#i'm not particularly happy with how this came out but it's out of my system at least

[inhuman-obey-me]

Heavy is the Crown

Word count: 930 Description: Being the leader of an entire realm is no easy feat, especially when you're not like rulers past. Inspired/based on Lesson 9 in Obey Me: Nightbringer, so beware of spoilers. Can also be found on AO3 here. 

“When it comes down to it, you don’t accept us either, do you Diavolo?” 

The Demon Prince isn’t sure what stings more – the alcohol making its way down his throat, or Lucifer’s sharp words from their earlier confrontation. 

He sits alone now, the chill of the night settling in his bones despite the flames of the fireplace mere steps away. He watches how the flickering light passes through his glass, turning his current poison of choice to a fiery amber. A slight tilt of his hand and the slightly viscous fluid reminds him of honey, but the only taste left on his tongue is bitter. 

Diavolo had become used to swallowing his feelings, his role as future ruler of the realm always priority. It did not matter how suffocating it could all be – the constant gaze and judgment of the House of Lords, the responsibilities of ruling an entire realm suddenly left to him as his father disappeared into the shadows, the strain of keeping the peace as his realm was shaken with instability – he had to be ever noble, ever present, ever ready-to-lead. 

But it was in these moments, these quiet nights where he requested to be left alone, where he could allow himself to feel it all. The stress, the anger, the fear, the despair, the hurt. It was just all too much sometimes, too hard and too stifling and too complicated and oh, it was just too much! He has been raised for this all his life and yet still he feels he is finding his footing, trying to make sure what he does appeases those he disdains and those he favors, while also trying to always remain true to himself. 

So, what was he to do? A strange human had suddenly appeared before him, with even stranger events occurring soon after. The former angels he had been trying so earnestly to support were finding themselves in unexplainable predicaments, one of them having gone on a rampage and destroying his home. The tension in the Devildom was at an all-time high, and the nobles were watching his every move, just waiting for him to slip-up so they could decry him as unfit to rule and nothing but a child with foolish dreams. 

He downs his glass and pours another.

There had been so much he had wanted to say to Lucifer in that moment, to make him see that no, of course he didn’t feel that way! He wouldn’t have done all he had up until that point if he had seen them somehow as lesser, as not belonging. But he knew that had he not spoken carefully, even those words would have been twisted and misunderstood – a struggle he was seemingly dealing with more and more these days. 

Diavolo slowly rises from his seat, glass still in hand, and begins to quietly wander through the hallways of the castle. He passes by numerous paintings – some portraits, some tales of Devildom history. Even these walls had eyes – always watching, always waiting.

He’s not sure if he meant to come here, or if his feet had just decided a destination on their own, but he finds himself in the Eastern Hall, looking upon one particular grand portrait that dwarfed the entire room with its emanating presence. 

“What am I supposed to do, mother?” 

Diavolo winces as he hears his own voice, meek and feeble. He rests his forehead against the gilded frame with a sigh, his gaze towards the worn stone floor. What was he doing, asking a portrait of the mother he never got to know? He might as well go asking his father, who retreated to the depths of the Devildom into an even deeper slumber. The answer would be the same.

Hah, he thought, have I always felt this alone?

He knew, despite all of his tumultuous thoughts and emotions bubbling deep in his chest, that he would have to once more go out with a charismatic smile and a steady hand. There was no one to make these decisions but himself, no one who could tell him what to do, what to say to make it all better and right. He had to lead, to show all those nobles who underestimated him that he was worthy of his position, even if they disagreed with his ambitions. 

“Young Master?” 

With a start and a flourish of his wings, Diavolo turns around to see Barbatos, looking upon the prince with a hint of concern in his dark eyes. 

“...You’re bleeding.” 

He’s confused at first, but soon he feels the ichor dripping down his hand – ah, he had cracked the glass in his grip. When did that happen? 

“Oh – I’m sorry, Barbatos. I didn’t mean for you to see me in such a state.” Diavolo clears his throat, murmuring a spell to heal the cut. “I was just lost in my thoughts.”

“You don’t need to apologize, My Lord.” Barbatos gives him a kind smile, taking a step back and motioning back down the hallway from where he had appeared. “Why don’t you come back and have a cup of tea with me? I even prepared some of your favorite, hellfire mushroom cigar cookies.”

“...Thank you, Barbatos.” For the first time that night, Diavolo felt a smile curve his lips, a weight slightly lifted off his head and heart. “That sounds lovely.”

That’s right, he wasn’t alone – he had, at the very least, a friend here beside him who chose to stand by him and his ideals. 

He wondered if he could perhaps soon find more. 

#i'm not particularly happy with how this came out but it's out of my system at least #i've gotten rusty u_u #anyway here's some dia angst #the all encompassing [mod] cosmos #obey me #obey me! #obey me swd #obey me shall we date #omswd #obey me diavolo #om! diavolo #obey me nightbringer #obey me nb #omnb #obey me nightbringer spoilers #obey me fic #obey me fanfic #writings

[soundbulb]

while I'm thinking about rust's motivations, I don't agree that rust is motivated by helping people, which is the common sentiment I see when people talk about his characterization. I don't think he's devoid of feeling about it or sees it as inconsequential or anything, but even I think the line "bad men keep other bad men from the door" gets taken a little too seriously, when it's rust's denial shielding him from his reality, but also independent of reality; what he observes and believes. throughout the story we very much see very much see that they do not, in fact, keep bad men from the door. marty was the bad man in his wife and daughter's lives.

when he says things like "those kids will be in that room again" and "when I think of my daughter, what she was spared" and "you see in that last moment they invited it" along with the visit to the girl he did save in '92, kelly, it's pretty obvious he doesn't think finding the murderers or the victims saves anyone. when he says "we have a debt" he believes that debt is to those who suffered at the hands of these men, because by not catching and stopping him they've damned these women and children to infinite lifetimes that cycle them through violence at the hands of these men over and over. it's not that they help; it's that they've failed, and this is recompense, and in this way I think the statement "we keep other bad men from the door" is denial, it's his own capacity for his illusion rearing, and this time period for rust and his monologues are especially rife with this illusion. older rust being interviewed gives a very different view, that his daughter was "spared" because her death was random and immediate. "to go out as a happy child." he specifically says that growing up is too late because you've already been denied mercy, already keeled at the hands of all this degradation you'll live over and over again, but his daughter's circle is just joy and then a painless end before she can pay the price of living, particularly the price of living as a woman. his daughter is who's in mind when he sees how marie fontenot dies, and even then how kelly lives after her liberation. she's catatonic, living in an institution. the boy died in that room after months of abuse, that's where it ends for him, and restarts, so it can end there again and again.

this is a sidebar, but a detail we get is that the boy was reported missing and kelly wasn't. at the time she wasn't reported missing "yet", but then we see her living in an institution meaning she either had no family, her family didn't home her, her family couldn't or wouldn't take care her of her in her state.

the state she's in reminds me of an article from 2017ish I think, where a woman, after a traumatic event, became extremely sick and catatonic, and a researcher saw her in his residency and then after a decade or so when he's a doctor he hears she's still there and recalls she's the sickest person he'd ever seen in his career. he works with her and turns out the traumatic event triggered a severe case of lupus and her immune system was attacking her nerves and brainstem. after decades of living like this she starts to "wake up" under strenuous and experimental immunosuppresant treatment. true detective makes this connection between disease and the mysterious machinations that produce horror, evil, sin, god or whatever framework any given character uses to describe it. characters illustrate exploitation and abuse in the same breath as disease and medicine. dora lang's mother saying "why would a father not bathe his child?" moments before a migraine that makes her wail, one that came from the chemicals she inhaled at work, which also wrecked her hands. marie fontenot's uncle having a "cerebral event", a series of strokes. dora lang's addiction making her an easy target, "chum in the water". hell, even the man at the revival tent, "they gave me bad medicine. I paid for that." and kelly's state after being trapped in that trailer being catatonia, looking a lot like many people with severe autoimmune reactions. the natural world is, in a sense, chum in the water for whatever cosmic horror lays out there. on the larger scale, the various hurricanes are an ultra present detail of the story at any point in time. the hurricane's make it easier for the men their chasing to pick off victims and dump them, making them appear like victims of flooding or exposure. the hurricanes are the excuse tuttle immediately starts setting up when rust probes at the christian schools. it keeps erasing these people, erasing their records in damage, killing them or covering their killings. sometimes I'm reminded of that phrase, "when there's violence in your home, it seems even the house takes sides" how the natural -- or visible -- world we live in feel like it sides with violence we experience at the hands of both our own, and at the hands of this cosmic, spiritual bigness we struggle to wrap our minds around. in twin peaks fire walk with me, laura palmer looks at the ceiling fan at the top of her stairs and it seems like this three eyed creature watching from up there. and when it spins she knows she'll be assaulted that night. the house takes sides. a hurricane takes credit for the killing the women these men hunted.

I've completely left the topic, but in terms of rust's characterization, he wants to see this cosmic animal that connects the natural world, and he feels specifically indebted to those trapped in the cycle that will lead them always back to men who will abuse and kill them every time. for dora lang it starts with her father, then her husband marks her for death by sharing pictures of her naked to the cellmate he knew was dangerous. beth runs from her uncle. kelly, unreachable, can't remember "the giant" without living it again. he doesn't believe he's helping them at all, he believes it's his debt. he doesn't think he helped kelly, likely the only person he could be argued to have helped. while true detective is tonally unlike the average detective show in many ways, I think it's intentional that there is no active victim to save in the end. the network tv detective show, or the copaganda shows of the past two decades, like criminal minds and whatever else usually have a current victim to save, always at the last minute. in true detective, this is kelly. but in true detective we don't see her until it's already over, and it was not a show down, it was clumsy, stupid, and abject. and they never knew she was there, she wasn't even reported missing. she's rescued in '92 because we need visit her ten years later to understand how she couldn't be saved from what already happened. there is no "happy ending" because she can neither unlive this, nor has it ended. when they catch her captor in 2012, he's alone in a maze, no one to rush to safety except for rust himself.

and they don't "get their guy" either. it's pretty clear that the men they're allowed to stop are only the ones on the fringes: impoverished, felons, addicts, at the edge of society. the men in power are also guilty of these murders -- the mayor, his family, the head of an evangelical institution, clergy -- but they're not allowed to be stopped. so rust and marty are allowed to catch white trash ledoux and the abominable offshoot incestuous childress, but not the men within their society that do the same things as them. so can they really help anyone when they're only allowed to go after avatars of this violence, and not the ones responsible for a legacy of violence?

by the end his thinking has been changed by his new belief that death is the end -- he finally is lurched into that great cosmic blackness, and recognizes it; calls it daughter, father. as he dies he feels an entirely different existence that will allow him to release into nothingness, and he comes away no longer believing that all these people will be reborn into the same life, doomed to go through all the suffering of life again and again. he welcomes it. in short, he believes those who have died found peace, and this allows him to accept the possibility that all is not lost. we're trapped into a cycle of violence, exploitation, degradation, and disease as long as we live, but living does have it's night; in the end, everything will be undone.

#true detective #true detective season 1 #rust cohle #htl #ht

[aroaceleovaldez]

random question but i came across a post of yours where you talked about how mark oshiro sort of erased an aspect of nico's ADHD by making a joke about how he only liked mythomagic cards because he's gay and there are hot guys on the cards, and then TSATS also seemed to really downplay the themes of neurodivergence in the series. and it made me wonder if you have any thoughts on how the show has portrayed the demigods' ADHD and dyslexia so far? i've seen some people say that the show also downplayed it a lot, and i'm inclined to agree... which feels really weird considering that rick's own son's neurodivergence was specifically a major inspiration for him writing the series. but if i recall correctly a lot of scenes showcasing that in the first book were taken out of the show.

Oh absolutely, a lot of scenes and general discussion about adhd/dyslexia were removed in the show (and some of the disability-coding in general - i appreciate the change they made with making Chiron disabled based on his mythos rather than just using a wheelchair as a disguise, but i wish they had kept Grover's crutches in a similar manner honestly) - I've made a couple of posts discussing it: here, here, and this reblog is relevant to my opinions about the matter. There's probably some other stuff in my pjo tv crit tag.

I think the main sentiment i have regarding it - which i've seen a couple of other people mention as well - is how much the show ignores or outright removes and downplays Percy's personal struggles with his disabilities to instead emphasize Sally's experiences instead, particularly in manners of her taking out her stress on Percy - which alongside being completely antithetical to Sally's role in the books, is pretty ableist and why I continually compare show!Sally to Autism Speaks Parents. Autism Speaks tends to make an emphasis on the struggles of the parents of autistic children rather than treating autistic individuals like a person experiencing their own struggles. One of the major points of Sally's character (and later Paul) in the books is that she's an incredibly accommodating parent and works hard to make sure Percy is supported when he's struggling with his disabilities, because he's not been able to find that accommodation elsewhere. That's part of why Sally is such a great mom in particular, and is intentionally supposed to directly contrast Annabeth's home life struggles with her parents having difficulty navigating how to provide that same level of accommodation to help support her (and how Annabeth finds that accommodation at CHB instead, because that's the metaphor that CHB is supposed to represent - an appropriately accommodating system they can rely on, and then exploring how that's still a flawed system and looking at how disabled kids/demigods fall through the cracks and how to change the system to better support them).

The show also almost completely ignores Percy's ADHD/dyslexia experiences in general after the first episode. I was honestly really happy with, in the first episode, how clearly Percy's poor experiences in the American education system, particularly relating to his neurodivergence, have informed his reaction to situations such as people trying to tell him he's a demigod in coded language. It was essentially the perfect update to something i've discussed in the past here, about how the original "all demigods have adhd/dyslexia because it's secretly SUPERPOWERS" thing was presented as the basis for the series and why that teaching/parenting style fell out of favor. We see Percy in e1 acknowledge how dismissive of his struggles it is to constantly just be told he's "special" - and we even get explicit acknowledgement of how that description is used aggressively and for ostracization (from Nancy), which is extremely true to the experiences of kids who grew up with that teaching/parenting structure. But then we get to episode 2 and... all the acknowledgement of ADHD/dyslexia/etc is gone. We get at most a one-off acknowledgement from Luke that demigods are all neurodivergent and that's it. Pretty much nothing else for the entire rest of the season, save for flashback scenes that only emphasize Sally's experiences, not acknowledge Percy's. No further acknowledgement of Percy's dyslexia, or Annabeth's, or anything about their ADHD, or even Percy's completely removed PTSD (which we know for sure because of both writer commentary [see: that second post i linked about the LA Times article] and Percy's total lack of reaction to Mr. D). Nothing.

It was extremely disheartening to say the least, having such a strong start and it evaporating completely, and I fully agree with you.

#pjo #percy jackson #riordanverse #pjo tv #pjo tv crit #adhd #Anonymous #ask #long post // #ask to tag

[residenthughes]

once bitten, twice shy

pairing: leon kennedy x gender neutral reader

word count: 3.8k (yippee!)

tags/warnings: college/university au, fluff, mentions of vomit/sick and alcohol

summary: house parties can be a strange place. they can be even stranger when you're about to throw up and have to argue to use the bathroom with a certain blue eyed, blonde haired boy too.

notes: my baby! so glad to have finished this! <3 i started writing this pretty much after my last fic (which received so much love, thank you so so much 💗) and finally came together after i went out myself, hehe. have deadlines/exams coming up soon so i'm not particularly sure how much i'll be posting on here until mid june, so mayhaps consider this a gift for not posting then? 🥹 haha, love u all and hope u enjoy!

You enjoyed a good night out once in a while. Your friends and yourself dressed to the nines as you dance the night away with liquor tainted lips and all the freedom in the palm of your hand. It was a great escape from the pressures of endless coursework and constant group meetings. You enjoyed a good house party, too. However, you hadn’t had much luck with those ones. Despite the smaller crowd it drew, the handful of new faces had you anxiously gulping away at your alcohol, ultimately leading to cringe-worthy videos your friends would show you the next day. Based on this, you should have known better - should have politely declined when your friends suggested attending her classmates’ house party and spent the night maybe regretting it. In spite of the myriad of reasons, the past week had been dreadful beyond words and it was an opportunity to wear your latest going out outfit. It was near impossible to say no.

So, here you are. Having the time of your life with friends, dancing under blue flickering lights and letting the night take you away. Well - that’s what you were doing. What you are doing now is desperately trying to find the toilet - your stomach was already uneasy due to the nerves of meeting new people at the party, so you’re sure the sugary drinks added to the alcohol in your system didn’t help either. You felt queasy and an urgent need to relieve yourself, still to no avail. The downstairs bathroom was occupied, so with the sickly feeling travelling up your system, you barge through the mob of people littering the hallways, hand over your mouth in a futile attempt to keep whatever was coming up down.

At the end of the upstairs hallway, your friend’s classmate explained there was an additional bathroom. You’ve never been more relieved to see anything more in your life. Without knowing it, you’re making a mad dash for it, bumping shoulders and mumbling a thousand sorrys. You’re a sight for sore eyes, you know you are, but with the pressing urge to not have witnesses to your untimely projectile vomiting, you really couldn’t give a damn.

You’re so happy to have found the bathroom, even if it may have also been occupied that your eyes miss another figure aiming for the room too. It’s only when your hand reaches for the doorknob that it’s shielded by another hand. Large and comforting. Your eyes search for the source.

Amidst the darkness that permeates the hallways, the blue mood lights provide glimpses into the mystery of the shadowy figure with gentle hands. His face, ivory in colour, is all slopes, features sharp and striking. His cerulean blue eyes framed by the length of his long eyelashes and dirty blond hair makes your heart stutter messily in your chest. For a split second, there is nothing you can do but stare in awe, the tall tales of infatuation spinning your head dizzy.

“Shit, did you wanna go first?” His voice sounds like a siren, sweet and melodic all at once.

With the countless thoughts zooming through your brain, you’re certain any words that would filter through your lips would be nothing except incoherent mumbles. You settle for a nod.

“Uh, hate to break it to you sweetheart, but I needa go too.” His hand is still over yours and if not for the terrible rumble in your stomach, it would have been swept off your feet, along with the sickeningly sweet pet name he gives you.

“Maybe try downstairs? I’m sure it’ll be free soon.” This is the first time you’ve spoken during your brief conversation. The quick raise of the handsome stranger’s eyebrows encourages sheepishness to gnaw at your skin, the pink hues of your cheeks deepening.

“Ocupado, ‘m afraid.” he grins with a sliver of teeth, facial expression moulding into the awkwardness that starts to circle itself around the two of you.

Your hand turns the doorknob faintly and you catch the desperation that flashes in his eyes at your actions. If you weren’t about to soil your new top with stomach acid, you would’ve let him go first, bashful as ever as you hoped you would find him later on in the night whilst hoping he’d spare you another glance. Nevertheless, that was not the case.

“I’m sorry but,” you gulp, trying to keep whatever was coming up back down. “I really, really, really need to go, so…”

He’s stubborn. Stubborn as an ass apparently, because his hand still remains on yours. “Of course, but equally, I need to go as well. Surely, there’s like a sink or something I can go in. I’m really desperate.”

You can’t help as you wrinkle your nose, your patience wearing thin. You literally have to be sick. Why is this not being addressed? “Can’t you just pee outside? Guys do that all the time, don’t they?”

“I’m not an animal, you know.” the handsome stranger argues, and your eye twitches.

How did you end up arguing with a good-looking guy outside a bathroom at a house party?

“I’m not being funny, but if you don’t move, I will throw up all over you.”

“I’ve been meaning to go for an hour now. Can’t we make some sort of compromise?”

You were at your wits end. “As if, you fucking masochist! I’m going first!”

And you do, barging into the blindingly white room with all your might and making a beeline for the toilet. A heavy sigh sounds behind you as you heave into the toilet, bracing yourself for the ugly sight that’ll swim before you.

You hear a zip being undone and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. “Surely, you’re not…?”

“I told you I needed to go.” the voice comes from the shower beside you. The world spins. House parties fucking suck.

You opt to fully exit your bitter discussion, focusing on ugly turns in your stomach. Your hair circles your face and you curse yourself for not having tied it up beforehand because obviously, it was going to–

It flows out of you. Swiftly and without much difficulty. You lunge forwards into the toilet bowl as the vomit empties out of you whilst the shower runs briefly, followed by the sink.

You just wanna go home.

“Hey,” the call for your attention is docile, the boy’s voice more sympathetic now. “You got a hair tie on ya?”

At this point, you’re on your knees, throwing up your early dinner in front of a boy you bad mouthed because you both wanted to use the bathroom at the same time. There’s no point in being shy now. You want all the help you can get.

You manage to shimmy the hair tie off your wrist and hand it towards his vague direction. For how unacquainted you two are, you move in great harmony as the boy grabs the hair tie and captures all your hair with ease whilst you busy yourself with other pressing issues.

When he’s finished, hair away from your face and in a low ponytail, the warmth of his hand settles against your back. The tears brimming in your eyes fall into the toilet bowl, body still before slow caresses have you melting into the palm of his hand.

“I…I know one of the guys that lives here,” he volunteers, tone unsure. “I’m sure he won’t mind you using one of his spare toothbrushes underneath the sink.”

You only manage back a groan, the icky feeling of humiliation creeping up on you as you continue to exhale into the toilet bowl.

“I’ll be back.”

And the man who peed in the shower leaves. Ok, that was rude of you, he did just help you when you were vomiting in spite of not knowing you. You should have more compassion for him, instead of lashing out at him out of embarrassment. When he gets back, you should thank him for all his help and hope to never see him again. You didn’t think you could live comfortably with yourself if you ever saw him again.

The faint thumps of typical party hits hammer beyond the bathroom, pouring in briefly when the man comes back into the room. By this point, your stomach has settled and you’ve flushed the toilet, yet your head still remains somewhat in the toilet because you couldn’t bear to come face-to-face with the guilt wrapped up in the form of a handsome, kind stranger.

“He said it’s cool, just open the new pack in the grey caddy.” You hear joints crack besides you before there’s a pat on your back. The comfort it brings is enough for you to swallow your pride. “Also, there’s some water next to you. Figured you wouldn’t want to go looking for it.”

Regardless of the ever growing shame that wants to drown you into a sad shell of yourself, your heart swells. The unprompted kindness offered from the stranger is refreshing, you wish you could tell him how grateful you are for him without your shame keeping your head in the toilet bowl.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe, wincing at the cringing sensations that course through your body. “Sorry for calling you a masochist earlier.”

He huffs out a bout of laughter and your heart feels lighter. “In all fairness, I was pretty crazy for holding it for that long, so I don’t blame you.”

You hated how you’d have to avoid this man after you two left this room. He was sweet, polite and made you laugh. Why did you have to meet under such ugly conditions?

“Thank you,” you exhale, feeling your heart bloom with the warmth he radiates. “Really.”

“No prob,” he lifts his hand off your back and suddenly, you’re cold again. “I’ll leave you to it. If you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen. If not, probably fucking it up on the dancefloor.”

You mumble another thank you after the laughter that leaves your lips, the blue-eyed stranger exiting and leaving you to clean yourself up as ponder on his kindness for a little longer than necessary.

-

You manage to sneak past the kitchen without bumping into the kind stranger. If you weren’t embarrassed before, the embarrassment catches up with you now. Outside, where the cool October wind blows, you’re perched on a step of the back porch, curled into yourself as you breathe in and breathe out. Things could have been a lot worse. You could have thrown up all yourself, delirious and none the wiser as nasty spirited individuals videoed the spectacle, not intervening even once. You could have been in a worse state in front of the stranger, vomit embedded in your hair as you wailed to call your friends or to go home. It could have been so much worse, yet here you are, rocking away as you will yourself not to cry.

You blame it on the emotional turmoil that’s plagued your week. Your academic and interpersonal affairs bore a burden like never before, pushing you beyond your means countless times this week and eventually, as you self soothe in solitude, you succumb to their will. Your friends are worried sick, searching every inch of the unfathomably large house to find you. You shoot them a text, notifying them of your safety and the privacy you seek. With dozens of texts that express reassurance, you let out a sigh before the music playing inside is too good for you to ignore.

Call it foolish, but it’s the nostalgic sounds of 00s’ dance that help you pick up the pieces. Assist in the carefree attitude you adopt that leads you right back inside, finding your friends and changing the course of the night.

If only you knew your carefree attitude would have you right where you once were. Face to face with the handsome stranger, the ends of an empty beer bottle pointed towards you two as bystanders ooh and ahh.

“Get in there, Leon!” a friend - you assume - hollers, slurring his words as he lazily drapes against Leon’s rigid frame.

You two exchange a look, eyes seeking any kind of communication that would hint at what the future held.

Your hand is given a squeeze and suddenly one of your friend’s whispers into your ear. “He’s cute, go for it.”

You crimson. At her words and at the fact that your next encounter with Leon has come so soon. Relentless is the sensation of dread and cringe as it sinks into your bones and buries you into the ground. All eyes are on you and you want nothing more but cringe? Disappear? Run away? There’s so much going on in your head right now.

A hand is outreached. It’s as if a lifeforce beyond yours comes down to save you, extending their hand to sail you away to safety. Alias, it is nothing but a figment of your imagination as you peer up, eyes sparkling as Leon’s tall figure towers over yours. For a second, you can’t read his facial expression, can’t comprehend the logistics of your predicament. However, when the edge of his lips curl upwards, pleasant and mellow in nature, there’s a sense of relief that starts to wash over you.

“Ready if you are.”

He has a way with words. He must have. Otherwise you wouldn’t have felt so comforted on that bathroom floor, otherwise you wouldn’t be in some confined closet, little to no light with the same person you threw up in front of.

“Well,” he starts off after a minute or two of silence. “This is…”

“Awkward.”

A cough is followed by silence. Then laughter.

Out of all the people at this party, the universe had to fabricate yet another meeting with Leon. The guy who you basically cussed out in order to use the bathroom. The same man that after washing his hands, held your hair up for you and soothed your sickness with a gentle back rub. There is nothing more you want to do right now than crawl out of your skin.

“You feeling a bit better now?” Leon’s voice is hushed when he talks to you, gentle and filled with unexpected care.

Despite the awkwardness of your situation, you can’t help disregarding such lame state of feeling as you lean into his kindness. “Yeah, I had a bit more water and was outside for a bit, so I’m pretty much sober now.”

Your fingernails dig into the flesh of your palm. A nervous tic. “Thank you. And, sorry.”

Leon appears to relax into the flow of conversation, moving his body to lean against the wall of the compact closet you find yourselves in. As he shuffles, notes of smoky vanilla waft in the air, Leon’s cologne finding its way to you. The smile you hide behind a closed fist is all kinds of bashful, body drawn to the intoxicating nature of the fragrance.

“I wasn’t terribly nice to you either, so think of it as making amends,” his hand extends forwards, bridging the gap between the two of you. “Truce?”

Amusement tugs at the ends of your lips, humoured by the hints of unseriousness that seems to be a recurring theme in your story. Going from badmouthing one another to being shoved into a tiny closet for Seven Minutes in Heaven and forced to call truce. It’s the kind of bizarre story that hangs in the air after a night out, disgustingly hungover in bed as your friends jam into someone’s room and recall the night’s events.

“Truce.”

You shake on it, pulling away when the flutter of your heart tickles your chest.

Through the dim sliver of marmalade orange light that peeks through the bottom gap of the door, you catch glimpses of Leon. The sharp slants of his jaw, the heavy flutter of his eyelashes, the sheepishness of his smile - all lopsided and accompanied the hues of strawberry jam red. He’s trying his best and it’s endearing. As is he. Charming and caring, a little silly yet undeniably sweet. Perhaps your perspective on him is a bit skewed due to the remnants of alcohol that float in your system, but if you happened across the same dirty blond, blue eyed boy on campus, you know your heart would still beat the same.

“Three minutes!” Someone yells beyond the door, prompting an uptake in your breath.

Never too forward, Leon draws closer to you, hands to himself as he suggests, “We could just head back out, if you’d like. I’m sure they’re not gonna be too up their asses about it.”

You don’t miss a beat. “I don’t want to.”

You’re both caught off guard. Your eyes widened and Leon’s eyebrow raised. It’s as if you’ve been exposed, barenaked for all the world to see your secrets. In itself, your response isn’t the strangest. Anyone would assume after calling truce, your allocated time meant to be spent together could foster the beginnings of a friendship, a friendly conversation. Even so, Leon and yourself were getting ahead of yourselves - reading in between the lines, sifting for something that was there.

“I mean,” the wardrobe is suddenly indescribably small, the surface of your cheeks warming as your eyes dart all over the place. What is going on here? “We could always just talk or…”

“Or what?”

Leon’s being mean. He knows he is. But, he can’t help himself. Jumping the gun, clawing at any and every opportunity to be close to you. Leon spotted your figure earlier during the course of the night, eyes capturing the shimmer in your eyes and bounce of your hair as you happily twirled your friends around on the dancefloor. You were simply magnetic, doused in dazzle and delight as your glittery makeup highlighted your timeless beauty. Leon would’ve approached you, winning you over with his charm and foolish dance moves - but he needed a drink. A drink which became two, two which became three and ultimately he broke the seal, landing him on a collision course with you outside the bathroom.

This isn’t how he imagined meeting you.

Nevertheless, you were together and despite the not-so-great circumstances presented, Leon made the best of it. Helping you and being the gentleman he is. And even if you never saw each other again, he would still remember you for all the shimmer in your eyes and just how infectious your smile was.

Now, under more favourable conditions, he doesn’t want his time with you to end. You’re just as captivating up close, if not more. Timid yet so sweet. Leon gets lost in you - lost in the details of your hair, your voice, your eyes. He wonders if the longer he prolongs your conversation, the sooner you’ll see his attraction towards you. Hopes you’ll reciprocate, hopes you’ll see it too.

“I don’t know.” You settle for, casting your eyes away from Leon as you twiddle your thumbs.

You want to be close with Leon, maybe kiss him if you could. But, you just don’t know. He’s seen you at your worst, sick in the toilet without a thought behind your eyes. You’re still embarrassed - even if Leon makes good work of fending that off. And perhaps because of that, along with other complexities, you want to be close with him.

If only he’d let you.

There’s a huff of frustration before something knocks your shoe. You look, examining Leon’s tired Converse shoe that nestles against your own pair of shoes. Your heart stills.

“I saw you earlier,” he starts, standing tall as he inches closer towards you. His pools of blue know only the sight of your lips, pink in hue and supple with lipgloss. He briefly looks away for his own good. “You looked really good on the dance floor.”

The gravity of your current reality settles in quick. Leon’s with you. Initiating everything and bringing this whole charade to a close. Your instinct is to wrestle with the reasons why, question his intentions and ultimately, take a step back. But, you’re exhausted. You’ve done enough mental gymnastics to last you a lifetime. You know you want this, so why can’t you have it? The answer is clear now. You take the plunge, hands grasping onto his backarm as you test the waters. “You think so?”

You’re gazing into each other’s eyes now, nowhere to run or hide. Leon hums in response yet still searches for something in your eyes - a glimmer of hope, confirmation to proceed and gets it in the form of you leaning into him with the bat of your eyelashes. His arms circle your waist, hesitant at first but solid in their place on the small of your back. You’re already seeing stars.

“Leon?” your voice is barely above a whisper, forehead pressed against Leon’s as you grow impatient.

He hums in reply. “Can we? Can we-”

“Can we kiss?” he says this, lips brushing up against yours. You grip his broad shoulder extra hard incase you buckle at the knees.

“Please,” you only manage to get out before your lips connect.

Leon shows you just how much he wants this, how much he wants you in his kisses. Gentle yet firm in his desire, his lips envelope yours in a way that sets your heart ablaze. Your brain short circuits, the sparks soaring between the two of you insatiable as you melt into each other. Your hand falls to brace yourself against Leon’s chest, the accelerated patter of his heart vibrating against your palm. You can’t help the smile that blends into your kiss, opening an invitation for Leon’s tongue that glides against the flesh of your bottom lip.

“Time’s up!”

His teeth plunge into your bottom lip lightly. You separate with a whine.

There’s a moment before the door opens, time where your eyes scan over Leon to gather all your thoughts and take him in. His pupils are full blown, his arctic blue irises submerged in the dilation of his pupils, lips plump with need and breath laboured. He looks far away, as if he is immersed in a dream that’s too good to be true and judging by the smile that graces his face, you’re sure you look the same.

“Need a mint?” Leon’s all jokes, smile giddy and besotted.

You roll your eyes in response, playfully jabbing his hard bicep with a closed fist. “Says the one who stuck his tongue down my throat.”

“Guilty as charged,” he holds his hands up in surrender, eyes giving you their undivided attention. “Wouldn’t mind doing that again though.”

He punctuates his point with circling his arm around your waist, drawing you in close before placing a delicate kiss against the flushed skin of your cheeks. It’s shameful how much you like this guy already.

“You’re disgusting.”

The door opens and you leave the closet happier than you ever were before.

#resident evil 4 remake #resident evil 4 #resident evil 4 fanfic #resident evil fanfic #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy imagine #re4r #re2 remake #re2 leon #leon kennedy fluff #resident evil fluff #leon s kennedy imagine #my fics

[the-little-ewok]

Push

Jake Lockley x F!reader (Lesser Marc Spector X reader / Steven Grant X reader )

Rating : M

Word count: 3500 (ish)

Warnings : Platonic relationship with hints that more may come (Jake), established romantic relationship (Marc/Steven), DID, divorce mentions, lil bit angsty, lil bit fluffy, lil bit jealousy, mention of voyeuristic intentions

Summary : Set within the Tilt/Balance universe the reader finally meets Marc and Stevens third alter. But Jake has been watching for some time…

A/N : I am not a system, nor do I know anyone who is a system. What is contained here is based solely on my research, the MK show and comics, and is not intended to cause any offence.

To the anon who requested I hope you enjoy. Sorry if it came out a bit boring

A/N 2 : Reading Tilt / Balance will give you a bit of background to these characters but it isn't exactly necessary to enjoy this.

A/N 3 : While listed as F/reader due to the universe it's set in, this can be read as G/N reader also

~

"Sorry I'm late!" You shout, bursting into the flat, kicking off your shoes. "I swear give me five minutes and I'll be ready!"

You rush past Marc as you run to the bedroom, grabbing your outfit from your bag, already knowing that the chances of making your table reservation are slim given the traffic in London on a Friday night.

As you throw it down on the bed something makes you pause. It takes a moment for your brain to catch up and when it does you groan.

"You cooked?" You whine as you inhale the delicious smell of food from the kitchen. "Marc, you didn't have to cook. I know I'm a bit late but we can still go out."

Turning to complain at him you pause, taking in the man standing in the sitting room, surrounded by Stevens books, wearing Marc's t-shirt and pants, looking at you with a smug smile and raised eyebrows. The man who wears your boyfriend's face, but isn't him.

The realisation sinks in quickly of who you are looking at causing your heart to thunder in your chest and your mouth go dry.

"Jake?

He nods in confirmation taking a step towards you, one you mirror by stepping back.

Marc has told you very little of Jake, only that he isn't sure he's ready for you both to meet, still getting to grips with knowing his third alter himself.

You assumed Jake already knew of your existence, and that he knew that you knew of his, but you found with the boys it was easier to let them take things at their own pace no matter how curious you were about meeting their third, their protector.

Suddenly faced with Jake you aren't sure what to do. Physically he still looks like Steven, like Marc, but there's something in his eyes, in the way he holds himself, that is nothing like either of them.

Steven always makes himself small, Marc holds too much tension, like he carries the weight of the word, but Jake, Jake is a statue. Jake is unreadable, at least for now.

"It's nice to finally meet. The others have a lot to say about you," he smiles easily, as though you already know each other.

"All good I hope?" You give an awkward laugh, unsure how to handle the situation. "Is um, are Marc and Steven okay?"

The little you knew about Jake was mostly that he fronted when the boys needed him, when it was dangerous, or too much for either of them to cope. When you'd left the flat for work both of them seemed as happy as usual. You'd left Steven pondering over books, and Marc had called you at lunch to make sure you took a break and had something to eat. Nothing had seemed particularly out of the ordinary, but then nothing in your life was ordinary anymore.

"They are fine. I just decided it was time we meet." Jake shrugs like it's nothing, but you notice an all too familiar twitch of his fingers, one that sets you on edge. Steven used to do the same thing when he was fronting and Marc wanted in, generally when you and Steven were arguing and Marc was itching for control to stop you both.

"So Marc agreed for us to meet? Because that feels like something he might have mentioned." You keep your tone light but you tuck your hands behind your back, curling them into fists the way Marc has taught you.

While you have no reason to fear his alter, the fact this seems suspicious makes you uneasy, especially given everything Steven and Marc have told you about Konshu's hold on Jake. Jake himself may not scare you, but Konshu did.

"We had a long talk about it today." Jake doesn't even miss a beat. In fact his lips twitch upwards as he glances down at your arms, hiding your balled fists behind you.

"I didn't think Marc would give up date night so willingly."

Jake winces, and that tells you all you need to know. Marc knows, but he doesn't have control to stop it. It makes anger spark in your chest on his behalf.

"Can I speak to Marc?"

Jake sighs and opens his mouth, but you cut him off before he has a chance to speak.

"Let me speak to Marc," you repeat, more firmly this time, trying to sound more confident than you really feel. "Or I will leave until you let them front."

A tense silence follows as you do your best to stare him down. Jake gives an amused chuckle at your stubbornness.

"I see why they like you. Alright, speak with him. We can continue this afterwards."

Jake's eyes roll and he lets out a choked noise before Marc stares at you, immediately jumping into an apology as if it's his fault.

"Fuck, I'm sorry, baby! Jake just took me by surprise before I had a chance to stop him."

"Took me by surprise too," you let out a soft laugh, that comes out more nervous than you intended, betraying your wildly beating heart. "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine. Are you okay?" He takes a few steps towards you, and this time instead of stepping back you walk forwards to meet him, allowing him to pull you into a tight hug.

"Yeah just a bit shocked that's all. I thought the days of me dropping in, not sure who I'd find, were gone. Little bit of excitement to my boring day though," you grin, trying to make him feel better as Marc regards you with worry.

"Dinner looks nice," you continue with a smile, gesturing to the beautifully laid out table, trying to distract him.

"I didn't… Jake cooked it." He grits out, clearly annoyed by the situation.

"Oh."

"I've got control of him now. It won't happen again. We can still go out if you feel up to it?" Marc offers.

You hesitate to answer, your mind whirring with questions. Why has Jake decided to intervene now? Was something wrong? Was it just pure chance? Why had he cooked dinner? Did he know it's your favourite meal or had that been a coincidence? Have you met before without knowing?

"Baby?" Marc prompts when you don't answer.

If he says no you won't ask again until he's ready, but now you're here, you have to ask the question. Maybe a little push is what they need.

"Marc," you start softly, taking his hands in yours, "I know you have reservations about Jake but he is a part of you, and I think it's important I get to know him too. I mean after all he has to live here and if I keep dropping in we should know each other."

"Yeah but not like this! Not just out of nowhere before we've even had a chance to talk about it." Marc scowls, his whole body stiff, as though preparing for a fight. You wonder if Jake is fighting to take over again.

"Nothing happens the right way with you anyway. I mean look at us, our relationship has been upside down, sideways and shaken," you laugh affectionately, and though Marc continues to frown his expression softens just a little. "Jake said you talked about it today?"

"Yes. But we didn't agree to anything. And you didn't agree to anything, so you don't have to let him push you into this." Marc cups your face gently, his eyes flicking between yours as he tries to get a read on you, on where your head's at.

"I know. Nobody's forcing me. I just…want to know all of you. You know how badly it turned out when you wouldn't speak to me." You regret the words instantly as Marc drops his eyes, still ashamed of his behaviour during the first few months of your relationship with Steven. You take his hands from your face, holding them and squeezing in a gentle reminder that you've already forgiven all of that.

"But look at us now. The three of us are closer than ever. Jake is the last puzzle piece here. Let me just say hello so he knows I'm not some crazy psycho who's going to hurt you. Plus I won't panic if he fronts when I'm around again. He cooked my favourite food." You shrug, trying to lighten the mood a little and still distracted by the mouth watering smell. Marc ignores your feeble attempt at making jokes.

"Only because the perverted bastards been watching the time you spend with us! I didn't tell him that!" He bursts out, glaring at the table as though it somehow personally offended him.

Your stomach turns uncomfortably at the thought of the intrusion. Marc and Steven had an agreement that when it came to you, for the most part, they would stay out of each other's relationships. That way you knew the time you spent with each of them was solely for that person. But the fact Jake knew things about you, makes you uneasy. Did Marc know the extent that his alter had been watching you? What exactly had he seen?

"Okay, that's… yeah…. weird." You wrap your arms around your waist, shielding yourself from the moment as your mind whirs with questions and concerns.

"You don't have to agree to this, love." You're drawn out of your unsavoury thoughts by Steven’s soft British accent. "Marc's having a word now. Well, several in fact."

"I know but… honestly Steven, I think it's time. And I have questions I want answers to." You glance at the food on the table with a frown.

"I don't know if I'll be able to take control back," Marc warns, clearly feeling he needs to step back in.

You give him a reassuring smile, hoping it comes off as confident. "I don't think Jake is going to hurt me. Hurting me would hurt you both and isn't he supposed to stop that?"

"It's not that. I'm just worried what he will say to you."

"Marc," you start seriously before breaking into a grin, "I very much doubt Jake finally confirming you actually do love Beauty and the Beast, is going to be that bad."

Marc doesn't take the bait, still too wound up in his head, and no doubt listening to the voices of his alters.

"It's not that. I just….I've done some bad things." And there it was. Marc was worried somehow Jake would reveal something he didn't want you to know. Something about the past he keeps carefully locked away and hidden.

You take Marc's hands in yours, squeezing tightly.

"I'm so proud of you. You didn't deny loving the film!" You coo, much to Marc's annoyance as he pulls a face at you, clearly unimpressed.

"Whatever happened in the past, whatever you or Jake or Steven did, it doesn't matter. I know you Marc Spector, and you are a good man. You all are. Now let's get this over with okay?"

Marc looks at you pleadingly, but you stand firm. This has to happen sometime, and while it's out of the blue, so had your meeting been with Marc the first time when you thought you were meeting Steven.

"He says one word out of line," Marc growls, leaving the threat unsaid.

"One word," you agree with a nod.

"And he only gets to eat dinner with you. This is purely an introduction."

You nod again, unsure of anything else Marc might be worried Jake would ask you to do.

"And I get an additional date night with you!"

You try and bite back your laugh but you can't help grinning at him. You could tease him later on his little bout of adorable jealousy. If you were honest, you would miss the time with him too.

"And just to remind you, I hate that film. And if you and Steven watch it one more time!" Laughing, you kiss him softly. Marc's expression relaxes in an instant. "You're sure?"

You step back, letting go of his hands and giving him a nod. You were as ready as you were ever going to be.

"I'm sure."

"We'll be right here if you need us, love. Just say the word," Steven assures you, before he steps back.

Watching the transition is hard. It's not like Marc and Steven, whose switch between them is so smooth it's hard to notice. It's not quite like the way Steven had described his blackouts either, back in the days before he knew Marc. But it's clearly still a difficult transition until Jake slips into place.

"Shall we?" Jake smiles, gesturing to the table, as though he'd never been gone. You suspect he's been listening the whole time.

~

So far you are yet to fully understand Marc’s hesitation at meeting his alter. You and Jake have made small talk and introductions while you eat. Jake had been perfectly friendly, and if you're honest, even a little funny. Although you were trying to make it hard for him, given the way he had jumped in, you still found yourself enjoying his company, at least a little.

"Why the introduction now?" You ask, sipping your drink. It's your favourite and you could assume that Jake had purely got that by coincidence, since Steven always made sure he had some in the cupboards, but combined with the food you suspect not.

"They are going to ask you to move in."

You choke on your food in surprise, snapping your head up to look at Jake, waiting for him to laugh. Only he doesn't. He stares seriously at you.

"Steven decided a while ago but Marc is scared to ask. He feels you might say no."

You swallow, trying to dampen the excited butterflies that erupt in your belly.

"I don't know how he got that impression?"

Jake shrugs, "you know Marc, he has a hard time believing people do actually like him."

You do know that. If you've learnt anything about Marc over your relationship, you've learnt that is a key component. Marc always thought people preferred Steven, and he had a hard time believing anything that suggested otherwise.

"Well, if they are listening," Jake's quirk of his lips let's you know they are, "then I wouldn't say no. I would love to live here, with them. I mean I practically do anyway!"

Steven had already given you a key to the flat, and other than the evenings they were gone, you spent basically every night here.

"That's another reason it was important for us to meet. You never know when we might run into each other." Jake smiles, but his words bring up a remembrance of your concerns. Have you met before?

"Well really you would think we had met already, given you know my favourite food and my favourite drink, probably a lot more than that too. Should I ask if you know what colour underwear I put on today?" The words have a clear bite to them and to your surprise, Jake splutters on his drink, a look of shock widening his eyes.

"I would never!"

You scoff disbelievingly, gesturing to the table.

"Oh come on Jake! Let's at least be honest with each other."

"I have limits," Jake insists, wiping his mouth. "I would never invade yours, or their, privacy that way."

You find that hard to believe.

"Except you already did," you point out.

Jake sighs, defeated.

"Not out of malice or perversion. The last time Marc let someone this close to him it didn't end well, and it took some recovery time. I had to be sure he was okay, and that you could handle it…us."

Layla. Marc has spoken about his ex wife a handful of times. You knew he left, and when they found each other again in the end they decided to part as friends. To your knowledge she was off travelling Egypt, working on archeological sites. Whatever the reasons they didn't work out, Marc had never mentioned, and you never asked. You felt it wasn't your place or your business. Another past item Marc kept locked away.

But it still doesn't make sense. You'd been dating Steven a long time, and Marc a while now too. Why had it taken all this time for Jake to decide to vet you?

"Well, you took your time," you comment, watching his expression.

Jake lets out a soft laugh with a nod.

"Not out of choice, Cariño. Marc keeps you well guarded."

That is easy to believe, and you understood as much from the handful of times the boys have mentioned their other alter. Jake was their protector, and he would do what needed to be done in order to protect them. You got the feeling Marc was scared that Jake wouldn't like you, and subsequently remove you from their lives. You hope you've at least made a good enough impression that that wouldn't happen.

"You swear you've never watched us…" you gesture with your hands, heat prickling the back of your neck, unable to say the words.

"Never," Jake confirms passionately, before he grins, raising an eyebrow, "unless you wanted me to? I'd be more than happy to oblige any desire you have."

It takes all your willpower and sense of decorum not to throw your drink in his face, and you imagine Marc is seething. Judging by the way Jake swallows hard, his fingers gripping the edge of the table, he's fighting Marc for control.

"Let me guess, the boys not take that well?" You give him a smug smile and sip your drink, pleased just a little at their protectiveness of you. Jake holds up his hands in surrender with a nod.

"I seem to remember you allowing Marc to speak to you in the same way."

You open your mouth to protest before closing it again, knowing Jake is absolutely right. When you first started dating Steven, Marc would often make little remarks in much the same way to wind you up, until he realised he had fallen for you, then he'd stopped entirely until the night it all came tumbling out.

"Marc helped me and Steven come together. He gets a free pass on that time in our lives."

"You are good for them, for us," Jake smiles, a soft warm genuine smile, perhaps the first true warmth he's given you all evening. "When you found us everyone was unhappy. We were in a dark place, Marc especially. When we-"

"If it's not something I don't already know, then I don't want to know. Marc doesn't want me involved in his past and I'd like to respect that. Please," you interrupt.

Jake tilts his head, like a dog who doesn't understand. "You're not even a little curious?"

You shake your head. Curious would be an understatement but you had meant what you had said to Marc. The past was the past, and it didn't matter now.

"It doesn't matter. What matters is now and if Marc or Steven wants me to know something, they will tell me."

Jake smiles and leans back in his chair, regarding you proudly. You get the feeling you just passed another kind of test.

It isn't the last of the evening either. Now and again Jake says something, asks something, that feels a little off, leading you somewhere, pushing you, testing you. It makes for an exhausting dinner, and nothing like the relaxing meal you had planned to have with Marc. You do your best to be honest, truthful, and loyal.

All you can do is hope you pass the exam.

~

When the food is finished you help Jake clear away the plates, feeling at least a little accomplished that their alter seems to tolerate you, if not like you a little.

"Does this mean I'll see you more often now?"

"Why, do you want to?" Jake grins. "Sabía que no eras inmune a mis encantos "

Laughing you shake your head, "I never said that. It's just I don't want you to feel like you can't front with me around. I know Marc doesn't like it, but I can talk to him. If we are going to live here then we should do it as a family."

"I appreciate that," he pauses for a moment before he adds "and your trust. You didn't have to meet me tonight but you did."

You smile, "I've learnt that sometimes with those two, it's better just to get the truth out of the way."

Jake smiles, regarding you for a long moment with an expression you can't quite place. It leaves you with a warm feeling in your chest.

"I should go," he says finally, "Thank you for having dinner with me. If you ever change your mind about wanting an audience-"

"I won't." You reply quickly, cutting him off. Jake raises an eyebrow before he lets out a soft laugh.

"Never say never cariño. I look forward to changing your mind." He takes your hand and leaning down, brushes his lips against your knuckles.

In the blink of an eye Jake is gone, and Marc’s furious frown falls into place, his fingers squeezing yours.

"I'm going to murder that bastard! If he thinks he can flirt with you-" Marc cuts out as you laugh, drawing him into your arms to hug him tightly.

"You have nothing to worry about, Spector. I only have eyes for two men in my life." He still frowns unhappily but you persevere, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "Don't let it get to you. There's still a whole lot of date night left you know? I can think of something I want for supper."

Marc's expression changes in an instant, his fingers gripping your hips a little harder.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you smile, pulling his mouth to yours for a much more insistent kiss.

You try not to wonder if Jake is watching.

If you enjoyed reading please consider reblogging and letting me know your thoughts! Remember reblogs keep writers writing!!

~~~~~~~~

*Spanish - I knew you weren't immune to my charms

Thank you to @mandinlore for being amazing and beta'ing this for me!!

#jake lockely x reader #jake lockley x fem!reader #jake lockley x gn!reader #jake lockley x you #jake lockley fanfic #moon knight fanfic #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader

[duskyashe]

NaNoWriMo Day #22

[masterlist]

Prompt found here by @stealingyourbones

============={|·•·|}=============

"Dr Ivy?" Danny called out from the door of the silent greenhouse. He really shouldn't be doing this, but he needed help, and Ivy was mostly rehabilitated, so he was hoping she'd be willing to give him some... Illegal help under the table. After having been chased out of his home town, he'd been running dangerously low on ectoplasm. He'd never realized how much ambient ectoplasm was in the air in Amity Park, but everywhere else felt like he was trying to find water in the desert. He was starving, and his last hope to find natural ectoplasm had just keeled over, so now he was truly desperate. He gulped, and prayed he wasn't making a huge mistake.

The plants closest to the door turned to face him, causing Danny to fight back a shudder. This wasn't Undergrowth, this was Poison Ivy. He hadn't done anything to draw her ire, so he should be safe. Hopefully.

"Um. I heard you could hear through your plants. I hope that's true, otherwise I'd look really stupid here..." Danny took a breath, glancing at the array of plants. "Um, Dr Ivy, I was hoping you'd be willing to help me with a problem. A biochemistry problem. I... I have a unique biological makeup that the government has all but declared makes me liable to extermination at best or experimentation at worst. It also means I need something extra in order to survive, something I can't find a lot of naturally. I was hoping you'd be able to help me synthesize it?"

"An interesting dilemma," a woman's voice came from behind a row of particularly tall vegetation. Poison Ivy walked into sight. "Still, why come to me?"

Danny chuckled humorlessly. "As you can imagine, I can't exactly take this to an above-board biochemist, and most other biochemists aren't nearly good enough for what I need. You're one of the best, and while you're not exactly a criminal anymore, you're still not afraid to ignore what laws don't suit you." He met her gaze head on. "Please. I'm begging you."

Dr Ivy seemed to consider him for a moment. "Do you have a pure sample of what you need? Or are we going to have to do this the fun way?"

Taking a shaky breath, Danny held up a small, precious vial of pure ectoplasm, taken directly from his pa—the Fenton's supplies. "This is all I have. If we need more, we'll have to isolate it from my own system, which will take some work."

The former rogue eyed him and the vial. "You know, I don't work for free. This is going to cost you."

"My very existence is illegal. I don't have much in the way of money. Or an identity, at this point," which hurt to admit, but made things a bit easier as well. No identity, no easy way for the GIW to track him. If he ever saw Tucker again, he was going to shower him with thanks and praise.

Dr Ivy smirked. "I can work with that. We can work with that."

============={|·•·|}=============

Hi, so, I'm American, and there's a major holiday in a couple of days. A major holiday that tends to take quite a bit of preparation. Sometimes days in advance (⁠^⁠～⁠^⁠;⁠)⁠ゞ I spent the day baking pies and trying not to choke from the wheat tainting the air (I'm severely allergic to wheat, but gluten free pie crusts are too expensive to make all the pies gluten free). I managed, I'm okay, and all the pies turned out looking amazing! But it left me with less time to write than I'd hoped for... And I pretty much chose a prompt at random without taking into account whether or not I could actually write the characters involved (⁠；⁠^⁠ω⁠^⁠）if it wasn't obvious, I have no idea what to do with Ivy (⁠;⁠ŏ⁠﹏⁠ŏ⁠) I hope this was at least acceptable lol

Happy early turkey day, fellow Americans! I hope any feasting you do will be joyous (⁠◠⁠‿⁠・⁠)⁠—⁠☆

Have a good morning/day/night!

#danny phantom #batman #dc x dp #dp x dc #fanfic #dp crossover #dp au #fanfiction #nanowrimo 2022 #NaNoWriMo Day 22 #I'm thinking Ivy introduces Danny to Selina at some point #for many reasons #I'm just too tired to list them... #but Danny hanging out with the sirens? gold. pure gold. even better? Danny being unofficially adopted by them #yes. just yes.

[pamprinninja]

How it started, versus how it's going...

I grew up in the UK, 30 minutes from Games Workshop's Nottingham headquarters; and my childhood heavily featured their games, miniatures, and routine trips to the local Games Workshop store.

During this time, I developed a particular affection for the work of Jes Goodwin. Initially an artist and sculptor, Jes' work was strongly geometric in nature; and displayed an unusually high degree of consistency (a particularly noteworthy achievement during a period where miniatures were sculpted by hand with ad-hoc tools).

For reference - one of Jes' early sketches of a Space Marine in Mk. VI armor; as featured in the guide that accompanied the very first Space Marine paint set:

I actually had the pleasure of meeting Jes in person at Games Day '94; and one of my treasured possessions is the souvenir program, which he kindly autographed:

During my teenage years, I came to possess a handful of Chaos Champions sculpted by Jes. As was so often the case in those early years, the miniatures had been designed as dual use; combining the sort of medieval aesthetics that would warrant inclusion in the Warhammer Fantasy Battle setting, but also the occasional technological greeble that would justify use in Warhammer: 40,000.

As I generally kept to the latter system, I set about cutting up and remodeling these miniatures, with the aim of making the science-fiction elements more explicit. And I was very happy with the end results, too!... Which makes it all the more unfortunate that these miniatures were lost when I relocated to the US.

Two decades later, and I have taken it upon myself to recreate these miniatures (albeit with the full advantage of the skills I have developed in the interim). The first mini on the chopping block is 021919 from the 1989 Citadel Catalog (frequently referred to by its most obvious physical characteristic, "Nurgle Chaos Champion With Fly Mutation"):

(It feels vaguely sacrilegious, taking a razor saw to what is now technically an antique; but I very much subscribe to the DIY mentality that was so prevalent during the initial Rogue Trader days, and - given that the model originates for the same time period - keeping the old traditions alive seems only appropriate.)

In my original conversion, I removed the haft and blade of the axe; and positioned an old Space Ork plasma cannon over the now unobscured shoulder. I also replaced the sandaled foot and exposed fly-mutated leg with their armored equivalents from a Space Marine Devastator.

This time I around, I opted to angle the right arm, to add a greater sense of movement; and completely reposition the left arm, as if to calling out a target:

(In doing so, I created a great many headaches for myself: the right hand snapped off at the wrist, and had to be repaired. Cutting the left arm free necessitated cutting through the hand; and the pins I inserted into the remains of the palm broke free, requiring JB Weld to resecure.

I cannot underscore the frustration inherent to these two experiences; at the same time, I'm a great believer in the idea that growth as an artist demands taking risks - up to and including potentially ruining one's art.)

The original version of the conversion also featured an extended barrel (fabricated from the Lord Fuegan's firepike, and a handful of random Genestealer claws). However, I wanted to replace this with something a little more appropriate for a follower of the Lord Of Pestilence; which ended up being the better part of a Plague Spewer:

In terms of next steps: I intend to strap a canister of goo-based ammunition to his left side; and continue to add new detailing to hide the various cuts and joins.

#miniature painting #warhammer 40k #nurgle #chaos champion #jes goodwin

[blitz0hno]

For the ask game: general 1, 3, 6, 7. Prisoner, 1, 3 (Amane), 4 (mikoto) I didn’t ask too much questions did I

I AM SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG RAHHHH I got the notif, forgor, got another ask for this like a day ago, forgot again, and finally check my inbox today lmao you asked the perfect amount of questions no worries!!

General:

1. My favorite prisoner? It really is Mikoto I cannot tell a lie 😭 why? He's just... So heartbreakingly earnest. And when I was on Milgram Twitter back in 2021 I really didn't want his story to be a DID story. I wasn't about to discuss that stuff on a pretty public account no matter how intrigued we were. However, as time went on, and we thought about how all the other prisoners are "mentally ill" in some form or another, we held out hope that the whole "DID murderer who doesn't remember" thing would be subverted in some way. We came to really really look forward to his second trial, and after Purge March even moreso. In our opinion, Milgram team fuckin DELIVERED when Oct. 25th came around. While I personally relate more to John, Mikoto's story and how it's being told are very important to me. The extreme ambiguity of it all makes it better honestly; it's strikingly realistic in that sense. A host who has no idea what's going on or how to deal with it, in a boat with a bunch of presumable singlets who feel the same way, strikes a chord that few other medias have. Plurality is a very difficult topic to do justice, but I think Mikoto's narrative is very humanizing.

3. Favorite headcanon has gotta be the sibling-type relationships, particularly Amane and Fuuta. I love the idea of them stirring up trouble together. Trans headcanons are also my favorite anything ever (transmasc Fuuta and Mikoto/John and nonbinary Amane are my personal favs but transfemme!Fuuta, transfemme!Kazui and other trans headcanons are all GOATed imo)

6. RAHHHHHHH DIFFICULT favorite MV? siiiigh it probably is MeMe. Surprise tone-shift? Check. Tarot motif? Check. THE CRIME IN BRUTAL DETAIL? Check. Lyrics go crazy. Color palette goes crazy. Outfits go crazy. Although I will say "I Love You" is criminally underrated and provocative. Also LOVVVVED Harrow, Tear Drop, INMF, Purge March and Deep Cover. It's so hard to pick!!

7. Who I would get along with? Ironically, probably Fuuta. I think I would put up with his gruff attitude better than most, and we'd probably have similar worldviews regarding justice and the systems in place in society. I've been in similar (thankfully less serious) positions regarding his murder. We both enjoy video games and ramen lol he's still a little shit tho. I also feel like Yuno and I have very similar worldviews and would get along just fine.

Prisoners:

1. What do I think of Amane? Easily one of my favorites. Why? SHE IS SO REAL THAT'S WHY. She's thoroughly heartbreakingly indoctrinated but STILL trusts herself enough to do what's in her best interest in protecting herself. She denies herself so much joy to honor her devotions, even though I'm almost sure she will come to realize that the only "god" looking out for her is her. She just wants everyone to have the "heaven" of infinite happiness she's been promised, and doesn't yet understand that it's something one must make for themselves and that no one can see and know her every move and judge her like that.

3. Amane's first verdict was cruel, but I understand why it happened. Magic's very vague about who she killed and it seemed like she did it simply because the doctrine said to. It was almost like she'd been manipulated into doing it and didn't feel bad at all. When really, she was just joyous that she got to punish her abuser for once, using the rules THEY told her; not the other way around. I still do regret voting "unforgiven," personally. Her second verdict though? Based. I was in the trenches w y'all for that shit. Purge March my beloved. She had every right to punish someone who would torture a child and I don't see how Kotoko doesn't get that??? Amane inno sweep all the way they better treat my girl RIGHT from now on.

4. What do I wish people understood more about Mikoto? Woooo boy. How do I word this.

In the fandom: Mikoto is just a host alter - he's as capable of being mean and aggressive as John is capable of being nice. And his response to John and anger towards the protector is as natural as it is unfair. He's not immune to being a flawed human and deals with stress very differently from John despite sharing a body. Mikoto's denial keeps him going along "normally," but it's doubtless that "he," Mikoto, is truly the responsible one for the crime (as hosts often are the ones making big decisions). And idk, people seem to understand overall?? But there still seems to be confusion sometimes, about how John isn't "just" a protector, but a completely separate person/ego state. Neither one is the "main" alter, or a "nicer"/"better" alter. They're rounded people like the rest of the prison.

In-universe: I wish they understood him and John. I wish they knew he switched sometimes, and that though they're different they aren't dangerous just by virtue of being like that. I wish Mikoto wouldn't shame himself for not "measuring up," and accept himself and what he's done. But we're going to superhell so idk about that.

Thanks for asking!

#milgram #ask games #tysm for the ask!! sorry again for taking so long i love yapping at you #mikoto milgram #amane momose

[thelightningthatjumpsbetween]

Twenty

RE8 | Wintersberg | Romance, Slow Burn | Action, Sci-Fi

Sequel of Winters and the Beast, a Resident Evil: Village Story

Table Of Contents

Ethan's Journal

August 31

Today started off by getting stabbed by someone who looked almost identical to Karl.  Turns out it was his identical twin.  What I don’t understand is what he said when he stabbed me.  Who tells somebody “Don’t cave” and then stabs them?? 

The good news is that I healed fast…we have time to figure out how to help the Mutamycete without sending Eva back. 

I do feel pain around where the wound was, but hopefully that will go away soon too. Eva says I might be healing fast because I know how to ‘focus’ on healing now.  

Karl has been with Donna most of the day.  It was weird how she just randomly started remembering her life, and it happened faster than mine did.  Karl has been sad all day too, but he won’t say much–Typical.  At least Rose is in a good mood!  We played outside until the storm clouds showed up.  And now I’ve been sorting through the things we got in the mail.  It’s nice to have a break from thinking about “Mold stuff”. 

Then around 5, we got more visitors.  Maricara, Alina, and Lidia!  It is so great to see them.  They haven’t stopped by since Rose’s party.  Maricara said that the Duke was in their village to trade, and told her about Donna.  She came with a basket of fabric, a big sewing kit and a bunch of supplies. I guess they’re going to try to help Donna with some project.  Maricara knew her real mom so Donna has someone to talk to about her family.  They’re the best kind of people.  I offered them all their old rooms upstairs, they’re going to stay for the weekend.  

So even though the day started out pretty bad, it’s looking up. Let’s hope it stays that way.  

Karl and I are going to the field tonight. I'm happy that he’s finally on board with confronting Miranda even if we’re not ready to fight her yet.  She can’t come into this world and I believe Godric when he says she can’t take Rose either. All I can hope is that Karl gets answers about his brother.  I’ve never seen him so agitated, unless you count after I killed “Sturm” …he was pretty mad, but that was nothing compared to this.  I’m a little nervous about seeing Mia…if she knew Miranda all those years ago, maybe Miranda did something with her identity too?  It turns my stomach to think about, but I need to know….I’m tired of not knowing things.  

Ethan rubbed his eyes and stared at the journal entry.  The intense eyes of the Heisenberg twin, moved onto paper by way of his pencil, glared up at him, and he closed the leather-bound book.  With a sigh he stared out the window at the mostly grey sky; stars were out already, and clouds moved quickly underneath them.  Thunder had rumbled most of the afternoon, but no rain yet fell.  As Ethan watched, lightning flickered across the valley that once-was Heisenberg’s Factory, below the cliffs.  

Were they crazy to go down there?  They’d discussed where specifically to venture–Heisenberg’s idea was over the obliterated ceremony site.  Not only was it over the original location of Miranda’s lab, it was where the Mutamycete had lived before Chris’s explosives.  Since its regrowth, the central nervous system of the Mold was now away from that site.  But if any of the underground cavern systems remained–Heisenberg swore that he could sense them with his powers-then the Mold itself was powerful in that area.  Eva had agreed with this.  

It wasn’t a bad idea, but Ethan was even less enthused about going back there than he had been to go to Dimitrescu’s castle.  It was, in a sense, Ethan’s death place.  Well…one of them?  He wondered if Miranda would be able to manifest there in different ways, if the Mold would help her.  It seemed to in the past, even with Eva and Rose working against her.  

The office door opened and Eva entered, looking particularly solemn.  Ethan turned his gaze from the brewing storm, and managed a faint smile for his friend.  

“Rose having fun seeing her friends?” 

“She is,” Eva said with a grin, “But I believe Maricara is the most happy.  She says Rose will say her name soon.” 

“That’s a lot of syllables even for me,” Ethan protested, stretching at the desk.  As he moved to push the seat back, Eva stayed him with a hand, and then pulled a stool away from the wall, to sit next to him.  

“I need to tell you something.”  She had papers in her hand–Ada’s research, he could see. 

“Okay.”  Ethan raised an eyebrow.  “You’re sitting down.  That means…?”

“It means it is important,” Eva said with a heavy breath.  “Not bad.  Yes?  Just…important.” 

“Is it about Karl?  Is he okay?” 

“He is fine.  I think it is about all of us,” she said, tilting her head as if she were uncertain.  “He read this first, while Donna slept and he stayed to watch over her.  He wanted me to make you aware of it as soon as possible.” 

“Why couldn’t he?”

Eva scratched her hair awkwardly.  “I do not think he is in a mood to talk much.” 

“Fair enough.”  Ethan had worked for months to get the reclusive engineer to talk in the first place, and most of what Ethan knew about Heisenberg’s past came from accidentally stepping into the other man’s thoughts and mind.  And now Heisenberg was handing off important information through Eva.  The blond massaged his temple, wishing there was more that he could do, but he finally leaned back in the leather chair.  “All right, hit me.” 

Eva’s confused stare reminded him that she’d not been in a human world for many years.  

“I mean….show me what you’ve got.” 

The blond woman thumbed through papers, moving to a paragraph with sloppily made notations beside it, slashed in red pen.  Heisenberg. 

Ethan abruptly made a noise and held up his hand.  “Wait.  This isn’t…your….mother’s writing, is it?”

“No, it is from the biologists in Ada’s organization.  She translated it for added security.”  Eva tapped the paperwork. “They seem to be simply trying to understand the Mold, rather than using it for weapons.  Although the same cannot be said for other, adjacent organizations.” 

“Right.” 

She began to read aloud, impressively translating the German to English as she went.  

“...Questions arise then as to the sentience of the Mold itself.  If considering the widely accepted model of consciousness which suggests that sentience and awareness are broadly grounded in the biology of the cell, it becomes obvious that firstly, the Mold is keenly aware of its environment.  It is very much like other fungi when mapping: its mycelium expands, detects the physical structure of its surroundings and responds to the availability of food and the presence of other organisms. The overall pattern of branching is determined by the genetic code, but the exact positions of each branch are dictated by the character of the environment. 

For this reason, the shape of each colony is never reproduced. The individual fungus is unique, much like how no two humans are exactly alike.  As this organism’s basis for operation, its “fungal brain”, has obviously imitated the human brain network, this calls defensive and survival mechanistics into question.  

Pathogenic fungal mycelia such as this mold and many others respond to their environment when they invade a host. Species which target humans have been shown to modify their growth form to become more invasive as the infection develops. These responses are genetically programmed and not learned behaviors, but the mold is able to grasp things about its environment and show that it learns.  

This leads to our report result: 

We have concluded that this Mold affects its hosts emotionally. 

Nowhere is this more obvious and evident than in witnessing behavior of its hosts after infection.  Many subjects have been mapped and their behavior studied by psychologists with all results leading back to the concept that the Mold influences its hosts’ decisions for its own survival. (like any parasite)

See attached reports from psychiatrists for more information on data gathered and how it is quantified.  

In mammal studies, including infected wildlife but most notably, infected humans, the Mold implants a strong desire for family into the host’s mind.  This manifests differently for every person affected based on the host’s pre-existing experiences and beliefs about family, but it…” 

Eva’s lip was trembling and Ethan stared past her toward a far bookshelf, his own eyes glassed over, as her first tears began to fall.  Exhaling and steeling herself she continued reading, but her voice was very much affected.  

“It is clearly part of the organism’s learned mechanism for survival.  If a candidate has, as two examples: a pre-existing yearning for family or, no close family relationships, the Mold’s influence can cause behaviors that are erratic, toxic, or even self-harming.  The host is not experiencing mental illness, rather, they are responding to the signals from the parasite to get, and keep, a family close.  This usually leads to behavior patterns that do not match the host’s personality–interviewed infected persons have stated during these ‘crises’ they felt no control over themselves or their desires.  

For notes on extreme examples of this manifestation, see examples ‘Connections E Series’ and ‘Romania - Miranda.’ 

In other subjects, who did have positive family connections, the bond between those family members was strengthened universally.   The Mold rewards positive behaviors and emotions much like a human brain, and hosts report feeling satisfied when they are with their families or loved ones–even reporting feelings of bliss or euphoria when an entire family network is infected.  

In case studies where one member of the family was given a healing serum, removing the mold from their body temporarily, the other family members became combative and tried removing the patient from the room even though no danger to the host existed.  They become overprotective, anxious, and feel negative emotions for any threat and often manifest as overprotective family members.    

It is likely that hosts who manifest this type of protectiveness would have unmatched resilience when a family member is in danger.  We have documented animals with this protectiveness: an entire pack of infected wolves mourn the deaths of its elder members, showing symptoms of depression for months, and an infected murder of crows were witnessed having funeral ceremonies and mourning together after a death of one of their own.  Both communities of mammals had intense aggression when approached by outsiders.    

For notes on extreme examples of this manifestation, see example ‘Dulvey - Ethan Winters.’” 

The papers were thrown down onto Ethan’s desk, and Eva cautiously wiped her eyes, trying to judge the other blond’s reaction.  He was massaging the bridge between his eyes, his teeth bared as the information sank in.  Ethan’s hand dropped from his eyes down to his mouth and he stroked the dark stubble there. He stared at Eva, cupping his own chin. 

“So I’m not even me, really.  I just…” He shrugged, his voice hollow.  “I’m just…..a psycho dad because of the Mold.” 

“No,” Eva argued sternly.  Likely, she had been anticipating this response.  “You are still you.  The Mold affects everyone differently.  What it has done is amplify your pre-existing feelings about family.  It has propelled you when you needed it, to save your daughter.”  Eva’s fingers brushed his knee.  “Everything you have done is because you are noble, Ethan, and brave.  This doesn’t change that.” 

He frowned at the compliment.   “But this means that all of us…every single person…is doing whatever we can to what?  Seek family?  Be a part of a family?”

She was silent, biting her lip and then lifting a hand to her own chin as he’d done.  

“I suppose so, or at least, subconsciously, in ways.” 

“So…Miranda slaughtered a bunch of innocent people by turning this into a fucked up experiment for one person’s life…Eveline had Jack doing her dirty work of trying to create infected people to expand her own network….Mia, what?  What did it make her do?” 

“I don’t know Mia very well,” Eva admitted, “But from what I understand, she tried very hard to stay in her marriage with you, hiding things from you and trying desperately to make things appear stable and make you happy.  Could you see how that would benefit her, as a host, responding to these feelings, the need to…keep her family together?  On top of the love that she had for you?”

Ethan sighed, but he was still too in-shock to produce tears or outrage.  Instead he gripped the sides of the large leather armchair, and planted his feet on the ground.  

“I’m not even a person at all.  Nothing I do is even me.  Are any of my feelings real?”

“They are all real!  Ethan, you are not listening.” 

“Oh, I’m listening, I even made it as aggressive dad footnote in their article.”  When he threw his head back, closing his eyes, Ethan mused aloud, “Guess this explains the Lords.  Donna needed a million terrifying dolls to keep her company.  Moreau obsessed over Miranda.  And even Lady Dimitrescu and her monster daughters.  The Mold just wants us all to be one big happy family.” 

It had begun to rain.  What was usually a comforting sound now filled his heart with sorrow.   He remembered Godric’s words.  Sorrow will find you. 

He wasn’t trying to avoid it or anything, but damn it sure seemed to seek him out, didn’t it?  Eva looked heartbroken, and he met her eyes for the first time, happy to listen to her, instead of his own cynical thoughts.  

“I could almost forgive my mother, knowing that her grief was transformed into something that would benefit the entire organism.  Almost.  But what she has done is turn this survival mechanism, which could have been something so lovely, like the love you showed in protecting your daughter, into something horrific.”  

Hearing Eva speak so sadly about her own mother caused Ethan to put aside his feelings; he didn’t have feelings, actually–he was numb, from his head down to his feet, he could feel nothing.  It was the type of news that made one go blank, disconnected immediately, just like he’d done when Eveline first told him he was made out of mold. 

Even in a moment where his own distraught grief eluded him and he turned into a barely existing shell of a person, he had compassion.  Ethan stood and pulled Eva into a hug.  She soon burst into tears, sobbing onto his chest, and he hugged her harder, planting his chin onto the shorter blond’s head. From the hallway of the second floor, he could hear more sobs, likely Donna.  

The house would have made a good haunted attraction today, what with all the wailing.   And Karl’s loud Frankenstein-boot stomping.  Ethan smiled to himself, and then Eva ended up laughing through her sobs, choking as she fought to control the laugh.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that thought,” he said quietly, smiling against her cornsilk hair.  “Eva, it’s gonna be okay.” 

She laughed more, and then sighed as she pulled away, wiping tears again.  “Thank you, Ethan.” 

“Thank you for dropping the bomb, I guess.”  He sank back into his chair as she turned to leave.  “How did Karl feel about it?” 

Eva paused at the door, keeping it closed.  

“He didn’t say much, but I think he is happy to have some answers about the others in the village–their devotion to the religion.  Perhaps he also has answers about his own resistance to the pull of family.” 

“Yeah, why would he have that resistance?  What made him different?” 

Eva frowned, and finally turned back to Ethan.  “It is not my place to say more, but Heisenberg has always been protected.  By someone out of the reach of the Mold.  A true family member, which has…perhaps…overridden the commitment that Miranda put inside him when she infected him.  I think he has always believed his father and brother were also protected, immune.  Knowing that at least his brother is not, is devastating to him.”  

His mother.  

Ethan hadn’t said it aloud, but Eva nodded anyway.  

Ethan remembered the vision of Heisenberg’s, the pitiful and yet horrific creature strung up on pulleys-that looked dead but was not afforded that luxury.  That was the source of Heisenberg’s protection, his link to true family?  It was nightmarish.  How could Heisenberg have any solace at all?  Then again, maybe he didn’t.     

He chewed on his lip, and then waved at Eva.  “Get some sleep.” 

“Be careful tonight,” she warned.  “I know you don't need to hear it...and I already told Karl....Not all answers are comforting.”  

#fic:the lightning that jumps between #karl heisenberg #ethan winters #mother miranda #mold thoughts lol

[elizmanderson]

writeblr q&a

overdue thanks to @queen-tashie for the tag! I've had this notif in my email for like. a solid week just waiting to have energy for it lmao

1. What motivates you to write?

I just gotta

2. A line/short snippet of your writing that you are most proud/happy of.

(If not maybe share a line of someone else's work you love - just please credit them.)

from The Keeper of Lonely Spirits (2025):

The live oaks were his favorites. They were quiet and gruff but not unfriendly. Reminded him of himself, except that they grew toward each other.

3. What part of writing do you think you are the best at?

(Yes stroke your own ego it's okay)

characters for sure. sometimes it takes some doing to get them fully out of my head and onto the page (bc it's like, I know how they are, so I forget that readers won't know unless, y'know, I show them), but they're full-on people to me and I think I do great with them

4. What do you enjoy most about the Writeblr community?

I do not think I am particularly part of the Writeblr community simply bc of how I use Tumblr? like mostly I'm here scrolling for funny stuff or beautiful stuff. like this is the one place I come to just. dick around lmao.

I'm also generally not great at connecting with people on social media (it's been known to happen but it's still a mystery to me how), so I'm mostly connected to Writeblrs I already know from elsewhere. but I like seeing more of their writing on here 💖 and also their responses to tag games!

5. A writing tool/device you use that helps you with writing?

(It could be speech to text, a writing program etc)

literally just chugging along with a laptop and Microsoft Word over here, ya bitch is basic

6. A piece of worldbuilding that you like in your own story?

(It could be the magic system, a particular place in the story, a law etc)

I think the portrayal of ghosts in The Keeper of Lonely Spirits is pretty unique? I don't remember how I came up with it at all. I like it though

7. What piece of advice would you say to encourage others to write if they are having a rough patch?

I would always remind other writers (and all creatives) that it is GOOD AND NECESSARY to take breaks sometimes. it doesn't make you less of a creator, even if the break stretches on for years. it doesn't make you a bad creator. it's literally necessary, for multiple reasons. it's okay to take breaks. please take breaks.

nonobligatory tag for @victoriacbooks and @cassbeewrites

#writeblr #writing tag #tag game #about me

[paradoxcase]

So, I did get a chance to redesign the QuCheanya writing system last week, with the emphasis on not trying to be naturalistic, but instead designing for optimization for printing presses, etc. Here's what I have so far:

Frames now have three features: PoA, MoA, and palatalization, with PoA being the overall frame shape, MoA being a diacritic on the vertical part of the frame, and palatalization being a diacritic on the horizontal part of the frame:

So, for the QuCheanya consonants, this yields the following frames:

You can see that other combinations are possible - some that are likely and useful, like palatal obstruents, non-alveolar trills, velar and uvular nasal, etc., some that are less likely but still phonologically possible, like palatalized uvulars, other that are just plain not possible like a bilabial lateral, or nonsensical, like palatalized palatals. It does not, however, allow for a voicing distinction, or for lateral obstruents, although you could imagine combining the lateral diacritic with the stop, fricative, and affricate diacritics the way that the affricate diacritic is a combination of the stop and fricative diacritics, and if you imagine that the lateral lines are longer than the stop line, you could create a lateral fricative diacritic that's distinct from the trill.

The black centers that will be used for the vowels are like so:

So the shapes for i and a appear in the center of the diphthongs that contain them.

I didn't write out all 350 possible combinations of frame and center, but I did write out a few sentences to show how it looks overall:

These are all sentences from the grammar:

Länyepfei noi risu NeaSapfitame Yesoraqare qqheanu pfaire cä. ("I will give the book to Priestess Yesora in the past.")

Ca nonei neaSapfitapa ceyai qqhoasui fyoanyo. ("I hope I will become a priestess.")

Ca nonei retye feisyä Firelänu yai sei. ("My sister lives in Vrel.")

Ca chetsei ri pfecyua tsisu syelo qqhoafye yeli yai. ("He is the boy who likes flowers.")

Choi fu syene fyeirä pfona fu talä mai syene QäQhai (3:028:32 QäQhai written out in words)

I think this works out well - I like how you can see that most of the words are only one or two syllables long in these sentences, even though they look longer in the transliteration ("fyoanyo", "pfecyua", "chetsei", "qqhoasui" are all two syllables long, but they look much longer written out in romanization).

I also took a stab at numbers, but I'm not as happy with them. This is just kind of the first, most simplistic idea I had for a system that fit the aesthetic and would be easy for the printing press.

Since we need to represent base 12, we need 12 numerals, and I wanted to have the number frames indicate the bases:

So for example, with this system, here is 3:028:32 QäQhai written out in numerals:

I think the numbers stand out ok from the syllables. Not totally sold on writing out "fu" in this kind of scenario, though, probably want to use some punctuation here.

I came up with some ideas for punctuation, speaking of:

I did want to have the punctuation be small black characters on the center line (as opposed to the baseline), but I'm not sold on these particular shapes yet. I think I need period/question mark/exclamation point, comma, quotes, some form of bracketing, and probably something analogous to : in the time expression. There are two pairs in here that could be bracketing/quotes, and maybe some of these functions could be represented by the same marks.

Anyway, I'm curious to know if any of you who have been following this project have an opinions or thoughts on these ideas, particularly the numbers and the punctuation.

#conlang #conscript #writing system #qucheanya

[lauvra]

I don't know if this is just a me thing, but it is pretty typical that strangers get really deep conversationally pretty quickly and as I wrap up my last few hours on the Coast and finish any minor chores that'll help my mum later on I'm sitting here thinking about an interaction on my way here. On my way to the airport, the driver talked about how lately he has longed more and more to move back to his home of origin in India. The entire conversation hit on a lot of existential thoughts that plagued my mind in the week leading up to my trip. He was expressing to me that he didn't feel happy or successful, basically. At one point he said that when his mother talks about his brother, she probably says he's so successful, has a degree in this and that and something else and on and on but when she talks about him she probably tells people oh he's working hard, has a business etc. in a more invalidating way. It was really interesting listening to how hard he was on himself, I got a little bold because it was almost annoying that he couldn't see his achievements even as he listed them. I want to be clear here, I'm not a naive woman, he had no intent, this guy was in the middle of a crisis. I reminded him how massive and brave a move he has made, said it's likely he speaks multiple languages - to which he confirmed, three - he owns a home here, he works for himself with Uber and runs a business, he has a series of qualifications that he minimised as useless, he has a wife and two children. I said maybe she tells people how proud of you she is, since you don't actually know what she's saying, maybe she says my son is so brave he did all of this, he gave me two beautiful grandchildren - you don't know what she's saying, at all so why project the worst assumption? I can't ever embody a true understanding of the amount of pressure that non-white parents put on their children to make it and support their entire family in this world, I am aware there's a difference that's often discussed, a pressure but he claimed they are very well off over there. The most interesting thing to me is being so hung up on other people's definitions of success - even just the perception of other peoples definitions of success when the reality is that it's a unique and incredibly personal thing to every individual. It's so personal when it's family, we desperately want our parents to think we're good enough, but he's never going to feel successful or happy until he defines what that means, for himself and maybe he's never considered it. It felt ironic I was sitting in the backseat of his car, jobless, a high school dropout with one abortion under her belt, no higher qualifications and my bank account going into negative just to take this trip to the airport on time and I don't feel particularly doomed or unsuccessful, (pause for laughter), I feel like I'm figuring it all out on my own terms and I know my family loves me and I'm so fucking grateful for my life, my family and my capacity to soul search from such a young age. I used to be so fixated on what others may think of me, that I hated meeting new people. I found the small talk about jobs and degrees so humiliating because I wanted to study, hated my dead end jobs as they didn't speak to who I was and I worried people would sideline me as unworthy but now I know none of that matters and it doesn't affect me. I'm really comfortable saying that after burning out, I'm taking a break. I've never shamed other people before, never considered other people on welfare to be milking the system or invalid or a waste of time so if anybody thinks that of me, good on them I hope they never experience things that I have! Who cares. Everyone has to, at some point, reach their own uniquely unacceptable reality before accepting who and what they are and why they're here. I came here with three objectives; be helpful, be loving and be present. I've achieved that, and in regards to this trip I feel very successful.

#me #word

[freedfromthegalactichivemind]

ooooh ask game :D

7. what character did you begin to hate not because of canon but because how how the fandom acts about them?

14. that one thing you see in fics all the time

22. your favorite part of canon that everyone else ignores

23. ship you've unwillingly come around to

7. Character fandom had me begin to hate: Catra, for a while. In the early days of the fandom, particularly if you found yourself gravitating toward gremlins (Entrapta, in my case - Adora, Catra, Bow and Glimmer were the main characters first season), everyone going gaga over Catra felt like... "I'm over here, in my little corner." She felt overhyped, even surpassing Adora - the hero - in popularity. And then when season 2 hit, I was one of the earliest Entrapdak-people. Honestly, back then, I treated it as a lark, didn't think it would last, but even THEN some of the "You shouldn't be shipping this ship over the girl-ship / you shouldn't be liking this mean, horrible ugly male villain (even as a side-dish to the cool science gremlin)!" started. People who thought it was more righteous to enjoy Catra / "you must enjoy Catra at the expense of Hordak" bullshit started. When Season 3 happened and the Entrapdak pool-noodle became a dreadnought and people started getting interested in Hordak independently as more of his story was revealed, that's when the fecal matter hit the turbine in terms of the frankly weird Catra vs. Hordak war in the fandom. I really got tired of being called an "abuse apologist" and having it insinuated that I was pro-colonialism because I enjoyed a cartoon space alien dark lord and his Pinky and the Brain-esque realationship with my favorite mad scientist. All while people were holding up Catra as blameless, Catra as only a poor widdle victim. It got annoying to a lot of Hordak-fans and Entrapdak-fans. There was a backlash. I don't think I came to hate her as much as some on that side of the fandom did, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't have animosity for the character for a good, long time. I've learned to part myself from the negative experiences in fandom and actually analyze Catra from finding myself enjoying her whenever I re-watch the series. Sweary She-Ra has also gone a long way toward me considering her internal issues and psychological states, despite it being a fanwork / not canon. It is one of those surprisingly insightful fanworks. 14. That one thing I see in fanfics all the time: Characterization getting de-railed for what is obviously an author's personal vision or projection - ex. quick happy endings for fluff, woobiefication for MAXIMUM ANGST. Sometimes the authors even know about it (their notes). 22. Favorite ignored thing: Honestly, I ought to put this in one of my fics just so it stops getting neglected. Not enough people talk about how Entrapta's automated systems in her castle ran on The Clapper. I never had one, but I grew up with those annoying commercials. It amuses me greatly. 23. Ship I've unwillingly come around to: I'm not sure there's any. I am pretty chill with shipping in this fandom. (It's one of my other fandoms where my Bro-TP is almost everyone and their dog's OTP and I feel like tearing my hair out). Maybe Catradora. I always saw it as canon - it was just an obvious "they're leaning into this" from the beginning for me, but there was a point in canon where Catra had gone so far into choosing destruction that I wondered if Glimmadora might be endgame instead and if that would have been the better main ship. It took Catra making a start toward better choices (and being denied her deathwish) to make it start working for me. That, and I think reading something you said about Adora's choices and "fuck Shadow Weaver" that made me see it in a better light.

#spop #she-ra #choose violence ask game

[kieranduffygirlporn]

gonna talk a bit about what it's been like for me the past couple days. just need to be heard and to type out all my thoughts & feelings about being an introject w/ an introject partner in all this. Hopefully you'll get something out of this

tw for abuse, disordered eating, very BPD happenings, one moment of suicidal ideation

warning: really fucking long and not the most organized thing in the world

I never talked about this here or really anywhere on any other blog but hi. I'm Ida. I'm the second host @/dearfauxpas and our system has seen since our syscovery. .... past this I literally cannot start to describe my identity without talking about Wilbur. I'm sat here struggling to conjure anything.

The reason for this is twofold. I, myself, am an introject, of a bit of art we have at the beginning of our main/art blog that kind of backfired because we never ended up posting much art. The second reason, and the main reason, is that my boyfriend is a cc!Wilbur introject in our system.

When we started dating two years ago, I was at probably one of the lowest points that I have been at as an alter myself. It was a month after I formed and I was still incredibly attached to my source. When I formed and even today, I am still the only alter in the system who has a feminine aligned gender. I changed my name to Ida the night I formed because I named myself after a pet I had in-source. My source (I'm sure you'll be shocked to know) was incredibly mentally ill, and as a result, I formed as a symptom holder for our worsening borderline symptoms. I've also only started talking about this to very close friends within the past couple days but our early relationship/the first six months was tumultuous. I was possessive, obsessive, and paranoid. I also had issues with thoughts of disordered eating and at one point went four days eating about the caloric equivalent of a single bagel per day because I was so depressed.

My system and particularly my love saved me. Over time, my paranoia that he'd leave me subsided, and we become much happier, which is what lead to me becoming the host as our previous host's mental health declined due to many factors.

During the span of our relationship, we played a lot into our introject identities (sootcest lmfao). I became a lot more independent from my source and recovered from a lot of my paranoia. I thought I had simply beaten our BPD traits, and that they were gone forever (with one exception). I thought my disordered eating thoughts had vanished and I was going to spend forever happy with him.

However, foolishly, because of this play we did with our introject identities, I allowed my feelings for my boyfriend to mix with my feelings for the actual person. I tried to maintain a degree of separation between the two, in that I would refrain from doing weird stalker shit and at some points I would be made uncomfortable with the stuff that he shared on stream because I wanted to know very little about him personally. But I let them mix, because hey, why not? We were having fun. There's no reason not to. It's not like he's an awful person, right?

Right?

Part 2: He's an awful person

There were a few points in which, mostly when other CC drama was at a high point, I'd ask myself a couple questions.

1. What would I do if my boyfriend ever left me?

2. What would I do if it came to light that Wilbur was a horrible human being?

The answer to number one was the exception to the thought that all my borderline symptoms had simply vanished, and, rather well-adjustedly, it was "Kill myself."* (*Like in headspace. I never thought it was worth it to kill the whole body over my own issues.)

The answer to number two was "I don't know."

And that is how I've been feeling since Wednesday night. I don't know.

At first, I thought there was no way it could be true. I searched for any information that could tell me that people were wrong. I literally blocked myself from Twitter because I knew going on it would be a form of emotional self-harm, but I obsessively checked tags on discourse, Shelby, and Wilbur, waiting for anyone to post any evidence that it wasn't so. I spent an entire day outside of home feeling completely nauseous any time I wasn't directly talking to someone.

It's hard to articulate exactly what it felt like once I got home to charge my phone and I knew. It was kind of slow. Every new piece of information I learned made it worse and worse until it was just undeniable.

It was like everything I thought I had buried came back with a vengeance. I stopped eating and drinking, my entire brain felt like it short circuited and previously when I had at least been able to focus on other things for short stints, he was all I could think about.

There were times, especially after I thought I had gotten rid of the borderline traits, that I would become hyperfixated on something that was my boyfriend or his source and it would feel like I was going to melt and die. I genuinely cannot be away from him for too long or my mental health will shit the bed. When I was with him, though, and when I filled every part of my senses with only him, his face, his voice, the way he holds me even if the feeling is blunted by the fact that he's just another part of our brain, it was always the happiest I'd ever feel. I can't have that anymore.

I really can't describe the mood swings and the physical pain that I've experienced as a result of this without feeling like people will think I am exaggerating. Like. psychology wasn't lying that borderline personality traits can really borderline. It feels like I'm losing half of what made me myself. I felt while crying over this multiple times that without him I'd die and that I need him to live. For two years, my entire identity and reason for existing was him.

I don't know where to go from here. I haven't even talked about how this is affecting my boyfriend. Before I felt like I had a good grasp on what I was going to be doing in the next minutes or hours or even days but now I can't even imagine what ten seconds will be.

My entire brain is constantly screaming for him to come back, but I can't indulge in anything that doesn't support the guy because every time I see his face or hear his voice now my brain screams that he is repulsive.

The worst part is that over the last two years I have become so conditioned to never ever be angry at my boyfriend that I cannot feel any rage over this. In any normal circumstance I'd feel angry that someone had been hurt and their abuser had been allowed to escape the consequences for so long, but I can't. I can only feel like I need him, but I can't have him because he's tainted. I am so disgusted but I can't handle seeing anyone angry at him because I still love him and I still want him to be happy.

I feel really gross knowing that I've dedicated so much of my love to someone so terrible. I know my boyfriend feels like his skin has been tainted and I am struggling now to look at his face and focus on him in headspace because it's now all painted in a negative life. It's so awful because he has always loved being himself and has always felt so connected to his source, even as the time passed.

Part 3: so what's the point

I've spent most of this time feeling completely alone. I don't know anyone personally who could possibly feel the same way that I do.

I guess I just want anyone who reads this, who feels alone like I do, or feels like they're not reacting in the "right" way to understand that it's okay. You aren't alone. No matter how isolated you feel or like your problems are entirely unique to you, there is someone out there who understands. And also there's a very slim chance that you'll ever be more cringe than me.

The grieving process is ugly and it is agonizing. If anyone wants to DM me on this blog or another, to share anything they're thinking, like really anything at all there's a lot I didn't cover on this post, I will listen.

And to any introjects, I love you. We can make it through. We have survived so much worse. You don't have to be anybody but yourself. And be careful out there. If you become so mixed up in someone's source like we did, please plan an out. Don't make the same mistake I did and just assume it would all be fine forever. There's a very real chance it doesn't.

#wilbur soot introject #wilbur fictive #wilbur factive #dsmp introject #introject #idk. this is geared more for traumagenic sys but if youre endo thats whatever #judt for any systems having a rough patch because of this

[mania-sama]

If you don't mind me asking, can I ask your top favorite fics that you've written (feel free how much that you want to list)? Why they're special to you? Is there a specific inspiration when you wrote them?

Thanks if you want to answer.....

Hello! Thank you so much for sending in an ask, this is so exciting!! I would LOVE to answer this question!!

I've grown and changed a lot over the years since I began writing fanfiction when I was like, ten years old. Some of the fics I'm going to list aren't objectively well-written or my best work thus far, but they still have a special place in my heart for whatever reason. This question is so fun and I actually think about this all of the time. A lot of my most popular fics are ones that I'm not particularly proud of myself, so I'll gladly take the opportunity to talk about the ones I do like!!

In no particular order:

rule #8 - otherside [Bungou Stray Dogs] -> I wrote this for my Whumptober prompt series (which currently makes up a HUGE chunk of my works right now lmao). The reason I like this so much is mainly because I really enjoyed writing it. I've always wanted to write a fic where a character's mouth gets stitched shut, but I never got / found the opportunity to do so. Then Whumptober came around. I think I executed it well enough, especially since I chose Akutagawa, who struggles with breathing on a good day. If I get to grind my favorite characters through the Whump Machine, then I'm always very happy. I guess I just like this specific trope leaps and bounds better than all of the other ones? X

with every line, a comedy [Genshin Impact] -> I had a lot of fun writing this one, too. I got to explore PTSD in a way I'd never had before, going through the eyes of someone entirely disconnected from the traumatic event but knows the person being affected by it. It's my longest completed work, too; I write mainly short one-shots, around 1-4k words on average. This was a bigger project for me, and the first long-fic I've ever finished. I also used one of my favorite albums for the fic and chapter titles, so every time I listen to the songs, I think of this fic. I just. Really love this fic. X

Dear Kaeya, Signed Diluc Ragnvindr [Genshin Impact] -> I like this fic a lot because it's stylized very differently from everything else I've written. While not being an x reader, it is technically in second person, like I, the narrator, am talking to the reader. It's written in that same "talking" way, too. So I don't use any dialogue tags or anything like that. That is all for the second portion of the fic, though. The first half is made up entirely of letters the Diluc is sending to his adopted brother. I don't write him writing the letters, it's just the letters themselves. You read it like he's talking to you, in a sense, but the reader knows it's directed at Kaeya. It was a very fun and cool way to explore a new writing convention. X

the difference between hurt and injured [Genshin Impact] -> Lots of Genshin, I know, but this was when I was starting to fully fledge as a writer. A lot of my gradual progress can be seen through these fics, and this is a really good one to use as a comparison. This is my first attempt at much more serious writing, I think. It's longer than anything I had written at the time, sitting at a nice 20k words I wrote in the span of a few days. In general, it has a lot of things I really wanted to write about: the failures of the foster care system, complex / failing relationships, and the consequences of failing to act. The title comes from something an old softball coach would say, and I hated it but I could never get it out of my head. So I used it to title the fic, and it relates very well to what happens in the fic. Diluc is the "hurt" portion; he's fine, really, but his stubbornness makes him think his wounds are still bleeding. Venti, twelve years old in this for the sake of the AU, is "injured"; he is not fine. His wounds are bleeding, and he's doing the best he can to patch it up before he bleeds out, but more keep opening and he doesn't know what to do. X

rule #13 - waterfall [Jujutsu Kaisen] -> I like this fic because of the idea, more than anything. I have a very specific image of Megumi falling into a coma after Itadori saves his soul from Sukuna. If I could write this fic a million different times, I would. I simply love this vision. I also got to talk about literature, because Itadori is reading books to Megumi. Another idea I love that I got to convey through this fic is the idea of souls being separated from their comatose bodies. It provides an interesting take on being caught between life and death. I won't lie, I was probably inspired by one of my favorite fics of all time, When I Awake. But I also think it comes from a series I read when I was younger, the Serafina series. In the last book, the main character's body gets split into three different parts: flesh, spirit, and animal. Very interesting, and I think it's stuck with me for all of these years. X

rule #17 - two sides [Genshin Impact] -> Another case of finding a new writing convention. I wanted to focus more on external and internal dialogue to be the main contributors to the story, though I'm not sure how well I achieved this goal. It's crime-focused, and I wanted to slowly reveal the information rather than it being outright known off the bat. I wanted to put these characters who obviously know and trust each other very well into a situation where all of that shatters, where one is at the complete mercy of the other's decision, where both of them are suffering from the same crime, but one of them is the suspect of that crime and the other is the main investigator. SO much fun!! X

rule #26 - gideon [Bungou Stray Dogs] -> This one I debated heavily on adding, but I'm going ahead with it anyway because I happened to realize I really, really love this one. It's just Atsushi and his backstory, but if there were no abilities. He escapes, and Chuuya and Dazai happen upon him on the road. It's simplistic in comparison to some of the others on this list I think, but I love Atsushi and I love his horribly messed-up backstory with all my heart. Along these veins, I'm going to put rule #31 - calamity [X] as an honorable mention. Another horribly messed up backstory where Atsushi stars as the tortured main character, and I happened to really enjoy writing and thinking about it. The final honorable mention is rule #15 - four aces [X] where I toy with Dazai's character, and what it would mean for him to have finally defeated Fyodor. X

Again, thank you so much for asking!! Most of my works are on Ao3, so if you're curious to read more, I have a lot there! Much love <3

#fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #ao3 #ao3 writer #archive of our own #fanfictions #answered asks #genshin impact #jujutsu kaisen #bungou stray dogs #jjk fic #genshin fic #bsd fic #bsd #jjk #genshin

[deepspacedukat]

Do you do short blurb or headcanon requests? I’m having a rough day i had to cancel work. I got the covid booster shot my shoulder is killing me its all inflamed even the tendons underneath my arm. Do you mind writing some Keevan fluff?

I do one hundred percent take blurb requests, Nonny! I'm sorry your shoulder is hurting you after your booster, but I'd be happy to do some Keevan fluff for you!! Love those porple-eyed space lemur dudes! 💜 My apologies for taking so long to get this out. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

The reader’s gender isn’t specified in this one.

Cross-posted to AO3 here.

~*~

Rest Easy

Keevan (ST:DS9) x Reader

[A/N: This is just fluff.]

Warnings: Descriptions of an injury, but other than that it’s all fluff. Hurt/comfort fluff, human/Vorta cuddling (if that even needs to be a warning), brief mentions of vaccines but no descriptions.

~*~

Keevan had been reading in your shared quarters when you came in and practically collapsed onto the sofa. That was...unlike you. Humans may not move as fluidly as the Vorta, but you were usually a bit more delicate. Setting aside the PADD containing the novel he’d been reading, Keevan stood and moved silently to sit by your side.

“What’s wrong, my little human? You seem agitated,” he murmured running his fingers gently through your hair over your scalp. The hum he managed to pull from your throat - troubled though it was - sent a small bolt of satisfaction tingling pleasantly down the Vorta’s spine. Keeping his voice aloof as he nearly always tried to appear, he let his eyes skim the length of your body as he spoke. “Use your words, lovely. Unfortunately, I can’t read your mind.”

“It’s my shoulder. I had to get a ton of booster injections for my trip to Cardassia in a few days. One of them is making my arm feel like it’s going to fall off at the joint. Julian said the feeling will pass, but that it would be sore for a few days.” Ah, that explained how exhausted you looked. Keevan noticed the way you were resting your weight slightly on one side rather than the other.

"Could he give you nothing for the discomfort?”

“No. There are so many different vaccines in my system that any painkiller I took would react with at least five of them and I’d have to take them over again.” Well, Keevan didn’t like the sound of you being in pain for that long. 

After a moment’s silence, he stood and lifted you in his arms bridal style. He carried you into your shared bedroom and laid you gently on the bed, helping you out of your boots and uniform. Taking extra care not to jostle your arm, he stripped you down to just your regulation undershirt and underwear and went over to the replicator.

When he returned, he coaxed you into his arms - not that it was ever particularly difficult to do so - and held the ice pack gently against your sore arm. At the little sigh of relief you let out, Keevan allowed himself a satisfied smile.

“It may not be the most technologically advanced solution, but this should help reduce the inflammation.” When he’d gotten together with you, he’d made a point of looking up some basic medical information about Humans just in case he ever needed to take care of you.

You looked up at him in surprise, and with a watery smile you kissed his cheek. Keevan’s face heated up with a lavender blush as you thanked him, and all of a sudden, his research seemed like the best thing he’d ever done. After you’d drifted to sleep, the Vorta placed a gentle, tender kiss on your forehead.

#deepspacedukat fic #keevan x reader #Keevan #hurt/comfort #fluff #established relationship #anon request