#I LOVE TECHNOLOGY IS ACTUALLY MAGIC AND MAGIC IS ACTUALLY TECHNOLOGY!!!!!!

[ronearoundblindly]

send me a made-up fic title and i'll tell you what i would write to go with it

So I've noticed tumblr doesn't have dates of posts/reposts (or I'm totally daft and completely overlooked it)

ANYWAYS... if I may ask, fic title prompt:

Real eyes realize real lies

(I literally tried to find the cringest bullshit - enjoy)

From this ask game. Dang, gurl, you really went all out on the cringe 😂 so I'll do my best to catch you on the flippity flop and turn that sucker back around to something magical!

2012!Steve Rogers x robot!Reader

Warnings for unconventional romance and an angsty situation.

Fresh out of the ice, Steve's given you to help him adjust to life in the modern age, like an Alexa but with a face and a cutting-edge body (technology-wise, that is 😉). The idea is to help him be comfortable asking all sorts of questions, at any time of the day or night, so he can transition back into the world.

It backfires. Spectacularly.

Steve can't separate that you don't deserve respect and consideration, even if you are an actual variation of a bucket of bolts. You know everything about every baseball game he watched growing up. You know the name of every guy he and Buck served with during the war. You know all of it. He doesn't have to explain or get you up to speed.

You answer any of his questions without judgment. That he doesn't understand modern social courtesies is no bother. You don't laugh when he uses out-of-date phrases or doesn't know slang. Ironically, when there are things you don't know, Steve can sometimes inform you of the old perspective and logic, leaving you two in the same boat of processing 'why.' He sees it as you growing together.

He also sees you looking after his health and safety. You remind him to eat meals and drink water. You politely suggest he turn off the television when the news or a show spikes his blood pressure. Once when he was in the garage working on his bike, a part popped off and almost hit his face, but even with his reflexes (even if it wouldn't have harmed him much at all), he turned his head to see your hand around the projectile before you dropped it at his feet.

Steve asks why you did that.

"I'm programmed to look out for you."

He doesn't believe you, or at least, he doesn't believe that is the full truth. Steve cannot fathom you haven't developed some of the same feelings for him as he has for you, so he runs his own little experiment.

He holds your hand, and when you question it, reminding him you cannot sense it other than abstractly, he says it's practice. He'll need to remember for later, for a woman he fancies.

There is no logical, programmable reason why after a few times of doing this you would take his hand without prompt.

"I think you love me," he offers, plainly.

"I cannot, Steve. I am incapable of loving you."

Yet he knows somehow beyond a shadow of a doubt that is a lie. You have to. You have to love him, too, or he doesn't know how to be here anymore than he did the day he thawed out.

A/N: Oh sh*t....I really like this....

[Main Masterlist; Fic Title Only Asks; Steve Rogers One-Shots]

[orionlancasterr]

screaming crying throwing up thinking about magitech

[bull-shit-suji]

actually no i need to talk about the green witch arc. ciel and his band of merry fools go to germany and learn that this forest is haunted by WEREWOLVES and in it is a village full of WITCHES with cursed amulets and potions and whatever

and the immediate vibe is "lol what a bunch of bogus" which is really just batshit coming from the kid with a demon butler

and then woah big reveal! it wasn't werewolves or witches it was a covert military operation REPLETE with radar tracking (not a thing until wwii) and electronic displays (most likely crt screens, which again weren't fully developed until the 1930s) and TANKS. for reference the first "tank" was put together by a guy in 1899 who mounted a machine gun to THIS

absolute paragon of engineering. the panzer (the exact model of tank in the arc) was not a thing until wwi.

and. and ciel and ESPECIALLY the Demon Butler in question are like. ohhhh yeah that makes more sense. the amulets were just transmitting our exact locations through technology that won't exist for another three decades. whew glad we sorted that one out. man wouldn't it have been CRAZY if it really was werewolves.

[myokk]

before it felt like a sin, ch. 1

pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

word count: 3000

summary: Eloise never wanted to be different.

And yet, her differences are what have defined her life up until this point: growing up as a squib in one of the most prominent wizarding families, being exiled to muggle society, and then attending Hogwarts at the age of sixteen.

She finds herself thrust into the life she should have been prepared for from birth but was denied. As she navigates this new life and her new precarious position in her family, she must come to terms with the fact that maybe what she dreamed of her whole life isn't turning out how she ever expected it would.

a/n: Hi everyone!! I decided to post this here too...I'm slowly going through everything I've written so far, and I want to post each chapter here as I edit them. I'm hoping that this can be a way to a) get back in to writing more, and b) get better at my art as I make full illustrations for each chapter. Let me know what you think!! :)

There is nothing quite as horrible as being a muggle, Eloise thought savagely as she ripped out yet another stitch in the landscape she was embroidering. At least, it was supposed to be a landscape. Maybe with her head tilted to the left and with her eyes almost closed so everything blurred together, it might resemble one. She did just that, trying her hardest to make out some recognizable shape and blast the stupid practice of manually pushing colored thread through a fabric in some sort of -

“And what is this, Miss Babbit?”

Eloise jumped at the sound and looked up at the scowling face of her teacher, and then quickly back down at the tangled thread in her lap. Behind her, she could hear the hushed giggles of the other girls in her class.

“Oh! Er…it’s -”

“How long have you been here?” the woman interrupted.

“One hour…I just -”

“Don’t be smart with me. I mean, at this institute.”

“Five years.” Eloise glared down at her embroidery as if it had personally offended her. It wasn’t like she was actively trying to be bad at everything, but she had the distinct disadvantage - how had it ever come to be that she would be at a disadvantage to muggles? - of not having spent a lifetime being prepared for muggle society and all that it entailed. The last five years had been a monotonous, endless cycle of lessons designed to turn her into the perfect lady: French (a waste of time as Eloise was already fluent), embroidery (a waste of time as the things she embroidered weren’t actually useful), dancing (a waste of time as she was already engaged to be married - why would she bother trying to woo another silly man?), and her most dreaded class of all: etiquette. No matter how many years had been spent trying to assimilate into muggle culture, her thoughts still got muddled when she tried to remember the steps to a dance, or how to properly address the son of a duke.

Did it really matter, anyways, what the other girls thought? She had pretended her whole life to be the daughter she thought her parents had wanted - now she was simply pretending that she hadn’t been thrown into the muggle world without a second thought. What was a bit more pretending - that she didn’t care? That she hadn’t been tossed aside without a second thought?

“Exactly. Five years. And yet, you have shown no progress whatsoever. This -” a finger jabbed accusingly at the embroidery - “is absolutely horrendous. If your parents hadn’t continued to make such a sizeable donation every year, I would have deemed you a lost cause and sent you packing when you first arrived. How your family ever managed your betrothal to the son of an earl is beyond me.”

Eloise grimaced at the mention of her fiance as her teacher clapped her hands together to get the attention of the class - a wholly unnecessary action due to the fact that it was already being given. “Class is dismissed. Please collect your belongings and put them in the correct place. Remember, as future wives and mothers, you must be organized in all aspects of your life. Many of you will be managing important households and the slightest misstep -“ a slight glance to Eloise out of the corner of her eye - “can cause the biggest of scandals.”

Eloise raced to gather her things and leave the classroom before everyone else. No matter how many years had been spent at the school, she couldn’t help but hate sitting through the classes amongst the judgmental stares and snide remarks. Although things had started out shaky at the finishing school - to be expected, really, when you’ve grown up in wizarding society and then are then forced to live as a muggle - it still stung that after all these years, she still hadn’t found a friendly face. She was treated as if she were a pariah: it was as if the other girls just knew that something was different about her. But…wasn’t that the great irony of it all? She wasn’t different than them. She was a filthy squib.

When she first arrived at the school, she was an anomaly. A twelve-year-old girl who didn’t know how to play the piano or who the queen was. It was clear to everyone that Eloise wasn’t the charity case of the school - her parents were obviously quite wealthy - and yet they seemingly wanted nothing to do with her. Whereas the others got regular letters and visits from their family, it was as if Eloise were an orphan. Nothing new to her of course, but to her peers this otherness aided them in her ostracization.

Upon entering her room, she was abruptly pulled out of her thoughts. Something wasn’t right. Everything seemed the same: a twin bed perfectly made opposite a small wardrobe, a plain wooden desk placed between them. The weak afternoon sunlight shone through the window, illuminating her desk. But…there.

That…

Placed on her bed, resting on the pillow, was a letter.

She never received letters.

Eloise shoved her embroidery under her bed and hungrily grabbed at it, pausing when she saw the address. Miss E. Babbit. The Third Bedroom on the Left… It seemed vaguely familiar to her in a way she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

As she read the letter, though, it became apparent to her exactly why this was. Although not exactly the same as the one her brother had received six years earlier, it quickly became apparent that this was a Hogwarts letter. For her. For Miss E. Babbit.

Hands shaking, she set the letter down on her desk and sat on the edge of her bed. She smoothed her hands over her skirt over and over, taking comfort in the familiar softness as she tried to even her breathing.

How was this possible? She had all but accepted the fact that she was a squib. The shame of her family, a dirty secret to be hidden away and never talked about or mentioned again. Her parents had suspected as much by the time she had turned seven without any signs of magic whatsoever manifesting around her - not even a basic transformation of brussel sprouts to sweets during dinner. It was ultimately confirmed, however, when her own Hogwarts acceptance letter never arrived. She had spent the whole year before her banishment daydreaming about her life at Hogwarts, still optimistic that there could be something magical inside of her. Her brother, Leo, came home every holiday with wonderful stories of his new friends and teachers, and the subjects he was learning at school. Even back then, at twelve years old, Eloise hadn’t been sure if he was actually hopeful she wasn’t a squib, or if he had been trying to prolong the fantasy for her before it all came crashing down.

Although she had had five years to come to terms with her new life, there was still a small part of her that hoped. A small “what if…”. She had tried time and time again to squash that tiny ray of optimism that would escape every so often, tried so very hard to cultivate a hard exterior that wouldn’t let any sort of vulnerability shine through. And that optimism was a vulnerability, after all. It was that vulnerability that had made it absolutely impossible for her to fit in the muggle world, and made it so that she didn’t really want to try.

Five years to come to terms with the fact that she needed a new purpose for her life and…

…not anymore?

Eloise grabbed the letter and greedily read through it again, drinking in all of the words. She paused at the end, thinking. Was this a forgery? Some sort of awful joke orchestrated by her brother? Leo had never been cruel to her in the past; in fact, he was the one who always encouraged her and was the most probable source of the small optimism that remained within her. However, she had no way of knowing how he had changed since she had last seen him. It had been, after all, five very long years. And not once had she heard from him, even though he had promised her through huge sobbing gulps that he would never abandon her. Maybe their parents had slowly poisoned him against her. It would be right on the nose for them, after all.

Looking at the envelope again, however…Third Bedroom on the Left…no. It was too specific. Nobody in her previous life had any reason to even want to contact her again, and nobody in her current life even knew what Hogwarts was, let alone have the ability to convincingly forge a letter just to have some fun at her expense.

A light, bubbly feeling began to spread throughout her body as it sunk in that this was real. She was going to Hogwarts. Soon, a - squinting at the letter again - a Professor Fig would be contacting her and giving her things to study. A huge grin slowly spread across her face and she hugged the letter to her chest as she fell back on her bed. She read through it again. Was it the fifth time already? It felt as though no amount of times rereading the letter would ever be enough.

Eloise got up and walked over to look at the calendar on her desk. She was surprised to see that September 1st was in only two days. The days at the finishing school moved in such a strange, sluggish way. They all felt the same. Monotonous. French and Latin and embroidery and household management and Merlin even knows what else all blending into each other in an endless parade of dusty classrooms and gossip and boredom.

The light feeling left her in an instant as, after years of practice, the optimism was squashed back down. But how will you even get to London? And, her brain added sneakily, you haven’t even shown any signs of magic. Maybe you’ll just be returned back here after they realize their mistake.

No, she thought fiercely, gripping the letter. Until -

A tapping came from the window. A tentative smile returned at the sight of a tawny brown owl with another envelope in its beak. She ripped it open as soon as it was in her hands (again addressed to Miss E. Babbit) and along with the letter a small, purple pouch fell out of the envelope and onto her bed.

Miss Eloise Babbit,

I am pleased to be the wizard charged with such an important task as escorting you to Hogwarts in two days’ time. It is something extraordinary to be accepted in your fifth-year, and as such, I expect extraordinary things from you. I have enclosed a small pouch along with this envelope, and in it are some items that will be vital to you in the upcoming days. I have included books for you to study at your leisure, and a small gobstone that will bring you to our rendezvous point in London. All you have to do is touch it at noon on the 1st and you will be transported instantly.

Your family has not been informed of your acceptance. I am sure you understand why - at this, Eloise scoffed quietly to herself - which is why I will personally be your escort.

I am looking forward to meeting you and bringing you to the sorting ceremony in two days’ time.

Yours,

Eleazar Fig

The handwriting was tiny and spidery and cramped, but it didn’t stop Eloise from reading it with the same vigor as the previous letter and as many times. Finally, she turned to the small pouch that had fallen onto her bed when she opened the second envelope. It must have had an invisible extension charm, because it was filled to the brim with books on basic spellwork and general wizarding history. Professor Fig had no way of knowing, but Eloise had already read many of these books and many more during the year her brother had started Hogwarts, as she had needed to know absolutely everything about what would be awaiting her. A few years may have passed since she had stepped foot in her family’s library, but she couldn’t get the books or their contents out of her brain even if she had wanted to. She had really wanted to forget everything she knew about the magical world when it was confirmed she was a squib but it was a futile effort. As she zoned out during her piano lessons, she would find herself mentally going through the movements to cast different charms.

It was painful to be thinking about things from the life that had been ripped away from her, to know that what she was thinking about would never come to pass, that she would never be able to wield magic - and yet she couldn’t find herself able to stop.

As Eloise picked out one of the books and settled into her armchair, a steely resolve overcame her.

She would prove that she deserved to be there, and was just as capable as any of they were. She would make her parents regret ever discarding her like she was nothing.

She was worthy. She was capable. And she would prove it.

The morning of September 1st dawned cold and rainy. Absolutely perfect.

Eloise had pretended to be sick the night before, and no one had suspected a thing when she stayed in bed long after all of the other girls had gotten ready and headed to breakfast. As the last of the chattering faded away down the hallway, Eloise finally got out of bed and prepared herself for the day. It was difficult to sit still long enough to braid her hair. Her fingers wouldn’t stop trembling and she had to restart countless times. Finally, she tied the black ribbon at the end into a neat bow and turned to the drawer of her desk to retrieve the small purple pouch she had hidden away.

Everything she deemed important enough to come along with her had already been placed inside: the books from Professor Fig, the hair ribbons gifted to her by her brother many years ago, and some clothing. Nothing else was coming with. She needed the fresh start. Besides, anything else she might need would be supplied, as her acceptance letter had specifically stated that any school supplies would be provided to her.

Waiting the hours before noon came along proved to be more difficult than Eloise had imagined. Time seemed to be moving slower than the molasses that had come with the breakfast sent up to her, the steady patter of the rain becoming a sort of metronome keeping time as she paced back and forth. Wasn’t there anything that could distract her, even for a bit? She glanced at the clock. Only five minutes had passed since the last time. 10.35.

The second hand ticking away in tandem with the sound of rain splashing against her window.

What if this was all a trick? What if she arrived at Hogwarts, and they turned her away because they realized they had made a mistake? After all, why would they admit a sixteen-year-old? Surely she was too old; every other student had started Hogwarts at the age of twelve and had shown signs of magic much earlier than that. She still hadn’t shown any signs of magical capability whatsoever, and didn’t feel any different than she had before receiving the letter. It had to be a fluke.

As her thoughts started veering into the melancholy she was prone to, she shook her head. No. Today was a happy, exciting day. She wasn’t going to squash the optimism down today, not when she needed it most. All of these thoughts she was having were simply that: thoughts. Not reality. Hogwarts never made a mistake, and in all of the history books she had read, she couldn’t recall an instance of someone being turned away at the door. Granted, she had also never heard of someone being admitted so late. But, better to focus on what she did know, which was that she had gotten the letter. It must be right in its assumption that she had magic.

Trying to pass the time was easier said than done. She ended up quizzing herself on all of the charms she had memorized in the books sent by Professor Fig, moving an imaginary wand in the precise movements needed to successfully cast and focusing on her pronunciation. She had studied all of these forms late into both nights she had had the books, and when she would eventually close her eyes to sleep, the wand movements were all she saw.

Eloise was determined that she would receive pity from nobody. Nobody was going to look at her like she was lacking. She had gotten enough of that to last a lifetime, and now that she was given this opportunity she wasn’t about to waste it.

When noon finally struck, Eloise was ready and waiting. She eagerly grabbed the gobstone that was sitting on her desk and felt the familiar tugging sensation in her navel as she was whisked away to London and the beginning of her new life.

next chapter

[moongothic]

Seen a few people too many discuss the concept of Dragodile Baby 2 and my hot take is that there's no way in hell Crocodile would ever detransition just to go through nine months of horrible dysphoria again, let alone go through pregnancy ever again (or allow Ivankov to even touch him, what if they died and weren't able to trans Croc's gender again afterwards? Hell naw, ain't worth the risk)

But this leaves an opportunity for a Funnier Option:

Dragon wants another baby? Sure, but it's his turn to carry it >:)

[flash-from-the-past]

Submachine 10: the Exit

[skayafair]

Episode 44

In short, I am unwell 🥴 spoilers below.

First thought while listening: Omfg is this Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicles all over again with "the price" of granting a wish resulting into "the wisher has to never stay in the same place and always continue the journey across the worlds"? WHO on the team is a CLAMP fan? I don't want Silas and Cass to be doomed by the narrative :')

But THEN congratulations, TSP team, you made a BIG fan of specifically clones, doubles and shapeshifters reeeeeally uncomfortable with them for the first time ever :D even DW's Flesh episodes failed to freak me out this much - I mean yeah the long neck Japanese horror inspired Jennifer was terrifying but part of me was still very sad for her.

These guys though... my mind is rooting for them because they are trying to do a good thing (by their words, anyway), but I can't trust them? It's just another group of people who are convinced the aim justifies any means, which I believe has already lead them into a bit of a wrong direction at the very least. And I didn't feel much for them before because we don't know enough to compile an image? Ok Finley is extra charming, but that's beside the point. But now I'm terrified of them and the idea of "oh gods, you can't trust anyone now".

This is a very interesting effect. It's not like I've never seen this trope playing out. It still didn't affect me - at most it made me more intrigued, never so unsettled. I was really rooting for the doppelgangers in The Flesh, clones were one of my favourite characters in Tsubasa and Tales of Abyss (and I like the question their nature raised there), I support the Echo's rights but more importantly the Echo's wrongs (despite her/them? being an antagonist) in The Sheridan Tapes, same as Ned's from the same podcast, and a shifter is basically what I'd like to be if I could be anything but a human. Oh, and I LOVE the Stranger in TMA.

But here? Ohhh boy. They are very likable characters on their own, but this demonstration of power was INTENSE. Podcasts have an interesting effect with horror on me: I'm not scared at all or at least not as much as I would of any movie because there are no visuals. But having only an audio as a source also amplifies the emotional effect if the acting is right, I suppose. I think Silas is just a very good choice for a viewpoint character. Any listener who's got to this point has to sympathize with him by now, so the listener feels the impact from his emotions. But there has to be another component, too.

Because the uneasiness is not about WHAT they are or their abilities, but the way they choose to use those. Say, in The Flesh the characters have just found out they are/have doppelgangers, so for one team the drastic measures were a matter of survival while for another it was fear of the unknown, and both teams acted on emotions because they didn't have much time to calm down and process everything properly. Extreme situations make people do things they wouldn't do in their sane mind, so there's no evil there. In ToA the clones were treated basically as expendable slaves or objects and suffered a lot, so while they participated in organized violent action, it was still easy enough to understand and sympathize with them. For Echo from TST it was a question of survival, too, and while I was uneasy at times about what she could do, most of her "crimes" stayed off the screen and we the listeners don't even know much about them. Were there any?.. Anyway, I couldn't bring myself not to have sympathy for her and was VERY pleased with her ending. And so on.

But Nico and the others had a looot of time to prepare for whatever. They don't tell what the danger is, exactly, which doesn't help trusting them at all. They act in cold blood. They attacked the base while getting the info about Alpha - could they just talk to Silas and co?The team could very well listen. Instead a lot of lives were lost, and they went specifically after Silas who wasn't even THAT thrilled with going down the Breaches in the first place and was already having second thoughts about this whole thing. So they seem very "rational" and bold but this, again, doesn't help their case.

So they hurt people who don't actually have to be hurt despite the fact that they have all the time to prepare. They don't care - or it seems so. And, again, they don't tell what exactly the danger of the final world is, so it's hard to judge if their actions are justified.

And the way they lead the demonstration. There wasn't even mocking, I think? Some sarcasm, sure, but it didn't feel like mocking. No one was supposed to laugh. It was a very casual and that's why all the more horrifying show of what they are not only capable of but actually do and will do. J was a low blow, but impersonating Silas to the point of "I become Silas Caldwell"? And Cass as the final and the most painful nail in the coffin? This isn't driving the point home, it's intentionally hurting another person for nothing. And part of why I felt so unsettled is because of how good they are at this. And how they just mercilessly shoved that into Silas' face. Like... The Echo in TST did that too, and it did feel a bit unsettling, but it was very different in every regard.

So doppelgangers/shifters? Great! Merciless other species who plan ahead and really just don't care who they hurt and use their abilities to a full potential? Honestly terrifying.

The remaining team Alpha seems to be in a very unfavorable position between three forces which don't see them as people, only the pawns.

I mean. Maybe Nico and co are going to be not only reluctant allies but actually value the team's lives and sanity. They seem to get along in present timeline, after all. I just don't see the point of psychologically torturing a person who has been complying with every word so far and showed to be nothing but willing to help, not faltering even when being held at the gunpoint. It seems to go overboard for just Nico freaking out because Cass made another deal.

All this is not a critique, by the way. I'm very impressed! It's so interesting!

[oflgtfol]

“But no one actually ‘looks’ through [modern telescopes]. Margaret Huggins lamented the shift from gazing at the heavens to squinting at tiny patches of light. Now we’ve gone much, much further. In today’s astronomy, photons of light from the sky, along with the celestial secrets they contain, are picked up by electronic detectors, converted into digital data and crunched through impossibly complex equations by some of the most powerful computers on the planet. In 2016, bricklayer-turned-astronomer Gary Fildes described visiting Chile’s Very Large Telescope (VLT) in his best-selling book An Astronomer’s Tale. Incorporating four mirrors, each 27 feet wide, the VLT collects visible and infrared radiation and can distinguish points in the sky separated by less than a millionth of a degree. Here, at the forefront of today’s attempts to understand the stars, Fildes was struck by the sight of scientists hard at work in control rooms, eyes glued not to their telescopes but to banks of screens: ‘They didn’t look as if they had seen the real sky for days.’”

- The Human Cosmos: Civilization and the Stars by Jo Marchant

[floralovebot]

oughhh i am in such a helia mood i feel like i haven't talked about him in ages but also i've said literally everything already what more can i say oughhhhhhhhh

[gwyoi]

I’m watching a very interesting anime right now but it’s so low budget with a confusing story so I don’t think I will find anyone with answers explaining this shit anytime soon FML. I’m so confused. it’s called the fire hunter (hikari no ou)

[cs300]

RRRGAAAAH I LOVE MY OCS !!!!!!!!!

[buck-star]

Stuck with a God | Loki Laufeyson

// Pairing // Loki Laufeyson x Agent!Female!Reader

// Summary // Loki gets imprisoned by Shield and he loves flirting with you. As much as he annoys you, even more does the Shield technology annoy you.

// Wordcount // 2.488

// Warnings // Explicit Content // 18+, Minors DNI, smut, kind of enemies to lovers, being stuck with Loki, bit of dub-con, fingering, squirting, CMNF, finger sucking / cum eating kinda, bit of housewife kink, praises

// Authors Note // This is my first time writing for Loki, so thanks to my amazing friend @jiyascepter for encouraging me to write for him.

// Events // Slumber Party: Sundae Bar | French Vanilla (stranded, looked in) and Black Cherry (Enemies to lovers) | @the-slumberparty | Bingo of your own | N4 | Stuck together | @thebo3bingo |

// Masterlist | Loki Laufeyson //

     “Darlin’! Didn’t think I would see you today,” the black-haired man says, his smirk growing as you walk closer to the cell he is in. “Want to see me again before they bring me into another cell, my dear?”

     You roll your eyes, earning a chuckle from the man. Since they brought him into the cell earlier that day, he flirts with you whenever you’re around. Or at least it’s what you think he is doing; maybe he just tries to convince you to let him out and let him rule the world — something you won’t do unless your boss will force you to.

     “Didn’t miss you; I just have to get something, and then I will be back doing my work,” you answer him, walking further through the room.

     Loki Laufeyson, god of mischief — at least what he said — walks up and down his cell, his green eyes following every little movement.

     “Oh, darling—“

     “Stop that flirting and let me do my job. You’re annoying, and I’m done with you, Loki,” you say, shaking your head in disbelief about that man.

     His lips are still curled up, and his eyes are glistening. As much as he annoys you, he has something that makes your knees weak — mystic and magical.

     “My dear, come here. Look at me when you tell me that you’re done with me. Are you done with me, darlin’, or do you only want everyone to think that?” His voice is low, his head falling forward, and he looks up, looking even more handsome than before.

     “No, don't even think that. You’re not that interesting to me,” you groan, frustrated that you’re stuck in that conversation. Too nice to just ignore him and too annoyed to continue talking to him.

     “Not interesting to you? I’m Loki — god of mischief — from Asgard! Everyone wants me. Oh, that sweet maid in Asgard — you should have seen her, darling. She begged me, but she wasn’t interesting to me,” Loki says, chuckling softly at your expression.

     How can he dare to tell you such an intimate story about one of the maids who is working for them? But to finally let him know that you’re not interested in his idiotic ass, you make your way closer to the entrance of the cell. Loki is grinning at you and walking in his cell to the entrance as well.

     When you reach it, he places his hand against the glass, waiting for you to tell him that you’re not interested in him. His green eyes remind you of a snake, staring into yours and glistening mischievously.

     “I’m not inter— How?” You almost shout at him when he is suddenly in front of you — without glass in between you. “FUCKING SHIT! How do— GO BACK INTO THE CELL!”

     Loki laughs softly, his white teeth visible. His tongue darts out, and he slides it across his plump lips before closing his mouth and leaning a bit further down.

     “Make me, darling. I’m a god; you think that little cell stops me from breaking out? How sweet,” he says in a teasing tone.

     You place your hands immediately on his chest, feeling the muscles tensing underneath your soft touch, before you push him back into the cell. Actually, you learned to not do things like that — never touch a criminal or get too close to him — they could use it to their advantage.

     A loud sound behind you makes you flinch, and you look around. The door behind you shuts, and your eyes widen when you realize that you’re stuck in a cell with the enemy. And not just one enemy; you’re stuck with Loki.

     “Stay away!” You grumble, letting go of him to take a step backwards and look for your card, which opens literally every door in a shield compound. You reach your card, finally able to get out of the cell again — you just need to find out how he managed to open the door and walk out of the cell.

     “Darling, don't you want to give me some company? That hurts my feelings; I thought you changed your mind and wanted to stay in that cell with me,” Loki says, his eyes still following every movement of yours while you walk to the door and press your card against the small display next to it.

     His lips curl up when the door doesn’t open. You try again, pressing the card against the display again. Once again, the door stays closed, and you groan frustrated — why can’t the technology work like it should?

     “Doesn’t work, darling? Do you need my help?” Loki asks, his tone teasing, and you roll your eyes once again. At some point, you’re sure you can roll your eyes all the time, but right now you’re just annoyed about the technology and him being such a dick.

     “I don’t need your help! Can you just shut up for a moment?” You ask through gritted teeth. You turn around, wanting to face the black-haired man, but the cell is empty, and you wonder if he broke out once again.

     You hiss and almost jump when you feel a warm breath against your neck. Long arms wrap around your waist, and a broad but small chest is suddenly pressed against your back. You can feel Loki’s nose sliding over the soft skin of your neck; a low chuckle leaves his lips when he pulls you even closer.

     A shiver runs down your spine; you want to lean more into his embrace. His warmth and scent envelope you. Loki feels just so good that you want more of him and more of his touches.

     “You like that, don’t you, darling?” He asks, his breath hitting your skin and causing goosebumps all over your body. It shouldn’t feel so good; you shouldn’t stay in his embrace; he shouldn’t touch you like that — Loki is still the enemy, but the two of you look now like he isn’t just that; it looks like the two of you are so much closer.

     “L—Loki, let go of me. H—How did you escape here? Wh—“ You interrupt yourself when you feel his long fingers moving over your stomach, higher to your chest.

     “I didn’t escape, but I told you — I’m a god, darling. I never escaped here; you opened the door with your card; you pushed just an imagination of mine into the cell. And now that you’re here with me, stuck in this cell, don’t you think we should just continue where we stopped?” Loki asks, his voice quiet, and he presses his soft lips against your neck.

     You shake your head, even though you don’t feel like that. You just can’t be that close or intimate with the enemy. He grumbles behind you, pressing you even closer against his chest, and you can feel his growing bulge pressing against your ass.

     Your eyes widen, pussy throbbing, but you can’t just give in to him, can you? Loki is thrusting his hips forward, chuckling against you, when a soft moan escapes your lips.

     “You like that?” You nod lightly, his fingers gracing over the fabric of your t-shirt to your chest. Loki moves his hands over the swell of your breasts, cupping them in his large palms, and when you look down, your breath hitches.

     His hands are so big, thin, but long fingers — they cause the most filthy thoughts you ever had. You inhale deeply. A moment later, you think about pushing him away, telling him to stop that, and that there are cameras, but you know that they won’t work when the display to unlock the cell doesn’t work either.

     Loki feels you tensing in his arms; he kneads your soft breasts in his hands, causing you to throw your head back.

     “N—Loki, please,” you whine, feeling his hard cock still pressing against you. He thrusts his hips forward, making you squeal. His hands are squeezing your tits more.

     “Changing your attitude is exactly how I like it. What do you need, darling?” His tone is teasing. You nod your head, now knowing what to say. Loki laughs, suckling at your neck while his hands snake back to your waist. “Tell me, darlin’.”

     “L—Loki, please, n-need you,” you whimper. You feel so pathetic, begging the enemy to touch you, to fuck you. His hands and his lips feel like the softest thing you have ever felt, and you need him to continue touching you. You need to know how talented those fingers are.

     “Look at you, melting in the enemy's embrace, needing his fingers, don’t you?” He mocks you, laughing softly when he picks you up. He carries the two of you to the bench on the other end of the cell, sitting down before he places you in his lap.

     Loki’s hands hold you in place, his hard crotch pressing against your ass, and you wiggle lightly, earning a low groan from the man behind you. His fingers are digging into your sides, pressing you further down on him to keep you still.

     His lips trail along your neck once again, and he then smirks miraculously once again. And suddenly… you’re naked in his lap. Your clothes are nowhere around, and you can feel the leather of his suit underneath your sensitive skin.

     “L—“

     “Come on, spread those pretty legs for your favorite god, darling,” he grumbles, his fingers sliding along the inside of your thighs as he spreads your legs apart.

     Loki reveals your throbbing pussy; his left hand is holding your one leg, and he squeezes your thigh, while his other hand inches closer to where you need him the most.

     His long finger slides through your folds, and you moan softly, throwing your head back against his shoulder. Loki circles your clit, pinching it lightly between his fingers before he moves his long fingers further down to your entrance.

     “So wet, ‘s that all for me, dalin’? Pussy’s drippin’ for me,” he says, kissing his way along your neck to your ear. His fingers coated in your arousal, he slowly pushes one finger into your entrance. You moan loudly, arching your back. Loki’s finger slips deeper into your tight pussy.

    “Doing so well; look at you, sweetheart. Taking my finger like you’re made for that, aren’t you?” Loki praises you, pushing deeper into you while curling his finger. He starts pumping it in and out of you, earning soft moans and whimpers from you.

     Your hands gripping his thighs, the cold leather feeling perfectly underneath your hot skin. And having him completely dressed while you’re naked turns you on beyond belief.

     Lokis circles your clit with his thumb, adding another finger to your cunt. Your breath gets heavier, you rock into his hand, and the coil in your stomach tightens with every moment of his long fingers inside of you.

     The black-haired man hits your sweet spot every time, the pads of his fingers sliding over it, causing an intense feeling to build up in your lower stomach. A feeling you never had before, not when you fucked yourself with a toy and never with another man.

     “Doing so well, darling. Squeezing my fingers so good, can’t wait to fuck you, probably. Yeah, that’s what you like? Being fucked by a god, don’t you, darling?” Loki asks; his eyes darken lightly, but since you’re with your back toward him, you can’t see them.

     “P—Please, so close. LOKI!” You almost shout; you're just about to come all over his fingers. You don’t know how you ended up in that situation, but right now you can’t care about that. Everything you want and need is Loki, his fingers curling inside of you and bringing you closer to the edge.

     The sound of your wet pussy and his fingers pumping into you in a steady rhythm echoes through the cell. He speeds up, loving the way your walls cling around his fingers, sucking his thin, long fingers even deeper. “Come on, sweetheart, come all over my fingers like the good girl you are.”

    With that, you do as you’re told, your pussy clenching around his fingers. Loki massages your sweet spot with his digits while you come all over his fingers. Your juices squirt all over his palm and fingers, landing on the ground of the cell.

     “F—Fuck, please, keep going, please, Loki,” you beg, thrusting your hips against his hand while you ride out your orgasm.

     He can’t stop his movements just now; you need him to fuck you through your orgasm — and that’s what he does. Curling his fingers steadily inside of your pulsing cunt, he thrusts slowly into you while you breathe heavily.

     You have been moaning like a whore since he started to fuck you with his finger. But you don’t care; he feels too good to think properly.

     “Didn’t think about it, darlin’. Doing so good for me, gonna keep you and take you with me to Asgard; make you my sweet little wife and fuck you whenever and wherever I want,” he groans, his eyes rolling slightly back when he thinks about that idea. A low moan escapes his pink lips, and he smirks. “You’re already so cock drunk, you can’t even think about it properly. Just say yes, darling.”

     You nod your head, your hips still moving against this hand, while you don’t really notice what he is saying. As long as he keeps his fingers inside of you. “Yes, please.”

     “Whining and begging like a pathetic little housewife, that’s what you are. My sweet little housewife.” He kisses your neck once again, sucking a purple mark into your skin. “All mine, darling, and everyone can see it.”

     Even with your protests, Loki pulls his fingers out of you, holding them up to show you your arousal dripping down his fingers. You blush slightly, watching Loki bring his fingers closer to his face. You turn your head, looking at him while he takes them into his mouth, sucking and licking them clean.

     “Tasting perfect, darling,” he hums more to himself before he moves his hand, and you’re suddenly dressed again.

     Your eyes widen, reality hits you, and you jump off his lap. You immediately miss his warmth, a cold shiver running down your spine while you consider getting back into his lap or staying away from him. This is just a short moment, because as much as you should stay away from him, as much as you crave and need this black-haired man.

     “That’s my girl. Now let’s get out of this cell and make you my pretty little housewife,” he says, smirking at you when your back is pressed against his chest once again. And just as he tells you, he is doing exactly that, making you his wife — and luckily, you’re not the only one addicted to the other one. A god can be just as addicted and craving like a human.

// Taglist // @kandis-mom @sergeantbarnessdoll @identity2212 @km-ffluv @lunaalovesyouu @armystay89 @suz7days @etherealdisneyvillainness @pono-pura-vida @somnorvos @meowmeowyoongles

[fuckyeahisawthat]

So OBVIOUSLY Jayce is as smart as Viktor; I don't think Viktor would give him the time of day if he wasn't. But I think he does have a bit of the Elle Woods "What, like it's hard?" about his weird freak genius brain in that he doesn't realized quite how much of an outlier he is.

Like it seems from Jayce and Viktor's chalkboards and also the scenes of Ekko, AU Powder and Heimerdinger building the Z drive that there is actual rune math involved, in that runes have mathematical properties and you can do equations with them. And I think it's highly unlikely anyone in Piltover formally teaches this branch of mathematics because no one believes magic can be accessed in this way, and also it's not like Jayce is gonna be requesting an elective to learn the stuff needed for his illegal science project. So I'm guessing Jayce was teaching himself an entirely new branch of mathematics probably out of some weird old books imported through slightly irregular means, on top of all his regular coursework/research. Hell, he was probably inventing/discovering new rune math in the process of creating Hextech; by the time the Hexgates are open he could probably write the textbook on it.

With Viktor, I actually think the element he would think was no big deal is his engineering skill. Zaun is absolutely full of crazy tinkerers building shit out of nothing and jerry-rigging solutions to problems and keeping things working with spit, rubber bands and ingenuity. They have advanced prosthetics and body mods (I am sure Viktor's back brace is an Undercity creation; no one in Piltover knows how to make that stuff because no one needs it); they have "potions" that heal serious wounds quickly; even the Firelights' hoverboards are a technology we don't see in Piltover. Jinx and Ekko both figure out how to make usable Hextech artifacts with way fewer resources than anyone in Piltover has; Ekko and AU Powder invent fucking time travel when they have a bit of time to mess around with things.

And when it comes to book learning I'm guessing Viktor had no one to compare himself with as a child, so he's teaching himself calculus at age ten out of a book he stole out of some rich Piltie kid's backpack and thinking this is probably how everyone learns topside. He probably ran circles around his fellow Academy students when it came to formal classwork but he barely pays attention to that because it's not discovery; it's just demonstrating that you know the material and he already knows that he knows it. He spends one evening reading Jayce's notebook and is able to understand enough to know the science is solid and contribute to advancing it. (And how much do I love the idea that he fell for Jayce's brain, as seen through his research notes, before any other part of him.) Viktor builds what's essentially a magical AI (the Hexcore) which no one even knew could be done and is still frustrated that he's not figuring out how it works fast enough.

Tl;dr these guys match each other's freak on a brain level instantly and like no one else around them and that would already be some soulmate-level shit no matter what else you think is going on.

[jaggedamethyst]

disappearing act (jayce talis x f!reader)

2.7k words

content/warnings: jayce is in a strained relationship as a result of his work...and his sudden disappearance(s).

18+ minors dni; smut, rough sex, angst (my specialty), unprotected p in v, jayvik sprinkles, strained relationship, argument + lack of communication as a result, jayce being a meanie/dedicated scientist

notes: i feel bad that there's no addition to golden boy at the moment, so here's something else for the jayce girlies that i have been thinking about. once again, incredibly sad...but you love it.

full masterlist linked here

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

The relationship you had with Jayce was one of the few things you could rely on. With his work, Jayce Talis may be considered brash—stubborn even. With you, though, he was the epitome of understanding. He watched you often, a careful eye on you. Relying so heavily on the products of scientific experiments, he seldom acted in a way that was proven to yield negative results. That was until he let the work consume him. 

You were always supportive, he’d said as much. You were there to offer an ear, reassurance, and love to the man who needed it so much. He often recounted the story of his mother being saved by magic, a new detail finding its way into the narrative every time. It was then that you understood Jayce’s need to expose the world to this technology. To afford people the opportunity he was so graciously given—to protect people they love. 

Tensions were rising in Piltover and Zaun. You weren’t entirely sure what was happening; Jayce told you as much as he felt was necessary. As a member of the council, there was so much to take on. You could see the stress. In the last few weeks he’d become distant, reluctant to even make eye contact with you. At the time you’d usually meet one another, he avoided you. So much was going wrong, yet you couldn’t find the right words. There seemed to be nothing you could say to comfort him. A feeling of failure sat within you, almost overwhelming the love you had for him. You started to question the man you’d often taken at face value. He wasn’t himself, no, he was something else entirely. 

You sat alone, jotting down notes. There was nothing of particular interest there—but you had to keep busy these days. You perked up at the sound of Jayce entering the room, your shoulders immediately slumping at the prospect of knowing him so well that you knew it was him without a look back. 

His voice broke the silence, “Hi.” 

That was all you really got from him, greetings in passing. This time, it was to pick up a tool he’d left. You sighed, waving a hand at him, knowing that if it was up to him he wouldn’t see you at all today. 

He spoke again, “Thanks.” He showed a specific sized wrench that he loved. You weren’t entirely sure how it got here, but you knew the gratitude he showed was true. If he took nothing else seriously at the moment, he’d always been nose-first into his work. His venture toward progress. 

You nodded at his thanks to you, resuming your work. 

He left his back to you, “I’m working with Heimerdinger again.” 

This surprised you. Both the mention of his former mentor as well as the continued conversation. “Really?” You spun around in your chair, back to your desk. 

He turned to face you, “He has a new protégée, this kid. I’m sure I’ve seen him before…around…but he needs help.” 

“So you’re helping him,” you smiled. It was earnest. There was a warmth there, a passing thought that he might return to himself—a man motivated by care. 

He nodded, “So what’s occupying your time? More of that meaningless writing you do?” He chuckled and motioned toward your open book. 

You twisted the corner of your lips, stunned by the way his words pierced you. For no reason, you might add. A dry chuckle left your throat, echoing his. You deliberately responded lowly, looking toward the floor, “Wouldn’t have to do meaningless writing if my boyfriend had actually been around for once.” 

It was his turn to curl his lip in irritation, “You know what I’m doing is important-“

“And yet there’s nothing to show for it.” 

“That is not fair.” He stepped further into the room, “It takes years to replicate and master the technology I’m working on. Viktor and I have been at this for years, surely you understand that getting it right takes precedent.” 

You nodded, understanding now. “Precedent over your relationship, got it.” You turned and slammed your book shut. His footsteps approached you and you stood in return, meeting his surprisingly close glare at you. 

“You know thats not what I meant-“ 

“Isn’t it, though?” 

“No, its just that…” 

“Just what?” 

He sighed, no words finding him. He couldn’t really explain what it was, exactly. Part of him felt as if you were right—that maybe he did think much less of you than he thought. That perhaps he’d become so accustomed to the havoc, the time with his partner, and the inconsistency of research. He searched his brain, landing on the fact that he was addicted to the high science bought to him. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about you. It was simply that like you said, he wasnt around. 

“Maybe you should go.”

His mouth was agape, realizing he failed to answer. He tried to call out to you, your name leaving his lips in a plea. You just needed time. His brows drooped, a defeated look over his body. He backed away, before turning towards the door. He stopped at the door frame, grasping it, the closest he’d been to latching onto you. “I’m sorry.” Then, he rounded the corner and was gone. 

A few months passed. You didnt expect that when Jayce left, he’d seemingly disappear into thin air. When you found out that another boy, Ekko, along with Heimerdinger were also gone—you connected the dots. You weren’t sure what to do, if there was anything to be done. You weren’t dumb, but to Jayce or Viktor’s level of intelligence…you’d found yourself feeling inadequate. It was just your luck, too, that the one person who could help you was nowhere to be found. His partner, one you could tell Jayce loved so much—had vanished. 

There were a few times where you examined their work area. You searched for anything to make sense of the loss. There was nothing. Like clockwork, you would end your search in tears, frantically clawing at the leftover notes and tools. When you couldn’t sleep, you would sneak into Jayce’s bed. The scent of him enveloped you. The tears would come, again, soaking his pillows. You’d later grown disgusted with yourself—the lack of composure. Your sensitivity only removed Jayce further from you; his presence no longer lingered. The smell of him had dissipated. You were beyond devastated. The yearn to have the entirety of the world to open up and swallow you whole was immense. 

You resumed your meaningless writing. In the time Jayce had been gone, you went through two entire notebooks. You cried into a lot of the pages, leaving them impossible to write on. In others you poured out every emotion you felt—chronicling every detail. 

He often found you in your dreams. Few times, you’d offer your mind the comfort of loving him again. Most times, however, you would torture yourself with a recounting of your last conversation. You would try to change what you said, how little you did…but the outcome was always the same. He would always leave you. 

The sound of his familiar footsteps haunted you. Someone would approach you, the rhythm slightly off, but enough to get your hopes up every time. Tonight had been the same, people passing, none being the one you wanted the most. You laid in bed, gaze to the ceiling. You didn’t really have much on your mind, outside of Jayce Talis—again. 

Footsteps approached, again, not him. These were heavier, irregular. It sounded as if one of them dragged. Your face twisted, a disdain filling you. It was enough. You turned, angling your back towards the door and the sound of the unfamiliar footsteps. 

You arched a brow, hearing your door open and close. You angled your neck, not caring who it was but needing the time to yourself. “Whoever that is, please…go away.” 

There was a pause, then a voice. “Still stubborn.”

Your breath hitched, your body turning to confirm whether or not you’d actually well and truly lost your mind. It couldn’t be, not after all this time. 

“Jayce.” It wasn’t a question, as much as you thought it would be. It was true, he was there—albeit entirely different. His hair had grown longer, easily passing his ears. The twinkle in his eye was completely gone. His facial hair had grown. The man that you knew wasn’t here, this was the residual shell—a combination of leftover pieces of himself that had been discarded. 

You crawled off of the bed, scrambling to him. You observed him briefly, taking in the details of him, before jumping into a hug. The scent you loved so much, that comfort that long left you, rested beneath a swell of ash and grime. He reluctantly raised his hands. You waited for the feeling of him embracing you back, but it didn’t come. You felt his palms instead, grasping your face. His eyes peered into yours, a hand dropping so that only one held you now. As you leaned into his single hand on you, he maneuvered his thumb. He brushed over your lips briefly. His grip then fell just underneath your chin. He let his thumb squeeze into you, pinching your cheeks slightly before nudging your face. 

He wasn’t the same. You didn’t care. He moved toward you, causing you to lean into your bed. When the back of your legs hit the mattress, you sat down slowly. You looked up at him, not needing to exchange words with him. It had been too long.

All reason left you; you were sure that there was never any in this Jayce’s mind. You quickly reached for his pants, undoing the button and zipper as he simultaneously maneuvered for yours. You paused, only resuming when you were completely bare on the bottom. You could see him, pleading to be released from the confines of his pants. You reached at his waist, pulling his pants and underwear down. You were startled when they didn’t go down fully. Your gaze dropped, noticing the brace on his leg. The single pant leg had caught the metal. He huffed, the cold air finally sweeping against him. The sensation was enough to make him hiss—the slight drip of precum forming on him. 

He leaned you into the bed, circling your entrance immediately. There wasn’t time for prep, you two had already lost so much time together. He thought of you every day. At one point, he’d found a rock, etching what he struggled to remember of your face into the wall. Before he could think to eat, before he could save himself—he thought of you.

You deserved more than this. What he was about to do. But as he looked back at you and saw the pleading in your eyes, he knew you needed this. You needed him. 

Without further thought, he plunged into you. You gasped at the resistance—your insides tighter than normal. It burned, Jayce pushing all of him completely into you. The pain was nothing compared to the mental abuse you had endured. This pain was worth it, you reasoned. At least, now, the pain was inflicted by Jayce—here.

He started his pace into you. Tears collected in your eyes, from both the overwhelming emotion and the way his hips snapped into you. He yanked you back towards him, a slapping resonating through the room. His eyes closed, brows furrowed. You noticed this, reaching to rub his arm that rested on your waist. His eyes opened immediately, looking at your hand on him. The gesture more than he deserved. He pulled out of you then, reaching to pump his hand up and down himself. 

He spoke, finally, “Flip.” 

You did so without question. Your chest found the bed, head leaning to the side. The bed was a bit taller than you and it left you on your toes. You fought to stabilize yourself—wanting to do whatever it was that he needed. He spread your legs, ramming into you without warning. The force of him pushing into you had you whining. A yelp escaped you with every thrust, the feeling of him relieving a desire that had built up in you since he left. Your feet eventually lifted from the floor completely, your arms gripping into the blankets. Jayce had the entire bed and its posts rocking. The squeaking, groaning, and slapping was entirely disgusting and quite reflective of your relationship now. The ordeal was desperate, pulling at each other until you fell apart. 

You circled your hips into the firmness of the mattress. Your clit found the friction in exactly the right way. Behind you, Jayce found your hips, gripping at your flesh like you’d disappear if he didn’t. It wasn’t long before you came, face down ass up onto Jayce. You felt a pool of wetness escaping you, dripping beneath you. He sighed at the extra lubrication, speeding up even more. He worked you through his own release, filling you to the brim.

He collapsed onto your back. The feeling of his breath on your neck, the stubble on his jaw, and hair fraying onto your ear was entirely new. You remained motionless, afraid for the moment to end. It did, though, Jayce pulling out of you. He rubbed your ass briefly, before pulling his pants up and straightening himself. You pulled yourself fully onto the bed, grabbing your underwear and a throw blanket to lay over your bottom half of your body. 

An expectant look was on your face. You dreamed of the day he would come back—return to you. You hadn’t expected it to be so wordless. You watched the man inch his way towards his hammer. It looked different than you remembered, flurries of color attached to it. It was somewhat eroded, too. You frowned at that. There was a clear resemblance here, the disfigurement an emulation of the relationship between you being completely different than when you first met. 

“What happened to you?” 

He leaned down now, fatigue catching up to him. “That thing I was working on-“ 

“With Heimerdinger…and…Ekko-“ 

“Yes.” He paused, a choked sob bursting from him immediately. “I-I was lost. Lost you.” 

You tried to stand, move to him, but he raised a hand to stop you. The act was a warning, like he didn’t need you near him. As if he didn’t want you to get hurt. It made you grasp the blanket more firmly. 

He continued, “I have to finish this.” 

The thought crossed your mind. To ask him what it was he had to do besides be with you was on the edge of your tongue. Question why, you thought. Not even a second later you realized that despite his appearance, he wasn’t so different, really. Jayce was always on a mission. He chased a feeling you could never replicate for him. 

So you didn’t let the question linger between you. “Just come back to me.” 

He stood, glancing at his wrist. You noticed the shine of blue there, interlocking with his very being. He nodded, conviction in his words. “I will. I can’t fail…not at this.” 

With a hobble in his step, he moved toward the exit. 

You didnt call out to him. He didn’t turn around for a second glance. With every day that passed, you wished so bad that one of you had. You weren’t entirely sure if what Jayce did—disappearing again, was considered a failure. But you knew the man. It was for a reason. 

It took you a while to come to terms with what happened. You couldn’t bring yourself to visit the site for days. As the Sun rose one morning, yet another night of no rest on you…you slipped out of the bed. There was determination in your walk. You made the trek out to where the destruction was. There was machinery you’d never seen strewn all over the trail. You grimaced, following the natural line of sight. You saw it, then, Jayce’s hammer. You moved with determination. As you approached, you immediately collapsed beside it. There was nothing left of him. He was gone. Entirely this time.

You reached for the handle of the man’s creation, cradling it as if it were him. Your lips wobbled, a cry threatening to fall from you. You gasped for air. “No…” You shook your head, whispering, “Jayce…” 

[whimsicaldoxy]

𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 - 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘

pairing: fred weasley x reader

summary: you give fred a cassette player for his (belated) birthday—and george gets a gift, too.

notes: muggleborn!reader, no use of y/n, established friendship, fluff, you and fred listen to bowie together, george likes to show up at the wrong time, this might be my fav one from my drafts

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

It was a warm afternoon when you found yourself standing on the doorstep of the Burrow, a small package clutched in your hands. The brown paper was crinkled from being wrapped hastily, but the excitement in your chest made up for the imperfect wrapping.

Everyone was gathering at the Burrow for the summer—Harry, Hermione, and of course, you.

You had been waiting for this moment since April. Fred and George’s birthdays had come and gone during the school year, and you’d had to hold off on giving Fred his gift. It was something that didn’t quite fit in the wizarding world, something Muggle-made that you knew would make him raise an eyebrow and ask questions.

You had thought about getting him something magical, of course, but that seemed too predictable. Fred, with his mischievous grin and endless energy, deserved something that was completely unexpected.

You took a deep breath and knocked on the door, listening to the sound of scurrying feet from within.

“Oi, who’s at the door?” came George’s voice from the other side.

Before you could even answer, the door swung open to reveal George standing in the doorway, a smirk on his face. “Ah, it’s you. What’s the surprise, then? Come to pull some prank on us?”

You couldn’t help but grin at George’s teasing. “No prank this time, promise,” you said, holding up the small wrapped package. “I come baring gifts.”

“Oh, a present, is it? Hope there’s something for me.” George’s eyes lit up with interest, but he quickly stepped aside, pulling the door open wider.

“There might be,” You laughed as you stepped inside, walking through the warm and winding rooms of the Burrow. The Weasley family was as lively as ever, and you loved every moment of it. You could hear Fred’s voice floating from the kitchen, his loud laugh echoing as he bantered.

“Frederick!” You called out as you entered the room.

Fred turned around, his mischievous grin spreading across his face when he saw you. “Well, well, if it isn’t my favourite birthday-present-delaying friend,” he teased, his eyes sparkling with the usual prankster gleam. “What took you so long, eh?”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “I had to wait until summer. I couldn’t give you this at school,” you said, holding out the small package. “It’s… a bit of a Muggle thing.”

Fred raised an eyebrow and eagerly took the gift. “A Muggle thing?” he repeated, clearly intrigued. “Wait, it’s not going to explode is it?”

You laughed. “No, nothing like that. But you’ll see.”

Fred carefully unwrapped the gift, his eyes narrowing as he uncovered the small, sleek device inside. “What in Merlin’s name is this?” he asked, turning Muggle contraption over in his hands. He looked at it with obvious confusion, but also a bit of fascination.

“It’s a portable cassette player,” you explained, a grin tugging at your lips as you tried not to laugh.

Fred blinked, staring at it now with complete confusion. “A what now?”

You laughed, taking the player from him. “It’s a Muggle device. You can play music on it anywhere.”

Fred’s eyes widened as he took the cassette player back from you, turning it over in his hands. “Wait, wait, wait. So, this plays music? Like, magically? How does it work?”

“No magic involved, actually,” you said, smiling at his bewilderment. “It’s all Muggle technology. You put in the cassette, press play, and voilà—instant music.”

Fred started pressing buttons on the player as though it might suddenly spring to life in front of him. “So… how do you get the music onto these, then? Do I have to cast some kind of spell or—”

“No spells required,” you said with a laugh. “You just record music onto the cassettes. I made you a mixtape to start you off.”

Fred paused and looked up at you, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “A mixtape, huh? What’s on it?”

You handed him the cassette with a smile. “A little something I thought you’d enjoy. You’ll see.”

You turned to George, who had been watching the exchange with interest.

“So,” George began, raising an eyebrow, “I take it my turn’s next?”

You grinned, having anticipated this exact reaction. “Couldn’t leave you out, could I?” you said, reaching into your tote bag.

George’s eyes lit up with mock anticipation. “Excellent. What Muggle contraption have you brought to boggle my mind and win my undying affection?”

With a flourish, you pulled out a round package from your tote bag, handing it to George. He opened the paper swiftly, revealing a smooth black sphere with a little window on one side. He held it up for all to see, furrowing his brow as he inspected it.

“Ta-da! A Magic 8-Ball!” you said.

“A Magic 8-Ball?” George repeated, his tone dripping with skepticism. “Looks more like a shiny Quaffle to me. What’s it do? Explode? Curse you with bad luck if you throw it at someone?”

“Nothing like that,” you said, holding back a laugh. “It’s a Muggle… uh, fortune-telling device. You ask it a question, shake it, and it gives you an answer.”

George stared at you, blinking. Then he threw his head back and laughed. “Wait, wait—this thing’s supposed to tell the future? Without magic?”

“Exactly,” you said, smiling wildly. “Here, give it a go.”

You handed the Magic 8-Ball to George, who turned it over in his hands, squinting at the little window on the bottom. “Right,” he said, his tone still dripping with mock seriousness. “Let’s see if this Muggle marvel can outwit a Weasley. O’ wise and mysterious ball,” he intoned, holding it up dramatically, “will my brother Fred ever stop being a complete prat?”

He shook the ball vigorously, and the little triangular answer floated into view: ‘Don’t count on it.’

Fred, who had been half-listening, looked up from his cassette player with a mock-offended gasp. “Oi! What’s that supposed to mean?”

George grinned, holding up the ball. “See? It knows you already.”

─── 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 ───

The evening at the Burrow had mellowed into a warm, cozy hum. Dinner had been a chaotic affair as usual, with Mrs Weasley fussing over everyone’s plates, Mr Weasley excitedly asking you questions about the cassette player, and the twins making an endless stream of jokes. Harry and Ron had been enthralled in an intense game of Wizard’s Chess, with Hermione and Ginny supervising closely. Now, most of the family had drifted off to their own corners of the house. The living room was quiet, save for the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth, and you and Fred were sat in front of the well-worn sofa, on comfy cushions scattered on the floor.

Fred had been inspecting the cassette player all day, pressing buttons and turning it over like he expected it to sprout wings and fly. Now, he was finally ready to give your mixtape a proper listen.

“All right,” Fred said, pulling the player onto his lap and looking over at you with a mischievous grin. “Let’s see what kind of musical wizardry you’ve conjured up for me.”

You laughed, nudging his shoulder. “Just press play, and let the magic—well, the Muggle magic—do the rest.”

Fred flipped your gifted cassette over, examining the words written in your neat, tidy handwriting.

For Fred ♡

1. STUCK IN THE MIDDLE WITH YOU - STEALERS WHEEL

2. BOHEMIAN RHAPSODY - QUEEN

3. REBEL REBEL - DAVID BOWIE

4. GO YOUR OWN WAY - FLEETWOOD MAC

5. ALL THE YOUNG DUDES - MOTT THE HOOPLE

6. RIGHT DOWN THE LINE - GERRY RAFFERTY

7. PIANO MAN - BILLY JOEL

8. HEROES - DAVID BOWIE

“They’re songs that I grew up listening to,” you said, watching Fred as he read the track list. “My Dad’s favourites, and also mine.”

Fred inserted the tape, the satisfying click of it locking into place sounding louder in the quiet room. He pressed the play button, and for a moment, there was only silence, followed by the scratchy hiss of the tape starting up.

You sit and listen to each song, taking in the lyrics, feeling the rhythm.

And as the final song began to play, Fred turned to you, his eyes locking with yours.

I, I will be king

And you, you will be queen

Without a word, he stood up, extending his hand towards you. “Come on,” he said, his voice playful. “We’ve got to dance to this one, don’t you think?”

“Dance?” You blinked, unsure if you were hearing him correctly.

He nodded, still holding out his hand, a look in his eyes that made your stomach flutter. “Yeah, why not? How can you not dance to something like this?”

You laughed, a bit hesitant but swept up in the moment. “I’m not much of a dancer,” you teased, but there was something in Fred’s gaze that made you want to join him.

“Neither am I,” Fred shot back with a wink. “But I’m sure we can manage.”

With a soft chuckle, you placed your hand in his, and he pulled you up from the cushions, and before you knew it, he had twirled you around, your laughter filling the room.

You stumbled a bit but caught yourself, Fred steadying you with a chuckle of his own. “See? We’re practically pros already,” he teased, his voice warm with amusement. “Let’s see how well you really dance.”

He pulled you in again, this time swaying slightly to the rhythm, still laughing as the song played on, the music dancing between you both. Fred moved effortlessly, his carefree nature taking over, but there was something else in the way he looked at you—a softness, a warmth. The way his eyes lingered on yours, the way he smiled as if he were seeing you in a completely new light. It wasn’t like the teasing, mischievous glances you were used to. This was… different. Nice.

And I, I’ll drink all the time

Cause we’re lovers, and that is a fact

For a moment, the world seemed to fade away. There was just you, Fred, and the music, swirling around you both like the most natural thing in the world. You felt your heart beat faster, the connection between you deepening in a way that made everything else feel distant and unimportant.

Yes, we’re lovers, and that is that

Though nothing, will keep us together

Fred leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping, suddenly more serious than before. “You know,” he began, his breath brushing against your ear, “there’s something I’ve been meaning to—”

But before he could finish, there was a loud crash from the kitchen, followed by a loud shout of, “Oi! Who broke my broomstick?” George’s voice rang through the house, cutting through the moment like a knife.

Fred groaned, pulling away and looking toward the noise with an exaggerated sigh. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” he muttered, clearly annoyed at the interruption. He shot you an apologetic look.

But before you could compose yourself, in walked George, his eyes scanning the scene with a mischievous glint. “What’s going on here then?” he asked, his tone full of curiosity, his gaze flicking between you and Fred.

You immediately felt a bit flustered, fumbling for words. “Uh, nothing. We were just—well, just listening to music,” you said, your voice betraying a slight nervousness.

George raised an eyebrow, grinning knowingly. “Right, music. You sure about that? Looks like you two were dancing to me.”

You could feel your cheeks redden, but Fred jumped in before you could say anything more. “It’s nothing, George. Just messing about,” he said, his voice light but with an edge of annoyance at the interruption.

George leaned against the doorframe, still grinning. “Messing about, huh? It looked more like you two were about to start practicing for a Ball.”

Fred rolled his eyes, though there was a slight flush to his cheeks. “We weren’t doing anything like that,” he said, a little too quickly. “We were just… you know, dancing a bit. No big deal.”

George’s grin only grew wider, clearly enjoying the teasing. “No big deal, huh? Sure, sure. You two looked like you were in your own little world there. Was it a slow dance, or—?”

Fred groaned, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Merlin, George! You’ve got the worst timing. We were about to—” He stopped himself suddenly, realizing he’d almost said more than he’d intended.

You could see Fred trying to recover, but George was already on the case. “You were about to what?” George asked, his voice dripping with teasing curiosity. “Come on, don’t leave me hanging. What’s all this about dancing and moments?”

Fred let out a frustrated sigh, but the corner of his mouth twitched up into a smile. “You’re a real pain, you know that?”

George looked as if he was enjoying every second of it. “Oh, I know. Just don’t mind me. You two go ahead and finish whatever moment you were having before I showed up.”

Fred gave George a playful shove toward the kitchen. “Right, get out of here. Go break something or prank Percy or something, would you?”

George put his hands up in mock surrender, though the grin on his face remained. “Fine, fine. I’ll leave you two alone. But don’t forget—I saw everything.”

With that, George turned and disappeared back into the kitchen, leaving you and Fred alone again. You both stood there for a moment, the awkwardness lingering in the air.

Fred rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes avoiding yours for a second before he looked up with that familiar grin. “Well, that went well, didn’t it?”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curling into a smile. “Oh, absolutely. Nothing says ‘good time’ like being interrupted by your twin brother in the middle of a perfectly fine dance.”

Fred’s grin grew wider, though there was a hint of something else behind it. He looked almost… a bit sheepish. “Yeah, I was this close to telling you something,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, his eyes flicking over to you for a split second before he looked away.

You blinked, trying to hide the sudden flutter in your chest. “What were you going to say?”

Fred chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck again. “Oh, you know… nothing important.” But even as he said it, you could tell there was more to it. The way he shifted his weight and avoided your gaze said otherwise.

You frowned a little, stepping closer to him. “Fred, come on. You can’t just leave me hanging like that.”

He laughed softly, clearly torn between his usual playful nature and the moment’s strange vulnerability. “I wasn’t going to say anything, really. Just that… well, it’s nothing. Forget about it.”

You studied him, trying to read the subtle way he was acting—like he was holding something back. Something he wanted to say but couldn’t quite get out.

You had hoped, just for a moment, that Fred might finally say the thing that had been on your mind for so long—that he felt the same way you did. But now, with the silence stretching between you, you weren’t so sure.

“Fred,” you said again, this time your tone gentler. “You don’t have to pretend. If you were going to say something, I want to hear it.”

Fred hesitated for a moment, clearly conflicted.

Finally, he looked back at you, his expression softening. “It’s just…” He paused again, then sighed. “I was just going to say that… I’m glad you’re here. You know, hanging out with us. I mean, it’s not like I don’t appreciate everyone else, but…” He trailed off, looking for the right words.

You tilted your head, a soft smile forming on your lips. “But?”

Fred looked at you for a moment, the playful spark in his eyes returning. “But it’s nice having you around. I’ve always liked hanging out with you.” He paused and, as if he realized how simple that sounded, added quickly, “In case you didn’t know.”

You laughed, feeling a warmth spread through you. “I know, Fred,” you said, your heart swelling just a bit. “I’ve always liked hanging out with you, too.”

There was a brief silence between you both, one that seemed to stretch just long enough to feel like something more. Fred seemed to realize something, his eyes widening for a moment as though he’d said more than he intended. Then the tape clicked, indicating the end of the mix.

“Right, well,” he said, rubbing his neck again, his tone a little sheepish. “Guess that’s it then. I just wanted to say thanks… for everything. For the mixtape, for the dance, for being, well… you.”

You blinked, feeling your chest tighten. “You don’t have to thank me for that, Fred,” you said softly.

“Well, I guess that’s enough sentimentality for one night,” Fred said with a wink, nudging you lightly with his elbow. “Before George gets any more ideas about ‘moments,’ right?”

You laughed lightly, but a small part of you still wondered if he meant to say something more, the slightest hint of disappointment hidden behind your smile. “Right—yeah. Can’t have George getting the wrong idea, can we?”

Fred’s smile faltered for just a fraction of a second, though you almost missed it. It was gone so quickly, replaced by the same easygoing grin he always wore. “Yeah,” he said, his voice light.

You felt the unspoken words hanging between you, your chest tight with the quiet yearning. But Fred was already moving toward the kitchen, shrugging off any possibility of lingering conversation. “I’ll just go make sure he doesn’t turn the kitchen upside down,” he called over his shoulder as he left.

You’d hoped for more, for him to say the one thing that had been circling your thoughts for so long. But in that quiet moment between you two, Fred had danced around it—just as he always did.

[anneapocalypse]

I really just wish they would consistently allow Y'shtola to actually be blind. I loved the moment in Shadowbringers where she asked Urianger to describe the night sky to her. I loved her mistaking the Warrior of Light for a Lightwarden because she can't actually see their physical appearance, just the quality of their aether. But by default the writing assumes that her ability to see aether completely cancels out her loss of vision. She goes to the library and she can just... read print books. You could come up with really interesting and creative technological and magical accommodations for her disability, like mammets or familiars that read text to you! but instead she's just written 98% of the time like she isn't disabled and it's frustrating.