#TALES SET IN HELL ITSELF

[ask-de-writer]

I would like to thank Delightfully

EAGER BINGE READER

@furislupus​ for READING and LIKING

My whole MASTER STORY INDEX SECTION,

He finished reading in MLP Fan Fiction with

Tam and Heather (Chapter 12)

and went into the BIZARRE BORDERLAND

GENII’S JUNK

WEEK OF THE BLACK DRAGON (Parts 1 & 2)

And bounced straight into Tales Set in Hell Itself

NICK’S PLACE

BUSINESS LUNCH

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

Infernal Shadows 02

Synopsis: Being one of the most powerful overlords in Hell, you like to keep up with colonies and overlord plans. Recently with the new extermination date out, you hold your annual gala sooner than usual. You hadn’t expected to get in the middle of the already heated feud between the Radio Demon and the head of Vox Tech.

Warnings: She/Her pronouns used for the reader, mentions of blood, voodoo?, Angel Dust being a horn-bag, Reader is referred too as Madame to the public. Vox and Alastor feud because I live for it.

Song for this chapter: HAUSER - Adagio (Albinoni)

A/N: I’m so glad part one did well! I really liked this idea and hoped other people would too. As always comment if you want to be tagged and I will tag you in the next post! I wanted this to be three parts, but depending on how much I can fit in this chapter and the next one, I’ll see if I need to make four parts. The song at the beginning of this chapter is meant to be played when the line “ The music picked up” Is read. Skip to 5:35 for it to play smoothly, or as smoothly as possible.

Word count: 3.k or something over that idk I got too lazy to count :(

Taglist: @dollops-of-delusion @nebusokuxp @scrunchss @rosedasy @valluvz @chesstras @pishybowl @iaaeav @forgotten-blues @22carolina08 @roboticsuccubus83 @doflamingadonquixote

Navigation!! // Masterlist!!! // Serendipity Writes (event) // Part One. // Part three.

Within, the grand foyer unveiled itself, revealing a sweeping staircase adorned with a rich, mahogany handrail in stark contrast against a black and white color scheme. Crystal chandeliers, dangling from lofty black ceilings, cast their brilliance upon white walls adorned with ornate mirrors. Plush Victorian-era furnishings, upholstered in rich black and white fabrics, adorned the parlor rooms, establishing cozy settings for guests to assemble and engage in enriching conversations. Each room murmured tales of a past era – intricately patterned black and white wallpaper, frames gilded in black to showcase classical art, and a subtle aroma of aged wood and lavender lingering in the air, harmonizing with the monochromatic elegance. The guests walking in all marveled at the details of the mansion.

Charlotte and Vagatha both stepped in, Charlotte in awe of the detailing. A shadow figure bent down slightly to offer her a drink, to which she happily took.

“Vaggie this is all so beautiful. I hope I can make a good impression.” Charlotte said, turning to her partner to ease her nerves. Vagatha just smiled, a hand on her shoulder lovingly.

“You’re gonna do great babe, besides, there’s so many people here, if one likes it I’m sure other people will get on board too.” Vagatha said.

“Or they can laugh at you if one person points out how ridiculous it is.” Husk said, chugging his drink before placing it back on the servers tray.

“Thanks for the kind words Husk.” Vagatha said sarcastically. He just shrugged, looking towards the bar area which was practically calling him over.

Upstairs in your room, you stared at yourself in the mirror as your shadows made the finishing touches on your outfit. Draped in a long, elegant black gown that gracefully embraced your commanding figure, the fabric cascaded like shadows. Delicate chain motifs intertwine with the dress, creating an alluring dance of darkness. A chain belt cinches your waist, a subtle nod to your captivating ability to ensnare and command over your shadows. Completing the regalia, silver chain cuffs adorn your wrists, reflecting both power and refinement.

“Madame, the guests are all in the lobby awaiting your arrival.” One of the shadows said. You nodded, stepping down from your showcase, winking to yourself in the mirror before chuckling to yourself. A shadow approaches you, bowing in respect before holding out a tray with your drink, a contrast to your dark colors. You take the glass in your hand, another shadow lightly putting a thermometer in your drink so it’s the perfect temperature for you, fifteen point five degrees Celsius. The liquid is a light yellow-ish green, Lafite-Rothschild, an expensive French wine you tried in 1906 when you were alive. Lifting it to your lips, you take a long sip and sigh, the spicy and earth notes, mixed with a hint of tobacco and red Barrie’s dance on your tongue like a performance of Gavotte. You pull back with a sigh, setting the glass down, a perfect Ridel Vinum Bordeaux, personally crafted for you as the bottom of the glass is a Smokey black, fading into clear glass towards the top.

“Let’s get this Gala started shall we~?”

In the lobby, guests were socializing amongst themselves. Velvet, Vox and Valentino had split for a short while. After the incident outside, the two overlords wouldn’t stop tantalizing the picture box about his fit of frustration dealing with the Radio Demon. From the lobby, there were large crystal doors revealing the back exterior of the house. The greenery was just perfect, with cobblestone flooring revealing another bloody fountain. Vox stood with his drink, speaking to some sinner he couldn’t remember the name of, about how well his business was going.

“You ever get,” Vox asked, eyeing one of the shadows who stood in a corner, white eyes soulless as they held out drinks to guests. “Creeped out by those, things?” Vox asked, turning back to the sinner. He just scoffed.

“Please, they’re always around and as far as I know, harmless.” The sinner said. At that, a shadow appeared between the two, taking their empty glasses and replacing it with new, full ones. Vox tried his hardest not to seem alarmed at this, and took the glass silently, sipping his drink slowly as it floated away. It was then he took in the shadows appearance. They all looked the same. Tall figures, Smokey outlines, but no feel or hands, just a faded end to their limbs. Their eyes were white and soulless, almost as it they were vacant, a shell of what they used to be. There were no facial features, just two white circles and a thin white line for their mouth. Each one however, had a light Smokey chain around their chest, wrapped in the shape of an X.

“What are the chains for then? They’re pretty much smoke, what do they need chains forever?” Vox asked. The associate laughed, but before he could answer, another overlord stepped in.

“They have chains because they’re claimed souls.” Fredrick Von Eldritch says, his sister Bethesda in toe. The two grin, a shadow following behind them with a tray of their drinks. “If you get invited to the gala long enough, you get a personal one.” He said with a wink, gesturing to the shadow behind the two.

“They’re quite cute once you get used to them.” Bethesda said with a smile, cooing at the shadow lightly. Yet, it still remained expressionless.

“Actually, now that you say that.” The sinner says, looking around for a moment. “It’s been awfully quiet with a laugh track being played.” He says, referring to Alastor. Vox just rolls his eyes.

“Who gives a shit about where that old timey freak is?” Vox asks. Fredrick and Bethesda snicker to each other, catching Vox’s attention.

“Probably hunting for his dear Madame.” Bethesda said dramatically, laying her head on her brothers shoulder and batting her lashes playfully. Fredrick and the sinner laughed at his sisters antics, but Vox grew serious.

“What does that mean? He knows her?” Vox asked, to which Fredrick scoffed, finishing his drink before reaching for another off the shadows server tray.

“Of course he does. She died before him, and they’re the closest overlords in time period. Well, aside from Zestial and her.” Fredrick explained. Vox didn’t say anything else, instead looking to the red ‘moon’ of hell, before glancing at the blood fountain. He had heard rumors about being at the Madame’s table, and how she gave the inside to all her projects and plans before the next extermination. Apparently, this year was supposed to be ‘different’ as people had been talking.

“When does this dinner start anyway? We’ve been standing out here for two hours.” Vox said annoyed.

“In a few minutes, Madame will make her grand entrance. She will socialize with the guests as it is polite to have one on one time with them. Then she will spend the rest of the time while the orchestra gets together deciding on contenders to sit at her table.” A shadow walking by said, stopping to stare at Vox. “Madame is always watching.” It then said, turning to serve other guests. Vox said nothing, instead turning on his heel and making his way inside the mansion. How could someone feel suffocated outside? Fredrick and Bethesda said nothing, watching him go, but sharing a glance between each other before making their leave too, leaving the sinner all by his lonesome.

Inside, Charlotte and Vagatha conversed about how she could get people behind her project.

“Maybe if I sing-“

“Please no. These people are too…” Vagatha said, glancing around the room. Everyone seemed too, fake. Vagatha knew Charlotte being herself around these people would do absolutely no good to the hotel, and though she hated telling Charlotte these things, she knew her kindness would be frowned upon, and made fun of. “Serious for that kind of thing.” Vagatha finished, taking a sip of her champagne. She settled for champagne in a flute while Charlotte drank water, wanting to hydrate herself in hopes to calm her nerves.

“I heard that Madame might be making her entrance soon.” Charlotte said nervously, looking around. She half expected her parents to show up, but knew how they rarely liked getting involved in overlord affairs. She’d be surprised if they showed up.

“Then when she does you can try to pitch your idea to her.” Vagatha said supportively. Charlotte just smiled and nodded, hoping someone would listen to her. She had tried practicing on two sinners moments ago, to which they both laughed and called her delusional. The defeat was beginning to get to her, and she hadn’t even started yet.

With Velvet, she began studying the interior of the old-styled mansion. She was trying her hardest to not be too rude about it, but of course she had her comments, but ultimately kept them to herself. Cramoisie, your fashion line, was the top fashion brand in hell, everyone wanted a piece of it. Velvet had never had an article for herself, despite trying her hardest to get something, anything, even a sample. But people feigned for it like drugs. Velvets line was successful sure, but with your validation and guidance, she could become perfection, the same way you were. Everyone in hell looked up to you, shit, you had even gotten Lilith’s praise as she was photographed wearing a custom piece you designed for her. Your work was art in its purist form, and Velvet kept a close eye on her other colleagues to make sure they didn’t fuck your chance up. Velvet had her assistant hold samples and sketches of designs Velvet had been working on, wanting to show you her best work in hopes of winning you over. She could brag about having you support her line, and her fans would die of excitement. Maybe, she could get you to design her a custom piece, or Velvet could design one for you. The possibilities were limitless, if you agreed to meet with her of course. But that was all the more reason why she needed to make sure she had a seat at your table tonight. She needed to get close to you.

“Are you fucking high?” Velvet whispered to Valentino, who just chuckled softly at her.

“What’s the matter hermosa? Just enjoy the Gala, we’re here to have fun right?” He asked with a giggle. Velvet huffed, deciding to find Vox, hoping he could straighten Valentino out. Valentino would not fuck up her chance tonight.

Near the large staircase in the middle of the room, Alastor stood, glass of whiskey in his clawed hands. He smiles, humming to himself while quietly back up into a wall, careful to scan the room quickly before he disappears into the shadows. Then, moments later, appears in a room separate from the gala. It’s a study, your study. Alastor takes a step forward and quickly the shadows in the room seemed to deepen, casting larger, more dramatic silhouettes that seemed to dance on the walls. The interplay of darkness and light only heightened the mysterious allure of the study. In the midst of this chiaroscuro ambiance, Alastor found himself surrounded by an atmosphere that mirrored the complex nature of the figure depicted in the portrait hanging above the fireplace, which was in the far back wall of the study. It was the only light source in the room. Black wooden shelves lined against the tall walls, showcasing famous pieces of literature, all hand picked and to your liking. The fire place, crafted with dark marble, commanded his attention. Above the mantel, a striking portrait of Madame hung, capturing his focus, like a trance. The image portrayed a being universally admired, yet equally feared; someone who elicited both admiration and intimidation all at once, you.

“Hm, hiding now are we?” Alastor asks with a grin, tutting lightly. “That’s not very proper of you Madame~” He says, calling out to you. Seconds later, a dark shadow appears in the corner of the room, taking up the entire corner, before a shadowy figure steps out. Similar to the servant’s out in the lobby, Alastor’s eye twitch’s slightly.

“Oh don’t be so pissy. You know no one gets to see me before my entrance.” You say, the shadow expressionless, but Alastor can hear your tone through the figure, taunting him. He sighs, setting his staff on a slant along his foot.

“And here I thought I could connect with an old friend.” Alastor said with a chuckle, staring down the shadowy figure, hoping his gaze would ease you to show yourself to him. But alas, stuck in your ways, you didn’t show yourself, instead laughing, though the figure did not open its mouth, making your ‘shadow a-presence’ all the more eerie.

“If you really want to speak with me it can wait until my entrance. I should be done soon.” You say, before Alastor just smiles, tossing his staff from hand to hand.

“Well if you’re really going to make me wait, mind you speed the process up a bit? You know it doesn’t take much to make you look breath-taking.” Alastor compliments, but earns a scoff from you.

“Oh please, don’t start with me ‘Radio Demon.’” You mock, before the shadow figure begins to step back.

“Wait, a moment before you go.” Alastor says, standing his staff on the floor. The shadow figure stops, before you speak again.

“Make it quick. You know how much energy it takes to keep this up.” You say.

“So, about this hotel business. I know she’s planning to talk to you about it.”

“Yes the idea you tell me so much about.” You say sarcastically. Alastor had told you bits and pieces about the princess’s project, but didn’t tell you what it was for exactly, leaving you to wonder how important it really was if even he wouldn’t speak on it.

“Well you know how much I crave entertainment. Is it possible to make a request for the seating arraignment tonight?” Alastor asks. You laugh, figure still unmoving.

“Humorous to think you even have a seat. You’ve been gone for what? Seven years?” You say with a scoff.

“You’ve been gone decades my dear, you didn’t even show up to your last twenty gala’s, having your pity shadows do it for you. I doubt you should be speaking on the matter.”

At that, you chuckle to yourself before the shadow begins to back into the corner, black smoke enveloping the corner like a cloud. “I presume you would be correct. Well, I’m off now. Don’t sneak into my quarters again.” You say finally before disappearing. Alastor just grins, stepping into his own shadow, joining the other guests.

The shadows had slowly but, eventually ushered the guests into the lobby, everyone gathering around the staircase as the shadows lined up against the railings, the orchestra playing the music you had specifically requested. You were about to make your grand entrance, something you hadn’t done in centuries. Everyone stood around, awaiting your arrival, the shadows momentarily disappearing to give the guests more space to crowd around. Candles lit along the walls, as well as floating lights appearing going up the staircase. There, the shadows took their place, two on each step on opposite sides, facing each other. The music picked up, the lights focusing at the top of the stairs. Black smoke began to roll down the steps slowly, the anticipation for your arrival growing. The music gets calm for a moment, a larger shadow figure standing at the top of the staircase. It’s larger than any of the other shadows in the room, standing at fifteen feet tall. It speaks in a monotone voice, but loud and commanding.

“Thank you all for your attendance tonight. The Crimson Gala is held once every year to start the new year with all those who survived the extermination. This being said, Madame would like to say her personal congratulations for not being apart of the bloodshed this year. While the past years she has used me to say that she will unfortunately not be in attendance, I am pleased to say that tonight, along with all the new guests, she will make her grand entrance. Presenting to you, the prowess of darkness and queen of shadows, Madame.”

The lights shine bright, and the shadow vanishes quickly. Velvet shushes Vox and Valentino, eyes practically bulging out of her skull to see you. Alastor just stares, waiting in anticipation. Charlie claps her hands quietly to herself while Vaggie just smiles. Rosie sips her glass, eyes waiting to see what outfit you’ve put together this time. At the top of the staircase, a large black smokey circle opens at the bottom of the floor, smoke swirling upwards slowly in a tornado form, smoke getting quicker as it swirls around itself. It gets larger, and guests closer to the stairs have to back up a bit as the wind picks up. Carmilla turns her face to the side, not wanting the wind to mess up her hair too much. Finally, the music picks up again, the peak point in the song, which lasts eight seconds, before the smoke falls to the side in one swoop, leaving you in the midst, now on display for all guests to see. The music continues, the chains against your dress glistening under the light. The music continues the play as you take steps down, looking at the guests. There’s a serious expression on your face, but somehow neutral all the same. Your shadows had added last minute black lace gloves, which went up to your forearm. The bottom of your dress had a lace trimming, as well as the bodice being laced with trim along the bust area. The jewelry was a simple black diamond crystal on a metal chain around your neck, paired with black diamond earrings. The cuff links on your hand remained all the same though. Finally reaching the end of the steps, everyone clapped, now finally being graced with your presence.

Velvet was in awe, staring at you with wide eyes like a child being gifted the most precious thing. Her excitement grew enormously, watching you shake hands and socialize with guests. She had never seen you before, after you had gone ghost for centuries, hardly anyone had photos of you. Hell she didn’t even know what you sounded like.

Charlie was so excited to meet you. She hadn’t seen you in, forever, and was now finally excited to be seen as your equal. Well, that was what she had hoped at least. Having seen a portrait of you in her parents' home when she was younger, she learned of the close relationship between Lilith and you. The anticipation had built over the years, and now, finally, she looked forward to being seen as your equal. Her hope was to hopefully get your support for the hotel, aiming to elevate her standing in the eyes of others. With your backing, she believed people would take both her and the redemption project more seriously, fostering a genuine desire for redemption. Maybe it would even work.

Husk smiled as he watched you socialize with guests. He was glad to finally see you back out again. He never knew why you went into hiding of course, but he never had the balls to ask, so he just stood quiet. When you disappeared, it was after a particularly rough extermination, and he knew something had happened, he just didn’t know what. Since then, the world only had glimpses of you to go on. Some sinners were starting to think you were a myth, since you never showed your face at the Crimson Gala, especially since you were the host.

Vox was taken aback, a sense of confusion and unease settling within him. Your presence had caught him off guard; he had anticipated something different, perhaps an older figure. The unexpected impact left him feeling uneasy, realizing the gravity of your influence. It dawned on him why Velvet had stressed the importance of making a favorable impression. Apart from Zestial and the twins, you stood as one of the strongest and most enduring overlords. In Vox's mind, securing your alliance was imperative for the success of his company. Your potential support would make his endeavors foolproof. Everything had to be flawless – not for any personal reasons, of course, but solely for the sake of his company. He needed you.

Making your rounds to guests, you began to get closer to your colleagues. With a wave to Stolas, and a nod to Zeezie, you run into the Radio Demon himself, Alastor. He grins, sharp teeth getting you. He smiles and nods his head, and you nod back. Alastor takes in your stoic expression, before carefully taking in your outfit.

“My, my, Madame, you’ve truly outdone yourself tonight. Your choice in attire is as captivating as ever – a perfect blend of elegance and sensibility. Quite the spectacle for the grand event, don’t you think?” He asked, holding his arm out to you. You take it, and the two of you walk around the lobby together, conversing.

“Well you don’t look to bad for yourself. Maybe going into hibernation was perfect for you.” You say back, and he grins.

“You’re too kind darling.” He says, dead heart quickening. He puts a hand to his chest, mocking fragility. “Your words leave me breathless my dear.” He says with false dramatics. You roll your eyes and smack his arm playfully.

“Oh please, your ego is quite large enough already, yes?” You ask. He doesn’t say much else, but instead, gently moves you to the side while you look at your shadows, now waltzing around in the middle of the lobby, putting on a performance.

“Did you plan that?” Alastor asks. You shake your head.

“No, but the music is perfect for it, so I let them be. They’re already trapped with me, I might as well make them useful.” You say, and Alastor just hums, a laugh track playing. However, as the two of you walk, his track screeches to a halt upon seeing Vox approach the two of you.

“Madame.” Vox says, nodding his head. His expression is serious, and though you’ve heard of him, you’ve never seen him.

“Ah hello. Vox I presume?” You ask, free hand reaching forward to shake his own outstretched hand. The two of you shake hands, and Alastor can’t ignore the way he fights to keep his smile. Why he could just shove his staff right into that flace faced fuckers scree-

“Alastor, I suppose you’ve met Mr.Vox before, correct?” You ask. Alastor nods with a smile, and you notice the way it stretches almost painfully across his face. It makes you uneasy, but you ignore the feeling. He’d surely tell about what this is about later on in the night you supposed.

“Why yes we have! I’ve made him loose his signal quite a few times.” Alastor says with a laugh, his laugh track playing. Vox doesnt say anything, though he doesnt have too as his eye twitching had given enough away. The two clearly did not like each other. Than again, you had felt the same way about Alastor when you first met him, so the feeling was understandable.

“Madame, a dance?” Vox asked, turning his attention back to you. You thought for a moment, before untangling your arm from Alastors and nodding to Vox, taking his outstretched hand to you and leading you to the dance floor, which now had a couple other sinners dancing as well. Alastor held onto his staff tight, but relaxed as you discreetly slid him a card. In white with black lettering, cursive font. Seat number five. He was invited to your table. Guaranteed a seat. That was enough to have him back in light spirits, now searching out his dear friend Rosie to share the good news.

Velvet had been looking for you all over, her assistant close in toe. She had tried her hardest to get to you when you initially made your enterance, but alas you had been too overcrowded with people for her to get to you. She had heard rumors about how you hated rudeness and disrespect. That meant no interruptions, and no loud speaking, or vulgar language. She was sure to keep herself in check, and that meant her colleagues too. So, naturally, you could imagine her shock upon seeing Vox dancing with you on the dance floor, black dress twirling at your feet. You looked so regal, so elegant, flawless. She wanted to be just like you. She waited patiently on the sidelines, waiting for the dance to end. She could see the two of you having a conversation, but couldn’t pinpoint what about.

“So, I presume you’re one of the, newer overlords?” You asked as the two of you danced. Vox chuckled, leading you slowly.

“New? Well, maybe to you I would be. I heard you haven’t really left your own head for quite some time.” Vox says lowly. You nod, letting him dip you.

“Yes that would be correct. So what are you supposed to be exactly?” You ask, quite unsure of his purpose. Overlords are meant to have a strong leading purpose in hell, so what was his?

“Well, you’re looking at the head of Vox Tech. A software company.” He says, and you hum in understanding.

“So modern technology.” You confirm, and he nods, pearly whites shining brightly back at you.

“You’re looking at the future Madame.” Vox says, spinning you quickly, before bringing you close by your hip.

“Interesting. So, what’s your social influence?” You ask. Vox thinks for a moment, before laughing to himself.

“People have televisions in all their homes. Any piece of modern technology comes strictly from me. With a little mind control, there isn’t any influence I don’t have.” Vox says, noticing a sinner walk by with a smart watch, to which he holds a finger up to you, sending himself through it, and then to another sinner with their smartphone, making his way around the room in seconds before he’s back in front of you, stepping in time for the next number. “See? Nothing I can’t do.” He says with a wink. You nod slowly, looking around the room. Being back out in the spotlight after being gone for so long makes you feel a bit, behind. But with an overlord like this in your circle, maybe this could be a way for you to keep up with the current world, get you back up to pace. The dance finally comes to a close, and the two of you bow to one another, before you summon a card, handing it to Vox. Seat number nine. Vox grinned at you, giving you a nod. You nod back, before looking at another sinner who’s asked to speak with you. With that, you leave Vox at the dance floor, white card in hand. His spot at your table was secured. But, this made his emotions churn even more. What was this feeling he had? He was happy yes, but for the companies sake. But, maybe for once, he could mix just a little business with pleasure.

Charlotte had lost her partner at the bar and had been looking for her for quite some time. However, instead of finding Vagatha, she found you instead. You had seemed to be finishing a conversation with Vox, and though she disliked him, she took her chance the moment she saw you walking away.

“Excuse me, Madame- Miss- Um.” Charlotte said quickly, causing you to stop in your tracks. She got closer to you, now a few inches away. It was then she realized how tall you were compared to her. You were easily around seven feet, or just under that. With your heels that was. You looking down at her made her feel intimidated, small, like the child. But, feeling her nerves rise, she began to ramble again. “I know you probably have a lot to do tonight and I don’t want to take up your time, I just want you to hear me out, if that’s okay with you of course.” Charlotte said quickly, pausing to inhale. You narrowed your eyes at her, snapping your fingers and causing a shadow to appear next to you, singular glass on the tray. It was the same tall shadow from earlier, with the same drink. Again, using testing the temperature of the drink, before nodding to you so you could take it. You lifted the glass to your lips, maintaining eye contact with Charlotte as you drank the wine in one go, putting it down on the tray with a sigh.

“Go on.” You replied, now intrigued. You knew who she was. “You’re the girl with the hotel? Lucifer and Lilith’s child, correct?” You asked. Charlotte smiled, stars appearing in her eyes as she gushed.

“You know who I am?” She asked surprised. You nodded, cracking a small smile for the first time tonight, causing many eyes to stare in shock. You hardly ever smiled. In fact, there were three counts ever of you smiling in hell. Once, when you first got to hell, killing and claiming territory, and smiling once you finally settled down. The second being after World War One, when so many souls came to you seeking ‘help’ yet only being met with contracts. Third, being just before the extermination you disappeared after. You had gone through your belongings from Earth that managed to get brought to you from the surface, and was looking at family photos with one other overlord. Zestial. Now, at the gala, here was Lucifer’s brat, as some would call, making you crack a grin at her giddiness.

“Of course I know who you are. Do you forget I know your mother? You’re practically a niece of mine at this point.” You say, motioning at Charlotte to walk with you. “Now, what is this hotel I’ve heard about?” You ask. She beams at this and follows excitedly.

“OkaysobasicallyIhavethishotelandit’scalledthe’HazbinHotel’whichisforsinnerswhowantobebetterandredeemthemselvestotryand-“ You stopped her, allowing her to take a breath of air after rambling for so long. You lead her outside, finding a nearby bench to sit on. With how quickly she spoke, she needed all the ‘fresh’ air she could get right?

“Why are you speaking so quickly? Also, sinners who want to better themselves? Where would you find those?” You ask with a laugh, the same tall shadow appearing with a glass for you. Again, you sip on your drink as Charlotte collects herself together.

“Usually if I explain slowly people cut me off and I never get to finish, so I’ve gotten used to just saying everything as quickly as possible so they don’t cut me off and actually listen to what I have to say.” Charlotte says, again rather quickly. “Like I was saying; the Hazbin Hotel is a place for sinners who want to better themselves to possibly try to get into heaven through redemption, and I know what you’re thinking, we’ve all died and got sent here, but I believe people can change and that everyone deserves second chances.” Charlotte explained. She saw the look of confusion on your face, and began to speak again. “We already have two residents, who are making strides to be better people every day with group activities and I believe it’s working. If I could just get other people on board, people like you on board who actually believe in my cause, then we can get rid of extermination and maybe save some people here.” Charlotte explained. You thought for a moment, and the fact you hadn’t laughed in her face yet gave her some hope that maybe she had gotten through to you. You stood up, setting your empty glass on the tray before the shadow disappeared.

“Honestly,” You said with a sigh, looking around, your eyes landing on your shadows serving other guests. “The entire project sounds delusional.” You said sharply. Charlotte looked down at this, defeated, before standing as well.

“Well, thank you for hearing me out I guess. You’re the only other person who has aside from Alastor. So, thank you for your time.” Charlotte said, turning to walk back inside the gala, head hanging low with tears brimming her eyes. Maybe it was the connection to her mother, maybe it was because she reminded you of her mother. But, something had to change.

“I didn’t say we were done speaking Charlotte.” You said sharply again. She stopped and tensed up at that, before turning around, wiping a tear that slipped down her cheek.

“W-what?” She asked. You stepped forward to her, putting your hands flat together before smoke encased them. Then seconds later it was gone, and in your hands was a white card. You handed it to her with a nod.

“It sounds delusional. But, maybe someone will like that about you.” You said. She read the card, face dropping once she realized what it meant.

“So, so I can sit with you tonight? I can pitch my idea?” She asked excitedly. You nodded, patting her shoulder.

“Yes you may. I’ll allow you to have your time. You get thirty minutes, there will be overlords and royalty there, I’m sure someone is bound to take an interest in it.” You say. Charlotte squeals excitedly before jumping up and down, clapping her hands.

“Oh my goodness! Thank you so so so much!! You won’t regret this I swear!” Charlotte said, and you just nodded.

“Of course I won’t. I don’t make mistakes.” You say, before walking past her. “Oh, and thank Alastor for that. He was insistent you be present at my table tonight.” You say to her. She’s left standing outside in shock, watching as you walk back into the lobby to socialize with other guests.

It seemed Velvet had finally caught you, rushing her assistant to follow you as she made her way over to you.

“Madame, you look absolutely breathtaking tonight! Your presence here is like a beacon of individuality and charisma,” she exclaims, eyes sparkling. You look her up and down for a moment, stopping in your tracks to listen to her. Something feels, odd about this one. “I’ve been ardently following your unique style for ages, and it’s truly an honor to be in your presence. The way you effortlessly blend boldness with subtlety, it’s unparalleled, truly outstanding. Now, I’ve ventured into a daring new fashion brand, and I can’t help but envision you as the unrivaled star in my collection. Picture it: the illustrious Madame, gracing the world with a revolutionary expression of style. This would be the perfect way to make your way back into the public eye, and of course you would look ravishing doing so.” Velvet said, her assistant handing you sketches of Velvets designs, and photographs of some of her work on her models. “So, what do you say Madame? Will you be the luminary of a new era in Hell’s fashion?” Velvet says. You grow quiet for a moment. Aside from Rosie, you’ve had no other overlord come into the fashion realm, and Rosie is only partially in it as a side hustle, but everyone knows it’s your thing. The designs are things you would never wear, bold and odd colors together, like a child’s clothing line.

“Is this for children?” You ask. Velvet nearly chokes and her assistant tenses up.

“No Madame. It’s modern fashion.” Velvet says cautiously. She knows what she’s doing. Correcting you. No one ever does that. You don’t need to be corrected because you know what you’re looking at. A sad fashion designer who wants you to slap your name on her sloppy work so if it goes up in flames it’s your reputation taking the fall, not her’s.

“So all your models look like they came from a whore house? Correct?” You ask. Velvet’s jaw drops and her assistant hides a laugh. Velvet, inhaling softly, tries her hardest not to cry on the spot. You’re her idol. She can’t fuck this up.

“No Madame! Not at all!” She says, showing you a design she had made personally for you. Based on your other collections, she knows your favorite color is black, so that’s a plus. All she had to do was add a bit more, of her flair to it. It was a black jumpsuit, with a fur coat that dropped down to the knees, black with white fur around the edges of the coat and the cuffs. The sketch wasn’t half bad, and quite frankly better than the others. Maybe it was the forgiving mood Charlotte had put you in. Velvet hands you the design and you skim over it, taking in the details, the hair and eye makeup, the shoes and jewelry notes written on the side. The sketches aren’t bad, but modern fashion isn’t your fashion.

“I’ll consider it. Do you mind if I keep these?” You ask. Velvet shakes her head, handing you the folder from her assistants hands.

“Please, take whatever you’d like Madame!” Velvet says. You nod, flipping through the pages.

“You’ll hear from me soon. In the meantime, I want new sketches of these designs. Modern fashion is fast fashion. Nothing stays memorable that way. You want to be good?” You ask her, and she nods quickly. “Then be better. Modesty and elegance are what people strive for. It radiates power, and everyone is greedy for that. If you can sell that through an item, you won’t ever go out of style.” You say, handing her back the folder, keeping the sketch she’d done for you. Well, at least you liked something. Vevelt nodded her head and watched you walk away, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Um, miss?” Her assistant asked.

“What?” Velvet asked annoyingly.

“She left a card on the folder.”

At that , Velvets eyes snapped down at the folder, before she screamed in excitement. Seat number six. She was invited to your table. Mission accomplished. Now, with only six seats left to fill, you were off to talk to your other guests. The night had proved to be interesting, and you knew your encore would not disappoint.

[monster-effer]

Camping Trip Gone Wild - Caleb x reader

Summary: Caleb invites you to a camping trip and you two are having a great time. But, after snooping through your phone, his jealous side makes itself known. R.I.P. to your pussy!!! Content: MDNI, explicit smut, Caleb and reader are dating, slight dubcon but the reader is definitely into it, questionable use of evol, oral - f receiving, fingering, pet names used: pip-squeak, princess, my love (2.2k wc) A/N: Caleb has been running laps around my mind lately, so I had to write something with him in it. I hope y’all enjoy ♡

You’re shopping at a local farmer’s market when you feel your phone buzz in your pocket. When you unlock it, you are pleasantly surprised to see a text from Caleb. He’s usually wrapped up in his work at this time.

Colonel Apple: Hey pip-squeak. You’re free this weekend right? You: Maybe. Depends on what you have planned.

You watch the typing indicator go on and off for a few moments before locking your phone and continuing to peruse the produce at the local farmer’s market. When you have a bag full of fruits and vegetables you feel your phone buzz once again.

Colonel Apple: We haven’t been camping together yet. Let’s change that? You: Hell yeah, I’m in. What do I need to bring besides clothes and toiletries? Colonel Apple: I have the rest covered. Just bring yourself 😊

The rest of the week passed by at an excruciatingly slow pace. But you have just arrived at the camping site with Caleb and all your supplies in tow. Before you can ask, he starts putting together a chair for you to sit on. When he’s done, he wordlessly gestures towards it as if saying ‘It’s all yours’.

You plop down into the chair and cross your legs. Then you enjoy the rocking motion of your new seat as you watch him work his magic. You were more tired than you thought because the next thing you notice is Caleb gently shaking you awake, his face close to yours and his eyes filled with warmth.

“Welcome back princess.”

You yawn and blink a few times to adjust your vision. When you look around, you see Caleb has made significant progress while you were napping. There is now a huge tent set up to the right side of the campsite. And a second camping chair assembled near a table with cooking supplies neatly organized on top of it.

There are fairy lights hanging in the nearby trees and looped around the top of your tent, giving your campsite a cozy glow. The smell of burning wood and the sound of a crackling fire catches your attention next.

“Why didn’t you wake me up? I could have helped with something.”

Caleb softly chuckles “I did say that I have everything covered. And you need to relax more, your job as a hunter has you running around all over Linkon.”

You huff and cross your arms because you can’t really argue with that logic. So instead, you decide to change the subject.

“I’m hungry. Let’s make dinner and tell some spooky stories around the fire.”

You two roast some hot dogs and settle down on opposite ends of the campfire. Then Caleb launches into a dramatic tale. By the end of it, you’re gasping with laughter at how cheesy the ending to his story was.

Noticing that it is getting dark out, a question comes to mind.

“Can you remind me where the public showers are again? I want to wash up before we go to sleep tonight.”

Caleb points towards the main road near your camping spot and tells you how to get there. “Do you want me to walk you there?”

“No, I’ll be alright. I’m taking a flashlight with me.”

Caleb hums as he watches you gather your pajamas and toiletries. He pulls his camping chair closer to the crackling fire and is about to settle down into it when he hears your phone’s notification sound go off.

He decides to ignore it, but the notification sound pings once more, and then three more times after that. Since you won’t be back for a while, you can’t blame him for being curious about who is bombarding his girlfriend with texts at this hour.

Caleb abandons his plan to chill by the fire and walks over to the tent. He removes his shoes before climbing in and looking for your bag. Once he finds it, he digs around a bit before finding your phone.

From the home screen he can see that all the notification sounds were coming from one source. They were all texts from Rafayel, who you have saved as  ‘The Little Mermaid’ in your phone. Since you two reunited after his “death”, Caleb begrudgingly accepted that he cannot be your only source of social fulfillment. His work as a colonel keeps him busy for long stretches of time, sometimes you two aren’t able to chat more than once a week.

Caleb is stone faced as he unlocks your phone with your password (that he memorized) and begins reading through the recent messages you received. His curiosity over what warranted back-to-back texts needed to be sated, for his own sanity.

His jaw clenched hard as he read Rafayel’s overly familiar texts.

7:10 pm: are u busy this upcoming week 7:10 pm: need you to be my model for this piece i’m working on 7:15 pm: cutieeeeee dun you want to help me 7:16 pm: i’ll take you out for seafood if you agree 7:18 pm: 💔🥺? 🐟🐠🐡

Caleb is always one to compliment your beauty, but the dark feeling of jealousy fills his chest at the thought of the artist eye balling you for hours on end. Before he can read further up in the text thread, he hears footsteps approaching the campsite.

Not wanting to be caught snooping, he quickly stashes your phone back in your bag and sits in his camping chair. He closes his eyes and tries to relax his body despite the fury bubbling under his skin over the artist taking up your time while he’s not there.

“I’m back. All fresh and clean now.”

When he opens his eyes, he hopes his true feelings aren’t shining through. Although he was left almost void of emotions after his chip implantation, Caleb can feel his anger towards the needy artist increasing by the second. He can also feel that anger transforming into a burning need to re-establish what you mean to each other.

Meanwhile as you stand there you can feel that something is…off. As hard as he tries to hide it, you can read Caleb’s emotions better than anyone else.

“I didn’t know you were so well acquainted with that artist…Rafayel,” he spits out his name as if it pains him to utter it.

You’ve mentioned Rafayel in passing but you aren’t entirely sure where this is coming from.

“Rafayel is a close friend of mine, what about it?” You snap at him, beginning to lose your patience.

Caleb smiles coldly before responding. “From the texts I just read, it seems like you two spend a lot of time together. I think I need to remind you of something.”

You feel anger well up in your body. “Why were you reading my texts Caleb? What the hell. And I think you need to be reminded of something called privacy.”

Before you can chew him out, the unmistakable weight of his evol envelopes your body. You gasp as you’re lifted then held up mid air, as Caleb pulls your camping chair towards him. As you futilely attempt to struggle against the hold, he lets your body slowly descend into the chair and stares into your eyes.

“As I was saying, I’m going to remind you that you only need to rely on me.”

“Let. Go. Of. Me,” you say through clenched teeth.

He ignores your demand and drops to his knees before you. Your breath catches in your throat as he spreads your legs and places butterfly kisses on the tender skin of your inner thighs.

You are furious with him for so many reasons, but at this moment, you can’t stave off the arousal building in your tummy.

Caleb begins to suck small hickeys on your skin between peppering kisses all the way up your thighs. You muffle a whine as tingles of pleasure zap straight to your clit. His face is so close to where you can feel your arousal pooling in your underwear. Your thighs are a sensitive spot, and he knows that. If you weren’t weighed down by his evol right now you weren’t sure if you’d be squirming away (or towards?) the torturous pleasure.

“Caleb,” you whimper.

Your voice broke the trance Caleb fell into between your legs. His eyes have darkened when they meet yours once again.

“Yes, princess?”

“M-More please.”

He smirks and doesn’t say a word before forcefully moving your pajama shorts and underwear to the side and licking a long stripe between your glistening folds. His hot tongue is wreaking havoc on your throbbing clit and you all but scream out into the night.

“Oh my god, please please please release your evol. I need to move.”

He detaches from your clit to respond to you. The bottom half of his face is noticeably covered in your slick. And his eyes have a hungry look in them.

 “No can do pip-squeak, you aren’t running from this.”

You let out a high-pitched moan as Caleb leans back in and alternates between dragging his tongue over your clit and making out with your pussy lips.

You take in a sharp breath as you feel tension build up in your belly. Your pussy begins to flutter around nothing.

“C-caleb I’m going to-”

He cuts you off by slipping his middle and ring finger inside of your wet hole. The squelching sound emitting from his ministrations seem amplified by the otherwise quiet night. You can only handle him pumping his fingers inside of you a few times before you reach orgasm.

You almost black out from the overwhelming euphoria as your pussy spasms around the sudden invasion of his fingers. You moan wantonly as Caleb slowly fingers you through your climax.

As you come down from that high, he gently pulls out his fingers. As a small act of mercy, he dissipates his evol and lets your muscles fully relax into the chair. He also pulls down your pajama shorts and undies, leaving your bottom half exposed.

“I hope you’re ready for more, because I’m far from done with you.”

You’re still trembling from the impact of your orgasm as you watch him stand up and remove his shorts and underwear. His thick cock twitches as the cool night air hits it. You hungrily watch his right hand wrap around it and give it a few strokes.

Caleb bends his knees and uses the swinging chair as leverage to line up your pussy with his body. You feel him rub his hot, mushroom tip against your clit and teasingly around your opening.

You shudder at his teasing and consider begging for more. But before you can, he slides himself all the way inside you without warning.

Your hands scramble for purchase before gripping the chair’s headrest. Both of you moan at the sudden, intense sensation.

“I’m so full” you whine as you clench your eyes shut.

He groans and readjusts his hold on the chair.

“Hold on tight pip-squeak,” is all he says before gripping the swinging chair and using it to drill his throbbing length inside of your aching walls. Your back arches sharply from the momentum of being slammed onto his cock.

You can’t do anything but whimper at the deep penetration. Faint creaks can be heard from the chair as your body is forcefully rocked back and forth.

Caleb is showing no mercy to your gushing pussy as he keeps up the brutal pace. You can distinctly feel each vein on his cock drag against your insides. Your mind goes fuzzy when he changes the angle of his thrusts and begins to rut against your most sensitive spot.

Caleb lovingly admires the state he’s put you in. Your hair is a mess, your eyes are unfocused, and it feels like you're sucking him in at every inward thrust.

“There you go my love, all you have to do right now is lay there and take it,” he rasps. He uses his evol to take over maneuvering the chair, so he can rub your clit in time with his thrusts.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as your mind is filled with nothing but pure bliss. His rhythm turns sloppy when he feels you clench around him.

“You’re doing so good, just let go for me,” he practically coos at you.

You’re barely holding onto consciousness as your orgasm feels like it is never ending. Your legs are shaking, and you futilely try to close them against the onslaught of pleasure.

Caleb continues rubbing your clit and sinking himself inside of you while your spasm.

“Where do you want me to come princess?”

“Inside me please,” you say weakly.

Caleb keens before picking up the pace and burying himself deep inside of you. Feeling the warm spurts of his cum makes you reflexively clench around him. After a few moments, he slowly pulls out and collapses into his chair, letting you both catch your breath.

As you lay there you recall being mad at Caleb about something. But your mind is muddled from the mind blowing, back-to-back orgasms.

Well, you assume it wasn’t that important anyway. And if it was, you’ll deal with it later.

Maybe.

A/N: (Spoiler: Nothing was dealt with. You and Caleb ended up crawling into the tent and fucking some more instead. The end ♡ )

[eilinelsghost]

(Medium) Hot Take: "Did the Oath actually condemn Fëanor & his sons to the Everlasting Darkness" is the wrong question because it has a clear textual answer: which is "no."

Did it have the power to do so? That's another question entirely and a fun one to debate.

But did it? Absolutely not.

Because each of the sons of Fëanor (and Fëanor himself) fulfilled their Oath. Nowhere in the various drafts of the Oath is there a version where they call down the Everlasting Darkness if they fail to retrieve a Silmaril. What they actually swear is:

an oath of enmity for ever against any that should hold the Silmarils The Book of Lost Tales, Part One

shall no law nor love nor league of Gods, no might nor mercy, not moveless fate, defend him for ever from the fierce vengeance of the sons of Fëanor, whoso seize or steal or finding keep the fair enchanted globes of crystal whose glory dies not, the Silmarils. The Lays of Beleriand, The Flight of the Noldoli

no law, nor love, nor league of hell, no might of Gods, no binding spell, shall him defend from hatred fell of Fëanor's sons, whoso take or steal or finding keep a Silmaril. The Lays of Beleriand, The Lay of Leithian: Canto IV

neither law, nor love, nor league of swords, dread nor danger, not Doom itself, shall defend him from Fëanor, and Fëanor's kin, whoso hideth or hoardeth, or in hand taketh, finding keepeth or afar casteth a Silmaril. This swear we all: death we will deal him ere Day's ending, woe unto world's end! Our word hear thou, Eru Allfather! To the everlasting Darkness doom us if our deed faileth. Morgoth's Ring; Fifth section of the Annals of Aman

they swore an oath [...] calling the Everlasting Dark upon them if they kept it not; [...] vowing to pursue with vengeance and hatred to the ends of the World Vala, Demon, Elf or Man as yet unborn, or any creature, great or small, good or evil, that time should bring forth unto the end of days, whoso should hold or take or keep a Silmaril from their possession. The Silmarillion; Of the Flight of the Noldor

Every version of the Oath that includes the Everlasting Darkness calls it down upon them only if they do not pursue the perceived thief with vengeance and hatred. The only variance from this is in the version from the Annals of Aman where one could conceivably link the Everlasting Darkness with a failure to kill whosoever took a Silmaril. But this version is replaced by the consistent form shown in all other iterations (the same form that is included in the published Silmarillion) and consequently doesn't hold much weight for the argument.

Fëanor and each of his sons (save Maglor who survives the First Age with a Silmaril in his possession) met their ends in pursuit of this exact clause - pursuing those who hold a Silmaril with vengeance and hatred - and consequently dying in fulfilment of their Oath. Which is to say that even if we do hold that the Oath had the power to damn them to the Everlasting Darkness (which it very well may have!), it would not, could not, and did not do so because the terms were met.

And even setting the specific wording of the Oath, the text tells us exactly what happens to one who dies in pursuit of the Oath while still not regaining a single Silmaril: "...[Fëanor's] likeness has never again appeared in Arda, neither has his spirit left the halls of Mandos" (The Silmarillion, Of the Return of the Noldor).

So yes, the Oath might have had the power to send them into the Everlasting Darkness, but it did not have the grounds to do so. And so it did not.

[damienkarras73]

An essay on Furiosa, the politics of the Wasteland, Arthurian literature and realistic vs. formalistic CGI

Mad Max: Fury Road absolutely enraptured me when it came out nearly a decade ago, and I will cop to seeing it four times at the theatre. For me (and many others who saw the light of George Miller) it set new standards for action filmmaking, storytelling and worldbuilding, and I could pop in its Blu Ray at any time and never get tired of it. Perhaps not surprisingly, I was deeply apprehensive about the announced prequel for Fury Road's actual main character, Furiosa, even if Miller was still writing and directing. We didn't need backstory for Furiosa—hell, Fury Road is told in such a way that NOTHING in it requires explicit backstory. And since it focuses on the Yung Furiosa, it meant Charlize Theron couldn't return with another career-defining performance. Plus, look at all that CGI in the trailer, it can't be as good as Fury Road.

Turns out I was silly to doubt George Miller, M.D., A.O., writer and director of Babe: Pig in the City and Happy Feet One & Two.

Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga is excellent, and I needn't have worried about it not being as good as Fury Road because it is not remotely trying to be Fury Road. Fury Road is a lean, mean machine with no fat on it, nothing extraneous, operating with constant forward momentum and only occasionally letting up to let you breathe a little; Furiosa is a classical epic, sprawling in scope, scale and structure, and more than happy to let the audience simmer in a quiet, almost painfully still moment. If its opening spoken word sequence by that Gandalf of the Wastes himself, the First History Man, didn't already clue you in, it unfolds like something out of myth, a tale told over and over again and whose possible embellishments are called attention to in the dialogue itself. Where Fury Road scratched the action nerd itch in my head like you wouldn't believe, Furiosa was the equivalent of Miller giving the undulating folds of my English major brain a deep tissue massage. That's great! I, for one, love when sequels/prequels endeavour to be fundamentally different movies from what they're succeeding/preceding, operating in different modes, formats and even genres, and more filmmakers should aim for it when building on an existing series.

This movie has been on my mind so much in the past week that I've ended up dedicating several cognitive processes to keeping track of all of the different ponderings it's spawned. Thankfully, Furiosa is divided into chapters (fun fact: putting chapter cards in your movie is a quick way to my heart), so it only seems fitting that I break up all of these cascading thoughts accordingly.

1. The Pole of Inaccessibility

Furiosa herself actually isn't the protagonist for the first chapter of her own movie, instead occupying the role of a (very crafty and resourceful) damsel in distress for those initial 30-40 minutes. The real hero of the opening act, which plays out like a game of cat and mouse, is Furiosa's mother Mary Jabassa, who rides out into the wasteland first on horseback and then astride a motorcycle to track down the band of raiders that has stolen away her daughter. Mary's brought to life by Miller and Nico Lathouris' economical writing and a magnetic performance by newcomer Charlee Fraser, who radiates so much screen presence in such relatively little time and with one of those instant "who is SHE??" faces. She doesn't have many lines, but who needs them when Fraser can convey volumes about Mary with just a flash of her eyes or the effortless way she swaps out one of her motorcycle's wheels for another. To be quite candid, I'm not sure of the last time I fell in love with a character so quickly.

You notice a neat aesthetic contrast between mother and daughter in retrospect: Mary Jabassa darts into the desert barefoot, clad in a simple yet elegant dress, her wolf cut immaculate, only briefly disguising herself with the ugly armour of a raider she just sniped, and when she attacks it's almost with grace, like some Greek goddess set loose in the post-apocalyptic Aussie outback with just her wits and a bolt-action rifle; we track Furiosa's growth over the years by how much of her initially conventional beauty she has shed, quite literally in one case (hair buzzed, severed arm augmented with a chunky mechanical prosthesis, smeared in grease and dirt from head to toe, growling her lines at a lower octave), and by how she loses her mother's graceful approach to movement and violence, eventually carrying herself like a blunt instrument. Yet I have zero doubt the former raised the latter, both angels of different feathers but with the same steel and resolve. Of fucking course this woman is Furiosa's mother, and in the short time we know her we quickly understand exactly why Furiosa has the drive and morals she does without needing to resort to didactic exposition.

Anyway, I was tearing up by the end of the first chapter. Great start!

2. Lessons from the Wasteland

Most movies—most stories, really—don't actually tell the entire narrative from A to Z. Perhaps the real meat of the thing is found from H to T, and A-G or U-Z are unnecessary for conveying the key narrative and themes. So many prequels fail by insisting on telling the A-G part of the story, explaining how the hero earned a certain nickname or met their memorable sidekick—but if that stuff was actually interesting, they likely would have included it in the original work. The greatest thing a prequel can actually do is recontextualize, putting iconic characters or moments in a new light, allowing you to appreciate them from a different angle. All of season 2 of Fargo serves to explain why Molly Solverson's dad is appropriately wary when Lorne Malvo enters his diner for a SINGLE SCENE in the show's first season. David's arc from the Alien prequels Prometheus and Covenant—polarizing as those entries are—adds another layer to why Ash is so protective of the creature in the first movie. Andor gives you a sense of what it's like for a normal, non-Jedi person to live under the boot of the Empire and why so many of them would join up with the Rebel Alliance—or why they would desire to wear that boot, or even just crave the chance to lick it.

Furiosa is one of those rare great prequels because it makes us take a step back and consider the established world with a little more nuance, even if it's still all so absurd. In Fury Road, Immortan Joe is an awesome, endlessly quotable villain, completely irredeemable, and basically a cartoon. He works perfectly as the antagonist of that breakneck, Road Runner and Wile E. Coyote-ass movie, but if you step outside of its adrenaline-pumping narrative for even a moment you risk questioning why nobody in the Citadel or its surrounding settlements has risen up against him before. Hell, why would Furiosa even work for him to begin with? But then you see Dementus and company tear-assing around the wasteland, seizing settlements and running them into the ground, and you realize Joe and his consortium offer something that Dementus reasonably can't: stability—granted, an unwavering, unchangeable stability weighted in favour of Joe's own brutal caste system, but stability nonetheless. It really makes you wonder, how badly does a guy have to suck to make IMMORTAN JOE of all people look like a sane, competent and reasonable ruler by comparison?!?

…and then they open the door to the vault where he keeps his wives, and in a flash you're reminded just how awful Joe is and why Furiosa will risk her life to help some of these women flee from him years later. This new context enriches Joe and makes it more believable that he could maintain power for so long, but it doesn't make him any less of a monster, and it says a lot about Furiosa's hate for Dementus that she could grit her teeth and work for this sick old tyrant.

3. The Stowaway

Here's another wild bit of trivia about this movie: you don't actually see top-billed actress Anya Taylor-Joy pop up on screen until roughly halfway through, once Furiosa is in her late teens/early twenties. Up until this point she's been played by Alyla Browne, who through the use of some seamless and honestly really impressive CGI has been given Anya's distinctive bug eyes [complimentary]. It's one of those bold choices that really works because Miller commits to it so hard, though it does make me wish Browne's name was up on the poster next to Taylor-Joy's.

Speaking of CGI, I should talk about what seems to be a sticking point for quite a few people: if there's been one consistent criticism of Furiosa so far, it's that it doesn't look nearly as practical or grounded as Fury Road, with more obvious greenscreen and compositing, and what previously would've been physical stunt performers and pyrotechnics have been replaced with their digital equivalents for many shots. Simply put, it doesn't look as real! For a lot of people, that practicality was one of Fury Road's primary draws, so I won't try to quibble if they're let down by Furiosa's overt artificiality, but to be honest I'm actually quite fine with it. It helps that this visual discrepancy doesn't sneak up on you but is incredibly apparent right from the aerial zoom-down into Australia in the very first scene, so I didn't feel misled or duped.

Fury Road never asks you to suspend your disbelief because it all looks so believable; Furiosa jovially prods you to suspend that disbelief from the get-go and tune into it on a different wavelength. It's a classical epic, and like the classical epics of the 1950s and 60s it has a lot of actors standing in front of what clearly are matte paintings. It feels right! We're not watching fact, we're watching myth. I'm willing to concede there might be a little bit of post-hoc rationalization on my part because I simply love this movie so much, but I'm not holding the effects in Furiosa to the same standard as those in Fury Road because I simply don't believe Miller and his crew are attempting to replicate that approach. Without the extensive CGI, we don't get that impressive long, panning take where a stranded Furiosa scans the empty, dust-and-sun-scoured wasteland (75% Sergio Leone, 25% Andrei Tarkovsky), or the Octoboss and his parasailing goons. For the sake of intellectual exercise I did try imagining them filming the Octoboss/war rig sequence with the same immersive practical approach they used for Fury Road's stunts, however I just kept picturing dead stunt performers, so perhaps the tradeoff was worth it!

4. Homeward

Around the same time we meet the Taylor-Joy-pilled Furiosa in Chapter 3, we're introduced to Praetorian Jack, the chief driver for the convoys running between the Citadel and its allied settlements. Jack's played by Tom Burke, who pulled off a very good Orson Welles in Mank! and who I should really check out in The Souvenir one of these days. He's also a cool dude! Here are some facts about Praetorian Jack:

He's decked out in road leathers with a pauldron stitched to one shoulder

He's stoic and wary, but still more or less personable and can carry on a conversation

Professes to a certain cynicism, to quote Special Agent Albert Rosenfield, but ultimately has a capacity for kindness and will do the right thing

Shoots a gun real good

Can drive like nobody's business

So in other words, Jack is Mad Max. But also, no, he clearly isn't! He looks and dresses like Mad Max (particularly Mel Gibson's) and does a lot of the same things "Mad" Max Rockatansky does, but he's also very explicitly a distinct character. It's a choice that seems inexplicable and perhaps even lazy on its face, except this is a George Miller movie, so of course this parallel is extremely purposeful. Miller has gone on record saying he avoids any kind of strict chronology or continuity for his Mad Max movies, compared to the rigid canons for Star Trek and Star Wars, and bless him for doing so. It's more fun viewing each Mad Max entry as a new revision or elaboration on a story being told again and again generations after the fall, mutating in style, structure and focus with every iteration, becoming less grounded as its core narrative is passed from elder to youth, community to community, genre to genre, until it becomes myth. (At least, my English major brain thinks it's more fun.) In fact there's actually something Arthurian to it, where at first King Arthur was mentioned in several Welsh legends before Geoffrey of Monmouth crafted an actual narrative around him, then Chrétien de Troyes added elements like Lancelot and infused the stories with more romance, and then with Le Morte d'Arthur Thomas Malory whipped the whole cycle together into one volume, which T.H. White would chop and screw and deconstruct with The Once and Future King centuries later.

All this to say: maybe Praetorian Jack looks and sounds and acts like Max because he sorta kinda basically is, being just one of many men driving back and forth across the wasteland, lending a hand on occasion, who'll be conflated into a single, legendary "Mad Max" at some point down the line in a different History Man's retelling of Furiosa's odyssey. Sometimes that Max rips across the desert in his V8 Interceptor, other times driving a big rig. Perhaps there's a dog tagging along and/or a scraggly and at first aggravating ally played by Bruce Spence or Nicholas Hoult. Usually he has a shotgun. But so long as you aren't trying to kill him, he'll help you out.

5. Beyond Vengeance

The Mad Max movies have incredibly iconic villains—Immortan Joe! Toecutter! the Lord Humongous!—but they are exactly that, capital V Villains devoid of humanizing qualities who you can't wait to watch bad things happen to. Furiosa appears to continue this trend by giving us a villain who in fact has a mustache long enough that he could reasonably twirl it if he so wanted, but ironically Dementus ends up being the most layered antagonist in the entire series, even moreso than the late Tina Turner's comparatively benevolent Aunty Entity from Beyond Thunderdome. And because he's played by Chris Hemsworth, whose comedic delivery rivals his stupidly handsome looks, you lock in every time he's on screen.

Something so fascinating about Dementus is that, for a main antagonist, he's NOT all-powerful, and in fact quite the opposite: he's more conman than warlord, looking for the next hustle, the next gullible crowd he can preach to and dupe—though never for long. For all his bluster, at every turn he finds himself in way over his head and writing cheques he can't cash, and this self-induced Sisyphean torment makes him riveting to watch. You're tempted to pity Dementus but it's also quite difficult to spare sympathy for someone who's so quick to channel their rage and hurt and ego into thoughtless, burn-it-all-down destruction. When you're not laughing at him, you're hating his guts, and it's indisputably the best work of Chris Hemsworth's career.

It's in this final chapter that everything naturally comes to a head: Furiosa's final evolution into the character we meet at the start of Fury Road, the predictable toppling of Dementus' precariously built house of cards, and the mythmaking that has been teased since the very first scene becoming diagetic text, the last of which allows the movie to thoroughly explore the themes of vengeance it's been building to. A brief war begins, is summarized and is over in the span of roughly a minute, and on its face it's a baffling narrative choice that most other filmmakers would have botched. But our man Miller's smart enough to recognize that the result of this war is the most foregone of conclusions if you've been paying even the slightest bit of attention, so he effectively brushes past it to get to the emotional heart of the climax and an incredible "Oh shit!" payoff that cements Miller as one of mainstream cinema's greatest sickos.

Fury Road remains the greatest Mad Max film, but Furiosa might be the best thing George Miller has ever made. If not his magnum opus, it does at least feel like his dissertation, and it makes me wish Warner Bros. puts enough trust in him despite Furiosa's poor box office performance that he's able to make The Wasteland. Absolutely ridiculous that a man just short of his 80th birthday was able to pull this off, and with it I feel confident calling him one of my favourite directors.

[bodybaggage]

Shadows and Crowns

John Constantine finds himself dealing with royalty

john constantine/danny phantom

---

The London night was dark and damp, as was typical, but something was off. John Constantine could feel it, a prickle on the back of his neck—a telltale sign that something eldritch was afoot. He lit another cigarette, letting the smoke drift lazily upward as he navigated the narrow alleyways with practiced ease. His trench coat fluttered in the cool breeze, and he kept his eyes peeled for any sign of trouble.

It didn’t take long.

A sharp chill in the air made him pause, and he squinted into the fog ahead. The magical wards he had set earlier had been triggered, a clear sign that something powerful—otherworldly—had entered his turf. But what appeared before him wasn’t what he expected.

At first, it was just a flicker of light, almost like a distant star. But then it grew, taking on shape and form until a figure hovered a few feet above the ground, wrapped in a swirling cloak of darkness and stardust. His skin was pale, almost translucent, and his hair, a wild shock of white, floated around his head like a halo. His eyes glowed a vibrant, unnatural green, and his presence was something between awe-inspiring and terrifying. It was like staring into the cosmos itself—an eldritch being that seemed to draw the very night around it, bending reality with its mere existence.

John’s instincts screamed at him to run—this was no ordinary spirit, no run-of-the-mill ghost looking for a lost love or a wayward path to the afterlife. This was something far more ancient, far more powerful. Yet, his curiosity, the part of him that had always led him to the darkest corners of the magical world, kept him rooted to the spot.

“Bloody hell,” John muttered under his breath, taking another drag of his cigarette. “What the sodding hell are you?”

The figure tilted its head, the ethereal light of its eyes flickering with amusement. When it spoke, its voice was like a chorus, reverberating through the night air. “I could ask you the same, human.”

John’s eyes narrowed, not liking the sound of that. “Names, mate. I’m partial to knowin’ who—or what—I’m dealin’ with.”

The being seemed to consider this, the stars within its cloak twinkling brighter for a moment. Then, the dark shroud began to recede, revealing a figure beneath it. As the shadows peeled away, what remained was no less intimidating but far more defined.

He was tall, his body clad in armor that seemed to be forged from the cosmos itself—galaxies spun across the black metal, and constellations shimmered in the darkness. A flaming green crown rested atop his head, its fire dancing without heat, and a glowing green ring adorned his right hand, pulsating with power. The armor was intricately detailed, each piece enchanted with symbols John barely recognized but knew were ancient. Despite the regal appearance, there was something unnervingly beautiful about him—an otherworldly allure that tugged at the edges of John’s senses.

“Phantom,” the figure finally said, his voice still carrying that ethereal echo but now more grounded, more human. “King of the Infinite Realms.”

John’s cigarette nearly fell from his lips, but he caught himself just in time. “Infinite Realms, you say? Thought old Pariah Dark was still in charge of that bloody mess.”

Phantom’s expression darkened ever so slightly, the light of his eyes dimming. “Not anymore. I defeated him years ago. The Realms are under new rule now.”

John swore under his breath, stubbing out his cigarette on the damp pavement. The Infinite Realms were the stuff of nightmares—stories passed around in the magical underworld, tales of spirits and realms so dangerous that even the most seasoned sorcerers gave them a wide berth. Constantine himself had always steered clear of anything remotely connected to the place, and now here he was, face to face with its bloody king.

“Well, that’s just grand,” John muttered, more to himself than to Phantom. He cleared his throat, trying to regain some semblance of control. “So, what brings the King of Ghosts to my doorstep, eh? Don’t tell me you’ve come to add my soul to your collection.”

Phantom’s lips twitched into a small, knowing smile, and John felt an odd flutter in his chest—damn, he was ethereal. “Not quite. I’m here on business. I believe you’re familiar with the Soul Shredder?”

John’s blood ran cold. Of course he knew the Soul Shredder, a cursed artifact from the darkest corners of the Realms. It was said to be wielded by Fright Knight, Pariah Dark’s former right hand—a spectral warrior of unparalleled power. Rumor had it that the sword had been lost during Pariah Dark’s defeat, its whereabouts unknown. That was until now, apparently.

“Yeah, I’ve heard of it,” John admitted, his tone cautious. “But what’s it got to do with me?”

“It’s been stolen,” Phantom said, his expression turning serious. “And the one who took it has brought it to your world.”

Constantine swore again. “And you think I know somethin’ about it?”

Phantom’s gaze was piercing, though not unkind. “I think you’re one of the few in this world who knows how dangerous that sword can be. And I need it back before it causes irreparable damage.”

John’s mind raced, trying to piece together what little information he had. The Infinite Realms, a missing sword, and now its king standing in front of him, asking for help. This was way above his pay grade, and yet… something in Phantom’s presence, in the way he carried himself with a mix of regal authority and a hint of vulnerability, made John want to help.

Or maybe it was just that damn enchanting aura the ghost was giving off.

“All right,” John finally said, resigned. “I’ll help you track down your fancy sword. But once we find it, you take it and bugger off back to the Realms, got it?”

Phantom inclined his head slightly, a gesture of gratitude. “Agreed.”

Constantine turned, motioning for Phantom to follow. As they walked, John couldn’t help but glance sideways at the ghostly king, admiring the way his armor seemed to shimmer with an inner light, how the green flames of his crown flickered softly. The presence of the Ring of Rage caught John’s attention next, the glowing artifact known for its destructive power. Yet here it was, worn by a being who seemed to hold it with ease, as if it were merely a part of him.

“So,” John said after a moment, trying to keep his tone casual, “how’d you end up with all that fancy gear? That ring, in particular, looks like trouble.”

Phantom glanced at the ring, his expression unreadable. “It was a gift from the previous ruler. It comes with the territory.”

John whistled low. “You must’ve really done a number on old Pariah to earn that.”

Phantom’s gaze turned distant, as if remembering something far away. “It wasn’t easy,” he said quietly, the weight of his words heavy with the memory of that battle. “But it was necessary.”

John nodded, not pushing further. He understood that some battles left scars that were better left unspoken. Instead, he focused on the task at hand, trying to ignore the growing attraction he felt towards the ghostly king. It wasn’t just Phantom’s ethereal beauty—it was the way he carried himself, the way his presence filled the space around him with a mixture of power and calm. It was bloody distracting, to say the least.

“Right then,” John said, snapping himself back to reality. “Let’s find your bloody sword and get you back to your Realms, shall we?”

Phantom smirked, a faint glow of amusement returning to his eyes. “Lead the way, Constantine.”

As they moved deeper into the labyrinthine streets of London, the odd duo—one a jaded occult detective, the other a regal king from another dimension—began their search for the Nightmare Sword. Unbeknownst to John, this encounter with Phantom would change the course of his life, forcing him to confront powers beyond even his own reckoning. But for now, he pushed those thoughts aside, focusing instead on the task at hand, and the enigmatic figure at his side who, for some reason, made him feel more alive than he had in years.

——

john when he’s confronted by a hot inter-dimensional ghost:

[crownedwithstars]

I was thinking of Beren and Lúthien and how their story is so much more interesting than they get credit for. I mean, on the surface it reads like a fairy tale but it also elevates the rest of the story, it uses common fairy tale tropes but turns them upside down, and the way we see the heroine asserting her agency in this story is so fascinating. I think the story of Beren and Lúthien provides much needed contrast for the rest of the Silm, and both become more poignant because of this contrast. 

The familiar fairy tale goes like this: there's a a poor but resourceful peasant, set with a difficult task (which is in fact designed to be impossible to complete), but thanks to some magical help he is successful, retrieves treasure, and as a reward he wins the king's daughter and lives happily ever after as a prince, gaining all the earthly glory one can have in this life. But in the Tale of Beren and Lúthien, the hero is a traumatised outlaw, the king's daughter IS the magical help, she is an active and equal participant in the quest for her own hand in marriage, the treasure may actually be cursed, the hero and heroine die, and the ultimate reward is not a social rise from rags to riches. Beren does not become a member of the power-wielding elite of Doriath and he and Lúthien are not promised that their second life will be happy or long. But just that chance is worth it, and by choosing it they actually change the course of history. Lúthien is offered all the bliss that is possible to have in Arda, if she will give up Beren, but she decides that the love she has for him is still more valuable. And that idea, of loving someone so much that your love shifts the world, is so compelling to me. 

And I love that the story of Beren and Lúthien is also a rendition of Orpheus and Eurydice, and that just as the world was created in the Music of the Ainur, so is Lúthien's song powerful enough to change what those original notes dictated. She changes it with hope and a song. That is so simple and yet so beautiful, in the way some of the best myths are. (Insane that this is essentially a love-letter to Edith Tolkien.)

There is this fascinating contrast between Beren and Lúthien: at the time of their first meeting, Beren has lost literally everything and his family is either dead or lost beyond retrieval. Stumbling across Lúthien, he is fresh from terrible ordeals and suffering. But Lúthien's life has been full of happiness and without care, and she has lived in a literal fairy kingdom as the most beautiful of all the Children of Ilúvatar. She could have her pick of any prince of Eldar. But here she comes across this mortal, who has nothing to give except for his love and even that only for a brief time, and she is willing to risk all she has for it. The gall and courage it takes to take such a chance! She chooses this man and her choice changes everything. 

And that is brilliant! Because Lúthien starts with so little power and agency, and she is constantly belittled or even abused by those with more power around her. She is treated as a pawn, her will is undermined and she is coerced and imprisoned to make her compliant. But Lúthien shows her determination and courage in holding fast to her choice even when it's just her and Beren against the world. In the end, she wins agency and freedom to determine her own tale. In her beginning Lúthien is a maid dancing in the woods; by the end she will have faced Satan and death itself, and changed the world forever. Truly, to call her story "Release from Bondage" is more than appropriate. How insane is this all from Beren's point of view? He has lost everything, he is an outlaw, and has nowhere to go. What is left of his family is scattered who knows where. He has nothing but the clothes on his back and nothing to give. But here is this immortal princess, and she will go to hell and back with him! She will cross the Sundering Sea to bid him farewell! She pleads with inexorable death and for her, an exception is made!  It's so on brand for Tolkien that these two achieve with their love, and precisely because they act out of love, something that others with armies behind their backs can't even imagine doing.

Yeah. It's such a good, hopeful, bittersweet tale.

[metamorphesque]

The Dance, Siamanto (translated by Tathev Simonyan) text:

And as her tears drowned in her blue eyes, Over a field of ashes, where Armenian life was still dying, A German woman described the horror she had seen. "This unspeakable story I now tell you, I saw it with these ruthless, human eyes, From the window of my safe little home, That opened onto hell Grinding my teeth in fury and in dread… With these pitilessly human eyes, I saw it. It was in the city of Bardez, now a heap of ash, Where corpses were piled to the tops of trees, And from the waters, the springs, the streams, the roads, The murmur of your blood cried out in rebellion… Even now, its voice of vengeance still rings in my ears…" Oh, do not be horrified when I tell you this unspeakable tale… Let humankind understand—man's crime against man, Under the sun of just two days, along the path leading to grave— Man’s evil against man, Let it be known to every heart in this world… That death-drenched morning was a Sunday, The first and futile Sunday rising over the corpses, When in my room, from dusk until dawn, Bent over the death throes of a stabbed girl… I doused her death with my tears… Suddenly, from afar, a dark horde—beastly— With twenty brides—whipping them savagely, Singing songs of lust—stopped in a garden. I, leaving behind the half-dead girl on her mat, Approached the balcony of my hell-facing window… In the garden, the horde thickened like a forest. One of the brutes thundered to the brides: ‘You must dance! You must dance when our drum beats!’ And the whips began to howl with rage  against the bodies of those Armenian women, longing for their death… Hand in hand, the twenty brides began their circle dance… Tears poured from their eyes like open wounds, Ah, how I envied my wounded neighbor, For I heard that with a peaceful sigh and cursing the universe, The beautiful, broken Armenian girl, With her pure soul of a dove, flew toward the stars… In vain, I shook my fists against the crowd… “You must dance,” shrieked the wild horde, “Until your death—you must dance, you infidel beauties, Flapping your tits—you must dance, smiling and without protest… Fatigue is not for you, nor shame— You are slaves—you must dance, stripped down to your skin, Until your death—you must dance, lasciviously and shamelessly. Our eyes are thirsting for your flesh and your death…” The twenty beautiful brides collapsed to the ground, despaired and drained… “Stand up!” they shouted, brandishing their bare swords like serpents, Then one brought a jar of kerosene to the horde… O, human justice, let me spit upon your forehead— The twenty brides were hastily anointed with that fluid… “You must dance!” they thundered, “Here is a perfume, A fragrance Arabia itself cannot offer…” Then with a torch, they set aflame the naked bodies of the brides. And the charred corpses rolled from the dance into death… In horror, I slammed shut the shutters of the window like a storm, And turning to my lonely dead girl, I asked: How can I gouge out these eyes of mine? Tell me—how can I gouge them out…?

[broodwoof]

ooh saw a good post, queued it as i am the queue mutual, but it got me thinking about a lot of things

but very simply put: what we as dragon age players know has no relationship to what the characters know, and this is explicitly intentional

as players we gain access to a wealth of specific knowledge. but even we, as players, are not given hard truth all the time - the codices throughout all the games are written with a deliberate in-world bias

like the one codex that states that sexism does not exist in thedas, and then ppl getting upset because it obviously does? well.... gestures at our world.... bet you anything you could find countless modern articles saying that sexism does not exist/does not exist anymore/does not exist here, wherever 'here' is to the writer

have your feelings about it! but i'm just saying that the codices are deliberately written with bias. DAO literally gives you different codices depending on your race. treating them as Absolute Truth is going to lead to personal frustration when they are inevitably revealed to be limited, biased, and sometimes entirely wrong

the way the crows are written and talked about through the series vs. what we hear from one single character (zevran my beloved) who remains loyal to the crows while also trying to leave them while ALSO not wanting to display vulnerability vs. what we see from (one) particular house in veilguard so many in-game years after DAO... the way qunari are written about and how variable it is ("they're monsters" vs. "they have a real culture")... the way the grey warden order is discussed... the way that knowledge and opinion of magic varies wildly... the way that certain cultures handle their mages and magic being better, but other cultures not knowing or even deliberately suppressing that knowledge...

again, ppl will have their feelings about all of this and that's fine. but using a codex or something we as players learn from a prior game/dlc to point out a seeming "retcon" is not really engaging with some of the underlying themes of these games. the biases have been confirmed repeatedly. this was a real intent right from the inception of this series

and hey, it's natural! we literally play as the warden, as hawke, as the inquisitor, and now as rook. it's hard to set aside our knowledge from prior games. but in-game, within the narrative itself, those characters don't have deep knowledge of what the other characters do/have done. hawke certainly knows of the warden, but cannot recount every battle, every codex, every conversation the warden had with people. thus, hawke cannot make use of every bit of knowledge the warden - and we as players - gained through that game. further, hawke's understanding of what the warden did is colored by biased recountings and an emphasis on certain story beats over others

in DAI, in early conversation with cassandra, she tells the inquisitor about the time she "single-handedly" slayed a dragon... and how twisted that story had become over its retellings. and, i mean, solas' everything. the evanuris. but i like referencing cassandra in this because this is something that happened in a single lifetime, yet has already grown into a fanciful tale that discounts a huge amount of what actually happened

she knows that mages helped save the day and protect the divine. we know that, too. but the world of thedas? the vast majority of those who know the story do not know that mages helped. and, again, this was within one lifetime. many who know the story were alive when the real event took place. but it doesn't matter! because they weren't there, and they're hearing about it from other people, who heard about it from other people, and so on, and at various points things were dropped or added

and, hell, the entirety of DA2 is a story told by varric to cassandra. i know some people get frustrated with considering that aspects of it may have been falsified because that makes it hard to figure out the truth (and that's fair!), but i think it's worth acknowledging that this narrative direction was not only intentional, but utterly explicit. we literally see varric telling cassandra the story of DA2

[running-with-kn1ves]

fem scientist who created a frankstein!reader to have the cherish and love them but reader doesn’t have a care for that wants to explore the real world 🌎

Or

reader with self esteem issues orders a fem!robot off a shady website because reader can’t rizz a real girl

(idk plot wise but can it end in smut? I just want to be loved and caressed by a pretty lady 🥲)

A/N: So real anon... Feeling off about this one, was going to scrap it but I spent too much time trying to FIX it.

CW: Sex Robot GF, NSFW, loser reader

_________________________

There she stood, like the life size version of a barbie doll in a box. Only, she was far more bubble-wrapped and covered in styrofoam packing peanuts than a plastic barbie would be. Ripping open the protective layers keeping her pristine were harder than setting the android’s system up itself, its interface automatically connecting to your Wi-Fi and booting up with the click of a button. 

This wasn’t a moment of glory or ravenous hunger-- there was a level of gut-turning excitement in the back of your mind, true, but it was clouded by the insecurity of your purchase. A sex doll? What would your friends think of you when they came over? How the hell would you hide a human-sized being in your tiny bedroom?

No. You wouldn’t allow yourself to be concerned with that-- it was too late. You already paid a year-long warranty and they were keen on no returns. Your neighbors probably thought it was a new fridge, maybe a pre-built bookcase from how big the box was; little did they know the naked woman in your apartment was a top-shelf, silicone-covered, glistening creature of man-made horror that sounded, acted, and mostly looked like a real human. If only her eyes were a little less… uncanny. That might make you feel a bit better about having her lean over you in bed, trying to drag you back in each time you attempted to get up for work-- a lovely, and realistic programming factor that made you feel wanted, desired. 

She could even work in the shower, waterproof and fireproof as shown in a few kitchen mishaps. Despite how many accidents and new challenges you faced with the android, she remained in prime condition, never losing face or acting out of sorts; she was the only constant in your life. And best of all, she performed exactly how you hoped she would. Most of the time.

The smooth flesh of her fingers heated as they lazily rubbed circles over your underwear, slender and long and yearning. Your eyes glazed over while staring at the dim TV, focusing on the hand against your crotch. It didn’t feel right, how desperately she seemed to want you; she wasn’t real, of course not. So why did it feel so good when she kissed your neck with a cute nuzzle and pulled at the zipper of your jeans, her body heating as if there were real veins, and blood pumping beneath her shell? 

“I want to please you..” She’d murmur, awfully humanlike. “You’ve been aroused all day; waiting for me to recharge?” The grin spreading across her face could be heard through each well pronounced syllable; like usual, her intuition was scarily accurate. “Mm, there’s wetness collecting beneath my hands, your heart is beating faster than usual…”

You shift with your legs wider, letting her have easy access to the heat pooling below your stomach. Her fingers had a magic touch you previously only fantasized about-- the real warmth of a woman, of someone who would reciprocate your seemingly loser-like desperation. 

You nodded to her direct question, watching dark eyes scan you for tell-tale signs; the rich brown hid how she planned her next set of moves inside intelligent hardware. She noticed the way your palms grew sweaty, biting your lips as you kept thinking of hers, your eyes half-lidded as she kept swirling her finger over that one spot…

“How do you want it,” She asked, unconsciously sultry with a cautious hand pressing deeper against you. “Hard, soft… You seem particularly worked up today.”

“Please just…” You sounded like a bumbling virgin compared to her lustful sultriness, fumbling. “I don’t want to talk about it, just give me this.”

Her disbelieving look left you feeling sheepish, but still she pulled her hair back into a sloppy ponytail, keeping your gaze with scrutiny as the hair tie hung from her mouth. She wasn’t going to give up that easily.

 “That’s what I’m here for,” She drifts your damp underwear to your knees, leaving a trail of slick as it peeled from you. “To help, and to listen. So, go on.” 

‘Listening’ was a choice word to use, as she slid down in between your bare legs, licking her lips.

Her mouth hovers over your sex, hot breath fanning as she looks up at you, her pupils unnaturally large. You wait for her to begin, but she keeps herself there-- watching. Was she really going to make you talk about your crappy remote job?

“I said go on.” 

You felt her dip down tongue-first before you realized what she was doing-- thrusting the wet, mechanical muscle inside as it curled up, caressing the sides of your walls with a gentle harshness. 

The involuntary gasp you released left you gripping onto the couch, watching as a flush filled her cheeks. Pretty, carefully placed lashes batted at you as she sunk deeper against your thighs. 

“It was just-- IT bullshit,” You let out, watching as she pulls at your hips to force you farther onto her mouth, the sensation quickly becoming overwhelming. The lust buzzes in your mind, fogging it as you allow your eyes to unfocus. “You know, the usual-- people who can’t-- can’t do their jobs!” 

You feel for her hair for support, grabbing below the android’s ponytail as her hair fanned over your wrist, tickling your skin as her tongue grew hot and fast, impossibly so. How were you ever going to find a real woman who could compare? She was equipped with the tools that could make you come in under a minute; barely had she touched you, and you were starting to feel the build of a deep burn that would soon rise to a shuddering, gripping climax. 

Her open-mouthed hum of approval vibrated against you, her mouth moist and warm as it sucked from below. 

With a slick pop, she pulled away from your sex and licked her top lip, her eyes fierce and almost fearful in their intensity. 

“You’re right, it was bullshit,” Her pearly, off-white teeth shining to perfection, giving you a smile that was just as lustful as it was devious. She was made for this, to make you ache when she wasn’t touching you. “But it doesn’t matter now; now, is your time to de-stress.”

She climbs with precision onto your lap, a hand pushing your chest down to force you tight against the couch. You almost looked pitiful, drunken with lust and craning your neck so you could have a taste of her berry pink lips. 

“Your expression looks desperate, wanting; from what I can tell, you’re going to come soon.” She hovers over your parted mouth, witnessing the chapped and bitten lips from a dehydrated all-nighter and poor self care; nothing got past her high grade processors, no matter how hard you tried to hide your flaws, or your yearning. “You’ll have to take better care of yourself when I’m not around, otherwise… I don’t know how I can let you come in good conscience.”

The frustration from her edging, her droning, the press of her knee between your legs-- You had yet to figure out how to reprogram her cleverness, her knack for a soft form of mental sadism.

“Okay, okay,” It’s hard not to arch up against her as she finds the shell of your ear, flicking her tongue against it-- enticing you to submit. “I…promise. I’ll eat like-- a salad or something, tonight…”

Her fingers sweetly brush hair away from your eyes, watching as you practically drool for them-- she’s not easy to get past-- and breaking a promise like this, would leave you to be more destitute than if you actually just started taking care of yourself. 

“That’s what I like to hear.”

The android falls to your mouth, letting your tongue find hers as you muffle a moan against her, her touch mimicking a gentle kind of intimacy. It felt unbelievably comforting, warmth spreading in your chest and your belly; almost as good as if she were made of real flesh and bone. 

For a moment, you could forget the mess of your apartment, the missed calls sitting on your phone, the credits rolling on the television. It was her hand cupping your most sensitive aspect, driving you near to an orgasm that would leave you limp and shaking. As sad as it might be, this was the best part of your day. No more crappy phone calls or endless doom scrolling, just her, and you. Her hand down south, grinding against your leg as you lean into her touch.

Your human body however was no match for her stamina-- not to mention, your lack of doing anything but rotting in your apartment  has left you breathless just trying to thrust into her hand. 

Breaking the kiss she grins at your predictability, your rising heart rate. 

“Don’t go soft on me now, little human; keep going, love.”

Those sweet words could have you on your knees in a second, and they did wonders for your failing breaths. 

“Don’t stop,” You pitifully command. Your useless hands once resting on her hips fell into the dip of her loose shirt, where she lacked any bra to keep her uncannily perfect, symmetrical breasts in prime access. If you had the strength to move her iron body any closer, you’d shove your face against them to keep the world out. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” She whispers in your ear as you finally find the end you’ve been waiting for; letting her draw you to the crash of your orgasm, you find your finale. She lets you grip and cling like a desperate lover, the android holding you tight against her skin as her fingers move at an inhuman speed, letting lewd sounds fill the living room. 

You give yourself the freedom to scream against her, letting the pent up desire and need release from you as a shivering detox. The exhaustion sets in almost immediately, the sensation of her immovable grip on you leaving a painful sting as she rubs out the lasting spikes of your orgasm.

You try to find solace in the sound of her beating chest matching in rhythm with your own. The credits of your unwatched movie are still rolling, and you realize the last few minutes were just that-- minutes. It felt like an eternity being in the grip of arousal; a part of you wishes you were still in it, being rubbed slowly, just to keep her feeling you up.

“I love you.” She murmurs, slightly winded and drowsy, as if it were you speaking; for a moment you don’t think you’ve heard her right. But again, she whispers it into your other ear, squeezing around you. You go still, wordless with your heart skipping beat after beat, wondering if the afterglow of your orgasm has completely broken the last shred of your sanity. 

[awkwardandeccentric]

So I know that a lot of people are anxious about the “Stolas joins I.M.P. Arc” and I get it, but since it looks like the show is going that way, I do want to point out three reassuring things:

1. He’ll more of a chance to find community. It wasn’t just Paimon keeping him under lock-and-key that kept him isolated. It’s also a cult that actively kept him discouraged from talking to anyone that wasn’t a Goetia or a Sin. There just aren’t that many Goetia or Sin, and even less who like him. If he’s able to diversify his options for community, he’ll find other out and proud queer people. Autistic people. People who don’t use him as the scapegoat or the cautionary tale. It’s not like Blitzø will keep him dependent and locked up. If anything, I imagine Blitzø will actively encourage Stolas to find community in others.

2. Stolas’ classism/racism is at its worst when he’s around the other Goetia (namely Stella). Probably because he's unconsciously trying to fit in to a community that will not accept him. But when he doesn't talk to the other Goetia for a while, he chills out a lot. Not to where he needs to be, but he at least treats them like autonomous beings with feelings. I think it’ll be a lot easier for someone to point out his race/class issues if he’s not being influenced by a community that requires that mentality to be accepted.

3. The Ars Goetia is a cult. I cannot stress that enough. He’s in a cult. He needs to GTFO for his own safety and well-being. It’s a high-control setting that does not allow you to fraternize with anyone not like you and controls everything about you, like how you dress, who you marry, your reproductive life, your job, etc. He was nearly murdered and there were no repercussions. The Ars Goetia need to be torn down as a society. They are actively damaging not only their own people, but also a lot of Hell, itself.

[nevermord]

Forcing them to earn their salvation through the choices they make and the lessons they learn. Ultimately forgiving themselves being the path to salvation. Each person here literally trapped in a hell of their own making. Very poetic in a way.

Nick's Place (1 part) A Fantasy set in Hell.

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to Tales Set in Hell Itself

NICK’S PLACE

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

© 2017 by Glen Ten-Eyck

2631 words

written 2006

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express written consent of the author or proper copyright holder.

//////////////

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Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions.

Fan Activity of all sorts is actively encouraged.

///////////////////////

I was watching the dancer on the main stage in my noisy, dimly lit club. She was cheerfully gyrating as she reached for her bra hooks. The only apparent crack in the happy facade was the drink parked in the corner of the stage beside her purse and the balance of her costume. There were two more empty glasses beside it.

While Mary was popping her top off with a flourish of whirling cups and straps, I was interrupted.

A voice filled with disapproval pronounced, “Brother Nick, I am surprised that you are watching such a lewd display as this.”

A man of meaty jowls and too many flashy rings parked his rear next to me in the meat-rack, as the front row seats are affectionately or derisively called by the dancers. Really depends on the girl and her attitude.

“I could say the same, Reverend Stone, but I am too damn diplomatic to make such judgments,” I replied, slightly nettled that he had distracted me at the exact moment of Mary going topless. Another disappointment. Story of my life. “It’s really not that surprising to find me here. After all, I run this place.”

The Reverend shook his distinguished looking, falsely graying, locks at me. Salon frosted, I happened to know. I am more aware of deception than the average Joe.

Sententiously he pronounced, “I am amazed that you would admit to it, Brother Nick. I have come here to attempt to save these fallen souls.”

Right. And I’m a three-nutted monkey.

Keep reading

[kamiversee]

➶-͙˚ ༘✶ 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁*𝘾𝙆 𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

✧.* CHAPTER 32 || The Heavy Tension (pt. 2)

[ { SYPNOSIS } ] ➤ A tale in which Gojo Satoru blackmails you into seducing a list of people to clear his debt. Sounds easy enough, right?

[ { CHAPTER CONTENT } ] ➤ language & sexual tension.

[ { WORD COUNT } ] ➤ 4.4k

[ { PAIRINGS } ] ➤ jjk men x f!reader. gojo x f!reader. geto x f!reader. toji x f!reader. choso x f!reader. sukuna x f!reader. nanami x f!reader.

[ [ chapters mlist } ]

——THE NEXT FEW DAYS are dull and you feel so grey. Everything that occurred on that fateful Friday, you push to the deepest and darkest depths of your mind. Thinking about the situation only makes you confused so, you push it away.

Gojo doesn't speak to you for a while, he doesn't text you, doesn't call, and you're pretty sure he's avoiding you. Even so, you could live with it. It made it easier for you not to think about everything.

So, you just focused on your next task which was Sukuna.

Gojo had consumed so much of your brain that you forgot all about Sukuna almost entirely. Every day leading up to the Thursday you were set to meet up with him, you thought about how things would go down. He told you to meet him at the same place and the same time and that there would be no party this time.

The house you were in was huge and you don't even think you remember the directions he gave you. Hell, do you even remember where the damn house itself is? Gojo was the one that drove you there after all...

Because of this, you wondered if you should text Sukuna and ask him. He did give you his number after all.

You debated on doing so every day up until Thursday came. You don't know why you were so anxious about the whole thing but it took you quite some time to work up the confidence to text the man. Maybe it was because of how intimidating he is?

But, he's also ridiculously hot.

With that thought, as you lay in your bed that Thursday morning, you grabbed your phone. Just as you raise it into your line of vision, you notice a message already sitting there at the top of your notification list. It was from a minute ago, from Sukuna.

Your eyes widened at his timing and you smiled a little as your fear of texting him faded, moving to see what he said and respond.

The male asked if you were still coming over today and you replied with a simple 'yeah' and then went on to ask him for his address, to which he responded within minutes by sending it to you.

The conversation was so short that you didn't even know what you were sweating over. That took the weight off your shoulders and you made sure to spend the rest of the day mentally preparing for that.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

You were standing outside of the mansion before you knew it, one of your hands buried into the pocket of your jacket as the cold November air brushed over your exposed skin. You shivered a little, not too fond of being outside so late and ready to get inside already.

Your knuckles gently tapped across the surface of the large doors presented before you. It was pretty dark but there were these nice lights that lit up as you walked up the entrance path so you got a decent view of the scenery that surrounds Sukuna's place when there's no party.

Nonetheless, after your knock, you moved to ring the doorbell but you were interrupted by one of the double doors swinging open. Your eyes went wide at the person who allowed you inside, seeing that they were in no way shape, or form, Sukuna.

As you stepped into the house, you took a slight glance around the spotless interior that didn't reak of partygoers, your admiration only lasting a few seconds before your last name was said by the person who'd let you in. Your head turned to them and you raised a brow.

They've got quite the appearance to them; with short, bob-cut white hair and a unique part of their hairstyle that's dyed red, androgynous features, and a stoic expression, they motion to take your coat from you, to which you chirp out an 'oh, sorry' in response.

You didn't wear anything crazy, just a pair of black sweats-- you weren't trying to impress Sukuna after all so you saw no point in dressing up. As your jacket slides off your shoulders and your arms, you watch as the white-haired individual goes to hang it up nearby.

"He's upstairs waiting for you," They inform you, making your turn to look toward the stairs.

You wanted to ask where but when you turned back to do so, the person was gone already-- making their way down a nearby hallway. Their steps weren't quick or anything but you noticed how far they'd gotten from you in such a short amount of time.

With a shrug, you furthered into the house. It was quite warm inside so that made you feel more at ease as you made your way up the staircase.

Everything was beyond clean. So much so that the house looked like an entirely new place in comparison to the last time you were there. The second-floor hallway seemed longer than you remembered and it was so spacious.

You slip your hands into the pockets of your sweatpants as you stroll down the hallway, your steps stuttering as you glance into one of the rooms. You back yourself up and narrow your eyes.

The bedroom door was wide open and inside you spotted a picture of Choso, one you'd seen before. Unable to ignore your curiosity, you took one last glance down the hall to make sure Sukuna was nowhere in sight and then dipped into the room.

You just wanted a closer look, nothing crazy.

Doing so, as you approached the portrait you also took in the bedroom's furniture. It looked almost exactly like Choso's bedroom in his apartment. The color palette of the room matched his vibe, his style, everything. Hell, you just knew it was his bedroom.

But, it didn't look like anyone had lived inside the room in years. You saw a sheer layer of dust lying on the nightstand beside the photo you wanted to look at so it was clear that it hardly even got cleaned. Carefully, you pulled the picture up and inspected it, seeing a cute image of Choso and Yuji hugging each other.

It made you smile because you know that this exact picture is taped up in the sun visor of Choso's car, just a smaller version that's not framed of course.

Okay so, maybe you do miss Choso. And of course, it's as you're about to fuck Sukuna that you start thinking like this... A little sigh escaped your lips and you moved to place the picture down.

As the item is put back in place, you notice the lighting in the bedroom that was coming from the hallway dims, almost like a shadow-

Oh shit.

You were caught, weren't you?

Goosebumps rise along your back and you swallow hard before turning your head around, noticing a familiar man standing at the doorway of the bedroom you were in. Your eyes go wide and then the lights of the room flick on, revealing your features to Sukuna who was wondering why you were in the room to begin with.

You open your mouth to explain yourself but he cuts you off with that deep voice of his, "How'd you end up in here?" Sukuna asked.

Were you sweating? You're not sure but you sure as hell felt nervous even though you hadn't done anything criminal, "U-Uh, I uhm, I got curious..." You murmur honestly.

Sukuna tilts his head and those dark maroon eyes of his narrow, "Curious?"

"Well... I uhm..."

He nods his chin toward the picture you just had in your hands, "You know my brother, don't you?"

Your eyes widen, "N-No-"

"You're not a good liar, sweetheart," He chuckles, slowly entering the room.

Your heart pulses strongly at that nickname. In your mind, only one person should be calling you such a thing. And Sukuna's voice alone was so damn intoxicating, it's like he was seducing you by just speaking.

You swallow, "I'm not lying, I don't know your brother."

Sukuna scoffs, steadily approaching you, "I'm not talking about the one that looks like me, y'know."

"I know but-"

"He's talked about you before," Sukuna says suddenly.

You think your heart sinks into your toes. Holy shit, you thought Sukuna and Choso didn't like each other? Does Sukuna know you've slept with Choso? Does that fuck things up-

"I'm joking, relax yourself, woman." Sukuna starts chuckling, mocking the shock and fear on your face, "Though, I don't understand why you lied about knowing him, it's pretty damn obvious now."

You let out a relieved sigh, "I uh... I just think it's weird that I know him, considering what I'm about to do with you..."

Sukuna arches a brow, "What you're about to do with me? Remind me what we're about to do again, I forgot." He taunts, clearly lying as a smirk spreads across his face.

The man is now standing right in front of you and you feel like you're shrinking under his gaze all over again, "I mean," Your eyes drop down and you fiddle with your fingers, "Aren't we gonna-"

He cuts you off, his fingers going to your chin and lifting your head so that you can't avoid eye contact with him. Your words fall off your tongue and you're mute again, to which he scoffs, "Go on..."

You try to collect yourself, taking a deep breath and batting your eyelashes at him, "Aren't you gonna fuck me?"

That wicked smile of his appears and the sight makes you so beyond weak in the knees. Sukuna lets out a low chuckle and then leans down a bit so that he can be at your eye level, "Is that what you want me to do?" He whispers, "You want me to fuck you like I should have last week?"

You're nodding before you even realize it.

Sukuna hums and then his thumb slips up to your bottom lip, dragging it down a little, "Speak, woman."

"Yeah," You breathe out, "That's exactly what I want."

He hums and then glances off to the side. Then, that smirk of his widens and he chuckles, "In here?"

Your body tenses up. Fucking Sukuna in Choso's old bedroom is the last thing you'd ever want to do. "W-What? No..." You say.

Sukuna raises a brow and his gaze glides back over to you, "No? What's wrong with this room?"

"Everything," You hum, "It's just weird since I know him..."

The man's head tips to the side slowly and his eyes gaze way too intently into your own, eyelids lowering as you begin like he can see right through you. "How's it weird?" Sukuna scoffs, "One little photo's got you all weirded out?"

"Well... isn't this his room?" You ask, looking off to the side to avoid the constant eye contact.

Sukuna's eyebrows raise in surprise and he laughs again before leaning back to stand up straight. His tattooed muscular arms cross over his chest as he folds them. The man then looks around the bedroom.

"Does it look like he's been in this room lately?" Sukuna chuckles, "Emo fuck moved out the second he got the chance."

"Okay but still," You sigh, "I don't wanna do anything in someone else's room."

With a roll of his eyes, Sukuna turns away from you, "Fine then, follow me."

When you look at the man, you quickly begin to follow behind him as he walks you out. In the hall, he waits until you're out of the bedroom and then shuts the door behind you.

After which, he leads you into the same bedroom he had you in a week ago and you shut the door as you enter behind him.

"This isn't anyone else's room, right?" You ask carefully.

Sukuna is seen pulling his shirt up over his head before tossing it into a pile on the floor, and then he heads toward his bathroom, chuckling at your words. "Relax, it's a spare." He tells you.

You lose sight of him as he enters his bathroom and the light flicks on, the door left open. "Oh... So am I not special enough to be in your room?" You question, smiling a little as you carefully follow him.

"It's a mess," Sukuna tells you, "And the last thing I want to do is have sex in a room of filth."

You scoff lightly, approaching the bathroom door frame and peeking inside. Sukuna is seen looking for something in one of the counter drawers and you get the full display of his back.

God damn is his back profile sexy. You saw it last time you were here but the sight never fails to impress you. His shoulders are so broad, his back muscles are so defined, and... Your eyes narrow as you notice a bruise on the back of his upper right shoulder, near his tattoo.

You're stepping into the bathroom and moving to get a closer look without a second thought. Sukuna looks over that same shoulder when he notices you behind him and he hisses as soon as your fingertips make contact with the bruise.

"Sorry," You murmur. He glares at you but you don't feel scared, instead, you touch the bruise again, the contact much gentler this time, "How'd this happen?"

His glare fades in an instant at the sound of your concern. You really know nothing about him and it shows-- the fact surprising to him. Sukuna has quite the reputation for himself so he's surprised you're this clueless.

"A fight," Sukuna tells you, his gaze dropping to your hand as you shift your palm over the mark.

He swallows hard when your lips replace your hand and you kiss his skin gently, "What kinda' fight?" You whisper, shifting your gaze up to his.

It's slow but he soon meets your eyes, "Bad one. Fucker' snuck a hit on me like the little bitch he is," Sukuna curses.

You hum and then kiss over the bruise a second time, making the man tense up, "Does it hurt?"

He hates to admit it but, to little extent, "Yes," It did hurt, "But I'm about to put somethin' on it so, I'll be fine."

You grin, "I can do it for you."

"You like taking care of people, don't you?" Sukuna hums, his words sounding like an observation he's made.

You chuckle sheepishly, "Sometimes, yeah."

"Might' have to keep you around if that's the case," Sukuna says.

What does he mean by that? Keep you around? For what? Wait... he's not growing interested in you for more than sex, is he?

You didn't think much of your interactions with him but his words just now make your brows push together.

"Keep me around?" You try to play it off, "Were you planning on getting rid of me?"

He laughs and then turns his head away from you and down to the drawer his hand was still in, quickly grabbing the item he'd been looking for. His hand then motions back to you and you take the tube of numbing cream from him.

"No, but, I fight a lot and I'd love to have a pretty face like yours taking care of me after each one," Sukuna comments, his words making your heart race.

You open what he's handed to you and move to apply the product onto his skin, "You've got a pretty face downstairs who I'm sure takes care of you just fine."

Sukuna's brows pinch together for a moment and he squints in thought, wondering who the hell you're talking about before he remembers. "Uraume?!" The man scoffs.

"Yeah," You hum, smiling a little as you swipe the cream over his bruise, earning another hiss from him in reaction to the chill, "Do you not find them pretty?"

Sukuna rolls his eyes at your question, "Uraume and pretty don't belong in the same sentence."

You frown and press your thumb into his bruise, making his eyes widen as his shoulder limps, "That's mean, Sukuna."

"G-God damnit woman, that fucking hurts," He snaps, turning his head back to you with a sharp and angered glare.

You lighten the pressure of your thumb, quickly acknowledging that you're playing with fire right now. To make up for it, you do this circular motion with your thumb and massage the area.

"Sorry," You chirp innocently.

He would've spewed more curses out to you but as you start to massage him, a sense of soothing takes over the area and he relaxes under your touch. "You did that on purpose," Sukuna utters through gritted teeth.

You giggle and keep running your thumb over his bruise, doing well enough for him to face forward and flutter his eyes shut. A smile graces your face as you see clear evidence of you doing good and you lose yourself a little when the man starts letting out sounds.

There was this low hum that vibrated against his throat as you touched him just right, the noise giving you chills. It was so sexy and low that it gave you butterflies.

You sigh and continue for a while, wondering what other sounds you can prompt from him. With that, you apply a little more pressure, not enough to inflict pain but to instead soothe him once more.

Sukuna rolls his head back and his brows tense, a deep and core-throbbing hum leaving his lips, "Fuuck, that feels good..." He groans, smirking a bit afterward, "Keep goin'."

The praise brings heat in between your thighs but you try your best to focus on what you're doing, massaging him as best you can. Sukuna's head remains tossed back and he keeps his eyes shut, his face twisting up and scrunching every now and then as you work against his tense skin.

You take a slight peak around his body to see him in the mirror, eyeing his defined tattoo-covered abs and watching the way they flex and tense as you roll your thumb around just right. You smirk and lean forward a little, pressing your chest against his back and hearing him inhale sharply.

You then snake your other hand around his body and push up on your toes to look over his shoulder, watching your free hand lay flat against his abs. Sukuna moves his head to look down at your touch, raising a brow.

Your thumb presses a little harder into his shoulder and you watch his lips part and his eyebrows twist up. A soft breath of air leaves him and you smirk at how he almost just moaned.

Wanting to hear such a sound from him, you slide your hand downward to his v-line, running your delicate fingers against it while moving your thumb away from his shoulder. You then kiss around the bruised area, still watching his reaction in the mirror.

A smile graces your face and you slip a finger under the fabric of his sweatpants, making him close his mouth shut to stop himself from releasing any noises.

Sukuna then chuckled darkly, "I love an easy whore like you," He comments, catching you off guard by placing his hand over yours, "So eager to touch me, aren't you?"

You slide over a bit and kiss the nape of his neck, making him flinch. "Very eager," You reply slyly.

He hums. "What happens when I get eager to touch you?" Sukuna asks.

You move to stand flat on your feet, wrap your other arm around his body, and basically hug him. "Are you eager to touch me?" You question in return, realizing that the man has hardly laid a finger on you so far.

His large calloused fingers wrap around your wrists and you feel him pull your hands away from his body. Sukuna releases one and then brings the other to his mouth, placing a kiss on the palm of your hand.

You giggle at the contact, "Guess' that answers my question..."

Sukuna grins against your skin before moving your hand away from his mouth. The man then uses his grip on your wrist to pull you from around his body. You stumble a bit due to his aggressive tug and you're quickly moved in front of him.

Your head angles up as you meet his eyes, your body trapped between his muscular frame and the bathroom counter. Sukuna leans down a little, placing his hands on the counter behind you and at your sides.

He then tilts his head, "I'm eager to do more than just touch you."

Your hands raise to his shoulders, fingers soon sliding up along his skin until you get to his neck, "Then do more than just touch me, Sukuna. What're you waiting for?" You whisper, tone sultry.

He licks his lips and then cracks a sexy smile, "I like building up your anticipation," He claims, "I want you begging for me."

One of his legs shifts in between yours and you inhale sharply as his thigh nears your heat. Your hands go to his arms as if to brace yourself, "Please?" You whisper.

Sukuna's smile fades into something lustful, "Please what?"

Your hands begin to rise until you're able to wrap your arms around his neck, "Please touch me."

His eyebrows raise a bit, "Touch you where?" Sukuna asks as his leg lifts a little.

You feel his thigh press up against your clothed sex and your breath hitches, "T-There," You breathe out.

Sukuna's gaze drops to your lips and he then slides his leg forward, causing it to rub against your sex, "Right there?" He asks in a low tone.

You nod your head and roll your hips forward just a little, "Yeah, right there..."

Sukuna tilts his head and his face nears yours, lips brushing over your own as he speaks, "Like this?" He questions while drawing his leg back but in an upward motion.

That, combined with the slight movement of your hips allowed you a pleasurable moment of friction. You let out a quiet moan and Sukuna smiles before finally pressing his lips to yours.

His hands then go to your waist, the touch making you tense up within his grasp. Part of his hand slips under the shirt you're wearing, feeling your bare skin against his fingers as his lips work over yours. Meanwhile, his other hand slides down to your hip and he pulls you up along his leg.

"Mmh," You hum into his mouth and receive a half smile from him momentarily.

The feeling of his lips curling into a smirk for just a moment makes you simply melt. Your arms hold onto his neck tighter and Sukuna's hand begins to raise up under your shirt, the fabric bundling up at his wrist as he does so.

Wet and slick sounds of his tongue and lips slipping over your own fill the air, each sound accompanied by an occasional groan from the male. Sukuna's teeth soon latch onto your lower lip and he tugs at it, sucking on your skin afterward.

Both of your eyes open and you two make brief eye contact, breaths shared and the gaze intense. Sukuna smirks as he takes in your flushed features, biting his bottom lip as he feels you grinding over his thigh as best as you can.

After his second of taking in your presence, he leans back in, his tongue slipping out of his mouth and licking over your lips before you part them for him. It's sensual and hot the way he works the appendage into your mouth, both of your eyes fluttering shut as his tongue reaches yours.

Sukuna snakes a hand up and behind you, his fingers brushing against your spine and making you arch into his body before he reaches your bra. As you make out with the man, you hear a snap and feel the way the man casually breaks the clasp to your bra instead of undoing it like a normal person.

A surprised hum leaves your lips and you try to pull away from him but he grows aggressive, firmly pressing his mouth against yours and letting out a slight chuckle in reaction to the way you're squirming. The hand that was on your hip then flies up to your neck and you moan.

Sukuna pries his mouth away from your own with a loud pop, a slim string of saliva hanging from the tip of his tongue and your lips.

The man tilts his head at you tauntingly, "Aw, look at you..." He coos, his large hand sliding up to your flushed expression, "All fucked out from some kisses?"

You pant, just barely able to catch your breath before swallowing heavily, "N-No..."

Sukuna laughs at your response and then both of his hands go beneath your thighs. You gasp when he lifts you up and onto the counter behind you, removing the friction from between your legs. He makes up for that by then gliding his grasp up and onto your waist again.

The male tugs your body close to his as he pushes himself forward, allowing you to feel the bulge in his sweats right against your clothed cunt. Your lips part and you let out a breathy sound, one that he smiles at.

Sukuna's then quick to move to work your shirt up and over your head, along with the bra in which he'd just broken-- not that you comment on it just yet. Your upper half is then revealed to the man and his eyes drop to the sight.

He smirks, "Y'know... I think I like you, sweetheart," Sukuna suddenly comments.

Your heart sinks again, "Like me?"

His gaze snaps back up to your eyes, "Not in a romantic way, don't get excited."

You weren't-- you got worried. "I-I'm not but, I mean, I would hope you like me..." You hum, pouting slightly at his words to play it off.

Sukuna licks his lips, "Yeah, I do," He says, then snickering, "I'm just letting you know because..." The man leans toward your face again and his lips brush right over your own, "I'm about to fuck you like I hate you."

GOJO SATORU ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

GETO SUGURU ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

TOJI FUSHIGURO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢

KAMO CHOSO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢 / 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

ZEN'IN NAOYA ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙭𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

ITADORI SUKUNA ☐ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮???

NANAMI KENTO ☐ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: ???

mlist || previous chapt || next chpt

[dizzydaisychains]

𝒜𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒲𝑜𝓇𝓁𝒹 𝒞𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓈 𝐼𝓃

☾⋆ pairing: sylus x reader

☾⋆ summary: in which goodbyes are never easy and sylus can only try his best to find comfort in spending his final moments with you.

☾⋆ word count: 2.2k

☾⋆ a/n: this picture had me laughing but also crying because they both looks so sad ?? it inspired me to write this brief little snapshot of a doomed wedding and a last goodbye (praying the actual card gives sylus eternal happiness and not the abysmal ending i gave him…also i listened to as the world caves in by matt maltese on repeat as i wrote this hence the title…poor sylus…)

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆⋆˙⟡☾ ˙⋆⋆˙𖤓☽⟡˙

In the middle of the Cassiopeia constellation, eleven thousand light-years away from Earth, a lonely chapel floats among the stars. 

It’s a curious sight for anyone that manages to spot it; very few do. Because despite all their advancements in technology, many of the people on Earth still cannot distinguish the chapel from the thousands of stars that make up the constellation. Some have even started to question its existence. But that doesn’t stop the stories of course. The legends of the floating chapel and how it came to be doomed to a life floating in space. 

The stories all begin with the same premise: that once upon a time, the chapel lived on a planet named Philos, revered and loved by all until the dragon claimed it as his own.

The tale becomes murky from this point onwards. Some claim the chapel became the nest where the dragon swallowed his victims whole. Others say it became the entrance to Hell itself, born from greed and sin of the beast. But only two people know the truth. The forbidden lovers who sealed their eternal fate with an oath.

However, neither lived to pass down the truth; that in the end, the chapel became the place where the sorceress gave half of her soul to her beloved dragon. A deal to make. A price to pay. And once the dragon had been slain and his lover found dead in a field of flowers, the mortals banished the chapel into Deepspace, tossing it into the depths of the Universe as if it were nothing more than a pebble on the side of the street, for blasphemous deeds had occurred within the chapel’s walls.

It drifted aimlessly for centuries. An empty vessel with no place to call home, until one day, the Moon took pity on it. How could the mortals treat such a magnificent building with disgust and disdain? How could they not understand the sacrifice that the lovers made just for a chance to be together? 

No, the Moon simply could not spend another decade watching the chapel orbit nothing, so the Moon gifted the chapel to the little stars of Cassiopeia. And where humanity had rejected the chapel that had been soiled with sin, the stars of Cassiopeia welcomed it with open arms, for they understood how much it had meant to the forbidden lovers. 

After centuries of battling against the elements of Deepspace, today the chapel is nothing more than a shell of its former glory, an impressionist painting that has faded over time. But still, despite the crumbling bricks and rotting pews, small specks of beauty can be found among the rubble. Stained-glass windows and wild roses are among some of the surviving spectacles, and most of the steps leading up to the altar still remain intact. 

But the chapel cannot live within the stars forever. A building made by mortals can only last so long in Deepspace, and as the sun sets on Earth and the Moon awakens from its peaceful slumber, the stars of Cassiopeia whisper that tonight is to be the night that the chapel will finally be laid to rest after a long and arduous life. It’s what Destiny had written many aeons ago, back when the Moon had plucked it from its loneliness in the sky. All things must return to the Ether eventually.

However, Destiny had failed to predict that two familiar souls would enter the chapel once more in secret, their hands intertwined as they hurry down the aisle, desperation in their footsteps as they climb the steps to the altar together in tandem.

It’s the dragon! The great and powerful Stayrus! One of the stars exclaims as the others look down in bewilderment at the lovers. The dragon has found his beloved again, and thus he has renewed his curse! Another lifetime where he is unable to defy his fate! Another lifetime where his love has doomed him!

He is not Styrus anymore, but has been renamed Sylus by his other half, the Moon sighs, watching the lovers with pity as two pairs of eyes stare deeply into each other, not a single word uttered, yet there’s a gentle understanding that this is to be a bittersweet ending to a condemned romance. 

I wish I could have given you two more time, the Moon laments as some of the older stars begin to weep at the tragedy of it all.

As predestined, Sylus must say farewell to his lover tonight, for this is the cross the dragon must bear alone.

There is nothing more you could have done, my dearest Moon, the mighty star of the North says, comforting its friend as the lovers begin to speak their vows to each other.

There are still more chances to come. Their souls will be reborn, and a new lifetime will be created for them. And when their souls fall to Earth, we will guide them to each other as we always do, with the hope that one of them will find a way to break the cycle. 

The Moon does not reply to the North star’s words of comfort. Instead, it simply casts its silver light one last time over the lovers, all of Cassiopeia falling silent as down below, Sylus gets down on one knee and kisses the knuckles of his other half. You. The person who he has chosen in every life. 

Gold light blooms from where his soft lips touch your skin as a ring materialises around your finger. The vows, sealed with a kiss of pure devotion, have come to pass. Now all Sylus can do is sit on the steps of the altar and wait for Fate to fulfil its duty and take him away. Not exactly how he had imagined his wedding day, but when you only have less than ten minutes left to live, you’re forced to settle with whatever you can get. 

He stares down at the gold band around his finger. Nunc Scio Quid Sit Amor/Now I know what love is. Sylus reads the words that are forever engraved into the ring. A reminder that you were the first person to teach him how to love, and oh, how wonderful it feels to be wanted by another. A light in the abyss. A single rose that blooms in the garden of Hades. Hope. A dangerous feeling, yet Sylus can’t seem to let it go, even when faced with death once again.

“Do you really have to go?”

Your voice is quiet as you sit down beside him, your palms resting in your lap as your veil falls around your face like a halo. Beautiful. In every life, your face has remained as breathtaking as the life before. Every time he looks at you, it feels like the first time all over again, your beauty knocking the air out of his lungs with just a single glance. The playful twinkle in your eyes as you tease him, the way you know exactly what he wants, because it’s simple. He only wants you. 

But you are the one thing he cannot have, and now he must lay down his final valediction before he leaves. 

“I’m so sorry, my little dove.” Is all he can manage to say, his voice hollow as looks up at the stars.

“I’m afraid we weren’t meant to be in this lifetime either.”

He can’t bear to face you, even though he’s already memorised every detail of your wedding dress. The shape of every bead, the curl of every feather, the delicate patterns on every strip of lace. It’s all engraved into his mind. His only solace is that he’ll be able to take these memories with him into his next life, unlike you, who won’t even remember his name once your mortal body shrivels up and fades into dust.

“What if we don’t find each other next time?” you ask, tears beginning to stream down your face, your self-preservation failing you in these final moments.

“Sylus, what if this really is our last goodbye?”

Sylus swallows back a lump in his throat. It could be decades until his soul re-enters the Ether lifestream. And even when he is reincarnated, there’s a chance that your soul won’t be ready yet. That he’ll have to suffer in purgatory for an unbearable amount of time until he can finally embrace you again.

He thinks about lying to you. Thinks about laughing it off and ruffling your hair one last time. But his heart feels heavier than a shipwreck at the bottom of the ocean. What’s the point of lying when you both already know the truth? Perhaps you’re only asking him because you’re hoping he’ll feed you a little white lie. Anything but the silence. The waiting. It’s only prolonging the dreaded farewell. 

In the end, he can only speak the truth. 

“In every lifetime, you forget me,” he says slowly, taking your hands into his own as he turns to face you. 

“But it never stops you from finding me. Our souls are bound for eternity. No curse can change that.”

But it’s clear that you’re unsatisfied with his answer. 

“Why do I have to forget you every time?” you sob, the tears now pouring from your eyes as you squeeze his hands with every bit of strength you have, as if it’s enough to keep him from leaving. 

The ground begins to shake as the clock strikes midnight. The time has come. With nothing left to say in fear of upsetting you even more, he presses a gentle kiss to your cheek and heaves himself to his feet, trying his best to pry your hands away from him. 

“No!” 

He’s caught off guard as you let go of his hands and throw yourself at him, slamming your fists into his chest, screaming and cursing blindly as a black hole tears through Cassiopeia and a powerful force begins to devour what’s left of the old chapel. The structure wails as the scaffolding creaks and groans in protest, trying its best to hold on, but the chapel is tired. Like Sylus, it cannot fight what has already been set in motion, and so, it begins to let go of the final bricks that are keeping it together. 

“I won’t! I won’t accept this Fate again! There has to be another option!” 

Sylus stumbles as you grab onto his hand and begin to flee, dragging him behind you as the altar steps crumble beneath your feet. 

It’s too late, Sylus wants to say. He can already feel his Evol weakening, can feel his body becoming weary as he feels a small flame ignite inside his chest.

It’s only a matter of time now.

But as you pull him to the edge of the chapel, the look on your face makes him want to try one last time.

Please. Let us survive. Isn’t our love enough? 

You skid to a halt as the floor comes to an end, the vast emptiness of Space surrounding the two of you as Sylus awaits your next move. There’s nowhere left to hide.

“We’re not going to be able to escape this, are we?” you say, complete and utter resignation in your voice.

“No,” Sylus says. “But we can try.”

You laugh, wiping the tears from your eyes as he grabs your wrist and you both leap into the vastness of Space, both of you floating like two feathers in the wind. It’s glorious, like he has wings again, and you’re right there with him, gravity making your dress spread across the sky, transforming you into a lily in full bloom. The Moon sighs as it shines its light on you, for it too has fallen in love with the dragon’s bride. 

Sylus feels infinite as he floats closer towards you, one hand wrapping around your waist, reeling you in as the other holds your face, his fingertips tracing over your features as he tries to memorise the curve of your nose, the soft feeling of your cheek, the colour of your eyes and the soft pink of your lips. 

“I promise to find you, no matter what,” he says, pressing his forehead against yours as you look into his crimson eyes for the last time. “So wait for me.”

He slips his wedding ring onto your finger and slowly shuts his eyes, his body becoming weightless as the fire in his chest spreads to his muscles, then to his bones, and then finally to his heart. 

“Sylus?” 

He reaches for your voice, but it’s only getting further away. 

See you in the next life, my beloved. 

And just like that, Sylus is devoured by his curse, his body becoming nothing more than red and black particles floating in the air as you let your face fall into your hands, your sobs echoing throughout Deepspace, for you are alone once again, just like you were destined to be.

The stars bow their heads in sorrow as they watch their precious chapel disappear, leaving the widowed bride with nothing but two wedding rings and half a heart. Dimming their glow in lamentation, they bid farewell to Sylus as his soul leaves this lifetime.

Look after her for me.

His final wish reverberates among the stars as they promise to guide you back to Earth safely when the time is right.

For now, they let you grieve, for they know you will be okay in the end.

After all, you've survived this loss before. 

[erimeows]

Your Fake Girlfriend

James Wilson knows Gregory House all too well.

Of course, ‘all too well’ merely means ‘better than anyone else’. So, on occasion, Wilson is still susceptible to the pranks and lies that House spins so well, but he’s developed a talent for detecting them most of the time, and House’s newest tall tale is one that Wilson clocks immediately as fake. 

A new girlfriend.

It starts with House dropping by his office first thing in the morning, looking unusually cheery with two coffees and a suspicious grin- and, notably, early to work instead of trudging in forty five minutes late in wrinkled clothes and disarray. 

“A coffee,” Wilson starts as House sets one of the drinks on his desk. “How kind of you.”

The last time this happened, Wilson ended up high on speed because he had predicted House slipping something in the drink and opted to take the one House hadn’t handed him- and House had predicted Wilson’s prediction and put the drugs in the drink he had kept for himself. 

Hook, line, and sinker. Not an unusual occurrence with Wilson in regards to House. 

Wilson stares at the coffee, mulling over his next move. He doesn’t want to get played again. But if this is a play, House will surely have calculated for all of his possible responses… Maybe even drugged both of the drinks. So, Wilson takes the coffee he’s handed and takes a sip of it. House appears neither disappointed nor excited, so Wilson assumes that whatever the hell the man is up to this time has nothing to do with the coffee itself. The coffee is merely a byproduct of his pleasant mood, which Wilson sure is a byproduct of whatever this new scheme is.

Wilson sets his pen down on his desk and peers up at House, waiting for the punchline… Or to pass out face first on his desktop because the coffee was laced with sleeping pills, or to grope the nearest attractive human being- House- because it was laced with speed again. 

No such thing happens. 

There’s silence for a moment, of course, but when House is conniving, he gets so overenthusiastic about it that he can’t help but blab to Wilson. At this point, Wilson doesn’t even have to ask, just offering an unamused look as he sits in wait for whatever chaos is about to come. 

“I met a girl,” House announces, dropping into the chair opposite to Wilson as if he owns the damn place- just like he always does.

Wilson blinks. Jealousy surges through him, hot and unbearable where it runs through his veins. He loves House. He’s always loved House. The fact isn’t one that he can deny, not after all the years they’ve spent playing this game of cat and mouse. He even conjectures that House returns his feelings, but it seems like they’re always in the right place- next to each other- at the wrong time- always, always, always. There’s a lot of uncertainty between the two of them, but the one thing that Wilson is certain of is that he loves House.

If he didn’t love House, he would have kicked the man to the curb years ago. 

And it isn’t abnormal for House to ‘meet a girl’. Stacy Warner, Lisa Cuddy, and a seemingly perpetual string of women that are interested in House despite his foul attitude, debilitating chronic pain, and pertinacious insistence on dosing himself half to death with vicodin. 

“Is that so?” Wilson finally forces himself to ask, swirling the coffee around in the cup held in his hand, feigning the carefully practiced nonchalance that has gotten him through the last decade of being in love with the menace sitting in front of him. 

“Mhm,” House sips his own coffee, watching Wilson over the lid with a self-assured smirk that makes Wilson shift uncomfortably in his chair. “Met her at the coffee shop last week- she works there, takes orders through the drive through. She’s so stunning that I thought she was joking when she said she found me fascinating; red hair, green eyes, absolute pillow of an ass.”

Wilson just nods. He can’t tell if the explanation is making him suspicious or even more jealous. 

“Fascinating,” He says. “And you said you met her at the drive through of a coffee shop?”

House doesn’t miss a beat before responding.

“Yup. I ordered my coffee and she wrote her number on my cup. Called her and went on our first date last week. She didn’t even blink at the cane, liked me so much that she made it official the other day.”

Wilson huffs a small laugh despite himself. The story is too good, too perfect, too polished in the ways that House’s lies usually aren’t unless he’s trying to get caught. 

Wilson knows House, at least for the most part. Knows when House is telling the truth, knows when he’s lying, knows when he’s baiting- and this, Wilson decides, is 100% bait. 

But, he plays along, curious as to where it’s going.

“And what’s her name?”

“Uh,” Ah. A pause. That confirms it; House is lying, and he hadn’t even thought to give his fake girlfriend a name until now. “Annie.”

“Are you bringing Annie to dinner on Friday?” He asks, picking his pen back up and continuing his previous work; annotating a new oncological study that just came out. Lately, they’ve been doing Friday night dinners at Wilson’s house. They mostly consist of takeout since Wilson is too depressed to bother with cooking, but they’re nice, because House is there. He prays to God that House won’t start missing them just to keep up with this ‘girlfriend’ lie of his. “You are still coming, right?”

House’s eyes narrow a fraction. As if he can’t tell whether Wilson is testing him or if it’s a genuine question.

“Maybe. She’s got an art thing that day; gallery opening, very exclusive. But she did say she wants to meet you.”

Of course she did. It takes everything in Wilson not to burst into laughter. 

“Why, I’m flattered,” Wilson says as cooly as he possibly can, and he swears he sees the tiniest twitch in House’s jaw. “Tell her that if her ‘art thing’ falls through, she’s more than welcome to come to dinner.”

“Sure.”

With that, House tosses his empty coffee cup at the trash can in the corner of the room. It doesn’t land in the center of the basket, instead hitting the rim and falling to the floor. House doesn’t bother picking it up, just standing from his chair with his cane in hand and walking to the door. 

The moment he’s gone, Wilson leans back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. 

A fake girlfriend.

He doesn’t know House’s motives, but if it’s a game House wants? Wilson has no issue playing it. 

~

‘Annie’ does not, in fact, come to dinner that Friday. 

It becomes a game. Over the next few weeks, House drops constant, casual references to the fictional woman yet never brings her around. She likes vintage wine. She hates House’s bike but loves his piano. She has a cat named Ellie that sheds fur all over House’s leather jacket. Wilson nods along, all while knowing that House prefers cheap wine, would never entertain anyone who disparaged his beloved motorcycle, and hasn’t shown up to work with a single strand of cat hair on him the entire time he’s been ‘dating’ Annie. 

Wilson listens, nods, and smiles when appropriate. Never challenges it. Never pushes to meet her or to see a photo or any other evidence that she actually exists. He makes no comment when House shows up in a shirt that perfectly matches his blazer for once, doesn’t raise an eyebrow when House declines two opportunities to argue with Cuddy in favor of ‘texting Annie’ only for Wilson to look over and see that he’s actually just playing Pacman on his cellphone. 

Slowly but surely, the lie starts to crack around the edges, because House is getting bored with it- and if there is anything House hates, it’s being bored. His stories start contradicting themselves; Annie is vegan on Monday but goes to a butcher’s shop with House so they can cook a steak dinner at his apartment on Friday, Annie suddenly starts to prefer craft beer over the vintage wine House had described her fancying just weeks earlier, and Annie develops a sudden fear of cats.

Wilson doesn’t mention it.

He just waits, and after more than a month of their game, Wilson finds House sitting in his office when he walks into work for the day.

He laughs at the sight, stopping in the doorway as he stares at his coworker. 

House looks utterly miserable with the bags underneath his icy blue eyes even more prominent than usual and a prominent frown on his face. The jeans he’s in are wrinkled and the Metallica t-shirt he’s wearing is in even worse shape, not to mention the mismatched socks that are peeking out of his sneakers, which are notably rested atop Wilson’s perfectly polished desktop.

Wilson can’t even be mad about it. Not when house is sitting there with such palpable dissatisfaction written into every one of his angular features, bouncing a tennis ball against the wall and catching it each time it flies back at him before repeating it. 

“You’re not going to ask,” House says, not even looking up at Wilson as he walks into the office and shuts the door behind him. 

The blinds are closed. That much, Wilson is thankful for. 

He didn’t expect this fucked up game of House’s to turn into a full on confrontation. Yet, here they are, at six in the morning, in Wilson’s office when the rest of the hospital is still quiet. There’s the occasional shuffle of nurses outside, but the patients are sleeping in their beds and there’s hardly any other staff around.

The perfect, intimate setting for House to corner him in. 

Though Wilson could turn around and walk right out, he has a hunch that House won’t be leaving his office until they do whatever this is. So, he sets his suitcase down by the door, locks the door behind him, and leans back against the glass frame with his arms crossed over his chest. 

“Ask what?” He responds, sighing the words, his exasperation evident in his tone. 

“I’ve been in a rotten mood for a week,” House complains, as if he isn’t always in some sort of rotten mood, but Wilson also knows what he means. For the last few days, House has been dropping a whole different set of hints; taking more Vicodin than usual, snapping at his fellows at every turn, stomping around like someone shoved a stick up his ass. Wilson has been ignoring it, which clearly wasn’t the right thing to do based on how upset House looks about the failed bid for Wilson’s attention. “Annie dumped me.”

So, he’s still attempting to keep up the lie. Wilson had assumed this was the part where House would get fed up with him not figuring it out and confess the truth to clear the air between them. 

Apparently, Wilson had assumed wrong.

House is going to keep this up until Wilson makes it clear that he knows… Great. 

“Did she now?”

“You don’t care,” House spits, almost incredulous.

He throws the tennis ball again, but this time, he lets it fly past him when it bounces back. It hits the floor and rolls towards the office bookshelf, though neither man pays it any mind. 

“I do care,” Wilson retorts and stands up straight so he can place his hands on his hips and shoot a pointed glare in House’s direction. “Just not about your fake girlfriend. It’s a little hard to care about someone who doesn’t even exist.”

Thick, heavy silence falls over them. Wilson just stares at House, waiting for him to explain himself, and House just stares at him, unblinking. Wilson sees a multitude of emotions cross the other man’s face in the microexpressions that he’s gotten so good at analyzing over the years; shock, confusion, fear, anger, frustration. 

“How long have you known?” 

The question is barely above a whisper. 

House won’t look at him now, instead pulling his feet off the top of Wilson’s desk and putting them flat on the floor underneath them. His hand is reaching for his cane so he can twirl it around; an anxious tick that House won’t admit he has, because according to him, he doesn’t get anxious. Another one of his many lies. 

“Pretty much the whole time,” Wilson shrugs and strolls over to stand in front of the desk House is sitting at, shoving his hands into the pockets of his white coat. “You like brunettes, sometimes the occasional blonde. Never redheads. You told me once that you think they’re, uh, what was it… Soulless aliens?”

“You haven’t seen all the redheaded hookers I’ve slept with,” House retorts.

Another lie.

Everybody lies. But God, if Gregory House doesn’t do it all the fucking time.

“Seriously. This whole thing is getting ridiculous,” Wilson allows his eyes to fall shut and pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and pointer finger. “Why did you do this?”

“Why didn’t you say anything? Hell, how did you figure it out?”

“You tried way too hard, House. Openly revealing something about yourself without having to be prodded was strike one. The description you gave of ‘Annie’ being someone you’d never actually date- boring, artistic, redheaded coffee shop worker- strike two. The stories were way too consistent at first, because you’re scarily good at keeping things consistent when you lie, and then when I didn’t notice? You got sloppy and tried to make the lies obvious enough for me to pick up on, because you really thought I had no idea. Strike three.”

“So, you knew I was lying to you and you let me keep doing it,” House scoffs and leans back in the chair, staring up at the ceiling, doing anything he can to avoid Wilson’s gaze. “Why? Were you just enjoying watching me make a fool of myself?”

“No,” Wilson answers, his voice a little sharper than he intends for it to be, laced with years of frustration. “I was waiting for you to tell me why you felt the need to do all of this.”

“Maybe I just felt like messing with you.”

So many lies over the last few weeks. Wilson wonders what it’s all for. Deep down, part of him knows. It’s a bid for attention. A bid for love. Just like everything else House does. 

“Maybe,” Wilson starts. He could drop it there, shrug this whole thing off. They could laugh about it and go back to normal, but Wilson doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want to keep doing this. So, he decides to push this thing they have, perhaps until it breaks- if that’s what will finally get him the truth he’s so desperately wanted all these years. “Maybe I’d believe that if you didn’t look at me so expectantly every time you mentioned her.”

“The hell do you mean by that?”

“I mean that this time, you can’t do what you always do and backtrack by convincing me that this is just one of your pranks. I mean that you didn’t bother telling anyone else about your fake girlfriend, which must mean that this- this scheme of yours was contrived especially for me. I mean that I know you only did all this because you…”

Wilson trails off, averting his gaze, able to feel the heat rising in his cheeks. House only did this out of love- albeit a fucked up, toxic sort of love that only House seems to be able to make seem appealing. 

“So what, is this your big realization? Gonna pull a me and storm out of the room with your differential diagnosis? Go share it with the team?” Finally, House stands from his chair, cane in hand, and circles the desk. Wilson turns to face him, swallowing a lump of anxiety as House invades his personal space. And for the first time in weeks, Wilson looks at him. Really looks at him. He looks exhausted and anxious and hurt as he snaps in a way that he hasn’t in years. “You saw through my pathetic little ploy, gold star for Dr. Wilson! Now you can go back to pretending that you don’t care about how I feel.”

“You wanted me to care. You wanted me to be jealous,” He whispers, and there’s no answer- just a forlorn gaze and poorly concealed regret. “Why?”

“Because you never care… Because you’re never jealous,” The confession is barely above a whisper, more like a bitter hiss. House’s cane falls to the floor as he places his hands on Wilson’s shoulders, digging his fingers so hard into them through his clothes that it hurts. “You go on dates, flirt with nurses, you get married- repeatedly, might I add- and I pretend it’s all fine, and I watch you walk away each and every time, but you know what? I care. And I’m jealous. And maybe I wanted you to feel the same way for once.”

“You could’ve said something,” Wilson weakly argues, and House’s grip on his shoulders softens, but doesn’t leave entirely. 

“If you noticed, you could’ve said something,” House leans closer. Wilson shouldn’t panic- shouldn’t fawn- they’ve been friends for so long that House being close to him should be familiar. And it is familiar. Yet, he finds that after all these years, it still makes his heart pound. The scent of House’s aftershave, the peppery curls of his hair, the furrow in his brow, the iciness in his gaze. “But you didn’t. You never do. You just… Let me do this.”

“I didn’t think you wanted me to say anything.”

“Bullshit.”

“No, seriously- how was I supposed to know that you wanted me to say anything?” Wilson demands, because Gregory House isn’t a man who hesitates to go after what- or who- he wants. He hadn’t considered it. Part of Wilson has always thought that House might return his feelings, but he convinced himself long ago that House didn’t want to cross that line. Why would House want to cross that line? “You act like you don’t care, you push and prod and lie and run away, and you expect everyone else to chase you? And now that I’m not, it’s pissing you off?”

“Yes!” House yells, the echo of his voice bouncing off the walls of the office, but Wilson doesn’t flinch nor does he back away. 

Instead, he takes a step forward. 

They’re closer than ever, the air between them familiar yet charged with something dangerous, something different and risky that they’ve never dared tackle like this before.

“I do care, by the way,” And instead of thinking better of it, Wilson reaches out, wrapping his arms around House’s body and pulling him close. House tenses at first, only to melt into him seconds later, arms wrapping around Wilson’s frame and clutching the back of his white coat in return. House rests his head against Wilson’s shoulder and lets out a shaky sigh. “I’ve always cared, but I’m not going to chase after you or fight you just to prove that.”

“Then what are you going to do, Wilson? Nothing?” He mutters.

“No, not nothing. What I’m going to do is tell you the truth and pray that, for once in your life, you’ll tell me the truth in return,” Wilson pauses, pressing a kiss into House’s hair and holding him tight. “I’ve been in love with you for years, and if you’re done playing your twisted little games, maybe we can stop pretending that we don’t care about each other.”

Slowly, House nods. And it’s more than enough.

[never-mind-09]

You had been in the room for quite a while now. At first, you had listened to the others discussing plans that had already faded from your memory. But soon, everyone had left, leaving only you and Alastor behind.

As you both chatted idly, the once-silent room filled with the soft, ragged sound of his inhales and exhales. It was a tiny sign, barely perceptible, but it spoke volumes about the true state of his health.

"So, Alastor, tell me more about that recent task you've been working on," you prodded, hoping to divert his attention from his condition.

Alastor, however, seemed oblivious to the symptoms, launching into his tale with all the theatrical flair and enthusiasm he was known for. "Ah, my dear, it's been quite the adventure! A true test of cunning and deception, a game of wits that only the most astute could hope to master!"

His words carried their usual charm, but in between his animated storytelling, there were subtle pauses—moments where he discreetly caught his breath. The longer you observed him, the more apparent it became. He was unwell, even if he refused to acknowledge it. Hell itself was more likely to freeze over than for him to admit any form of weakness.

Knowing better than to pester him about it outright, you devised a plan instead. With an easy smile, you excused yourself for a moment, urging him to wait. As you slipped away, Alastor turned his attention to a book, his long fingers idly tracing the spine as he flipped through its pages. The minutes passed in quiet solitude as he read, completely unaware of what you were preparing.

When you returned, a tray in your hands, the scent of freshly brewed herbal tea and a steaming plate of Jambalaya filled the air. Setting the tray down before him with deliberate care, you met his gaze. "Alastor, you should rest. Pretending to be busy with other things won't make your health any better."

Alastor, who had been immersed in his book, raised an eyebrow in amused acknowledgment. "My dear, your kindness never ceases to amaze me. But alas, I am burdened with many tasks that simply cannot wait! If I could, I would indulge in the pleasures of rest, but duty calls!"

Despite his words, he accepted the cup of tea, his fingers curling around it as he took a slow sip. A faint smile tugged at his lips, almost involuntarily, as the warmth settled in his chest.

You sighed, shaking your head. "Very well. But if you don’t mend, none of your tasks will get done."

For a moment, he simply regarded you, his expression unreadable. Then, his grin widened—mischievous yet touched by something softer, something unspoken. He gave a dramatic wave of his hand before returning to his book, his voice dropping to a murmur just loud enough for you to hear.

"How could I ever tire with such a devoted and caring companion by my side?"