#but imagine trying to explain him to someone

[goldfades]

Joe burrow blurb where he gets baby fever seeing reader taking care of his nephews

thanksgiving at the burrow house is exactly what you expected and nothing you expected, all at the same time.

you’d prepped yourself for a cozy, midwestern vibe—homemade pies, mismatched dinnerware, maybe a friendly debate over the best way to make stuffing. and, to be fair, all of that was true. what you didn’t expect was how loud and chaotic it could get, with joe’s cousins piling into the house like it’s a college frat reunion and his mom somehow keeping everyone in line with just a stern look and a well-timed plate of cookies.

you’re in the kitchen with robin, helping her plate the turkey, when you hear joe yell from the living room. “there’s no way you beat me at madden again!”

robin shakes her head, a fond smile on her face. “he’s just mad he’s not the best at everything.”

you laugh, grabbing the mashed potatoes. “i’ll remind him later that humility is a virtue.”

“good luck with that, sweetheart,” robin says, giving you a knowing look.

by the time everyone sits down to eat, the table is overflowing with food, and joe’s already piled his plate high. he’s sitting next to you, of course, his knee bumping against yours under the table every so often like he just can’t help himself.

“so,” one of his uncles says, his fork hovering over the green bean casserole. “when are you two gonna give us some real thanksgiving entertainment and start a family?”

your face heats instantly, and you glance at joe, wide-eyed. but he just leans back in his chair, totally unbothered, a sly grin spreading across his face.

“well, we’ll see,” he says, glancing over at you like he’s enjoying this a little too much. “depends on if i can convince her to name the kid after me.”

“joe jr.,” one of his cousins says, throwing his hands in the air like it’s the obvious choice.

“absolutely not,” you say firmly, stabbing a piece of turkey for emphasis. “we’ve had this discussion.”

the whole table erupts into laughter, and joe just shrugs, clearly enjoying your flustered reaction. “we’ll work on it,” he says, giving you a wink.

despite the teasing, it’s impossible not to feel completely at home. every time someone passes you a dish or asks how you like the stuffing, you’re reminded just how much joe’s family has embraced you as one of their own.

later, when the dishes are done and everyone’s gathered in the living room watching football, joe pulls you onto the couch beside him, tucking you under his arm.

“so,” he murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear. “what do you think? could you see us hosting thanksgiving someday? our kids running around, stealing all the rolls?”

you glance up at him, your heart doing that familiar little flip it always does when he looks at you like this—soft and sure, like he already knows the answer.

“maybe,” you say, leaning into him with a smile. “but only if you cook the turkey.”

“deal,” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple. and in that moment, you can’t imagine a future more perfect.

later, joe’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, a small smile tugging at his lips as he watches you sit cross-legged on the living room floor. his nephew, who’s barely two, is perched in your lap, babbling nonsense while you pretend to understand every word like it’s the most important conversation you’ve ever had.

you’re a natural with kids, and it’s obvious. the way you hold his nephew steady while he wobbles trying to stack blocks, the exaggerated gasp you give when the tower falls over, making the little guy burst into giggles.

“oh no! our masterpiece!” you exclaim dramatically, hands to your cheeks, and joe’s nephew dissolves into another fit of laughter.

joe chuckles under his breath, but his heart does this weird little thing it’s been doing more and more lately—this tight, warm ache that leaves him feeling soft in a way he can’t quite explain.

“you’re just gonna stand there, or are you gonna help us rebuild?” you tease, glancing over your shoulder at him.

he steps into the room, crouching beside you. “looks like you’ve got it handled,” he says, nudging your shoulder with his. “you’re a natural.”

“i had a great assistant,” you say, ruffling his nephew’s hair. the toddler immediately grabs your hand, trying to pull it toward the blocks.

joe doesn’t say anything for a moment, just watches the way you interact with his nephew—the way you encourage him to try again, the way you laugh when he tries to stack the biggest block on the tiniest one, the way you look at him like he’s the most amazing kid in the world.

“you’re really good at this,” joe murmurs, his voice softer now.

you glance up at him, a little shy under his gaze. “thanks,” you say, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “kids are fun. exhausting, but fun.”

joe nods, his eyes flicking between you and his nephew, who’s now trying to climb into your lap again. something about the scene makes that warm ache in his chest grow stronger. he doesn’t say it out loud, but the thought’s already rooted itself in his mind: he could picture this. you. with your kid. with his kid.

“what?” you ask, catching the look on his face.

he just shakes his head, a small, almost bashful smile tugging at his lips. “nothing,” he says, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your temple. “just... you’re incredible, that’s all.”

“oh, please,” you say, rolling your eyes, but your smile gives you away.

joe doesn’t press the matter, but later, when his nephew’s napping and you’re curled up beside him on the couch, he’s already imagining what it’d be like to have a little one of your own. and the more he thinks about it, the more he knows he doesn’t just want it—he wants it with you.

[tashibum]

To Own, But Not To Share

Emperor Geta is buying a new sex slave. The auctioneer has a try before you buy scheme.

Emperor Geta x Reader

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, dubcon, sex slaves, slavery, buying people, public sex, unprotected sex, creampie. 4.6k words. Read on AO3

(I only saw Gladiator 2 because of Pedro Pascal, but then became obsessed with Emperor Geta as soon as I saw him. Only had horny thought since then 😂)

Watching the women before you be paraded out one by one terrified you. The auctioneer was as disgusting as the men in the crowd bidding. Through the bars of the cage you could see at least 100 men all there to see what sorts of slaves they could buy. Technically, your owners could use you for whatever they wanted, whether it be household chores or physical labour. But the auctioneer saw the crowd around him, and knew how to sell the women for the best profit. 

The first woman was brought out and stood still where she was placed. She was guided to turn around to show her body, then the auctioneer lifted up her threadbare toga to display her bare ass to the men. 

Her ass received a hard spank. “Not much jiggle, but you could fatten her up to your liking,” he explained. 

He then went down to kneel behind her. He pushed down on her back, encouraging her to arch it. With both his hands, he spread her cheeks apart. When he had savoured the view, he spat onto her hole. You saw the woman shiver at the sensation.

“Well would you look at that. A perfect puckered hole ready to be used,” the auctioneer teased. 

It was disgusting, but it was your life now. Your new owner would use you however he saw fit. 

The next girl was brought out. She was roughly pushed down onto her knees to kneel before the men. 

“Look at those lips,” he mused. The auctioneer pulled up his toga and presented his semi-hard cock. He handled his dick and bounced it against the poor woman’s lips, before forcing it inside.

You tried to look past the assault that was happening and into the crowd. Everyone moved forward to see the spectacle shown. The sunlight reflected on something and sent a beam of blinding light your way. Moving away from it, you squinted to try to find the source, and that was where you found the Emperor in his headdress. He was surrounded by men in armour, you supposed they were his guards. 

You knew you were going to be out next. And now you knew Emperor Geta would see you be defiled. The shame and embarrassment of someone of such aristocracy witnessing it, it made you want to curl up into a ball. But then the thought occurred that it might be a good thing. Out of all the men there to buy a slave, the Emperor would surely provide you with the best life. You would be fed and washed. You might even get a bed to sleep in. 

You pondered this as the highest bidder of the woman on the floor was now getting his dick sucked. 

“Would you like to continue with the purchase?” The auctioneer asked.

“Ah, yes,” the buyer replied, his hands grabbing his new slave’s greasy hair to force his cock further inside her mouth. 

You were next. Two men grabbed you by your arms to roughly guide you out of the cage towards the centre of the clearing. They were instructed to lift up your arms and remove your clothing.

The auctioneer stalked his way around your naked body slowly, checking you out. Your eyes searched for Emperor Geta’s, but not in the seductive way you imagined. Instead, you wanted someone to help you. The reality hit you hard that you were probably about to be raped, and would be for the rest of your life. 

“On all fours.” You were instructed, and slowly made your way down to rest your hands and knees on the cobbled brickwork. From this angle, the men could see your body from the side. Your breasts hanging, your bottom curved. 

The auctioneer went behind you and you heard him getting on his knees too, moving his tunic. Your eyes found Geta’s, and they stayed there as you were entered. You were not aroused, your sex had not produced anything to ease the intrusion. The pain from the friction made you drop your head. Your eyes now focused on your hands in front of you as you tried to ground yourself. 

“As you can see, she can handle a large cock,” the auctioneer boasted. 

Geta scoffed. He thought it was pathetic if the middle aged man truly thought he was well endowed. He knew he was bigger. 

“May I have a turn?” Geta asked, walking through the crowd towards you. The security team followed, but Geta made them stay with the crowd. 

The attack on you finally ended, and the man quickly withdrew himself from you. You winced at the sudden sharp friction. 

“Why, of-of course Emperor. It would be my pleasure,” the auctioneer stuttered and stood to the side.

“The pleasure will be mine,” he retorted and went to his knees. 

The most powerful man in Rome was directly behind your naked body, and you were extremely self-conscious about what he saw. The Emperors probably had maidens to keep their whores beautiful. They would be bathed, shaved and plucked to the leaders’ likings. 

You had not washed in weeks. 

The Emperor hiked up his long white tunic, now getting filth from the ground all over it, and stroked his cock to get fully erect. He then spat down onto it, stroked it to cover it all. You then heard him spit again. This time he spat into his hand and rubbed it over your entrance. He did not give you much, believing that you would be turned on by being with an Emperor. 

He collected your hair in his hand and yanked it. “Look at me,” he demanded. You knew better than to defy his orders. 

He guided his cock to you with his free hand, and stared deep into your eyes as he pushed the tip inside. He was bigger than the previous intrusion, and you were still dry inside. Your mouth opened and your head turned to face ahead again.

“Look at me!” He fumed. When he had you locked in eye contact again, he pushed the rest of his length inside you.

“Gods,” you quietly exclaimed. 

Geta smirked. This wasn’t just him having sex with a slave. He was showing off his power to everyone in the audience. Reinforcing the image of a powerful leader to his subjects. 

His hands moved to your hips to help him thrust inside you at a steady pace. You bit your lip and nodded at him, a silent acknowledgment that you were fine with this, not that he would have cared if you didn’t. Once your body had grown accustomed to his girth, you could feel pleasure start to grow. The intense eye contact you shared made you throb. 

“Tight, isn’t she?” The auctioneer encouraged, reminding you that despite only seeing Geta, you were not alone. The Emperor shot him a stare, displeased with the interruption. 

He soon returned his eyes back to you. He looked gorgeous this close up. You got to see the makeup surrounding his needy eyes. You wanted to feel his lips on yours. You wanted him to rub his nose against your shoulders as he caressed you. 

You let out a moan and quickly brought a hand to your mouth to stifle it. 

“Let them hear you. Show them what their Emperor is capable of,” he boasted. For your own dignity, or what dignity you had left, you would try to stay quiet until he was finished. 

Selfishly, you wanted to touch him. From this position of him taking you from behind, your hands had to remain on the ground to keep you steady. 

“Lay down,” you quietly requested. You didn’t want everyone to hear you, especially when things could go badly. No one tells Emperors Geta or Caracalla what to do. He could have you killed for speaking to him. You had heard rumours of them killing people for lesser crimes.

His thrusts slowed to a standstill. For a moment you expected to be hit, but he smiled mischievously. You were making him appear desired and lusted over. 

He laid down with his feet nearest the audience, this way you would block him from view as you rode him. You moved the front of his long tunic to his waist as you hovered on top of him. Your body had now coated you with juices, letting him slip inside so easily. Not knowing if he wanted a slave to touch him, you kept your hands on your thighs, helping you bounce on top of him. 

“Lay back and let her do all the work. A smart move, Emperor,” the auctioneer praised. You could make him a lot of money if you pleased the Emperor, he could pay much more than the rest of the men there to buy. 

Emperor Geta shook his head against the bricks. This wasn’t about letting you do the hard work, this was about pleasure. He could tell you were getting off, and believed beautiful creatures such as yourself deserved orgasms. 

He began to thrust his hips up into you shallowly, only slightly, to help you on your way. 

You wanted to moan and beg him to fuck you harder, but you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. You had to remind yourself that no matter the pleasure he gave you, you were just another slave to him. 

Your hand grabbed your breast, needing more stimulation. Like he could read your mind, his hands slowly touched your thighs, then moved upwards to caress your hips, stomach and ribs before moving your hand away and holding your breasts. He squeezed them before moving to your nipples to hold them between his thumbs and pointer fingers. You expected him to pinch them hard, but he softly tugged on them, causing you no pain whatsoever. 

You leaned forward, resting your hands on his clothed torso. If you were alone with him, you would shimmy your shoulders, resulting in your breasts swaying side to side for him, but you could still see the auctioneer in your peripheral vision. 

“How much for her?” Geta asked, his eyes not leaving you, enjoying the feel of your breasts and welcoming cunt. 

“4000 sesterces,” the auctioneer offered. It was higher than the usual price of a slave, but he knew the Emperor could afford it. 

“She is worth more than that,” Geta complained. 

He was talking about buying you, you shouldn’t have taken it as a compliment, but you did. The Emperor liked you. You kept repeating it in your head. 

He likes me. He likes me. He likes me. 

It made you ride him harder. You grinded back and forth on his cock, desperate for one of you to cum. You wanted him to buy you, to take you back to the palace and keep you. His cock was angled perfectly inside you, as though Venus herself sculpted you both to fit perfectly together.

His hands left your breasts to caress your hips and waist. The metal of his rings scratched your skin as he moved them, but you didn’t care as long as his fingers touched you. The gesture could almost be seen as romantic under different circumstances. 

In the past, you had made yourself peak when rubbing yourself, but you were about to climax with neither you or him touching your nub. When being penetrated before, you derived no pleasure from it. But something about his cock was different. It was like he found parts of you no one ever had before. It made you want to chase the feeling. 

You rode him even harder, desperate for that elusive end. You felt it nearing and did not stop until it hit you. 

And it hit you hard. 

You had not climaxed in a long while, so maybe that was why it was so intense. Or maybe it was the Emperor’s glorious length. Your movements slowed to small grinds as your body convulsed on top of him. Your physical reaction on the outside matching what was happening inside. Your walls clenched around him. Tight, hot and wet. That, matched with seeing your body shake caused the Emperor to reach his peak too. 

You saw his face tensed in pleasure. You felt his load shoot inside you. None of the other plebeians could claim that. 

You moved off him to sit between his legs. His cock still throbbed against his belly until you saw it turn flaccid. If he was alone with you, he would order you to clean him up with your tongue, but he would wait until he had you all to himself for that. 

You pulled your knees to your chest to try to cover yourself now that the act was over. Between your legs, Geta could see his spend leaking out of you and onto the brick below. 

He turned his head to the auctioneer, “25,000 sesterces,” he offered. The Emperor would pay more if his offer was rejected. He’d pay anything to have you with him.

The man approached him and shook his hand, “We have a deal, my lord.” He had just made his entire projected profit from the whole batch of women he had from you. 

Geta stood up and made himself look presentable again. “Have her taken back. Make the maidens wash and feed her,” he directed. 

You were taken and placed in a carriage. They did not pick up your tatty toga, so you journeyed to the palace naked, the Emperor’s seed drying on your inner thighs. 

You did not see him again when you entered the palace. You were in the slaves quarters, a large room filled with beds and dressing tables. You were given a simple toga upon entry, but told more lavish clothing awaited you. It was the first time being a slave you were given decent clothes. You were given soup and bread and ate it with the maids as none of the other women approached you. You assumed they were fellow sex slaves too. But you were puzzled as to why they would not introduce themselves to you. Surely they knew what you went through?

“Why are they all staring?” You asked.

“You are fresh meat. One more person to fight over the Emperors’ affections with.”

These other slaves saw you as competition. It made you wonder how nicely the Emperors treated their whores if they all wanted to be most favoured by them.

The next day you had two maidens bathe you in warm, soapy water. One of them focused on cleaning your hair and body, the other shaved and plucked hair from all over your body. It hurt, and you were terrified of the blade cutting you in your most intimate area, but this was how the Emperors wanted you. You had been told that you would join them today for your first day of work.

No matter how fancy and luxurious things were, this was your work. Your body had to look perfect as it was the only thing keeping you in the royal palace.

You quietly entered a grand hall filled with people. Over the other side you saw a large couch with the Emperors sat on it, surrounded by the slaves who wouldn’t give you the time of day. You found a chair by the door and sat down, thinking it would be for the best if they were not to see you. You didn’t want to cause tension, you would gladly let the other men and women shower them with touches if it meant it made your life easier. They might put on a show of acceptance in front of the Emperors, but in your quarters you feared segregation.

You kept looking up to see if anyone had spotted you, and in doing so, caught Geta’s gaze. You cursed yourself for not being more careful when stealing gazes their way. Geta pushed off the woman draped over him and gestured for you to come over.

“Come,” his voice bellowed out in the room. The woman who he pushed away did not seem happy, it made you nervous to make your way over there.

You wore a colourful dress made out of expensive fabric. Your hair had been combed and small braids had been added, tiny flowers placed precariously within the hairs.

He moved over slightly and patted a space between himself and the armrest for you to sit in. It was not a large space, you found yourself trying to shrink yourself to fit, bringing in your shoulders and crossing your legs tightly.

“There is no need for that,” Geta turned and said to you.

You realised that he wanted you to have to lean on him, practically sit on him. So you took on the role he wanted, you positioned yourself so your back rested on him, placed your head on his chest. His left hand held his wine, his right hand smoothed down your arm to your hand where his fingers traced patterns in your palm.

“So this is what you bought,” his brother noted from beside him. “25,000 sesterces is extortionate. You should have the auctioneer executed.”

“We are not short on money,” Geta argued back.

“She must be worth it,” Caracalla bickered.

“Worth every coin,” affirmed Geta.

He began to trace your neck with his nose, then his lips. His hot breath against your skin gave you goosebumps. It wasn’t long before he was placing wet kisses up and down the side of your neck. It was so sweet it made you forget your relationship with him was slave and master. You expected roughness and abuse from your owner, not kindness.

His kisses aroused you. You started to rub your thighs together for pleasure, wishing his hand would move from yours to beneath your dress.

“Can I kiss you?” You whispered for his ears only.

He took a firm hold on your chin and brought you forward towards him, his lips claiming yours. If he did this with all the women, you could see why they fought over his affections. He made you feel wanted and adored.

He tasted like the fruit wine he had been drinking, amplified when his tongue went to yours. With your eyes shut, you couldn’t see the looks of contempt coming from the other concubines, like you were advancing on their territory.

You pulled your lips away from his and held his face in your hands, stroking his jawline with your thumbs. “Please, I want you.”

You naively thought he would take you somewhere alone, so were taken back when he put his wine on the floor by is feet and pulled you on top of him, making you sit with your back pressed against his chest. You would have sex with him in front of all these people, you tried to calm yourself with the thought that they do this all the time and no one cares. Or at least, no one had the bravery to share their concerns with the Emperors for fear of death. He pulled your dress up at the back for access, but left the front of your dress to cover yourselves. He pulled up his knee-length toga and slapped his cock against your wet sex. He did not need any time to prepare; kissing you had made him erect.

He did not give you any time to prepare either, good thing you didn’t need it. His cock slid through your folds, nudging your clit, before finding its home inside you.

You let out a quiet gasp, not wanting to make a scene.

“There is no need to refrain. Everyone here knows what we’re doing,” he comforted, speaking into your ear. “Show them you were worth the money.”

You moved your legs to kneel on the couch, making it easier to bounce on him. To anyone who looked over it was obvious you were riding his dick. Maybe that was what the Emperors liked. They got off on others’ humiliation.

Unlike when you rode him before, this time his hand went under your dress to where your bodies met. He felt your entrance stretch around him, then moved north to your clit. With your wetness, he began to rub. Lightly at first, but then with pressure in little circles. You wondered which whore taught him that.

“Emperor, I-“

“Yes,” he cut you off. “Explode on me. Feel rich with the pleasure I give you.”

When your orgasm hit, you shuddered and his cock slipped out of you, leaving you clenching around nothing. His hand didn’t stop rubbing. Even when you closed your legs to take his hand away from the over-sensitive nub, he forced his hand back there to keep going.

With his hand coated in your slick, he gripped his cock and started to stroke himself. He must have already been near as he only had to work on himself for 20 seconds or so before he shot his load over his hand and the neat patch of hair on your mound. He brought his hand to your mouth, and you gladly cleaned it for him. Taking each finger into your mouth one by one, sucking them clean. If you really thought about it, him feeding you cum out of his hand should disgust you, but you would take any piece of him he offered you.

You turned and saw Caracalla smiling at you, impressed with the display.

“I want my go,” he expressed.

Geta looked at him silently. He knew exactly what his brother wanted, but did not want to grant it.

“What’s with the face brother? We share everything: Rome, the palace, power. You bought her with our money. We both own her. I want my turn!” he demanded.

Geta knew he had no real claim on you. He had nothing to argue back with, so begrudgingly had to let you go to him.

You didn’t want to though. You turned around on his lap to face him, your eyes pleading him to help you. He could see your hesitation and silently enjoyed it. He shared everything, he just wanted you for himself.

“It’s okay. Go,” he tried to comfort, but it did not give you any confidence.

You walked over to him on shaky legs before he grabbed you and pulled you onto his lap. His hands went under your dress all the way to your breasts to squeeze them. Unlike his brother, he was harsh. He pinched your nipples then used them to shake your breasts. He leaned up to reach your neck with his mouth, but instead of his brother’s gentle kisses, Caracalla scraped his teeth on your skin, biting down now and then.

You turned towards Geta, but he didn’t see you. His gaze was set forwards, breathing heavily with his hand gripping his chalice so hard his fingertips turned white. He could not help you, so you surrendered yourself to Caracalla’s wants.

His hands went into your dress and two fingers quickly made their way inside you. After a minute of pumping fingers, he withdrew his hand to inspect it.

“All that cream for me,” he noted.

You wanted to slap him and tell him that your arousal was not for him. It was his brother that created that inside you. He was merely feeling his brother’s leftovers.

You looked over at Geta, but his eyes were still locked forwards, as though he was trying his hardest to avoid what was happening next to him.

You were pushed down, his cock spearing into you, and you knew you had no choice but to fuck him. You started to slowly move, and when Caracalla was unsatisfied with your performance, he grounded his feet and began to thrust up into you.

You held onto the back of the couch for support and looked at Geta again. This time, he looked back at you with sorry eyes.

You hoped Caracalla would reach his peak quickly to end your torture, but he seemed to have good stamina.

“He needs you to cum,” Geta stated, looking away from you again.

That would be an impossible feat. Why did Caracalla care about your pleasure? Why didn’t he just use your hole for his satisfaction like every other slave owner would?

Caracalla smiled at you; it made you feel sick.

“You came for him, but you struggle with me! Am I not worthy?” He roared.

“Of course you are worthy, my Emperor,” you placated.

You could try to fake your peak, but what if he knew? Would he kill you for it?

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes as he fucked you, giving Geta the chance to take ahold of your hand. He moved it to his mouth and gently kissed it. It was a kind gesture, but not helpful in your current predicament.

He placed your hand in one of his palms, and used his other hand to tap your palm. He did this, then looked at you, then looked at your crotch. At first you had no idea what he was insinuating. Then it clicked.

The motions he was doing on your hand. He wanted you to do it to your clit.

You unsteadily let go of the couch and led your other hand under your dress. Geta held your arm to keep you from slumping on his brother. He simply wanted you to tap for now. His tapping got faster, so yours did too. The tapping on your hand changed to slow circles. As two of your fingers circled your pearl, you were sure you were getting wetter because of it. Caracalla would think it was his doing, unaware of his brother’s silent communication with you.

Geta began to circle your palm so aggressively, you thought his fingernail would burrow into your skin. You rubbed your clit desperate to orgasm, and when it started, you let out a loud gasp to make sure Caracalla knew what was happening. Geta let go of your arm and your body fell forwards onto his brothers, further making him believe he had given you an intense climax.

Not giving yourself anytime to enjoy what Geta had given you, you got off him and went down onto your knees between his legs. You did not want him to shoot his seed inside you, he didn’t seem like the kind that would pull out and the thought of it made you wince.

You started to jerk his cock at a furious pace, desperate for this ordeal to be finally over. When he came, you directed his cock towards his belly, not to get any on you.

When he had finished, Geta took your arm and tugged you back to him, making you sit where you previously had been, between him and the armrest.

“Brother,” Caracalla started, “That was amazing. I thought she was going to stroke my cock clean off.”

Geta gave his brother a villainous smile as he normally would, but didn’t share his brother’s joy. He wrapped his arm over your shoulders, stroking your upper arm.

“Would you like some wine?” He asked, thinking it might relax you after what you had to do. You shook your head.

“Tea?” He offered. You were aware that if you kept declining him, it could be seen as rude, so you nodded and repeated tea to him. Tea would be easier to stomach than alcohol right now.

Geta raised his left hand and clicked twice to get the attention of a servant.

“Tea for the lady,” he requested, and a servant hurried off.

When they returned you sipped your tea and lamented on what your life had come to. Desiring one owner, and being repulsed by the other.

[terminuslucis]

If Lil Silver got arrested [I’ll leave it up to your imagination what his charges are], what would the TWST main cast’s reactions be? And maybe the NRC staff too please, if it’s not too large of an ask? ♡♥︎♡

Let's make this a continuation of this post. Little Silver got caught stealing his own work out of the gallery. Thankfully, Crewel was able to clear things up with the police and no arrest was made.

Fellow student reactions are roughly as follows:

Ace, Deuce, and Epel are worried. They were with him when the crime took place. Ace kind of feels guilty because he's the one who joked about taking the painting back, only for Little Silver to actually do it.

The Diasomnia crew hear about the arrest after Little Silver gets home. Sebek can't believe someone in this dorm would dare sully Malleus' name by getting arrested. Lilia thinks it's hilarious. Malleus and Big Silver are mostly confused. Why the heck was their little princess trying to rob a gallery? They're only more confused after learning that it was his own art getting "stolen."

The Octavinelle group are not surprised that it happened (given that they'd previously staged their own mini heist in Book 3). They are, however, surprised that Little Silver got caught. Floyd is disappointed that there wasn't a high-speed chase involved.

Trey hears about it from Riddle, who got the story from Cater, who got a very poorly-explained retelling from Ace and Deuce at the same time. Trey comes away thinking that Little Silver punched a guard while Grim set the floor on fire and rigged traps along the escape path. He also thinks it was just a weird dream that Deuce had...until he hears Jamil scolding Silver for getting into trouble.

Kalim, like Trey, got the story from Cater and immediately ran to Little Silver to hear about it in detail. He's a little disappointed at the lack of explosive trip wire. Jamil asks Little Silver to please don't be a bad influence on Kalim. He's so tired.

Idia, Leona, and Vil all hear rumors of rumors of rumors and get so sick of the increasingly exaggerated story that they just shut down any mention of it. Vil, in particular, has to tell Rook to stop regaling him with nonsense about the "master criminal" that the stories turned Little Silver into. After all, look at the kid! That's not the face of a criminal. That's the face of an idiot.

Anyone not on this list has even less emotional investment in the tale than Leona.

As for the adults, Crewel is the one who kept the poor princess out of jail. He was partially worried for his own sake, and partially trying to keep any problems from reaching Crowley. He did not want to hear a big bird man whine about how his students are turning into thieves.

The big bird man almost started whining anyway, until Crewel explained that Little Silver apologized and the misunderstanding was cleared up. He's not even banned from the gallery. All is well. Upon hearing that there is no longer a problem, Crowley gave a thumbs up and went back to running from his responsibilities work.

Trein gave a disappointed frown, but by that point Little Silver had been quite thoroughly chastised. No further lectures were given.

Vargas and Sam both had a good laugh at the story and let that be that.

[estellesdoll]

Hii can you do a Matt Sturniolo imagine where like the reader (us) is Eminem’s daughter and they like meet at an event and are like super into each other but they Matt doesn’t find out we’re eminems daughter until a little bit later. Please and thank you <3

∿ 𝜗 𝐈𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝜚 ﹐

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: At an event, Y/n, Eminem’s daughter, meets Matt while picking a drink. They connect easily, and when Matt learns who she is, he treats her like anyone else. By the end of the night, there's a spark between them, hinting at something special.

𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒅 : yes

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓��𝒏𝒈: older!matt x fem!reader | Eminem's daughter

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: fluff, mentions of alcohol consumption

𝒘. 𝒄.: 3.1k

𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔: I hope you like it! 🎀🤍 It's my first request, and I'm pretty nervous! SEND ME MORE REQUESTS, AND IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST, LEAVE A COMMENT ON THE POST:

౨ৎ𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 | ౨ৎ𝒏𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒈𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 |

| ౨ৎ𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 | ౨ৎ𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕

The event was in full swing, a sea of people gathered in the extravagant venue. The lights flickered in sync with the beats of the music, and the air was thick with excitement. But, as always, you tried your best to stay in the background, away from the spotlight that seemed to follow you wherever you went. After all, being Eminem's daughter wasn’t always as glamorous as people made it out to be. Tonight was no exception, your goal was to enjoy the night without drawing too much attention.

You bit your lip as you read over the menu for what felt like the tenth time. A Tommy’s Margarita? A Negroni? You had no idea what the difference was between them, and the last thing you wanted was to look completely out of place by ordering something that tasted awful. You loved a good drink, but you weren’t exactly a cocktail expert. You shifted on your feet, trying to decide, and that’s when you heard a voice next to you.

“Having trouble deciding?” he asked, his voice light and friendly, with a hint of curiosity.

You blinked, trying to shake the feeling that you knew him from somewhere. Maybe a friend of a friend? Or just someone you’d seen in passing? You didn’t know, but his face definitely wasn’t unfamiliar. Maybe you had seen him in a video or an Instagram post? He had that vibe, someone you might come across on a popular account. You couldn’t quite place it, but there was something about him that felt so familiar.

“Yeah,” you admitted with a small laugh. “I’m a little lost here. I was thinking of getting a Tommy’s Margarita or a Negroni, but I don’t even know what the difference is.”

He glanced at the menu, his smile not fading. “Ah, well, the Tommy’s Margarita’s actually a pretty straightforward drink. It’s just tequila, lime juice, and agave. No triple sec like a regular margarita. It’s refreshing—tart, but not too sweet.”

You nodded slowly, trying to absorb the information. “So, it’s like a cleaner version of a regular one?”

“Exactly,” he said, his eyes twinkling as he spoke. “It’s pretty smooth, too, so it’s a good choice if you’re looking for something light and easy to sip on.”

You felt a little more confident now, but your attention still wavered between the drinks on the menu. “And the Negroni? What’s that one like?”

He chuckled softly, as though amused by the contrast in choices you were considering. “A Negroni is, uh... definitely more of an acquired taste,” he explained, his voice gentle and patient. “It’s gin, vermouth rosso, and Campari. It’s very bitter—herbal, strong. Not something I’d recommend if you want something refreshing.”

You wrinkled your nose at the thought of something so bitter. “Yeah, I think I’ll pass on that one. Not feeling the bitter vibe tonight.”

He laughed, a warm, easy sound. “Smart move. The last thing you want is to be stuck with something you can’t even enjoy. You want something light, right?”

You nodded, relieved that he was guiding you through the options without any judgment. You were starting to feel more at ease in this conversation, even though you couldn’t quite shake the nagging feeling that you knew him from somewhere.

“Well, in that case,” he continued, his gaze still on the menu, “the Tommy’s Margarita is definitely your best bet. It’s the kind of drink that goes down easy and doesn’t make you regret your choices later.”

You chuckled, appreciating the reassurance. “Okay, I’ll go with that. One Tommy’s Margarita, please,” you said, feeling like you could actually get through the night without too much embarrassment.

He grinned, clearly pleased with your choice. “Good pick. You won’t regret it.”

As the bartender started preparing your drink, you turned to face him again, feeling like the conversation had flowed so easily. There was something about him that made you feel comfortable, as if talking to him was just... natural. Still, you couldn’t help but wonder where you knew him from.

The more you thought about it, the more his face seemed familiar. Maybe you’d seen him on social media, or in a video—he had that type of presence that made you feel like you’d come across him online before. It was like a faint memory that was just out of reach.

“So, are you new to cocktails, or just trying something different tonight?” he asked casually, his voice relaxed.

You laughed, feeling the lightness of the moment. “I’m more of a wine or beer person. But, you know, fancy night and all that. Figured I should try something new.”

He nodded in understanding. “I get it. Sometimes the fancy drinks aren’t just about the taste. They’re about the experience, right?”

“Exactly!” you said, warming to the conversation. “It’s like, why not try something new while we’re here?”

“Right,” he agreed, his voice softening. “Life’s too short to play it safe all the time. Gotta make the night memorable.”

You smiled, feeling a little more connected to him. There was something about the way he spoke—so laid-back, so easy to talk to—that made the whole event feel less overwhelming. Maybe you had made the right choice coming here tonight after all.

“Plus,” he added with a teasing grin, “if the drink ends up being terrible, we can just blame it on the drink and call it a learning experience.”

You laughed, and the bartender slid your Tommy’s Margarita toward you. You picked it up, raising your glass toward him. “Well, I’ll just blame you if it doesn’t taste good.”

Matt raised his own drink, his eyes locking with yours as he smiled. “You can blame me all you want. I’ll take the hit.”

You both clinked glasses, and you took a sip of your drink. It was perfect—tart, refreshing, exactly what you needed. You smiled at Matt over the rim of your glass, feeling a little lighter now that you’d figured out what to drink.

“This is really good,” you said, your smile genuine.

He grinned, pleased with your reaction. “Told you. You made the right choice.”

For a moment, you just stood there, both sipping your drinks and enjoying the quiet comfort of each other’s company. The event felt a little less like a formal gathering and more like just two people getting to know each other.

"So, are you always this good at making cocktail recommendations?" you teased, a small smile curling at your lips. "Or is this just a one-time thing?"

Matt chuckled, his eyes lighting up as they met yours. "I’m just a guy who knows his drinks. But I think I’m also pretty good at reading the room," he said with a playful glint in his eye.

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the confidence in his voice. "Oh really?" you asked, leaning in slightly, just enough to make the space between you feel charged. "And what does that say about me?"

He took a small step closer, his gaze never leaving yours. "It says you’re someone who appreciates a good recommendation—and someone who knows how to enjoy themselves when they’re out," he said, his voice lowering slightly, as if the words were meant only for you.

You smiled, the compliment making your pulse quicken a bit. There was an undeniable energy between you two now, something that made the rest of the world blur out of focus for a moment. "I like the sound of that," you murmured, feeling a little bolder now that the conversation was leaning into something more intimate.

Matt’s lips curved into a grin, his gaze softening just a touch. "Good, because I’m just getting started," he replied, his tone warm, yet there was a challenge in it, like he was daring you to keep up.

Your heart fluttered, the playful back-and-forth making everything feel more thrilling. The connection between you was undeniable now, and you could tell he was just as drawn to you as you were to him. The night felt suddenly filled with possibilities, and the conversation was only just beginning.

"So, what’s next?" you asked, your voice soft but curious, wondering where this would lead.

Matt leaned in just slightly, his voice quieter. "Whatever you’re up for. I’m all about keeping things interesting."

You couldn’t help but smile, the tension between you two building with every passing moment. The night had just begun, but you already felt like it was turning into something unforgettable.

As the conversation continued, the easy chemistry between you two only grew. You felt yourself relaxing, laughing more easily with him. There was something so natural about the way he spoke, like he was genuinely interested in getting to know you for who you were—not just as someone famous, but as you.

He leaned in a little closer, his eyes locking with yours as he asked, “So, you never told me your name…”

You hesitated for a moment, feeling the subtle shift in the air. "It’s Y/n," you replied, your voice soft, not fully sure what kind of reaction he might have. "But, um, I guess you could say... it’s a bit of a... family name."

Matt furrowed his brow, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “Family name? What’s that supposed to mean?” His curiosity was clear, though there was no judgment in his voice.

You smiled, looking down at your drink for a second before meeting his gaze again. "Well... my dad’s kind of a big deal," you said, your words casual but laced with a hint of hesitation. "You might’ve heard of him... Eminem?"

Matt blinked, processing the information. The realization slowly dawned on him, and his expression shifted from playful curiosity to something more awed. "Wait, Eminem’s daughter?" He leaned back slightly, eyes widening. "No way."

You couldn’t help but laugh at the surprise in his voice. "Yeah, I know, kind of a shocker, right?" You shrugged, trying to downplay it, feeling the familiar discomfort of being tied to that name, though it wasn’t the first time someone had made that connection.

But Matt’s surprise wasn’t off-putting. He didn’t seem impressed in the way people usually were when they found out who your dad was. He seemed genuinely... intrigued, and something in his expression softened as he continued, “I never would’ve guessed. Honestly, I don’t even know why I didn’t put it together sooner.”

You smiled, appreciating his reaction more than you expected. "I like to keep things low-key," you said. "It’s just easier that way."

He nodded, looking thoughtful. “I get that. It must be tough sometimes, though, right? Having everyone always know who you are...”

You shrugged. “It’s not that bad, really. I’ve always kind of just... been me. The whole fame thing is something I never really got used to.”

Matt’s eyes softened, his voice quieting. “I like that about you. You’re not trying to be anyone you’re not.”

There was something in the way he said it, so honest, that made your chest warm. His sincerity was refreshing, and it made you feel even more at ease with him.

"So, um..." Matt began, his smile returning. "That’s pretty cool, though. I’m not gonna lie, I was kinda shocked when you said your name earlier, but you’re nothing like what I expected."

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? And what did you expect?”

Matt chuckled, a bit of shyness creeping into his demeanor now that the mystery was out. "I don’t know, maybe someone who’d be all about the spotlight? You’re just... normal. And honestly, it’s kinda nice."

You smiled at his honesty, feeling your heart flutter a little. “Yeah, well, sometimes I’d rather just enjoy the night like anyone else. No cameras, no interviews... just a drink and a good conversation.”

“Exactly,” Matt said, his voice almost conspiratorial. “And it feels like that’s what we’re having right now.”

The way he said it made your pulse quicken. He wasn’t treating you like you were some celebrity—he was just treating you like someone he was genuinely getting to know, and that felt... nice. More than nice, actually.

"So," you said, leaning in a little, your voice soft, “what do you think about the rest of the night? You up for a bit of an adventure?”

His smile widened, and you could see the same spark in his eyes that you felt. “You know what? I think I’m up for whatever comes next... especially if it means more time with you.”

The air between you two crackled with potential, and for the first time in a while, you felt like you weren’t just the daughter of a famous rapper—you were just Y/n, having a fun night with someone who was clearly drawn to you, not the persona attached to your name.

As the night stretched on, you two continued to talk, laugh, and enjoy each other's company, both of you discovering more about the other in the most genuine way possible. By the time the event started to wind down, you realized how much you were looking forward to what might come next.

And for the first time in a while, you didn’t feel like Eminem’s daughter, just a girl who had met someone she couldn’t wait to see again.

As the event began winding down, the crowd starting to thin out, you found yourself not wanting to leave just yet. There was something about Matt that kept you there, drawn to him in a way that felt effortless. His presence was comforting, like a quiet anchor in a world that could sometimes feel overwhelming.

The music was quieter now, the lights dimmer, but you barely noticed any of that. Your focus was entirely on him, the way he smiled when he caught your gaze, the way his hand rested just a little too close to yours on the bar.

“So,” Matt said, leaning closer, his voice soft, “I’m really glad we talked tonight. I know we’ve only just met, but it feels like... I don’t know, like it’s been longer, you know?”

You smiled, your heart skipping a beat at how sincere he sounded. “I feel the same way,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s like everything just clicked, like we’re... meant to be having this conversation right now.”

Matt’s gaze softened, and he smiled at you with such warmth that your chest fluttered. There was something undeniably sweet about how easy it was to talk to him, how comfortable he made you feel despite the weight of who you were. He didn’t treat you like you were someone special just because of your last name. He treated you like you were... you. And that felt like a breath of fresh air.

“You know,” Matt said, his hand moving just a little closer to yours, “I’ve really enjoyed spending time with you. I can’t remember the last time I met someone who made me feel this... easy.”

You reached for your drink, your fingers brushing against his hand by accident, but the small touch made your heart race. “Yeah,” you said softly, “it’s rare to find someone who just gets it, isn’t it?”

Matt smiled, his thumb brushing lightly against your hand as if to reassure you. “Yeah, it is. But I’m glad I found that someone tonight.”

Your breath caught in your throat at the way he looked at you, the warmth in his gaze sending a flutter through your chest. He didn’t need to say anything more for you to understand what he meant. The connection between you two was undeniable, growing with every passing moment.

“Matt,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper, “this... it feels really nice, just being here with you. I didn’t expect to feel like this tonight.”

Matt's eyes softened even more, and you could see the shift in his expression—a kind of vulnerability that made your heart ache in the best way possible. He leaned a little closer, his voice gentle. “I didn’t expect to feel this way either, but I’m glad it’s happening.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the sincerity in his voice. You felt your pulse quicken, and before you knew it, you were leaning in just a little, drawn to him in a way that felt almost magnetic. The tension between you two was palpable now, the air thick with the anticipation of something that could be even more than this easy conversation.

“You know,” Matt murmured, his voice low and warm, “I can’t stop thinking about how beautiful you are, Y/n. Not just because of who you are, but because of how you carry yourself. You’re... real. And I like that.”

You felt your cheeks flush, your heart swelling with the warmth of his words. “You’re making me blush,” you whispered, but there was a playful smile on your lips.

Matt chuckled softly, his hand brushing against yours once more, his fingers intertwining with yours. It was a simple touch, but it felt like everything in that moment. “I’m glad I could make you smile,” he said, his voice so sweet, it made your chest ache with affection.

You looked into his eyes, the connection between you two feeling more real with each passing second. "I like this," you whispered, your voice steady but soft. "I like us."

Matt’s expression softened, his thumb gently brushing over the back of your hand as he smiled at you, a little shy, but genuine. "Me too, Y/n. Me too."

For a long moment, you just looked at each other, the world around you fading into the background. There was no pressure, no expectations—just two people sharing a moment that felt... perfect. The warmth in your chest and the soft smile on Matt’s face told you that this was only the beginning of something good. Something that felt right.

And as the night drew to a close, neither of you seemed eager to part ways. It wasn’t just the drinks or the event that made this night special. It was the connection that had formed between you both, something sweet and real that you couldn’t deny.

"Maybe we can continue this... sometime?" Matt asked, his voice low, filled with anticipation. "Like a real date?"

You smiled, the flutter in your chest growing. "I’d like that," you whispered back, your heart racing a little faster at the thought.

Matt grinned, a warm, sincere smile that made your heart skip a beat. "Good. Because I think I’ve already decided—I’m not letting you go that easily."

And with that, you both knew that tonight wasn’t just a fleeting moment. It was the start of something new, something sweet, and perhaps even the beginning of something more.

﹒◟send me your requests and use an emoji if you want to stay anonymous. 𓂃

@estellesdoll

𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕: @gemzyy

[changingplumbob]

CW: Moderate sim spice - Guide to content warnings

Glenn tried to be in the moment but it was hard. His mind was racing. Silver was an excellent kisser. The werewolf had said it had been a while but it was obviously like riding a bike. Glenn was quietly proud of being the first one to get close to Silver for so long but he wasn't going to tell him that. Silver might think it meant Glenn liked that he had been alone when the opposite was true. The man he was wrapped around had a good heart, and Glenn wished he hadn't shut himself off from society, from love. But guilt was a tricky thing. He didn't blame Silver for wanting to run away from it all.

*waves* Let me explain for anyone new. My sims have woohoo drives and like to get it on but I know reading that isn't enjoyable for everyone. The text below contains that so if you are only here for the plot, or it makes you feel uncomfortable, please feel free to skip the rest of this post. You will not miss anything essential to the plot by not reading it.

Silver: *between kisses* Watcher you do taste good

Glenn: *giggling* Thank you *kisses* I have a whole dental hygiene routine

Silver: I love that you take care of yourself

Glenn: I can take care of you to if you let me

Glenn could feel Silver start to smile. He ran his hand through Silver's hair and attempted to pull him closer. A foolish mission as they were already chest to chest, but he needed him.

Silver: You ready for me to take your pants off now

Glenn: More than, but let me see you to

Silver placed Glenn gently on the bed and bent down to take his shoes off before removing his own.

Glenn: You know, we kind of have matching shoes

Silver: What do you mean

Glenn: Mine are brown and yours are grey- or silver! Get it, because you're Silver

Silver: *chuckling* It's not to late for me to cancel this woohoo you know

Glenn: I was just trying to say I like it. It's like we were in different places but we still got matching shoes. It's cute

Silver: You're cute Babycakes

Silver pulled off Glenn's jeans and boxers slowly. Glenn felt nervous lying back as Silver examined him, and again he got the feeling Silver wanted to eat him up.

Glenn: Can I do you first

Silver: You sure

Glenn: Yeah

Glenn watched intently as Silver removed his remaining clothes far quicker than he'd done for Glenn. Silver then pushed Glenn back on the bed and straddled him.

Silver: Just use your hands

Glenn: But I want to taste-

Silver: If you do a good job I'll feed you some

Glenn blushed and focused on the task in front of him. He was nervous but Silver stroking his chest and face helped him keep calm. In the end, well, he did get a taste.

Silver: Come here

Silver pulled Glenn up and around so the pair were sitting on the edge of the bed. Silver pulled Glenn's face to his and peppered it with kisses making Glenn chuckle.

Glenn: Beefcake, what are you doing

Silver: You'll see but you need to understand... Werewolves are naturally stronger

Glenn: Promises promises

Silver: I'm serious Glenn. If I do anything that is too strong... anything that hurts you, you need to tell me

Glenn: But then you'll stop

Silver: I'll stop what I'm doing because I don't want to hurt you but I'll finish what I start okay? Don't deal with pain just because you think I won't bring you to a finish

Glenn: I promise Silver, I'll tell you if it's too much

Silver: Good, because I can get a little over enthusiastic sometimes

Glenn: Please, I am the most over enthusiastic

Chuckling, Silver leaned over Glenn's lap and got to work caressing him. Glenn had imagined what it would be like but it was better.

Glenn: Oh, um-

Silver: Too rough?

Glenn: No your hands are perfect I just... So for a potion of plentiful needs you need some pleasure and that's harvested when someone orgasms. Henri gave me some empty vials for it. Would you mind if when I do finish I channel some of that pleasure to be used?

Silver: Do you need like the physical-

Glenn: No, no no. No body fluids required. I just didn't want to do it without asking

Silver smirked and got off the bed to kneel in front of Glenn.

Silver: I don't mind that. Do you mind this?

Glenn: Mind what? You're not doing-

Silver kissed the inside of his thigh and Glenn twitched.

Glenn: I don't mind that

Silver: Uh huh, and this

And so Silver continued to tease Glenn, a kiss here, a soft bite there, until Glenn couldn't stand anymore and begged Silver to finish him off. As Silver enveloped him and his tongue joined in with his hands Glenn struggled to recall the spell for channeling the pleasure, unable to focus on much more than the sensations he was feeling.

When he finished and curled around Silver's head some brain function came back to him. He kissed Silver's back and looked up to watch one of the vials on his shelf fill up with the telltale pink contents. Rather than dissipate in to nothing the pleasure was being stored.

Silver: I was right, you do taste good

Glenn: And you give amazing head

Silver: What can I say, it's my centuries of experience Babycakes

Previous ... Next

[mrpenguinpants]

Me, rattling the bars of my enclosure, dying and in pain. I'M DONE. I usually try to get commissions done within 3 days but I got violently sick out of nowhere.

More writer's notes under the cut:

I feel like most of my single-character one-shots are quite different from my headcanon fics. But this one especially feels way out there. Magnolia (my previous Dottore-only fic) has a somewhat similar vibe, but this one feels like I doubled the existential crisis.

Honestly, I don’t know how to feel about it—which is bad since this is a commission. Thankfully, the commissioner liked it, so we’re safe. Or maybe they were just being really nice to me lol. Either way, I hope they did. I initially planned to use the Ayato fic as a guideline, and I kind of did since this fic follows the same structure. But somewhere in the middle, that plan went out the window.

I think I’m physically incapable of writing Dottore without the relationship dynamic feeling completely doomed. Quite literally, it’s an “I’d follow him into Hell, but I sure wish he’d stop going there” vibe. Plus, my interpretation of Dottore is so different from any other character that I was genuinely worried when the same commissioner came back to me. I was like—do you know what you’re asking for? Because I’m about to crack open a philosophy book for this guy. I even took a German word for the title just to satisfy the pretentious bullshit I associate with when writing Dottore. Even with 4,000 words, I feel like I didn’t explore the relationship dynamic enough to fully convey the serene yet doomed tone I was aiming for. But I’m glad most readers, being the smart people they are, picked up on it.

I think my downfall was the music I was listening to—real bittersweet tracks that probably seeped into the writing. I’ve also taken a lot of liberties with his characterization since we don’t know much about the original Dottore. Personally, I imagine he’d be calm and patient. In the Genshin manga, Dottore (Beta) comes off as much more unhinged, while in the Sumeru Archon quest, Omega seems calmer and more composed. So, I assume the original, technically the oldest, would be the most mellow yet hollow of them all.

Oh, and I have to mention this: the (possible) shade of Dottore’s hair is literally called Air Superiority Blue. That’s way too funny not to bring up. I was going to go with Light Blue Slumber (since I’m trying to build a theme around characters’ hair colors), but it felt a bit lame. So, I looked up Dottore’s hair color and found Air Superiority Blue, but that sounded lame too. Then I changed it to Bitter Blue Slumber, which I didn’t like either, so it became Bitter Slumber. Finally, while writing this, I went looking for a word that captures "bittersweet nostalgia," since that’s sort of the relationship dynamic I wanted to convey (not entirely, but close). And wow, Reddit came through. Someone had already asked the same question, and someone else suggested the word Torschlusspanik. I explained its meaning in the fic, but it’s such a perfect word. So yeah, that’s why the title ended up being what it is. Rip the slumber-title continuity.

Ttorschlusspanik [ Commissioned ]

[ Hcs for Dottore where the reader is very sleepy/sleep-deprived and is constantly falling asleep in battle, on dates, or maybe during research and experiments! ]

Word Count: 4k

Ayato Ver: Pale Blue Slumber Semi Part 1: Low Battery Warning [Masterlist]

Thank you so much for commissioning me! You’re so sweet, and I truly appreciate the tip, but I can’t accept this level of generosity. Please let me know if I went under the word count. Also, thank you for your patience—I got really sick this week and am still recovering.

Torshlosspanik. noun. 1. A desperate feeling that something desired is fading, missing, or being taken away. 2. A feeling of frustration when something one has is departing.

A slumbering figure, a nearly empty desk, and foreboding fabric are the greeting signs to the infamous lab. It’s ironic, really. The concept that the Doctor’s domain comes with a “receptionist” setup stationed in front of imposing steel doors, giving the illusion that this place is as normal—and as morally sound—as any other doctor’s office. At best, it’s laughable to think anyone would believe this place accepts patients willingly, let alone frequently enough to require check-ins. Yet, a shabby but sturdy wooden desk stands innocently in the corner of the entrance, its chipping edges lined with plastic chrysanthemums and white lilies. The artificial flowers are faded, their colors dull from years of neglect, as if mocking the very notion of hospitality. Behind the desk sits an equally worn-down office chair, large enough for someone to curl up in. Its fabric is stained and frayed from years of misuse, the cushion lumpy and barely holding its shape but still useable. All for a receptionist, if you can call them that, who spends more time asleep than actually working as an employee in this most unlikely place. Legs curled up on the seat, arms crisscrossed over the knees in a fetal position. A chin tucked towards the chest, hidden from the view of passersby. Back facing toward prying eyes, leaving only the pronounced slouch of their spine visible, an angle practically begging to develop scoliosis. But the most harrowing detail isn’t the position. It’s the unmistakable black-and-white fur coat draped over them like a blanket, the fabric’s presence carrying an air of authority and fear. A coat only gifted to the Eleven Fatui Harbingers. The desk itself is of no help either. There’s no clipboard, no pens, no paper-nothing that could even remotely resemble the tools of an actual receptionist. It’s an empty stage prop, barely held together by the weight of its own absurdity. And yet, for all its flaws, it stands as the gateway to a place no one in their right mind would willingly step into.

No one dares attempt to wake you. Successfully doing so is practically a death sentence, especially if you go whining to Dottore about the unprompted “alarm clock.” He has a reputation for ensuring the offender never makes a sound again. The only ones bold enough to try and emerge unscathed are his fellow Harbingers, though even they tread lightly when it comes to disturbing your slumber. It’s both impressive and deeply concerning how much of a deep sleeper you are. The bustling footsteps of agents pacing outside the lab, their sharp voices discussing assignments, don’t stir you. The deafening clangs of machinery, coupled with the revolting squelches of severed monster parts being dissected, fail to trigger even a flicker of awareness. Not even Tartaglia’s incessant yammering, loud enough to make glass shudder, elicits so much as an irritated swat from you. Instead, you remain in a state of unyielding sleep, utterly detached from the chaos around you. Your peculiar habit has become such a fixture in the lab that the staff barely remember you exist. You sit perched at their entrance and exit, as still and silent as a gargoyle guarding a forgotten ruin. To them, you are little more than part of the backdrop. A slumbering figure whose presence is a curious mix of ominous and benign.

While it's obvious that the answer to rousing you is to find Dottore himself, or one of his segments if he isn’t around, the interesting part is how you wake up. You're not immune to the initial dizziness that comes with awakening. When you finally open your eyes, blinking the sleep away from your eyelashes, you’re always disoriented. Your eyes feel glazed over, as though you’ve gone blind from keeping them closed too long. Yet, there’s always a common theme: you always reach out toward the nearest blue object. Whether it's an odd trinket or a test tube of acidic liquid, your hand automatically tries to grab it and pull it close to you. It’s part of the reason your desk is stationed outside the lab, away from anything potentially dangerous hidden behind heavy steel doors. Artificial blue has been on the rise lately. Luckily, in nature, blue is very rare. Less than one in ten plants has blue flowers, and even fewer animals are blue. Unfortunately, the biggest nuisance has blue eyes—dead as they are. Tartaglia may not like the doctor, but he does like you. Maybe it’s because your sleep demeanor can be categorized as cute, or maybe you remind him of the simple life in an organization that’s so uptight. Regardless, that little fox has been clawing at the wooden legs yapping for attention. It's only made worse you don't bother to dissuade him, only indulging in his playful antics. It's led to many, many, lectures from one particular segment.

It's fascinating watching how each segment interacts with your sleepy demeanor. While each segment has varying features and appearances, under the same clothes and mask, they would be indistinguishable if they stood still and never spoke. The only true way to discern them is through their actions and mental processes. Hence, it's easy to tell who is who by the way they go about holding you.

Omega is by far the least attentive or affectionate toward you. Perhaps it’s because he’s the most selfish of them all. There’s still an ongoing debate over whether his dislike for you stems from the fact that you stand in the way of fulfilling his desires or if his ambitions extend beyond simply overtaking the divine gaze. Or perhaps the divine gaze isn't actually his goal in the first place. Either way, it’s two sides of the same coin. When it’s Omega’s turn to fetch you, he does so as if you were any other patient. Completely beneath him. One arm rests behind his back, while the other holds a piece of paper clenched tightly in his hand. His mouth is set in a firm line as he gazes down at your slumped form. Although the air around him is calm and silent, it doesn’t take a genius to know that if he could get away with it, he’d drag you through the halls by your hair. Alas, that kind of act would get him permanently disassembled, so he settles for unceremoniously flipping you upright. The arm resting on the small of his back is removed and curls under your stomach. With one swift motion, you’re treated like one of Signora’s shopping bags. The sight of a limp body folded in half under an arm that surely digs into the stomach is the best way to know if it’s the Omega segment or not.

Beta, on the other hand. Beta. That maniacal and neurotic freak adores you but couldn’t care less about you. His research typically focuses on fusing humans with machinery to create “better versions” of themselves, and he fully believes in that philosophy. You would look so much better if he were allowed to be your sole care provider. If your drowsiness were caused by a medical condition like heart disease, asthma, pain, or a nerve condition, he could simply replace them, and you’d be perfect. If it were a mental issue, well, he’d love you no matter how unresponsive you might be. It wouldn’t be much different from you being asleep anyway. When it’s Beta’s turn to fetch you, he does so with a waltz. He walks purposefully toward your desk. Loud and firm, his hands fisted at his sides with unrestrained glee, swinging in time with each step. Even with a mask that obscures most of his face, it’s clear to see the overexcited grin stretching across his lips. It’s almost like there’s static buzzing in time with his artificial heart, fuzzy yet electrically sharp. There’s no fanfare, as soon as he’s within arm’s reach, he grabs the nearest piece of skin and hauls you out of the chair. By some miracle, you’re always still asleep from the rough handling, which is more than enough for Beta to wrap his other arm around your waist. Your chests press together, and he swings your body to and fro in his mad dance. The sight of a limp body dragged into a dancing plague that’s surely pulling your stiff joints out of place is the best way to know if it’s Beta or not. Beta has been recently banned from coming within a six-foot radius around you. 

The original Dottore, Zandik, is a unique case. All of the segments originated from him but at different points in time. However, they are still parts of his thoughts and mannerisms. There really is no order in which the segments are ranked, as they can’t compete with each other. What’s more pointless than trying to beat yourself? You’ll still lose in the end. Zandik is a strange mix of every segment yet none at all. When he wants to see you, he does so slowly, with all the time in the world. His methodical steps echo lightly on the concrete floors of the lab, his arms still at his sides yet loose enough that the slightest wind could blow them away. It’s as eerie as it is tranquil. Everything about the original whispers of restrained patience—that when he arrives at the front of your desk, he simply waits. Usually, it takes you hours or even days to wake up on your own, but when it’s Zandik standing at the edge of your daydream, your eyes slide open. Small ripples in the pond. You’re still lethargic, blindly feeling your way back into your body as your eyes ricochet off the walls until they land on blue. A weighted hand reaches out to grab that ashy blue, and another hand meets your fingertips.

It would be cute if it were anyone else. The sight of a man with curly light blue hair, carrying a bundled-up figure dressed in a white coat with a fluffy black collar, legs dangling from either side of his waist while his hands rest on the lump’s presumed back and thighs. It would be so cute indeed, if it were anyone else but Zandik. But for him, it only looks lonely, despite the two of you pressed together.

The moments when you're awake only happen on two occasions: either you just happened to wake up at that time, or it’s check-up day. What kind of doctor would Dottore be if he didn’t conduct physicals for his only patient who manages to live long enough each year? The check-ups happen twice a week, always two days apart. Never past two days of separation. Ever. Your exact relationship dynamic with Dottore remains as obscure as ever as to why he cares so much. Whether you’re old friends who knew each other before Dottore set foot in Snezhnaya or even when Dottore was called a different name. Or maybe a dead lover resurrected as a zombie in the pursuit of selfish greed and glorious progress; both are possible options. The zombie theory at least explains why you’re constantly drowsy. The staff have never seen you eat anything before, and with the abundance of... zombie food, it's not outlandish as much as it is disgusting. The old friend theory would explain why you can stomach being around someone who can fly off the handle at any moment. The most willing yet unwilling patient. No matter how often Dottore has to wrestle you upright, only for you to slump back asleep the next second, he never loses his temper. If he has to strap you into a straitjacket and hang you from the goddamn ceiling to keep you sitting with a straight back, he will. But by no means will he get anything more than slightly miffed. If he has to force-feed you your medicine because you’re too loopy to remember how to swallow, he’ll shove his fingers into the back of your throat with nothing but a blank smile. The only good thing about your sleep-deprived state is that you’re probably so out of it that you can’t feel discomfort. It saves on using the limited supply of anesthesia the lab carries.

Dottore, for lack of a better word, is displeased with your constant need for sleep. He is deeply frustrated with each check-in and the stagnation of your results. For him, bad results are no different from good ones—they’re still a means of moving forward. Something that will tell him which direction to take rather than wandering around aimlessly in the dark. But in your case, there are no significant changes, as if everything he’s done has been for nothing. He could have closed his eyes and spun a wheel for the same results. The day before your check-in is always the calm before the storm because the staff knows that when the next day comes, they’d better keep their heads down or risk losing them. No one is quite sure if your sleepiness stems from mutated genetics or if it’s a side effect of being around Dottore for too long. Stir-craziness and breakdowns are common in the lab, whether among "patients" or "employees." Everyone eventually goes mad, cooped up within the same cell-shaded walls and working under possibly the worst boss imaginable. Add to that the fact that the Fatui don’t believe in “mental health” days, and with no coping mechanisms in sight, it’s unfair to expect anyone to function effectively. Most people eventually devolve into screaming or manic episodes. Perhaps your escape is more literal. A peaceful retreat from reality through sleep. You’re not even sure why you’re constantly sleep-deprived, especially when you spend more time slumbering than awake. At first, you thought you might be narcoleptic or taking the wrong pills; a diagnosis from scratch must take a long time, right? That was until Dottore bluntly called you an idiot. He told you it’s a bad habit to self-diagnose every minor inconvenience. You should let him do all the thinking and simply listen to him. And truthfully, with the haze clouding your mind, it’s too difficult to think clearly anyway. So, you nod and do as you’re told. It’s easier that way.

It doesn’t happen often, but it occurs more than it should, considering who Dottore is and the reputation he holds. If you wish to cross him, you’d better make it count—because it’ll be your last. He’s in the middle of a meeting with Pantalone, arguing over the lab’s finances when a frantic knock interrupts. Apparently, there’s been a scuffle at the entrance of the lab. To Pantalone's knowledge, there aren't any guards or any agents stationed at the doors except for that sleepy receptionist. Perhaps the doctor's staff finally had enough and decided to take their anger on someone who couldn't fight back? Pantalone's not a good enough person to not find amusement in the situation, infinitely curious as to what Dottore's reaction will be to all of this. Whatever the banker decided to gamble on, his expression doesn't twitch as he follows behind his fellow Harbinger as they walk leisurely through the halls, as if the world has come to a standstill. It’s almost amusing that when your life is potentially on the line, he suddenly decides to take a midday stroll. The only indication of his amusement is the slight shake in his shoulders, hinting at a silent laugh. Dottore punches in the lock code and throws open the steel doors before the automatic switch can activate, slipping through as soon as the gap is wide enough. He stops at the shabby wooden desk that’s now gained a few new dents.

This time, you’re curled up on top of the table, your office chair thrown across the room. Broken. It’s no matter, he’s been meaning to replace it anyway. The chair is just another expense to add to his name. He collects you into his arms effortlessly, and you instinctively sink into the familiar hold. A quick scan from head to toe confirms that you’re unharmed, save for a few strands of hair out of place. Behind him, Pantalone lets out a noise of approval as he surveys the scene. In the center of the room stands a robot with a striking design. A star-shaped frame with six triangular segments forms a perfect symmetry. Glowing cyan cores illuminate the metallic structure, positioned at its center and edges. The intricate details combine sharp, crystalline elements with mechanical precision, radiating an aura of both elegance and menace. As expected of the Doctor. Pantalone can’t help but wonder where this machine was hiding when Signora ventured to Inazuma. Perhaps if it had been deployed then, she might have returned in one piece.

Although Dottore no longer needs to sleep to survive, there are times when, as he passes by your sleeping form, he’ll pause. He stands still, staring for what feels like an absurd amount of time, meticulously detailing and recording every breath you take within a single minute. It’s always 17. Sleep occupies about one-third of a person’s life, a significant portion of time that, in Dottore's mind, could be devoted to something useful. Something productive, instead of wasting it frolicking in dreams that neither matter nor will change anything. Yet, even he can’t deny that, occasionally, a break from reality can serve as a fragile bandage over a wound that refuses to heal. A fleeting comfort in an otherwise relentless existence.  

It’s as awkward as it is unnatural. Despite his title as "The Doctor", his hands weren’t designed for gentle touches of flesh and bone. Yet he tries. His fingers twitch involuntarily as he tilts your body to the side, just enough for him to slide in beside you. Carefully, he rests your body against his shoulder. He expects you to jolt awake, his shoulder is bony and hardly a suitable place to rest your head, even when compared to the flaky cushion of the office chair you’ve somehow grown fond of. But you don’t. Of course, you don’t. You simply lay there, your head nestled against his shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world. No protests, no shifting away, just stillness. The transfer of heat begins, as described by the laws of thermodynamics. Hotter, faster-moving molecules collide with cooler, slower ones, transferring energy in a quiet exchange. No fireworks, no blaring alarms, just the science of touch, as mundane and profound as ever. Zandik dares to lower his chin, letting it rest lightly against your head. His mask doesn’t obscure the quiet moment, though he can feel the unnatural curve of his lips twitching upward ever so slightly. Down here, in the deepest layers of the lab, not even the howling winds of Tsaritsa’s snowstorm can reach. It’s eerily quiet, save for the rhythmic sound of your breathing. For a moment, he wonders what it would be like if you woke up now. If your half-lidded eyes would squint at him in confusion, or if you’d simply close them again, surrendering to the haze of sleep. But you don’t stir. Instead, he lets himself linger, suspended between an unusual warmth and the cold detachment of his own thoughts

"Breaks" are not something you can indulge in down in the labs. The closest the staff ever got was when one of the Harbingers passed away, and even then, it lasted only half a day before they were right back to work. Still, if you ask nicely, Dottore will nod toward an empty seat, silently giving you permission to make yourself comfortable. You take the opportunity to describe the dreams you’ve had while Dottore tinkers away in the background. You talk about a train whose tracks stretch far into the stars, far beyond the snow-obscured sky you glimpse through the scarce, frosted windows scattered about the lab. Sometimes, you dream of a whimsical city filled with cute shops and tiny bunny-like robots waddling through fissures in space. You’re certain he isn’t really paying attention, his hands busy with instruments, and his focus locked on his latest project. Sometimes, you suspect he forgets you’re even in the room despite your rambling. A small part of you wants to stamp your feet and pout like a child. After all, you’re only awake for a few fleeting hours each week, and even then, all he can think about is his experiments. His endless, obsessive tinkering. The man’s only "hobby" is experimentation, and you wonder if he’s even capable of entertaining anything else. At least Omega and Beta would give you some attention. Omega might tell you to be quiet with that dismissive tone of his, while Beta would enthusiastically scribble down every word you say, his excitement unnerving yet oddly gratifying. Still… your gaze drifts toward Zandik’s back as he works, the muscles beneath his coat shifting subtly with each precise movement. You pull your knees up against your chest, wrapping your arms around them as you rest your cheek against your folded arms. For a moment, you simply watch him in silence, the quiet hum of the lab filling the space between you. Eventually, your eyes grow heavy, and you let them slip shut. A faint smile tugs at your lips as you wonder where your dreams will take you this time. You wonder if Zandik would come with you.

On the rare occasion that Dottore chooses to sleep of his own will, most likely due to substances that induce drowsiness and force his body into a state of rest, it’s always a remarkably uneventful night. He doesn’t dream anymore, nor does he wish to. Dreams, like the past, serve no purpose to him now. On certain days, if he concentrates hard enough, he can faintly discern whispers from the other segments he's created. However, they are nothing more than distractions, a cacophony that only aggravates his already meticulous mind. When he wakes, it’s as though he hasn’t truly slept at all. His eyelids parted smoothly, his pupils sharp and alert as if no time had passed. Yet there is an unusual sensation, warmth. Dottore does not run warm, and the lab, built for functionality rather than comfort, certainly doesn’t harbor it either. He turns his head, curiosity fleeting, and finds you huddled against his side. Your arms are wrapped around his waist in a loose embrace, and your face is pressed against his chest, seeking solace in his stillness. The white coat with its black feathered collar, the one you wear more often than he does, is draped across your body, serving as a makeshift blanket. His hands remain clasped on his stomach, and he realizes with mild irritation that he can’t move without risking the possibility of waking you. For a moment, he lingers. The seconds on, and his mind races ahead to the tasks awaiting him. The pursuit of progress waits for no one, not even himself. Every moment spent lying in this bed feels like a year’s worth of lost discovery. 

With calculated precision, he shifts. His movements are methodical, almost robotic, as he carefully bundles you in the coat, ensuring the hood doesn’t cover your face and obstruct your breathing. In a single fluid motion, he lifts you into his arms as he rises from the bed. He spares a brief glance at your sleeping form, red eyes devoid of emotion. Your breathing is steady at 17 breaths per minute—a rhythm he has memorized and measured countless times before. Still as serene as ever. But then, for just the faintest of moments, his gaze softens, almost imperceptibly, before he turns his attention back to the work that never ceases to call for him. What a peaceful way to escape the world, the thought as cold and clinical as his expression.

---

Hi, thank you for reading! I'll reblog this with further writer notes but I wanted to include the research bits in order of appearance. I can't guarantee the full accuracy but I hope I didn't get anything wrong.

Chrysanthemum & Lily

In many Asian cultures, especially in China and Japan, chrysanthemums are symbolic of death and mourning. In China, the flower is closely linked to the Day of the Dead, and in Japan, it is used in funeral rites. While in some contexts chrysanthemums can symbolize longevity or fidelity, their association with death makes them unlucky in certain circumstances, especially when given as gifts or during celebrations.

Lilies, especially white lilies, are often associated with death and mourning, particularly in Christian symbolism, where they are linked to funerals and burials. While lilies also symbolize purity and rebirth in other contexts, their frequent appearance in funeral arrangements.

Head-Down Position

The sleep position reader takes is a parody of the Head-Down position of babies in their third trimester. The head-down position (cephalic presentation) is the most common and ideal position for birth, where the baby’s head is facing downward, towards the birth canal. This allows the baby to navigate the birth process more easily.

Dancing Plague

Also called the Dancing Mania, this refers to a series of events in the 16th century where groups of people, primarily in Europe, suddenly and uncontrollably began dancing for extended periods, sometimes for days or weeks, often to the point of exhaustion, injury, or even death. The most infamous and well-documented outbreak of the Dancing Plague occurred in 1518 in Strasbourg, then part of the Holy Roman Empire (modern-day France).

Algorithm of Semi-Intransient Matrix of Overseer Network

The robot Pantalone sees is the early concept art for ^ but also known as the "Tomb Guard of the Desert King.".

17

The number 17 is considered unlucky in Italy because of its association with the Latin word for 17, which is "XVII". Rearranging these Roman numerals gives the word "VIXI", which means "I have lived" or "I am dead" in Latin. This gives the number an ominous connotation, as it can be seen as a symbol of death or misfortune.

Honkai Star Rail & Zenless Zone Zero

Yes, reader was describing these two games as their dreams lol.

[lie-lacdreams]

Some headcanons in Thermo & Turmoil so far (for Curly and the reader)

Because I just inserted hella headcanons into the plot and feel an urge to explain all of them and then some more lol

(Before I begin I would like to start off by mentioning that I'm a bit clueless when it comes to using Tumblr so please forgive me let me be incompetent and ignorant in peace)

In this story, reader is in her mid to late twenties, like 26-28 years old. Curly is in his early to mid thirties (33-35), which means he joined Pony Express likely fresh out of college or trade school

Reader is a chemical engineering graduate student, specializing in green synthesis and catalysis. What this all means is that she has a particular interest in sustainability and organic chemistry

The way her morals and ethics left her body after getting accepted to work at Pony Express, a shady company with not the best green practices (she was desperate to find a job, okay?)

one last related thing - the timeline of when things happen in the game vs. in this story aren't very well-aligned. I'm going off of my own timeline for plot reasons

Okay, now on to more fun and general headcanons I have for Curly ~

I subscribe to the common belief that Curly is a big romantic. How could he not be??? He tried to seek out relationships throughout his twenties but remained unsuccessful to find someone who would stay with him through the crazy structure of his occupation. Imagine being in a relationship with someone who you couldn't see or communicate with for months to a year at a time. I absolutely get it

It all makes sense because he's absolutely married to his work. He's kind of come to terms that he can't have a long-term romantic relationship and a career as a freighter ship captain. Those two things simply don't go together well

At this age, Curly has reached the peak of his career - and when he comes back from another successful trip, he has quite a bit of monetary compensation waiting for him in his paycheck

Single and childless, he's financially comfortable - he has his savings but he also will pay the bill for his friends and family 8/10 times (would he fight for the bill? Of course not, he gave his card to the waiter halfway through the meal to pay)

He doesn't feel bitter about his lifestyle. He chose it, after all. Sure, he sometimes wishes that he had stability on Earth and a family of his own to go back to, but he loves living vicariously through his friends and that to him is enough for now. Every wedding, baby shower, friend's child's birthday party - if he's off the clock, he will absolutely be there and having the time of his life

Speaking of children, he would love to have some of his own someday, but as a single man who spends most of his time in a big metal box suspended in zero gravity, he doesn't know how to interact with them and is kind of awkward

He's very open minded to different cultures and new experiences.

Curly has been to a few Indian weddings where his friends would drag him out to the dance floor and make him learn Bhangra. He's jumping along like the rest of them, moving his arms animatedly to the beat of the music

like okay this white boy can dance! The crowd is so entertained

he's not a picky eater and would eat nearly anything. When he visited Thailand, the locals tricked him into trying balut (fertilized duck egg) and when he didn't react and mentioned that he didn't mind the texture that much, it left them confused and a little pleased

he sleeps warm and can't tolerate humid weather. Going to Thailand nearly ended him

He's so community-minded. This is why I could envision him with so many 1st/2nd gen immigrant friends. Man just gets it

This is also why the Chinese restaurant near where he lives loves him. The owner loves to use him as a role model for his son

You know that one family friend growing up that was stacked with accolades that your parents would compare you to? (or maybe that's just my own experience...) That is Curly for this poor little boy.

He's actually such a people pleaser, but hides it so well under being such a confident authority figure, so it just comes off as helpful and supportive instead

He loves when people go to him for advice. He may or may not have the experience to give the advice, but regardless he will try his best to come up with a solution

[eponymous-rose]

Some (many) thoughts on Arcane s2 while it's still fresh in my mind:

(tw: discussion of fictional depictions of suicide)

I'm gonna do some nitpicking here, but only because I really did like it overall - I think for me s1 was a solid 10/10 and this season was an 8.5/10, so I'm certainly looking forward to rewatching it! The animation was a big step up from s1's incredible work, the music was great, the performances were fantastic. I do think the overall writing/story fell down a bit, though.

It's weird, because my go-to when character arcs feel rushed is to want more episodes, but I don't think that necessarily would have solved my issues with this season.

Cait turned on Ambessa on a dime - we love to see it, but I think we maybe needed a few more overt hints of her discomfort with her position, maybe a sense of wrongness in their adoptive relationship and some parallels with Jinx & Silco given what Vi says early on ("why are you the one acting like her?"). Ambessa believes her daughter to be lost, and Cait has lost a mother - they were certainly playing on that substitution, but the eventual turn, while fun, felt a bit quick and unearned. I saw someone joke about the word "Cupcake" flipping Cait back like a sleeper agent, but that's kinda how abrupt things felt.

I think Mel's plot largely hung together okay, although it was pretty disconnected from everyone except Ambessa - would've loved to have seen some acknowledgement that Cait was filling her shoes as Daughter for a while there.

Isha was sweet and I liked the parallels with the Powder-Vi relationship (LOVED Jinx running with the pink chalk and Isha with the blue), but I think the sacrifice metaphor got a little muddled. The parallels with Powder charging in and killing everyone around her, versus Isha charging in and saving everyone but herself felt a little forced and I struggled to see how they served the greater narrative. The whole point of Powder's failure was a messy combination of bad luck, overcompensating for what she perceived as a lack of confidence in her, etc. Isha had Jinx's confidence on her side, I guess, and now of course we have the foreshadowing of Jinx dying to save someone else, which she's been trying to do since Act II.

Suicide was a pretty heavy concept throughout the first season. We had the parallels of Jayce and Viktor, we had the little-remarked-upon moment where Viktor hesitates before cutting the wire on Jinx's bomb. I actually think this season did pretty well with those two (although I'll talk about a couple things that irked me below), but the concept that we can't escape the things that we've done and we instead have to find salvation in those around us felt kind of contrary to Jinx's finally finding a way to die for her sister. I don't know that Jinx's story was necessarily supposed to feel satisfying or complete, but without another season there's not much to dig through there.

And that brings up the main reason I don't think more episodes would have resolved my quibbles with this season: it was pretty prone to overexplaining. To me, one of the most exceptional things about that first season was how little it explained. You had these gorgeous, evocative flashes of Vander trying to kill Silco, Silco stabbing him and fleeing into the night, and that's all we needed! That's it! We didn't need to know the specifics, we didn't need more backstory than that - the whole point of the season was that these kids are trying to make their own stories, and these guys have set the stage and are in the process of bowing out. Much as I loved the glimpses this season into the past generation's adventures, it felt like it was pinning something down that was more effectively left to the imagination.

There were also some weird fumbles with discussions of disability, especially in that last episode. I loved so much of what season one did with it - the older generation of Zaunites almost all had some form of disability due to the way they'd been systematically poisoned and their constant exposure to danger, and that was a really in-your-face way to challenge the early "why can't we all get along" stuff. And so much of Viktor's and Jayce's arcs are tied in with the sense of time running out and how Heimerdinger's long-term goals are incompatible with helping the people suffering right now. But instead we get this weird "you didn't like your imperfections so you tried to eliminate all imperfections", which doesn't quite ring true.

We just fundamentally didn't get to a resolution that I think was heavily implied, especially in Act II. "No one in power is innocent" is a great, raw line, but we didn't really see it play out. Instead, we have everyone stopping from othering each other in order to band together against an even bigger Other. As a side note, I don't think that Sevika's ending is meant to be a positive thing - we see from the skeptical looks of others that she's got a long road ahead. The revolution we saw coming just sort of fizzled out, and I think it's still on the horizon, which makes things feel incomplete.

There were also a lot of notes that repeated instead of echoing or harmonizing. We had variations on the theme of Vander dying three different times. We had Vi being unable to kill her sister several times. The repetition felt a bit like it was filling time instead of moving things forward the way s1's plot kept pushing.

This season is also the first time I felt the hand of League of Legends Canon shoving the plot into place. We knew Vi was heading for that enforcer uniform, but after the initial conflict it sometimes felt more like we just unlocked a new skin for the character. The Vander-as-Warwick stuff was kind of silly and out of left field, although it was executed pretty well and certainly pulled at the ol' heartstrings. Ekko getting his time abilities was fun and impacted the final fight, but I feel like we were missing something there as well that I'm having a harder time putting my finger on. Some of Viktor's lines felt designed to make the League players in the audience go "HE SAID THE THING". And I hate the feeling of setting up the Next Installment in the Cinematic Universe, probably just because I'm exhausted with Marvel stuff - I'd love for an adaptation like this to be able to really and truly stand on its own.

Overall, it just felt less like the characters were driving the story and more like they were ticking off boxes, which is just something that any good finale has to contend with one way or another.

Anyway, that's a lot of nitpicking. Fundamentally, this felt almost like it was a really strong fic that did a surprisingly good job of wrapping everything up and was stunningly put together in places... but still lacked the spark of the original.

Stuff I loved: Vi/Cait getting a pretty strong arc and certainly the first lesbian sex scene I've ever seen in a TV-14 cartoon. Animation and score was stunning. I did love the what-if of episode 7 - something I've been waiting for them to acknowledge is that literally everything that happens in the show follows from that one break-in during episode one. I actually think Vi and Jinx's reunion and reconciliation felt earned.

I'm curious how I'll feel on subsequent rewatches - the first time I watched s1, I remember being blown away but not in a "this is the best thing ever" way, and it wasn't until the second time that it really clicked for me.

[kingdomaddiction]

I've been thinking in a Cumplane friendship idea.--

You see, everyone seems to believe SQQ and SQH can't stand each other. Quite the opposite, really. When it's only the two of them they don't feel the need to keep up the pretence. It's so easy to relax, to put the mask aside.

They aren't peak lords nor cultivators. They're just two dudes in their mid tweenties trying to survive in this forsaken world.

SY knows he might not be the kindest nor the most loving of friends, (he spent so many years alone in a cold, hospital room, he's not good at socializing) but he does care for Airplane. A lot. He will never say it out loud because it's embarrasing but that stupid author is his best friend.

So, that's why when the news of Qinghua's disappearance finally reach him (two weeks, it took two full weeks before someone decided to tell him--- )they absolutely destroys him.

He seems calm at fisrt. Not truly procesing the news. LBG makes a few comments about something Mobei told him (you fucking knew and didn't tell me, how dare you, husband?! )

Gone, SQH? No, that's dumb. He couldn't be gone. He's a peak lord, he has responsabilities, a bunch of little ones to teach. He even takes care of the north. And most importantly why would he leave Mobei? It makes no sense, not fucking sense.

SQH wouldn't leave like that. He... he wouldn't leave SY behind.

He can feel sob building up in his throat. That... stupid, idiot--HACK AUTHOR!

His crying fit is so strong and sudden that sends LBG and his whole demon staff into a panic.

"Shizun?!" He says looking for visible injuries-

"Don't touch me!" He screams and LBG looks at him with hurt.

"Husband? Have... have this disciple done something wrong?"

SQQ just turns and walks to his chambers ordering LBG not to follow him. His husband is left feeling distressed and cries for very different reasons.

Later that night they talk. SQQ feeling tired and sad finally calls for his husband to comfort him. He explains to him why he is angry at him and LBG apologizes.

"This one thought you hated Shang-shibo and that Shizun wouldn't care about his dissapereance." He says in a small, careful voice. "Mobei jun came to the palace days ago to beg for help in his search... "

"You turned him away... " SY says, sounding very tired.

"Yes. But this husband will make it right, Shizun. I will find your friend for you, promise."

SY sighs and hugs his husband, hiding his face in his chest.

..

Idk 'm all over the place but the idea is that the system is glitching and took SQH and is kind of keeping him hostage? Like, in between worlds. Not the mordern universe, not PIDW.

I imagine LBG having a very hard time accepting his shizun worries and loves others and not just him (??? why??? I'm more than enough you need NO ONE else shizun). He's too possesive and would like very much just to lock his shizun away, but that would break him and he never wants to see him cry like that ever again. Even if that means he has to share his attention.

MBJ is very broken in this one fiding himself lost without SQH. they had just finally stablished their relationship so he's between angry and scared. Also his trust and loyalty to LBG has taken a blown since he refused to help him find his lover. Didn't he help LBG when everyone turned his back on him as he clinged to his dead shizun's body?

While they work together (before they can even figure out where sqh is) LBG slowly realizes he might have fucked up a bit and ??? misses Mobei ??? are they friends???!!

SY tries his fucking best to keep it together. Really, he loves Binghe but that man can be so dense.

They find where SQH is being kept. The place is like a limbo. Cold, and vast where no time passes. In order to get him back LBG, MBJ and SQQ work together to reforge Xin Mo and travel there. There's a cool fighting montage, tears, hugs and everyone is happy at the end

Yeah that's all i got so far. I'll be going back to work now--

[air--so--sweet]

I've mentioned before how part of me wants Eddie to come out to Buck and for Buck to say 'Like you said to me when I told you about Tommy, this doesn't change a thing between us' and for Eddie to say 'What if I want it to change things between us?'

In 2×17, when Eddie tells Shannon he wants them to be a family again and she says she's not pregnant he says 'It doesn't change a thing' and she replies 'It does for me.' She then goes on to explain how she can't mess things up with Christopher again and she's still learning how to he someone's mother, and once she has then maybe she can learn how to he someone's wife. She then asks Eddie for a divorce.

And, while 'it doesn't change a thing' is a pretty common phrase I find it so interesting that it's said in both scenes. Scenes with the people that Eddie loves most. In one his wife is leaving him and in the other his best friend, who he doesn't realise he's in love with, is telling him that he's attracted to men, but the man he's chosen to date isn't him.

And it's made me like my theory more honestly, but with a change. I now want Eddie to say 'It does for me'. Yes, because it mirrors his scene with Shannon, but also because Eddie has been so passive in so much of his romantic life, he needs to be active in choosing to confess his feelings to Buck and choosing to pursue a relationship with him. 'It does for me' is a more definite and sure statement and it signifies Eddie truly choosing to take a leap of faith even though it means he has to risk rejection by doing so. It changes things for him because knowing a future with Buck is possible, knowing his best friend could he is boyfriend, maybe even his husband, it changes everything in Eddie's life in the absolute best way. And he can't not try make that a reality.

Also, yes, I've gone from being cautious in case this is queerbaiting to going all in on Buddie. I can't not, *spoilers for 8x08 and season 8b* like Buck's reaction to Eddie moving to El Paso, Tim Minear saying Buck will be spiralling so much he'll be 'spinning like a top', it has to be a set up for Buddie, it has to! They know the fans love Buddie, I cannot imagine they would write this story line and then have it be about their friendship. All that would do is risk alienating a huge chunk of their fanbase.

[pamwritessometimes]

Tuesday's Gone — Chapter 7

Russell Shaw x reader

Summary: When the police does little to no help to find your missing daughter, you are forced to contact Colter Shaw. What you don’t expect is how his investigation will reveal secrets about both your past and your daughter’s, in ways you never imagined.

Warnings: fluff, mentions of murdering someone (as a joke, kind of), so many Scooby-Doo and dog talk, GIRL DAD RUSSELL!! (he's a warning because – well, you'll see)

Y/N: This chapter... this chapter is literally my favorite from this series. Enjoy!🤍

Title’s based on Tuesday’s Gone by Lynyrd Skynyrd.

Catch up on Chapter 6 here

Tuesday’s Gone masterlist

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“What the actual hell are you doing here?” she snapped, her words laced with enough venom to make anyone think twice about speaking.

Russell, clearly anticipating her fury, quickly raised his hands in surrender. “I know this sounds insane, and I know you probably hate my guts – fair enough, you’ve got every reason to – but Y/N sent me to grab some stuff for her and Emma.”

Your sister’s brows furrowed in confusion for many things. “Where the hell are they? What did you do–”

“They’re at the hospital in Springland” Russell cut in, holding up a hand. “They’re fine, okay? Just– let me pack some things for them. You can come with me, I’ll explain everything on the way” he said.

Her hands started to tremble, and she had to grip the doorframe to steady herself. “So, they’re okay? Emma’s okay?” she asked.

“Yeah. They’re good” Russell said, though his gaze was unreadable. “Please, let me–”

A flood of emotions hit Anna all at once. Relief, yes, but also an undercurrent of fear she couldn’t shake. Emma was okay. That’s all that mattered. Still, she didn’t understand why they would be in Springland. And…why hadn’t Y/N called her? And why the hell was he here picking up their stuff?

Anna stared at him, trying to read him. The whole situation was a mess. Y/N and Russell hadn’t exactly parted on the best terms, and now here he was, showing up at her door, looking exhausted and out of place. Why him?

Still, Anna couldn’t help the relief flooding through her. Y/N and Emma were safe. They had to be. But she couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something was still off.

“Alright” she sighed and reluctantly let him in. She helped him pack some sweaters, a new pair of jeans, clean underwear and everything you’d need during a hospital stay. She also tossed clothes to Emma, her favorite plushie – a Scooby-Doo toy your parents gave her. 

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Exhausted didn’t even begin to cover it. The last few days had chewed you up, spat you out, and trampled over what was left. You weren’t just tired. You were hollowed out, running on fumes and sheer willpower. You had a feeling like you’d need a month's rest, minimum. 

But at least Emma was safe. She was sleeping peacefully now, tucked into the hospital bed beside you. Physically, she was unharmed, Rourke and his men hadn’t laid a finger on her. Yet, you knew that wasn’t the whole story. Mentally, the trauma of it all would leave scars neither of you could see just yet. Your brave, sweet girl had been kidnapped. Stolen away. And the thought of what could have happened – no. Your mind can’t even go there.

Now here you were, sitting vigil beside her hospital bed. You’d been given your own bed in the room – thank heaven for small favors – but you couldn’t bring yourself to use it. Instead, you stayed planted by Emma’s side, staring at her tiny face as she slept. Her brows were furrowed even in rest, her lips pressed into a worried pout. Seeing her like that made your guilt weigh heavier.

You should have been her protector, her guardian angel, the one who kept the bad things away. And yet here you were, staring at the evidence of your failure. No four-year-old – or any child, for that matter – should have to go through this.

Your mind wouldn't quit, racing through the last few days like a bad movie on loop. First, the panic when you realized Emma was gone, the gut-wrenching moment it hit you, like a punch to the stomach. Then there was Rourke, that smug, twisted, mustache-framed smile of his, and the mess you’d thrown yourself into just to get her back. The helplessness you felt when you finally decided to call Colter. And, of course, there was Russell blowing back into your life like a hurricane, as if you hadn’t just spent years avoiding him.

They’d saved her. Saved both of you, really. And for all the hurt and confusion between you and Russell, you couldn’t deny that he had stepped up when it mattered most.

A soft knock on the door pulled you from your thoughts. 

The door creaked open, and Anna’s familiar auburn hair peeked in first. Her eyes softened when they landed on you and Emma. She slipped inside, moving quietly not to wake Emma, and behind her came Russell, lugging two heavy sports bags.

Anna came straight to you, her arms wrapping around you tightly as soon as she reached your side. You returned the hug, letting her warmth chase away a fraction of the chill that had washed over your skin.

“God, I was so worried. So, so, so worried.” she whispered with a voice heavily trembling.

“I know, I– I’m so sorry” you murmured. “I was too. Did Russell tell you?”

She pulled back just enough to look at you. “Yeah, he briefed me” she said as her hands were still gripping your arms. “Don’t worry, I put him in his place” she said and Russell rolled his eyes at that. She really did, the whole car ride had been a rather tense experience.

You nodded, your eyes stinging with unshed tears. “Thank you for coming. You didn’t have t–”

“Stop” Anna cut you off, smoothing a hand over your hair like she used to when you were kids. “Of course, I did.”

Her eyes slid to Russell, and her mouth tightened into a thin line. She knew you two had so many things to talk about, but – for obvious reasons – she didn’t want to leave you with him. On the ride here, Russell tried to explain everything. And by everything, he meant everything. His line of work, the reason you were brought to your sister’s house that night four and a half years ago, and the real reason Emma was taken. To say Anna hadn’t taken it well was an understatement. But even in her anger, she couldn’t miss the regret in his voice, or the way he spoke about Emma – like she was the most precious thing in his world, even though he barely knew her. That, more than anything, made her hesitate.

Anna’s gaze darted to Russell, who was mindlessly unpacking one of the bags she’d hurriedly thrown together, then back to you.

With a reluctant sigh, she said, “I’ll leave you two to talk.” Her voice carried the weight of a thousand unspoken warnings, all of them aiming directly at Russell. “I brought the essentials,” she added, nodding toward the duffels by the door. “I’ll be outside. Need to call Mom and Dad anyway.”

“Thanks, Anna”

She gave you a small, tight smile and leaned over to press a gentle kiss to Emma’s forehead. Without another word, she stepped out of the room.

The door clicked shut, leaving you alone with Russell. The silence that followed wasn’t heavy, not this time.

Russell cleared his throat, abandoning the duffels mid-unpack, and shoved his hands deep into his pockets.

“Thank you” you said quietly, your voice softer than you’d expected.

“For what?” he asked quietly.

You didn’t have a specific answer, really. There was too much to thank him for.

Bringing you here to make sure you and Emma were safe, for one.

At the diner, he’d distracted Emma with soothing words and a little game – like connecting with her was the most natural thing in the world. That moment had surprised you, even warmed you.

And then, of course, there was the big thing. The thing that mattered most. He and his brother had risked their lives to save Emma. Your child. Your entire world.

Sure, he was partly the reason Emma had been in danger to begin with. But after everything, could you really hold that against him? Not more than you blamed yourself, anyway. He hadn’t even known about her, let alone that she could be used as a pawn to hurt him. That part? That was on you. You’d made the decision to keep quiet about your pregnancy, letting your own hurt and anger drown out better judgment.

Really, both of you had made mistakes. He hadn’t told you what his real job was. You hadn’t told him he was going to be a father. And now, here you were – two people who had made a mess, trying to pick up the pieces.

“How is she?” Russell asked, his gaze landing on Emma. His voice was steady, but you could hear the waves of guilt underneath like a howling ocean.

“She’s... okay” you said, letting out a breath that felt like it had been trapped in your chest for days. “Physically, at least. The rest? That’s going to take time.”

He nodded but his jaw worked like he was trying to grind his regret into dust. “She’ll get through this…She’s strong. Like her mom.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the unexpected warmth in his words. For a second, the fortress you’d built around yourself wavered.

Hell, who were you kidding? That thing had crumbled the second Emma was back in your arms.

“I don’t know about that” you admitted.

“I do” he said, stepping a little closer, careful. “I saw it. These last few days... you didn’t stop. You didn’t back down. Not even when I showed up and probably made everything ten times harder.”

Your chest tightened, and you glanced down at your hands. They were still trembling, like your body hadn’t gotten the memo that the worst was over.

“I was terrified, Russell. Every second, I thought I’d lost her. I thought I’d never see her again.”

“But you didn’t” he said, sitting beside you like he belonged there. After a beat of silence, he added, “Because you fought for her. And when it came down to it, we fought for her together.”

That last word hit you like a gentle nudge to the heart. Together. You lifted your eyes to meet his, and for the first time in longer than you cared to admit, you saw something there you hadn’t let yourself see before. Honesty. Regret. And maybe... hope?

“I don’t even know how to thank you” you said, your voice soft. “You and your brother. I don’t even know where to start. I can’t—”

“Don’t” he interrupted, shaking his head. “You don’t need to thank me. I just... I had to. For her. For you.”

Your throat tightened, and you had to blink a few times to keep the tears at bay. “You saved her, Russell. That means everything to me.”

He leaned forward, his hand hovering near yours, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to close the gap. “I’d do it again. A thousand times over.”

The silence between you stretched, but for once, it wasn’t awkward. It was thick with all the things neither of you were ready to say but couldn’t deny anymore.

Finally, you reached out and your fingers brushed his calloused hands. “Stay” you whispered. “We’ve got a lot to figure out, but... I’d like you to stay. At least until she wakes up.”

The corners of his lips tugged up slightly, almost like he wanted to smile but thought better of it.

“I can do that.”

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You can’t remember when or how you drifted off, and you certainly can’t remember how you got into the bed beside Emma’s. For a moment, you were completely disoriented, like a GPS that lost signal. Your ears perked up at the sound of the TV, the familiar sound of Don Messick’s voice echoing through the room like an old friend. Was that Scooby-Doo you were hearing? Had you and Emma watched so much of it that now your brain was hallucinating talking dogs in your sleep?

You slowly peaked one eye open, then the other, dopiness sweeping through your system. You had to blink a couple before the blurry sight became clear in front of you.

There was Emma, sitting up on her bed, her eyes glued to the hospital TV in the corner, watching a rerun of Scooby-Doo, Where Are You? She was making soft, nonsensical sounds that barely registered to you in your half-awake state. 

And next to her, there was Russell, lying on his side with his head propped up on one arm, also mumbling. Emma’s head was nestled against his torso, her small body curled up in a cozy little ball next to his as she clutched the Scooby plushie Anna must have packed for her. They were both completely absorbed in the episode, their voices blending together in what could only be described as an animated commentary on the show.

You tried to make sense of what they were saying, but their words were a jumble to you – intelligible to them, maybe, but not to your sleep-fogged brain.

It didn’t take long for you to recognize the episode they were watching: Decoy for a Dognapper.

Of course. Emma was a Scooby fan. You and her know all the episodes by heart at this point, so much that Scooby-Doo was practically a second language in your house. And it seemed like Russell had caught on too, or at least, he’d been swept into the Scooby-verse by default. The two of them were so wrapped up in their conversation, they didn’t even notice you were awake.

“No way! She won’t? Why not? A dog is awesome” Russell said, his voice carrying the first full sentence your foggy mind could grasp.

“She says I’m too young” Emma replied, snuggling closer to his side as though the injustice of it all was too much to bear.

“Too young? That’s ridiculous. What does that even mean?” Russell shot back, his tone scandalized for comedic effect. “Dogs don’t care how old you are. They care if you’ve got snacks and ear scratchin’ in store for them.”

Emma giggled. “Mom doesn’t wanna pick up poop.”

Russell tilted his head thoughtfully. “Well, if I remember correctly, your mom was seriously considering getting a dog a few years ago.”

At that, you sat up with a groan. “Really, Russell?” 

It was true, he and you both knew it. About five or so years ago, you’d gone on and on about adopting a dog – all the goddamn time. Russell had endured countless rants about breeds, shelters, and the pros and cons of pet ownership. Now, the smirk on his face told you he was thoroughly enjoying throwing it back in your face. Payback’s a bitch, huh?

Both of them turned to look at you. Emma with her wide-eyed, angelic innocence, and Russell with a grin that was downright infuriating in its smugness.

“Morning” he greeted, his grin widening. “We were just discussing the tragic lack of a dog in Emma’s life. Care to defend yourself?”

“Yeah, Mom!” Emma chimed in with an emboldened voice by her new ally. “Why can’t I have one?”

You rubbed your temples, though a smile tugged at your lips. “Because you’re too young, and I know exactly how that would end. I’d be the one walking it, feeding it, and cleaning up after it, dealing with everything.”

Russell raised a brow, looking way too amused. “Funny, you didn’t seem to mind the idea a couple of years ago.”

You shot him a pointed look. “Don’t make her think she has backup in this, Russ.”

“Too late” he said, leaning back with a grin. “Team Dog is officially in full force, yeah?”

Emma threw her hands in the air triumphantly, flashing you the biggest grin. “Team Dog!”

You groaned, but the warmth bubbling in your chest betrayed you. It wasn’t just the banter – it was seeing them like this, bonding over something silly, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Emma looked like a carefree kid again. 

You narrowed your eyes at Russell, fully expecting another smug remark when he suddenly looked... hesitant. He cleared his throat, shifting his weight on the bed like a man about to drop a bombshell.

“What?” you asked, immediately suspicious.

“Well” he started, scratching the back of his neck, “don’t freak out, but... your parents are here. They got here a couple hours ago while you were out. Anna called them, I guess. She must’ve worked her magic because, well... let’s just say I was fully prepared to be murdered the second they walked in.”

Your hand flew to your forehead as you groaned, visions of your parents tearing into Russell flashing through your mind.

You didn’t tell them about him being here yet… and you guess it was already too late.

Your dad would be loud about it, your mom quieter but somehow more terrifying. You could only imagine the list of grievances they had ready for him. You just hoped they didn’t cause a scene in front of the whole hospital – and most importantly, in front of Emma.

“Wait” you narrowed your eyes. “They’re not trying to kill you? What did Anna even say to make that happen?”

“I think she went with the ‘he saved Emma’ card. Pretty sure your mom’s exact words were, ‘Well, I suppose I won’t bury him under the hydrangeas... yet.’”

You couldn’t help it, you snorted. It was just so her. “Sounds about right. And dad?”

Russell winced theatrically. “Your dad... definitely gave me the look. You know, the one that says, ‘I’m debating whether you’re worth the jail time.’ But he hasn’t thrown any punches yet, so I’ll count that as a win.”

Emma tilted her head, a frown pulling at her lips. “Why does Grandma and Grandpa wanna hurt Russell? He’s so nice!”

The room went so quiet you could hear the faint hum of the hospital machinery. Russell froze, looking at you for backup, but you were too busy giving him a look – the universal signal for you started this, buddy, now deal with it.

“Well, sweetheart” he said slowly, scratching his head. “They don’t actually want to hurt me. It’s just... a joke. You know, like when people say they’re gonna kill someone, but they don’t really mean it?”

Emma gave him a serious look, like she wasn’t entirely convinced. “But why? What did you do?”

You sighed, realizing there was no easy way out of this. “Sweetie” you began gently, “it’s kind of a long story. But Grandma and Grandpa are just... protective. They’re not mad at Russell anymore. Or at least, not much.”

Emma’s curious gaze ping-ponged between the two of you. “Why?”

“Okay” you said, sitting on the edge of Emma’s bed and taking a deep breath. “The thing is... Russell didn’t do anything bad. Not really. It’s just... well, a long time ago, before you were born, Russell and I used to–”

“Date…” Russell interjected, apparently deciding to rip the band-aid off.

Emma’s eyes widened. “Date? Like boyfriend and girlfriend?”

“Yes” you admitted, your cheeks warming. “Like boyfriend and girlfriend.”

She stared at the two of you, her little brows furrowing as she processed this new information. Then her face lit up with excitement. “Were you married?”

“Whoa, whoa, pump the brakes” you said, holding up your hands. “No, we were not married. We just... used to be together.”

Emma tilted her head again, her expression now puzzled. “Then why are Grandma and Grandpa angry at Russell?”

Russell chuckled nervously. “It’s not as bad as it sounds, kiddo. They’re just... protective of your mom.”

“Very protective” you muttered. You took a deep breath, preparing for the big reveal. “Sweetheart, here’s the thing. After Russell and I stopped being boyfriend and girlfriend… I found out that you were already growing in my belly.”

Emma’s eyes widened to the size of saucers, her mouth forming a perfect O at your carefully selected words. “You mean… like when babies are in tummies?”

You were trying to keep your tone light as you nodded. “Exactly like that.”

Emma tilted her head, her little brow furrowed as she worked it out in her mind. “So… that means… Russell’s my daddy?”

Russell smiled, his heart visibly melting. “Yeah.”

Emma blinked at him, then at you, then back at him, as though she was piecing together the most important puzzle of her life. After a moment of silence, her face broke into a huge grin. “YAY! I have a daddy!”

Emma scooted closer to Russell, wrapping her arms around his neck in an enthusiastic hug. “You’re my daddy now! That means you have to stay forever!”

Russell’s eyes glistened, and he hugged her back tightly. “I’ll be here as much as I can, I promise.”

Emma pulled back slightly, her face lighting up with another burst of excitement. She turned her wide, sparkling eyes up at Russell. “Can we get a dog now, Daddy?”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Oh, for the love of – Emma!”

“What?” she said innocently, looking between you and Russell. “You said no before ‘cause it was just you! But now Daddy can help with the poop!”

Russell burst out laughing, clearly enjoying this too much. “She’s got a point, you know.”

You shot him a look that could have frozen water. “Don’t encourage her.”

“Team Dog!” Emma giggled and Russell ruffled her hair affectionately, somehow steering her to sit back down and continue their Scooby-Doo marathon.

Despite yourself, you took a deep breath, still trying to get your head around the unexpected turn of events.

This was... a lot.

But for some reason, it didn’t feel as overwhelming as it should. Sure, it had been a complete curveball to drop the whole Russell-is-your-dad bombshell, but Emma’s bright smile, the way she’d lit up at the news, somehow made it all feel like it could work.

As Emma giggled, you let out a sigh of relief. This wasn’t how you thought this conversation would go, but somehow, it was already starting to feel a little more like a family.

A very unusual family.

But a family nonetheless.

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Next on Tuesday's Gone (Sneak Peek from Chapter 8):

Still, Russell had clearly decided that proximity was his job. He was there nearly every day, and on more than a few nights, too. 

“Just in case” he’d say. You didn’t know, but he loved staying there when the both of you were sound asleep. During those times, he felt an indescribable peace. 

And then there was his latest obsession: fixing everything. It started innocently enough – he noticed a cabinet door hanging loose and gave it a quick tune-up. Then he spotted the wobbly bathroom doorknob. Before long, the guy was like a one-man Home Depot commercial, patching up squeaks and quirks you hadn’t even realized were annoying you.

And at first, you didn’t even notice. But one day, you walked into the kitchen, and something felt... off. Not bad-off, just different. Quieter. 

The cupboards didn’t bang shut anymore, the sticky drawer slid like butter, and that creaky floorboard by the living room? Silent. It was like Russell had decided that if he couldn’t fix all your problems, he’d settle for conquering your house.

And the worst part? It was kind of working.

━━━━━━━━━━✦✧✦━━━━━━━━━━━

I might have giggled all the way while writing it, or maybe I didn’t. But hey, Emma has a dad!

Chapter 8 coming soon...

🤍Taglist🤍

@bitchykittenconnoisseur @smoothdogsgirl @spnfamily-j2 @winchesterwild78 @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @zepskies @kr804573 @sebastianstangirl01 @kmc1989 @drakelover78 @amberlthomas @lomlbuckybarnes @n-o-p-e-never

[misspelledwordswizard]

Wind is the only one close to water, so naturally I will insist about sharing my hyperfixation with him about marine animals and I won't let him go until he tells me the names of the 3,350 tropical fish that exist

I must admit I could relate to this. I imagine Wind would love to talk about it!

— Oh, and orca whales are actually cetaceans, which makes them closer to dolphins than actual whales! – I spat another piece of information at the poor blond boy, who seemed interested in all these curiosities I was throwing into the air.

— Oh, really? I know someone called na Orca!

We’ve been sitting by the lake, with our feet in the water, for a while now. The poor boy was unlucky enough to be the closest to the subject that interests me the most, so now he’s having to deal with my hyperfixation wave, but he doesn’t really seem bothered by it. The Sailor was listening to me and complementing the facts I was dropping with things he’d experienced on his adventure.

— Have you ever seen a pufferfish? Their bodies are covered in spines and they inflate themselves to use them as a form of defense! – I said, puffing my cheeks out trying to demonstrate what I was saying.

— Hm, I can’t say I have, but maybe I’ve seen something similar!

It was nice to have someone to talk to about it. Wind was very patient, always listening to me and seeming interested in the subject, it’s fun to be able to talk to him like that. Maybe he only does it out of admiration for someone older, but it makes me happy anyway.

— Sharks are actually very calm! It’s very difficult for a shark attack to happen with real intentions, after all, people are not on their menu, they are just curious, and their way of finding out about things is by biting! – I said excitedly, these poor creatures of nature are always misunderstood and portrayed as villains. – I think that also explains why Prince Sidon is so nice...

— What a nerd- Ouch! – Legend said but was cut off by a pebble I threw at him, I ended up getting a dirty look because of it, and I made the Sailor laugh too.

— Anyway, where was I?

[before-it-felt-like-a-sin]

Thoughts/potential fic idea (if enough people want it)

Imagining being Nat's best friend and having feelings for her but resigning yourself to never having her because she's not into girls.

Jump to the crash, and Travis starts being just a complete dick to everyone, but especially you. Of course, Nat's defending you, telling Travis to fuck off.

Eventually he stops being as much of an ass, but you still don't like him because of his previous behavior. You do everything you can to stay away from him. Everyone knows about your dislike of Travis, especially Nat. No one blames you, and most some of the girls agree with you. You assume Nat does, too.

Until you find out that she's hooking up with him. You feel betrayed on so many levels. One, your best friend didn't tell you she was sort of dating him. Two, the girl you have a giant crush on is dating someone. Three, your best friend is fucking around with a guy who was a complete ass to you.

You pretend to be happy for her, but you start getting distant. Not talking to her as much, sleeping next to someone else at night. Not sitting with her at dinner.

Obviously, Nat notices this and brings it up, asking if you're jealous or something. The thing is, you are, but it's not of her. So you say no, that everything's fine. She pushes further, and you end up pissed, angry that she doesn't get why you're mad.

Once you tell her that it's (partly) because Travis was/is an asshole, it's her turn to be pissed. She's defending him, saying how nice he is to her. You fight about it, saying yeah, he may be nice to her now but he was an ass to everyone. And he still is kind of a dick to everyone else.

Fast forward to post-expedition, and Nat comes to you, apologizing for not listening and explaining what happened between her and Travis. It takes a few days, but you forgive her.

The two of you end up going to doomcoming together, completely platonically of course. You run off together (like she and Ben do in the show) and end up just catching up. When the shrooms hit, you're both giggling and for once, everything feels right again. (Imagining the other girls don't go feral on shrooms this time) Nat does cry over Travis a little, but it's a lot of anger and less real sadness over it.

You try to comfort her. telling her he never deserved her and that he's an ass. Then, Nat almost kisses you, but you stop her, telling her you don't want her to kiss you because she's high and missing Travis.

She looks hurt, but she understands. You tell her if she still wants to kiss you in the morning, you'll consider it. Trying to joke away the awkwardness. She laughs, and you move on. Eventually, you crash, falling asleep on the dirt of the forest.

The morning after can go one of two ways: You talk, really talk, and end up kissing. Or, she pretends to forget the whole thing.

[magiclwritings]

Cesare felt the air around him still and chill in the same stroke. His eyes narrowed on Quin and all the alcohol he'd drank felt as though it evaporated through every pore on his body. In that moment he couldn't understand the man's tone but he felt the rigidiness just the same. He hadn't done anything wrong. Not really. Had Beau confused him for a few moments? Yes. But nothing more had come of that. And once the prince found out who he was and what he was doing, it wasn't difficult to deduce the rest. But clearly Quintus wasn't ready or willing to do that yet and he'd have to explain in a way that didn't seem as though he were trying to defend the other to him. Wasn't he just the one being made to be made?

"I don't think it's difficult to understand that someone in his line of work." He paused, staring pointedly at the other for a moment before he continued. "Don't always receive the best treatment. And knowing the man that was pulling his strings." Which was partly a lie. Cesare didn't know their uncle well. Or, as well as he'd thought he had. In all the years he'd ventured to the castle in Vivec alone and in his father's tow, he'd never had Richard treat him poorly. The odd comment here and there, with more frequency as he'd grown closer to Quin, but never would he have guessed he was a power hungry man, hell bent on dethroning his own nephews at any cost. "I didn't think it was such a jump to assume that some of what has happened with you may also have happened with him." His brow raised and he sighed out, not ready to admit the next part. "Because you do look similiar enough that I imagine whatever he he wanted to say or do to you he often took out on Beau instead when the opportunity didn't present itself with you."

The prince stretched himself out on his bed, leaning back against the headboard. There it is. The soft, fuzzy feeling of the meade found him again and he breathed out slowly. "You've never told me the extent of what happened with ... Richard." He started, crossing his ankles over each other and his hands folded over and laid against his lap. It was hard to hear that name in his own voice. Until that moment he was fairly certain they'd never uttered his name between themselves. But the threat was very real and not using his name made it feel like he was bigger than they, and that simply could never be in Cesare's opinion. "Beau wasn't kind when he said it." He started, his fingers itching to dig into anything to make this less painful to speak about, less painful to watch Quintus' face when he'd finally gotten it out. "But I started putting it together. The way you don't like to be touched and how you're constantly on top of everything and everyone." He gave a slight shake of his head because honestly this did nothing but show just how strong this man on the bed was to him. And should be to everyone. "He only confirmed the missing piece that I'd been guessing at."

Cesare's tongue swiped along his lips to keep them from drying out completely. "Please don't take my kindness towards him as anything but that." He swallowed hard and fought himself on what he was about to say next but he thought better than to hide it. "When I first came upon Beau in what were suppose to be your quarters I couldn't be sure it was you. The room was too dark." The contents of his stomach churned and he felt odd enough to shift his weight. "He shared a kiss or two but nothing more than that." His cheeks instantly flared to the bright redness of coals and he found himself wanting to sink completely into the mattress. "I realized he wasn't you and threatened him within an inch of his life to get me to you and when that didn't work." He sighed and shrugged again. "I just tried to treat him like a person." He paused, seeing the snide comment coming quick but he cut Quin off before it could be made. "He wants to live. Free. Just like you and I. Just like everyone else. I couldn't imagine the sort of life one leads pretending to be someone else. Never having anything that is truly your own." Cesare gave a slight shake of his head and breathed out through his nose. "I just didn't want to be the sort of person that sees someone in a bad position regardless of their own involvement and not do anything to help. I've never been that way and I won't start now." He was firm on that whether Quin liked it or not. He could only hope his honesty didn't cost him everything else in the process.

Beau didn’t deserve anything, especially from Quintus, and as he rolled over to tell Cesare just that, he stopped being cold in his movements. 

He survived not great things too. 

Quin’s body went cold at the words, eyes narrowing as he read them for what they were. It could mean that Cesare knew, but he was many things, and a great actor was not one of them. He believed if Cesare knew about his past with his uncle, he would not be able to contain himself. His future husband would go through all of the stages of grief knowing that any kind of physical harm had come to Quintus, especially at such a young age. He could have simply meant all of the other horrors his uncle had committed, but that was banking on the idea that Cesare hadn’t made the connection regarding what Beau was to Quin’s uncle. 

It was challenging to decide if he wanted to press it when he couldn’t determine precisely what Cesare knew. If he did know, Quin would have to live with the stain of his uncle tainting their relationship, potentially ruining their future wedding plans. If he didn’t realize, Quin would be serving the truth to him on a silver platter. 

He sat up as Cesare came over with the tray. He only ate what was handed to him because he didn’t want Cesare to comment on his lack of appetite. Quin ate slowly, chewing meticulously, but everything tasted like ash, and with every bite, he had to force himself to swallow. It was like chewing nails. He listened to Cesare’s words, looking up from the dried fruit in his hands to study his expression. If there was ever a time Quintus wished he could read minds, it was this moment. 

He wanted to share Cesare’s excitement about having both Avenicci brothers under the same roof and look forward to experiencing Adros with Cesare, but Quin was that kind of man. He couldn’t let things go; he couldn’t ignore the possibility that Cesare may know and wasn’t admitting it. 

“What did you mean,” He said slowly, carefully. He ripped the piece of fruit in his hand to shreds, flicking the bits of skin off on the tray. “Earlier.’ Quintus glanced up at Cesare, gaze scanning over his face. “When you said ‘He survived not great things too’?” Quin raised a brow, waving his hand flippantly. “He was playing a role for my uncle. Pretending to be me, he agreed to go to trial disguised as me to plead guilty. While I was locked in my room and drugged constantly,  he had the run of the castle and could come and go as he pleased.  Anything he wanted was given to him as long as he played by my uncle’s rules, which he did so eagerly. So I suppose I’m just confused about what horrors he faced that you have been made aware of. He’s faced enough to warrant you saving and smuggling him out of the country. So please, do share."

[unfortunate--moth]

Makoto truly is The Character Ever. He wears a silly mask, and has a collection of other silly masks. He rode in on a balloon to rescue the main cast. He sometimes bathes fully clothed. He's the main antagonist. He's the CEO of a mega corporation. He kidnaps criminals from around the world and mass produces them into meat buns. He has two completely made up backstories for his mask. He sent the detectives a video of a fake terrorist attack. He rebuilt an entire submarine perfectly. He drives a luxury car with no license. He's 4'11". He caused the nonstop rain in Kanai Ward. One of his likes is raw ham. He's technically a three year old. He's a homunculus clone of the main character, who is considered the world's greatest mind.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Hello Madam. Sorry Madam.

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