#If I could change some of the names maybe but doing that would feel like it changes the characters too much

[mahowaga]

a beeping sound. soft at first. foggy yet steady. faint.

beep. beep. beep.

the world feels like cotton—thick, warm, slow. everything is floating. you're somewhere between dreaming and not, hovering in a haze of surgical-grade confusion and the kind of drowsy bliss that only modern medicine can induce.

your mouth is dry. your eyelids are heavy. you're aware of your own existence only in the most abstract way.

and then—you see him.

standing beside the hospital bed. tall. serious. hands tucked into the pockets of his beige slacks. blonde hair swept back like a movie star in a noir film. clean-cut. broad-shouldered. absolutely devastating.

your eyes widen slowly.

beepbeepbeepbeep—

the monitor beside you—innocent, quiet just moments ago—has begun to panic. the beep becomes a warning, and a nurse looks up from the corner, startled.

"hnng," you mutter, trying to focus on the achingly handsome man next to you.

"heart rate's climbing," the nurse says, glancing over at him.

kento blinks. "oh."

"oh?" you whisper, blinking up at him. your voice is slurred, heavy with sedation. "who—who are you?"

kento blinks again, more slowly. "it's me. kento. nanami."

you squint. "that's not a name. that's a sound. like a—like a wind chime."

the nurse is trying hard not to laugh. she fails.

kento clears his throat. "you don't recognize me?"

you stare at him, utterly in awe. "are you a doctor?"

he hesitates. "no."

"a nurse?"

"no."

"are you—" your voice drops to a stage whisper "—an angel?"

this time, the nurse wheezes.

kento, ever composed, runs a hand down his face. "i'm your boyfriend."

you stare at him again.

then slowly—very slowly—you begin to weep.

"you're my boyfriend?" your voice is full of wonder and devastation, as if this is some beautiful tragedy you've just uncovered. "me? how did i get you?"

"darling, please—"

"you're so pretty," you sniffle. "like. too pretty. that jawline could cut glass. i look like a sock. a very soft sock, but still."

"you do not look like a sock."

"you're just saying that because you're so handsome and nice," you whisper dramatically.

kento exhales through his nose. his ears have turned ever so slightly pink.

"your voice sounds like warm bread," you mumble, eyes fluttering. "do you read poetry to me? i bet you do. do i cry everytime?"

"sometimes, yes."

"oh my god."

you clutch the edge of the blanket like it's the only thing tethering you the earth. kento shifts closer to the bed, expression softening even as the chaos of anesthesia unfolds. he takes your hand, and your eyes widen further.

"your hands are big."

he sighs again. "yes. that hasn't changed."

you gape at your interlaced hands like it's the most significant thing in the universe. maybe it is. maybe this is fate. maybe you're in a dream. maybe the drugs are doing their job a little too well. either way—

"oh my god," you whisper. "you have boyfriend hands."

kento raises an eyebrow. "boyfriend hands."

"yeah," you murmur reverently, brushing your fingertips over his knuckles. "big. strong. veiny. but gentle. like you could lift a boulder and cradle a baby bunny. i knew it. i knew the universe wouldn't give those hands to just anyone."

"i'll—i'll take that as a compliment."

"it is a compliment. it's the highest compliment."

kento tries to suppress a smile, but you see it anyway—the way his lips twitch, the way his eyes crinkle just a little at the corners.

"god," you sigh, still staring at your joined hands. "i bet you hold my bags for me. like, just casually. and you probably open jars without making it a thing. i bet you make me tea without being asked, too."

"i do," he admits, and that's when you gasp like you've just been shot.

"you do?!"

kento leans in slightly. "would it help if i reminded you that i also rub your back when you can't sleep and warm up your side of the bed in winter?"

you are now weeping in earnest.

"oh my god, i hit the jackpot. i knew i didn't do enough to deserve this life. i must've saved a bus full of orphan puppies in a past existence—"

the nurse in the corner is now doubled over behind her computer, shoulders shaking with laughter. she makes no attempt to intervene. she knows, just like kento does, that this has become a one-person stage production and the show must go on at the expense of your rapidly beating heart.

"do we live together?" you ask, eyes round and full of wonder.

kento nods, gently brushing a bit of hair off your forehead. "we do."

you suck in a breath. "do i cook?"

he hesitates. "sometimes."

"oh no."

"but i cook more often," he adds quickly.

you sag in relief. "do i clean?"

"you try," he says diplomatically, which sends the nurse wheezing again.

"i knew it. i'm the messy one." you look up at him, voice trembling with mock devastation. "you're the responsible one. i'm the whirlwind, and you're the tether. the calm in the storm. the spreadsheet to my glitter explosion."

kento's lips twitch again. "that's one way to describe it."

you exhale, dragging the blanket up to your chin like you're ready to ascend to another plane of existence. "and we love each other?"

"very much," he says, and his voice goes soft, quiet, undeniably warm.

that tone—oh, that tone—you believe it. even in your drugged-up haze, even with your brain a soft pile of mashed potatoes, it sinks deep. it nestles into your chest like a little glowing ember. his words. his eyes. the steadiness in his hand, wrapped around yours.

you blink at him, tears springing again. "do i ever tell you how lucky i am?"

"every day," he says, and his thumb brushes lightly over your knuckles. "but i'm the lucky one."

"oh god," you whisper, overwhelmed again. "that voice. you could narrate a documentary. about whales. or like. the history of bread. i'd listen to it on a loop. do i have a playlist with you just reading grocery lists to me?"

"i could make one."

you whimper. "that's love."

kento chuckles quietly, low in his throat, and you beam at him like you've just discovered the sun for the first time.

"will i remember this?" you ask, a little sleepier now.

he looks at you for a long moment—fond, exasperated, helplessly in love.

"i hope you don't. but i will."

"why?"

"because this is adorable to me," he says, brushing your cheek with the backs of his fingers, "and deeply humiliating for you."

you hum, drifting already, eyes fluttering closed. "if you love me, you'll forget this ever happened."

"no chance."

a pause.

"you're gonna tease me, aren't you."

"absolutely."

"heartless," you mumble, voice trailing off into a sleepy sigh.

he stays beside you, holding your hand until your breathing evens out again, the monitor beside you returning to its quiet rhythm.

beep. beep. beep.

kento watches you sleep, eyes soft, and presses a quiet kiss to your forehead.

"a sock, hm?" he whispers, lips ghosting against your skin. "you do not look like a sock."

and he stays there for hours, loyal as ever. because even when you're half-conscious, absurdly dramatic, and talking about angelic boyfriend hands, he loves you—with a kind of devotion that doesn't fade, even in hospital rooms and pain and panic.

especially then.

[earlgreylatte]

The Weak Link

Kids and dogs always know who to direct the puppy dog eyes to.

While on the way back to Earth, laying on the floor of the ship, you had insisted that you would pass your new younger brother as your own and take him with you on your travels across the globe as the public school, suburban route you and Mark lived wouldn’t be possible for a purple baby with accelerated aging. Mark had scoffed, expressing his skepticism at your child rearing skills and how feasible your plan even was. You accused him of just being mad that you made him change baby grape’s diapers. He told you to stop calling him that. Maybe you would if baby ube cheesecake would stop reminding you of how long it’s been since you’ve had any Earth food.

Stupid conversations and predictions filled the air as you both looked at the endlessness of space, as the still unnamed baby babbled. It was fun imagining the person your baby brother would become, especially when you wouldn’t have to wait too long to see it. You said he’d probably end up streaming Minecraft or whatever kids were into. Mark insisted he’d be much more cultured and would enjoy something as nuanced as Seance Dog. Maybe he’d be a better artist than you two and create something of his own.

Like comics were actually going to last.

Cradling your baby brother closer to your chest, you look down at his face, round, drowsy eyes staring up at you calmly as you finally reached Earth’s atmosphere, you found yourself feeling something besides dread when thinking about tomorrow for once.

(Slumped against the kitchen island, you watch your mom scrub the counters, the now named baby Oliver asleep in a crib your mom brought up from the basement. Mark had rushed back to his university, you could only wince at the thought of missing nearly a whole semester. Yes, life as a freelancer was much easier.

“Okay, what is it?” She finally asks, turning around to face you.

“What makes you think I want something? I’m just hanging around,” You deflect.

“Because you’re spending time with your mother rather than flying out to the wilderness or staying cooped up in your room,” she smirks, placing a hand on her hip, eyebrow raised, daring you to challenge her.

You hum, readily accepting defeat. You knew better than to enter a verbal duel with her of all people.

“Well,” you start off, somewhat awkwardly, your mom staring at you encouragingly, “Uh, just wanted to make sure you actually want to do…this. Raise Oliver. That isn’t really something people do when their spouses start another family. I mean, I could figure something out, release some travel guides like he did. Stick around in one spot for…however long it takes for a half bug baby to be old enough for college.”

You avoid making eye contact, mostly out of shame for whatever blob of words you just spat out.

You feel a hand rub your head, and glancing up, she’s smiling at you, “My baby looking after a baby? That’s something I’d rather wait to see happen.”

“I’m not going to be a teen mom or anything, I’m old enough to drink now,” you scoff, playfully.

“You’d certainly pass as one! And sooner or later, you’d be dragging around a moody preteen!” She laughs, before her eyes soften, “Oliver is my family too, not because of your father but because you and Mark are connected him in a way unique to only you three. And if you really want to step up, then you can do it from here, write what you want and go off when you want, I won’t interfere with that, but it’d be nice to have you back home.”

“I mean, your cooking might beat living off protein shakes and fast food…” you acquiesce and a moment of comfortable silence passes as you both smile at each other.

“I was looking through some of your father’s travel guides recently, actually. He was so proud when he was able to use your pictures for it,” she speaks up, suddenly, “You two were always going off, seeing what Earth had to offer…I’m sure you’ll pass on that trait to Oliver too before long.

You sniff, blinking a bit as your mom places an hand on your arm before she returns back to the kitchen counter.

“So, I’m guessing you’ll be taking your room back rather than turning it into Oliver’s nursery?” She asks.

You shake your head, getting up to go check on Oliver, “Nah, he’ll need the space. I’ll just take the guest room.”

“Very mature of you.”

“Yup, that’s me, the Mature Grayson, especially apparent when placed next to an actual infant.”

She calls your name, causing you to pause by the staircase, “If Oliver’s going to take your room, at least take down your little video game men posters. And don’t just play with Oliver! I’m going to feed you an actual meal!”

“…okay.”)

It was hard to believe that it hasn’t even been half a year since you first brought Oliver home, the once infant, now a walking, talking kid with the energy levels of a border collie.

Besides being purple, he’s just like any other boy in the neighbourhood. He likes playing on your old PSP and Mark’s old NDS to the point he plays it past his bedtime, he loves to play outside, and he eats all your snacks without asking. Mark calls you out for being unfair, considering you stranded him high up a tree in the backyard when you two were in middle school. He claims you’ve mellowed out, as if you were some raging dog before.

In actuality, your dynamic with Oliver was something new. You’ve always been an older sister, but you and Mark were always at the same point in life, going to school together and living the same experiences. You looked out for him, played video games with him, and microwaved pizza pockets for dinner when your parents were running late, but you also nearly knocked him out in a pillow fight and laughed at his humiliating moments. You couldn’t do that to Oliver. He’s a baby! You’re an adult!

…Technically.

You knew Mark felt the same way, knowing that you were responsible for shaping Oliver into a functional person, one that knows how to control himself, has manners and is courteous, all while keeping him cooped up. Oliver’s world is small, and it’s up to you that he becomes the best version of himself possible.

Better than you.

Better than Nolan Grayson.

But with that said, you find it a tab bit difficult to be…stern with him.

Something that causes Mark to stare at you in shock and Oliver to know to take advantage of.

In Oliver’s eyes, it’s not ‘your dessert’, it’s ‘our dessert’, always asking you to bring him something whenever you go out and barging into your room while you’re asleep to urge you to play with him.

And when faced with your mom’s sharp glare or Mark’s attempt at a stern face, he knows who to hide behind or shoot a pleading look.

You’ve had to bail Oliver out of a lecture more than once.

(“Seriously?” Mark groans, watching Oliver hook his arms around your stomach, sticking his tongue out at him as you pat his head comfortingly. “He ate the last slice of cake! That I bought!”

“Like you weren’t doing the same every time I brought back anything before you got your powers,” you retort as Oliver giggles.

“And you beat me up for it! You literally slapped me just last week!”

“That was for training, Cecil wants us in top form,” you dismiss with a shrug of your shoulders.

“You could have punched me? That slap was way too personal!”

“That self centred train of thought is what happens when you don’t drink enough water,” you loudly whisper to Oliver, who nods back at you seriously.

Mark throws up his hands in exasperation, stalking away, his place as the middle child apparently too much for him.)

So, when you come home after a quick trip to the Canadian Rockies, aiding a geologist who wanted some pictures for a book he was in the midst of publishing, you’re armed with maple candy and rare rocks to share with your family, you excitedly land in the backyard, only to see Oliver hovering in the air near the glass door, clearly eavesdropping on a conversation between your mom and Mark.

He looks at you like a deer in headlights, but you only gesture for him to move towards you, leading him back to his room through his window. The pictures you took of his Mother and Thraxa decorating his walls, your old room now unrecognizable.

“So, someone got their powers,” you comment, sitting on his bed.

He shrugs, avoiding looking at you.

“They’re not against you having powers. They’re just worried they kicked in so early. Especially since Mark was a late bloomer. It’s not everyday a kid gets the ability to fly whenever and wherever, you know.”

“I know,” he mumbles. “I thought it’d be different. I didn’t know—“

“Didn’t know?” You urge.

“Didn’t know keeping secrets was bad. I didn’t mean to make mom sad,” he admits.

“Secrets aren’t always bad. I mean, it depends,” you try to explain, “Mom’s just worried about you going off and getting into fights like, me and Mark. It’s just not something a parent wants their kid doing. She wants you to be safe, and for you to be safe you need to keep us in the loop. Power like ours is…heavy. You need control and judgement before you even think of doing anything with them. You need to prove you can be responsible, that you won’t end up hurting yourself or others. That means telling at least one of us if anything as big as this happens.“

“You got your powers pretty young though, you were out with dad all the time! April told me!” He blurts out, and you jolt. She did!?

“Ah, right, I guess we were seen together for a while back then. Everyone thought I was his sidekick for a while,” you muse. “Well, I might be exactly why they’re so worried about you.”

“Huh? How does that work? You’re Singularity! You’re so…! Well, you’re kind of cool!”

“That’s because I’m grown up now, things used to be different. Honestly, back then, I was constantly getting my…behind handed to me. And I was a bit of a crybaby, so that made things worse, haha.” You recall neutrally, “It wasn’t all bad. I learnt a lot of things, from dad and my own experiences. But when it was, I never told anyone. And that hurt mom. Things are even more different now. We need to look after each other, to trust each other. And, sadly that means talking about ourselves, whether it has to do with powers, or just how we’re feeling.”

Oliver stares up at you, pensively, before brightening when you pull out your wallet. “Are we—!?”

“Now, us going out to get some midnight milkshakes? Well, that’s the good kind of secret, one between just us,” you two exchange twin grins.

“This is why you’re way cooler and nicer than Mark!” Oliver cheers, shooting up and grabbing a hoodie from his closet, before rushing back to you and tugging you off the bed and towards the window with his new strength.

“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s—“

Maybe you were getting soft.

Oliver: I’m going to be a kid hero!

Mark and Debbie, looking at Singularity: Not in a million years——

*

Cecil: Debbie why didn’t you tell me Oliver got his powers

Debbie: why didn’t you tell me about my then underage daughter’s various injuries and mission turned disasters where both guardians should have been notified?

Cecil: …she told me not to?

*

Singularity: I mean, despite dad, we turned out pretty okay

Mark: um!?

Singularity: what

Mark: you literally threw up two hours ago because you accidentally broke someone’s nose??

Singularity: must be an off day

Mark: your brain damage is catching up to you, and if it’s not that, then it has to be that hole dad punched through you

Singularity: saiyan rules mark, near death experiences make us stronger, it’s like exp, that’s why you’re underleveled

Mark: oh, god you actually have brain damage

Oliver haters dni

Series Masterlist, Masterlist

[manicmanuscription]

Watch Your Step

SJM x Reader Week 2025: Day One @sjmxreaderweek

Prompt: Beginnings / Endings

Pairings: Eris / Reader

Summary: Eris knew his father was going to die today. Afterall it took immense planning. What he didn't expect to meet his mate and he certainly didn't expect to be a blundering idiot as the first introduction.

Tags: mentions of gore, blood, murder, coup, Eris is NOT doing well, slightly evil Eris but he's traumatized so....

Word Count: 875

SJM x Reader Week 2025 | Acotar Masterlist

Eris walked the busy city streets of Herbst with his hands in his pockets, barely noticing the people who passed him by. He had just murdered his father, planned a coup and executed it to absolute perfection. 

None of the villagers even knew their tormentor was dead, although some would be able to guess. The very air itself had shifted when the ancient power found a new host. The blood still staining his hands.

He didn’t know why he had come here, he should be making arrangements for his father’s funeral. Preparing for the announcement of his ‘heart attack’ that would spread through the Autumn Court in just a few hours. Perhaps he wanted a distraction, a reminder of what he had to lose. All he knew was he couldn’t be in that godforsaken house anymore.

The newfound power was thrumming under his skin with a raging vengeance. He felt hot all over as if lava itself had been melded to his very soul. It itched to lash out at any person who brushed against his shoulder as he walked. It begged to be free from the confines of the cage he was struggling to keep intact. 

Everything inside of him was burning and it was overwhelming. His ears rang and he could taste his own blood in the back of his throat. 

It wanted freedom, it wanted to taste the air and dance throughout the forests. It wanted to consume just as much as it wanted to leave and Eris wondered if he would survive it. Black dots dancing in his vision at the restraint it took. 

He briefly thought if this is what drove his father insane and shoved the terrifying notion to the darkest parts of his mind. He would not lose everything he worked for because he could not keep it together as if he was a youngling. He mastered the flame long ago and he would again if that’s what it took.

Eris let out an exhale through clenched teeth, smoke leaving his lips and curling with the very air before hiding in the pollution of the nearby houses all stacked together. He-

Someone ran into him, his distracted state of mind had him stumbling into a cobbled wall. Rage burst along his skin and that newfound beast surged forward with a promise of destruction. Blue sparks of flame dancing in clenched fists. 

He snarled and when he turned to face his attacker the first thing he saw were your hands, hovering over his body as if you reached out to help him but stopped yourself, he trailed the rest of your body until finally landing on those unique eyes and the world shifted on it’s axis for the second time that day. The mating bond snapped in his chest and he swore he heard the ground rumble in response. The universe itself changing the atoms around them to pause time just for that brief moment.

“I am- Holy shit I am so sorry. Are you alright?” You rushed out, studying him carefully, hands still splayed out in the space in front of him. A cautious look in your gaze and Eris was sure he looked like a rabid beast, his clothes rumpled and a vicious stare, smoke curling from under his skin as he burned hotter than he thought possible. 

It was then he realized the hellfire scorching his soul had calmed, instead of urging for freedom it peeked over his shoulder in curiosity. A feeling of calm settling all the way to his bones for the first time in days no-centuries. Hell, maybe for the first time at all. 

Someone called your name from the crowd and he savored the feel of it rolling around his mind. His heart. You cursed under your breath and reached into your cloak, pulling out a few shiny rocks each of them varying in colors. “Sorry this is all I have on me.” You gently dropped them into his hand and he shuddered underneath the brief touch. 

You looked at him expectantly and he realized he hadn’t spoken a single word. When he opened his mouth to try all he could taste was ash. Fuck he needed to say something. Someone called your name again, in a clipped tone and you glanced behind you. “Sorry, again for running into you!” 

And just like that you were gone, whisking yourself away in the haze of people and taking the only peace he had with you. 

That fire reared its ugly head again only this time it had a different purpose a new primal instinct only adding fuel to his newfound power. 

He shook it off and did his best to bury it. Heading back into the streets. Confusion settling over him more than anything else. He would find you. 

No not for courtship. Eris was too determined for love. It wasn’t meant for sadistic monster’s like him. His breathing evened as he settled into his goal-oriented mind. A strategy alreading forming. 

No no, he would find you for the sweet relief you had brought him for he had never felt his fire quiet. Never felt that anxious power be lulled to sleep even before this old power.

At least that’s what he told himself anyways, as he locked that small spark of hope far far away.

[itdontmatter283472374]

What are we? Chapter 3

It was the night before her birthday, and Paige was about to pretend she was going to sleep early—mostly so she wouldn’t have to sit in the quiet of her thoughts—when her screen lit up with Azzi’s name.

She hesitated for a second—thumb hovering over Accept—before answering.

Azzi’s face appeared, dimly lit by the glow of her desk lamp. Her hair was longer now, or maybe just messier, falling in front of her face like it always did when she was distracted.

“Hey,” Paige said, adjusting her phone against a pillow.

“Hey,” Azzi replied. She sounded tired but not in a bad way—just worn in. Familiar.

There was a beat of silence.

“Happy almost birthday,” Azzi added, softer this time. “Are you gonna do anything tomorrow?”

Paige shrugged. “Nika is dragging me to Ted’s. She likes a guy who's gonna be there tomorrow, apparently.”

Azzi nodded. “Fun.”

“Hopefully.”

Another pause. Azzi shifted on her end, leaning back against a wall covered in new posters Paige didn’t recognize. Her room looked lived-in. Different.

Paige hated how that made her feel.

Azzi said, “I was thinking I could come visit. Just for the weekend.”

Paige’s heart did something annoying. “Seriously?”

Azzi nodded, eyes flicking to the side like she wasn’t sure how serious she was until just now. “Yeah. I mean… if that’s okay.”

“Yeah,” Paige said quickly. “Of course it’s okay.”

Azzi smiled. Small. Tentative. “Cool.”

Another silence, but this one felt warmer. Familiar. Dangerous.

“You still like burrito bowls?” Azzi asked.

Paige laughed. “You think I’ve changed that much?”

Azzi tilted her head. “You never know. College changes people.”

The smile on Paige’s face flickered, something unspoken passing between them again. She looked away from the camera for a moment.

“Some things don’t change,” she said.

Azzi nodded. “Yeah. I guess we’ll see.”

It was officially Paige’s birthday, and Azzi didn’t know how she was supposed to feel.

So much had happened since that night in May. They’d promised nothing would change, or at least pretended like it hadn’t—but of course, it had. Their friendship still existed, technically. But it felt quieter now, thinner around the edges. Not broken, just… edited. Cropped.

They still talked—memes, updates, half-hearted check-ins—but the real stuff slipped through the cracks. Paige hadn’t told Azzi about the night she got drunk for the first time, stumbling back to her dorm with glitter on her cheek and someone else’s jacket draped over her shoulders. And Azzi hadn’t told Paige about James—how it wasn’t supposed to mean anything, how she told herself it didn’t, even when it felt like it did.

Then there was the bigger stuff. Like how Paige had come out to her teammates. How it wasn’t just whispered anymore, or something she only acknowledged in the dark. Azzi had found out through someone’s Instagram story—a blurry shot from a party, loud music in the background, red cups and grinning faces. But what made her stomach twist was the way Paige had her arm draped casually over a girl’s shoulder, their bodies close, their smiles too comfortable to be just friends. The tag said something stupid like “sapphics only 💋💅”, but it was the image that stuck with her. Paige looked free. Unapologetic. Seen.

Azzi hadn’t double-tapped the photo. She hadn’t said anything at all.

It was real now, public in a way it hadn’t been when it was just them, tangled in sheets and silence.

They hadn’t fought. There was no dramatic falling out. Just a slow drift, like two satellites caught in different orbits.

She told herself it was just what best friends did. But even that label felt wobbly now, like it didn’t quite fit the way it used to.

And that scared her more than anything else.

Paige, meanwhile, was being bombarded.

The texts were already rolling in—group chats lighting up, a dozen notifications from people she barely knew tagging her in blurry photos and stories with 🎉 emojis. Nika had already yelled "Birthday bitch!" in their kitchen before 9 a.m. and promised tequila later, and Paige had smiled like that felt good.

But underneath it, something was missing. Or not missing, exactly—just quiet.

Azzi hadn’t texted again. Not after the FaceTime. Not since saying she was coming.

They still talked, technically. Still sent each other TikToks and inside jokes and the occasional “miss your face” when it got late enough to say things without really meaning them. But the real stuff—the stuff that used to buzz between them like a live wire—had started slipping away sometime over the summer.

It was like trying to hold water in her hands. No matter how tightly she cupped her fingers, it leaked out.

She hadn’t told Azzi about the first time she got drunk, about how the city lights had blurred into streaks and she’d kissed a girl she didn’t even know the last name of. How afterward, she’d cried in the stairwell, not from guilt or regret, but from this weird ache she couldn’t quite name.

She hadn’t told Azzi about coming out to her teammates, either. Aaliyah had asked casually at a party—“So you’re, like, gay-gay?”—and Paige had just nodded, like it wasn’t a big deal. And then it wasn’t. Word spread. No one cared. It was freeing, in a way. But also lonely. Because Azzi wasn’t part of that version of her. Not really.

And then there was the photo. The glitter, the arm around the girl’s shoulders, the tag, the smile. It was harmless. Fun. Paige hadn’t thought much of it—until she saw that Azzi had viewed the story.

But she never said anything.

And neither did Paige.

Maybe that was the worst part—not what they said, but what they didn’t. The way their friendship had morphed into something polite. Something safe. Like they were both afraid of stepping too close to the edge again, just in case the fall this time actually broke something.

Paige didn’t know about James. She didn’t ask. Didn’t press. But she could feel it—something in the tone of Azzi’s voice, the way she’d started talking around certain topics, the way her laughter felt more like a defense than a reaction.

They were still best friends. But only in the way people still call their childhood house home, even when someone else lives there now.

And yet, Azzi was coming.

She’d texted the night before, like it was just a casual visit, not something that made Paige’s heart twist itself into knots.

“Still cool if I come visit this weekend?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

Paige didn’t know what it meant—that Azzi was coming. That they were going to be in the same room again. That for the first time in months, they wouldn’t have a screen or a phone call or a hundred miles of distance between them.

But she knew how it felt.

Dangerous.

And a little bit like hope.

She had arrived.

Azzi pulled into the parking lot just outside Paige’s dorm complex, the hum of her car engine softening as she shifted into park. The campus stretched out in front of her—wide sidewalks winding between old brick buildings, students crossing the quad with coffee cups and headphones, the faint clang of someone shooting hoops nearby. It looked alive. Bigger than she remembered. And maybe, if things lined up, it could be hers next year.

She sat behind the wheel for a moment longer, taking it all in. The place Paige called home now. The place Azzi might soon belong to.

She was supposed to meet with Geno and CD later that afternoon—an unofficial but important check-in to talk about the decision she’d been circling with her parents all week. No commitment yet, not officially. But it was close. Close enough that her stomach flipped every time she thought about it too hard.

She hadn’t told Paige.

Not yet.

Part of her wanted it to be a surprise—a birthday gift that wasn’t wrapped or posted online. Just… her. Showing up. Fully present. Not as the girl who used to share a bed on weekends and text cryptic one-liners about feelings at midnight. But as someone who was maybe, finally, ready to be part of Paige’s world again. More than just a visitor.

She glanced at her phone, thumb hovering over the text that said “I’m here”, and paused. Her reflection stared back at her in the rearview mirror—slightly windblown, eyes wide with something that felt a lot like nerves.

This wasn’t just a visit.

It was a beginning.

Maybe.

She hit send.

And then she stepped out of the car.

“Wassup, big head,” Paige called out, pushing through the stairwell doors with the easy confidence of someone who knew exactly where she stood—in her space, in her body, in this moment.

She was wearing a loose UConn t-shirt, sleeves rolled up slightly, and a pair of navy athletic shorts that showed off the familiar strength in her legs. Her hair was pulled back messily, still damp from the post-lift shower, and a faint sheen of sweat clung to her skin like proof of how hard she’d just been working. Azzi felt her breath hitch—just for a second—because, damn. Paige looked good. Strong. Like herself. Like the version Azzi sometimes still dreamed about, even when she swore she was over it.

“Not much,” Azzi said, her voice almost too casual, squinting slightly in the sunlight as she looked Paige over. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her hoodie, unsure where to put the weird mix of nerves and nostalgia twisting in her gut.

Paige crossed the short distance between them in a few easy strides, her sneakers quiet on the concrete. Before Azzi could say anything else, Paige pulled her into a hug.

It wasn’t tight, or long. Just enough to register. Warm arms around shoulders, the smell of laundry detergent and whatever body spray Paige always used—vanilla and something faintly citrus. It should’ve felt familiar. And in some ways, it did.

But Azzi stiffened, just slightly.

Not enough for Paige to notice, probably. But enough for Azzi to feel it in her own bones. The way her body flinched inward—not from Paige, but from herself. From the weight of what she hadn’t said yet. From the secrets lodged somewhere between her chest and her throat.

She hadn’t told Paige about James. Or about how she’d been thinking—seriously thinking—about committing to UConn. That she’d be walking into a meeting with Geno and CD in a few hours that could change everything. It had all seemed like part of the birthday surprise, part of the gift. But now, standing in Paige’s orbit again, it just felt like too much unspoken.

And the thing was… Paige didn’t know Azzi wasn’t the only one keeping things close to the chest.

Because Paige was carrying guilt too. The kind she didn’t name out loud, but that still haunted her in quiet hours—like the night she kissed someone new just to see if it would feel like Azzi. Like the day she came out on campus without so much as a warning text. Like the moment she saw Azzi had viewed that Instagram story and never said a word.

The hug ended.

Azzi stepped back with a faint smile, trying to fold her emotions into something more manageable. “You smell like sweat,” she said, teasing just enough to cover the tension.

Paige grinned, unfazed. “That’s how you know it’s real.”

Azzi nodded, biting the inside of her cheek. She was here now. The hug had happened. The weekend had officially begun.

But the real conversation?

That was still waiting.

And it wasn’t going to stay quiet for long.

“So, how’s senior year been so far?” Paige asked casually, her voice light but genuinely curious as she carried Azzi’s duffel bag on her shoulder. They stood at the back of Azzi’s car, the trunk now closed with a soft thud, the early afternoon sun still bright overhead. Azzi had just finished unloading her stuff, but the silence between them lingered for a moment before Paige broke it again. “Decided to commit to UConn yet?” she added with a playful smirk, but there was a confidence behind her words—as if she already knew the answer.

Azzi hesitated, a little caught off guard by the question. She felt her pulse quicken, the weight of what she was about to say hanging in the air. “Yeah, actually,” she said, but paused. The words felt heavier than she’d expected. “I was gonna tell you at dinner, but since you brought it up… I texted Geno last week that I’m gonna be up here and want to talk.”

The second the words left her mouth, Paige stopped dead in her tracks. Her jaw dropped, and she stared at Azzi like she had just announced she was moving to Mars.

“No way, bro, stop playing with me.” Paige’s tone was incredulous, her eyes wide, not fully processing what Azzi had said. She shifted her weight, clearly still trying to make sense of the statement.

Azzi squinted against the sun, lifting her hand to shield her eyes as she shrugged, the weight of the moment suddenly feeling very real. “No, I’m serious.”

Paige stood frozen for a second longer, then repeated herself with more disbelief. “Seriously?”

Azzi gave a small nod. “Seriously.” She could feel the weight of the decision pressing in on her chest, but there was also something in the air between them that made her heart race—something deeper than just the surface-level exchange.

Without warning, Paige dropped the duffel bag to the ground with a thud, her hands shooting out to grab Azzi, pulling her into a tight, unexpected bear hug. Azzi felt the sudden force of it, a mix of warmth and surprise, as Paige’s arms wrapped around her like she was holding on for dear life.

“Paige,” Azzi gasped, feeling slightly smothered in the embrace. She tried to laugh, but it came out strangled as she struggled to breathe, a mix of emotions swirling inside her.

The hug lasted a beat too long, and when Paige finally pulled back, Azzi could feel something damp on her neck. Her heart skipped a beat. “P, are you crying?” she asked, her voice softer now, a little more tentative. She could tell something was off, but didn’t know how to address it.

Paige wiped at her eyes quickly, as if to cover it up, but when she spoke, there was a smile fighting through the tears. “No, bro, I’m just happy.”

Azzi stood there for a moment, unsure of how to respond. She felt the pull of something deeper between them, but she couldn’t figure out if it was just the joy of the moment or something more complicated. “P,” she said, a soft smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Are you really that excited to spend three years here with me?” Her laugh was light, teasing, trying to defuse the sudden rush of emotions that had taken over.

Paige rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the grin that stretched across her face. “Bro, stop trying to make fun of me.”She reached down to grab Azzi’s duffel bag, hoisting it back over her shoulder as if nothing had happened. She started walking toward the dorm stairs, her pace casual, though the smile on her face was wide and genuine.

Azzi stood there for a moment longer, watching Paige walk away, a bemused smile still playing on her lips. “You’re impossible,” she muttered under her breath, shaking her head at the ground. Despite the way her heart was still beating fast, she followed Paige up the stairs, the weight of what was coming next settling between them like an unspoken promise.

P.S. Sorry for posting this so late been out of town, but I also will posting chapter four and maybe five tonight depending on how much time I have.

[another-goblin]

Let's examine some of the less talked about aspects of Dr. Ratio's relationship with the Genius Society as a character.

1. Did he really want to get into the GS?

The answer is, of course, a resounding yes! Or a confident no. Depending on who you ask. But what's the evidence?

The only direct evidence I could think of is this line from his pre-release interview on Hoyolab.

And whether or not it counts depends on whether you consider this kind of stuff canon (some people don't, since it's not in the game).

But at most, for me, it feels like an admission of a normal thing most young scientists would probably say (before he got completely disilusioned in the path of Erudition in particular and the divinity of the Aeons in general).

Like a young person who first gets into a sport might think about winning the Olympics. It doesn't feel like a passionate dream (the anime-esque "I'll dedicate my life to becoming a Genius whatewer it costs me").

What else do we have? His in-game fans' speculations and his former secretary's interpretation of a seemingly insignificant event (strictly speaking, that episode doesn't actually mean anything, let alone prove his wish to become a member of the GS. You can read me ranting about it here )

So the popular idea that his inability to attract Nous' gaze played a big role in his life and psyche seems more like a fan-popular headcanon (that might be the intended interpretation, but still a HC) than a strict reading of the canon. But who can blame us? This man desperately needed a personal inner conflict, and we kind of invented it.

2. What was the narrative point of making him not a member of the GS? What would have changed if he were a Genius?

I'm still not sure.

What distinguishes him from the Geniuses?

Is it the idea that the GS members only do their science for the sake of Nous? And aquire knowledge for the sake of it?

But we have Stephen, who invents things for fun. We have Chadvick, who built that weapon out of hubris. We have Herta, who kind of treats Nous as an equal. We have Dr. Primitive, who just does whatever because he's evil (what's the scientific value of turning people into monkeys?). Or that guy (forgot his name) who seemed to genuinely care about humanity. None of them seem fanatically dedicated to Erudition.

And we have Polka, who seems to be even more of a hater of what GS stands for than Ratio.

Wouldn't it be fun to have a Genius Ratio who saw all the problems with Erudition after he joined, got disillusioned and turned into what he's now, and who's just miserable about it all the time? Because becoming a GS member seems to be a one-way road. How ironic would it be for a genius to preach the idea of how people should not rely on geniuses?

But maybe they didn't make him a Genius to be able to make him join the Intelligentsia Guild?

But the only purpose of that seems to be his connection to Aventurine (the IG being partners with the IPC).

Otherwise, he doesn't represent the IG's values at all. He doesn't see knowledge as a commodity. (He even got angry at Sunday for expecting him to exchange the knowledge of Aventurine's plans for some knowledge on Stellarons). In most cases, all the other characters are very typical representatives of their factions. But in his case I'm not sure why he's in the IG either. Probably just a faction for him to belong to, because we can't have a character who doesn't belong to a world or a faction.

The only potentially interesting thing I can see about the IG is him being a member of the Council of Mundenites. But they did literally nothing with it. Although I still hope that they will (but who am I kidding, with the amount of ongoing plotlines and the new ones they establish left and right, they just won't have time for that)

Btw the IG in general seems like a lot of wasted potential. They had a whole SU update dedicated to it, and they did basically nothing interesting with it. But it's a topic for another discussion.

3. Why didn't he attract the gaze of Nous?

The game doesn't give us any strict criteria of how Nous chooses people, so we can only speculate. I know there are a ton of theories, but they are still theories (I think the one that's supposed to be correct is something about him caring more about helping people help themselves than doing science for the sake of it, but it has been discussed to death already).

But I never saw people talking about my favorite theory, and my main takeaway from Unknowable Domain - the mind-blowing discrepansy between the intellegence of a Genius and that of a very smart normal person. (How Patavia, one of the best IG's scientists, wasn't a match for Herta even with Patavia's intelligence multiplied tens of thousands of times by the scepters).

Which tells me that the intelligence required to become a member of the GS isn't a matter of just being smart or studying hard, but rather a matter of being born a VERY special person. I mean, if you were born an ant, no amount of training would make you as strong as an elephant.

Let's take Stephen Lloyd, a kid who's mostly busy working in his dad's fruit stall and playing video games all day long and sometimes just effortlessly inventing mind-blowing technology in his free time, basically for fun. I don't remember any mentions of his education either. And let's compare him to child Ratio from his professor's recollections. How he worked his ass off from a young age, basically sacrificing his childhood, only to just skip a couple of grades and get into uni early.

And if my interpretation is true, it could play very well into the underlying topic of predeterminism/destiny/fatalism vs. freedom/unknowability the game establishes.

This would turn Ratio's rather simplistic supposed inner conflict of "boo-hoo, senpai Nous didn't notice me and didn't invite me into their cool kids club" into something much more interesting: Dr. Ratio, whose whole life goal seems to be about helping people take the responsibility for their lives into their own hands and stop counting on the higher powers, realizing that the biggest dream of his life could never come true and literally no human or inhuman amount of efforts would get him here. He would never achieve something others can do effortlessly just because he wasn't destined to.

The other interpretation works too: there are mentions of the Geniuses "communing" with Nous after attracting their gaze, so maybe their inhuman intelligence is partly the result of that. Not being able to achieve by hard work and sheer dedication what others just receive from a deity would clash nicely with his "anti-theist" philosophy too. Or maybe explain his current views. I mean, there is a certain sarcastic reverence in how he talks about Geniuses, distinguishing them from humans as a separate category.

What's ironic and kind of sad is that the game proves him wrong over and over again. I mean, who are the most powerful characters, both in-universe and in terms of meta? It's not normal humans who worked hard. Normal humans do nothing but wait to be saved by supernaturally or technologically enhanced beings (mostly us). And sometimes even by Veritas "Normal Person" Ratio himself.

[njwinterquartz]

I know it wouldn’t happen but it would be interesting to see Buck go to Tommy about work and moving up/changing positions at work. Like we saw Tommy go from a firefighter (which he still is obviously) to a fire pilot. So he’s gone through changes in his position at work. He’s had to think about what he wants from his future and his job.

With what Oliver said earlier in the season about things changing in his professional life (not a direct quote just something along the lines of that) and the stills of Gerrard talking to Buck. And with hen in the preview saying what if she doesn’t want to be captain (I still think she’ll end up being captain over Buck just because it doesn’t feel like it’s bucks time yet and she’s been interim captain a number of times and is clearly capable of being captain). It’s clear that we’re starting to get into who will take the spot now that Bobby’s gone, and that’ll play into next season I’m assuming.

Like I dunno, I’m just biased I know about wanting more Buck and Tommy and BuckTommy/tevan. But I think it could be a good conversation for the two to have because Tommy’s gone through something like it before (minus the death part), and see Buck lean on him some more and him give Buck advice about what he could do. Plus seeing how Tommy came when Buck called during the two parter it’s clear at least from my perspective (maybe not from a certain someone else whose name starts with t and ends with im (im still not trusting everything I’m seeing because it’s hard to tell with him)) that there’s still more there.

[haroun31]

Let me take care of you

●|Y!Phosphophyllite x gem!reader|●

●Dark theme--Obsession--Violence--Read only if you are in the right mind set

●I DO NOT CONDONE ANYTHING THAT IS WRITE IN HERE! IF YOU FIND IN A SIMILIAR SITUATION PLS SEEK HELP!!!

(This is an old one shot I wrote like two years ago but never posted, might had it on my book Hnkxreader on Quotev, need to think about it)

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How could this have happened? No wait, that was a question you already knew the answer to, the real question was why hadn't you done anything? You watched his mental health decline step by step, piece by piece. It had all started when Antarcticite had been taken away during that tiring winter but to tell the truth perhaps the nightmare had started even before then. Slowly like a virus, it first made sure to make its way among the colorful inclusions and then exploded in a catastrophe. 

"Im sorry. . .sniff. . .Im s-so sorry. . ."

What kind of friend were you? Can you really call yourself a friend? After all, you didn't do anything special, you only treated him with decency, like a normal friend, you never really got angry at him. It wasn't like you to get angry anyway. And deep down it made you a little sad to always see him all alone in the middle of the vast expanse of grass. Yes, he was certainly lively and a little awkward but you didn't really understand why the other gems felt such contempt towards the peppermint one. 

Clink. . .clank. . .tap. . .clink. . .tap. . .

Maybe you should have listened to them though. 

At a certain point everything had degenerated, you had lost Morga, Goshe, Ghost and Phos' head replaced by that of Lapis. Then the latter was captured and taken to the moon only for him to return completely changed. He no longer seemed like your old friend, he seemed more like a stranger to you. Since he returned from the moon he had become much clingier than usual, almost to the point of being suffocating, as if with every step you took he was at your side, as if every time you went on patrol you could feel his pearly white eye burning your back.

And then out of the blue he asked you to go with him to the moon. On the moon? At that moment you thought that the Lunarians had brainwashed him and this was another one of their stunts to capture you all.

You refused. 

And maybe it was a mistake. Like a switch Phos flipped from calm to panicked. He immediately tried to make you change your mind, even going so far as to beg you and you had the feeling that he would even threaten you if he didn't give in to your umpteenth no. You had seen how the Lunarians had changed Phos, you didn't want the same thing to happen to you. 

Maybe you should have been the one to convince him not to return to the moon but the truth was that you no longer saw him as the friend you knew and loved. That Phos had already been dead for some time. 

"I'm s-sorry, I'm sorry, forgive me. . .p-please, I didn't mean. . .it" 

Then he returned and the earth gems destroyed him and threw his pieces around the island. The one you had you put it under the pillow of your bed. A beautiful fragment of phosphophyllite. It reminded you of the past. But then he was rebuilt by someone and managed to escape. You had an idea who the culprit might have been but revealing it wouldn't change anything. 

You never saw him again until that fateful day. A festive day that should have been reserved for nothing but joy and fun. How ironic. All of you were unaware that the gateway to hell would open that night. Especially, for some reasons. For you. 

Thousands of sunspots appeared in the sky covering it with spots, then from the central one your old friends appeared and in the center of them a gem you had never seen. Gem was a kind description, he was more like a demon, devil, monster, call it what you want but that thing had no right to bear the same name as your lovely innocent old friend. 

It was a complete massacre. Most were exterminated by Alex. You had been spared from his fury only because Benito had beheaded him, now only you and Euclase remained in that room. Phos approached you two, almost gleefully stomping on all the fragments. Euclase tried to talk to him but was mercilessly beheaded before being tossed aside like an old doll. 

Now only you were left.

And you knew damn well that you couldn't do shit against him. Because fuck, at the end he was still your damn fucking friend and you cant hurt him. You already did it when you left him. So you didn't mind that much if he destroyed you. It would have been a bit like the pay for not having tried harder to save him. 

So you dropped your sword as his blade cut you in two and you lost consciousness. 

The story should have ended here right? 

"I-I. . .I just wanted everyone to love m-me. . .Im sorry please. . .you are the only one who cares about me. . .im sorry, im sorry, why did I do that?"

So imagine your surprise when you regained consciousness and the school ceiling welcomed you. You weren't fully adjusted yet, you couldn't feel your legs, a portion of your left arm and your head. Trembling hands completed what was the puzzle of your body, feeling that more and more consciousness and memories resurfaced in your mind. Did Sensei manage to calm down Phos? Did Cinnabar or Jade defeat him? 

Yet a long goopy golden string inserting your missed eye was enough to make your non-existent heart stop. Hadn't they made it? Or did Phos had a change of heart? You could hear his incomprehensible, nonsensical muttering in the background with the words he repeated the most being sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry and sorry.

He was sorry.

"Phos?" your voice was uncertain and his muttering stopped when he heard it. Suddenly the gem, demon appeared in your vision. He hadn't changed, still half destroyed with alloy spikes protruding from his neck and back. That pearly white eye stared at you with such intensity that if you had the strength you would have shuddered. From it flowed uninterrupted tears of gold that fell onto your face before sliding down and mixing with some other pool of alloy. 

He was crying.

"____. . .Im sorry! Im sorry for destroying you! I shouldnt have done it! Im sorry, im sorry, please dont be mad at me! You are the only one who was kind to me! You dont deserve this treatment please, please, please, please." he begged with an exasperated tone as his alloy coiled around you like a snake and continued to rebuild you. 

Feeling that your right arm and abdomen were solid enough you slowly sat up looking around "Phos...what happened?" All around you you could see shards of gems littering the floor. Not bodies, just fragments. As if someone had bothered to chop them all up. At the sight of such a massacre you felt like you were about to self-destruct, a small crack had already formed on your cheek and immediately Phos took your face in his hands and brought it back towards his so that you could no longer see anything. 

God, you didn't know which view was worse. The shredded remains of your friends or the demon that took over your old friend's body. 

His touch was too sweet for a monster like him and with a little powder he covered the crack "I crushed everyone"

You could perfectly see it.

"A-And Sensei?"

"I destroyed him too" he responded coldly, a rather frightening contrast to the state he was in initially. He went too quickly from one emotion to another. "What about the Lunarians?" you continued trying to look around but not being able since Phos still has a tigh grip on your face "Aechema had arrived. . .he wanted the eye of Adamant. I gave it to him and told him to leave me alone. I have no idea what they'll do now. The Lunarians who were here. . ." a dark look covered his face and the white eye almost seemed to light up ". . .they're gone dont worry."

You were worried but not for that. Why was Phos rebuilding you? Has he finally achieved his goal? He wanted to destroy Sensei right? So now he will rebuild everyone and then. . .and then you'll finally sort out this whole thing, right? "We will rebuild the others right? You're rebuilding me so the others will come back too?” You asked as his attention shifted to your broken arm. 

"The others. . ." he began, his tone was cold as inverse and it was as if a veil had fallen over his white eye as if he was getting lost in thought "They never cared about me" suddenly his grip on your arm tightened chipping the surface, his expression dark and totally no longer present in this plane of reality "No. . .they don't deserve to come back. . ." you winced at the force trying to wriggle your arm out of his grasp ". . .I wont let them-"

CRACK!

"Ouch fuck!"

You cursed holding your broken arm, fragments of the gems you were made of fallen down reflecting the sunlight. "Oh. . .oops" Phos said completely emotionless looking at the piece of your arm in his hands before trying to take your broken part and even if you tryed to back away it was no use because his alloy held you in place while he worked on fixing you. 

First he was desperate, then he was acting chill and now it was like he was emotionless?! He was such a fucking mess! A ticking bomb ready to detonate at the first mistake. You could have wriggled, screamed, rebelled but looking at the situation you were in, it wasn't as if Phos was hurting you himself, on the contrary, so you decided to let him do it. 

You will pulverized his face in the future.

Plus it seemed like taking care of you calmed him down and made him happy. His touch was loving and delicate as if he was touching the most fragile gem in the world. You just couldn't understand what was going through his mind, this was no longer Phos, but a demon with his appearance. 

Inserting piece after piece he continued his work as you watched him in silence continuing to ask yourself questions that will never be answered. Of course the most common one was, what will happen now? What does the demon in front of you plan? 

Cling, Clang, Tap, Cling, Cling

Inserting the last piece of your right arm you stretched your hand before your eyes examining the beautiful work done, your pupils then dropped to your legs, still broken, and then moved to Phos. At his side were the rest of your legs already rebuilt, all you had to do was attach them. You looked at them and then looked at Phos expecting him to finish the job or at least pass them to you. 

But his white eye simply watched you, his body giving no sign of moving. "Your uniform is destroyed" he pointed out which made you look down at it. It actually wasn't in good shape at all, in fact, it looked like you were wearing rags instead of a uniform. Kneeling at your side the demon picked you up almost abruptly making you let out a gasp at the sudden movement.

"Phos!? Wha? My legs! What about them!?" you shouted at him as you felt the alloy wrap around your body "Phosphophyllite! Give me my fucking legs! Come on!" you exclaimed again noticing how the gem had ignored you. Phos continued his advance towards where Red Beryl's laboratory was without sparing you a glance. Not wanting to play his game anymore you tried to squirm trying to free yourself from his suffocating grip but all you got was the alloy becoming more aggressive to the point of tying your wrists behind your back.

"Oi Phos! What the fuck are you doing!? Answer me damn it!"

"Let me take care of you"

That was all he said to you before entering the laboratory and taking the first clean uniform he could find then he tried to make you wear it having had a lot of difficulty in his attempt as you continued to struggle repeating that you wanted answers. That wasn't an answer! You wanted to know what was going on! Why you were the only one that Phos was rebuilding, why the others were practically reduced to dust, why he didn't want to give you your legs back! Why?! 

After your umpteenth struggle, Phos' patience was wearing thin and he swiftly twisted his alloy around your arms, pinning you practically on top of the table you were sitting on and brought his face within inches of yours. "If you don't stop I'll break your arms too. I don't care. I just need you to be conscious. Understood?" his tone was cold and his eye was empty like a doll's. 

You nodded.

"Good"

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That night Phos cried.

He cried like a baby, hugging you as he continued to tell you how sorry he was for threatening you and that it will never happen again. You didn't believed the last part. He was too unstable, the fact that he was back in his desperate phase was more than enough proof of that. For the moment you had identified 4 main phases that he tended to take on during the day, the desperate, the emotionless, the furious and the calm. The last one was your favorite. It was the only moment he was willing to answer any of your question.

The next few days were hard for you. You hated from the bottom of your soul that you couldn't do anything. Any proposal you made to reconstruct the other gems was immediately shot down and 90% of the time his mood immediately transitioned into the furious phase. Same thing if you tried to rebuild them yourself. With difficulty you dragged yourself towards them trying to sort through the thousand very small fragments. 

Punctually Phos had caught you in the act and was so angry that he grabbed your arm and broke it. He didn't give it back to you until the next day when with a loving touch he reattached it to you and then burst into tears again at the sight of your visible fractures. It was always so tiring to deal with hid mood swing. Walking on eggshell. It was not fun. And you still didn't understand why you were brought back, why only you? 

"You were kind to me, you are kind to me. My friend, my only friend. I don't want the same thing that happened to Antarc to happen to you too. I cant let it happens"

Why then not bringing the others back?

"You never know who might betray you. They destroyed me without even hearing what I had to say. . .I won't let anyone hurt you. Let me take care of you"

Which translated meant, I don't want to suffer anymore, I want to be loved even if it's just an illusion. And the only person he knew who could love him was you. 

And despite all those swing moods, despite the demon that inhabits your old friend, you wanted to help him. You felt like a fool everytime you felt pity for him, he was liyerhelding you captive! It's not fair. It's not fair how that monster uses his appearance to deceive you because he knows you're desperate enough to believe that old Phos is still there somewhere. So when he cries you console him and he absorbs that affection you give him as if it were lifeblood, desperate for more affection. Something he hasnt got in so long.

He loves taking care of you. Heal your wounds. Help you get from one place to another. Hold you in his arms. It makes him feel like he's finally useful in something, like he's no longer the pathetic old bumbling gem. It makes him feel good. Because this way he can blame his old self if Antarc had been captured, that if he had been as strong as he is now nothing bad would have happened. 

After the news that the white gem could no longer be returned, Phos no longer wanted to risk it. He didn't want to lose you too. Even though you hadn't wanted to follow him to the moon, you had always been his friend, you had treated him with so much kindness that perhaps not even Sensei had ever treated him that way. You were funny, strong, kind even if you tended to curse a little too much. 

So he was happy to be able to solve your problems. Too bad he was the one who created them. Sure he felt extremely guilty if he broke your arm but then the feeling of fixing you was too intoxicating that he simply forgot. It was so much intoxicating that sometimes he wanted to break you on purpose just to rebuild you. But of course he never did. He loved you too much. He could not. 

"I will protect you"

"From who that the only danger here is you"

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Sometimes you wondered how the gems were doing on the moon. Had they already achieved nothinghess? Were they and the Lunarians already gone? Had they abandoned you? 

But then you saw some sun spots in the sky and your non-existent heart beat faster at the idea that perhaps they would come to save you. To tell you the truth, you wouldn't have cared if they took you away but you wanted your friends to be able to be rebuilt. Obviously, however, Phos destroyed them before they could do anything. 

The only chance you had to save your friends was to take their fragments away from the school and place them in plain sight so that the Lunarians would see them and, once Phos was no longer present, take them. You were aware that you didn't know if they would actually rebuild them but it was the only way to save them. Phos kept controlling you so you couldn't. 

The demon didn't ask questions when you took a bag full of gems with you on your walks. He didnt wondered about it when you asked him to take you away from school and while he watched you scatter the fragments. He thought you couldn't stand to see the remains of your old friends anymore and he understood that. 

He had been thinking about throwing them into the sea for some time but that was fine too.

He didnt care.

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After a few years Phos decided to give you your legs back and you couldn't be more than happy. 

You finally no longer had to rely on Phos to get from one place to another. Not that you can go very far now anyway, in the end you lived on an island. Where would you have fled? In water? 

"Are you happy?"

Phos asked you wrapping his arms around you looking at you with his heterochromatic eyes. After a few years of searching he had managed to find the remains of the fragments of Lapis's head and fix it. "Im happy" he continued in a cheerful tone "I always wanted happiness and I received it with you. Only with you." closing his eyes he put his head in the crooks of your neck, a thin blanket separated you two so that you could destroy each other. 

"I love you" a lil kiss was planted on your cheek that cracked together with his lips.

You loved Phos too.

But this wasn't your adorable old friend but a demon in his guise. 

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

[wlw-imagines]

Voicemail - Emily Prentiss x Reader (Criminal Minds)

a/n: we keep going!!!!! this is a personal victory for me - i don't think i have ever published this many fics ever

cw: explosion! that is it

summary: You and Emily have been circling each other for years, partners in the field, friends outside of it, and something undefined in between. You’ve both felt it. Neither of you has dared to name it.

Then, a case goes sideways. You’re separated during a raid. Your phone dies. Emily can’t reach you, she realises some important things.

Later on, still panicked, she leaves you a voicemail.

Part of the May Prompts: Day Six, voicemail

It starts like all good things do... quietly.

A missed moment here, a glance held just a second too long. You and Emily have worked together for years. Long enough to read each other’s silences, to finish each other’s reports mid-sentence, to predict each other’s next move in the field without saying a word.

There’s a rhythm to it, it's unspoken, easy. Banter in the car that softens into something warm. Shared takeout in hotel rooms when sleep feels too far away. Conversations in the quiet hum after cases, where the words don’t matter as much as the way she listens.

You notice the little things. The way she always checks your six before her own. How she carries an extra protein bar in her vest because you always forget to eat. The way her hand hovers at your back when the room gets too loud, like she can tell when your skin starts to itch with adrenaline.

It would be so easy to fall into her.

Sometimes, you think maybe you already have. Sometimes, you catch her watching you the same way.

But nothing happens. No lines crossed and no boundaries broken.

Garcia teases you about it constantly. She calls you 'Prentiss-adjacent', which she says is a lifestyle choice. JJ doesn’t say much, but she gives you this look whenever you and Emily brush hands and pretend it didn’t happen. The look that says you know she’s in love with you, right? The look that makes your stomach knot and you always make a choice to ignore.

You tell yourself it’s complicated.

That the team is family. That crossing that line would change everything.

And Emily… Emily never pushes.

Not even when she catches you watching her across the table during debrief. Not when you’re too tired to pretend you’re unaffected and lean against her shoulder on the flight home. Not even when you fall asleep there and she lets you stay.

She’s careful. Respectful.

You wonder sometimes if it’s fear that holds her back, or hope.

There’s a night in El Paso. You’re both up too late, the hotel air is dry and heavy. You’re splitting fries on the edge of your bed with a bad movie playing low in the background. She says something funny, it is dry, perfect, and it makes you laugh, too loud. She watches you. You feel it.

The moment stretches. Lingers.

You swear you could kiss her. She doesn’t look away and you think you will kiss her.

But then she blinks. Smiles. Looks down at the food between you like she didn’t just feel it too.

So you don’t move.

You just sit there. Almost touching. Almost saying it. Eventually, you tell yourself you’re playing the long game.

But some nights, alone in your own bed, you wonder if the game was actually over before you even got the chance to play.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

It starts, as all things do in the BAU, with the first body.

Downtown D.C., 6:12 a.m. A parking garage tucked beneath a federal building. The car was rigged to detonate on ignition. One victim, a federal clerk, and a crater where her sedan used to be. The second comes four hours later. A brownstone in Columbia Heights. No warning, no call-in. Just an explosion that flattens two floors and takes a retired teacher with it.

By the time the Bureau pulls the BAU in, there’s already a weight pressing down on the team. It's heavy and suffocating. Bombings are always bad.

Random bombings are worse. There are often no demands. No manifesto. No sense of order. Just chaos in a city built on patterns.

Everyone feels it.

Garcia’s voice is tighter than usual in your ear, her normal routine dampened down. JJ hasn’t smiled once all morning. Hotch is clipped, short-tempered. Even Rossi’s jokes come sharp, brittle around the edges.

And Emily...

Emily keeps looking at you.

Not obviously. She’s too good for that. But it’s there, in the way she glances over during briefings, the way her hand lingers a second longer when she passes you files. In the field, she stands too close. Not protectively, no one on the team treats you like glass, but there’s something unmistakable in the way she watches your six today like it’s imperative. It's an instinct for her now, like breathing.

You don’t say anything. You never do.

It's late afternoon when you're canvassing with Reid, a routine sweep of the area around the latest blast. A witness reported a man pacing behind a hardware store with a heavy duffel bag an hour before detonation. It's probably nothing. Most things are. But you follow the lead anyway.

Reid splits off toward the front. You take the alley behind.

Your earpierce catches your attention, "Now be careful here," Emily's voice is low and guarded, a reminder for the both of you but mostly you. No one needs reminding but she has to say it, just in case, "You're looking for anything suspicious but that doesn't mean you push it."

"On it, Em." You promise, "Nothing yet." And Reid confirms similar news from his end too. "But it might be that we find a-"

And then it happens.

You feel it in your teeth before you hear it. That low, thrumming boom that knocks the breath from your lungs. It’s not right next to you but close enough. Close enough that the windows rattle, the sky flashes, and you’re thrown backward by the shockwave. Your ears ring. Your vision skews.

You hit the pavement hard. Brick scrapes your cheek. The scent of burning insulation fills your nose. Smoke rolls over you like fog, thick and chemical. You try to call it in, “This is-" A cough rips through you, "I’m-” There's a crackle in your voice, as the radio dips, "Em, I-" The radio dies in your ear.

Back at the mobile base, everything goes still. A blast, followed by your radio cutting out, silence. Emily doesn’t move at first. Doesn't even flinch as she hears your weak voice splutter out her name before being cut off. Her spine is straight. Her jaw locked.

“Was that—?” JJ starts, eyes wide.

Emily already knows.

“Where were they last? Her exact location?” she asks, voice low but sharp enough to cut.

Garcia scrambles, her fingers flying. CCTV feeds. Cell tower pings. Anything.

“They were in the alley behind Bloom Street,” she says, breathless.

Emily is already moving.

She doesn’t wait for orders. Doesn’t explain. She just goes.

She's hurtling out the doors, down the street, around the corners. Reid is hovering just round the third corner she whizzes past and she almost slams right into him. There is a quick mental check that he is okay, he is upright with no visible marks - not that she can see. Emily quickly brushes off the immediate guilt that she only had you on her mind, never Reid, but now she knows he is safe. There is no time to speak. She doesn’t speak until she sees you.

You're cradled against the back of an ambulance, EMTs checking your vitals. Your knuckles are scraped raw. There's blood dried along your temple, and your breathing comes shallow, but steady.

You’re alive.

She stops short.

You look up, eyes squinting through the remaining curling smoke and ache. You smile. “Guess I found something, huh?”

She doesn’t smile back. Not yet. She just walks over and crouches beside you. Her hand finds your arm, light and steady, like if she lets go, you might disappear.

You lean into her touch without thinking.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Later, back at the motel, the adrenaline fades and the quiet closes in. Everyone retreats to their rooms. Reid’s icing his wrist. Rossi pours two fingers of scotch. JJ calls Will.

Emily stares at her phone.

She’s sitting on the edge of her bed, fingers curled tight in the sheets. The lamp glows low beside her. You’re in the room next door. Safe. Breathing.

And yet her hands won’t stop shaking.

She doesn’t plan it.

She just pulls up your number. Hits call.

It rings. Once. Twice. Then cuts to voicemail.

And still, she doesn’t hang up.

You’re fine. You’re fine. Emily has to keep reminding herself.

You may be bruised and exhausted, but you're safe. You’re sleeping off the worst of it in the next room, unaware of how close it got, how close she got to losing you.

She should walk away. She should let you rest. She should wait for morning, when your eyes open and you meet her with that tired smile you always save for her.

Instead, her voice, when it comes, is quiet. Too soft for a woman who’s stared down death more times than she can count. It’s a whisper she doesn’t intend for anyone else to hear.

“I know you’re okay.” She speaks into the waiting voicemail.

She leans her head back against the wall. Exhales like she’s been holding her breath since the explosion.

“I know you’re just in the next room. Breathing. Healing. Probably dreaming about not getting blown up.”

She huffs a laugh. It doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“But earlier, for a few minutes, I thought... I thought I was going to lose you. And I realized... if I had, I wouldn’t have said it. Not once. Not when it mattered.”

She swallows. Her fingers tighten around the phone.

“So I’m saying it now. Even if it’s the wrong time. Even if you’re not listening. Even if you’ll never hear this. I know you never listen to your damn voicemail but... I don't know, maybe it's a coward's way out...”

A pause. Then, barely a breath:

“I love you.”

She closes her eyes. Lets it sit there in the air between them, even if you’ll never know.

“I’ve loved you for a long time,” she continues, quieter now. “Longer than I should’ve. Longer than I’ve let myself admit. But it’s true. It’s always been true.”

Her fingers twitch toward the hang-up button. She doesn’t press it.

“I don’t expect anything. I just… needed you to know. Because if anything ever happened and I hadn’t said it…”

She trails off.

Then softly, “Goodnight.”

She ends the call before she can say more. Before she does something really reckles. If it were up to her, she would knock on your door or curl up in the chair outside it just to listen to you breathe. But she doesn't. She can't.

She deletes the log from her phone immediately. No trace, nothing to remind her of the potentially idiotic move she has just made. It will now remain a distant memory that she can choose to ignore. However, she must admit, she feels better for the words being out there in the world.

She feels emotionally spent, and now, after a confession, she can rest.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

You wake to sunlight pushing through the thin hotel curtains, pale and golden and warm against your face. Your body aches, deep and dull and everywhere, a patchwork of bruises and stiffness, the sharp memory of being too close to the blast echoing in your ribs.

But you’re alive.

You remember the scramble to safety. The radio calls that did make it through amongst the long silences where you felt so alone. The sound of Emily’s voice over comms, clipped, professional, but trembling at the edges.

You remember her hand on your back when you made it out. The way she held on, just a second too long. The way she didn’t let go even after the medics cleared you.

You push yourself upright, muscles protesting. A bottle of water waits on the nightstand. So does your phone, charging where someone, probably her, left it. There's a quiet hum to the room. No TV, no voices. Just the low buzz of distant city noise.

You rub at your eyes, then tap the screen of your phone.

One new voicemail.

Your heart jumps a little. Emily Prentiss. A timestamp that marks it as a late message. From last night. After the dust settled. After the adrenaline wore off. After you fell into this bed and didn’t move.

You hesitate. You feel the weight of the message as if it had actually weighted down your phone. You're not sure you can deal if it's a butt dial. You need it to mean something.

Eventually, you press play.

Emily’s voice filters through the speaker, it is low, uneven, tired. But something else is there too. Something unguarded.

“I know you’re okay.”

You freeze.

“I know you’re just in the next room. Breathing. Healing…”

You sit back slowly, the phone pressed tight to your ear. Every word is soft, but it hits hard. She doesn’t sound like the agent you’ve worked beside for years. She sounds like someone who almost lost the person she loved and didn’t know how to say it until it was almost too late.

Your throat tightens.

“I love you.”

You close your eyes.

God.

She said it. She really said it. Like the words had been waiting all this time, coiled up and burning.

You listen all the way through. Twice. Maybe even a third time.

You don’t delete it.

Instead, you save it.

Then you get up, carefully, tug on your hoodie, and step into the hall.

Her door is closed. You know she’s inside, her room is always next to yours. You’ve never questioned it. Garcia calls it convenient. JJ calls it obvious.

You don’t knock. Not yet.

Instead, you slide the phone back into your pocket and breathe.

Later. Not now.

She said it first. She said it when she thought it might be her only chance.

And that matters. That means everything.

When you finally see her, when she opens her door later that morning in sweatpants and a faded FBI tee, coffee in hand, hair still damp from the shower, you don’t say anything at first.

But you hug her.

Longer than usual.

And this time, she holds on.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Emily’s been quiet the whole plane journey home.

Not tense exactly, not visibly, but you know her too well not to see it. The way her jaw tightens when you crack a joke. The way her eyes flick to you too often, like she’s checking for damage. Like she’s checking for distance.

She’s giving you space. Or trying to.

She thinks you didn’t hear it. Or worse, that you did, and you’re choosing not to respond. She’s always been good at hiding her fear in the field, but this is different. This is personal. This is her heart, left unguarded in the dark.

And now she’s not sure what’s left of it.

The case had been wrapped by late morning. The bomber’s in custody, the paperwork is filed, and the team splits off in pairs as soon as your feet hit the jet. Some playing cards, others talking, one or two already on paperwork.

Despite her attempts at avoiding you, you and Emily end up in the back seats, alone.

Of course.

She lets her body relax into the leather, arms crossed loosely, head tipped back against the fabric. Her shoulders curve inward like she’s bracing for something... an impact, a silence, a goodbye. You watch the clouds rush past the window.

Then, “I got your message.”

Her eyes fly open. Her head turns sharply. “What?”

You glance at her, lips tugging into the smallest smile. “The voicemail. I heard it.”

Emily doesn’t move. Not at first. Her mouth opens, but whatever apology she’s about to form dies before it makes it out. “I’m s—” she starts, and that’s all it takes.

You shake your head gently. “Don’t be.”

The plane hums.

You shuffle in closer, slow and sure, until you’re in her space, not crowding, just close. Close like you always are, but this time there’s no pretending. No safe distance.

“Because I love you too.”

There. Said. Simple and clear.

Emily exhales, sharp and shaky, like she’s been holding that breath for a year. Maybe longer. “You do?” she says, and it’s not doubt, it’s disbelief. Hope, raw and cracking open.

You nod. “Yeah. I think I have for a while.”

Her lips part, eyes glinting, and you can see it all in her: the fear, the relief, the flood of everything she hasn’t let herself hope for.

Someone wins a round of cards at the other end, there's some laughter, applause.

Neither of you move.

Not yet.

You reach for her hand, slow and deliberate, fingers brushing hers until she laces them through yours.

“You could’ve told me,” you say softly.

She nods. “I know. I just didn’t want to risk losing you.”

You squeeze her hand. “You never would’ve.”

And she believes you.

Because you’re still here. You came back. And this time, there’s no almost. No missed timing. No unsaid thing left floating between hotel rooms and half-glances.

This time, it's real.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

It's the next day and the moment you walk into the BAU together, you know you’ve been made.

It’s not the holding hands - you’re not, though your hands did brush on the way in, fingers hovering like it’s second nature now. It’s not even the matching coffees or the fact that you tried to arrive a minute apart on purpose like it wasn’t planned.

It’s the look on Garcia’s face.

She clocks you both from across the bullpen, blinks once, and immediately abandons her desk.

“You!” she stage-whispers, pointing dramatically. “And you!”

You open your mouth to deny, deflect, do anything that might buy you a few minutes of peace but Emily just lifts her coffee and takes a slow sip, as if to say go ahead.

Garcia gasps like you just proposed in the elevator.

“I knew it! Oh my god. Oh my god. When? No, don’t tell me yet, I want to guess. Vegas? The jet? Wait- were you secretly dating during that Seattle case last year?!”

Emily finally smirks, setting her coffee down on her desk. “You’re spiraling, Penelope.”

“That’s because I’ve waited years for this and no one told me!” Garcia clutches at her heart like you’ve both committed high treason. “JJ owes me twenty bucks. She said it wouldn’t happen until one of you almost died again.”

“Technically,” JJ says as she walks up, grinning, “I said it would take another near-death experience. Which it did.”

You groan. “You all bet on us?”

“Not bet,” Rossi says as he strolls past. “We just made… educated predictions.”

“I made a chart,” Garcia says brightly.

You blink. “A chart?”

“Oh yeah. Variables, timelines, body language analysis, shoulder-touch frequency. Spencer helped.”

Reid, from the coffee machine: “Their eye contact increased by twenty-seven percent after Denver. It was a trend.”

Emily chokes on her sip. “You graphed our eye contact?”

“And your coordinated outfits,” Garcia says. “But that part was less conclusive.”

“Wow,” you say. “I feel so… known.”

“Oh, honey,” JJ says, “we’ve known.”

She gives you a look. One you’ve seen a dozen times, in hotel hallways, beside SUVs, during post-case exhaustion when you’d sit too close and say too little. She saw it before you did. They all did.

And now, it’s just out in the open.

Emily reaches for your hand. It is subtle, brief, but steady. You don’t hide it.

“Hey, just so we’re clear,” Garcia says, spinning dramatically on her heel, “I’m officiating the wedding.”

“There’s no wedding,” Emily calls after her. "yet."

“Yet!” Garcia echoes from the hall with a whoop.

[ct-multifandom]

I think it would be really great if Marc was canonically adopted, it would add some nice variety and realism to the show!

I hope someone on the cast will be! I agree that it would contribute to them showing different types of families.

Recapping what I said about Marc for people who didn’t see my episode reaction post:

I noticed that while he does share some features with his mom, he doesn’t really look like the dad, and he has features that neither of the parents have.

In more detail, both Marc and the mom have sharp chins and similar mouth shapes with the dimples, which is something new they added to his redesign. She seems to have green eyes like him, although hers aren’t as saturated in color. They also have the same hair texture, (not to mention hairstyle, although that doesn’t mean much). Their ears might be similar shapes. His eyes look pretty similar to hers, especially when they’re closed.

Both the parents have yellowish skin undertones while Marc’s is more pink. He has thicker eyebrows than both of them. His nose is upturned while both the parents have downturned noses, and his is less bridged than theirs. We don’t know what the dad’s hair color used to be, but Marc for sure doesn’t get his from his mom.

So I wouldn’t be surprised if this is a bio mom and stepdad (or maybe even an aunt and uncle?! Their overly cool and chill vibes are giving aunt and uncle). The character designers are usually pretty good at making families look related, especially the ones designed later, so this standing out to me feels like it could be something. I wonder if anyone else had the same thought. Side-note, I want them to finally reveal what Marc’s ethnic background is. Why is he so racially ambiguous? Truly one of the deepest lore mysteries in the show. Also what do y’all think the parents’ sky-related pun names are gonna be because you know they’ll have them.

^ so if it’s an aunt and uncle he’d be adopted but if it’s a mom and stepdad then he wouldn’t be. But this is all speculation. If he’s not, then other characters could be.

Kim has two dads, but he might have one bio dad and one step dad. I’m thinking that because he’s Vietnamese and has a Vietnamese last name, so maybe it’s more likely that he got the name from his bio dad rather than a random Vietnamese guy in France adopting a son of the same nationality.

Kim has been accidentally retconned to have 3 different last names over the course of the show, and I remember reading somewhere that two of them might be repurposed for the dads (don’t remember where I saw this). But yeah Le Chien is like the “canon” one, but there was also Ature in earlier concepts because Kim Ature is a pun on immature (I see why they got rid of this. It’s not very accommodating for character development). He has also been referred to as Nguyen at least once and idk where that comes from ??? Other than it being a super popular name? But my theory/headcanon rn is that Mr. Le Chien is Kim’s bio dad, Mr. Ature is his stepdad, and Ms. Nguyen is his bio mom. We know how much they love reusing scrapped concepts for other things, so let’s see what they do with Kim’s family.

We also don’t know what Rose’s parents look like! She could easily be adopted since all we know about her family is that they exist.

I agree with you though, I’d like to see someone be adopted, and it would serve as yet another parallel to Adrien’s life since Nathalie is becoming his guardian now. Doubly so if that person wasn’t adopted very young and they remember the change. It’d be nice to have a parallel that’s not about abusive parents but rather someone who moved on from bad or dead parents to a loving new home and showing how they deal with that.

[nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius]

Unfiltered Tales of the Underworld ramblings (Bane arc), spoilers below!

IS THAT BABY BANE

Street rat Bane!!

He's so cute

WHY?? DOES THE MOTHER LIZARD HAVE TITS

??? Hello hat man??

Blue baby has to be Bane, right? Then who's the be-hatted fucker

I'm going to call the green baby Robert de Niro

Hello droid who suspiciously has Cad's initials

Well this guy certainly acts a lot like Cad. So far I'm intrigued

I just don't want them to mess with our discord server lore but I know they're gonna 😭

Oh, so his parents are dead?

Hello again very creepy hat man

Child labour™️

COLBY???

IM SORRY WHAT-

COLBY

I can't accept this

Damn, they traumatised Robert de Niro

Noooo he left his bestie behind

He looks so saaad 😭

So is Niro going to be the green guy from the trailer then?

Episode 2 let's goooo I'm worried

He's starting to get the accent!!

I ain't ever calling him Colby sorry

OH NO IS THAT THE GIRLFRIEND I KEEP SEEING PEOPLE TALK ABOUT

That man is gay sorry I refuse to accept this

Hat man's name is Lazlo?? Well this isn't confusing after coming from WWDITS

THE OMINOUS HAT ROLL

It would have been nice to see some of Bane bonding with Lazlo so we actually got the justification for why he reacted like that

HI AGAIN ROBERT

He's going by Cad because that's his fucking name, I don't know a Colby

NIRO FELL FOR THE COPAGANDA??

So what happened to Niro?

THE DONNING OF THE HAT

OH SHOOTING THE REFLECTION

THAT WAS A GOOD MOMENT

I don't know how to feel about this. It's a good story but it changes so much of what I'm used to from RP stuff and ahhhh

(and I also genuinely dislike him being called Colby)

MMMM THOUGH NEVER MIND THE MILD CRITICISM THAT PILLAR LEAN

Gettim Cad

PICK HER UP AND RUN FFS

Stop staring into each other's eyes longingly

Noooo :/

He has to have a backup plan

OMINOUS ENDING HELL YEAH

Okay that final shot was cool

FINAL EPISODE IM VERY SCARED

So how much time passed?? Quite a while, from the look of Robert

YAY HE GOT OUT

Is this a no good deed goes unpunished reference?

Oh my god my friend called the dead wife/girlfriend storyline

Hate hate hate hate hate

So Arin hooked up with Niro, right, cool, this is fine

ISAAC????

ISAAC?????

WHY ARE WE GIVING THEM HUMAN NAMES EXCUSE THE FUCK ME

I have a fuckass cousin named Isaac I hate this

I'm going to guess that's Bane's kid and not Niro's. Oh. Oh I hate this

It feels?? Wrong

Even without the context of having my friend's better lore I don't know if I would like

Oh it's the woman with the inaccurate tits from the start

AAAAAAA

okay I still don't like this but the Bane entrances/exits? Top tier. So fucking cool

I love the music they have for him

Why do you caaaaaare you're gaaaaay

Deputy what when who the fucken

So we got Marshal Robert de Niro and Deputy JD Vance?? Okay great fine this is fine

The Walk™️

STOP CALLING THE MAN COLBY

Why is the baby here???

We never really got to see any development with Bane and Arin. They played cards once and now suddenly she's his whole world

AND TWO SECONDS AFTER I TYPE THAT WE GET "YOU TOOK EVERYTHING FROM ME"

Well the music is good at least

I don't knowwww I feel like this could have been a really good storyline if it wasn't the stereotypical heterosexual crime drama of gangster's girlfriend hooking up with another guy while he's in prison

AND THAT ENDING WAS SO???

I AT LEAST WANTED CLOSURE

Iiiiii don't know. Maybe I set myself up to dislike that because I'm so attached to what my friend's put together but also.

Everything just felt a bit rushed

The hand out for Isaac was emotional but also???? The buildup was

Fuck

I'm incoherent goodbye I'm going to watch Ventress

[david-the-great]

Okay, Who the hell was she?! He obviously knew she was of course, another Heather. Maybe he’d seen her once at a party, hiding timidly in the corner as if the worse thing she could do was enjoy herself and feel the touch of a real college boy. But hell - she was a nobody! A waste of time who shouldn’t even have dared to be in his sight. But when Heather, his bride-to-be pulled the sorrowful girl out of his grip? Oh, that was what broke him. Her behavior lately just wasn’t fucking acceptable, and today was the last time he truly had the freedom to make her pay. Tomorrow he would worry about her wounds, and tomorrow he’d be in line to takeover a Fortune 500 company all because of some silly vows, but today? Today he had the privilege to make Heather unravel under his own fists.

“Oh don’t you fucking start Heather, you knew what would happen if you brought your little sluts here. I just wished this one was better to look at.”

David’s tone was shaky, and the smile plastered on his face would quickly crack. The man’s face contorted into a vile sneer as his hand grazed McNamara’s shoulder, quickly changing course to wrap itself upon Chandler’s gorgeous mass of freshly done hair. Sometimes, it seemed to be the only thing his Heather did well - Appreciate her name enough to form a high school cult around. And that’s just what it was, a high school clique, something that would be completely beneath them if Heather hadn’t decided to hold on so tightly. A group of pathetic rejects, all of whom would be better off stuck in highschool like the weak little girls they were. Except Heather, and maybe that’s why her choice to grasp on to these girls like a lifeline irritated him so much. She was better than this, she was a Chandler, with the blood of a model and the world’s top businessman flowing through her. But, she was worthless without David. Just another girl to end a family line of strong men, and prominent success.

David would start his march out of the room, shoving a dazed Veronica out of his way. Hopefully the girls would take the hint, that Heather was to leave them in the past like how he was leaving them alone in the room. His grip was deathly against the girls scalp, hearing her feet roughly stumble across the wooden floor. Today wasn’t the time for this, and now he had to ensure Heather stuck to the plan. No matter the cost, and a black eye from her gross disobedience wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen to her. After all, there was a reason he had procured a veil.

“I’ve about fucking had it with you- you are constantly out of line! You’re a bitch 24/7, and then play the victim when I’m the one ensuring your god damn future here! God, when will you get that through your thick fucking skull?! YOU WOULDN’T BE HERE, WITHOUT ME.”

David would hiss out, her strawberry blonde hair interlaced within his fingers, wrapping around his hand like a vice.

“And don’t you dare whine about your hair! The hairdresser already came to Marcus about your little fiasco about it!”

He’d steal a quick glance back at McNamara and Veronica, a cheeky grin on his face as if he was holding the winning cards in poker.

“Which by the way, it’s dyed. Just A pathetic little fucking ‘statement’ piece.”

He’d snap his head towards Heather, his face a distorted sneer. A ravenous expression of anger, as he spit out the words like fire.

“Just like this bullshit little show of ‘rebellion’ you’re putting on right now. Because everything is just a show with you! Huh Heather?! You don’t know how good you have it! Just a poignant daughter, and an unappreciative mistake!”

David practically screeched out. By now he had reached the stairs, and was menacingly stomping down them, giving no care to the girl he pitifully dragged behind him.

@greasylittlenobody

Veronica, like any other driver, hated parallel parking. Unfortunately, judging by how many cars lined down the street of the church, there was no other option. She had suggested to Mac earlier that day about waiting for other guests to arrive first, because it would be easier to sneak through once the hosts become preoccupied with many other guests.

she smoothed out her plaid blue dress, quickly checking her reflection out in her small silver pocket mirror, then whipping her head to Heather. “Ready?”

@heathermcnamara1989

[silverysongs]

i binged "nobody wants this" today because I was home sick and I'm 100% sure that "the good place" is still a better rom-com

[puppppppppy]

man ok so you know the spiciness scale on menus that show you how spicy a dish is so you can order based on your tolerance. can we have that for sauces too please

[quarks-pussy]

Mirror Kira is something that can actually be so personal

[ritualove]

Alma smiled at Copper's explanation, "I understand." Though, she didn't. It was obvious there was a whole situation she didn't know about, and she really didn't want to press Copper for answers. Then again, she felt like she might be able to help, and if there was any chance of that being the case, she wouldn't want to miss it. After staring blankly at the jewellery they still stood infront of, she decided to just leave it. It wasn't her place. Though she could probably help if she knew more... Alright she will consider it more but she's pretty sure she will just leave it. Maybe.

"Well they are very pretty names!" Alma gleefully said before realising the possible discordant implications of her calling Copper's name pretty. While she secretly thought it was pretty silly, her parents and church had always instilled strict gender norms, so some deep part of her pushed for her to fix her mistake. "Or, you know, handsome names! Handsome name and pretty name. Yeah." While awkward, it saved her from any offense given. Unless Copper had already felt offended, she better fix that too in anycase. "Sorry." Classic, smart, the perfect word to wrap up the situation.

Alma felt stuck between a rock and a hard place thinking about Copper's proposed apology idea. On one hand, she knew in her heart that no amount of jewellery would make her feel better if someone hurt her as much as what Copper makes it out. On the other, it really wasn't her place to dictate what Copper should do, she didn't know anything, Her mind went back to her early teachings in the church, foundational things that she learnt in her youth completely seperate from any religious bias. Apologies mean nothing unless they come with change. She felt like what she had in mind was pertinent enough to say, so turning from the jewellery cabinet to face Copper with a little too much enthusiasm for the situation, she proclaimed, "Well... It sounds like you don't think anything wrong has happened. Or not that but, what happened was necessary to happen?" Her thoughts were betraying her at somepoint between her brain and her lips, she shook her head and retried, "What I mean is that you shouldn't try too hard to make things right. To you, whatever happened needed to happen, even if it was against whatever Hypatia wanted. You understand why she's angry, and you want her to understand your feelings too." She let out an exasperated sigh, feeling like she hasn't quite gotten out what she wanted to say. Pausing for just a moment, she tried again, "Let her be angry at you. You can't fix what happened, and it sounds like it was good for you. If she cared, she would be happy as well. Not that she's bad for being angry. That's understandable. Obviously. Or not obviously but..." She let out another breath, "Apologise, let her be angry, and give her the chance to think about it. She's your sister, family always come back around for each other." She was uncertain with whether or not she was actually done, but by the fact she didn't continue to speak, it would be a pretty good assumption that she was.

Right away, Copper wished he hadn’t said anything to Alma about what he was apologizing for. He could tell by the look on her face that she was stunned, and without knowing the context, he could only imagine what she was thinking. Hell, Hypatia knew the context and was still pissed at him. And then Alma replied, and Copper couldn’t help but laugh, especially when she amended her statement. “It’s pretty bad, yeah,” he said with a laugh, though he wasn’t laughing at what he’d done, only at Alma’s reaction. More seriously though, Copper vaguely explained a bit of the situation. “There really were good reasons for me leaving,” he told Alma. “Some…things happened, and I was doing it for everyone’s own good. Hypatia just doesn’t see it that way.” That was all Copper said about it, and he just smiled at Alma now, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

Glad that he hadn’t made Alma uncomfortable, Copper replied, “Yeah, my dads wanted us all to have ‘powerful’ names as they say, choosing ‘inspirational’ historical figures to name us after. Those are their words, powerful and inspirational. So they settled on Aristotle, Copernicus, and Hypatia. And I got a double whammy with the middle name Galileo. Interesting is definitely one way to describe it, though I wouldn’t have agreed when I was younger.” Now though Copper liked his name. At Alma’s question, Copper explained, “Well I plan to also write a heartfelt apology letter, but I think it might carry a little extra oomph if I include something fancy and/or shiny. Hypatia is not above bribes.” But Copper understood what Alma was saying, and he leaned against the side of the jewelry case and sighed. “Even that might not be enough,” he admitted. “She’s really angry, and I see her point of view. I just wish she could see mine too.” Copper knew this might not mean much to Alma without knowing the full story.

[vaguehotels]

had the most braindead repetitive conversation/argument with my parents. buzz cuts are too masculine but if you dye a design on it it become effeminate which is bad because then you look weak and if youre weak then society falls apart (all societies ever that have fallen apart for any reason are actually because of feminine men) and we start sacrificing babies. and also all mental illness is invented because only 4 people had anxiety in the 90s and covid was made up so that we would all become gay and trans and then the government can control us better and be joe biden's little sex slaves. and also i need to keep my hair long because my father finds it attractive. what