#celebrity twin filter

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 6

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a (!) player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, you get your very own samantha from her (2013) lol, time skips as a plot device!, this has an arc i promise, if anybody here plays disco elysium you’ll find that i took concepts of “the pale” as inspo at some points in this chapter lmao A/N: Oof this one’s a little longer than any of the previous chapters. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! <3 (and just a heads up, this might be the last chapter I post before I kick it off for the holidays. advance happy holidays! if you guys celebrate that sort of thing.) 

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10 - Epilogue

There’s a quiet stillness brought by the morning after that makes the problems of a heavier night seem like a fairly distant memory. 

For at least a few minutes past the moment you blink away the stubborn grit in your eyes – you don’t remember the last time you’ve been this well-rested in ages – you lie, listless, on the soft powder-blue bedding of your twin-size mattress, watching specks of dander and dust drift from the amber sunlight that filters through the cracked panes of the casement window. 

It floats aimlessly; unhurried. Much like you.

The echo of last night’s events return to you in sporadic flashes—fragmented and unsteady. The whispered exchanges, the playful banter between you and your unlikely conversation partner play back in your mind, like some half-finished supercut. 

And the more you recall, the more awake you feel, chipping away the last traces of daytime lethargy weighing you down. 

“So, what happens now?”

The sound of a car backfiring breaks through from the outside, like a starting pistol signalling the beginning of another day. A familiar, heavy weight presses against your side, and you thread your fingers through the scraggly fur of the purring feline who’s taken the empty space on your left, just above the covers. 

You breathe in deeply, closing your eyes. 

“I wish I had an answer—I’m still trying to figure that out myself.”

You realize how many questions still linger, a lot more left unanswered. Far more than what you were able to glean, at least. From what little you’ve learned, an entirely new moral dilemma emerges—one you never imagined you'd have to contend with. 

There’s a lot of things you’ve never expected to happen. Yet here you are. 

“Seems we’re at an impasse.” 

It’s an odd thing in itself. You keep waiting for the disbelief to catch up, for a shred of sanity to surface and make you reject the situation you’ve found yourself entangled in. You should be feeling the same, pesky feelings that pulled you sharply out of your flight of fancy last night; a sense of trepidation for what lies ahead in this precarious game of two. 

But instead, you’re here. Now fully awake, and already looking forward to the day with wary acceptance. Looking forward to resuming where you’ve left off with that charming anomaly who’s upended your world, and left you suspended in an exhilarating limbo of uncertainty and excitement.

“...Indeed.”

You crave it—like the first stirrings of a neophyte druggie teetering on the edge of an irreversible habit. 

You need another hit. 

“Why the long face, little dove?”

Because if desire could manifest into being, it would’ve been Sylus. 

“We can figure this out together, can’t we?” 

You pick up your phone. 

––––

“You’re here? Make yourself at home.” 

You look at him, deadpan. He looks back at you serenely. 

Your voice takes on a dry monotone when you respond, “Keep talking like that, I’m about to cum.” 

There’s a shocked silence; then—

Sylus barks out a surprised laugh, immediately breaking character. 

You snort. “Good morning to you too, I guess.” 

He meets your gaze with a look of scandalized amusement, his smile wide enough to flash teeth. 

"Good morning, indeed."

––––

You two fall into a natural rhythm even before the day comes to a close. Perceptive as he is, Sylus hasn’t let you linger in the unease left over from last night any longer than necessary; which to say, should be left buried and forgotten, past its provenance. 

“So you could, like– hypothetically, top up my ascension materials… indefinitely?” There’s a manic shine to your eyes when you confront him back at the home screen, gleeful and triumphant after you boost almost all the 5-star cards you have of him up to max level. “Like an infinite glitch?” 

He’s content to just simply listen to your excited chatter from his languid perch on the seat, one palm resting against the side of his face as he watches you, half-lidded and relaxed. Utterly entertained by your antics.

The slight twitching of his mouth, the subtle tilt of his head… each minute shift in his expression makes a whole world of difference from the version you’ve known him longest—almost a lifetime ago. 

Now he acts so human, so alive, that it’s almost unreal. 

(It’s almost imperceptible, but you swear the air also feels different; like the pixelated space around him is bending, stretching, to accommodate this newer him.) 

“Sure,” he shrugs, lips quirking up into a half-smile as he notices the deep crease forming between your brows. 

He knows the question you’re about to ask, curious thing that you are.

“How, though? Like, what are ‘materials’ to you?” You make air quotes with your fingers, making you appear all the more endearing to him look at, in your process to make sense of a world that’s unfamiliar to you.

“Think of it as upgrades,” Sylus explains patiently. “You place the order to modify the equipment I use, in whichever situation calls for it.”

“And Memory Cards?”

“... A video reel, maybe. Or a restricted case file—locked until you’ve got enough to trade for the information you want.”

“And I suppose the dealer in question here is you?”

He arches an eyebrow. “Who else?”

“Huh,” you say, considering. “So, Deepspace Trials. That’s something you do on the daily? Because I… make you?”

“More or less.”

“And you never thought to question that?” 

“Mm, maybe I’ll start charging for my services this time around.”

You roll your eyes, already accepting his analogy for what it is. “Oh, please. With the amount of money I’ve spent on this game, consider yourself paid in full.” 

––––

You were right about your earlier prediction—this new Sylus in combat mode is something else. 

For starters, he’s a lot chattier.

“Ouch, kitten– don’t charge in like that.”

“Why are you using a sword? Don’t you like the guns I’ve given you specifically for this?” 

“What are you waiting for? Make her resonate with me now.” 

And, instead of sticking to his lines and responding to whatever the MC’s programmed to say during battle, he focuses on whatever you’re fussing over—no matter how… moronic it is.

“Ah, fuck! I hate that spinning thing!” 

“Move, then. Let me handle it.” 

“Block it, block it!”

“I would, if you weren’t halfway across the field. Stick closer to your partner next time, yeah?” 

He doesn’t say any of his usual lines. Nothing from his scripted prompts. When all Wanderers are defeated, there’s no post-battle banter between him and the MC. 

“Goddamn, you’re strong!” You whoop giddily, completely energized by straight winning almost twelve Orbit trials in a row. I guess that’s what a fully awakened Solar pair gets you, huh? 

Sylus lets out a chuckle, infected by your enthusiasm. He doesn’t sound the least bit winded, despite all the damned fighting you’ve put him through.

“We make a good team,” he allows. And because he likes the little nose scrunch you do when you’re annoyed— “Although your dodging really needs more practice, sweetie.” 

Before you could think of a comeback, the pop-up window for the next stage comes up. Ass.

––––

Come Monday morning and you’re once again swamped with work. 

You barely have enough time to scrounge something up for lunch—if it weren’t for the persistent reminders from Sylus, chiming in every five minutes once the digital clock on your phone had hit eleven-thirty, you’d probably skip eating altogether.

And make something else than just boiling a pot of instant ramen, sweetheart. You’re on track for an early grave at this rate. 

“I could… add an egg?” You suggest, unsure. “Maybe cut up some tofu, make it gourmet?”  

He doesn’t even dignify the egg suggestion with a response. Tofu’s a good start. Now, what else do you have in your pantry that has nutritional value? 

“I despise that,” you mutter, but start rifling through the cupboards anyway. 

After amassing enough ingredients—or what looks more like a sad pile—that might, with some effort, turn into something healthier than your usual go-to fix, you start Googling recipes online.

‘tofu easy lunch recipe’

‘10 mins tofu recipes’   

‘begginer recipe using tofu frozen dory mixed veg—’ Ping!

… Really, kitten? 

You don’t even have to see him to know he’s giving you that look, the one that’s practically dripping with judgment over your dubious life choices. 

(You know it all too well. Personally, in fact. You see it on some relatives' faces at the family get-togethers you’re always required to attend.) 

Great. Heat creeps up your face as you mumble defensively, “Stop. Not everyone’s a culinary genius, okay?”

After that, he lets you be – something you’re thankful for, really. He’s being too distracting anyway. 

Swallowing down the–stubborn and suffocating–embarrassment that's now stuck in your throat, you keep scrolling through Tasty dot co, praying you can whip up something edible with what (little) you have. You’re fully aware that you’re a grown-ass woman who can’t manage a basic life skill and that you’re probably about to burn down your kitchen—

Another notification pops up.

Pull up your tabs, sweetie. I think you’ll find something there that we could put together easily.

Confused, you do as he says. Sure enough, four tofu-related recipes are neatly grouped together in your Chrome browser, ready to be tried and tested.  

Your eyes widen. “Wait—you did this? How?”

He doesn’t answer your question. He does, however, offer: Want me to coach you through it? Cooking’s more fun done with a partner, I’d say. 

-

-

In the end, you manage to make something that tasted way better than you thought you could do by yourself. You have him to thank for that.

“You happy with it?” Sylus asks, grinning at the satisfied look on your face.

“Mhm!” you hum around a mouthful of food. “Fanks, Sy.”

“Anytime, darling.”

––––

“Do you really have to call me ‘kitten’? You sound like a Discord mod.” 

Sylus has no idea what a Discord mod is, but judging by the contempt in your voice, it’s clear that you’re not giving him a compliment.

"What do you prefer, then? Princess? Poppet? Sweet thing?" He pauses, tilting his head. "Baby?"

You blush and look away. "...Ugh, whatever. Kitten's fine."

––––

Your routine with Sylus settles into a seamless, effortless flow as the days go by; it’s almost second nature, talking to him. So much so that you’d think nothing could faze you anymore.

Well. Almost nothing. 

A message bubble from an unknown number appears on your lock screen: Hi, sweetheart. X

You almost ignore it – brushing it off as some dumb prank from a bored rando – when, not even five seconds later, another text pops up. 

+0063-XXXXXX: Its Sylus.

… Huh? 

“Is someone fucking with me right now, or…” 

+0063-XXXXXX: Nobodys ‘fucking with you,’ kitten. 

Then–

+0063-XXXXXX: Send a reply so I can see how it shows up on my end.

Your jaw drops. “Holy shit– you can text?? How are you doing that?” and, “Did you just cuss...?” 

+0063-XXXXXX: 👍

+0063-XXXXXX: And Ill let you know if you text me the question 🙄

So you do. You tack on a now spill?? at the end for good measure. 

You watch the “typing…” bubble appear, holding your breath.

+0063-XXXXXX: Its a complex mix of technical code and harnessing the energy from a dormant protofield Ive discovered, just south of Vagrants Land.  

+0063-XXXXXX: The energy I got from it felt different somehow from your normal protofield. I figured I could put it to good use. 

+0063-XXXXXX: Oddly enough, theres an… indescribable effect to oneself when youre nearing the centre of disturbance, shall we say. 

+0063-XXXXXX: I can only decrypt the waveforms by the rarefield border surrounding the AoR. Any further and Im afraid the adverse effects may do more harm than good.

+0063-XXXXXX: But if amplified, it seems responsive to the filament of what connects your signal from deep space to this planet.

+0063-XXXXXX: Who knew it could act as a transmitter to send you something as rudimentary as a telegraph? 

… Sometimes you forget how smart Sylus really is. 

You: that’s pretty amazing ?? wtf sylus  

+0063-XXXXXX: I get by OK. 

You could practically feel his smugness radiating from those four words. You scoff, shaking your head in a mix of awe and begrudging admiration.

He sends two more messages. 

+0063-XXXXXX: Im just glad we can communicate through other means, sweetie. 

Sy-Sy (??): Now save my number. Sy Sy will suffice 😉

––––

Since your latest discovery that Sylus can now text (!!), you’ve been talking to him outside the game non-stop. It’s like talking to a very active friend who never leaves you on read, and you couldn’t be more ecstatic. 

You: so no one else in ur universe knows anything abt ur situation?

You: no one else acting funny or sumn ? >.>

Sy-Sy (??): None that I know of, no. I prefer to keep it under wraps. 

Sy-Sy (??): Now that you mention it, Mephisto has been acting quite suspicious lately. 

You: ?? suspicious-suspicious or just reg suspicious??

Sy-Sy (??): Hes with his other crow friends now. They might be attempting a murder. 

You: ………. is that…. supposed 2 be a joke……….

Sy-Sy (??): Im running on 3 hours of sleep, give me a break.   

Sy-Sy (??): Also your textspeak is horrendous, sweetie. 

"Um, hello–?" 

Your gaze snaps back to the—very real, very present—person sitting across from you at the table, sporting box-dyed blue hair and a frown. You're at the Annex House; a sleek, new-age Japandi-style bar downtown, just an easy five stations away from your place. You both decided to try it for their infamous Rotten Apple cocktail and, of course, your weekly catch-up.

Khol, your friend of eight years since college, is currently giving you a mildly annoyed look.

Oops. 

They point at you accusingly while complaining, "Ugh, we don’t use our phones when we’re hanging out! That’s the rule!"

You smile at them, sheepish, pocketing your phone as discreetly as you could. “I know, I know. Sorry.” 

Then, puffing out your cheeks, you meekly ask, “You were talking about Anna...?”

They roll their eyes but go over the gossip a second time, much to your benefit. Phew.

Your phone vibrates. Twice. 

…

You sneak a quick, final peek.

Sy-Sy (??): Enjoy your night out, darling ❤️ 

Sy-Sy (??): You let me know when youre back home, OK? 

Biting back a grin, you send out one last text in reply. 

You: will do !:9 

Sy-Sy (??): Good girl. 

––––

"Um–so this is my cat, Maru," you say by way of introduction, holding the plump, orange tabby in front of your phone that’s propped up against a carton of Koko Krunch. There’s a slight struggle in lifting his left paw between your fingers to wave at the man on the other side of the screen. "Say hi, Maru."

“Hello, Maru,” Sylus greets amicably in return, watching the both of you with clear amusement in his eyes. “Care to tell me the origin of this proud beast?” 

You recount the story where you’ve first seen Maru five years ago, nothing more than a scraggly little runt at the time, hiding in the gap between a dumpster and the interstice of a cragged wall. You were walking home from a night out drinking with your uni buddies, when you heard the incessant meowing. 

It drew you in like a siren’s call. If the siren in question had the vocal prowess of a warbling whale on the brink of death.

Upon closer inspection, the grimy fluffball revealed a stubby, crooked tail and wide, beady eyes. In your alcohol-fueled haze, you briefly wondered if you were staring at a tiny ginger rat.

“Well, it’s definitely all cat,” your friend Bee declared by noon the following day, calmly retracting a scratched and bloodied hand from the disgruntled feline, which promptly hissed and darted right back under the bed.

You hummed in agreement, passing her a wad of tissue. 

"I couldn’t decide between Nospurratu and Catpin Meow," you say matter-of-factly, giving your capricious son a scritch under his chin. "Bee suggested I stick to something simpler, like Maru. Hence the name."

Your explanation is punctuated by an offended nip on your pointer finger. 

Sylus is covering his mouth, but nods solemnly. “I think Maru is a nice name.” 

There’s a moment where the two seem locked in a silent standoff, neither breaking eye contact nor making any sort of outward reaction. Just as you’re about to step in and interrupt the bizarre staring contest, Maru gives a slow, deliberate blink.

Sylus takes it as a sign of victory—or perhaps a ceremonial seal of approval.

 With a faint smirk on his lips, he offers the cat a small bow in respect.

––––

You’ve practically emptied the entire arcade of plushies – enough to put it out of business if it were actually, you know, real – and you’re bored to tears. 

“Another round of Kitty Cards, perhaps?” Sylus suggests, but a single glance at your face is enough to let him know that you’d rather gnaw off your own hand. Or his. He might just let you.

Sighing dramatically, you complain about the limited playability of the “mini-games” in-game.

“There’s literally nothing else to do. Same old shit, over and over again.” There’s a pout on your face that Sylus wants to nibble on, not that you’re aware of the forming thoughts in his head. “No new banners. I’m stuck between Kitty Cards and the claw machines... I’m bored, Syyyyy,” you whine, stretching the last syllable for effect.  

To be fair, he has tried to make it a bit more challenging for you. He stopped fucking around during Kitty Cards – no more extra two cards in exchange for one of yours, no longer placing different colored kitties deliberately in the wrong cups. 

After six straight losses, your frustration is palpable. The fun is gone.

He makes audible commentaries during each of your six tries at the claw machine. Every time you manage to snag a plushie, he praises you for a job well done (It flusters you, not that he needs to know that). When your luck runs out and you grab onto nothing but air, he wryly points it out through some slight ribbing, but nothing that’s actually hurtful (This flusters you too—again, not that he needs to know any of this).   

There’s nothing else to do. It’s like you’ve exhausted all you could in this small, curated window of his that you’re privy to. If only there’s a way to leave the mini-games behind, to do something new, perhaps outside of what the game has to offer…

Oh, wait. 

“Hey, Sy,” you call the man to attention. “Wanna try something out?” 

-

-

You beat him at Words with Friends by a small margin.

“Ha! That’s thirty-nine points, buddy.” You crow proudly, after putting down Devotees in a straight column.

He eviscerates you at Zynga Poker. 

“... How are you so good at this??” 

“Comes with the package, sweetie,” he says with faux-modesty after revealing (yet another!!) full house, winking like he hasn’t just wiped the floor with you.

By the end of it, both of you are in high spirits—except, maybe, for your bruised ego.

––––

“Say my name, say my name… If no one is around you, say baby I love you…”

“It’s nice to know that we have another thing in common, little dove.”

 

It takes you a moment to process what he’s implying. 

You stop singing, affronted. “Wh—how dare you.” 

––––

“Are you having fun?” Sylus asks, his tone droll as he stands there, hands on his hips and a small scowl on his face. You’re too busy spinning him around, thoroughly entertained by the number of outfits and accessories you’ve forced upon your slightly reluctant model in the photoshoot that's currently taking place.

It’s more amusing, knowing that he’s fully-aware of what’s happening. And that you know he’s aware of what’s happening. 

He’s like your personal, sentient Ken doll; if Ken had ashy grey hair, red eyes, and a mercurial attitude.

“I am, actually,” you shoot back, grinning as you plop a tomato stuffie on top of his head. “Look, you two match!” 

He exhales a long-suffering sigh, shaking his head in mock exasperation.

Not that it stops you. Fluffy bunny ears, a fish headband, an uncharacteristic halo—you’re relentless. “Hey, can you try a different pose?”

“That depends on the pose… and how nicely you ask.”

“Dear Sylus,” you sing, jutting your bottom lip forward and fluttering your eyelashes exaggeratedly, “could you please, pretty please, flip the camera off?”

He snorts but obliges, raising his hand to deliver the most effortlessly cool middle finger you’ve ever seen. “Happy?”

Woah. That’s… hot. “Oh! Uh. Yeah. Yeah, that’s—”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by your reaction. You giggle nervously. “You look… hot.”

“Mm?” His smirk grows, teasing and predatory. “What was that?”

“Nothing!” you blurt out, but the pinking of your cheeks betrays you. He’s definitely enjoying this now.

“I could be convinced to do another one,” he murmurs, voice pitching a little lower.

You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting the urge to say the first thing that comes to mind. Stop, you whore. 

Your nerves get the best of you. Without thinking, you switch to putting the MC back on screen. 

Sylus blinks, red eyes narrowing as he looks at you, perplexed. 

“Uh,” you shift your gaze between her frozen stance and his idle figure. The sudden silence hangs a little heavy in the air. “Would–would you like to do poses? With her?”

He opens his mouth, an automatic response—but he stops, expression flickering into something unreadable. Confusion? Hesitation? 

His brows knit together, and for a short while, he just studies you, the space between you thick with unspoken questions. 

“Do you want me to?” he asks finally, his voice quieter, almost careful.

No–I don’t want you to— To pose with someone who looks so-–

perfectperfectperfect by your side—I only want to see you—

I want to see you––

Why do I care–?

I don’t care––I care, I care so much–– 

“Why not?” you choke out, the forced cheer in your voice grating even to your own ears. You shrug, nonchalant in all the ways you’re not. “I’ll dress her up real nice, and then—” You slap a pink bow onto his head. “You can try to keep up.” 

He doesn’t move, not paying the offending accessory any attention. His gaze is solely locked onto yours. 

I don’t care. I don’t. 

You take the first shot. 

____

“What’s the song you’re playing?”

You pause mid-mop, cocking your head to the side in slight surprise. 

“Uhh– Pedestal,” you answer unsurely. “By Portishead. You like it?” 

He hums, eyes glinting with interest. “I do. Play the rest.” 

And just like that, you’re introducing Sylus to modern twenty-first century music—and to Spotify.

____

From that point on, Sylus begins using your Spotify account to discover a whole new world of music—quite literally, in his case. Sometimes he steals the control from you, overriding what you’re currently listening to, just to hear the most random track play from your speakers.

In the middle of a mundane afternoon while you're completely locked in at work—hyperpop synths blaring in your ears—you’re suddenly jolted by the sound of heavy mandolins as an honest-to-god Russian military march blasts through your headphones, shattering your focus like a damn rhino in a china shop. 

And so with the level of patience that could put the Virgin Mary to shame, you painstakingly explain to your friend the courtesy of not stealing the proverbial AUX cord from the “driver,” especially when it’s their turn on the radio. 

The two of you reach a compromise, and thus the birth of your “shared” playlist. Sylus reluctantly agrees to explore on his own time—when you’re not using the app. Like when you’re busy with other things. Or when you're asleep. 

-

-

-

You wake up to the first strings of a Muse song. One of your favorites, in fact. 

Sy-Sy (??): Good morning, sweetie. 

Sy-Sy (??): Last night was enlightening. I have you to thank for that.

Sy-Sy (??): Oh, and I hope you could indulge me. I added some songs to our playlist. I think youll like them. We both seem to have a thing for alt-rock.

Sy-Sy (??): Give me time and Im sure Ill acquire a taste for electronic music too. Be patient. 

You huff out a laugh, lazily rolling over as you check your shared playlist. Sure enough, there’s twelve new songs on it.   

You: awe that’s great sy :)) and these songz r rly good !! u got sum of my faves here

You: based on what u like maybe u can try looking up sum david bowie, probz massive attack idk 

You: i’ll add stuff later for u to listen 2!!! <2

You: <3* 

Sy-Sy (??): Alright, sweetheart. Im looking forward to it. 

Sy-Sy (??): ♥️

____

From the outside, the studio is just another unit among endless rows of dull grey—small and unassuming. Tucked away on the sixth floor of a nondescript building, it’s built as unremarkable as the rest.

Through a window stained with a mix of corrosive ochre and burnt sienna, there’s a quiet hum; the presence of something that wasn’t there a week ago. Life has shifted, ever so subtly, from an oppressive achroma to a much warmer vibrancy.  

There’s a faint hint of movement. Inside, the young woman wears an almost-permanent smile, her phone an extension of her hand as she taps away with no semblance of rhyme nor rhythm—only in a continuous staccato. Her eyes are locked on the screen, as if drawn by an invisible force.

It’s elusive; this connection. Something beyond. Supranatural. It weaves through the room like whispered secrets shared in the dead of the night, beneath a city blanketed in deep ultramarine. Soft, like a wind brushing through a still everglade. 

The apartment, once steeped in a self-inflicted solitude – one that went by unnoticed for a long period of time – comes alive as an intangible presence fills its nooks and crannies with the steady warmth of companionship. There’s a gentle heat to the space now, like the glow of an invisible hearth. 

The flickering of the string lights, the muted laughter shared with a voice through the tinny speakers of a handheld device, a slight signal interference… all feel like the genesis of an impossible story.

Outside, the evening sky is fading into twilight.

And as one looks out onto the street below from the sixth floor window, it’s almost as if the world outside doesn’t quite matter anymore. 

Inside, the air is full of life, in ways it has never been. 

____

“Come to me, just in a dream

Come on and rescue me

Yes, I know I can be wrong

And maybe you’re too headstrong

Our love is––”

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @i2sannie @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @slyfoxtsu @beomluvrr @milkandstarlight @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @tinyweebsstuff @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean

(if..... for some damn reason..... the tags still don't work i rly don't know what i'm doing wrong T_T i'm posting this from a macbook is that it, is the ghost of steve jobs fucking with me rn)

[lqveharrington]

Every Year in Greece? | F.W.

summary: after ten years of marriage, you and Fred find yourselves celebrating in Greece with your family.

pairing: dad!fred weasley x mom!reader

includes: PURE FLUFF, reader is implied pregnant at the end

a/n: I’m about to be free of all stress after March 8, so the posting should be consistent very soon!!

Love is absolutely endless. No matter how, where, or who falls in love, it was always bound to come. In your life, it came the second you met Fred Weasley in your first year at Hogwarts. Maybe it didn’t occur to you straight away that he was the true love of your life, but you knew as time went on.

Now it was your ten-year wedding anniversary.

This year, your family had collectively agreed to celebrate in Greece, with the added surprise of Molly and Arthur joining to watch over your two troublemakers—children you and Fred loved with every piece of your hearts.

Sunlight filtered through the white curtains, casting a golden glow over the room where you and Fred lay tangled beneath soft sheets. His head rested in the crook of your neck, warm breath fanning against your skin as you lazily traced patterns into the freckled expanse of his back. The world outside was quiet save for the distant sound of waves lapping against the shore. Peace. Pure, perfect peace.

Until it wasn’t.

With a burst of energy only Weasley twins possessed, the door slammed open. The newly appointed Weasley twins—Jane and Henry—launched themselves onto the bed with gleeful squeals, sending Fred jolting upright, hair tousled and eyes bleary.

“M’sorry, lovey,” you mumbled and pressed a kiss to his head as he groaned in mock agony. You reached for the two lively children, pulling them into your arms. “Now how did you two escape Nana and Papa?”

“They were busy making breakfast for us!” Jane answered with a bright grin, laughter filling the air when Fred began to tickle her. She squealed, squirming in your arms. “Daddy!”

You chuckled softly before turning your head toward Henry, his laughter quieter than his twin’s. You nudged your chin to his forehead, earning his attention. “Are you excited to head to the beach, Henry?”

He shifted in your arms and nodded, his browns eyes—the same one’s his father had—sparkling with excitement. “Yes! I’m gonna build the biggest sandcastle in the world! It’s gonna be bigger than the Burrow!”

Fred’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, Jane now in his arms and messing with his hair. “Bigger than the Burrow? Mate, we better get to the beach now before other people begin taking all the sand!”

Henry’s mouth fell agape, voice coming out as loud as his father’s. “People do that?”

You suppressed your laughter as Fred dramatically described his story about his vacation to Egypt when he was fifteen—slipping out of bed to get for the day for Godric knows how long the twins will encourage their father to keep talking.

By the time you exited the bathroom with the white sundress Fred bought you just for Greece and hair pulled back—still styled perfectly like usual—Henry was sitting crisscrossed on your side of the bed still listening to his father while Jane finished another braid in his hair. As always, Fred remained unbothered by anything his children did to his hair, especially the braids his daughter adorned him with.

“—And your uncle Georgie and I could’ve trapped your uncle Perce in the tomb when…” Fred trailed off as he saw you step out of the bathroom and began to pack for the beach. His eyes scanned your figure before meeting your eyes, your warmed cheeks saying unspoken things. “Bloody hell, your mum’s gorgeous.”

At the mention of their mother’s return, the twins whipped their heads in your direction, clambering over the bed to race into your loving arms one more. You stumbled at the sudden impact and held them close, your smile absolutely blinding to Fred.

“You two need to get out of your jammies and into beach clothes,” you squeezed their shoulders and ushered them out of the room swiftly, tilting your head out the doorway to ensure they made it to their room before turning back to Fred. “You need to change too, Weasley.”

Snapping out of his quiet daze, he finally stood and stretched like a lion, freckles that were scattered across his body practically glittering from the rays of sunlight. He met your stern look—the one where you narrowed your eyes at him with your hands on your hips—and placed a large hand on your waist, pulling you close to him.

Keeping your facade up, you bite your tongue in hopes of not letting a smile slip through. However, nothing ever gets past Fred Weasley’s careful eye.

“I suppose,” he murmured and tilted his head down to meet your eyes properly, squeezing your hip softly.

You subconsciously wet your lips and flit your eyes down to his inviting lips—instantly lifting them back to meet his teasing eyes. “Better hurry if you want to help Henry make his sandcastle.”

Fred hummed and thumbed your waist, “Sure.”

Finally giving in, you wrapped your arms around his neck as a loving smile adorned your face, pushing on your toes to be closer. You play with the hair in your reach, twirling the red hair in between your fingers. “I love you, Fred Weasley. I hope you know that.”

He grinned and closed the distance between the two of you, pressing a tender kiss to your lips and pulling you impossibly closer to him. Fred deepened the kiss ever so slightly before pulling away, leaving you in a daze and wanting more.

“I love you a helluva lot more,” he looked between your eyes and slowly release you from his hold. “I’ll see you in a minute, gorgeous.”

“You make me swoon,” you tease lightly as you moved around him to exit the room, jokingly glaring at him when he smacked your ass on the way out.

The morning sun continued to stream through the windows as the Weasley family gathered around the kitchen table, the air filled with the tantalizing aroma of Molly’s famous pancakes and Arthur’s perfectly brewed tea. Jane and Henry were already seated in front of their breakfast with the kind of enthusiasm only children could muster, syrup somehow already smeared across their cheeks when their father entered the kitchen.

And indeed, Fred Weasley indeed made you swoon.

When he wandered into the kitchen with the bag you packed for the beach, you felt your face heat up at the sight. He wore his light blue summer shirt that complimented his features beautifully—you honestly weren’t sure if he was a greek statue brought to life.

“Mum, you’re gonna cut into the plate.” Jane giggled and stopped your movements, tilting her head when you snapped your attention back to her food. “What’re you staring at daddy for?”

“Why are you being nosy?” Fred poked his daughter’s back, smiling when she laughed at the familiar feeling. “Mum can stare at me all she wants.”

Fred slid into the seat beside you, his arm casually draped over the back of your chair as he leaned in to whisper, “You know, I could get used to this. Waking up to you, the kids, and a view like that.” He gestured toward the window, where the sparkling Aegean Sea stretched out endlessly, its waves glinting like diamonds under the morning sun.

You smiled, leaning into him slightly. “Ten years of this, and you’re just now getting used to it?” You teased, nudging him with your elbow.

“Ten years of this,” he echoed, his voice softening as his gaze met yours. “And I still can’t believe how lucky I am.”

Jane scrunched her nose in playful disgust, stuffing her mouth with a fork full of pancakes with blueberries. “Ew, Daddy. You’re so mushy.”

Fred gasped dramatically, clutching his chest as if she had wounded him. “Mushy? Me? I’m the definition of ruggedly handsome, Jane.”

Henry, still munching on a piece of cut up banana, giggled and shook his head. “Mum thinks you’re handsome, but you’re just silly.”

You smirked and took a sip of your tea as your kids argued with their father, knowing they were an exact replica of him. You sighed and rested a hand over your stomach, holding back a laugh when Jane stuck her tongue out at Fred.

“I happen to like silly.” You added as Fred stuck his tongue out at his daughter, making you roll your eyes in amusement.

Fred locked eyes with you and waggled his eyebrows. “I guess you're lucky too, love, because you’re stuck with me.”

The morning passed in the easy rhythm of family life—Molly and Arthur doting on their grandchildren, Fred entertaining the twins with wild hand gestures as he retold stories—this time slightly exaggerated for dramatic effect—and you soaking in every moment.

By late morning, you made your way to the beach, the golden sand warm beneath your toes. The twins raced ahead, kicking up tiny clouds of sand as they shrieked with joy. Fred, carrying the beach bag, walked beside you, fingers loosely laced with yours.

“You happy, love?” He asked, squeezing your hand gently.

You turned your face up to the sun, the salty breeze playing with your hair, and sighed contentedly. “More than I ever thought possible.”

Fred grinned and tugged you closer, pressing a kiss to your temple before lifting his voice. “Alright, team! Let’s build a sandcastle bigger than the Burrow!”

Henry and Jane cheered, already digging into the sand with determination.

You knelt beside them as you set up the blanket on the sand, laughter bubbling from your lips as Fred made a show of supervising, hands on his hips like some kind of foreman. The hours passed in golden warmth, filled with playful splashes in the sea, shrieks of delight as Fred tossed the kids into the waves, and soft, stolen kisses between you and your husband when the twins weren’t looking.

As the sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting everything in a golden glow, the four of you sat before your grand sandcastle—an uneven, slightly lopsided but utterly magnificent creation.

Jane leaned against you sleepily, her damp, red-curls sticking to her forehead. “This was the best day ever,” she murmured, yawning.

Henry nodded in agreement, rubbing at his tired eyes. “Yeah… Can we do this every year?”

You glanced at Fred, your heart swelling at the sight of him watching your children with so much love it was almost tangible. He met your eyes and smiled, the same boyish, mischievous grin you’d fallen in love with all those years ago.

“Every single year,” Fred promised, voice full of warmth.

You lean closer to him and give him a quick kiss, eyes shining with your own secret. “Maybe with one more addition to the family,” you whisper.

His eyes widened and looked down toward your stomach, grin widening when you nodded. He pulled you closer to him, in return pulling the sleepy twins along.

And in that moment—with your family nestled together, the waves whispering their lullaby, and the sky painted in fiery shades of orange and pink—you knew that love, real love, was absolutely endless.

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[agreeewrites]

CONGRATS ON HITTING 1K, you deserve all the love you're getting and more <3333 for your celebration could i get a thousand stitches with bill? Your writing of him has been completely brilliant, i love the way you characterise him <333

hi my darling!!! thank you much!! I'm so grateful you're here and I hope you enjoy 🫶

1000 stitches | B.W.

feat. Bill Weasley x reader

cw: MDNI 18+, injuries and blood, near-death experience, early stages of werewolf!Bill , love confessions

masterlist

The sun crested the horizon, shades of violet, clementine, and rose, and still, Bill and the others hadn't returned from Hogwarts.

The full moon lingered at the edge of the sky, obstinate in its refusal to dip below the trees. You'd begged Bill not to go out while the moon hung bloated in the sky, an unusual, ominous shade of red.

But he'd gone anyways. Which was fair, you supposed; he wasn't yours to order about. You weren't a couple, despite the simmering tension between you, heightened by the deep connection you’d forged through over a decade of friendship and work and suffering and joy.

You'd loved him all your life, and he wouldn't be Bill Weasley, the man that held your heart hostage, if he didn't plunge headlong into danger, especially where his family was concerned.

Always eager for the hunt.

It was Harry, Lupin, and Tonks that arrived back first, bloodied and beaten, singed by the glancing blow of curses.

Molly ran out to them, screaming for her children, but Remus was quick to assuage her.

“They're right behind us—Molly, you must—Molly listen to me,” Remus snapped, shaking her gently. “Ron and Ginny are fine, but Bill—Greyback got a hold of him.”

You clutched the rusted porch railing of the safe house, limbs going numb as the blood drained from your brain.

“He's alive, but barely,” Remus continued, keeping Molly upright by sheer force of will. “And we don't know if he was—”

“Bitten,” you finished, your voice little more than a whimper. Remus looked up at you, nodding solemnly.

He looked like he was going to say something further, when the others suddenly apparated into the clearing. Ginny ran straight into the house, shouting for the medic assigned to the safe house. Ron and Neville held a body between them, the figure limp as a freshly killed stag and twice as bloody.

Bill.

Your ears began to ring, a monotonous, consuming sound, drowning out all of the shouting. You couldn't breathe.

Was he breathing?

You took a sip of air, lungs burning. You'd breathe for him.

Remus grabbed hold of Molly, keeping her out of the way as they carried Bill into the house. Up the stairs and towards you, five steps away, three, one—Ron caught your eye as they passed, looking for too guilty for a boy of only 18, but he quickly looked away, struggling under the weight of his much larger brother.

More members of the Order ran out to help carry him, relieving the boys of the burden, and you could only stand there, staring down at the twin smears of blood where Bill's feet had dragged across the threshold. Staining the stone forever.

Tonks was speaking to you, her hands on your shoulders, but you couldn't hear her, could only stare at the red, red, so much red. Too much red. How could he have anything left?

“We need more hands!” You heard someone call, the words filtering in through the din in your mind.

Hands, hands. You had hands, you could help.

“Tonks—”

“I don't think that's a good idea—”

“We don't have a choice,” Remus said, gently nudging Tonks aside and cupping your face. You forced your eyes to focus on his forehead, his crooked nose, his scars, his eyes. “Can you do this?” Remus asked.

“I-I can,” you affirmed, your voice sounding far away. Like someone else had spoken through your mouth.

“Good, let's go.”

It took more than five hours to stitch all of Bill's wounds. He'd been savaged, butchered, by Greyback. Almost unrecognizable under the swelling and bruising and gore.

The fact that he survived was nothing short of a miracle.

No one was sure if he'd been bitten. There was one wound on his right thigh that looked suspicious to Remus, but Bill was in too fragile a state for them to test anything.

So you waited, and waited, and waited. Four days of burning fever. Four days of changing head-to-toe bandages. Four days of ladling broth between his chapped lips. Four days of praying to anyone that would listen to spare him. To bring him back to you.

You knew he'd be different, no one suffered an attack like that and remained the same, but you knew that you'd love him anyways. The scars on his skin would pale in comparison to the scars left on his psyche, and you would find whatever strength you needed to help him through it.

You'd stitch him together with your own muscle and bone if you needed to.

On the fifth day, many of his wounds had finally healed down to pearlescent, puffy scars thanks to the medics magic. Deep gauges littered his torso and arms, creating new dips and valleys along the lean muscles of his body, a topographical map you could study for eons. The slashes across his face was healing better than anyone dared hoped, and he finally was beginning to look like Bill again.

But the wound on his thigh remained stubborn, pulpy as rotten fruit and refusing to knit together, growing more putrid the more magic that was thrown at it.

An uneasyness settled over the house. No longer a question of will he wake up, but what will wake up.

On the seventh day, Bill woke up screaming.

You were in the kitchen, helping Neville prepare the evening meal, when a roar shook the cedar bones of the old house.

You dropped the dish in your hands with a crash, roast and root vegetables exploding all over the grubby tile floor, and leapt over it, flying up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

Tonks caught you at the end of the hall, grabbing you by the arms. “He's asking for you, but you have to—y/n, listen to me,” she snapped, and you stilled, coiled and ready to flee. “You have to be careful—that kind of trauma…he might not be the Bill you love.”

“I don't care.” You yanked free from her hold and dashed down the hallway. You burst into the room Bill was being kept in, a white-washed guest room on the quieter, darker end of the house, and found Ron, Arthur, and Remus desperately trying to restrain a frantic Bill on the bed.

“Where is she?” He bellowed.

You shoved Ron aside and flung your arms around Bill's neck, throwing your weight on him in the hopes of keeping him down.

“I'm here, I'm right here,” you soothed, not bothering to hold back the tears of relief streaming down your face and into his ruddy hair.

He groaned low in his chest, nuzzling into the crook of your neck and heaving a deep breath. His knotted muscles immediately went lax, and he looped an arm around your waist, hauling you into the bed with him. You were shocked at how much strength he still had after a week of bed rest.

“There you are,” he whispered, a throaty purr against your pulse. He drew another deep inhale, nose pressed against your jugular, and you suppressed a shiver.

“Are you alright? You didn't tear anything open—”

“Don't care,” he said, his lips charting a scalding path up your neck, days of stubble scratching mercilessly against the tender skin.

“Bill,” you argued, a fire sparking in your lower belly. You tried to push back a bit from his hold so you could inspect his bandages, could escape the intoxicating effect of his newfound affection. His grip tightened, bordering on painful, and a rumble resounded from the barrel of his chest. Something carnal, possessive, and you immediately dissolved back into his arms. Helpless to resist him.

“A ripped stitch isn't going to kill me,” he mumbled into the downy space behind your ear, his voice so much softer than whatever beast had been roused moments ago.

“Bill, we really need to do a full examination,” Remus interrupted gently. “What you've gone through—”

“It can wait,” Bill snarled, glaring at Remus over your shoulder. “Now get the fuck out.”

You gasped, shocked by his crude language, the aggressive edge to his voice. Bill was hardly the delicate sort, but you'd never seen him be outright hostile. Especially not towards his friends and family.

“Bill,” Remus said, hardening his voice.

“Please, just let them check you,” you whispered, stroking his cheek. “It'll give me and your family peace of mind.”

His eyes fluttered closed as you soothed him, his breathing leveling out. From bestial to docile in the span of a few heartbeats. “Only if you stay,” he answered finally, opening his eyes to look at you.

“I'm not going anywhere,” you assured, and he finally let you untangle yourself.

The medic came in first, checking all of his stitches and his vitals. Besides the wound on his leg, he was mostly healed, just some soreness and a slightly elevated temperature and heart rate.

His hand only left your body when the doctor needed it for something, otherwise he maintained contact through the entire examination.

You weren't sure what it meant, this sudden clinginess. If it was the trauma of almost dying, a head injury making him forget you weren't actually together, or something…else.

His family came in next, a cacophonous, emotional ordeal that made your heart ache with relief. With them, he seemed more like himself; the good-natured, charismatic man you'd fallen in love with, and some of your uncertainty ebbed.

You hadn't hated the intensity from earlier though, quite the opposite, actually. You just wished you knew what caused it, and why you.

Eventually, Bill declared that he wanted to properly shower, and everyone filed out to give him some privacy. When you stood to leave though, his hand tightened around your wrist.

“Don't go,” he said, drawing you back towards him. He was standing, propped against the bedframe for support.

“But you said you wanted to shower?” You blinked up at him, completely perplexed by this dramatic shift in his demeanor. Bill had never been very physical with you, besides platonic hugs and shoulder bumps.

“Help me,” he murmured, tilting your chin up.

Your heart stopped. “W-what?”

“Are you going to make me beg?” His breath fanned across your lips, balmy and disorienting. Headier than any hit you'd taken from a roll or a pipe.

“Bill, we aren't…together,” you argued weakly, a rabbit negotiating the terms of its release from the jaws of a catamount.

“Something I'd like to remedy, if you'll have me.” His other hand ensnared your waist, pulling your body flush to his.

“I'm not sure you're thinking clearly—” you tried to take a step back, but his grip turned to iron.

“Oh, I am. For probably the first fucking time,” he growled, patience wearing thin. “I’ve loved you for ten fucking years, and I almost lost you. So forgive me, darling, I will not be letting you go again.”

You liquified, muscles and bone turning to simpering goo in his arms. You didn't care if it was the pain medicine, or a head injury, or lycanthropy. All you'd ever wanted was to hear those three little words.

“I love you too,” you breathed, and he smiled, bumping his nose against yours before dragging it down your cheek, his hair tickling your lips.

“I know,” he hummed, the hot muscle of his tongue laving over the pulse point beneath your ear. “I can smell it on you.”

You gasped, arousal hitting you like a clap of thunder, your thighs squeezing together against your blooming cunt.

He chuckled, the sound low and viscerally pleased. “Can smell that too, baby. Little heart’s racin’ like a rabbit.”

Oh, fuck. You swallowed thickly, throat closing as fear pumped through your blood, mixing into a strange ichor with the ever-present desire for him.

“You're trembling again,” he said, softening a bit as he pulled back to look you in the eyes. “Are you afraid of me?”

You shook your head. “Should I be?”

“No, love. Of course not. I'm still me.” He smoothed the hair from your forehead, palming the side of your skull with his long-fingered hand. “But Remus should be if he tries to get between us again.”

A laugh bubbled up before you could stop it, inundated with both dread and delight.

He leaned down, catching your laughter with a lissome press of his lips. The last of your reservation dissipated, dripping out between your thighs as the kiss deepened. His lips were pillowy, tongue tinged with iron and herbs, you leaned into his embrace, content to let him devour you whole.

© agreeewrites 2025. do not copy, translate or claim my writing as your own.

[ranfordgallus]

Originally for a DTIYS to celebrate my 10k followers on insta but i wanted to post it here too...giggles....

Ough love these psuedo-twins...

Yes its based on this doodle i made months ago...

If you wanna join it...click down there..

You dont have to post it on insta if you dont have one, just tag me...giggles

And yes tumblr posts of my DTIYS artwork will be included in the challenge

No filters below

[hederasgarden]

Protego te

Summary: Macrinus’s ambition brings you and Lucius to the Colosseum. Pairing: Lucius Verus x F!Reader Word Count: 2.1K Rating: 18+ only, mature themes. Brief attempted SA (nothing graphic), brief descriptions of violence and blood and Lucius being protective. A/N: This story takes place between Ab Initio and Post tenebras lux. Thank you to @ryebecca for beta'ing! Based on this request by @aninnai. Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Gladiator Masterlist ♡ Masterlist

The open-air carriage rattles as the wheels struggle over the uneven, dusty road. The rough ride forces you closer to Lucius and you lay a hand on his chest to steady yourself. He glances at you briefly, his fingertips brushing your hip in a subtle, silent reassurance. Outside the metal bars the crowd mills around, some pressing closer to catch a glimpse of the gladiators traveling with you. Lucius doesn’t acknowledge them, his gaze fixed straight ahead.

It’s clear he’s waiting for something, his breath steady, but shallow. The cart lurches and you gasp in surprise as the Colosseum appears. It’s larger than anything you've ever imagined, its imposing structure dwarfing everything around it. Despite the circumstances that have brought you here, you can't help but marvel at its grandeur. It’s nothing like anything you’ve seen before. 

Lucius seems less impressed by the sight, his expression darkening as he turns to face you. He tucks his head gently against yours, his breath falling warmly over the shell of your ear as he speaks in a low murmur.

“It will be different here,” he warns. “There will be other gladiators — men who don’t belong to Macrinus. Some won’t recognize my claim on you.”

You nod and the fear that’s always simmering just beneath the surface flares up again, expanding, spreading through you. It’s kept in check only by Lucius’s presence beside you. His touch grounds you. 

“I understand,” you reply quietly.

“You cannot be alone here,” he continues. You feel the tension in his grip, the unspoken warning laced in his voice. “You must always be with me or one of the men here.”

You glance up at the group of gladiators riding with you. All of them are seasoned fighters who’ve trained with Lucius as long as you’ve known him. While they don’t openly welcome you, there’s an unspoken understanding between you and them. They fear and respect Lucius enough to leave you alone. And Lucius believes that will extend to protecting you on his behalf as well. You feel less sure but keep that doubt to yourself.

When you arrive at the Colosseum, Macrinus is there to greet your party, a broad grin on his face as he claps Lucius on the back. His voice is animated, excitedly discussing the upcoming games the twin emperors plan to hold to celebrate their birthdays. Like always, his words are filled with a fervor that feels both unsettling and expectant.

He doesn’t spare you a glance as Lucius leads you forward. Your gladiator’s hand stays firmly planted on your lower back, a silent reminder of his claim on you as you pass others. As you are drawn deeper into the bowels of the arena Macrinus departs with a short, bald man in fine robes and a young boy appears to lead your group. 

Torchlight flickers, casting long shadows on the stone walls as you continue down the narrow, winding corridors. The air grows heavier and despite the steady pace, you can feel yourself losing track of where you came from. You knew the Colosseum was massive, but the underground world is a labyrinth, blending together in a disorienting maze. If you were left here, you’d never find your way out, you realize. That thought unsettles you and you grasp at Lucius’s tunic. 

He responds with a low, comforting sound and his hand briefly touches yours in reassurance. You continue on, the feeling of disquiet lingering in the pit of your stomach until you begin to ascend once more. Daylight filters through the gaps in the stone and with another sharp turn you find yourself in a large room with a high ceiling. 

Gladiators line the long wooden table in the center of the room and the rumble of their conversation dims when they notice your group’s arrival. The young boy steps forward, announcing to the gathered crowd that Lucius and the other gladiators belong to Macrinus. Most of the seated men size up the competition but enough of them stare openly at you that you feel Lucius’s hand shift to the back of your neck, his fingers curling around the soft skin there. 

Without a word, he pulls you roughly forward, bringing you closer to the table. His shoulders square and his presence seems to dominate the space as all eyes fall on him. His gaze is colder than you’ve ever seen and you swallow nervously, the shift in his demeanor catching you off guard. The Lucius you know, calm and calculated, seems to vanish, replaced by someone else. Someone dangerous. 

“This concubine belongs to me,” he announces. “Touch her and I will take your hand as payment.” 

A low mummer passes over the table but no one challenges Lucius. He stares at the group with his unblinking gaze for a moment longer before he turns away and strides down the length of the table, pulling you in his wake. He takes a seat at the end and the other gladiators with him follow suit.

“Bring me wine and food,” he commands you loudly. 

You hurry to do as he asks. The young man who guided you earlier steps forward to help and his hands shake as he assists you in loading the plate with fruit, bread, and a thick, straw-colored soup. It’s obvious he’s terrified of Lucius and you wish you could offer him some comfort but you know better than to show any overt sign of sympathy. Your safety depends on their fear of Lucius. 

When you return to Lucius’s side, he draws you into his lap and wraps a possessive hand around your middle. As he begins to eat, you hesitantly look up, your gaze drifting down the long line of faces. Most of the men immediately avert their eyes, but there are a few who meet your gaze head-on. One of the largest men smiles, tilting his head slightly as he watches you with unnerving interest. The scar along his jaw pulls taut, becoming more pronounced as his lips curve upward, giving his grin a vicious edge. You quickly look away and rest your hand on Lucius’s forearm, feeling the powerful tendons flex beneath your palm when he adjusts his hold on you.

–

The first few days after you arrive at the Colosseum pass without incident and you quickly learn the rhythm of life here. The slaves mostly keep to themselves, speaking with you only in brief exchanges. Their eyes are wary, but there’s an unspoken understanding between you all, a shared burden of survival. You find yourself speaking to Rufus, the serving boy you met when you first arrived, the most. He’s so young that it breaks your heart to realize that this is the only life he’s ever known.

There is only one other concubine in the entire arena, a woman who belongs to Emperor Geta’s prized gladiator. You’ve only heard whispers of her, but you’ve never seen her. From what you gather, she spends most of her days locked away in her gladiator’s cell, out of sight and out of mind. You try not to think of her too often, all too aware she likely does not have the arrangement you do. 

With a sigh, you push the troubling thought away and busy yourself with preparing Lucius’s evening meal alongside Rufus. You’re ladling a thick soup into a wooden bowl when the door slams open with a suddenness that makes you start. A young slave you don’t recognize rushes in, his face flushed. He spots you immediately, calling your name urgently.

“Hano calls for you,” he says breathlessly. He gestures for you to follow, his hand trembling slightly as he beckons you closer. “Hurry, he is hurt.”

Without a word, you gather your skirts, abandoning the meal on the counter. Fear claws at your chest as you follow him through the dimly lit corridors. What has happened you wonder, dread pooling in the pit of your stomach. Another more selfish part of you panics at the thought of losing his protection and strength. Lucius has become the one thing in this chaotic, brutal world that feels somewhat certain. Your survival, your very existence, is tied so intrinsically with his that without him, you are truly lost. 

But beneath that fear lies another, more troubling one. You realize, with a jolt of surprise, that you care for him, beyond what he could offer you. You quicken your pace, your mind so focused on reaching him that you do not see the looming shadow until it is too late. Strong arms wrap around your middle, hauling you back against a firm chest. The stale smell of sweat and something rancid fills your nose. The man’s hold is unyielding, his grip like iron as you thrash in his arms while the young slave stares at you. 

“Leave us,” the man behind you orders, his voice rough and commanding. “Your work is done here.”

A gold coin spins through the air and lands with a dull clink at the young slave’s feet. It glints in the dim light, but he doesn’t move. He hesitates for a moment, watching you before he picks up the gold coin and scurries away. 

“Take your hands off me,” you shout but the man only chuckles darkly, his grip tightening around you like a vise. The force is enough to squeeze the breath from your lungs. It feels as though your ribs might crack. 

“Your gladiator is not here,” he rumbles, releasing his hold on you to shove you forward violently. 

You hit the dusty floor with a sharp gasp, the impact stealing what little air you have left. The stone floor is cool beneath your palms and you scramble away from him but he advances on you quickly. He lifts you as though you weigh nothing, pinning you to the wall with a hand around your throat. 

“I am curious to see what all the fuss is about,” he leers. “You must have some cunt on you to make Hano so possessive.”

His vulgar words send a wave of revulsion through you and you claw at the hand around your neck. Your nails tear at his skin, leaving deep bloody marks but he doesn’t even flinch. Instead he nuzzles the side of your face, his sour breath nearly suffocating. In desperation you kick out, trying to break free, but it’s useless. You’re at his mercy.

You squeeze your eyes shut, praying to any deity that will listen to deliver you from this nightmare. But just like all the times before, your plea falls on deaf ears. Your dress is ripped from your shoulder and a heavy hand paws at your chest. Tears leak from your eyes and you realize with a hollow sort of horror that the fate you’ve long avoided has finally found you. 

But then, through a blur of tears, you see a flash of movement. The man before you cries out, an agonizing guttural sound that’s almost deafening. You blink rapidly, trying to clear the wetness on your lashes and bring the world back into focus. You stare at the bloody tableau before you, your mind struggling to process the scene. The gladiator is sprawled on the floor, clutching his forearm as the hand that was around your neck now lies in the dirt between you. 

Lucius stands over him breathing heavily, his features twisted in rage. The tip of the bloody sword rests lightly against the dirt but his body is coiled tight, ready to strike again. 

“Lucius,” you breathe, throwing yourself into his arms. 

Relief sinks into your skin, easing the terror that’s consumed you. His free arm wraps around you, pulling you tight against his chest, and you bury your face in his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of his sweat and skin. You cannot stop the way your body shakes, the tremors coursing through you as the adrenaline slowly fades. 

“I am here,” he murmurs, holding you to him. 

Over his shoulder, you catch sight of Rufus, standing a few paces back, watching the scene unfold with wide, uncertain eyes. 

Lucius turns to him, his voice brooking no argument as speaks. “Get Ravi. Tell him what has happened.”

Rufus takes a hesitant step forward, his worry obvious in the way he glances at you before his eyes return to Lucius. You manage a shaky smile, trying to reassure him, even though your own heart is still racing in your chest. The smile is small and fragile, but it seems enough and Rufus nods before he leaves in search of Ravi. 

Your attacker still lies on the floor, bloody and defeated. You turn away from the scene, focusing on Lucius. He looks like Mars personified, tan, fierce, and unwavering, his body filled with the potential for violence. 

“I warned you about the cost of touching what is mine,” he says to the man writhing in agony. “I keep my promises. If you survive, you will do well to remember that.”

♡

Also part of this series:

Ab Initio

Post tenebras lux

Finis

My inbox is open for your thoughts on this story, requests for drabbles with Lucius and further scenes with Lucius and the Fisherman's Wife.

[pottergff]

dress.

hjp x reader ! (hbp - 6th year).

summary: gryffindor wins a quidditch match, so everyone celebrates with a party in the common room. y/n gets drunk and becomes more flirtatious than usual with harry.

warnings: not really, just mention of alcohol and sexual references.

a/n: this is inspired by the song "dress" by taylor swift and i also mention the lyrics (english is not my native language, so sorry if there are any mistakes) anyways, this was really fun to write, so i hope you like it <3

Gryffindor had beaten Slytherin in the Quidditch final, and as usual, Fred and George had thrown a party in the common room.

"Harry's going to go crazy when he sees you like this, you look gorgeous." Ginny said as she applied a red lipstick that matched her hair. Hermione nodded as she smiled. You giggled as you fixed your dress in the mirror. "I hope so."

And it was true, that dress looked amazing on you. It showed off your curves, showing off your bare shoulders and legs. Not to mention how good the black color looked on you.

Now, it was barely 2am and you were already pretty drunk, you were susceptible to alcohol. The twins had offered you firewhiskey several times and you obviously didn't turn them down.

"Damn, he looks really hot" You muttered to Ginny and Hermione as you looked over your shoulder at Harry, who was leaning against a wall and talking to some guys from the Gryffindor team. "What?!" They said in unison confused, clearly not hearing you over the loud music. "Basically, I said I want Harry to fuck me!" You said much louder, even Ron who was next to you had heard you now.

Ginny almost choked on her drink, laughing at the comment. Hermione exclaimed an 'Oh My god!', laughing too. Ron widened his eyes and burst out laughing. "Frisky, are you? You're really drunk" Ron said a little surprised by your attitude, and raised his eyebrows. "Shut up, Ronald" You rolled your eyes, unable to hide a smile. "And why aren't you going to talk to him? You two are getting on my nerves with his stares" Ginny added between giggles and with a bit of defiance in her voice, before taking another sip of her drink. "Should I?" You thought out loud and tilted your head. "Yep, You should" Hermione nodded with a small smile.

The night went on and Harry's eye contact became more and more frequent. Every time you talked you could feel the tension between you.

The relationship between you and Harry was strange. Since first year you became best friends. Only in the last time you weren't just that anymore, you had kissed a few times and both had confessed your obvious feelings for each other. But you weren't a couple either. You were something like "friends with benefits".

Normally you were a pretty shy girl, at least with people you didn't know. But when you were drunk, you turned into the complete opposite, the embarrassment disappeared and you acted with less filter.

So when your shoulder brushed against Harry's, you couldn't help but think about what Hermione said about talking to him. Harry noticed the way you looked at him and felt watched under your gaze

"W-what?" He said a little shy. "Nothing. You look hot" You said as if it were nothing, shrugging your shoulders. Harry raised his eyebrows and smiled, amused by your nonsense. "You think so?". I nod. "Well, thank you. I'm flattered. That dress looks nice on you" He added the last sentence in a lower tone, still smiling at you.

You smiled when he mentioned your dress. "Only bought this dress so you could take it off" You said casually. Even with the lights on, you could notice his blush and the way his eyes widened. You obviously noticed how nervous he got too. “Uhm.” Was all he could say as he licked his lips, looking at you a little dumbfounded.

You smiled widely and teased him, raising your eyebrows. “Uhm?” Harry snorted in amusement, with a small smile, and looked away. You gently took his chin so he looked back into your eyes, still smiling.

“Is that all you’re going to say?” You said a little softer, still smiling and holding his chin between your fingers. When your eyes met his, his expression softened although his flustered state increased. “Why did you say that?” Harry said, still with an amused smile. He was also a little drunk, but not as much as you. You smiled again and replied “Cause I don’t want you like a best friend.”

You no longer cared about the fact that your friends and classmates were probably watching you, you were too focused on Harry to care about anything else. The pining and anticipation inside you seemed to be the only thing that you feel right now.

"Me neither" Harry said in almost a whisper. Despite the music, we were so close that I could even feel his breathing at this point. "Then?" You murmured, noticing how his gaze shifted from your eyes to your lips and vice versa. "Then what?" He replied. You felt both of their breathing heavy, his breath against your face. "Kiss me" You whispered, and without letting him answer, you kissed him.

When his lips found yours, that feeling of butterflies fluttering in your stomach appeared, as it always happened when you were with him. You gently tugged on his shirt, drawing him even closer to you. The hand that was on his chin, quickly went to his jaw. His hands found your hips and he held you tightly, making you completely glued to him. That action made you let out a small gasp, which he took advantage of to deepen the kiss, sliding his tongue along your bottom lip. You followed him. His fingers tangled in your hair as he made the kiss deeper and even more heated.

After a few seconds, you separated, both of you panting from the lack of air and the intensity of the kiss. You couldn't help but smile as you admired him. His swollen lips, his raven hair messy in a perfectly imperfect way, his hands still holding you and a smile that mirrored yours. He looked beautiful, as as always.

We felt the gazes of our friends (even some classmates) and saw how they were all with their eyes wide open or with their jaws on the floor. We heard a 'Bloody Hell' from Ron, we both laughed.

Harry whispered in your ear, you heard his smile in his sarcastic tone. "I guess they don't know nothing about what happened." You smiled even wider and leaned in to whisper in his ear, smiling "Everyone thinks that they know us. But they know nothing about"

[paucubarsisimp]

birthday twins

pairing: fermin lopez x reader

summary: in which you share a birthday with your boyfriend, fermin

warnings: none!

a/n: happy birthday my love!! @mxryxmfooty

you stirred awake slowly, the soft morning light filtering through the curtains casting a golden glow over the room. the familiar warmth beside you made you smile even before you opened your eyes.

fermín’s arm tightened around your waist, as if he sensed you waking up. his voice, still raspy from sleep, murmured against your neck, “happy birthday, mi amor.”

you turned to face him, grinning. “happy birthday to you too, birthday twin.”

he chuckled, eyes crinkling as he leaned in to press a lazy kiss to your forehead. “best thing ever, waking up next to you. and even better because we get to share this day.”

you lay there for a few quiet moments, wrapped in each other, the world outside forgotten. eventually, he reached over the bedside table and pulled out two small, neatly wrapped boxes.

“okay,” he said, excitement twinkling in his sleepy eyes. “time for part one of birthday magic.”

you sat up, grabbing the box with your name on it. “did we really both plan surprise gifts before breakfast?”

“of course. it’s tradition now,” he said, handing yours over like it was a precious gem.

you opened yours first—inside was a delicate silver bracelet, engraved with the coordinates of the stadium where he made his first-team debut… and where you first told him you loved him. you looked up, eyes misty.

“fermín…”

“i wanted you to have something permanent,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “a reminder of how we started. of everything we’ve been through.”

you leaned forward, kissing him gently. “you’re going to make me cry before we’ve even had coffee.”

“wait till you see mine,” he teased, unwrapping his gift with boyish excitement.

inside was a small photo book. the cover read, our birthdays through the years. you had spent weeks secretly collecting candid photos, old ticket stubs, tiny notes, and memories from every shared birthday.

he flipped through it slowly, smiling wider with every page until he looked up at you with glassy eyes.

“i don’t deserve you,” he whispered.

“you do,” you said, touching his cheek. “and i’m lucky i get to celebrate you… and us… every year like this.”

you both stayed in bed a while longer, wrapped up in blankets and kisses and laughter. the rest of the world could wait—today was just for you two.

two hearts, one birthday, and a love that kept getting better every year.

taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, @hollyf1,@mxryxmfooty, @halfwayhearted lmk if you want to be added

[clockwork-ashes]

Shake the Frost - Part I

Read on Ao3

Summary: Elain’s visions lead her to the human lands where she seeks answers from the one male she’s been avoiding—Lucien. As the two of them work together, the walls built between them begin to crumble.

Note: SURPRISE!!! this is for the lovely @zenkindoflove for this year’s @acotargiftexchange <3 i was so so so excited to get to write this for you, all of your works are simply amazing and it was such fun getting to know you a little better the last few weeks!!! thank you for answering my many (many) questions, and i hope you enjoy this!!!

Elain POV 

Drops of blood, like lovely ruby tears, were scattered along the pure white snow. They glimmered as if they were expensive jewels, an allure to each perfectly shaped one. The sun was bright, vicious as it reflected on the ground and danced as far as the eye could see. 

Elain shook her head with an annoyed sigh, loose curls bouncing around her shoulders. She couldn't move the pieces of hair without letting go of the gifts in her arms, so she blew up at the strands in a way that would seem practiced to any onlookers. 

A dagger, the hilt fashioned from gold and expertly crafted to resemble a snake, was stained scarlet. The hand holding it had rings on each pale finger, no scars on the skin despite the comfortable way it gripped the weapon. 

“That is enough,” Elain mumbled, an order to herself in hopes that the visions would stop bleeding through her waking moments. The images no longer haunted her, but they were still a type of nuisance, like summer gnats, flickering in the corners of her thoughts. 

If she focused, Elain hoped to avoid the most gruesome of her repeating visions. Always, like clockwork, she would witness Beron Vanserra’s death. It was bloody and cruel, never peaceful, even if the way it was done had not yet been decided by fate, the result remained the same. The High Lord of the Autumn Court would die, marked by endless crimson that stained the earth beneath him. 

She had thought them nothing more than a figment of her unsettled mind, especially when at first they had slowly and steadily filtered into her dreams. When they had leaked into her everyday life, when she had begun seeing Lucien’s face among the bloodied chaos, she had no choice but to take matters into her own hands. Elain knew from the war with Hybern that trying to bury and ignore her visions wouldn’t work, and neither would trying to hide her fear and confusion. 

She had tried to tell Feyre once, but hadn’t been able to go through with it. Her sister was finally happy. Nyx was old enough to enjoy the Winter Solstice celebrations, and Feyre had been busy planning for weeks. It seemed unfair, and Elain could admit only to herself that she was using it as an excuse not to share her worries with anyone at all.

Still, the visions wouldn’t let her go. They gripped her, cold and unrelenting, forcing her to face countless versions of the future when she least expected it. Nesta would have asked too many questions, ones that Elain would be unwilling to answer, and so she had turned to Nuala and Cerridwen for help. She had asked the twins to take her to the human lands, and had begged them not to tell anyone just yet. Elain was thrilled when they simply told her she had to be careful, agreeing to bring her directly to the place that Lucien called home. 

Elain stood at the doorstep of the manor, right where Nuala and Cerrdiwen had left her. The evening frost bit at her skin, her arms heavy with the weight of her offerings, small gifts she had taken with her knowing it would be a slight to come empty-handed. She could hear the soft ticking of the stopwatch she had bought for her mate despite the fact that it was nestled in a cushioned box. For the Queen of Scythia, she had brought Winter blooms from Velaris, delicate and white, their petals like soft whispers. She had struggled to find something nice for Jurian and had simply settled for a bottle of expensive wine. 

Her knuckles hovered at the door as she shifted on her feet, hesitation curling through her. She had seen the manor before, what almost seemed like another life, and yet now it felt unfamiliar. She finally knocked, the sound thunderous against the thick wood. 

There was not a single sound that followed, not even the careful tap of footsteps just beyond the entrance. Elain frowned wondering if perhaps no one was home. 

She balanced the gifts in her arms, blowing at the stray curls that had fallen over her eyes. She raised a gloved hand, ready to knock once more, when she heard the lock shift. She stepped back, watching as the door opened slowly, leaving only a crack of space for her to peak into the manor. 

At the flash of familiar copper hair, Elain plastered a smile onto her face. “Happy Solstice,” she said with false cheer, hoping that she covered her disappointment well. She wanted to speak with Lucien first, but she supposed she should be grateful that at least someone was there. 

Vassa looked surprised for the briefest of moments, using her frame to block Elain from entering. She raised an elegant eyebrow, her blue eyes midnight dark as she offered a judgmental glance over the three neatly wrapped parcels. “Who invited you?”

Elain maintained an unbothered air, pretending that Vassa was simply keeping the cold out. She lifted the presents, smiling a bit wider in an attempt to look kind and unthreatening. “I wanted to give Lucien his gift.”

Vassa’s gaze flicked to Elain’s face, where she took her in with an unreadable expression, a hesitation that stretched just a little too long. Then, with a motion too practiced to be casual, she opened the door wider, her gesture one of forced hospitality.

“Come in,” Vassa said, voice cool but not unkind. She waved her hand in the direction of the hall. “Lucien should be back in a bit.”

Elain stepped inside, her breath catching as she recognized the space. It was Graysen’s manor, but the weight of the years made it feel distant, almost like a place she had only heard about in stories. She had barely thought about him in the last few years, and was slightly annoyed at being reminded that he existed at all. 

She followed Vassa down the hall, her booted feet soft on the old wooden floor, the air thick with the scent of something she couldn’t place. Jurian was in the sitting room, bare feet up on a pink couch that was absurdly out of place when compared to the rest of the furniture in the large space. His gaze met hers, unsurprised, as though he had been expecting her arrival.

Jurian. 

The name had been whispered to her since childhood, stories of a human general that had fought for the freedom of her people. Sitting on that gaudy pink couch, he looked ordinary, Elain thought. He was just like any other man, a touch of a battle-weary edge to his face, but nothing of the myth she had imagined.

“Something to drink?” Jurian asked, his voice easy, inviting. He leaned forward, his manner so unaffected it took Elain by surprise.

Vassa did not speak, but Elain felt her eyes on her, assessing and distant, as though her very presence was an offence. The room seemed to thicken with unspoken words, the tension hanging heavy in the air. Elain could still hear the ticking of the stopwatch still in her hands, steady as heartbeat, knowing she was the only one among them who could catch the delicate sound with her ears. 

Elain cleared her throat, her voice coming out smaller than she had intended. “Maybe some tea?” It was not just the awkwardness of the moment that made her throat tight, but also the unmistakable scent of her mate that lingered.

He was everywhere.

On the cushions of the couch, on the fabrics of the curtains, in the very air. It clung to the room like a shadow, a reminder that he lived in this space. Elain scrunched her nose when she was struck with the sudden urge to curl up into the pillows and bury her face into the cushions just to take it in. 

Jurian invited her to sit, gesturing with his hand to leave the gifts aside. Vassa sat as well, eyes watching her every move, as they all waited for Lucien. Time crawled by slowly, and Elain could feel the weight of the room pressing down on her. 

Elain had come in search of answers, and she knew that her exiled mate would have the information she needed. Jurian brought her tea, the night stretched on, and Elain knew with a deep certainty that it would be a long one. 

Lucien POV

The shift of the seasons pulled at Lucien in ways that were nearly painful as he crossed into the human lands, winnowing in one final jump beyond Prythian’s border.

Lucien was always left feeling a bit empty when he returned from his visits to Spring. His thoughts always lingered on the broken remnants of what once was, a court that had once been his home. Tamlin, at least, had seemed happy that he had stopped by. 

Lucien made sure he had a glamour in place as he walked through the quiet village, ensuring none of the human eyes saw anything more than a stranger passing through. They were all weary around him, casting him with careful glares whenever he passed. The streets, though, were empty, the silence eerie as everyone stayed indoors to celebrate the solstice with loved ones. 

He was nearing the manor, his senses piqued by something, a subtle tug that pulled his chest tight, a connection that only his mate could cause. 

Elain. 

The bond thrummed under his rib, constant and steady, like the flow of a river. Lucien rubbed a hand over his chest, frowning slightly. He had not gone to Velaris this year, not even after Feyre had sent her invitation. Perhaps it had been rude of him, but he’d simply written a note, promising to visit soon. It had been easier, after all, to remain distant, he thought. 

Lucien noticed the boot marks still left in the snow leading up the manor, and he felt a chill crawl up his spine. The footprints were small, the pattern of the sole not ones he recognised as belonging to Vassa. Using a simple spell, he unlocked the door and stepped through the threshold and into the foyer. The bond flared to life with sharp awareness, drawing him towards her. It was as though his body had learned to respond to her presence even without his permission. Elain was nearby, and he was helpless to ignore it, to deny the way his heart picked up its pace in response. 

The whole world seemed to tilt on its axis as he paused at the entrance of the sitting room. He was unable to tear his gaze from his mate, even though he knew Jurian and Vassa would be watching his reactions carefully. 

“Elain?” he said, more question than anything. Even to his own ears, his voice sounded rough, unsteady.

He heard the soft rattle of a teacup as she set it down on the table. Her back straightened, as if instinctively commanding the room around her, a queen in all but title. “You didn’t come to Velaris,” she said, her voice even, but Lucien heard the slight accusation buried beneath the calm.

He hadn’t expected her to notice, hadn’t thought she cared enough to even keep track of his comings and goings. It was a surprise, and he was unprepared for the sting it left.

She still avoided him, still turned away whenever he entered a room, her distance like a shield between them. He couldn't even blame her, but the ache of each dismissal settled heavy on his chest. Remembering his manners, he offered her the smallest of bows, “Apologies, lady.”

Elain’s cheeks flushed, and Lucien’s heart did something strange, a flutter he couldn’t quite name. “No need to apologize,” she mumbled, ever polite. “It was just… I just noticed, that’s all.” She looked at him with an embarrassed tilt to her lips, her entire face having turned crimson. 

Vassa snorted then, a laugh that was sharp and unrefined, but somehow it didn’t feel entirely unwelcome. It cut the tension between him and his mate like a blade. 

“I needed to speak with you,” Elain said, her voice soft but deliberate. She glanced over his shoulder at Vassa and to Jurian who sat on the pink couch, a silent apology. “Alone, if that’s alright.”

While Lucien couldn’t see Vassa, Jurian merely raised his shoulders in a careless shrug. He motioned for Elain to follow him, taking his eyes from her as she grabbed onto her skirts and followed him to the porch that looked over the large courtyard. 

Lucien nodded. He motioned for her to lead the way, his mind already racing with questions he wasn’t sure he wanted answers to. They stepped outside, and though Elain kept her distance, it was still the closest they’d been since the battle with Hybern. Her breath misted in the cold air, floating around them like a little cloud. 

Beautiful. 

Elain Archeron was like something made of winter. Her hair was tucked behind her pointed ears and he could see the sharp cut of her jaw as she looked at the frozen gardens below. She reminded Lucien of snowflakes, lovely and fleeting, put out a hand to catch one and they disappear. 

The tip of Elain’s nose was stained a rosy pink, and he created a small bubble of warmth around them instinctively, watching as her posture relaxed, seeming much more comfortable in the harsh cold. 

Lucien broke the silence between them as she hugged her arms around her middle, suddenly looking more nervous. “Please tell me that Feyre and Rhysand know you’re here.” He knew the answer even before Elain winced and turned away from him. “Nesta?”

She shook her head, a small frown pulling at her lips. “My friends know. They brought me here.”

Lucien couldn’t help the sigh that fell from his lips, running a hand through his hair. He had half a mind to walk back into the manor and write to the Night Court about where she was, but something in her demeanor, something in her dark eyes, stopped him. He could feel the weight of her decision pressing on him, even if she hadn’t said the words yet. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, but the truth tugged at him. He was going to be knee-deep in trouble if he kept her secret.

“Why?” he asked, his voice quieter now, gentler. “Why did you need to come here?”

Elain seemed to shrink into herself for a moment, her eyes fluttering closed as though she were steeling herself for something. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper.

“I see you in my dreams.”

Lucien froze, his breath catching in his throat. He couldn’t suppress the choked sound that nearly escaped him, couldn’t mask the shock that gripped him. His heart pounded in his chest, and for a moment, he felt unsteady, as though the ground beneath his feet were about to crack open.

Elain flushed under his gaze, her eyes quickly darting to the snow beneath her booted feet. “I mean... my dreams and my visions,” she corrected, a little embarrassed, as if the admission were something she hadn’t meant to speak aloud.

He didn’t know where she was going with this, but the quiet urgency in her voice made him hold his tongue, waiting for her to explain. He remained still and kept silent, offering her the space to share whatever was on her mind.

“No one listens to me,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. “Not my sisters, not the rest of the Inner Circle... no one. I thought...” She bit her lip, her eyes flicking up to his. “I thought perhaps you would?”

Lucien was left speechless, his heart clenching with something he couldn’t quite name. She was asking him, of all people, to pay attention to her. There was a part of him, an ancient and primal part, that nearly overwhelmed his senses, but he nodded. “I’ll listen.”

Elain exhaled a soft breath, reaching out with her small hand. “And what if I ask you to see?” 

Without a word in response, Lucien put out his own hand, letting Elain grab onto him so that she could pull him a little closer. The bond between them flared to life, the bridge connecting their souls allowing Elain to show him something unexpected. What she saw burned into his mind, and Lucien was no longer sure where his mate’s dreams ended and reality began.

[deathbxnny]

Woooo, congrats on 1k followers, sure has been a ride, huh?

Now, with requests back open, it's time time for the sequel to my Arle request!

Okay so, like I said in that ask I sent a while ago, this one takes place in the same "continuity" as the angsty af Arle request you did last req period. This one takes place some time after that story, and is less angsty in this case (but there's definitely still some here).

Here, similarily to the last request, the "Mother" of the House is staying in... let's say Fontaine, tending to one of the injured children (could be some rando kid, or maybe it's one of the Fontaine trio) after a mission. Unlike last time though, it's looking as though the child will pull through, that "Mother" won't have to bury another of her kids!

Bad news tho, the people responsible for the child's injuries are coming around to finish what they started. Arle, who's handling business elsewhere, catches wind of this and makes haste to help her wife.

Little did those who came to finish the child realize what danger they're in. Because you see, fem!reader is a former child of the House of Hearth. Not just that, she's the wife of a Harbinger. Normally she doesn't engage in violence, but these people Hage intentions of ending her child's life, and she simply cannot let that slide.

And so, Arle arrives just in time to bare witness to her s/o going absolutely John Wick (does she kill anyone with a pencil? That's up to you 🤭) on the bandits who dared to cross her not once, but twice.

(Part one) (Part three) (Part four) (Part five)

Ohoho.... I absolutely love this, dear Anon, and I'm hoping you'll love my spin on this as well!! Although I have to admit that I gave it a bit of a mellow end, instead of the "John Wick" type of ending, mainly because I found it more fitting with what I was going for... but anyhow, thank you so much for this request, I was definitely looking forward to it, hehe!!<33

Content: Some gore, Near character death, mentions of near fatal injuries/wounds, blood, mentions of grief/child loss, Reader snapping, violence, assassination attempts, Reader is referred to as "Mother", heavy angst, hurt/comfort, kind of a good ending for once?, stitches

Reader uses she/her pronouns here!!

((Not proofread))

The last one standing had crimson palms. (Arlecchino x Fem!Reader)

"I... I wish to..." "Shh... not another word, child... don't you dare say it." Your hands were stained red once more, pressing down on another gashing, deep wound, sweat running down your forehead as everyone around you attempted to stop the bleeding. You didn't want him to see what had become of him, one hand resting over his teary eyes to stop your heart from shattering any further. You wished she was here, your dearest wife, who had to choose this week of all the others to leave the country for a short business trip.

And today was supposed to be a good day. One filled with the laughter of children and the smell of grilled sausages and steaks coming from the garden. You were trying to have a little festival together to celebrate the start of warmer months. But the atmosphere had now become suffocating with the smell of sharp iron and sweat instead, the gentle warmth now scorching hot, exhausting, and grinding you down to the bone. However, you couldn't let go of him now. You couldn't let him die. You refused to give up on him, especially. You refused to let him become another buried angel.

His hand pressed against yours weakly, his breaths deep, pathetic gasps for air, as he tried telling you something important through broken cries. "Mother... Mother, please, you have to listen to me." He coughed out, blood staining his lips, as his other hand reached out blindly to grasp onto the fabric of your once white sundress. You furrowed your brows against the darkness of the room, light only filtering in through the moon outside and the shaky hands of Lynette trying to keep a lantern steady so her twin could keep patching his younger brother up.

"What is it, Freminet?" You indulged him, trying to keep him awake at all costs. His voice was hoarse, raspy, once silky blonde hair now sticking to his forehead as he gulped dryly to collect his thoughts.

"They are coming for us, mother... and you are next."

Lyney gave you a look, one filled with an undefined emotion he only ever had when it came to your protection. If you didn't know better, you would've been terrified at how similar he was becoming to his father. "Those assassins we encountered during our mission, Mother... they weren't ordinary ones, to say the least." He muttered to you, his mind replaying the moment one of them struck his brother, who was just trying to protect them out of pure instinct. He was brave, despite the shyness he often portrayed.

"How so?" You wiped away the sweat on your forehead, nose wrinkling when another member of the house handed you a medkit before they disappeared into the shadows again. "They... knew us by name. Every single one of us. And then-" You waved over Lynette to stand in your place whilst her twin spoke, so you could unpack the needed supplies for the upcoming "operation" you had to conduct on your son. You've become a near professional over the years. Something else you didn't choose to do nor want to be.

"-They uttered your name. We... believe that they are trying to weaken Father. And you are that weakness they are seeking, Mother.-" "-They've come to finish the job. We... we need to evacuate everyone.. we need to hide her.-" Lynette hushed Freminet quickly, as she pressed some cloth into his mouth. With a glance downwards to his wound, she determined that it would definitely hurt horribly to stitch him up... but he'd live. For the first time in weeks, someone would live. She closed her eyes to hide those tears that threatened to spill in relief.

You stared at the three of them for a moment before you simply proceeded with placing the first few stitches into the boy's wound wordlessly. He writhed in pain, his fingernails digging into the mattress below whilst his screams and cries were muffled by the cloth. Lyney and Lynette were trying to hold him down, their bodies wincing involuntarily at every sharp breath or movement from their brother. Your expression was meanwhile unreadable, hands moving automatically until you cut the string and were done with your little procedure. It's as if your mind completely fazed out, only driven by the need to fix and protect, keep everyone alive no matter what.

"Lyney." The young man hesitantly met your gaze, his body shaking when his brother fell limply into the bed again, his breathing heavy and uneven. "Evacuate everyone into the upper floors and then come back to watch over Freminet." You said, quick to wipe your hands with a nearby towel nearly coldly, but Lyney knew that look in your eyes. You were sick of it and would take it all into your own hands if your wife couldn't. "Mother, you can't just-" "-Lynette, use the backdoor and let this bird free." You tapped the golden cage on the nightstand with your fingers, the little sparrow chirping curiously. It was a messenger bird, one specifically designed to catch your wife's attention and bring her home instantly when things got out of control.

But you weren't using it for it's purpose tonight. No, everything was completely under control here... you just needed her to come back home to stop you once you're done.

"Mother-" A sharp look made him quickly reconsider what he was about to say, a hand pressing against his chest whilst he bowed. "... we're on it." Lyney muttered, signaling Lynette to love with him, which she did after grabbing the bird cage. Their paths split at the stairs, the girl practically descending them two steps at a time, which got the attention of their fellow bretheren immideatly. "Everyone! Get into the attic or your rooms at once! Mother's orders, so get moving! Barricade your doors and don't open them up to anyone! This is an absolute emergency!" Everyone jumped when they heard the usually playful magicians voice bark out orders harshly, automatically getting the job done as everyone filed up the stairs to do as he said.

Lyney pushed through the crowd to continue looking for stray children who may not have heard him. His heart was racing against his ribcage, sweat dripping off his forehead he could only barely wipe off with a handkerchief he accidentally dropped when someone bumped into him. But your orders were clear in his mind and kept him steady. He knew that he and most, if not all, other kids of the house could take care of themselves just fine... but this was something beyond their means. Something usually only Father got to handle.

By the time he finally got back to his brothers room, you had left it behind, nowhere to be found, and yet the injured boy had a simple blanket covering his shivering form now, dressed in clean clothes and resting on perfectly white bedsheets. Lyney waited by the door, his hand gripping the handle tightly, as he listened to his sisters familiar steps running towards him. He let her in, eyes glancing around the dim hallway one more time before he tipped his hat down and shut the wooden entrance again.

The only sound heard for a moment after was the chirping of a bird in the dead of night until deafening silence filtered in once more.

---

The house of Hearth was never still and unmoving, not even in the darkest parts of the day. The late hours were the busiest, filled with agents and children alike walking in and out of it's doors under the cover of shadows to complete their given tasks and missions. The iron, bloody scent left behind by their previous endeavors, their hushed words to eachother as they passed by, the movement of paper being hidden under floorboards, some given to you with proud looks for approval, as you stayed up with them until the first rays of the sun danced in your eyes... it was never calm, never quiet. Yet the intruders didn't question it. They didn't even think twice to enter the house, the open birdcage. They mistook the silence and stillness for safety.

The first assasin stepped in through the picked lock of a backdoor entrance, his cautious eyes trying to catch any looming danger that may cause them trouble. Yet with nothing in sight, he waved over the rest of his three little friends right into your humble home. "Okay, you know the plan... kill as many of those little rats as you can." "And what about the Mother?" One of them asked, his hair clumsily hidden under a makeshift hood, a dirty grin on his lips in anticipation.

"Can I get rid of her? It won't be much of a struggle, I'm sure. She's just a measly housewife anyway." "Heard she's a pretty thing, though." A round of chuckles filled the kitchen before the first shrugged. "Do what you want. We just have to be done by dawn... let's split up in two groups, then. Just in case." The men agreed, one group making their way upwards, whilst the other searched the ground floors.

The darkness was inviting, the silence emitting a false sense of safety that made the intruders let their guards down, unaware of your form slinking after them. You were calm and collected, eyes dull, the dim moonlight not catching in them anymore. A mother's rage was a dangerous, unpredictable one. Filled with the need to make those who hurt her children suffer, she'd advance even through the most perilous paths for the sake of glory, revenge.

Unbeknownst to anyone, you had put two and two together a long time ago. These intruders, who belonged to a foreign enemy faction, were the cause of many of your children's deaths. They were the reason as to why you had to hear them cry out that odd wish so often. They had dared to enter your territory tonight to take away the rest of the family you had worked so hard for to have. You worked so hard to be a good mother. You bled, you cried, you slaughtered your way here. You became a "mother" one could be proud of. And on this fateful night, you'd prove your worth and pride to even Celestia above you with their screams that will reach far and wide. Your hand gripped a silver dagger, one originally gifted to you by your wife, as you blew out a lantern in one of the hallways, plunging everyone into further darkness that was far from warm.

It was ice cold.

---

"Wait outside." Arlecchino gave the Fatui agents a sharp, warning look, her clawed fingers tight around the Scythe as she entered the still, quiet building she called home. Her eyes glanced around carefully, noting immideatly that the danger that lurked in the dark was familiar. The bird on her shoulder chirped, reminding her of why she had come here in the first place. The meeting she had was cut short by it flying through the window, the call for help loud and clear. She had simply walked out then, her priority always having been you and the house, although it still made her wonder why exactly everything seemed so... unusually silent. Did Lyney and the other children deal with the threat already? If so... where were you?

Her keen ears picked up movement in the living room nearby, which made her calmly make her way over to it's entrance. With a raise of a brow, she stopped when she stepped into a puddle of blood. It seems like her suspicions were partially correct... althkugh who it was that took care of the intruders certainly came as a surprise.

"... You came." Your voice made the tension in her shoulders cease, eyes flickering to your form seated infront of the fireplace. The orange light cascaded across the dark room, the four mangled bodies laying at the bottom of your favorite lavish loveseat being a testament to your victory, and yet you remained still as a statue, back turned to her to observe the flames instead.

"You called." Arlecchino replied after taking in the situation, the sound of her heeled shoe echoing off the walls, as she approached you carefully. Her clawed hand grabbed onto your shoulder, head tilting to look at the side of your head. Your eyes were cold, not even the scorching warmth of the fire melting them. You were unreadable, hands bloody, and yet still so tightly gripping onto the dagger like your life depended on it. And despite that, you were still breathtaking to the woman.

"Are... you alright, my dove?" She asked, a genuine tone in her voice that was only ever reserved for you. The tears in your eyes burned when you finally looked up at her with a pained expression. You weren't like her. You couldn't just kill and be as proud as you hoped to be. You raised your hands towards her, bloody palms raised towards the gods the way they often were when you pleaded for help and forgiveness for the death of your children. You didn't need to say anything anymore, as she pressed a hand to your cheek with an acknowledging nod.

She wasn't good at comfort, nor did she ever try to be. A father didn't comfort his children in her eyes. No, a father simply led them to glory, and that's it. But that didn't mean that she was a bad wife, too. She sat down next to you, uncaring of the bloody mess that surrounded you, when she pulled you close to press your foreheads together. It was a way to silently show her support. She was there for you and understood you.

"I was scared... they hurt Freminet, and I couldn't fathom losing the rest-" "-I know. Thank you for your bravery, my dove. I'll take it from here." Her words were curt and short, and most would perhaps chalk it up to indifference. But when she held you close like this, gently rubbed your back and promised to take care of you only she knew how to, you found yourself being lulled back into the familiar comfort you were so used to. You knew that despite everything that happened, however, she could still not promise that this would never happen again. Your hands will always be stained crimson for as long as you were a Mother. There was no going back. There was no leaving the house.

But... you both were stuck in it together forever, weren't you?

Alrightttt... this took a while to finish, mainly due to work and me being sick again. But yeah, thank you again for the request, Anon, and I hope you liked this!!<33

[starrgirll444]

𝓜EET 𝓣HE ✶ 𝓑AND

　　　　　　ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : tokio hotel members aka selene's BFFS ✶⋆.˚

some people have friends, some people have groups they hang out with. and then there’s us—family would be a better word to describe our dynamic. you don't get just one of us without the rest.

　— one inside joke, and the whole group is gone, doubled over, even if were in an interview or something important.

　— one of our names gets brought up? people instantly think of all of us

　— if one of us falls, the rest are already catching them

　— if one of us wins, the whole group is celebrating like it’s our victory- because for us it is.

　— if someone tries to mess with one of us? they won't make that mistake again.

　　　　　　 we⠀⠀ are⠀⠀tokio ⠀⠀hotel⠀ ⠀！

ᯓ★ BILL

singer . 20 . ESFP . virgo . black cat . cigarettes and dark eyeshadow . always stealing my leather jackets . 10 min long voice recordings . chipped nail polish

literally the sweetest sunshine under layers of dark eyeshadow and leather jackets, looks like they could kill you but is actually a cinnamon roll, the voice of an angel, one of the smartest stupidest people you will ever meet, extremely intuitive and always knows how to cheer you up, could talk your ear off for hours without breathing, absolutely NOT a morning person- don’t even try waking him up if u value your life, always running late, extremely caring and loyal without question

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

ᯓ★TOM

guitarist . 20 . ESTJ . virgo . icon . snapbacks and loud music . breaking my guitars . random facetime calls at 4am . color coordinating outfits

my evil twin fr, looks like they could kill you and would probably kill you, extremely talented but only when he wants to be, couldn’t find their way out of a paper bag if they tried, defends you without question, barges into my room at all hours of the day, extremely competitive and is the reason monopoly is banned from our friend group, can get ready in 30 seconds, will make you laugh in the worst situations

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

ᯓ★ GEORG

bassist . 21 . ENTP . aries . sarcastic mf . vodka and swearing . always gets the last word . the most out of pocket texts in the gc . silly graphic tees

absolutely zero filter whatsoever, looks like a cinnamon roll but would probably kill you, i’ll do it if you do it energy 24/7, sleep schedule is basically non existent, the messiest perfectionist you’ll ever meet, comes up with the most random dangerous activities for no reason, will keep playing a video game until he wins, will argue with anyone for fun, weirdly good listener but terrible advice giver

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

ᯓ★ GUSTAV

drummer . 21 . ISFP . virgo . “mom” of the group . converse and caffine . morning person . leaves the gc on open 24/7 . oversized sweaters

always keeps us in check, looks like a cinnamon roll and is a cinnamon roll, sassiest mf ever like okay miss diva, cryptic threatening text messages if you wake him up, always on time for everything, professional listener and gives amazing advice, literally always tired, will give you judging (insane side eye) looks but yk he will support you no matter what

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

ᯓ★ and ofc... SELENE

singer/guitarist . 20 . ESTP . gemini . icon . gold jewelry and leather jackets . adrenaline junkie . spamming the gc in the middle of the night . digital camera attached to the hip

cannot sit still to save her life, looks like they could kill you and would probably kill you, playing her guitar at 4am bc she can, terrible at expressing emotions but is good at cheering you up, does not know how to stop talking ever, manically deep cleaning the apartment at 7am, goes thru 10+ skateboards a month, ride or die friend and literally never shuts up abt them

[radiant-reid]

Hey Cate, I love your writing and love the way you portray Spencer and I would love if you could write a blurb where it's father's day and Spencer is with reader and their twin daughters(#girldadspencer) and it's just fluff with him and their family anyway feel free to just ignore me

thank you <3 dad!spence is my favorite to write, and girl twins!! say less

The soft morning light filters through the curtains, casting a gentle glow across the room. It was Father's Day, a day of celebration and appreciation, and as always, you had plans to make Spencer feel as treasured as he deserves to feel.

Spencer stirs in his sleep, blinking his eyes open to find you're not next to him. Like the majority of the mornings in the last eight years, he hears your voice first. "Okay, be really quiet." You instruct your twin daughters, whose feet pitter-patter on the hardwood as they walk closer to his side of the bed.

They watch him eagerly, and their eyes dance with excitement when his eyes open.

"Good morning, Daddy," Payton says, her voice filled with anticipation.

Spencer sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and smiles at the sight before him. "Good morning, angels. What's all this?"

With matching grins, they climb onto the bed next to him and present him with handmade cards.

Their little hands had carefully crafted heartfelt messages of love and appreciation, and you had adored watching them talk about how much they loved their dad.

Spencer's heart swells with joy as he eagerly takes the cards in his hands, studying the colorful drawings and heartfelt words.

For the best dad in the world, one card reads, adorned with stick-figure drawings of your family.

Daddy, you're our superhero, the other card declares, complete with a stick-figure drawing of Spencer wearing a cape.

Tears threaten to escape Spencer's eyes as he looks at his daughters, overwhelmed by the love they've expressed for him. "Thank you, my sweet babies. These are beautiful, you're both such talented artists."

You place a tender hand on Spencer's shoulder as you sit in bed next to him, your smile filled with adoration watching him interact with them. "You're an amazing father, Spencer. You've guided our girls with kindness, patience, and so much love. We wanted to make this day special for you."

Spencer can't have asked for a more loving and supportive family, it's everything he ever wanted. With his daughters perching on either side of him, he embraces the moment, cherishing the love that surrounded him.

As the morning unfolded, you all gathered in the kitchen, the tantalizing aroma of breakfast filling the air. The girls, eager to help, don miniature aprons, their tiny hands assisting you in preparing a special Father's Day feast.

Spencer sits at the kitchen island, watching the beautiful chaos unfold before him. He marvels at the way you effortlessly multitask, balancing cooking and laughter, while the girls enthusiastically pour ingredients into bowls, their giggles echoing through the room.

"You two are doing so well helping Mommy." Spencer praises, his eyes filled with pride. "I'm lucky to have such talented chefs in my life."

The twins beam with delight, reveling in their father's words of encouragement. Together, you cook a delicious Father's Day meal.

As you sit down to eat at the table adorned with their handmade cards and a bouquet of flowers, Spencer looks around at his family. In moments like that, he's always reminded that he has everything he wants.

"I'm truly grateful for all of you," Spencer says, his voice filled with emotion. "Being a father is the greatest gift I've ever received. You bring so much love, light, and happiness into my life."

"And we're grateful for you, Spencer." You reply. "We're lucky to have you."

Your daughters echoed your sentiments, their innocent voices chiming in unison. "We love you, Daddy!"

As you continued to eat breakfast together, laughter and conversation fill the air. Being your husband and a dad, Spencer feels a profound sense of gratitude for having such a beautiful family. And he feels ever luckier that he gets to have those two important roles for the rest of his life.

[sgiandubh]

Sketch for a possible aftermath

Did you ever ask yourselves how would that almost fabled Day After look, as in the day after a Reveal?

Yesterday should be a good indication.

Prudent celebration, but clear celebration here. And across the street, a stunned, heavy silence. It's only fair: shite has been eaten in colossal amounts, in Mordor, on a daily basis. S has been particularly maimed, in the process, the daily divertimento of women sniper commandos, their own sexual fantasy poorly disguised as snarl.

Two of the three sopranos remain silent and the Ur Troll still has to distance herself from the last Harlequin fanfic, featuring something that never was, on a distant shore she has no idea about. The one who immediately spoke, paid perfunctory tribute to her favorite, C, and that's about it. The other, speaking only today, answers Anons about Xena's teeth, Xena's filtered Instagram and Xena's bra: where is her vulgar courage, now? Oooh. Right. Lame, as usual and I have to say I am surprised. And their Investigator in Chief remains silent as we speak: her inflated ego blew a fuse, in the process and anger is always a lonesome territory.

The Spanish Evil Twin does not count. Her attempts at irony are tinged with her proverbial stupidity and, perhaps for the first time, with clear and present panic: she sounds drunk, just like my Anon. She is laughable.

So long for Reason. So long for Braincells. So long for all those painstaking, intricate webs of lies. Something snapped, in the Narrative and you all know it. And it happened not because all those bitter honchos at *** had a sudden Damascus like revelation, but because their complete lack of professional ethics, shamelessly lying to an entire fandom, backfired in the most horrible way they could have ever imagined.

Yesterday was a wonderful day.

Credits given to @themusicsweetly, for this wonderful gif that clearly shows just how much these two people hate each other.

[squatch-and-stretch]

Reunion V1

Ford Pines & Stan Pines & Fiddleford McGucket | 829 words | Mystery Trio Through the Multiverse AU

A scrapped draft of Stanley and Stanford’s reunion with Fiddleford in the multiverse.

The first chapter of the actual fic available here!

“Ge’down!” a voice shouts, and the sound of a human other than him or his brother is so shocking that he can’t even try to recognize it.

It stuns him so badly that he doesn’t even register the command, not until Stanley is grabbing him by the back of the coat and pulling him down. On instinct, he rolls onto his back to face the threat, and his eyes land on the massive slithering beast just in time to see something— some sort of squat tube with loose wires and four sharp metal legs— latch onto it. It doesn’t flinch even as those legs dig in and hold on tight, its head twisting a full 180 degrees so its blind, gaping maw can shoot out towards them. Faintly, inexplicably, he hears a sharp series of beeps and then—

Stanley shouts out a curse, grabbing Ford by the shoulder and turning him back towards the cave floor, one arm thrown over the back of his head, hand covering his ear. Ford means to shake him off, but before he can—

BOOM.

Even with Stanley’s hand covering one ear and the other buried in his brother’s armpit— gross, he notes distantly— the sound is nearly deafening. Stanley pulls away with another series of curses, this time under his breath, too soft for Ford to catch.

“C’mon, this way, don’ wanna see what that did to the structure of that there cave!” the voice shouts, or, at least, they say something along those lines. It’s still hard to parse, both physically with his ringing ears and mentally with his mind racing with no known destination.

Stanley doesn’t seem to hear it at all, still kneeling on the cave floor. He lifts a hand to his ear and Ford watches as it comes away wet. As soon as Stanley himself seems to notice, he quickly wipes it on his jacket, letting the fluid blend into his stained burgundy jacket.

It’s up to Ford to grab him this time, pulling him to his feet and towards the entrance of the cave. There's a person— or person-shaped being, perhaps, Ford can’t take anything here for granted— silhouetted against the strange light of this unfamiliar dimension as it filters into the cave. They’re tall and wearing a long, tattered coat, and that’s all Ford can make out at this distance. As cautious as he is of the stranger, he can’t deny the logic of their words.

Once Stanley seems to get the point, he pulls away to stand on his own, wobbling slightly. He shakes his head and shoves his hand into his pocket, doubtlessly retrieving the pair of brass knuckles he has stored away there.

As they approach the stranger, a few more features come into relief; light brown hair pulled back into a messy bun, green-tinted goggles with one cracked lens, a scrap of brown cloth wrapped around their neck and brought up over their nose. The long coat, Ford realizes, is a tattered and stained lab coat.

With a jolt, Ford recognizes the hair color, the lanky build, the anxious hunch…

“Son of a gun,” the not-stranger groans, pulling his scarf down to reveal a familiar soft jawline and tight frown.

“Fiddleford,” Ford breathes, hardly believing his eyes. He wants to run up to his partner, pull him into a hug and celebrate the fact that he’s alive, it worked, Ford made it in time, but even Ford can read the way Fiddleford’s tense posture only tightens at the sight of him.

“Stanford,” Fiddleford says in response, “What in tarnation are you doin’ here? And who…”

Fiddleford’s eyes land on Stanley, brows furrowing for just a moment before his eyes widen.

“Stanley,” he concludes. “Hell of a way to mend bridges with your estranged twin brother.”

“I wouldn’t really say those bridges have been mended,” Ford mumbles, and surprisingly, Stanley doesn’t respond.

He hasn’t said anything, actually, in quite some time. He’s still staring at Fiddleford, posture defensive, eyes wary but distant, somehow. Some sort of cloudy liquid has gathered in the low notch of his ear, a few drops making their way down his jaw. As if noticing at the same time as Ford, Stan huffs and tilts his head, lifting a shoulder to wipe the liquid away. His breath hitches as if the movement pains him.

For all his staring, Stanley doesn’t seem to notice. He squeezes his eyes shut for a long moment before opening them again.

“Stanley?” Ford asks, completely distracted by his strange behavior. Stanley doesn’t respond, still watching Fiddleford warily.

“What do you want?” Stanley says, far more loudly than necessary, glaring at Fiddleford.

Fiddleford, for his part, just stares at Stanley in the same way he used to look over Ford’s less-than-legible notes and equations.

“Shoot,” Fiddleford mumbles, lifting a hand to his own ear. “Done ruptured his eardrum, I reckon.”

“I’m fine,” Stanley grumbles, moving to mirror the motion before just letting his arm drop.

[xxx-theartofsuicide-xxx]

Took the weekend to celebrate my birthday. For those of you who care, I went to the playground with my mom, my sister and our babies (they're the same age, birth month twins, we shared a pregnancy) and got lots of sun and fresh air. The playground has an industrial strength adult-sized seesaw and it let's you touch the fucking sky, bless. After lunch at my favorite Chinese buffet that serves the best shrimp I've ever had in my life, we went back home and my best friend was sitting on the porch to surprise me with a case of fancy beer and two new games for the PS5 I got for Christmas 💕 Hollow Knight and Elden Ring, imma tear that shit up whenever I get sick of Fallout. Then my husband's parents came and they gave me $70 and this rad Beetlejuice T-shirt.

It's big too so I can cut it however I want 🥰

After everybody left, husband pulled this scrumptious strawberry krunch ice cream cake out of nowhere and solo'd me the happy birthday song 😊 with feeling.

Then I got dicked down professionally and got to indulge my insomniac tendencies and stay up all night playing video games with the reassurance that he had baby tomorrow, I could sleep in as late as I want. 31 is going to be a fantastic year for me. I have a lot of big things happening.

Now. For the angry mob in my ask box:

Didn't read a word of that. I muted Tumblr the night before my birthday and this morning my wonderful husband filtered through and deleted all the ugly ones for me so I wouldn't even have to skim any of your garbage. I am dearly loved.

Not looking at notifications either. In fact, consider Tumblr notifs off for me forever. Y'all can have my attention when I feel like giving it and only when I feel like giving it. Abusive reblogs will also be blocked and forgotten. Trying to communicate with you imbeciles is like trying to teach trigonometry to toddlers (say that five times fast), so let me spell this out as simply as I can for you single-celled organisms.

• I reblogged one of Spike's posts three times (our one and only conversation) before blocking him

• At this point, I began receiving nonstop anonymous harassment that went on for about 1-2 weeks. I did not retaliate in kind because I don't believe in it. I've been the recipient of anonymous harassment for many years due to my dead dove content. My candid responses are sharp and cruel enough on their own without need of anonymity. The very notion offends my pride. I cannot abide cowardice.

• I did not report Spike. Not once, not for any of it, not even the abusive anons that I fully believe came from him. Why? Because there's no proving it, I'm not going to waste anyone's time on a hunch, and I have gotten so much hate over the years that I don't bother with any of that frill. It's too time-consuming. If I reported everything that offended me, I would never leave this stupid app.

• If I had reported Spike, you can bet your simple ass I would be sitting here gloating and taking credit. He's a shitstain and he deserves bad things. But I didn't! It sure is fucking funny that it happened though, and it's unspeakably flattering that you utter buffoons legitimately believe I'm capable of this, that I even have that kind of power. Have y'all not seen my notes? What kind of numbers do you think I'm pulling? How many people do you think I have under hypnosis? Cause I'm tellin' you right now it's like 2-3 bitches and none of them would ever do anything like that at my behest. It would damage our mutual respect.

Real Rae and anon-answering Rae are two different people. The person I am when I am responding to anonymous harassment is a cold, ruthless cunt with no concern for your thoughts, feelings, or intentions. Once an individual has decided that they're going to hide their identity in order to manipulate me, I shut down and turn to stone. This is a carefully cultivated defense mechanism.

"Don't eat me. I'm toxic."

A simple way to avoid ever interacting with this character I put on is by never leaving anonymous harassment in my askbox. And no, I won't turn off anons for you to make you comfy bc wahh you don't like me and I'm a meanie lmao. Utilize that block button, child. Learn how to enforce boundaries and respect the boundaries of others. Neither Spike nor any of his braindead minions are entitled to my time and attention.

It's incredibly valuable.

Now onto the next order of business: Laura/Afterthefuneral? Who was in my server for a little while before I booted her after she was criminally obnoxious? Who is now buddying up to Spike and intentionally trolling, feeding his paranoia with complete and total fabrications? (I have never even visited Bluesky. I don't even know what the user interface looks like.)

Here's a screenshot of how she really feels about Spike. It's the only thing we ever agreed on:

And here's a video of her cussing out her sickly cat, Pumpkin, after he was incapable of consuming the salty processed meat she left out for him:

TW: Animal abuse, disturbing footage

Pumpkin is 20~ years old. Pumpkin has cancer and a whole host of other health issues, several of which clearly stem from neglect.

Laura insists that she is unable to afford treatment/euthanasia/nail trimmings for him despite how often (and it was miserably often) she showed off her newest Beetlejuice-themed swag purchases, price tag and all. Laura believes in supporting small creators, you see. Amazon isn't good enough for her. Anyone who shared space in Dante's with Laura can attest that her treatment of Pumpkin is nothing short of inhumane, and that we were all (with the exception of a special few who tried their best) peace-keeping cowards who never held her accountable in any real way. Pumpkin deserves better.

I never wanted to make this post, Laura, but I will not continue concealing your hideous truths while you perpetuate egregious lies. I wish you had just listened to us the handful of times you were gently encouraged to please ease his visible suffering. Instead, you paraded him. Thinking about him is painful. Thinking about you is repugnant. Thinking about my inaction, and how I had to be pushed this far to get just a drop of justice for that pitiful animal riddles me with guilt. The bitch I was five years ago would have chewed you up and spit you out the first time you posted a picture of his poor, grimacing face and those painfully ingrown claws with the audacity to call it "sexy" (much less endured the months of countless indignifying photoshoots and captions that followed) but these sensitive motherfuckers out here got me caring more about optics than justice ‒ and that's what's really wrong with all of us, ain't it?

Y'all want a confession out of me? This is what I'm guilty of. I ignored Laura's animal abuse because I was afraid that if I pushed it, our mutual friends would be upset with me. Cowardly shit. I'm sorry, Pumpkin. I don't know what I could have done for you, but I didn't do enough and it's selfish of me to use you now as a primary character witness.

I'm going to take some more me time to tend my garden and reflect on the type of person I want to be. It saddens and angers me greatly that I allowed fear of backlash to compromise my rigid moral compass. What was I even afraid of? That's not who I am and I refuse to ever play that role again.

To the nice, harmless folks in my askbox, thank you for the love and I'll be getting back to you...when I know how to gather myself enough to answer all that. For now, I think I want to write nasty beetlebabes. It's been too long.

[mpregstuff]

Daddy's & Baby + 1 | In a vibrant park where the trees sway and the sun filters through the leaves, a strikingly handsome man stands confidently, embracing his unique journey. At five months pregnant with twins, he radiates strength and pride, showcasing the beauty of fatherhood in a way that challenges expectations. His one-year-old child nestles close, breastfeeding sweetly, while the gentle warmth of the day wraps around them like an unbreakable bond. This isn’t just a moment; it's a celebration of resilience and love, turning heads and sparking smiles from all who pass by. With each glance, he breaks stereotypes, showing that a father's nurturing spirit knows no bounds. The park buzzes with life, but he stands out, a vibrant reminder that family can take on many forms. Here, in this snapshot of everyday life, an important story unfolds, proving that strength is not defined by the traditional and that love always shines through. More images are also available at https://mpregstuff.com.

[writtenbyshama]

Promise of The Meadow (Part II and III)

A Sylus x Reader birthday fan fiction

Author's note: I made this as a video style fanfic and uploaded it on Instagram as my entry to a fan contest hosted by the game developers. If you liked what you read and want to support me in the contest, please like the Instagram post which will be linked down below.

Synopsis: This is your first time celebrating the birthday of Sylus. You plot with the twins, Luke and Kieran, and decide to make the entire month of April special. Sylus is very precious to you after all, and he deserves the absolute best. 

Notice: This fanfic has been divided into three posts because of the length. However, there is only one video.

II — Sugar Maple Hearts

I rolled over in the bed, subconsciously reaching for Sylus. He pulled me closer and placed a soft kiss on my temple. “Morning, kitten.”

I smiled and kissed him back, wishing him a happy birthday. Having stayed over at the base last night, he’d upended his sleep schedule to match mine and wake up in the morning like a human being. In no hurry to start the day, we had our breakfast in bed before slowly heading to the bathroom to wash up. Sylus wanted to spend the day with a picnic, so a picnic in one of his extensive sugar maple farms it was. We helped each other get ready and piled up in one of his off-roading SUVs with an elaborate picnic basket and a fluffy blanket.

The day was glorious, but not overly sunny that might have blinded my dear boyfriend. I insisted on driving and made him the passenger princess birthday boy for the day. He obeyed with an amused smile. 

We reached our destination in half-an-hour, entering through large metal gates that closed behind us. The workers were given a day off to give us both privacy. Sylus directed me between the huge maple trees to a clearing on a small hill. When I climbed out of the vehicle, I saw the entire farm spread out below us like a neat bushy carpet. “It’s beautiful.” 

“Not as beautiful as you, though.” Sylus stopped next to me and grabbed my waist, looking at the scenery spread out below us. 

He was, as usual, wearing a suit, but this one was special because I’d given it as one of my gifts. I wanted to see him wearing light colours and he looked breathtaking. “You’re one smooth talker.”

“You bring it out in me.”

We spread the blanket under the shade of a nearby tree and opened the picnic basket. Sylus’s in house chef had gone all out and prepared a feast fit for royalty. I bit into a sandwich, its cheesy goodness making me moan, almost. Sylus wiped off a small bit of melted cheese from my chin with his thumb and licked it clean before picking out another sandwich for himself. After we’d eaten until we were full, he took me on a tour of the farm, explaining the process of tapping the sap and sending them to the manufacturing plant nearby where the huge machines boiled down the liquid into syrup. 

The sun was at its zenith when we made our way back to the blanket. I sat down against the tree trunk while Sylus placed his head on my lap and stretched out on the blanket, his feet poking out to rest on the grass. Running my fingers through his hair, I talked about my classes and work while he listened with closed eyes. 

I had noticed that one of his love languages was quality time together. He would be happy to do a grocery run if it meant spending time with me and I was glad to have him along. The afternoon breeze and birdsong was making me drowsy too. Eventually, I slipped down to lie down in his embrace and we took a nap together. 

I woke up first, the late afternoon light filtering through the maple leaves. Sylus was soundly asleep on his back, his breaths deep and even. He’d once confessed that he never slept properly, and always lied down on his stomach with a hand on his gun underneath the pillow in case of an attack. It had gradually changed until he was comfortable enough to sleep properly around me and I had been ecstatic. There was something delightful about being the comfort person of man like him. Being the person with whom he could be vulnerable with. I wished every happiness to be showered on Sylus. 

I got up slowly, not wishing to disturb his sleep, and packed the remains of our food back in the basket and placed it in the SUV. On the way back to the blanket, I noticed the ground was covered with clover. Sitting back down next to Sylus’s sleeping form, I looked around for a four leaf clover. 

Fifteen minutes later, Sylus stirred and turned to his side, hugging my hips and plopping his chin onto my thigh. “What’re you doing?” He slurred in his cute, sleepy voice.

“Trying to see if I could get a four leaf clover for you, it’s supposed to bring good luck.”

“Hmm.”

After another ten minutes, I gave up. There wasn’t a single four clover in our vicinity. Sylus was fully awake now, watching me pout with amusement on his face. He patted my knee in consolation. “Sweetie, don’t feel bad. It’s alright, I have you as my lucky charm. By the way, is it this one by any chance?”

“Where did you find it?” I reached out to grab it, but he used his evol to make it fly away near to his shoulder. I gave him a look, he laughed it off. 

“Must be wind. Try and catch it, if you can.” He rolled over on his back, supporting his head with a folded arm and played with the clover as I swatted around to catch it. I was like a cat chasing a laser pointer, until I finally trapped it on his stomach. 

“Ha! Got it!” I rubbed his stomach with my knuckles and held up the clover with a flourish. He watched with a smile as I retrieved his wallet and carefully stuck the leaf to the leather flap inside, right next to the passport sized photo of me. Returning the wallet into the depths of his trouser pocket, I leaned forward and placed a lingering kiss on his cheek. He put his arms around me and tackled me down, and we watched a plane go overhead in amiable silence. 

“Outwardly, you seem like someone who’d have extravagant birthday parties on top of some skyscraper or something,” I mused after a while.

“Really?”

“Yeah, but this, spending time alone in the nature seems to suit your personality more, though.”

My eyes were on the sky, but I could feel his gaze on the side of my face. “How so?” He asked.

“Well, from what I’ve seen, you are surrounded by all kinds of people, but none of them know anything about you. You like spending time alone, in quiet silence or with music for company. The people who are close to you are very few, and you make them earn that position of trust beforehand. And though you like being extravagant, it’s more for the benefit of your reputation; underneath all that, you like a simple and peaceful atmosphere, without all the distractions.”

I turned to look at him, and he watching me with so much intensity that I wondered if I’d said something wrong. He finally looked away, exhaling a deep breath. “Well, you certainly are observant.” He didn’t say anything else, I let it go at that. 

Instead, I pointed at the taps on the maple trees in a bid to change the subject. “Is the tree sap sweet?”

He tilted his head. “Let’s try it and see, shall we?” He helped me stand up and we went to the nearest tree. The tap was higher than where I could reach, however, and Sylus put an arm around my legs and lifted me up. “There.”

It was difficult to concentrate when his hand was coiled around my thighs underneath my skirt. As a small act of revenge, I gathered a drop of the sticky sap on my finger and made a show of rubbing it sensually on my mouth. He watched me do it like a hawk, and closed his eyes with a sigh as I did the same to him, tongue flicking out to lick it as I did so. 

The sap was not very sweet, but before I could lick it off completely, he brought me down to kiss him. I didn’t resist. His other arm caressed my back as we kissed each other softly until our lips were red, sticky and swollen. He sighed against my mouth as we pulled back for air. “I’ll remember this day for the rest of my life, sweetheart.”

I smirked. “The day isn’t yet over.”

****

III — Candlelit Ribbons

The crimson ribbons of my dress flowed down to the floor, fluttering as I moved around my villa overseeing the final touches. I had planned for a candlelit dinner in my backyard and had cooked every dish myself. It had been late evening when we returned from the maple grove, and I’d sent him directly to his base and ordered him to wear something crimson to match me later. 

It was almost midnight now, and everything was ready. The twins were driving him here and they’d told me they were five minutes away. The flash of headlights through the front window had me scrambling to reach the door and unlock it. There, on the doorstep, Sylus looked absolutely unholy with a shirt of the darkest shade of crimson tucked into midnight black trousers, cinched with a premium leather belt with a silver buckle. He was holding a bouquet of violet lilies and a bottle of wine in one hand, the other casually tucked into his pocket. “Hello, sweetheart.”

“Sylus,” I breathed, unable to say anymore. His hair was combed back and styled with a bit of gel, and I had to clench my jaw to not start drooling right then and there. His waited patiently as I handed over a large food parcel to the twins for their work in bringing their boss here. They thanked me and left, the car lights blinking as it vanished down the driveway, through the gate. 

Once inside, I accepted the flowers and the wine, heading to the kitchen with Sylus following me. 

“Are you my gift tonight?” He asked in a low voice, twirling a stray ribbon on my dress as I unwrapped the lilies to place them in a vase.

“Do you want me to be?” I asked coyly. The dress did look like I was a wrapped gift, gathered in a bow tie sitting low on my chest. I had chosen it deliberately, mostly because I wanted to see how Sylus reacted when he found out that it unravelled if he just pulled one end of the bow tie. 

He let out a long breath but didn’t reply.

Grabbing two wine glasses and a corkscrew, I ushered him through the halls of the villa into the backyard. It was a full moon night, giving the atmosphere a magical glow when paired with the fairy lights strung onto the tree branches and the numerous golden candles everywhere. I had dragged out a table and a sofa to make the event more intimate and cozy. 

“This is really pretty, sweetheart.” He was holding me by the waist, absentmindedly playing with the ribbons as he looked at everything I had set up. His jewelled eyes shined brightly, making the other lights seem dull and lifeless. 

Fingers curling around the lapel of his silk shirt, I led him towards the sofa covered with plush cushions. The table in front of it was covered with his favourite dishes and the gifts for the day. The entire set up faced the spread of Linkon city below our feet. Sylus sat down and I curled up next to him, tucking my bare feet under a pillow. 

I had never seen Sylus go out without an exquisite brooch pinned to his lapel. So, I had used my savings to hire a jewellery smith to make a diamond brooch that matched the crow brooch I had from Sylus. Mine had a brilliant red ruby encrusted into the dark metal shaped into a crow. The one that I now pinned to his shirt’s lapel had a solitary diamond peeking from its place next to the crow that was identical to mine. 

Sylus ran a finger over the planes of the diamond. For the first time ever, I could see he was speechless. When he looked up, I thrust another gift onto his lap. He opened it and took out a soft cat plushie. I chuckled at his somber expression. “It’s for when I can’t be with you for the night, so you don’t have to sleep alone.” He tried very hard not to show that he liked the plushie, but I noticed the way he caressed the cat’s head and carefully placed it on the other side of the sofa. 

After accepting that day’s temple offerings, he heartily tucked into the food I had prepared. I poured the wine he’d brought into glasses and we clinked them together. The atmosphere was filled with good-natured banter and laughter as we ate. The wine created a pleasant buzz in my mind as we finished eating and laid back, lazily exchanging kisses and fluttering touches. 

Goosebumps erupted on my skin as he pulled the ribbon near my bust and unravelled the dress, eyes roving appreciatively as he did so. As it was, his first birthday celebration with me ended up with him carrying me inside, the rest of the night being spent in each other’s embrace.

****

Part I

Part IV

Here's the link to video version if you're interested :)

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