovered above the Hexcore, a moth courting the flame. The air around it shimmered, thick and pulsating, as though it were alive and watching him in return. For a fleeting moment, his rational mind begged him to stop, to turn away, but the promise of what lay within drowned out reason like a tidal wave. He closed his eyes, steeling himself, and reached into the shifting glow.

The moment his fingers made contact; reality fractured.

It wasn’t pain, not at first. It was an unravelling, as though the fabric of his being was torn apart strand by strand. Threads of thought and self—unravelled in every direction, carried away by currents of something ancient and unrelenting. He saw visions—no, not visions, but glimpses of a thousand possibilities. Each one glimmered like a jewel, just out of reach. He could be whole. He could be more than he was. He could rewrite his limits, ascend beyond the constraints of flesh and frailty.

But every shimmering possibility came with a price. In the periphery of his fractured consciousness, he saw shadows, dark tendrils coiling around the edges of the light. They whispered to him in languages he didn’t know but somehow understood, showing him the cost. His humanity. His mind. His soul. The weight of it all crushed him, bearing down on him like the pressure of the ocean’s deepest trench.

Then the pain struck—blinding, searing, like molten metal coursing through his veins. It was excruciating, a fire that consumed not just his body but his very essence. His mind cracked under the strain, splintering into pieces as the Hexcore took its toll. Somewhere in the chaos, he realised the truth: he couldn’t pay the price. He wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t willing enough.

With a desperate, guttural cry, Viktor wrenched himself free, breaking the connection. He collapsed to the floor in a heap, his body shaking violently as he gasped for air. His vision swam with purples and blacks, the remnants of whatever the Hexcore had done to him. His limbs felt leaden, his chest tight, but as his eyes adjusted, he saw it—a glowing, fluorescent purple vein snaking its way through his leg, vivid and alive.

Terror seized him.

He stared at the vein, his mind racing with the implications of what he had just done. The Hexcore had marked him, changed him in some way he couldn’t yet understand. He curled up on the cold lab floor, trembling, his arms clutching his knees as he tried to slow his ragged breathing.

The price had been too high. And yet, he had paid part of it.

Fear coiled tightly around his chest, sinking its teeth into his heart. For the first time in his life, Viktor wasn’t sure if he had the strength to face what came next.

[mysterymastere]

Crashout Virus

CW: hypnosis, corruption

It started out as a curiosity. Since almost anyone can be hypnotized, what if someone developed a single really efficient and effective induction method that could be delivered digitally.

This turned out to be the most challenging part. It needed both visual and auditory cues, both to increase potency, and to ensure it could reach a wider range of people. It needed to be fairly rapid in order to maintain the focus of the most people. Finally, it needed a level of intensity where it would actually prove useful. Rapid instructions often needed deepeners applied immediately to ensure a stable trance.

Over 100 iterations later, I had a video file only 30 seconds long, capable of keeping 93% of people in trance for at least a minute after viewing, barring outside interference. I called it Crashout.

I was proud of my creation, but I wasn't sure what I wanted to do with it. I showed it off to a few friends into hypnosis. I watched one individual view the file, drop, drool, then come back up and immediately show it to a couple of their hypno friends.

That's what inspired the virus. I'm not sure why I decided to challenge myself to see how far it could spread.

Having played Plague Inc, I knew the viruses that spread the furthest had 3 specific features

1. Highly infectious - already done

2. Easily spread - A suggestion added in after the induction to share the video after viewing ensured people would want to spread it. Having the video posted to a hidden YouTube page would be easily spread, and allow me to track views, with an embedded command to click like so I can track unique views as well.

3. Subtle - this was a little challenging. I made sure to include a suggestion to forget the video, but it took a couple iterations to ensure people wouldn't repeatedly view the video every time they saw the message.

Test run was much more successful than I anticipated. I launched it to a group of 5 and set the time limit to 24 hours. I was expecting 1,000 unique views would qualify as a success. When I saw the numbers approaching 1 million, I got a little carried away.

I rewrote the embedded suggestions, encouraging the viewer to watch the file once per day. After all, repetition is the secret to ensuring strong suggestions. At first, that's all I did. I went live and waited a week. The video was limited to English speakers, so hitting more than 200 million unique views after a week was what made me realize how powerful Crashout was.

I modified the file the next day. Nothing significant, a small suggestion. Be kinder. I barely noticed the difference at first. By the third day however, people around me were much more polite, almost eerily so.

I switched the suggestion to a much more reasonable "be kind" to stop any sort of exponential growth.

I think I was pissed off about some work drama when I gave in and got selfish. Adding in images of me at the subliminal level didn't impact the efficacy of the file. The suggestion "you really like mystermastere. Be good to him," proved to be very successful. I wasn't thinking anything other than friendship. I hadn't considered how some people would interpret the suggestion.

I figured out what was going on the second time someone propositioned me that day. I wish I could say I corrected my mistake. I'm just not a good enough person, I guess. But it's ok. A lot of people are seeing things my way these days.

[electricgg]

I just binge read ancient dreams and oh my god your mind????? It’s so good I can’t believe this is free!!

It being Tommy that got displaced rather than Billy is so interesting to me, as one that I read before had it be Billy. And all the X-men references???? Every time I see one I’m like the DiCaprio meme pointing at my screen lol

I hope Pietro, with the wandavision attitude specifically, is introduced next, even though I love both Wanda and Harvey, I just think the chaos between him and reader would be so funny

Please add me to the tag list, as I am eagerly waiting for the next update!!!!! 💜💜💜

Thank you so so much for reading my fic!! It gets me so happy and excited when I get asks like these!!

While I do love magical/witchy readers, I wanted to write a Tommy!Reader way more because I’m a huge fan of speedsters and since it’s not so often that I see people writing readers with those powers, I took it as challenge and I am so glad that I did it

And always expect many many X-Men references. They’re my main hero team and I adore them with all my heart and writing them in this story has only deepened my love for them.

And if you love Pietro, please stay tuned for next chapter because he is FINALLY making his first appearance in the story. Though, quick warning, he is not going to be the same completely since I mixed many iterations of his character (like the X-men movies, the original series, a bit of his MCU and a fair lot of X-men Evolution). But he is still the same cocky, funny and charming Pietro we all love✨💖

Him and Maximoff are going to be such an amazing Uncle/niece duo, I can’t wait for them to meet!!

(And don’t you worry, I’ll add you to the tag list 😌✨)

[theelfsongbard]

Counterweight

Pairing: spawn!Astarion x AFAB!reader

Summary: after the epilogue, you and Astarion share a summer’s afternoon together in the meadow. For @oharahive’s breeding kink challenge!

Warnings: epilogue spoilers, breeding kink, mentions of potential future pregnancy

Word Count: 2273

Image source: https://www.pinterest.com.au/pin/760123243354175763/

These past 6 months have been the counterweight to 200 years of misery. Thank you.

He had said those words to you weeks ago, and from then, he had slowly been opening up more and more to you. More frank, more transparent with his feelings than ever before. Today, he is quiet again but you know his mind is anything but, still coming to terms with his grand adventure and the turn of fate that it has brought with it. All at once, he speaks up.

“You bring me the best happiness. You show me the way, where I cannot see and you give me love where I don’t always deserve it. I don’t know how you do it, but I will always be grateful for you.”

The summer breeze blows over the meadow, sifting over the long grass like a wave of verdant green. How lovely it is, to be here, to be loved. Astarion’s thoughts lazily drift as he rests his head in your lap, his eyes shut and sheltered from the sunlight by the wide canopy of an old oak. Slowly he breathes in, bringing cool air into lungs that no longer work. Things have changed drastically in the past 6 months, and now, despite his condition, he found himself flourishing and a free man.

Above him, your gentle humming stops though your hand in his hair continues to massage his scalp with just the right amount of pressure. “And I would give up anything to see you happy for all eternity without hesitation. Has last night’s party been on your mind, love? You’ve been introspective lately.”

“How can I help myself, darling? I can’t help but think about how things could’ve turned out so differently, and yet every iteration I think about, I cannot imagine myself being happier than I am now. You led me here and I… hate to think what life would be like without you being my guiding light. I’d be bitter, resentful, enslaved still by my own will or by Cazador. And I know that I was not always easy to love, but you stayed anyways when it would have been so easy to walk away.”

“You are worthy of love. I have chosen to love you because waking up to your smile every day and seeing you grow into who you are brings me joy. You are my home and my guide. The obstacles we faced together only strengthened our bond.”

Astarion cracks one vermillion eye open, a knowing smirk on his lips, “You like my smile? Why don’t you tell me more?” His voice deepens playfully as he drags you down to press some feather-light kisses on your mouth. This is his way of processing his feelings on complicated topics, as if he is afraid that wallowing in his thoughts any longer will eat him alive even though he has become less self-conscious about openly sharing his thoughts now.

You gasp in feigned scandalousness, “If I feed your ego too much, you might be too full of yourself for tonight’s dinner! I suppose you’ll just have to settle with knowing that you’re just lovely.” The way you giggle into his mouth sets something alight in him and he flips himself over, pinning you down into the grass below him, earning him a squeal of delighted surprise. This time, it’s your turn to lean up and capture his lips with her own, pulling a low rumbling chuckle from deep in his throat that vibrates through his chest and into hers where he presses against you. “Cheeky little thing aren't you?” the sound of his voice combined with the feeling of his arms caging you in makes your heart beat wildly in its ribcage. Nobody plays the game of seduction better than Astarion and the past 6 months together have only given him time to learn exactly what makes you tick.

“If you're worried about me being too full for dinner, I suppose I can always have dinner a little earlier, if you'll permit it. There's always room for dessert afterwards.” his lips graze tantalisingly over the exposed skin of your neck, his nose nuzzling the shell of your ear with care.

The ring of your laugh chimes like a bell on the wind, “Oh, just stop playing coy and come down for a bite then!”

You don’t need to ask twice before you feel his fangs probing for the blood beneath your skin before finally piercing into your neck, you grit your teeth and cling to his arms as he bears down. The feeling of pain never gets any better no matter how many times he feeds from you, but you have gotten used to the icy pricks and the ensuing numbness as he draws the blood from your body into his. It's his chest that warms first, followed by the healthy flush of life that fills his cheeks and… more intimate regions making itself known by the hardening desire pressed into your stomach.

Drunk on the fresh bouquet of your blood, Astarion laps his tongue against the puncture wounds at your neck, capturing the remnants of his dinner as it runs from the site. An appreciative moan pours from his throat, and when he pulls away at last, you can see that his eyes burn with fire and need. Feeding Astarion doesn’t always lead to sex, but the intimacy of the act makes it a very appealing activity for you both and today is one of those days.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about our future as well, what adventures it might hold for us both,” he kisses up your neck, tickling you and leaving you gasping for air as he teases. The only coherent word you can manage to utter is a shaky “yes?”.

“And I had the most interesting chat with Gale at the party.”

You frowned, wondering where on earth he was going with this. There was once a time when he and Gale weren’t on the best of terms with one another, not in the least because he was also competing for your affection when it was clearly already given to Astarion. Although time had mellowed out Astarion’s moodiness and dislike of the wizard, you couldn't help but think that perhaps it was jealousy that had stoked the fire of his appetite today.

“Oh? And what about him?” you squirmed about as his lips found your ear.

“It's nothing about him, but it is about us. You see, he was telling me about a guest lecturer he had at his school, a dhampir.”

Oh. Oh. So that was what was on his mind.

“Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?” The implication hung there, tantalising. The idea of children wasn’t a topic that you had broached with Astarion. In all honesty, you had both had your hands full with other things; adventuring, searching for a cure to vampirism, working to rebuild the Underdark for the many spawn that had been released from Cazador’s manse. But now that he had mentioned it, your mind couldn't help but be filled with images of Astarion lovingly gazing down at a small fragile bundle close to his chest, swathed in cloth. Astarion smiling as he held out a finger clutched by tiny hands. Astarion cooing and stroking its cheek as it drifted into a trance, protected from the cruelty of the world by his love. “Astarion.” A familiar tingle of heat fills you and concentrates itself at your core as the thoughts suffocate the forefront of your mind until nothing else surfaces.

“Think of them reaching for us, seeking the comfort of our loving embrace, filling our home with joy in the mornings.” he breathes in wantonly, inhaling your intoxicating scent. You are fertile, and the tang of your blood on his tongue and the scent of it lets him know that your body is ready at its peak to receive a child if you should choose to do so. “I’m ready for a child, if you are, my love.” he breathes it like a promise against your mouth, forehead pressed to yours waiting for your answer.

“Yes. I am ready.” you respond in kind, kissing him earnestly. “Give me your child.”

Astarion’s ministrations grow as much as his enthusiasm. From where he is hovering above you, he growls with a hint of possessiveness and primal joy. The fact that you were willing was a promise of security, of having you by his side in the years to come with the knowledge that you loved him so much that you would choose to create something that would immortalise your expression of love for each other in flesh and bone and flowing blood.

You were his of your own choosing and he was yours. Would always choose you and stand by your side. The thought drives him mad and admist the attention that he lavishes on your lips, a hand snakes down your body, freeing your tucked shirt and undressing you with uncanny dexterity and speed fueled by his need to have you as his partner and his mate. Immediately. To press you down and fill you to the bursting with his essence until his seed overflowed in your womb and blessed you both with child.

His hand is distracted by the curve of your breasts, kneading them gently as he begins to move down your body to lick and suckle on them. The moans pouring from you only serve to heighten his own arousal and fill him with satisfaction as he plays you with all the expertise of a bard with a well-acquainted instrument. When he finally relieves you of your pants, he lovingly dips a finger along your folds, making you buck your hips up, collecting the slick and rubbing it against your clit, revelling in the way you’re already wet with desire for him causing a shiver to run through your body. “Excited, darling?” he dares to tease out with that high giggle of his. The heat in your cheeks only grows as you huff, “you don’t say. Please, don’t stop now.” you're so desperate for his touch, to feel him inside you.

He chuckles, “Only because you’re so desperate -“. He licks a long stripe up through them, but despite pretending otherwise, the hold you have on him is too great and inhumanly quickly, he scrambles back up, his knee hooking up under yours to open you up and pulling himself free from his trousers as he aligns himself with your entrance, coating himself in you before pushing in until he’s fully sheathed in your warm heat. The unexpected stretch rips a stifled yelp of pleasure from you and Astarion can’t help but moan in kind. “Don’t hide, let me hear you.”

Waiting until you’ve adjusted to him, he lifts your knees up to his shoulders, folding you over so that he can bury himself deeper inside. The new position brings you closer to the edge as he thrusts with increasing vigour, losing himself in the need to fill you up completely, imagining his seed taking and the swell of your belly bearing the evidence of your passion for everyone to see. “I want to see you dripping with my seed, fucked full until there’s no room left for anything else.”

“Then do it!” you just about screamed as he reached between you to rub on your clit. “Give it to me,” you sobbed, “until there’s nothing left to give.” the added pressure sent you tumbling over the edge, and your vision blacked out momentarily as your mind tried to catch up with your body, still spasming and twitching around his cock, milking him of all he had as he met his release with a shuddering roar, driving himself even deeper than he had before as he spent himself inside you. He doesn't move to pull out, keeping himself and his spend inside you do as long as possible and the intention of the action makes you clench slightly around his softening cock drawing a hiss from Astarion. “You want to go again, love?”

Catching your breath, from the exertion you couldn't help but drag him down to lay beside you, holding him close as you rest your head on his arm, nuzzling close to his neck and inhaling his comforting scent. It spells safety and tenderness that you know is only reserved for you. “Not right now, Astarion. I'm exhausted, but maybe we do it again another day,” you say with a laugh, “after all, if it doesn’t work this time, we’ll just have to keep on trying.”

“Well,” he says with a lazy kiss, “I’m very on board with your idea.”

“This is nice. This is really nice,” you whisper to him. “I just want to lay here with you forever.”

His hand snakes over to rest on your waist, the reassuring weight grounding you and the gentle press of his lips to your hair making your heart flutter. “Then let’s stay, for a little while longer at least. Close your eyes, darling.” Without even being able to see it, you can hear the smile on Astarion’s lips as he says it. You can’t help but feel a swell of contentment and pride at these moments of softness where so much was said with so few words.

You don't know how long you lay there in the field with Astarion, holding each other as the sun sank below the horizon but the next time you’re pulled from your trance, it’s the stars that watch over you as you anticipate the hopeful possibility of what might come to fruition.

[foreignswaggersession]

iwtv ep. 11 (s2ep4) - misconceptions pt. 1

it started with people claiming that louis “got the ick” around armand in ep 11.  we know that louis didn’t consider armand his companion after 1.5 years of seeing each other.  but while I agree that louis is apprehensive about armand, i don’t agree that it’s because he’s not attracted to armand.  if anything, i think the sex is the least of their problems, and i think louis’s apprehension comes instead from his suspicion that armand’s feelings for him aren’t genuine.

louis obviously likes spending time with armand and having sex with him, as shown by them continuing to see each other and have sex after louis claims they’re not companions. no, we don’t see the sex act, but just like in season 1, you can infer the existence of a sexual relationship without seeing it.  Like, how do you think they ended up in bed in only their underwear? 

and contrary to popular belief, they'd finished having sex before dreamstat appeared.  dreamstat shows up when armand presses the issue of louis not calling their relationship a companionship (note that louis’s more comfortable with “affair” and “romance” – words that imply attraction, just not commitment). 

we see dreamstat’s shadow before he fully materializes:

between that shadow and his first words, we learn that louis has talked to armand about grace, but not that much about florence – enough that armand should know that grace is not louis’s mother. that armand’s first impulse was to just name the only female relative louis’s talked about, then blame louis for him getting the answer wrong instead of just admitting he didn’t know – well, that’s not making louis confident that armand cares about him enough to deepen the relationship.   

when louis tries to reassure armand that he likes their relationship now, armand again gets annoyed that it’s not a “companionship,” so dreamstat finally says, “oh god, how do you manage it?”  it’s armand’s domineering personality that puts louis on guard. 

i’m pretty sure louis is not wishing he was with lestat.  in fact, thinking of lestat makes him angry, reminds him of a relationship dynamic he does not want. 

so instead, he decides to commit to armand more - he agrees to come to more coven events. it doesn't get much clearer than that:

when dreamstat laughs and mocks “i love you,” he’s not talking about louis saying it to armand.  when louis tells armand 'i love you,' dreamstat almost looks offended because we know louis did not say it to lestat in real life. 

but when armand says it back, dreamstat laughs.  louis confronts dreamstat after armand leaves, then dreamstat mockingly repeats armand’s “I love you.” 

in all iterations, dreamstat does not believe in louis and armand’s relationship, but not because louis lacks feelings for armand.  i believe dreamstat is mocking armand’s feelings because louis is still uncertain about armand’s feelings for him.

to me, this scene doesn't prove louis never loved armand, it shows that louis didn't think armand loved him.

[calder]

Ulysses mentions the death of the Twin Mothers tribe.

A holotape in 76 canonizes Vault 29 and its experiment.

Night of the Moth faithfully modelled Adamowicz's unrealized Harold Cultist Robe and assigned them to the Cult of the Mothman.

v13 is the awareness and willingness to recognize the creative intent which intricately connects these things, and to use that insight to deepen one's understanding of the Fallout setting, all in bold spite of the hard fact that these three matters are entirely unrelated when viewed through the watsonian purist lens of ""canon Fallout lore.""

One of the earliest guidelines for the setting was that for every faction present, there should be fleeting evidence of ten who didn't make it, rapidly fading from history. This idea, too, was trampled, lost, and forgotten as the setting marched forward.

The paranormal subplot in 76 reflects on the setting through the lens of 20th century paranormal culture. History itself is a grotesque clown, smeared and embarrassed with misunderstanding, bias, incompetence, cynicism, and loss. And Canon is History's evil imaginary friend. By exploring these themes through subtext and psychedelia, Fallout quietly rediscovers its tonal roots in the margins of a poorly-documented cash shop MMO which itself has slowly molted to the point of being unrecognizable, each seasonal iteration existing only in the memories of those who played it.

Fallout is haunted, and its ghosts have much to teach us.

[eretzyisrael]

How anti-Jewish Arab states inadvertently fuelled Zionism

Arab Muslim societies missed a golden opportunity to weaken or even defeat Zionism outright. Instead, these societies’ rage against their Jewish citizens fuelled the new Jewish state and vindicated its necessity, argues Josh Warhit in Israel Hayom:

Murder, burning and looting characterised the Aden anti-Jewish riots of 1947

As the State of Israel became a reality, mass societies in North Africa and the Middle East unleashed their rage on the Jews in their proximity. Mobs pillaged, raped, and murdered. Families hopped across rooftops to escape calls from street level to slaughter the Jews. The vast majority of the region’s 800,000+ Jews fled or were outright expelled, and their property and wealth were expropriated.

These mass societies were engaged in a dialectical struggle against Zionism, whose goal of Jewish sovereignty (as it happens, in these societies’ midst) jeopardized their sense of superiority. If only these societies had seen that by turning against local Jews, they were aiding the very object of their struggle.

Arab Muslim societies missed a golden opportunity to weaken or even outright defeat Zionism. Had they embraced their native Jewish populations, these Jews would have remained where they were, thus depriving the fledgling State of Israel of much-needed Jewish demographic support. Embracing their Jewish populations would also have pushed back against Zionism’s understanding of the world, in which modernizing mass societies invariably turn on their Jews. Such a choice would have marked a civilizational victory far greater than anything these societies had imagined possible.

Instead, Arab Muslim societies chose to embed their longstanding disdain for Jews in the struggle against Zionism. As a result, these societies’ anti-Jewish rage fueled the new Jewish state and served as further evidence of its necessity.

The huge boost that Arab Muslim societies inadvertently gave to Zionism did not spur a mindset change. Far from it – their struggle deepened and expanded among Arabs and non-Arabs, who pushed forward iterations rooted in Arab nationalism, Marxism, Islamism, and post-modern neo-Marxism. These iterations kept the Palestinian national cause focused on eliminating Jewish sovereignty. They also caused societies to spiral out of control.

Maddened by failure but convinced that victory is inevitable and even imminent, these societies have forgone the slightest introspection, choosing instead to blame everyone but themselves for their humiliating setbacks.

Read article in full

The post How anti-Jewish Arab states inadvertently fuelled Zionismfirst appeared on Point of No Return.

[hollandorks]

haven

battinson! bruce wayne x f! reader

interlude one

Summary: After the sudden deaths of your mother and grandmother, you’re forced to return home to Gotham…and to the man who broke your heart three years ago. Back in Bruce Wayne’s inescapable orbit, you vow to get to the bottom of your former best friend’s new cold personality. But Bruce’s secrets aren’t what you’re expecting. a

a/n: look I know I said I probably wasn't going to write Bruce's POV in this fic but I literally couldn't help it. But instead of splitting chapters with POV right now is to just throw in a few short interludes to give a peek inside Bruce's head!

Series Masterlist

word count: 1.4k

Bruce's POV

Bruce was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Because, if there was one thing he’d learned in his life, it was that it was inevitable. 

He’d been living in a constant state of fear ever since y/n had come home. 

Serial killers, city floods, bombs, that kind of stuff was nowhere near as frightening as she was. 

She’d always, always been able to see straight through him in a way no one else ever could. Even three years ago, when he had purposefully broken her heart, he thought she would see straight through to the truth of the matter–that he was lying for her own good. 

And stupidly, there he’d been, interacting with her as the Batman, waiting for her to roll her eyes in that way of hers and say, “Take off the stupid fucking costume, Bruce.” 

Every time he had opened his mouth, he thought he was done for. And okay, maybe he was deepening his voice to try to throw her off, but that was more out of habit than anything. Everything he said, everything he did, felt like the smoking gun that would make her go “Aha!” He’d even made a joke as if everything were normal, for god’s sake. And all it had done was make her scared of him. 

That only made things worse. 

Now, he stared at the security footage in front of him with an ache in his chest. 

Y/n was asleep sitting up in his private elevator, the one that would lead her down to the abandoned subway station if she figured out how to put in the code. 

He was freshly back from another patrol and had just changed when he caught sight of her on the screen. His heart ached for her, to hold her, to comfort her. He’d been a bastard the past few days even after she had lost her grandmother. He knew it was because he was grieving too, something she normally would have understood. 

But not anymore. She had frozen him out as effectively as he had frozen her out. The chasm between them yawned wider and darker with every passing day, and he hated it. He hated every second of it, but he couldn’t stop, because it was better for her. When the other shoe inevitably dropped and the world found out who he really was, it was best if she was as distant from him as possible.

Even if he kept finding himself drawn inescapably back into her orbit. 

“You’re walking a very precarious line,” Alfred murmured from where he poured over some sort of paperwork. The pair of them had started hiding in the Wayne Terminus station since y/n had gotten into town. It wasn’t on purpose, really. It was simply easier to discuss all things Batman related away from her. 

“I know,” Bruce said. He leaned both palms against the table and stared at her. She looked so small on the screen, so…lonely and broken. His eyes stung just to look at her. And he knew it was his fault. The distance was killing him even though he was the one who had created it. 

“I mean, really, Bruce–interacting with her as the Batman? What are you going to do when she inevitably figures it out?” Alfred set down his pen and took his glasses off. Bruce’s thoughts again turned to y/n. She would call Alfred’s tone his tired dad voice.

Bruce held in a sigh. They had gone over every iteration of this argument in the past three years, only now it was more relevant since y/n had actually met Batman. Before, it was simpler. She refused to come to Gotham, refused to see him, refused to even hear details about him according to Dory. Now she was entirely enmeshed in both of his lives and it was a catastrophe waiting to happen. 

“Then she’ll know.” Bruce half-shrugged. 

“But you won’t outright tell her.” 

“I’m trying to–” 

“Keep her safe, I know. But Bruce, surely you’ve noticed–” 

That she was different now? That she was a shell of herself? That pushing her away had done irreparable damage that he couldn’t see the entire extent of? “Yes.” 

You’ve done enough, she’d said that night. Because he had. He had hurt her, on purpose, over and over again. He was still hurting her. Though it was in her best interests–of that he was certain–it was hurting her. 

“So you’ll just let her figure it out and let things fall as they may.” It wasn’t a question. “Even though it will come back to bite you. You know that, right?” 

Bruce rubbed tiredly at his eyes. “I can’t just–” 

“Tell the truth?” Alfred offered wryly. He twirled his pen then tapped it on a paper. 

Bruce was tired of arguing with him. “No, Alfred, I can’t just tell the truth. Knowing puts her in danger. Knowing–knowing means things will never be the same.” 

Alfred sighed and leaned his elbows on his knees. “Things already aren’t the same and you know it.” He said it carefully, gently. But Bruce already knew. 

“You know what I mean,” he mumbled, eyes straying back to the security feeds again. 

“If she finds out, and you didn’t tell her…the longer this goes on, the worse it will be.” Again, Alfred’s voice was careful, almost gentle. It was born of his affection for y/n, Bruce knew. They both loved her in their own way. Alfred had helped raise her. Bruce’s decision had affected them all. 

Seeing her sleeping there, so obviously weighed down by her grief, Bruce wanted her to know. Then maybe they could stop hurting and work towards making things…maybe not what they used to be, but close. 

Fuck it, Bruce decided, and he heard the words in her voice. 

No time like the present. 

He strode over to the elevator and hit the button to call it down. Alfred stood and leaned on his cane. Bruce’s heart pounded loudly in the silence as the elevator slowly, slowly lowered. A million things went through his head at once. Would she be angry? Confused? Excited? She knew that he used the old station, but last time she had seen it it had been a slapped together garage. 

He glanced around the space right before the elevator rattled to a stop. 

No, it was obvious what it was used for now. The dummy that held his armor when it wasn’t in use or needed repairs was in full view of the doors opening. 

Bruce glanced down, a surge of adrenaline almost making him black out. 

But she was still asleep. 

He frowned then looked over his shoulder at Alfred. Alfred shrugged. 

She looked so peaceful, even in the cramped position she was in. 

He said her name softly but she didn’t stir. 

He guessed that was the universe’s way of telling him it was pointless. 

Bruce stepped inside, careful to be quiet even though she’d slept through the rattling elevator descending several stories and its gates creaking open. He exchanged one last look with Alfred then hit the button to take them back upstairs. 

Alfred’s expression mirrored the disappointment Bruce felt. Alfred was disappointed in Bruce though. He knew without the older man saying anything that Bruce should have woken her, should have finally had a conversation three years in the making. 

Bruce was disappointed that she hadn’t woken and made the choice easier for him. 

He had hoped that maybe, just maybe, his secret would finally be hers. That maybe he could explain. 

But like most things in his life, it was too good to be true. 

When the elevator stopped again, Bruce leaned down and carefully shifted her into his arms. 

His eyes stung again at the familiar scent of her. It was a balm to his soul to be so close to her after so long, even though she was asleep. He inhaled shakily and held the scent in his lungs. 

Her eyes fluttered open at the movement. He stared down at her, arms tightening instinctively, and waited for her to say something, anything. He expected her to shove away from him or maybe shout until he put her down. 

But all she did was nuzzle into his neck and inhale deeply with a hum. He almost dropped her at the mixture of intense pain and relief that washed over him. His heart cracked again. God, he missed her. 

“I miss you,” she murmured, her lips brushing against his neck. 

When he looked down at her again, smiling faintly, she was already asleep again. 

He very gently laid her in her bed. She immediately curled on her side with a little sigh. He tucked her in and hovered there, aching to hold her, aching to wake her up, just aching. 

“I miss you too,” he whispered around the lump in his throat. 

She didn’t wake.

Next Chapter

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