#and the worst part is there's really not that much happening I just feel like it

[prael]

Day 5: Comfort

Newjeans Hanni x male reader smut

words: 9,650 12 Days of Praelmas Masterlist

Spotting a face in a crowd is like watching lightning. There's a moment that captivates you and then it disappears. You're not even sure where to look for it. It happens in an instant, but when that instant is over, you're not sure if it ever really happened at all.

That is life with Hanni.

She might well be sitting here now, on your couch, with her knees pressed against her chest and a mug of hot cocoa in her hands, but in another moment she will be gone and you will be alone again. The warmth of her body will linger on the cushions beside you. You will press your hand into it, but it will fade. And then there will only be her image in your mind and the memory of her voice.

She is always so busy, and you are always waiting.

"I need a break," she says, and this time, her voice is not in the past, but in the present.

You blink, pulled from your thoughts, and look up at her. She's watching you, her dark eyes soft. She's smiling. You don't know how long you've been staring into space. "Sorry," you say, "what?"

Hanni laughs softly, reaching out and taking your hand. Her skin is soft, unblemished, and her nails manicured. Her fingers are slim and dainty, but there's a surprising strength in them. "I said I need a break," she says, and then she squeezes your hand. "So let's go somewhere."

You don't have to think about it. "Where do you want to go?"

"I don't know," Hanni says, and her smile grows wider. "Anywhere."

Anywhere.

-

The thing about the coast, the beach, the sea, is that it really goes well with sunshine and especially poorly with the winter. There is something about the ocean and the beach in the winter that is a bit depressing, and yet at the same time, that makes it feel more comfortable, more like you can imagine it as your own. You can walk on the beach without the crowds of summer. The waves are high, the water is cold, the sand is wet and hard, and the wind is sharp and biting, but there's a sense of adventure to it.

"It just doesn't seem to end," Hanni is explaining as you walk side-by-side, wrapped in padded coats and gloves, with thick hats and boots, "It just never seems to stop. It just keeps going. It's the same thing every single day. I wake up. I go to work. I do what I'm supposed to do. I go home. I sleep. I do it again the next day."

You nod, though you can't even pretend to understand it.

"Do you want to know what the worst part is?" she asks.

You nod again. "Of course," you say.

"The worst part is that I'm not even unhappy," Hanni says, looking at you with a smile that bears mixed emotions, "I love it. I just want something more."

"I think that's normal," you say. "It's like how when you finish a book, or a movie, or a TV series, you're sad that it's over, but you're happy that you finished it, and then you start thinking about what to watch next, or what to read next. It's like that."

You wonder if that makes sense.

Hanni nods slowly, and thoughtfully, as though she's taking the time to consider your words. "Yeah," she agrees, and then she laughs, "but sometimes I don't know if I want to finish the book. Sometimes I just want to skip to the end, so I can see what happens, you know?"

You don't. Maybe it's because life is much simpler outside of the spotlight. You don't have to wonder what happens next. What happens next is the same as what always happens. Work. Salary. Bills. Responsibility. It's the same thing, over and over again.

Actually, the only days you get to break the mould, are the days that Hanni is there with you. That is what happens next.

You don't tell her that. You don't think she would be all that impressed with your answer, given what she had said. So you don't say anything at all.

-

Vacationing in temperatures nearing freezing is hard, and the later it gets, the harder it becomes. Yet, the sky is so clear that the stars shine like a million little diamonds, and the moon hangs low and fat in the sky, casting a pale silver light over everything. In that, there's unmatched beauty. On this rooftop cafe, you can almost see the universe in full.

It took a little convincing for the owner downstairs to even open the roof. He called you a few variations of insane for not wanting to cosy up inside the warmth of the cafe. But you, and Hanni, are nothing if not determined. So here you are, on the roof, on the balcony, looking at the sky, at the stars, and the moon. It's a beautiful night, and there's no better place to be on earth.

"I like this," Hanni says, leaning into your side. "You're always good at coming up with ideas."

"I don't know if this is really an idea," you say with a laugh. "It's just sitting on a roof."

"Yeah, but that's the best part. It's just sitting on a roof." Hanni looks at you, her dark eyes glittering in the moonlight. "It's not fancy. It's not expensive. It's just us, on a roof."

"Okay, that's a fair point," you say, and then you laugh again.

You look out over the city, at the twinkling lights, at the stars, at the moon. You take a deep breath of cool air and let it fill your lungs.

"Hey," Hanni says, "I have a question."

You glance back at her. "Shoot."

"Why are we friends?" she asks.

"Wow, deep question," you joke, trying to lighten the mood, but Hanni doesn't laugh. "Um," you say, "Well, I mean, we grew up together, didn't we?"

"Yeah, but we're not kids anymore," she says. "We're adults now. We have lives. Jobs. Responsibilities. I'm an idol and I disappear for months on end. And when I come back, I always just drop in on you and expect you to be there for me, and you are. Every time. Why is that?"

"I don't know," you admit. "I guess I just... I just like you. I always have."

"You don't get sick of me?"

You shrug. "Sometimes, when you do that thing where you hum real loud, I want to strangle you."

It brings about a shared laugh. That right there; if you capture that moment and bottle it, you would present it to her as the reason. Because no matter how long she's gone, and no matter what happens, when she's here and you are laughing together, it feels like home. You don't need to be anywhere or do anything in particular. It's enough just to be.

Hanni shuffles closer, leaning further into your side. "You're my best friend, you know that?"

You nod, your heart swelling. "Yeah," you say, your voice quiet, "I know."

-

You've always been a sucker for romance, but you also recognise that the real world doesn't work that way. Romance is the domain of fiction, of books, of movies, of the stage, of the screen. In the real world, things are messy and complicated and sometimes they don't work out. And that's okay. It's not a tragedy. It's not the end of the world. It's just the way things are.

It's why you can spend time with a girl who's beautiful and talented and smart and funny, without getting caught up in the fantasy that she's going to fall in love with you and sweep you off your feet and carry you into the sunset, or whatever. You've seen enough romantic comedies to know how those stories go, and you know how they end. In the real world, the best you can hope for is friendship, and even that is something to be grateful for. Especially when it's Hanni.

"Which book is that?" Hanni asks as she steps out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel and followed by a plume of steam. Her hair hangs wet and heavy around her shoulders, dripping onto the floor. The hotel room is nice, but it's nothing too fancy. You're sure Hanni is used to better.

You look at her for a moment, then close the book in your lap. It's in these pages, that those romance stories play out, or so you tell yourself. "It's nothing," you say. "Just some trashy novel."

She sits on the edge of the bed, her eyes on you. "Is it any good?" she asks. You're not sure if she's interested or just making conversation, but you answer anyway.

"I mean, it's not great literature or anything," you say, "but it's entertaining enough."

"I wouldn't have taken you for the type of person to read romance. I remember you being obsessed with... um... Who was that one author? Michael Connely? It was all detectives and crime."

"Guilty pleasure, I guess."

"What's it about?" Hanni asks. "The book."

You glance down at the cover, which shows a young woman in a flowing dress standing on a cliff, overlooking the sea. The title is in a fancy script, and the author's name is printed beneath it. You shrug. "It's about a girl who's an artist, and she meets this guy, and they have this whirlwind romance."

"And then they get married and have kids and live happily ever after?"

You laugh softly. "No, not quite," you say. "They have a lot of sex, but then they fight all the time and it's messy and dramatic."

"Then what?"

"I don't know, I haven't finished it yet."

"I bet they get back together," she says. "That's always how these things end, right? They have a big fight and then they get back together and it's all sunshine and rainbows."

"I don't know," you say. "Maybe. Probably. It's fiction."

Hanni laughs, shaking her head. "You're so cynical."

"I'm not cynical," you protest. "I'm just realistic."

"Right, right, of course." She stands, moving to the bag of clothes at the foot of the bed, and begins to rummage through it. She pulls out a pair of shorts and a top. "I'm going to get dressed," she says, and then she disappears into the bathroom again, closing the door behind her.

When she emerges, she's wearing a pair of tight black shorts that hug her hips and a white tank top that clings to her curves. Her hair is still damp, and it falls around her shoulders in dark waves. She looks good, and you can't help but admire her. She's beautiful.

You can tell she's aware of the attention, but she ignores it, instead flopping onto the bed beside you and letting out a sigh. "What are we going to do tomorrow?" she asks.

"I was thinking we could just drive up the coast," you suggest. "Maybe stop off in some of the little towns along the way, and see if there's anything interesting."

"Sounds good," she says, and then she rolls onto her side, her head propped up on her hand, looking at you. "You know, you're the first person I thought of when I said I needed a break."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I don't know why, but I just knew that if I could get away with anyone, it would be you."

"Thanks," you say. You're not sure how to respond to that, but it makes you feel warm inside. "I'm glad I could help."

-

The small towns are wholly uninteresting, but Hanni seems to find something to enjoy in every one of them. There is something about seeing the world through her eyes that makes even the most mundane things seem magical. A little store selling handmade trinkets and cheap souvenirs becomes a treasure trove of hidden gems. An old man playing guitar in the park becomes a musician worth listening to. An old, crumbling building becomes a palace of mystery and intrigue. The world comes alive when Hanni is around, and you can't help but be swept up in it.

You're on the last leg now, and you agreed to drive her home. It's late in the afternoon, the sun is low in the sky, and the horizon is a watercolour painting of pinks, oranges, and purples. It's a beautiful sight, and it makes you think of the painting that Hanni bought earlier. You're not sure what she saw in it, but she seemed to love it, and that's all that matters. She's asleep beside you, her head resting against the window, her breathing slow and steady. She's exhausted, and you don't blame her. She's been going non-stop for the past few days, and you're glad that she finally has a chance to rest.

You pull up outside her place and gently shake her awake. She stirs and blinks up at you, her eyes still heavy with sleep, and she smiles. "Hey," she murmurs, and her voice is soft and husky.

"Hey," you say. "We're here. You're home."

Hanni sits up, rubbing her eyes and stretching. "Already?" she asks. "I didn't mean to sleep the whole way."

"It's okay," you assure her. "Part of taking a break is getting some rest."

She nods, but she doesn't look happy. "I know, but I feel like I missed out on something." She looks at you. "Thank you for driving me home. I'm sorry for being such a pain in the ass."

"It's okay," you assure her. "You're always a pain in the ass. I'm used to it by now."

She laughs, but there's a tinge of sadness to it. "Yeah," she says, and then she glances away. Her voice is soft and hesitant. "Are you going to come inside?"

"I can help you with your bag."

"I was thinking more than just that." Her eyes meet yours. "Stay for a bit. I don't want to say goodbye just yet."

"I don't want to intrude," you tell her, knowing that there are four other girls in her place and it's their place as much as it is Hanni's. "Besides, it's getting late."

She reaches over and takes your hand, holding it tightly. "Please."

"Okay," you say, and you can't help but smile at her. "I'll stay for a bit."

It's the first time you've seen the inside of this place, but it's a lot nicer than your little apartment. It's spacious and modern, with a large kitchen and a living room that opens onto a balcony with a view of the city. It's the sort of place you would never be able to afford, but Hanni seems to fit in here perfectly.

There's a girl sprawled out on the couch, eyes closed, earbuds in her ears. You recognize her, from posters and interviews and magazine covers, and music videos. Her name is Minji, and she's got long, dark hair that falls in waves down her back. She's tall and pretty, with a slim build and a face that's both elegant and expressive. She looks like a model, but she's also an idol, a singer, and a dancer. It's a little intimidating.

"Better not wake her," Hanni says. "She gets cranky when she's tired."

You nod. "Right."

"Come on, let's go to my room. We can talk there."

You follow her down a hallway and into a bedroom that's big and bright, with a view of the city. It's tastefully decorated, with a bed that's bigger than yours, a dresser that's bigger than yours, and a desk that's bigger than yours. Everything is bigger here, and you can't help but feel a little out of place.

"I like it in here," you say. "It's nice."

"Thanks," she says, dropping a bag in the corner and you follow her by placing the two you were carrying.

There's a faint sound coming through the wall. Music that you can't quite make out, but it sounds upbeat and peppy. You can hear the bass thumping, and the occasional high-pitched voice singing along.

"That's Dani," Hanni says, sitting on the edge of the bed. "She's always playing music. It drives Minji nuts."

You laugh, leaning against the dresser. "It's kind of cute."

"Yeah, it is. She's a sweetheart." Hanni leans back on her hands, looking at you. "I can't believe this is the first time you've seen where I live."

"It's a nice place," you say. "I'm sure you're comfortable here."

"It's not bad." She shrugs. "It's not really mine, though. I mean, it is, but it's also not. You know what I mean?"

You don't, but you nod anyway.

Hanni sighs, running a hand through her hair. "You should visit more," Hanni says while taking off her jacket, reducing her clothing back down to just that tight white tank top now that she's back in the warmth of her room.

You can't help but look at her, admiring the way her body moves, the way her skin glows in the light. You can't help but want to touch her, to feel her warmth. "I don't know," you say. "I would be kind of out of place."

"You wouldn't be," she says, and her voice is firm. "I miss you."

"I miss you too," you say, and it's true. You miss her all the time, even when she's right here in front of you. You miss her smile, her laugh, her scent.

She looks up at you, her eyes wide and searching. "Do you think about me when I'm gone?" she asks.

"Of course," you say, and you can't help but smile. "All the time."

She smiles, and it's like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. "Good." She stands, walking over to you, and you can smell her shampoo, her perfume, her skin. She reaches out, touching your face, running her fingers over your cheek. "I'm glad," she whispers, and then she leans in and presses her lips to yours.

It's a gentle kiss, soft and sweet, and it lingers for a moment before she pulls away. You're frozen in this moment, unable to think, unable to speak, unable to breathe. You're not sure what just happened, or why it happened, or what it means, or what you should do next.

"I'm sorry," she says, stepping back. "I shouldn't have done that."

"It's okay," you say, and it is. It truly is. You don't know why, but it is. You want to kiss her again, to hold her close, to feel her warmth.

"I just... I don't know," she says. "I've been thinking about it for a while, and I just... I don't know."

"It's okay," you say again, and you reach out and take her hand, holding it tight. You look into her eyes. "I'm glad you did."

She looks up at you, and her eyes are wide and searching. "Really?"

"Really." You squeeze her hand. "I'm glad."

"Good," she whispers, and then she leans in again and kisses you. This time, you kiss her back. You wrap your arms around her, pulling her close, holding her tight. You can feel her heart beating against your chest, and it's a steady, reassuring rhythm. She tastes of strawberry lip gloss and you can't get enough of it.

You've known Hanni for years, and you've been friends for years, and you've been best friends for years. But it's never been like this. It's never been this close, this intimate, this real. You've never been able to touch her like this, to kiss her like this, to hold her like this. And it feels amazing.

You're not sure how long you stand there, kissing, holding each other, but eventually you break apart and look at each other, smiling.

"What are we doing?" she asks, her voice low and husky.

"I don't know," you admit. "But I like it."

"Me too." She smiles, and it's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. "Can I tell you something? It's been on my mind for two days now."

You nod, and she takes a deep breath before continuing.

"I've been thinking about you a lot lately," she says. "A lot. I mean, I've always thought about you, but now it's different. Now it's like I can't stop thinking about you. Well, I can, but not for long."

She's stumbling over her words, and you can't help but find it cute. You reach up and brush a strand of hair out of her face, and she smiles at you.

"I don't know what it means," she says. "I'm not sure if I want it to mean anything. I'm not sure if I'm ready for it to mean anything. I'm not sure if I'm even ready to think about what it might mean." She laughs, and it's a nervous laugh, and you can tell she's struggling to find the right words. "I guess I'm just saying that I'm not sure what I want, but I know that I want to be with you. And I'm not sure if that makes any sense, but it's how I feel."

"It makes perfect sense," you say, and you mean it. You know exactly what she means. You've felt the same way.

"I'm scared," she says. "This feeling is new. It's exciting. But it's scary, too. I'm not sure what to do. I don't want to ruin our friendship. But at the same time, I want more. I want to be with you. And I don't know how to do that."

"It's okay," you tell her. "We'll figure it out together."

She smiles, and it's a shy smile, but it's genuine. "So you're not going to run away?" she asks.

"No," you say. "No, I'm not."

"Good," she says. "Because I don't think I could handle that."

You laugh, and she laughs with you, and it's the most natural thing in the world. You can feel the tension between you start to ease, and you relax into each other, holding each other close. You kiss her again, and this time it's a little less hesitant, a little less unsure. You kiss her, and you let yourself fall into her, and you let yourself forget about everything else, and you let yourself just enjoy the moment. You kiss her, and you feel her arms wrap around you, and you feel her body press against yours, and you feel her warmth, and her softness, and her strength. You kiss her, and you feel your heart race, and you feel your blood rush, and you feel your skin flush, and you feel your head spin.

And when you finally break away, breathless and dizzy, she's looking at you with a mixture of wonder and desire and something else that you can't quite put your finger on. But it's a good look. It's a look that makes you feel happy, and excited, and scared, and alive.

"So what now?" you ask.

"I don't know," she says. "I've never done this before."

"Neither have I," you admit.

"Well, uh..." she trails off, looking away. "I guess we can just keep doing what we're doing, but like, over there." She points to her bed, and you can't help but chuckle.

"I like that idea," you say, before pulling off your jacket.

"Woah, what are you—?"

"It's just my jacket, I'm not..."

You both laugh and Hanni does that thing where she covers her face with her palms and shakes her head.

"Okay, I'm an idiot," she says, before throwing herself backwards onto her bed.

You approach her, but you're still nervous. You place a knee on the bed, move closer to her, and lean over her. She looks up at you, and her eyes are wide and bright, and full of emotion. You lean down and kiss her, and this time, there's no hesitation, no fear, no doubt. This time, it's a kiss of passion.

You sink into her as the kiss deepens, and you feel her hands on your back, pulling you closer, pressing you against her. You feel her tongue slide against yours, and then you taste her mouth, and it's a taste that you want more of. You taste her, and you smell her, and you feel her.

All you can do is what comes naturally, so next you're moving your hand from the bed and onto her hip, and slowly moving it along her waist, sliding it under her top. Her body tenses slightly as the palm of your hand touches her soft, warm skin.

"Are you okay?" you ask between kisses.

"Yes," she says, and the look in her eyes tells you the same. "Don't stop."

So you don't. You keep kissing her, touching her and exploring her. Your hand moves up her side, feeling the curve of her waist, and the rise of her ribcage. You brush the edge of her bra and hesitate, but then her hand reaches for yours and guides it under the fabric. You feel her breast against your palm, soft and warm and firm, and you feel her nipple, hard and erect, and you feel her tremble beneath you.

"You're beautiful," you whisper to her.

She blushes and smiles before you slip your tongue against hers again.

You never allowed yourself to appreciate Hanni for her beauty. It's not like you were blind to it. It's just that you didn't let yourself see it. Maybe deep down you knew that if you did, you wouldn't be able to look at her as just a friend anymore. So you suppressed that part of yourself. But now, with her lying here beneath you, you can't help but appreciate not only how pretty she is, but just how hot her body is, especially as your hands explore her. She's toned, but soft, and you can't get enough of her.

Her own hands are busy, too. They're running up and down your back, and then they're slipping under your shirt, and you can feel her nails scratching lightly against your skin.

"Can we take off our tops?" she asks suddenly, breaking the kiss. The question is kind of awkward, you both feel this, there's this shared twinge of embarrassment that you can sense in each other. It's not romantic, it's not sexy, it's just a bit silly.

"Sure," you say, and you sit up and pull your shirt over your head. You look down at her and suddenly feel so exposed, even if she is the one in tight shorts and her legs on either side of your hips, you're the one that's topless.

Hanni sits up too, and pulls her top off, revealing her light blue bra. She's moving a little erratic as she reaches behind her back, so much so that she fumbles the clasp twice before unfastening it. She lets the straps slide down her arms and throws it aside, quickly crossing her arms over her chest. Her face is a deep red.

She's embarrassed. You've never seen her like this before. You've seen her nervous, shy, even scared, but never embarrassed. And it's adorable. You're sitting just a few inches from each other, yet she's still looking down and to the side.

"Hey," you whisper, and then she looks at you. "You're beautiful."

She smiles and uncrosses her arms, and your eyes move down from her face to her breasts. You've seen her in a bra, but not like this. Never this close, never bare, never with the intention of touching them.

So, you do. You place your hand on one of her tits, and then she's leaning into you and you're kissing again. She fits so perfectly into your hand, and you can't resist gently massaging it. Instinct takes over. You're not thinking anymore, you're just doing what feels right. So you break the kiss and move your head down to her other breast. You start kissing around her nipple, and then you take it in your mouth, and you hear her moan. It's a sound that sends shivers down your spine, and then she's tangling her fingers in your hair, pressing your face into her chest.

You spend some time like this, alternating between her two breasts, licking, sucking, and nibbling on her nipples. It's a little clumsy, and you don't really know what you're doing, so you just follow what her soft little moans tell you. You love the feel of her tits against your face, the taste of her skin, the sound of her breathing.

And then she's pulling you back up and kissing you, and you're lost in the sensation of her lips on yours, her tongue on yours, her body against yours. You can feel her heart beating, and it's beating fast.

"You're so hot," you whisper, and she smiles and blushes.

"So are you," she says, and then she's pushing you down onto the bed, rolling on top of you. She kisses you again, and then she's kissing your neck, your collarbone, your chest. She's kissing her way down your body, and you're not sure what to do, so you just lie there and let her explore. You become more aware of your own body, and the sensation of her wet kisses against your skin. You become more aware of the discomfort between your legs. It's only now, in this moment of respite from kissing her lips and her tits, that you realise she must have felt it. The whole time. Since you started kissing her, and you laid yourself against her. She must have felt the bulge in your pants pressing against her crotch. You're mortified. You can't even look at her, you just stare up at the ceiling with an embarrassed smile on your face.

"Hey," she whispers, and you look down at her. She's kneeling between your legs, looking up at you. Her eyes are wide and bright, and she has a big goofy grin on her face. She looks so cute. "Did I do this?"

She's not looking at you. You follow her gaze down to the bulge in your pants.

"Uhhh..." you're not sure what to say. "Yes. Probably. I think so. I'm sorry."

She giggles, a mischievous grin forming on her lips. "It's okay," she says. "It's nice. I, uh, I like it."

You laugh nervously, and she laughs with you, and then she's unbuttoning your pants, and you're not sure what's happening. You feel like you should say something, but you can't think of anything, so you just lie there and let her do it. You lift your hips so she can pull down your jeans and underwear in one motion. Although you can't bring yourself to look down, the feeling of being exposed is overwhelming. You stare at the white paint on the ceiling as if it's the most interesting thing in the world.

"I've never done this before," she says. "I mean, I've seen one before. On TV, or in a movie, or something. But I've never... I don't really know what to do."

"It's okay," you say, your voice shaky, and you almost don't recognise it. "You don't have to—" Your breath hitches in your throat as you feel her fingers touch you.

"I want to," she whispers, and then she's gripping your shaft in her hand, and you can feel her fingers wrapping around it.

You're hard, and she's touching you, and it feels incredible. It feels incredible and wrong and exciting and scary and confusing and perfect and you can't think straight.

"Is this okay?" she asks, and her voice is soft and hesitant.

"Yes," you reply, and you can't keep the desire out of your voice.

She starts to stroke you slowly, and you can feel her fingers moving up and down your length, and it feels so good. Her touch is so delicate, so gentle, so loving, so careful, and you can't get enough of it.

You can't help but look down at her now. She's staring at you with a mixture of fascination and desire, and you can see the way her eyes move as she takes in every inch of you. That's Hanni, right there, and you can't believe that she's doing this to you.

"I've never seen one this close before," she whispers, and then she's leaning in, and you feel her breath on you. "I didn't realise it would be so warm. Or that it would feel so... alive."

She's still holding you, and you're still looking at her, and then she's looking up at you, and your eyes meet. Her expression is a mix of curiosity and lust. It's an expression that sends a shiver down your spine.

She kisses the tip. It's a gentle kiss, and it sends a jolt of pleasure through you. She looks up at you again, and there's a smile on her lips.

"Do you like that?"

"Yes," you breathe, and you're surprised by the huskiness in your voice.

"Good." She kisses you again, and then she's running her tongue over the tip. "It tastes funny," Hanni laughs gently and smiles. "I don't know if I like it yet, but I think I do."

She licks you again, and then she's kissing you, and then she's licking you, and then suddenly she's doing both. Her lips part in one of her kisses and she takes the head into her mouth so her tongue can work uninterrupted. She's licking around the head, and then she's taking you deeper, and you can feel her tongue exploring your shaft. It's incredible. It's unlike anything you've ever felt before. You've seen this before, on screen, or in magazines, or whatever, but nothing could have prepared you for the sensation of having her mouth around you.

"Oh god," you groan. "Hanni..."

It's all encouragement for her. A signal to her unsure mind that yes, this is exactly what you want and it feels as good as anything that you could have imagined. You're already sensitive, so every little movement of her tongue sends a shockwave of pleasure through you. You can't keep your eyes off her, watching her lips slide down your shaft, her tongue flicking at the head, her cheeks hollowing as she sucks you, her eyes looking up at you, checking that what she's doing is right.

She's breathing heavily from her nose, and the hot hair is kissing your skin. You can't believe you're seeing her like this, that this is the girl you grew up with.

"Hanni..."

She doesn't respond. She's too focused on the task at hand, on making you feel good. And she's doing a good job of it. A very good job of it.

"Hanni..."

Her eyes flick up to meet yours, and she stops moving her head. "Is something wrong?" she asks, her voice muffled by your cock. She pulls her head back, letting you slip out of her mouth, and a string of saliva connects the tip to her lower lip.

"No, no, no," you say quickly, "nothing's wrong. I just... I don't think I'm going to last much longer." You're embarrassed. You've never been in a situation like this before, and you're not sure what to expect, or what you're supposed to do. But you know that you're close to cumming, and you don't want to do it in her mouth.

"That's okay, just don't let the other girls hear us," she says, and then she's smiling at you, and then she's taking you in her mouth again, and then she's moving her head up and down, and then you're watching her cheeks hollow as she sucks you. Tongue running patterns over the underside of your length, you can't take much more.

"Oh god, Hanni, I'm going to—"

She doesn't stop. She doesn't slow down. She doesn't even flinch. She just keeps going, and you can't hold back any longer. You can feel the orgasm building inside you, and you can't stop it, and you don't want to, and you're not sure if you should, and you're not sure what to do, and—

You cum, and it's the most intense orgasm of your life. You can't help but cry out in pleasure, and you feel your hips buck involuntarily, and you feel her tongue continue to lap at the head as your cum spills out of her mouth. She doesn't pull back, she doesn't stop, she doesn't do anything to stop you from cumming in her mouth, she just keeps going, and you can feel her swallowing some of it. Some pools on your skin.

"Oh god," you say, and your voice is a whimper, and you're still trembling with pleasure.

Hanni pulls away and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. She looks up at you, and there's a mischievous grin on her face.

"Wow," she says, and then she's giggling. "I wasn't expecting that!"

"Are you okay?" you ask, and your voice is shaky.

"I'm good." She smiles and crawls up so she can rest her head on your shoulder, half draping her body over yours, your bare skin touching. She kisses your neck, her breath tickles your skin. You put an arm around her, holding her close. "I didn't know that would be so fun. Can I do it again?"

"Not right now," you say through strained breath. "Maybe later."

"Okay." She's looking up at you, and she has that same goofy grin on her face. "Was that okay? I've never done it before."

"It was more than okay," you say, and you can hear the awe in your own voice. "That was incredible."

"Really?" She sounds pleased with herself. "I wasn't sure what I was doing."

"It was perfect," you say, and then you kiss her forehead, and then you kiss her lips, and then you're lost in the sensation of her body pressed against yours. You can't believe that you're here, that you're doing this, that you're with her.

"I'm glad," she murmurs, and then she's looking at you again. "So, what now?"

"Can I try?" you ask. "With you, I mean. Can I... use my mouth on you?"

"You don't have to," she says quickly, but then her voice trails off. She seems unsure.

"I want to," you say. "If you want me to."

Her smile is wide and her eyes are bright. "I do," she says. She kisses you on the lips, and then she's rolling onto her back.

You lean over her, and your hands are shaking, and your heart is racing, and you're not sure what to do, or where to start, or if you're going to be any good at this, but you want to try. You want to make her feel as good as she made you feel. You want to taste her, to explore her with your tongue, to learn what makes her moan, what makes her gasp, what makes her squirm. You want to make her feel as good as you do.

So you start where you began earlier, at her chest, and you spend some time just appreciating them. Kissing them. Running your tongue over her nipples. Squeezing. Massaging. Listening to her breathing change.

"I love these," you mutter. "They're beautiful. You're beautiful."

Hanni doesn't respond with much more than a pleasured hum, but she doesn't need to. You can tell she's enjoying this, enjoying the attention. And it's a good thing too, because you have no intention of stopping. Not until she tells you to, at least. You keep kissing and licking and sucking her nipples, and you can feel her arching her back, pressing herself into your mouth, and you can hear her breath growing heavier, and her heart races.

Hanni gives a deep, full-bodied moan, the loudest she has so far. You take it as a signal to descend, and you trail kisses over her stomach, which makes her giggle and squirm. You feel the heat radiating off her body. Her scent is strong—intoxicatingly so.

When you reach the waistband of her tight black shorts, you pause for a moment, and then you hook your fingers under the elastic and pull them down. You're not even sure what to expect underneath, but whatever you had in your mind, the reality is so much better. Her black panties are lacy, and they hug her body perfectly, accentuating every curve, every dip, every contour. They're so sexy, so beautiful, that you can't help but stare. Your mouth hangs open and you can feel your dick stirring back to life already. You can't believe that you're here, that you're seeing her like this.

You take time to admire her. Her thighs and her hips and the delicate apex underneath the wet panties. Then you look up her body, taking in the way her wide hips give way to the curve of her waist, the way her breasts rise and fall with each breath, the way her hair frames her face, the way her eyes shine in the dim light, and they stare at you, accompanying her smile.

"What are you thinking?" she asks, and her voice is barely a whisper. "I know that face. You always have that look on your face when you're thinking about something."

"You're the most beautiful girl in the world," you say, and you mean it, and you're not sure why you've never told her before.

Her smile widens and she laughs, covering her face. "You're so cheesy," she says, but you can tell that she likes it, that she appreciates it, that she loves it.

"Can't help it," you say, and then you lean down and kiss her stomach again, the muscles tense under your lips, and her breath catches. You kiss your way down to the edge of her panties, and then you pause.

"Is this okay?" you ask, and you're not sure why, but you feel like you need her permission, even having come this far.

"More than okay," she replies, and her voice is soft and breathy, and full of desire.

You smile, and then you kiss the edge of her panties again, and then you start to pull them down. You can feel the fabric stick to her skin as you peel them off her body, revealing her pussy. The sight of it takes your breath away, and you can't help but stare. It's beautiful, of course, but it's also more than that. It's Hanni. It's the most intimate part of her body, the most vulnerable, the most sensitive, the most private, and it's right there in front of you, and she's permitting you to touch it, to taste it, to explore it. She trusts you.

You place your palms on her thighs and spread her legs. You move your head between them and you plant the most delicate of kisses on her wet skin. Her body twitches. Another kiss, and another, and another, and you can feel her legs tremble. You can feel her body tense.

"You're so wet," you say, and you can't keep the awe out of your voice. You can feel her juices on your lips, and you lick them off, tasting her for the first time. It's sweet yet musky, and it's a taste that you want more of. You lick her now, a few tentative ones over her lips and then one from bottom to top, ending at her clit. She reacts more to that last one. So that's the spot, then. You repeat that pattern a few times.

"Oh god, that feels so good," Hanni moans, her head tilting back and her eyes closing.

"I can do better," you whisper, and then you focus on the peak of your previous licks, pushing your tongue between her lips where she's most sensitive. Hanni gasps, her hips bucking involuntarily, and her thighs tense, her hands gripping the bedsheets, and she's so responsive, so sensitive, so receptive to your touch, that you can't help but smile. You keep licking, flicking your tongue over her clit, teasing it, circling it, and you can feel her thighs tremble, her hips rock, and her breathing grows heavier and heavier.

"Oh, oh, oh," she murmurs, and her voice is a whimper, and it's so cute, and so sexy, that you can't help but moan into her pussy, the vibrations sending shivers through her body, and she whimpers again.

Now it's your turn to lock your lips against her, enclosing around her sensitive nub. You suckle on her clit, running your tongue over it, and she's rocking her hips against every movement of your tongue. It's the sexiest thing you've ever heard. All the gasps, whimpers, and moans. You could listen to it all day.

In a moment of realisation, you worry if the others can hear it. If they're in their own rooms, then probably not, but you know that at least one of them is asleep in the living room. Your head is buried in your best friend's pussy. What if someone knocks on her door? How would you explain this? What if—

"Oh god, oh god, oh god," Hanni cries and her voice is louder than before, and you can hear the desperation in her tone, and you can feel her body tensing, her back arching, and her hands gripping the sheets tighter and tighter. "Don't stop, don't stop," she moans.

Her thighs clasp around your head and all your worries about being caught are washed away with a new fear. You're trapped between her thighs. Your head is being crushed by the muscles you were just admiring. You're going to die here, between her legs. It's a pretty good way to go, though, so you accept it. At least you got to eat her out.

But then, as suddenly as it came, the pressure is released. Her legs go limp, and her body sags, and her breathing slows, and her hands relax, and she's lying there, panting, and trembling, and whimpering.

"Holy shit," she whispers, and her voice is hoarse, and you can't help but feel a sense of pride. You made her cum. You made her cum hard. "That was amazing," she whines. "I didn't know it would feel that good."

You smile, and you kiss her pussy, and then her inner thigh, and then the crease of her hip, and then you move up her body, kissing her stomach, and her breasts, and her neck, and finally you reach her lips. You kiss her, and she kisses you back, and then you're both laughing, giggling, and smiling, and holding each other close.

"That was incredible," she says, and her voice is soft and breathy, and she's looking up at you with wide, sparkling eyes. She kisses you again, and then you're lost in the sensation of her body pressed against yours.

"I didn't know it would be that good," you admit. "I thought it would be nice, but not like that."

"Me neither," she whispers, and she's looking at you with a mixture of awe and adoration. "I've never felt anything like that before."

You smile, and you kiss her again, and then you're both lying there, holding each other, basking in the afterglow.

"So," she says, after a few moments. "I don't want this to be over. I want to keep feeling like this."

"What do you mean?"

She smiles, and her eyes are full of mischief. "You know what I mean."

"Are you sure?" you ask, and you can't keep the excitement out of your voice.

"Yes," she whispers, and her voice is soft and breathy, and full of desire. "I've been thinking about it for a while. There's, uh, things in the top drawer."

"Things?"

"Just open it, dummy," she laughs, and you do. Inside, there's a sealed pack of condoms. You pick it up, and you can feel your heart racing, and you can feel the blood rushing to your cock, and you can feel the excitement building inside you. You turn back to her, and she's looking at you with a mixture of love and lust. Her eyes are full of anticipation, and she's biting her lip.

"You've thought a lot about this, haven't you?" you ask, and you can't help but grin. "You've had these just waiting here?"

She blushes and looks away, but then she looks back at you and smiles shyly. "Maybe."

You take one out and kneel back on the bed, between Hanni's spread legs. You know what to do. Simple. But the way that Hanni is looking at you, with a mixture of anticipation and excitement, is making it difficult to focus, and your hands are shaking.

You manage it, though. You roll the condom down your shaft and look at her. Her smile is wide and bright, and you can't help but smile back. She reaches for you and pulls you down on top of her.

"I can't believe we're doing this," you say.

"Me neither," she giggles, and then you're kissing again, and it's a hungry kiss, full of passion and desire. You feel her hand move between you and take hold of your cock, and you feel her guide it to her entrance, and then you're both pressing forward. The kisses are replaced by shared gasps, and your forehead comes to rest against hers. She's so warm, so wet, and so tight, that you have to pause for a moment, just to catch your breath, and she does the same, her eyes closed, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"Are you okay?"

She nods quickly and then tells you, "Keep going."

So you do. You push forward, slowly, carefully, and she takes you, inch by inch, until you're fully inside her, and you're both breathing heavily, and you're both trembling, and you're both holding onto each other, and it feels incredible.

"Wow," she whispers, and her voice is a whimper, and you can't help but smile.

"Yeah," you breathe, and you're smiling too, and then you're both sharing a laugh. "Doesn't it hurt? I thought it was supposed to—"

"A little, but don't worry," she tells you. "I'll let you know if it gets too much. Just... take it slow, okay?"

"Okay," you say, and then you start to move, slowly, and carefully, and her body responds to every movement, every thrust, every inch. Her hips rock against yours, and her hands grip your back, and her nails dig into your skin, and her lips press against your neck. She's so unbelievably tight.

"Hanni," you whisper, and your voice is a low growl, and you can't help but groan as you feel her muscles clench around your cock.

"Don't stop," she whines, and her voice is a needy whimper, her body is pressing against yours, and her legs are wrapping around your hips, pulling you closer, keeping you deep inside of her.

You pick up speed, but not too fast. You don't want this to end, you never want this to end, but you can't help yourself. It feels so good. It feels so right. It feels perfect. It feels like everything you've ever wanted.

"Oh god," you groan, and you plant your hand against her—half on her thigh, half on her ass. You grasp her soft flesh as you try to bury yourself deeper. Her body tenses in response. She likes it. "You're amazing."

"Mmm... more..." she moans, and you can't help but smile.

You start to thrust harder, faster, and her hips start to rock against yours, and you're both lost in the sensation. Breathless whimpers are broken by raw moans, which you try to stifle with kisses so no one can hear you, and then you're both lost in the rhythm, the back and forth, the ebb and flow. You're both in sync, both moving together, and it's the most beautiful thing in the world. You can feel the pressure building inside you, and you can feel her body tensing, and her breathing quickening, and you're both so close.

Hanni brings her hands to your head, running her fingers into your hair and pulling your ear to her mouth. She lets out a moan right into it, before telling you, "Take it off." You're not sure it's a good idea, but she's insistent. "I want to feel you. All of you. Please. Take it off."

"Hanni... I don't think—"

You're cut off by her moving her hands to your shoulders and pushing you onto your back. Hanni leans over you and looks down at your throbbing cock. "Let's do it properly." She reaches down and rolls the rubber off your shaft, leaving it bare. Your stomach clenches in a mix of excitement and fear. She throws the condom aside and then she climbs on top of you, straddling your waist, and her pussy hovers above your cock.

"Hanni, we shouldn't—" you start, but she cuts you off again. She takes hold of your shaft and rubs the tip of your cock along her wet folds. Her juices coat your cock. Her warm pussy teases the tip. Your eyes roll back in your head.

"It's okay," she whispers, and then she pushes your tip inside her, and she gasps, and you moan, and then she's sinking onto you, and you're sliding up inside her, and you're both breathing heavily, and you're both moaning, and you're both lost in the sensation.

"Oh god," you moan, and you can't help but grab her hips and pull her down, and you can't help but thrust up into her. You're bare. You're inside her, skin-to-skin, and it's the most incredible thing you've ever felt. The way she rocks her hips drives you insane. She's so warm, so wet, and so tight, that you're not sure how long you can last.

"Don't cum," she whispers, and her voice is a needy whimper, and she's looking down at you with wide, pleading eyes. "Not yet."

"I'm not sure I can—"

"You have to," she says, and she's looking down at you with desperate eyes, and you can't help but nod. "Please," she says, and she's grinding her hips against you, and she's riding you, and she's fucking herself with your cock, and she's moaning, and whimpering, and gasping, and you're both lost in the sensation.

"I'm close," you warn her. "I can't—"

"Wait for me," she whines, and you can feel her body start to tense, and you can feel her walls clench around your cock, and you can feel her start to tremble. "I'm—"

With a loud moan, her body tenses and cuts her words off. Her pussy clenches, and her hands grip your chest, nails digging into your skin, and her eyes squeeze shut. Her whole body quivers as her orgasm washes over her, and you can't help but thrust up into her, pushing yourself as deep as you can go. She cries out in pleasure, and you feel a heat in the pit of your stomach.

You thought nothing would be as intense as when you burst into Hanni's mouth, yet just half an hour later, you realise that was nothing compared to this. The rush is so powerful, so overwhelming, that it almost knocks the wind out of you. You can't breathe, you can't think, and you can't stop the flood of cum that's filling her. You can feel it, and she can feel it, and it's so hot, and so thick, and so wet, that you can't help but groan.

Pulsing and throbbing inside her, Hanni keeps riding you, her hips rolling, her thighs trembling and her cute little tits bouncing. Your cum spills out of her, and the mess is pooling beneath you both. It's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. You can't help but smile as you watch her. She's so perfect, so beautiful, and you're inside her—the reason she's cumming.

She collapses on top of you, her head on your shoulder, and her body limp. She's breathing heavily, and you're both covered in a sheen of sweat. You wrap your arms around her and hold her close, and she does the same, her fingers running through your hair, and she's kissing your neck, and your cheek, and your lips. You kiss her back, and it's a soft, gentle kiss, full of love, affection, and gratitude.

"I can't believe we just did that."

You can feel her smile against your skin. "I can't believe I let you cum in me," she giggles. "It felt so good, though." She lifts herself up and looks down at you, her smile wide and her eyes sparkling. "Did I do okay?"

"You were incredible," you say, and you mean it.

"Maybe next time we could—"

"Next time?" you ask, making sure you heard her right.

"Yes," she says, and her voice is soft and shy, and she's looking at you with a mixture of love and lust. "I want to do that again. And again. And again."

"Me too," you say, and you can't help but smile.

-

She's asleep. You're lying in her bed, watching her. She's so beautiful, and you can't stop looking at her. You can't stop thinking about her. About what you've done. You're not sure how you're going to get to sleep. She's snuggled up to you, her head resting on your shoulder, and her legs tangled with yours. Her breathing is slow and steady. She's peaceful, and you're so happy. You can't remember the last time you were this happy.

You can't remember the last time you felt so content. It's strange. It's like you've been living your life in a fog. You've been drifting, and you've been lost, and you've been searching for something, but Hanni has been right here. She was right in front of you, all along.

You just didn't realise it, until now.

[caroljoky]

𝒞𝓊𝓇𝓈𝑒𝒹 𝒷𝓎 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒢𝑜𝒹𝓈

CHAPTER 1: 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔅𝔯𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔰' 𝔗𝔞𝔩𝔢

Prologue's here !

Caracalla x female!OC x Geta

Summary:

How did the Emperors gain power? What was their past like? What made Caracalla a madman?

Lucia Galeria Aurelia is the forgotten daughter of Lucilla and Maximus. One day her life changes forever when her path crosses with the young Caracalla. She starts to take an active part in the life of Rome, captivating not only the Roman people but also someone fate condemned her to - certain red-haired rulers.

Warnings: english is not my first language(!), alluding to sex, suicide, mentions of concubines, alcohol, swearing

AN: I really dig through history with this one. One of Severus's quotes he actually told in real life, not gonna spoil it tho!

Trope: enemies to lovers (duh)

Word count: 2.9k

At night, the two young people were led to a large chamber, unlike the one little Lucia was used to. It was an almost-hall, which had been the chamber of imperial marriages since the time of Nero, with large windows and a beautiful vault depicting Eros leaning towards Psyche, who sees her husband for the first time, with fear and uncertainty but also love painted on her face. Something that Lucia wanted to feel very much. She thought quickly, on their way to the chamber she managed to imagine the next years, the future of Rome, which she had to start taking care of. She glanced at her new husband's father from one side and at her mother from the other. She did not look past her, even though she felt the eyes of everyone following her, 'guiding' the newlyweds to their wedding night. She felt bad, the worst. She could only look at the back of her husband, who was walking in front of her, he had a certain posture and broad shoulders, but there was something funny about him, too funny. She tried to find the humor in the situation, she smiled to herself. “That’s my husband,” echoed in her head. They stopped. Two praetorians and Severus entered the chamber. In the middle stood a large bed with silk sheets and velvet pillows on which lay the heads of great rulers. Lucia wondered if all the young Roman brides felt as she did. 

-Listen, young ones - Severus broke the deathly silence - Today you begin your marriage. You also start to play your role, as husband and wife, emperor and empress, woman and man. The gods gave you the ability to give life. You are here because it was given to you, and you should not end it without giving it to the next generation. Such is your task. 

Only now could the girl see the true, obsessive face of the ruler of Rome. A ruler who knew that his days were numbered, a ruler who wanted his family to survive, more than anything in the world. Even if he had to sacrifice his son's happiness, sacrifice himself. He wanted everything to happen quickly, preferably here and now. The strange thing was that Lucia was not afraid. She was not afraid of this older, red-haired man, who, despite the large wreath and the storm in his pupils, was not dangerous to her at all. He looked almost pathetic to her, his desperate efforts to keep the throne. But only to her did he look like that. When she looked to the side, the purest form of fear was drawn on her husband's face. Maybe it was because his father had his eyes fixed on him the whole time, as if the future of Rome, the world, rested on his shoulders. His lips, still slightly stained with the cherry color of Lucia's lip cream, trembled before that stern look. 

- Do you understand, son? - he asked, grabbing the young man’s hair - Now is your time for this. You will give me a descendant of your own blood, you will maintain our family, right, son? - he pierced his son with his gaze, who could only nod slightly. 

As he left, he locked them in the room alone, probably leaving the praetorians behind them. For the first time, she could talk to him. She opened her mouth hastily, but he did the same at that moment.

- Let's just get this over with - she whispered as they sat on either side of the bed. It took some time before she took off her tunic, stola, and palla. When she did, only her long curls, shimmering in the light of the sad moon, fell on her body. After a long, rather awkward moment of their lives, she touched his fettered face a little timidly. Caracalla was afraid, afraid of his father, afraid of Rome and afraid of power. Although he was never really afraid. Even during the wedding, he was not afraid, he was angry. Pissed to the bone, he devoured his barbarian father with his eyes, imagining him on the noose. His father, his whole life, had not treated him like this. He felt betrayed. Looking at his beautiful wife, he felt only regret. He only nervously bit his cherry lip, the color of which mixed with blood. She took his face in both hands as if she wanted to wake him up from this trance of emotions.

- Just do it, Geta - she whispered, hugging him

- Geta..? - his first word since the wedding rang out

- Just do it!

- I’m Caracalla!

- What? - she stopped the embrace to look at him - Caracalla the Gladiator?

- What? - he said like an echo

- Geta was supposed to be the emperor..

- What are you talking about..

 After another long moment of looking at each other, the girl burst into uncontrollable laughter. Caracalla, surprised by the whole situation, expressed perhaps a shadow of amusement, but with his whole body confusion. How could he possibly know how the girl found out about the twin rulers? 

 A while earlier, one day when she first snuck out of the chamber and found Macrinus, he showed her the gladiators' weapons. He presented her with each item and she absorbed the knowledge like no one else. She wanted to take one of the smaller swords, for warriors of smaller stature, but there were none. Maybe because of adversity, maybe because young Caracalla stole swords for his chamber, swords that probably fascinated him as much as Lucia. 

- Sorry, kid. It seems like another young gladiator was faster than you. This little, red-haired one, Caracalla. I'm telling you, when I live to see his reign, I'll give myself freely to the hands of the Gods - Macrinus told her, laughing. 

Lucia had heard stories about people waiting for a new ruler, who was supposed to be Geta. They hoped that he would end the tyranny and break the curse of his family. Maybe she believed in those fairy tales and maybe that was why she was so calm.. Until she found out that it wasn't her husband.

  The laughter died down a bit, the boy continued to look at her with a blank stare, as if begging her to leave him alone or at least explain what was going on.

- Do you even want to be an emperor?

- Not with an empress like you.

- Ouch, spare me Geta - her innate cynicism was revealed for the first time as she leaned back on the pillows with playful eyes, now in all her glory as a beautiful empress. Caracalla was calmer, his fear diminished when he noticed he had no enemy in her. For the first time, he smiled, showing his teeth, some gleaming gold.

- Where did you even come from?

- I hatched from a shell like Venus - she giggled, stretching.

- Fair enough..

There was silence again for a moment. Caracalla liked to stare, piercing everything with his gaze. He looked silly to her, maybe even sweet. She wasn't sure if he had the face of the future emperor. They looked at each other, she turned her head slightly to the side, for the first time she actually saw him, without the shadow of his tyrannical father, just him, the 18-year-old boy Caracalla. After all, they were in this together.

- So…What’s it like to have.. a brother?

- I dunno.. I guess good, as long as your wife doesn't confuse you with him - the echo of a boyish chuckle spread through the large room. Lucia was curious about this, she had never met any peers, only heard once or twice about her brother, who was alive, but not present. Who probably didn't know that there was someone like her, someone who wanted to see him more than everyone else. The girl wanted to feel at least a drop of brotherly love, to hear about it.

- No, I'm serious. Do you love him?

- We do everything together. I'm condemned to him like.. To you

- Condemned? He's your only brother! - Her gaze was fixed on his now-turned head. A moment earlier they had covered themselves in their marital robes, the future emperor now curled up on the large bed, hiding his face in his hands. The girl probably wouldn't understand what he was feeling, even after reading all her grandfather's philosophical books and using up all of her intelligence.

- Don't you understand that I'm standing in his way? He won’t admit it, but it's true. I'll give you a child and he'll get lost in the shadows, forgotten. Do you understand? He's so.. good. An ideal emperor.

  Caracalla was a child whose exceptionalism was acknowledged from an early age. People criticized him for his ridiculous attitude, but they admitted that he had bravado. Bravado that an emperor needed. The boy was not virtuous, he was against all virtues. He admired Commodus, Alexander the Great, heck, he ordered his statue to be placed in his room, he ordered a sword to be forged for himself with the date of the Macedonian ruler’s birth and death. Caracalla absorbed the history of wars and empires, he wanted to fight. When he was ridiculed for his small stature, his brother used to step in. Their relationship was, however, changeable, beyond understanding. Geta felt every resentment towards his brother, one could say from birth, for being the first to emerge from his mother's belly, for always being the first for no reason. Caracalla always had a certain difficulty with emotions. His love was obsessive, it came in waves, randomly. It changed. He couldn't talk about it. He was healthy his whole life, he didn't struggle with any illnesses, unlike his father. That was one of the reasons his father chose him as emperor, an ideal tyrant, leading conquests, winning wars. However, Caracalla fell into a spiral of debauchery. Wine and concubines tempted him from childhood. Maybe because his father surrounded himself with them all the time, and convinced him that he was an authority. Women could give the old emperor the power that he felt he was losing. Power over his sickly body, power over Rome.

  Her warm breath tickled his ear. She embraced him, what a strange feeling. He never wanted pity, he didn't want to feel weak.

- I’m..

  The door to the chamber was opened. A sonorous voice could be heard.

- You’re a noble pair, dear brother and sister. You look.. truly serious

Indeed, their faces did not express the bliss that the wedding night was supposed to bring. Lucia moved away from her husband, quickly and silently dressing. The tension was clearly felt between the brothers.

- Geta…

- Caracalla!

  The taller red-haired boy with funny eyeliner embraced his brother in his marital robe, kissing him on the forehead. The kiss seemed brutal, full of brotherly rivalry. Everyone except Lucia guessed that this rivalry was about her. The moment of silence between the brothers looking at each other was interrupted by the praetorian entering.

- The emperor invites the couple for breakfast.

- That's what I wanted to tell you - Geta replied, watching Lucia dress from the side - the night passed quickly, didn't it?

  Caracalla nodded again in a way she knew. It seemed the only thing that was weighing on him was the matter of this marriage. It looked like she had awakened an unusual side of him that no one but her had seen.

✦ ⎯⎯ㅤִㅤ୭ ୨♡୧ ৎㅤִ  ⎯⎯ ✦

  The table was huge, filled with all sorts of wild dishes, in honor of the newlyweds everything was soaked in wine, both bread and roast, and finally large carafes of drinks were brought which sparkled as poured into large goblets. Two places of honor at the end of the table were waiting for the young couple. All eyes were turned towards them, waiting for the feast to begin. Lucia also waited for Caracalla to stand up but his eyes wandered over individual people, not focused on the current moment. He leaned towards his brother to whom he whispered something. Geta waved his hand and patted him rudely on the shoulder. The boy stood up together with his wife, biting a piece of wine bread made of wheat as a sign to start the feast. Conversations immediately drowned out the solemn silence of the Golden House, you could hear a roar of clinking glasses and eating, laughter and shouting. The only people who seemed to be absent were, of course, the newlyweds. Lucia said nothing but listened attentively. Next to her sat Macrinus with the Senate, telling the wildest stories from the arena. 

- Rome has something that the Egyptians, the Persians, and the Hindus have not achieved. We have a great Colosseum and games. We have honorable men for whom fighting is life, devoted to Ares, loyal to the Thunderer. Barbarians will never achieve what Rome has, we are the nation closest to the fullness of life, Socrates can laugh in his grave as much as he wants, but it is true.

- But aren't these honorable men brought from barbarian nations, from far across the sea? - a soft female voice broke through the applause of the older men, for a moment as if deafened by her interference.

- These matters should not bother your noble head in any way, dear Lady, I am sure that..

- She is right, Marcus, they are not Romans. That is why my task is to convert and train them, which as you can see gives me so much remuneration that today I am sitting right next to the future empress. - Macrinus interrupted the senator with a certain smile, glancing into the eyes of the clever princess.

  On the other side of the table, however, the conversation was not going so smoothly. Caracalla was as nervous as ever. The pink powder on his cheeks was nothing compared to the blushes on his face, the blushes of anger and shame. 

- Where the fuck is he? Isn't it time for one of his damned speeches? Besides, he’s sick as hell! 

- He is celebrating in a brothel, as usual. Relax, brother. You have more important things to worry about. I'll send to look for him - Geta whispered with furrowed brows to his leaning brother, who nervously played with his rings, looking at the whole room with fear. He didn't know any of these people.

  It was true that Caracalla was always the first to seek out his father when he was roaming around Rome with a hood covering his face. As has already been mentioned, he chased women. And his son chased after him. He woke him up, led him home, maybe in a way he looked after him, worried about him. Maybe that was why he was so concerned about his father’s every word. Because, after all, he was close to his father. 

  The Praetorians did not search for long, his father was walking with unsteady steps to the dining hall. When the large doors opened, they revealed a drunken Septimius Severus. Despite everything, the man had a hard head when it came to alcohol. Regardless of his lung disease, he maintained the form of a functioning alcoholic. Coughing mercilessly, he caught everyone's attention, standing exactly on the opposite side of the abundant table. Only a murmur of whispers remained in the hall because no one valued the emperor very much, certainly not as much as his sons. He raised a large, filled goblet.

- You see, you sent him to us - Geta said with embarrassment, raising the wine to his lips, trying to block out the humiliating sight from his field of vision.

- Sons! You are in the prime of life! Grown, handsome, your whole life lays open before you, like the legs of a cheap whore! - The murmurs died down as it seemed that the only thing that could be heard was the father's laughter and the son's gnashing of teeth. - So I have one last fatherly demand. Live in harmony, enrich the soldiers, and apart from that.. You can despise everyone. Just remember... remember the family - the old man's voice trembled uncontrollably because no one took him seriously. 

  Even the sons hid their faces in their hands, awkwardly glanced to the sides, cursing their father in their thoughts. 

  Maybe they subconsciously sent what was to happen to him. Severus was dressed in a long black robe, in which he demanded many pockets, so it looked unique and unusual. From one of the pockets by his hip, he pulled out a small sword, bearing small images of Caracalla and Geta as young twins embraced by their mother with her eyes closed. This old man stubbornly clung to his miserable life as a failed emperor, even when he knew that his years of conquest were behind him as if he wanted to fulfill some task. It turned out that the task was his sons and their rule. When it was fulfilled, he went to have one last night of fun, then returned in the morning to say goodbye to his loved ones. He quickly ran the blade across the fold of his neck, from which the soul of the old ruler flew away, whose body then fell onto the rich table, onto the great roast and onto the goblets of wine. People stood up as if scalded, women screamed as if they had been skinned, Emperor Geta stood up to run towards his dead father - and Caracalla, Caracalla was sitting, and in his eyes was smoldering the flame with the embryo of madness, which had been awakened by unbearable pain, the pain of death and everything he had experienced.

@doodle-with-rhy

thank you all so much for your support! Comment if you want a continue

[thydungeongal]

I feel like maybe I'm out of the loop on this, and you are one of the most well-versed people I've ever seen when it comes to ttrpgs, so I'm hoping you might be able to enlighten me on this. I've played a good few games in my time, but I've been running into people who seem to have an almost feral hate for any "Powered By the Apocalypse" game. Now I can't say for certain all of them I've played (at least 3), but is there something about the system that just enrages people?

I know that some people dislike PbtA games for reasons that boil down to matters of taste. One of my good friends, the lead writer of @anim-ttrpgs does dislike PbtA games, and in his case it boils down to a number of reasons: he feels the structure of these games is often a bit too restrictive and ends up with characters who are defined largely by their narrative tropes; and another reason he tends to dislike them is that the popularity of the framework has led to a lot of lazy PbtA games that don't really do anything interesting with the framework and are kind of just lazy and bad. That's a surface level read of his points and he's actually written a long post about it, but especially on that latter point I do agree with him: it's nowhere near as bad as the proliferation of lazy D&D 5e hacks, but on the indie RPG side there are a lot of cases where someone feels that a PbtA hack would be perfect for their first TTRPG. The thing is, it's very easy to make a PbtA game, but it's extremely hard to make a good PbtA game. Some of the best games I've seen using the framework are actually quite involved and have lots of interlocking parts, but a lot of the ones I've seen are simply kind of. Meh.

But there's another strain of PbtA haters out there that I know of and this group of people is best characterized as "people with a grudge against certain types of games doing the worst faith reading of those games to find 'flaws' in them." I think the most visceral hatred of PbtA games I've seen was on The Gaming Den, where a bunch of dudes convinced themselves that PbtA games are bad because on a roll of 6- a GM could just make bears happen out of nowhere. So, you know, it was a bunch of guys who did a surface level read of Apocalypse World but never read the MC principles, because if they had they would have realized that "Make a move that follows" is one of the MC principles.

All of which is to say, it's more or less the same that's going on with pretty much any RPG: some people will read a game and give it a shot and decide it's not for them, and often come away with a way to articulate why they disliked it. Other people will go in wanting to find a reason to dislike a thing and do the worst faith reading possible. And a lot of people will simply never read a game and simply accept that the previous group's reading of it is true.

So none of this is to say that none of the people who you've encountered have actually read a PbtA game and played it and actually formulated their opinions through experience. But knowing what nerds can be like it's probably at least some of them.

[saveyourblood]

The Exit (Evan Buckley x Reader)

Summary: “She isn’t as good as me,” you say. It isn’t a question. It isn’t even a taunt — it’s a simple fact. The one where you and Buck were together, now you're not, and you're cycling through the five stages of grief.

Word Count: 2.2k Warnings: mild violence, toxic(ish) relationship

“There’s no way he moved on that quickly.”

Denial. 

Hen just looks at you. You take another sip of your drink. 

She successfully convinced you to go out after work for the first time in months. Unfortunately for her, that doesn’t mean you’re good company. Your only plan for the night is to get so drunk that you can get his face out of your head. 

“It’s like I always say: Men ain’t shit.”

“You literally never say that.”

“I don’t have to, because they ain’t shit,” Hen grins. 

You try to smile. God, you wish you could. You’re pretty sure that night stitched the corners of your mouth into a permanent frown. 

“I just can’t believe it,” you mutter. You signal for the bartender. 

Hen sighs. “Look, babe, there’s no way that relationship is going to last. She’s a rebound.” 

“You think he’d introduce us to his rebound?”

“The whole point of a rebound is that you don’t know it’s a rebound,” Hen explains. “Buck thinks he loves her because he still loves you, and that love doesn’t just… disappear. It has to go somewhere.”

“Why can’t I have it?” 

Hen sighs again, a sad smile on her face. 

“Maybe I was just a really shitty partner,” you cede. “Maybe if I could be better, we could be better.” 

Bargaining. 

Hen’s in the middle of a sip, but she shakes her head anyway. “No, that’s not what happened.”

“I don’t even know what happened. I think that’s the worst part. I mean, here’s this man that I think I’ve been in love with for the last three years, and the second I mention the word ‘marriage,’ he runs for the hills.”

“He’s got some personal shit to work through,” Hen says simply. “Shit that you can’t fix.” 

“But why couldn’t he let me at least help him? Isn’t that what a partner is supposed to do?” 

Hen plays with the napkin on the bar in front of her. “Buck’s never had a real partner — not until you came into his life. I think underneath the macho firefighter charade is a boy who’s just… scared of how he feels.”

“He doesn’t know how he feels,” you scoff. 

The bartender wordlessly fills the empty shot glass in front of you. You take it the second he’s done pouring it, wincing as it burns your throat. 

“Maybe that’s what he’s scared of,” Hen says softly. 

“He can’t be that scared: he has a girlfriend,” you retort bitterly. You push your empty shot glass around aimlessly before quietly adding, “I’m so tired of feeling this way.”

Depression.

You won’t be reaching Acceptance anytime soon, so for now, you cycle through the other stages of grief… except for Anger. 

You and Anger either don’t get along or get along far too well. You and Anger is either tequila and lime or tequila and a goddamn blowtorch. Anger gets you everything you want or it ruins it, and there’s no in-between. You’re not friends, not even close; Anger is your shadow, nipping on your heels, ready to strike in the right lighting. 

You look over your shoulder at the pool table. Buck and Eddie are taking turns shooting, and off to the side sits Taylor. 

You don’t get what Buck sees in her, yet you absolutely get it, and it’s an infuriating paradox. She’s a news broadcaster, but she looks like she could be a model. Where you have scars and curves, Taylor is clear and straight-edged. She flips her long red hair over one shoulder, and even under the shitty bar lamp, it shines. 

It’s the right lighting. 

You push yourself away from the counter and hop out of your seat. You march across the bar, far too steady on your feet considering how much you’ve drank. It’s as if Anger, which usually follows behind you, is propping you up and pushing you forward. 

Taylor sees you first, because of course she does. She smiles a little as her eyebrows furrow. It’s juvenile, but you kind of want to punch her in the mouth and see what her perfect little smile would look like with a fresh painting of blood over it. 

“Is everything alright?” She asks innocently. 

“Yeah, just… Buck, can I talk to you? Outside?” 

Buck, who’s lining up a shot, looks up. His mouth opens slightly before he forces it closed, his jaw clenching in the process. He quickly shoots, the cue ball bouncing off the side of the table before hitting another ball. He doesn’t even look to see if he made the shot; he stares at you the entire time. 

He stands up straight, rolling his shoulders back. “Yeah.”

Buck leads the way. If Anger wasn’t following you so closely, you’d feel Taylor’s gaze burning a hole in your back. 

It’s cold outside. Not unseasonably, considering it’s February. Hell, it’s not even actually cold; you grew up on the East Coast, so where you’re from, winter chills you to the bone. Here in LA, winter is more like a breath of fresh air from the summer's unrelenting heat. 

Buck crosses his arms over his chest. He’s from the East Coast too, so you know he isn’t cold.

“What’s up?” He asks.

You laugh. Like, actually laugh. You haven’t done it in so long that you almost forgot how it sounded, how it feels. You missed the rumble in your chest and the shaking of your shoulders. You missed laughing, and you missed laughing with him. 

Buck isn’t laughing, though. He’s just staring at you. 

“You know what? Nevermind,” you chuckle, turning on your heel. 

You take a few steps down the sidewalk before Buck calls after you. “Where are you going? You’re the one who wanted to talk!”

You stop dead in your tracks, any trace of a smile leaving your face. 

Buck shifts behind you. He’s close enough to hear but not close enough to feel. 

“Does she know?” You ask, back still turned to him. 

He shifts again. You let the silence deafen you both.

“...It hasn’t come up.”

You laugh again. It isn’t genuine this time. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

You try walking away again, but Buck grabs your arm. It feels like his fingertips are made of fire. You spin around to face him, causing him to let go. His jaw is set again. 

You grab fistfuls of his shirt, spinning him around and pushing him against the brick wall of the neighboring building. 

Anger. 

“Don’t you dare fucking touch me,” you growl. “You lost that privilege a long time ago.”

Buck keeps fucking staring at you. He raises his chin a little, but he doesn’t try to move your hands. 

“You are so full of shit, you know that?” You continue, shaking your hands a little before letting go of his shirt. 

“You’re drunk.”

He can smell it on your breath. He can’t possibly know you well enough to know you’d never say any of this sober. Because sure, you were together for three years, but you’re not together anymore. One of the reasons for that has to be that he doesn’t know a damn thing about you. 

“You’re still full of shit,” you repeat. Even you can tell that it isn’t as convincing this time. You take a step back; being this close to him is making your stomach turn. 

Buck pushes off the wall, towering over you. “How? How am I full of shit?” 

“You’re a liar,” you say, tilting your head up to stare at him. You won’t let him intimidate you. 

“A liar?” Buck challenges, getting closer to you. 

Anger. Anger. Anger. 

You put your hands on his chest and push him against the wall again. You aren’t strong enough to manhandle him — to a certain extent, he’s letting you push him around. That pisses you off even more. 

“You lied to me for three fucking years straight,” you hiss. 

“How?”

“You told me you loved me.”

Your voice wavers, and you can’t stand the sound of it. You clench your jaw and take in a breath, which you let out shakily. No fucking way are you going to let yourself cry in front of him. He doesn’t deserve your tears. 

“You told me you loved me, and when I wanted more, you ran,” you say, pausing to swallow. “You told me you loved me for three years, and not even three months later, you’re showing off your new girlfriend.”

If only for a second, you swear his vision drops to your lips. Buck goes right back to staring at you, though, and you see his jaw pop — he’s getting angry. 

Good.

“Are you ever gonna tell her?” You challenge. You lean in, the gap between you growing shorter every second.

His jaw doesn’t relax. 

A chuckle escapes you. Of course he isn’t. 

You put your hands on the wall, inches from Buck’s waist on both sides. You lean in, turning your lips to his ear. “Remember this, Evan Buckley: everywhere she touches you, I was there first.” 

Buck grabs your face with one hand, and your brain short-circuits. Your chin is tucked between his thumb and index finger, the rest of his fingers resting on your cheek and neck. He pulls you back first, then turns you around until it’s you who’s pressed against the wall. 

Then, he kisses you. His hand stays where it is while the other pins your hip in place. The kiss doesn’t feel like it used to; it’s somehow worse yet better than when you were together. There’s no trace of love in the way his tongue slides across yours or the way he takes your lip in between his teeth. Everything about this is so rough, so raw, so needy.

Eventually, Buck brakes away but keeps his forehead pressed against yours so hard you think it might leave a bruise. He huffs out a few breaths that you gratefully inhale. 

“She isn’t as good as me,” you say. It isn’t a question.  It isn’t even a taunt — it’s a simple fact. Three months ain’t got shit on three years. 

“You just had to go and fuck things up, didn’t you?” He mumbles, voice gravelly. 

He’s kissing you again. Your head is fuzzy, and you know it isn’t from the booze. He’s pressing into you, but you manage to snake a hand in between your waists to palm him. He’s half-hard, and when you make contact, he lets out a low groan into your mouth. You swallow it whole. 

His words finally register. You squeeze him, probably a little too hard. He groans again, finally moving his hand from your face to the wall behind you for leverage. 

“I fucked things up?” you challenge quietly. Your hand hovers over Buck’s crotch, and he leans closer, desperate for any connection. “You’re the one who ended things.”

“You’re the one who wanted to change things,” Buck argues. 

His head dips, and he starts to kiss your neck. You let out a small sound at the sensation, biting your bottom lip to quiet yourself. You’re still pissed at him, but you continue palming him through his pants, which earns you another groan. 

“I brought up the idea of a future, and you ran,” you say between heavy breaths. “You’re more scared of change than you are being alone. It’s pathetic.” 

Buck bites the skin above your collarbone in protest to your words. You wince; it’ll definitely leave a mark. 

The weird thing about your relationship with Buck is that it never really felt like it ended. At least, that’s how you took things. One second, you were happy, and the next, you were moving into a studio apartment that wasn’t his. There was no funeral, no eulogy, just a loss so deep that it gave you whiplash. You didn’t bury your relationship under six feet of dirt; you buried it under six feet of snow. You buried it alive. And the snow is melting. 

Buck’s hand sneaks under your waistband, and it’s as if the alcohol in your bloodstream burns off. You’re left sober, staring at a sickening reality: this is wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Even though it feels so fucking right, it is so fucking wrong. 

Both of your hands find his shoulders. You push him away, not as roughly as before, not even with a lot of force. Really, all it takes for him to pull away is the change in your demeanor. 

“You have a girlfriend,” you whisper.  

You still don’t think it’s fair that he got to move on so quickly. Buck is flying down the freeway and left you at an exit miles back. He’s moving on way faster and way better than you ever could. It doesn’t feel fair. But then again, it doesn’t matter what you feel. Because there is no ‘you and Buck’ anymore: it’s Buck and Taylor, and somewhere in the backdrop, there’s you. 

Your hand finds his wrist, which you pull away slowly. You press your lips together, then let out a sigh. “You should probably get back to her.”

Acceptance.

[glitter-stained]

I’m trying to get a handle on Jason as a character. I got a great answer on Jason and Tim from @ultimate-marysue but they directed me to you as the Jason Todd expert. I’m wondering about Jason and Damian now. Do they interact at all in canon? Are they friendly/friends, typical brothers, enemies, or just acquaintances? Or do they just ignore each other?

I hope you can give me an answer. Thanks either way!

Oh goodness, that's because @ultimate-marysue is an absolute sweetheart but unfortunately my Jason knowledge is far from exhaustive, especially when it comes to Jason and Damian since some of their relationship happens in, um, unfortunate comics that are hard for me to get through (they probably say that because I study developmental psychopatholgy and do in-depth analysis about jason through that length rather than exhaustive lore-knowledge).

Sorry to toss you around like a pingpong ball, but I know @daisybell-on-a-carousel is currently trying to read through every single one of Jason's apparitions in comics (godspeed), so depending of where they're at in the comics they're definitely the one to ask for stuff like that in general. Unfortunately, I don't know anyone who posts a lit of lore/meta about Damian and Jason's relationship, but I do know @spicy-apple-pie loves Damian a lot and does really sweet comics so idk if they can help you but at the very least if they can't you'll get to read some cute comics.

The little I know about Jason and Damian's relationship:

-Jason and Damian's first meeting, from what I've gathered, is either from Battle for the Cowl (brutally butchers Jason's character, my second least favourite ever if I could go back in time to stop Tony Daniel from writing it I would), in which Jason shoots Damian in the chest, or Morrison's Batman & Robin run (somehow even more hated by the fans than Daniel, Morrison has admitted later to just not liking Jason's character. According to a survey I'm running these two are in the top three of worst Jason writers, but Morrison has a bonus of also butchering Talia's character to an unfathomable level and I don't know if I like his Damian very much either.) in that run (which is Dickbats with robin!Damian) Jason is portrayed as the classic "crazy evil villain" bs and making Dick his sworn-enemy apparently (he's more of a plot device than anything imo). So, we're off to a great start.

-The issue is, with the reboot, I find it pretty hard to clarify for some events which ones are still canon or not. The current state of dc comics is pushing the batfam conception more than ever before, with Jason back in the family (something that vaguely happened off-screen in the n52) and neither jason, dick, tim, damian nor anybody else seems to reference or resent anything about that despite how cartoonishly evil jason was in those so I think it's implied that they're not canon anymore (and I hope they stay this way and buried under twenty layers of retcon). However I don't think I've heard or seen any mention of a different first meeting for them so there's this shadow area of yeah btfc and morrison's jason probably didn't happen but then what did?

-currently as I said dc (ie tom king amongst others) pushes for a very "classical family batfam vibe" so they're on panel/on missions together but i haven't heard of them having arcs together in mainline (people who know more than me please feel free to correct me in the notes, in general but also if there's more about this specifically). I'm getting "siblings that don't really like eachother but don't hate eachother either vibes", especially on Damian's part. It's really not the most developed relationship in the batfam, of that I'm sure.

-for many people I've seen that their favourite damian and jason comic is juni ba's boy wonder volume 2. It isn't canon in mainline (and not my favourite jason characterization tbh) but since the two of them don't seem to interact that much in canon and the story is pretty popular and feels kinda parallel-ish to canon I get why people would consider it their reference. Also it has pretty sick designs for the both of them which certainly doesn't hurt.

-in the young justice show, a brainwashed/brain damaged(?) Jason is shown holding a baby Damian in his arms. This has no incidence on any dc comics canon but is extremely cute and therefore worth mentioning.

[huntersrequiem-if]

How would the ROs react to seeing the MC cry for the first time?

Hii thanks for the ask! This was so much fun it turned a bit too long lol.

Oh damn. You're crying. Huh. A part of him scolds himself for not noticing this sooner, how can you be so blind? Are you really this - The thought is broken off by another sob. Astaroth frowns even harder. He hates this sound - he decides. He loves your laugh, your smiles. Stars, he doesn't even mind when they come from making him a joke. Your emotions are such a mess right now he doesn't know how to untangle them, where to start. So he does what he is best at, run his mouth. If he fills your head and ears with idle, meaningless chatter - there will be no room for sadness, no? At best, you would switch focus, at worst you start cursing him out. And he would take it, drag it out into a fight. Because it is way more fun to fight with him, right? Right? Still crying? Well, shit. And even harder now! He will demand to know just what is wrong with you? Speak so he can do something about it. Just please stop crying.

Oh. Oh no, love! Her face falls at the sight of your tears. What happened to you, darling? Moon hates tears, yours chief of them all. Already she feels the telltale pressure in her eyes, thin pinpricks that refuse to be blinked away. She scowls at you if you dare to console her. How dare you? This is about you, not me! Even as she tries desperately to wipe her tears away, she looks no less fierce. After a moment in which she takes a deep breath, she manages to turn the scowl into a small smile, her hands finding yours. Rubbing one tear away from your face with a thumb, she envelops you in a tight hug, warm and comforting. She will not let go until you tell her what she can do for you? Anything you want.

They're rusty at this. Giving comfort and a warm word. Their first reaction is to stare for a long time. Not out of judgment - but sheer bewilderment. The thought of leaving and pretending they never saw this rise unbidden, banished just a soon with a shake of their head. Night feels shame - shame they even dared to think this. With great hesitance they hover around you, unsure if their touch is welcomed. In the end, they open their arms - an offer for you to take. They'll catch you when you throw yourself into their arms, hand pressing your head into the crook of their neck. The hug is a bit stiff but they warm up to it. They listen to whatever you give, be it your sobs or the grievances that ail you.

Their laugh turns into a small strangled thing. Santana's heart cleatches at the sight of the glistering tears. What has happened? One moment you were laughing with them and now you burst into tears. Did I say something? They whisper fiercely, fingers digging into your shoulder. I'm sorry.

When you shake your head, they frown, worry swimming in their eyes. Then what is wrong? Please tell me.

You could only point at them. Santana gulps, heart starting to gallop into their chest. Me? What did they do? Should they leave?

When they try to take a step back, your hand clasps around their arm. Please, you mouth and their face falls. A quick nod and they hug you, your head buried in their stomach, their arms wrapped around your shoulders.

They still don't know what they did - before understanding strikes them like lightning. Oh.

You're silly, they say, voice wavering and wet. An idiot, even. I'm not going to leave you. Not now, not ever. I'm going to be by your side until I'm old and wrinkly and cranky and you're annoyed by me. And even after I'm going to find you in the next life. Promise? you mouth against their shirt, in such a small voice they have to resist crying themself.

Promise. Their voice is solemn, an oath.

??? stares at you for a long time. The tears of a god trailing down your face. Their tongue is paralyzed in their mouth, useless like a lump of clay. And whatever words they would find - how can they be used to soothe the wounds of a god? Can their touch? They contemplate - leave and pretend they never saw that. Never saw the tears trail down your cheeks, that they're blind to the puffiness of your eyes. They curse all things that are holy when your eyes meet. There goes the chance to save your dignity. You, although, don't look ready to strangle them. Good. With a gulp, they approach like a spooked rabbit with cautious steps. You don't seem to mind. ??? takes the place by your side, shoulders touching. They listen to your sobs, quiet, and gaze soft. They don't know what ails you, what wounds you carry - but you're not alone, now.

[starrenati]

The end of december is the worst part of year, nothing is going to change my mind, but at least I can write chapters under pretty lights instead of just with the light of my laptop screen.

Chapter XVIII

"Amplify"

He walked through the vast space of nothingness. Silver boots clinking over a floor that wasn’t really there. Three pairs of black wings folded behind his back, resembling a fluffy cape of his majestic coat. He was humming a melody to himself, the spear laying in his hand just in case some lost Rifthound would try its power against him. It was rare but puppies tended to be a bit against all the rules that were already established. He sat down on the throne, his wings falling to their places, looking almost like a part of this beautiful structure. With hand resting against his folded hand, feeling the cold of his metal talons underneath his skin, he sighed, looking into the vast darkness. 

The plan went wrong. Very wrong even, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he’ll be able to cover it all up from Him. Vision of getting his wings torn off wasn’t exactly a pleasant one, and that’s what was in store for him, for creating life that wasn’t meant to be created. Even more with using human as a vessel.  To cover up even better, to make it look like an accident, like it was never meant to end like this, but now he was here, worrying over something that should’ve died a long time ago. Maybe the resilience was way better than he anticipated at first. Yes, his fault, he was meant to kill it soon after its first breath? Why? It was faulty to begin with. Weak, failed in many fields, just… Just a failed product. But he couldn’t bring himself to do so, something stopped him, and now he was left with a huge problem roaming the earth. Well, not anymore, but the point still stands. 

He raised his spear sharply, in seconds after hearing a sound by his ear. He looked to the side, eyes on the middle part of smaller wings squinting due to the sharp light. Good that his veil was still in place, and he didn’t have to look at her through his real eyes. Terrible sight anyway. 

“Isna. What do you want?” 

“I just came down to check on you, Iaoth. Don’t be so grumpy. What bites you so hard? I can barely force the sun to shine over some universes that are closer to you.” 

“Nothing. Go away before I decapitate you.” 

He barked back. Nothing like a sister's visit, but that was actually the way worse option. So bright and colorful, like a rainbow puked all over her body. Always so damn happy, and without her Veil, staring back at him with sickeningly pink eyes. His complete opposite, and probably the worst enemy already. If only he could rip her wings away and get rid of her in place of for example, Perceiver. Oh he missed his brother dearly, that much was without a doubt, but there are always consequences of the actions you take on. Unfortunately. 

“Oh come on, speak. Is it about your little one? Weren’t you meant to kill it? He is not going to be happy about it.” 

“Shut it and go away. You really can’t tell when you’re not welcome anymore, huh?” 

He got up, his feathers ruffled, eyes on smaller wings open and filled with anger. Sure, he made a mistake, but it’s been going on for years already, why bother about it now? If anything, for sure He already knew, which could mean He was either waiting for the right time to start the eternal punishment, or there was something going much deeper than that. Iaoth was afraid of the second option even more than about the first one. Punishment was something expected, something he took into account in case it would happen, but the other option? Not really. What could He want from this failed child? From an embodiment of mistake? There was barely anything to offer, yet, maybe just like the child of Void, He saw her power and wanted it for him? Though it would probably kill the little one in the process. 

“So what do you plan to do now? Just wing it and hope for the best?” 

“For now everything is fine. Don’t you have some important matters to attend to?”

He squeezed the spear harder in his hand, an obsidian blade gleaming in the faint light of Isna’s hair. She just nodded her head, disappearing into nothingness once more, finally taking the hint. Once more he was enveloped by well known darkness and the rush of thoughts in his mind. 

Hunger. Hungry. Starving. HUNGRY! Alice massaged her temples trying to understand what she was hungry for. It wasn’t regular food. Maybe it wasn’t the most delicious breakfast that she just ate, but it was something, and a lot even, making her nauseous right now, and heavy. Overall not really that fun of an experience. Yet there was that lingering hunger, biting at her from every part of her body, making it almost unbearable to sit in one place without growling at any movement around her. Literally growling. Like some mad dog. 

“Can you stop? You’re getting loud again and it’s annoying.” Cassandra spoke from over her tea cup. 

“Shut up.” Alice growled back at her, her red eyes immediately snapping towards the other woman. 

Cassandra frowned hearing that. Oh definitely that girl was pulling her strings lately and that was just pure disrespect right now. Yet, she kept calm, setting her teacup down and tilting her head to the side with a mocking smile, before starting to speak. 

“What? Are you going crazy? You don’t like the Void after all?” She said with an overly sweet voice, wanting to toy with her a bit. Seeing the anger only rises. “Or do you want to take over and rule? Sweetheart, I thought we already established who is in charge here. I can kill you with a flick of my fingers so maybe tone it down, hm? Or should I make you obey?” 

By the end of the sentence her sweet tone slowly shifted through anger to another clear mock, but this one came with a warning. Alice still glared at her, after a moment turning her head away, looking at the wall, instead of at Nova, knowing damn well that pissing her off is a terrible idea. As much as Alice adored her powers, they were useless against Nova, sure, a sharp headache is an inconvenience, hallucinations as well, but it would go against another, stronger, telepath, probably pushed away in seconds. 

“I thought so.”  Cassandra said, taking another sip of her tea. 

She was watching Alice from the very morning, at first trying to hide her observations, but now she was just sitting there, staring at the red haired girl, trying to grasp what was going on with her. Just yesterday everything was fine, she was acting almost obnoxiously happy by the evening, and now she was ready to tear apart anyone who gets too close. Like a trapped animal. This wasn’t normal and almost felt like Alice was in some sort of pain, that was too hard to explain. 

As the time passed, Cassandra was really second guessing the agreement. Catching herself thinking that she should’ve killed the girl when she had the chance. Sure, she could’ve been useful if only she’d use her powers at all. Now she was only sitting there, being consumed by them. And if Alice was able to enter Oblivion’s realm, then it meant that there was much more to discover, than just simple telepathy, but it was locked under all that heavy fear. She really didn’t need yet another scaredy cat. She needed someone capable of finding an exit for her, a way to accomplish her plan, not another burden. 

“You plan to speak or you’ll just bark at me all day? I remind you that you’re in my home, so behave, or I’ll put you on leash by the gate so you’ll scare off any unwanted guests” 

“Asshole.” Alice muttered in reply, her eyes still burning holes in the wall. 

The silence for some reason felt suffocating. Usually it wasn’t much, just hanging in the air, but not really that much bothering, but right now, it was just terrible. The worst in the entire world honestly. Suffocating, angry, like a bonfire smoke. And there seemed to be no way to stop it for now, as it only grew stronger and more pronounced over time. 

“I need your help.”  Alice suddenly spoke, her eyes falling on Cassandra again. “I need you to amplify my powers. Whatever they are. You need to get in my head and unlock them, tear them from there and make me feel them. I’ll go mad if it won’t happen anytime soon. They’re biting their way out of my body, piece by piece, tearing my flesh, I can feel the fangs bury deep into my muscles and draw blood…” 

Now, that certainly was an image that Cassandra didn’t want to see in her mind at all. It was disgusting and very graphic, but at least that explained the anger with which Alice burned so bright today. Nova just sighed, getting up from her place. 

“And how am I supposed to know you're not just bluffing? And that it’s going to work? Hm?” 

She had her doubts. Sure, she saw Alice go loose with her power after she got drunk, but that case seemed different. Like she really needed to go through all the stages with her powers, to be sated, like some kind of weird beast. 

“Fucking help me. All you do is talk and wallow, you know how annoying it is to read your mind? Like I’m going through some angsty story written by a teen after her first break up.”  Alice growled again. 

She didn’t want to be like that, she really didn’t mean any of those words. It was like something poisoned her, something seeped to her body and made her progressively more angry and hungry for the filling of power. Of her own powers and capabilities. The words were falling from her tongue faster than she could even grasp them in her own mind. 

Cassandra felt the rage raise up in her chest as well, her whole body feeling like it got covered in lava. She quickly walked over to the other girl, grasping her by the back of her neck and slamming her on the table, not caring for the possible damage. Only hearing a grunt of pain in response, feeling the muscles under her fingers slowly relax. 

“Speak like that to me just a word more and I’ll make you beg for death. I was treating you nicely up until now, but believe me, I can snap your neck just fine right now, in a way that will leave you in pain and unable to move while I’ll make you into my personal punch bag.” 

Cassandra wasn’t joking. She was burning with rage, holding back only because Alice could be useful, yet she was tempted to rely just on her own powers right now, instead of relying on her. It seemed like a waste of time, more and more honestly. The muscles under her fingers relaxed entirely, Alice glancing at her from under her faded red bangs. 

“Then help me… Please.” 

This was much softer, almost throwing Nova off. Like this time it was really Alice speaking and not whatever it was before. She took a deep breath, slowly letting go off the other girl's neck. 

“Fine. Get up. We won’t be doing that here. I’m not going to scrub you off of my walls if you explode, it’s enough that red looks ridiculous on you, I don’t need more of it.” 

She spoke with a scoff, fixing her coat, and putting her hands in pockets, still ready to use them at any given time. Just in case someone will decide to try and assassinate her. 

Alice slowly got up from the chair, massaging her chin. That will definitely leave a mark, but all her teeth were fine, so it was all good. Almost. Could’ve been worse, so at least she should be happy that it’ll end with just a bruise. She followed Cassandra outside, feeling that weird type of excitement overflow her body once more. Like something she was waiting for way too long will finally happen. But she remained silent, just going after Nova, trying to contain all those weird thoughts and feelings she had in her mind right now. 

They stopped in the middle of something that looked like a lake, but the water barely reached her ankles there. It was cold, and very unpleasant. But she stayed silent, standing close to Cassandra. 

“So what exactly do you want me to do?”

“Get in my head, force it all out. I can’t do that myself because I’m scared and need someone to force it. Amplify the powers, and lower my defence.” 

“Mhm.”

Nova definitely sounded displeased by that idea, but if that will shut up this brat and make her act normal, then sure. She was ready to use her powers for a little bit. It can’t be that hard, right? She stepped closer to Alice, her fingertips starting at the base of her skull, moving towards the temples, with a cold feeling spreading through her body because of that. Alice shuddered again, closing her eyes for a moment, feeling as the world around started to fall apart. Following Alice’s behavior, Nova also closed her eyes, focused on trying to find the place her powers were hiding at and dragged them out. 

Alice’s breath quickened over time, it felt overwhelming, burning, so many voices in her head all out of a sudden. For a moment she really considered forcing Cassandra to actually stop, but that weird hunger was going away, so why would she do that? She just tried to push through it, not feeling much physical changes, at least for now. 

On the other hand, Cassandra could’ve sworn whatever that was, was eating up all her energy, forcing her to stay connected. Both her and Alice could see the same carousel of lights. But Cassandra could also see many eyes staring back at her with anger, peering right into her soul. Mixed whispers filling the air and her mind, overwhelming her as well, burning into her, biting at her. She felt herself go weak, she could feel the nosebleed that started, the blood dripping over her lips, but she couldn’t pull herself away. She was trapped and for the first time in years, actually terrified. For a moment, just before the darkness swallowed her, she could see  something both incredible and terrifying. A creature with gigantic wings and a halo on its neck, staring back at her with sharp teeth in a crescent smile. After that, everything went dark. 

Alice could sense Cassandra’s influence grow weaker. She managed to open her eyes in time and catch Nova, before she had ended up on the ground, the sudden movement forcing Alice onto her knees, with Cassandra in her arms. 

“Cassandra? Come on. It’s not funny. For fucks sake. Nova!” 

Alice shook her a bit, seeing no response she began to panic. Oh no, what has she done? She quickly checked for breath and heartbeat, feeling a bit more at ease when she could feel them. Faint, but they were there, slowly going back to normal, but Cassandra was still very much out of it and unresponsive. Solace didn’t know what to do, looking around for any lively soul but there was no one and nothing, she just pulled Cassandra closer, very grateful for the cold water now covering most of her legs, keeping her grounded to here. If she’d panic, that would be even worse. 

“Come on… You’re not the weak one here.” 

She muttered again, trying to wake Cassandra up. Oh gosh this was both embarrassing and scary. She knocked out the ruler of the Void by a freaking accident. The hunger was gone entirely, but she couldn’t care less about it for now. She slowly got up, using some of her telekinesis to make moving Cassandra a bit easier, carrying her in her arms and walking back towards the main base. It took her a while to get there but eventually she was inside, laying Nova on the bed, she took off her coat that was all wet anyway. No use of cold water trapped in fabric right now. 

She made a cold compress anyway, sitting down on the bed, once again making sure that the other woman was breathing and fine, placing it on her forehead, before getting off from the bed again, to take off Cassandra's heavy boots. They were wet as well, and heavy to even lift, so no need to push a tired body over its limits as well. She set them aside, pulling Nova more onto the bed, making a safe nest of pillows and blankets to prop her on her side, leaving a room for breathing as well. She sat down nearby, cracking her fingers, hoping that Nova would wake up soon, biting her lips in fear and stress. She didn’t mean to. Obviously. She hoped it’ll work just fine. Besides, Cassandra can regenerate just fine, very quickly, right? So it all should be fine. 

When Cassandra wasn’t waking up for a while, but her breathing started to sound like she was just asleep, Alice moved a bit closer, after a moment of hesitation taking a peek into her mind. She sure was dreaming, for now it was just a regular dream. Not good, not bad, just plain and simple, but Alice could sense  some nightmares trying to get through, to attack her mind. So she did all she could to stop them, to drive them away, to get some more of that peaceful dreaming for the other woman. After that, she just sat there, after a while, starting to absentmindedly stroke Cassandra’s shoulder and back of her neck in a soothing motion. She was just sitting there and staring at the wall, her back against the headboard of the makeshift bed, her eyes slowly drifting close. She was exhausted, letting herself fall asleep. 

Cassandra woke up later, feeling weird and a bit dizzy. Even more weirded out, when she noticed Alice’s hand on herself, the “nest” and sleeping girl right by her side. 

[solsticat]

I always thought Tobias was at the worst point he was ever gonna reach at 12 years old. My last reread, I always pictured his life improving drastically once he was an adult (probably because that was the case for me) and had more control over his life. Although knowing what I know now about the sad realities for former foster kids (probably the most applicable real world statistic to his situation), I'm less sure. It's entirely likely he kills himself before he turns 30. Still not sure being an Animorph was overall better. (I know this post wasn't really that deep but I want to compare)

- We already know in a universe with yeerks but no animorphs, Tobias is infested, so I'm not going to go into that. Pretty fair to say that's worse for him than canon, and he dies at ~12 or 13 iirc. I'm just going to compare his canon fate to what his life might've looked like in an au with no yeerks on Earth

- What this does tell us is that Tobias is clearly vulnerable to joining a cult. The sharing isn't the only cult in the world. It is worth mentioning that Tobias realized the sharing wasn't what it seemed, and tried to back out (I'm not gonna find the exact citation but I do believe he pretty much immediately regrets getting yeerked, and even before he was yeerked he tries to run away when they try to push him in the pool) (Side note, this is related to the issue I always have with people talking about voluntary controllers. A "voluntary" who decides they want out isn't allowed to leave, they're just put in a worse cage. That's not consent. When most people say "voluntary", they think of people like Hedrick Chapman, who made a deal with the yeerks. I doubt that was really the situation for most of them. Most "voluntary" controllers were probably more like Tobias- got themselves into a bad situation, and were never able to get out.) So I do think it's fair to say there's a chance of Tobias leaving a cult if he did join one. He's a pretty suspicious person, and good at recognizing when things aren't benefiting him. The problem is that it's entirely possible that being part of whatever cult would be objectively better for Tobias than being with his uncle. So. Even if he realized what was going on, he might stay in the cult for lack of better options.

- Before the series starts, Tobias was neglected and (implied?) physically abused. He was also bullied in school. The loneliness of having no friends would've taken a toll all the time. I would consider that to be a constant pressure on him, while the ""worst"" (I don't like to gameify trauma but I'm trying to think of specifics to mention) occasional experience would be beatings from his uncle

- In canon, Tobias is constantly suffering an extreme amount of stress from the threat of a secret war. He's several times dismembered, shot, all kinds of things I don't remember (more so after he gets his morphing power back. The clearly stated ""worst"" thing to happen to him is his torture by Taylor in #33, and Rachel's death, both of which change him in ways he never recovers from. Maybe he could've healed more from the torture if Rachel lived, although who knows. Of the two things, I feel that canon Tobias would pretty clearly say losing Rachel was worse. I mean, she's the only one he doesn't sell out to make the torture stop. He definitely would've been better off never meeting Taylor. Would he have been better off never meeting Rachel if he had to lose her? I don't know. He may have turned out better adjusted; he had a chance to meet new people later if he had never met the other animorphs, but he was never going to lose Rachel and meet new people after that. I can't decide what Tobias would think is better.

- In both of the situations above, Tobias is pretty much responsible for feeding and caring for himself, and he is constantly struggling with his relationship to his self and his body.

- Tobias would've gotten a ton of FAFSA (financial aid for college) money, all things considered. He was intelligent and enjoyed math, I could definitely see him getting into a good college. If he made it through high school intact, he has a good shot of finding his people in college. IIRC he would've been that age around 2003, at which time mental health talk was... not great, but a university in California probably would be one of the better places to be for ill, visibly queer kid. This seems like the best outcome imo. He could live a relatively normal life if he found a supportive social circle in young adulthood and got a decent career.

- Alternatively: "Young men in California who were in foster care are 82% more likely to become homeless." 20% of former foster kids experience homelessness within 4 years of turning 18. 61% of those are then at some point incarcerated. These are recent statistics - I can't imagine it was much better in the early 2000s. All of this points to a very dark place for Tobias once his uncle kicks him out. And this is all assuming the severe bullying and abuse doesn't kill Tobias before he'd make it that far.

Wow that was a lot of unedited ranting. Is it readable? I'd love to see anyone else's take.

In conclusion: I personally do think former foster kid beats child soldier, assuming he sticks it out. I think he's tougher than he realizes. @thejakeformerlyknownasprince , any thoughts?

do you ever think about how if tobias had not become an animorph his life would probably be way worse

at the very least, it'd be much lonelier

[katyspersonal]

Regarding previous post about disco horse: I really appreciate that everyone is actually talking for once, but a kind of jab happened on my mental health so I have to step away. It isn't from this post, but the reason is sort of connected

Again, I personally find no problems with the DLC except for how Radahn ship came from nowhere and can justify how that comes. But regardless of how many things anyone else dislikes about the DLC: you are valid to hate it as much as you want, but when you start insulting people who loved/accepted/justified the DLC as "media illiterate fromsoft dickriders who keeps coping even after the honeymoon phase passed" and variation I draw the line. There are many ways where other fans can find reason where you didn't and there is potential in new lore that you won't use. Absurd how some people are still willing to support illusory narrative that Radahn Redditor simps are the "worst" part of the fandom when not even at their most arrogant and annoying they can dream to reach HALF of the toxicity cultish Miquella/Malenia fans have, over the awful crime of having different readings, opinions and priorities.

And yes, I know it is inevitable that Tumblr and Twitter fans WOULD make a moral/intellectual/maturity contest out of how people feel about the DLC (🤡🤡🤡), but it hurts when people I actually don't want to butt heads with who start to approve of this mentality. Like, okay cool. Wallow in your elitist toxic pool of Ledas while we, "pathetic dickriders" go and "cope" somewhere else, hope everyone is more comfortable this way 🤦‍♂️ I am tired of getting hurt through endless passive aggression and I have my limits. It is just always hurtful to finally rip the bandage, even IF it is to the better. I need a hiatus for a longer time, albeit for a different reason now

[thesmokinpossum]

Didn't felt like mentioning it immediately but shoutout to my sick and twisted brain for getting so triggered by an unexpected Christmas parade that I ended up havin the absolute worst panic attack of my entire life (potentially the only real one? I've had a couple other episodes I thought of as panic attacks but they were not even close to that so who knows) to the point where I spent the very last day of my 30th year on this earth in the ER, good times, good times 😊

[shannonsketches]

lays on the floor do you guys ever think about how in ResF Bulma falls for Vegeta's fake-out with Freeza and both she and Yamcha are worried about Vegeta's villain fake-out strategy in Champa and Beerus' mini tournament and how it's only been a couple of years since the Buu saga and how Vegeta straight up stopped using that strategy after that tournament

[medicinemane]

I don't know... horrible things happen all around the world and it's not a competition

Atrocities are committed against multiple groups in multiple parts of the world at the exact same moment, and none of them erase each other. They all matter, all the people in this world who are being brutalized matter. There shouldn't be any line you draw where one group doesn't actually matter as much as another

You're welcome to prioritize your energy towards helping one group or another, but what's not ok is invalidating or dismissing people who are actively being harmed

Same goes for trying to figure out which social group has things worst (and lets be honest, always using a US lens)

Like... maybe the important thing is to prop each other up and help everyone get on their own feet rather than trying to... pick fights about if physical disabilities or mental illness are less respected (I'm trying to pick a more absurd example but sadly I've seen exactly that argument happen before). Maybe it doesn't really matter and what matters is helping who we can when we can

I'm tired of it, I'm just fucking tired of it. Support people, champion them when the world is just brutalizing them, but you don't need to throw a single other person under the bus to do that

Which seems to be an absolutely impossible lesson for people to learn

[acrobattack]

i think it’s fun that blossom and buttercup butt heads the most vs brick who targets boomer and more or less gets along swell with butch

[kidpunkjunk]

.

[the-brainrot-central]

Writing over 30,000 words worth of content for a fic only to realize it’s all pointless because you have no interest in it anymore and you were never gonna finish it anyway….

What even is The Point anymore

[bunnyboy-juice]

;~; (tags vent)