#i still have to take the trash out today so that's important

[violetsareblue-selfships]

good morning!! <3

[autism-corner]

huge day btw

[snaileer]

I’m a Size Medium, Thanks - 2

Part one: https://www.tumblr.com/snaileer/766471879423885312/im-a-size-medium-thanks

Danny stares into the eyes of what has got to be the grumpiest looking 12-14?10? How tall are children?- year old he’s ever met. And he grew up with Sam!

Danny looks back through the door, hoping to everything that an adult walks through. He is disappointed.

“Well?” The boy snaps, foot tapping.

“Uh, can I help.. you?” Danny says, voice ticking up. That’s what you’re supposed to say at a job right? Or maybe the kid wasn’t supposed to be here, “Do you need to call someone…?” He hopes not, he doesn’t know how or if the shop has a phone, and his… well his is wired through a realm of the dead so enough said there.

“My name is Damian Wayne.” He says primly. And expectantly.

Danny looks outside again, past the neon sign he specifically hadn’t turned on, then back at the Damian kid, blinking. There’s no way this was that ‘Mr.Wayne.’

The kid rolls his eyes impressively well then drops his glare back onto Danny, “Has this absurd incense burned away whatever meager sense you were born with? I am here to have a so-called ‘reading’ with a medium.”

If Danny hadn’t seen this Damian kid walk in with three whisps of shades wrapped around his arms, Danny would have questioned why, but he did, so he doesn’t.

He does, however, say: “Aren’t you a little young… to be like.. talking about death or something?” Though honestly, the incense is a real concern, Danny hadn’t even lit any today, Claire had just left it burning and the whole room was saturated.

“Will you fulfill your job description or not, you peasant?” The kid grits out.

Danny would really rather not. Like really rather not. But nOoo, here he was, waiting for a portal that could show up at any time, pretending he was a medium for a 7 year old just because he could talk to ghosts.

Danny sighs and drags himself around the counter to go into Claire’s weird little seance room. Maybe the fumes will kill him before the embarrassment does.

The kid follows.

Danny drops himself into Claire’s chair with weirdly plush armrests for still being so uncomfortable.

“Alright then, let’s get this over with. I’m Danny, the -ugh- medium. Whatdya wanna know?” Danny says as he kicks his leg out to hit a shade getting agitated and grabby by Damian’s feet. They got way too much of a spiritual boost from this room for Danny to be comfortable with it.

Damian watches him with a raised eyebrow, still not sitting down, “Aren’t you meant to lead the seance?”

Danny’s lip curls in distaste, he huffs a sigh and lets his shoulders drop, opening his mouth to tell this 9-year old something easy about one of his shades and be done-

He spots a sticky note stuck on the crystal ball.

-Danny, don’t forget, the showmanship is important! I trust you know how to meet expectations! Happy first day!

- Claire <3

Danny feels his face go deadpan. He was going to have this woman committed. That’s what he was going to do. She could be studied for the degenerative cognitive effects of being freaking bazonkers.

Danny plucks the note off the crystal ball and crumples it, letting the trash drop to the abyss that is Claire’s plush carpet.

He sighs, looking back up at Damian. The kid snaps his head towards him from where he’d been poking around the curtained walls- weirdo- but Danny beats him to the snappy comment.

“You got any spiritually charged items? Or like… something?” Danny says, taking a guess, he can make the thingy glow, say some nonsense, get paid, and close.

Damian narrows his eyes at him, but slowly moves to sit in the other chair, perched on the edge of the seat. He pulls something from his pocket and sets it on the table.

Pearls.

It’s a clump of shiny white pearls.

Absolutely dripping in ectoplasmic blood stains. So lovely.

Does Claire have biohazard gloves because oh gosh-

Danny hesitantly reaches for the pearls, lifting the strand between two fingers as he looks between it and the 12 year old. “You sure this is what you want to ask about?”

The kid’s glare turns challenging, mocking, “What? Admitting you are nothing but a charlatan?”

Danny grimaces, “Not quite. I mean…” He looks at the pearls again, then at the shade trying to hack away at the kids neck, “There’s definitely someone or something attached to this it’s just… not .. yours.”

“Tt,” the boy clicks his tongue at him, “and how exactly would you know that, charlatan?” Damian levels a mocking look up and down at him.

Danny’s eye twitches as he grimaces a smile, “Part of the job-“ brat. Danny doesn’t say that. Danny can’t say that. Danny has to deal with death obsessed TODDLERS who want to talk about some rando’s gruesome murder just so he can eat tonight. Or find somewhere to sleep. He doubts this will be enough for both.

Maybe if he’s dramatic enough.

Alright get to it then, Danny.

He sighs, dimming the light with Claire’s little remote- he is not so far gone as to turn them green like she had- and actually focusing his energy on the pearl necklace.

“What are you-“

Danny holds up a finger at Damian to silence him, which surprisingly works. He closes his eyes and starts trying to absorb the vibes of ectoplasmic remains as slowly as he can.

Feelings of course come with it and- well what’d ya know, he can definitely feel this attached to a ghost somewhere in this city.

“It’s a woman’s… younger than she should have been when she…”

He can hear Damian scoff, “Obviously, anyone could tell me that.”

Danny rolls his eyes under his eyelids, debating the merits of opening one to glare at him when his eyes are definitely glowing.

“She’s still here but-“ Danny says instead, trying to pull on the connection wandering out into the streets, “She can’t come here here.”

“What do you mean?” The boy snaps.

Danny tries to focus harder on it himself, he’s never done this before, tried to find or communicate with a ghost from an object… it was like Pointdexter and his mirror.

“She’s stuck somewhere… somewhere more important.. it’s dark and narrow and Danny mentally rears back as images flash into his mind. Accompanied of course by a woman’s scream.

An alley. A gun. A man stepping in front of her to protect her- no not her- a kid- Damian- not Damian- looks like-

Danny opens his eyes and drops the necklace. There’s barely any ectoplasm left on it.

Fine with him, he never wants to touch it again. But yuck that means he absorbed it!! Oh ewwww-

“Well?” An impatient voice asks and- oh yeah that’s right, the rude ass kid.

Danny pushes the pearls across the table with a finger and looks up at him, “Woman in an alley, that familiar to you?”

Damian’s eyes narrow, “Anyone who knows who I am could tell me the same.”

Danny snaps, “I don’t-!“ This is a child Danny, a child, he takes a deep breath, “Well she was scared for the kid, and now is… proud of him? There’s a lot of concern there, but she still watches him I guess, so that’s all I got for ya.”

Damian scrutinizes him for a minute, silent. Darn, weren’t mediums supposed to be vague as heck so that anything could apply and the person would find their own meaning? But did it count if he was just translating the vibes off a shade half a city away?

“This is…. acceptable.”

Danny nearly sags in relief and moves to stand, “Cool, then-“

“Wait.” The kid holds up a hand, “You said something regarding a disparity in the proposed ownership of the apparition you believed to be related to this jewelry.”

Danny blinks at him dumbly.

Damian scoffs again, “That the apparition attached to this necklace was ‘not mine,’ as you said??” He snarks, putting air quotes up.

Danny slowly sinks back down into the chair. “… Well yeah I mean..” does he tell this 8 year old about the slightly murderous shades he’s got around him? “You have… you have a couple… apparations… yourself. Not related to the pearls that is.” Danny says hesitantly, eyes skipping over said shades.

Damian jerks his head to follow his eyes and Danny shirks back, eyes back on the kid.

“Who are they? Tell me now,” Damian demands, standing to loom over the table.

Danny puts his hands up in surrender, “Whoa, I don’t know about that, they don’t really seem too happy with you-“ Another one tries to slice his hand through Damian’s neck, “I think you did something to them or made them angry at some point. I don’t really think you should try to contact them-“ Danny winces, that could end very badly. Thank goodness for limited ectoplasm access.

Meanwhile, his answer seems to have only made Damian more upset, his eyes wide as he stares down at Danny.

Suddenly the kid turns and stamps towards the door, leaving Danny to hurriedly push the chair out and chase after him to the main room.

Except-

When he gets there Damian is already shooting hushed insults at a man standing amongst the crystals.

The man looks vaguely like Damian, black hair, blue eyes, lithe build, and oh also- surrounded by shades of course.

These ones seem less vicious at least.

Please don’t be here for him. Please don’t be here for him.

Danny really doesn’t want to try and fake his way through another hour or however long it’s been of that.

“Hey there! I’m Dick, Damian’s brother!” The man says suddenly, pushing Damian aside and coming forward with a cheery grin, “Thanks for humoring him!”

Danny tilts his head to see Damian’s scowling face behind the man. Right.

“Uh huh… I’m Danny.” He says, trying not to be distracted by what he’s pretty sure is a baby elephant’s ghost behind him.

“You’re the medium right? We were just so interested to see if that old family heirloom would have anything or not. We-“

“We?” Damian cuts him off with a scoff, “I will meet you in the vehicle Richard. I will not spend another minute in this house of charlatans.”

They both watch as the kid turns and stomps out the door, uncrossing his arms only to open the door and stomp out. The stupid bell rings merrily.

This time it’s not Danny who sighs.

“I wish he wouldn’t say things like that,” Dick says wearily, “I grew up in places like this.” There’s a note of nostalgia to his voice. Danny just eyes the bowl of ‘fertility’ crystals warily, what kind of place??

Dick must see him do it because he huffs a laugh, “I grew up in a circus originally,” he explains, “So psychic places always just kinda remind me of my auntie’s tents.”

Danny glances at the elephant shaped ghost again, “Wow that makes so much sense actually.”

The guy raises a confused eyebrow at him.

Danny coughs awkwardly, waving it away, “So, money?” He claps, “I’m guessing you’re paying since Damian is…” Danny trails off, opting not to make a final guess on age and embarrass himself.

Dick laughs again and they go over to the counter, “Yep, here-“ He pulls out his wallet, rifling through cash before pulling some out, “Cash only yeah? This should be enough.”

Danny stares at the stack of slightly rumpled bills, “But- huh?…” that was… that was so much…

“Oh I added extra since I’m sure he probably said some things he shouldn’t have, don’t worry about it.”

Dick is already halfway out the door when Danny reloads and jerks upwards, “Wai-“

Could Danny really stop him? Should he? He needed this money but… he stops to count it. $20..40..60..80..100..120….140……160….180……….$200.

Danny blanches. He lurches for the door, no way he can take this much money just for basically acting as a glorified ecto-translator.

Danny stops in his tracks as he steps outside the shop and spots Dick and Damian speaking to a third, much older person, over the hood of a sleek black car.

This person, of course, also has several, several, shades around them.

What the hell was wrong with this family?

Damian turns and glares his way.

Oh ancients what if they were part of the mob or something.

Danny spins around on his heel-

And smacks straight into the glass door of the shop.

…

Ow.

Danny rubs his nose as he fumbles around for the door handle, acutely aware the death covered family was probably staring at him.

He grabs the handle and pulls-

Danny freezes, hand on his sore face stopping. He opens his eyes as he yanks again. Nothing.

Oh heck, he just locked himself out didn’t he?

No please no, they were so definitely still staring, no way they weren’t. Danny pulls again and it finally-

He looks at the door handle in his hand.

Then at the door still closed in front of him.

Then back at the door handle.

Just the door handle.

Crap.

Danny nearly weeps, clumsily fitting the door handle back on and still adamantly refusing to look and see if Damian and his absurdly rich family has left yet. Other people on the street are also starting to stare. The same reason he can’t just use his powers.

He finally gets the handle back on and gingerly lets go of it.

Ok. Deep breath.

Claire warned you about this. With a sticky note, but all the same. Extra key is taped on the bottom of the fire hydrant right outside the shop. You’ve got this.

Danny turns, kneels, and frantically begins trying to find the key on the absurdly dirty fire hydrant.

His hands come away black with grime, but thankfully he has the key.

He puts it in the lock and turns it, hearing what may very well be the newest sound of his nightmares: a snap.

Most specifically the sound of the key snapping in Danny’s very hands.

Danny stares at the half of the key still held between his fingers.

Did he do something to this city? Was this his fault? Could he not just sit in a closet and wait for the portal to open and go home?

Danny sags against the door, and resigns himself to his fate. Maybe he can go get food… with the money he left on the counter. Great.

Danny peeks his eyes sideways and catches the guy, Dick, finally getting into their car.

Okay, just a tiny bit just a bit. Danny holds the key again, focuses on the lock in the door jam and….. intangible!

He yanks the door open and jumps inside, door closing against the flutters of quickly fading shades on the street.

And more than one scream at them but hey that’s not his problem.

Mostly.

Danny revels in the cool lighting of the shop, glaring at the stupid broken key in his grimy hands. He drops the useless bit of metal on the counter, pockets the cash and wipes his hands on the backside of one of Claire’s million wall curtains.

It leaves a black stain that basically disappears when Danny folds the fabric over it.

Oh well.

Technically the shop was still open.

And technically, Danny didn’t know if the lock did or didn’t work right now.

He moves to find whatever storage closet Claire used to store her absurd number of crystals.

He finds it- finally- and using the keys he left in the store to begin with, he is able to unlock the perfect place to sleep tonight amongst several packages of…. Some kind of incense powder… or something. He doesn’t really care because that plan of hiding in a closet till the portal opens? Yeah, Danny’s putting that into action right the frick now.

He bends down to start to lay out his sweatshirt over the cardboard bed-to-be.

A bell rings in the distance.

Danny is going to destroy that bell on the door, he swears it.

[madschiavelique]

A Crown Of Ink : Chapter 7 - Five Of Wands

summary : you've been avoiding viktor, but as your next homework session comes around, he cannot help but be curious. oh and more tyler

content warnings : crude language (not much okay), reader is having thoughtsss

word count : 5,6k

author's note : FIRST OF ALL i was sick and on my periods writing this okay so this is much more of a transitionary chapter than anything for the shitstorm to come, SECOND OF ALL i KNOW it's another 5 of wands chapter i'm sorry i forgot that i had already used this card before THUS i will probably change the card in chapter 4 because i couldn't see any other card working for this one. but i still hope you all will like it <3 (i don't know how many times i wrote "sighed" in this chapter so BEAR WITH ME)

proofread by the lovely @yaffles-world

masterlist : here ．．discord : here ．．playlist : here

taglist : @doctorho @6selkie @yunloyal @kryscent @hypocritic-trash-baby @kapitankarate @a-lovers-card @ababanerb @lolixsstuff @forget-me-not-my-dear @smolanchovy @shugar0cone0alt @harrys--ferret-blog @suuummerrr @stillinracooncity @noxturnalmoth @dlbitch

Friday arrived for another study session between you and Viktor. The week had flown by, with one particularity: your stubborn avoidance of Viktor, and his stubborn search for you.

During classes, you always managed to find a seat as far away from his as possible. You avoided him in the corridors, ignored him when you crossed his path, and when you were in the library and you noticed him, you packed up your things as quickly as possible to leave.

Since the power cut, you'd been even more keen to avoid Viktor. Although you'd done it before, you'd simply decided you didn't want to interact with him. The last few weeks had been far too full of his presence, and you needed to get away from him both physically and mentally.

The trip to the museum, the lunch with him and Jayce, the hour of detention... Your days were far more filled with him than you would have preferred.

It had been a sudden, almost instinctive choice to get as far away from him as possible. 

There was something in the air the evening of the blackout, and even today. A kind of disturbing truth was taking up more and more space in your mind: Viktor wanted to be your friend.

In your eyes, there was always a huge worry about making friends. Your circle was small, and most of your friendships were involuntary, and you were fine with it. You didn't need many friends, you simply kept the ones you trusted. But were you ready to place your trust in Viktor?

Alas, Friday was here, and Viktor was inevitable.

You had arrived a little early at the library, dropping off your things and anticipated for your study by picking up the tomes you would need during this session. The library was already busier than it had been the previous week, with your class mimicking you and Viktor as they set to work on their history topic to avoid working on it at the last minute.

You despised the very idea of doing this assignment, as it brought you too close to your years living in Zaun, to more nightmares every night, to more Viktor. You wanted to get rid of this homework, and you knew full well that to do that you'd have to actually deal with it. 

But while he was away, you took the opportunity to take out a sheet of paper and dipped the tip of your quill in one of the pretty inks Eris had given you. You wanted to write to her. You hadn't received any correspondence from her for some time now, and you suspected that she too had other things to worry that were more important than taking the time to sit down and write a letter.

Dear Eris, you began.

The weeks are endless here, and I almost miss the times when the only thing we had to do all day was figure out what to do to avoid dying of boredom till night came. I've welcomed my new flatmate, Sky Young. She's nice - I could have had worse, I doubt I could have had better. Speaking of better…

You raised your feather above the paper for a moment, hesitating over the next part of your sentence. Viktor would be inevitable in this very letter, and the idea frustrated you. No matter what happened, his name was on your mind, always at the corner of your lips, ready to rub against your teeth and sound out like a finger pressing on a trigger before shooting.

Were you going to tell her about your concerns? Were you going to feign disinterest, pretend it was just some guy Jayce had introduced you to?

I'm getting a bit more used to tarot. You write as your sign of progress. This morning I drew the five of wands. From what I gather though, it doesn't look very positive. I should expect it, five guys hitting each other with sticks seems an unlikely interpretation of a general hug.

According to the little booklet, the five of sticks represented: Incendiary events. Protests. Angry people. Drama. Exciting conflicts.

You'd raised your eyebrows as your eyes roamed the rest of the descriptions: New ideas are born of passionate debate. Energy is scattered but if forces work together, powerful results occur. There's a need for unity. You're bothered by people who don't act as you'd hoped. Free yourself by surrendering to the present moment.

Well, that looks promising, you thought. The card was obviously pushing you towards Viktor, and that was bothering you.

You were clinging to what you had, to the past, to the only thing you knew: survival. Viktor was turning your finely constructed ecosystem upside down, as if he were treading on a sandcastle you'd spent hours building on a windy beach.

But something inside you was beginning to creep in; an idea that seemed dangerous, and which a few weeks ago would have seemed quite simply impossible to think of. 

What if you tried?

What if you tried not to be so uptight about working with him? What if, for once, you accepted the possibility that this wasn't a competition for your life?

The idea was bitter, weighing you down with anxiety. You went back to writing your letter.

I think I know what the card is leading me to, you confessed, but it is deeply unpleasant. What more can I say... I don't think this letter is going to be very long. I don't have much to tell you, and if I do, I'd rather say it to your face than on a sheet of the Glorious Academy of Piltover. You added useless curls in your writing for the title of the Academy to emphasize the ridicule of its prestigious status. You knew Eris would laugh. Did you get any new exotic payments? Here I'm drowning in copies and bolts, but your inks and herbs keep me company.

You smile for a moment, but the thought of mentioning Viktor keeps running through your mind. You looked around for a moment, as if he would miraculously appear and snatch the letter out of your hand to read it. But nothing, just the serene calm of the library - only the sound of flipped pages as students tried finding some information were keeping you compagny.

You were right about the Emperor. Of course you were. You confessed. A new pupil has arrived and, to top it all, he's beaten me in the league table. I suppose you can imagine how I felt about the situation. Every day is a tooth-and-nail battle with him. To crown it all, we've both been assigned to a collaborative project. Isn't that great? Anyway. I miss you a lot. I can't wait to hear from you. Say hi to Ekko for me.

Ekko was a childhood friend who you spent a lot of time with. It was undoubtedly through his demonstrations of repairs and your afternoons spent working on tinkering projects that your interest in science and engineering was born. 

You dipped your quill in your inkwell one last time.

P.S: The name of the Emperor is-

"How long have you been here?"

You almost spilled the inkwell on the table as your eyes rose to Viktor, standing in front of you with his satchel slung over one shoulder.

You sighed. He could at least have made his presence known by clearing his throat, not by standing still and watching you like a cat under his amber eyes. You took your letter, writing his cursed name, followed by yours before blowing on the paper to hasten the drying of the ink.

"Long enough for either of us to fall asleep in Devid's classes," you huffed as you finally folded the sheet in half and tucked it into your notebook to send it later.

He wore a small smirk, gracefully relieving himself of his satchel by pulling it off his shoulder and letting it fall gently to the floor. He sat down opposite you, taking out his things.

"Was Demacian never one of your fortes for you to sleep during his classes?" he asked about Devid, your language teacher. "I thought you'd understand with your wide panel of knowledge."

"I do understand," you corrected him as you picked up a tome to begin your work session. "I'm fluent - I don't need more of what's being said in these classes."

"Why?" he asked, placing his inkwell and notebook on the table. "Ever travelled there?"

"I never travelled outside of here and Zaun," you informed him.

He sighed, looking down at his notes. "Then you don't speak Demacian."

You frowned, raising your head. He met your gaze, waiting for your next remark.

"Why?" you questioned. "Has his royal highness, all full of Runeterrian knowledge, been on a sweet trip to the Great City?"

He arched an eyebrow, his eyes drifting over the small pile of tome to grab one.

"Any idiot knows that learning a language in classes and putting it to practice in the actual region where said language is spoken is a completely different thing."

You remained silent, trying to contain and prevent yourself from giving him the pleasure of answering. You went back to your notes, pressing the binding of your notebook to the table as you jotted down a few more bits of information you managed to find in the new tome you'd selected.

A full minute passed, after which Viktor couldn't help breaking the silence.

"Why are you ignoring me?"

You sighed. Was he a puppy in need of constant attention?

"I'm not ignoring you." You confirmed, not looking up from your notes.

"Fine," he said, searching for a way to continue the conversation, to find the keyword to unlock you. "Why are you avoiding me?"

This time he'd hit the nail on the head. Obviously he hadn't been blind to your dodges, but how could he? He was observant, always making the perfect deductions, and was smart enough to get on your nerves.

"Can we focus and work?" You tried to extricate yourself from the situation.

He sank back in his chair, staring at you for a moment. "Not until you answer my questions."

This time you won his gaze. "Too bad there's no candle for you to bargain information with."

"I can find other ways," he remarked, "Miss."

You tensed at the nickname, your lips pressing together as you leaned on the desk, resting your elbows on it.

"Oh yeah?" you replied, almost amused, "I hope these ways will be as promising as you and Jayce's attempt at cooking on a heater."

He smiled, approaching you in turn. "You seem to have forgotten that I seem to know more about you than you know about me."

"And then I thought I was supposed to be the obsessed one," your brows knit as a curious little smile tried to stretch your lips. "You're not stalking me, are you?"

Your eyes crinkled, scanning his continuously. The days were receding further and further into the night, and the sky outside was gradually turning from cyan to indigo. Under the subdued lights of the library, Viktor's eyes stood out, ever more piercingly under his long brown lashes.

"From what I have heard," he continued, as you both leant on your elbows against the table as if playing chess, "Madam Selene is truly open when it comes to questions asked by her students."

He had just put your king in danger, your lips parting in surprise for a moment before closing again, jaw clenched.

"Surely she won't mind exchanging on the pride that her legal daughter is to her?"

You inhaled heavily, chewing your cheek as his insufferable sneer spread to the corners of his lips again, raising his mole slightly.

You picked up your quill again, avoiding his gaze and letting yours return to your notebook. You dipped it in with a half-open, hesitant mouth as you considered what you were going to say, both to him and on paper.

"I'm avoiding you because I can't get to be friends with my only rival."

He seemed amused by your sentence, as if you were just a child trying to impress an adult by saying something serious and threatening with the latest big word you had learned. He rested his chin on his palm, watching you write, and for an instant you thought of the paper he'd never passed you back during detention. What was he about to say?

"Isn't there an old saying about being close to your opponents?"

"Isn't there this old thing called ‘free will’ that allows me to do whatever I want?"

He shrugged. "Your free will hasn't decided to make you leave this room so far."

You regained his eyes this time, the latter looking through you, trying to peek through the cracks in your facade for a chance to see the lights that resided there.

"Are you challenging my free will? Because I can give it some physical attributes in the scientifically accurate name of 'clenched fists'."

"I'll pass." He sneered. "I'm sure Tyler has had enough lessons on this concept."

Silence fell again. You scanned the lines of another novel where too little information about Zaun was catalogued, while Viktor had not touched his pen. You could feel him in your peripheral vision, watching you, following you relentlessly.

"Am I truly your rival?" He finally asked.

"What else would you be?"

Viktor pouted, straightening slightly. "Being your rival implies having the same goal and fighting for it. I am uncertain if that definition applies to us in this case."

Admittedly, he didn't seem to have the same devotion to his academic results as you did, which frustrated you deeply. But what about the second option he cited?

"In the Academy, we all have the same goal," you replied, watching him for a moment before returning to your notes.

There was another pause on the table, and you thought that perhaps this time he would start working. But he didn't.

"I want a truce."

You looked up, raising an eyebrow.

"...Okay," you finally say, picking up another book, "good for you."

"I mean it, Miss," he insisted. "I think you've had it wrong on me-" But you cut him off.

“What are you implying?” you asked, annoyed at beating around the bush when you seemed to be the only one working right now.

"I'm not implying," Viktor nuanced, "I am saying."

"Saying?" You shook your head, waiting for the next part.

"Yes. You know, that thing that one can do with the possession of a mouth and vocal cords? You've become an expert at it just through this conversation,” he remarked as he straightened up and grabbed his pencil, twirling it between his fingers, "as it is the most we have spoken together in a week."

"Well then, conversation doesn't seem to be such a dying art anymore now does it?" you remarked.

Viktor smiled. "You seem to like quoting me." 

You stared at him, raising your eyebrows and sighing. "I'm going to use unparalleled verbal condescension: shush." Your eyes returned to the tome you were working on. "This is a library, not a café."

"You've never spat in mine, by the way, reassure me?"

"After wasting my spit talking to you, I doubt I'd waste any more in your coffee."

He didn't say a word, but you knew he was smiling. Facing you, painfully fiddling with his pen as if this whole thing was some meagre task he could afford to procrastinate on.

You hated this attitude, the simple fact that he didn't seem to work to achieve his goals, that it was innate when you had struggled to rise so high for so long.

"I mean it," he said, straightening up, putting aside his teasing tone for a moment, "for the truce."

You looked up at him, his expression unfamiliar to you. There was something gentle in his piercing gaze, as if he saw something in you that was worth seeing. You sighed, thinking for a moment.

Would this childish quarrel last until the end of the year? Would you still consider him an enemy when you could have made a new friend? Friendships didn't come your way every day - you were well aware of that. But were you ready to put aside your stubbornness after the various humiliations he had put you through?

“What would a truce even mean?” you finally asked, somehow intent on hearing more.

His lips stretched slightly as his eyes widened. He shrugged.

“I don't know,” he admitted, ”I never thought I'd go this far with you, on this topic.”

Your shoulders slumped.

“Then think of something to say next time after we finish working on this.” You returned to your page, rereading your notes. “I'll take the subjects of Boundary Markets, Cultivairs, and Hope House Orphanage. One location for each level. You should pick three too.”

“Hope House Orphanage?” He repeated, mind finally concentrating on the exposé. “That's the only good thing that can be talked about in such a level.”

You turned a few pages of your notes, running through the lines of your research. 

“There's always Old Hungry,” you remarked, voice lower.

The Old Hungry was a gigantic mechanized clock tower that grew from the very depth of Zaun and built itself up till levels that could reach some of Piltover's buildings. It was too imposing to avoid, and too full of history to be left aside in the presentation.

“Old Hungry? This old scrap doesn't even give time anymo-”

“It's the Heart of Zaun,” you cut in. “It's unavoidable to talk about it anyway.”

“Why don't you take it if you're so adamant about it being on our work?”

You remembered its size, the dark wingspan and the wind blowing through the dusty gears of the Old Hungry. 

“I'd rather you be the one to take it.” you confirmed.

“Why?”

“Because. Don't you want to take it?”

“Do you want to get rid of it?”

You exchanged a look with him, urging him not to be picky.

“Why are you being so mysterious about all of this?” he questioned, eyebrows furrowed.

“You seem to have forgotten that you seem to know more about me than I know about you,” you repeated, annoyed.

“Shall I ask Selene?” he said ironically.

“I fear asking her this would be a limit placed both in her knowledge about this as well as your questions for her.” 

He gazed at you for a moment, clearly frustrated by the secrets, the things left unsaid. You stood up, returning the tomes you'd already read to their shelves. Viktor stood up, following you.

“Acting tough will not make it hurt any less,” he said as you climbed the steps of the ladder and he reached its base. “You know this, yes?”

You suppressed a sigh as you placed one of the tomes on the shelf, arranging it perfectly in line.

“I don't need any of your life lessons,” you remarked, placing the extra tomes. “Can you move the ladder to the left?”

“You know the magic word,” he almost crooned.

You scoffed, not intending to give it to him so easily. You leaned to the side, watching, tiptoeing to reach one of the too few tomes on Zaun in the entire library.

Viktor seemed amazed at how stubborn you could prove to be, especially about him.

“Don't tell me your leitmotif resides in what doesn't kill you makes you stronger?” he questioned as you leaned dangerously toward the books.

“My leitmotif,” you pointed out as you almost reached the binding of the tome you were after, “resides in what doesn't kill you disappoints me-”

You'd reached the book, but your sentence was cut off at the end by your sharp gasp of breath. You'd just lost your balance, your feet slipping off the ladder step as you felt the air rush beneath you and expected to slam heavily into the ground.

The sound of something falling to the floor echoed, the sensation of hands on your back and waist catching you off the ground. Your heart pounding with the shock of sudden fear, you realized what had just happened in the blink of an eye: Viktor had caught you in your fall.

You could feel his thin fingers, warm and tentative, resting on the vest of your uniform around your waist. He held you there, firmly, and you felt your back brush against his chest, his breath landing on the nape of your neck and raising the hairs on it.

You released yourself from his grip and turned to face him, suddenly backing away, heart still pounding, but unable to differentiate whether this was due to the suddenness of the fall, or something else.

He seemed just as surprised as you were, lips parted. He didn't seem to be about to make a condescending remark, a joke about your lack of balance that could be matched by his, nothing.

You leaned back against the shelf, trying to calm yourself as your muscles relaxed from the apprehension of your fall.

There was a moment of quiet, a moment when, for once, neither of you knew what to say to the other. Your eyes fell to the ground, where Viktor's cane had fallen. You swallowed on a dry throat, inhaling to try and grain back your thoughts.

You knelt down to pick it up, straightening up to hand it back to him. He studied you for a moment, his eyes fixed on yours. He brought his hand tentatively up to the handle of his cane, stretched out towards him.

“Did you mean it?” you asked in a low voice as his hand reached the pommel, his thin, long fingers a minute ago resting on your waist wrapping elegantly and slowly around his cane.

“The truce?” he questioned, his voice almost reaching the whisper, as if he feared any higher volume would burst the delicacy of this bubble you were both in.

You let go of the cane, leaning back against the bookcase again, like a prop, like your crutch.

“The other night,” you began, eyes lowered to your feet on the floor, ”you said that it seemed impossible to me that you wanted to learn more about me, out of genuine curiosity. And now, you said you wanted a truce.” You raised your head, straightening to look at him. “Did you mean it, all of this?”

You felt very small, as if you were walking and, in the middle of the nettles, had found a patch of grass where you could put your feet without stinging yourself.

He seemed touched, but this emotion seemed to give way to confusion.

“Why wouldn't I mean it?”

Why would you mean it? you wondered. You'd had enough examples of how trust was doomed to fail you. You pulled yourself upright, drawing your armour back over you, closing your heart before it went beyond the confines of your chest.

“Oh sorry,” you resumed, sarcastically. “I forgot how through your many gallantries in our discussions you have evidently shown to be the most agreeable young man in the world.”

He smiled, his cheerful attitude back in place in the blink of an eye. “I cannot deny that exchanging with someone like you brings out the more playful part of me.”

“Someone like me?” you stressed, almost offended.

“Yes,” he confirmed. “Your morals are like a legend - rumoured to exist, but no proof to back it up.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes as you started walking back to your table. “My expectations for you were low when asking this, but somehow you still failed to meet them...”

But your sentence had died on its end, as not far from your table, an unfortunately familiar, tall figure with blond curls stood.

Fuck. Tyler.

Seeing you reappear from between the shelves, he noticed you both, a cheeky grin spreading across his face as he strode towards you.

“Ah,” he smiled as he approached you, ”my tormentors.”

You sighed, standing by your table as he reached the height of your chair. “You again.”

“What?” He chuckled, feigning offense as he rested his hand on his chest. “Aren't you pleased to see me?” He arched an eyebrow. “I'm sure you've got another one of these filthy Zaunite, barbaric lessons to give me.”

“You wish you were worth the effort.” You huffed, moving closer to your chair, but he came between you and it. 

You glared at him, who seemed satisfied with your reaction. He turned to Viktor.

“Your dog's got quite the bite, Moravec.” His eyes settled on you again, watching you up and down until they returned to yours. “Where did you get one of those?”

You breathed heavily, the annoyance of his remarks demeaning you to a supposedly docile and pliable being making your blood boil.

“Turns out she has a mouth and proper aligned thoughts that you could not fathom reaching, Tyler.” Viktor pointed out, coming to sit in his respective place.

The blond watched you, not letting go of your eyes for a moment as he took a step back and took his place in your chair. “How noisy insects are this time of year.”

And he was proud, of his insolence, of his overflowing egotism, which he displayed like the most expensive and chic jacket he owned in his priceless wardrobe.

“Tyler,” you began, inhaling as you tried to calm yourself, “‘piss off.’”

“Such a soft language.” He sneered, lounging in your chair as if he'd ordered its manufacture himself. Who knows, maybe all the academy's furniture rested on his family's finances. “Do they all speak like that in Zaun?”

“Why? Wanna go visit?” You inquired, crossing your arms over your chest. “I wonder what'll get taken first, your pretty blonde locks, or your tongue.”

You played on his unfamiliarity with the city, his prejudices ingrained in his mind, unfolding a terrain of fictitious threats that could be very useful to you.

It had its effect. For a slight moment, you noticed the concern in his eyes, a very silent ‘... is that true?’ that didn't cross the boundary between his mind and lips.

“My patron came to me.” He confessed, looking away as if ignoring you. “Seems like your detention ran a bit short, didn't it?”

You heard Viktor chuckle, but didn't even turn around. “It's just like you said, Miss,” he remarked, leaning forward on the table. “Looks like he is obsessed with us."

“You're not worth a thought.” Tyler spat, obviously insulted by Viktor's remark. He turned to you, grabbing one of your pencils to play with like it was his. “Didn't know you had your own patron, though.”

“Let me guess.” You sighed, placing your weight on one of your hips as you stood. “Your little clever mind aligned two dots and thought that Zaun and Patron together was an impossible combination of words here in the Academy.”

He was amused, but obviously annoyed. You must have touched a reality in his reasoning that he didn't like you to know.

“This one was a second thought.” He admitted all the same. “The first was,” he leaned in slightly, “how the hell does a girl as irascible as you managed to pull any social strings to get yourself a patron?”

You giggled. He was trying to push your buttons. Perhaps he was simply a masochist, you considered, perhaps he had a pronounced desire for humiliation. Or perhaps he was just profoundly stupid.

“Funny, I thought the same thing about you when I met you.” You offered him a smile that possessed no warmth. “But I guess walking around with a golden spoon in your mouth and shitting in silk sheets during your childhood up until now must have its advantages. Right, Hoskel?"

Tyler frowned, hemming his lower lip in anger. His eyes shifted from yours to Viktor's. “She truly is-”

But you cut him off, placing both hands on the table and leaning towards him. “She is in front of you. And she,” your voice darkened, ”can add some new marks on your face to match the blue of your eyes.”

Tyler tensed, the seriousness in your stare convincing him for a moment that your threats weren't empty words, but promises that would come true if necessary.

He let out a nervous laugh, nodding as if you'd just given him a most satisfying demonstration. He was probably thinking, right then and there, that he was safe. That on the floor of the Academy, you wouldn't repeat the violent acts that had earned you an hour's detention.

“You, are a tough one, my friend.” He laughed. “You still have the essence of your hometown so far, you as well as he.” He turned to Viktor. “Paint stripes on a toad, it'll never make it a tiger.

Your blood ran hot, the sentence like an iron that had just burned your skin raw. You gripped his tie, pulling so hard that Tyler nearly stumbled and strangled on it as you pulled him towards your face, your face twisted with hatred. 

His eyes were filled with a new fear as you rumbled, your voice low. “Say that again, and I'll fucking kill you.”

His chest bulged and sagged rapidly as his shoulders were up to his ears in fear, stressing as your knuckles turned white under the tight grip you had on his tie.

He swallowed, staying that way until, in the blink of an eye, his gaze landed on your lips. 

The simple act brought you back to the reality of your proximity, of your two faces so close together that anyone could have considered this something intimate. You let go of his tie as if it carried an infection, as if it had suddenly become so hot that you had to let go of it at all costs. You frowned, stepping back, watching Tyler as he breathed just as heavily.

The great doors of the library opened, and the tiny silhouette of Heimerdinger poked his pink nose into the room. This was enough for you to put aside the previous event, same for Viktor and Tyler who both turned to the professor in surprise.

You eyes widened, straightening up as he strode contentedly towards the center of the room. What was Heimerdinger doing here?

It was unusual to find teachers in the library, and obviously all the students around you seemed just as confused about the situation. He trotted on, making his way to the very center of the room under the curious gazes of students.

“Young folks,” he called, “I have an announcement to make. Please gather around me, so that I don't have to see you all one by one in the immensity of this room."

The students exchanged surprised glances, approaching him. You looked at Viktor, who was frowning. He stood up. You approached Heimerdinger. When a small arc had formed around the professor, he cleared his throat.

“I would have liked to have waited until our next class to tell you,” he admitted, “but with the news just in and the weekend coming up, I thought it wiser to tell you as soon as possible.”

Everyone was hanging on his every word.

“You see, we've been communicating for some time, the Academy members and myself, with The Great Demacia University.”

Murmurs began to rise in the tiny group of students, whispers about the white region running through the air.

“And we have concluded, after many very promising exchanges, that a few classes from the Piltover Academy will have the privilege of traveling to Demacia as part of a school trip.”

Surprise filled the room. A school trip? 

"The Academy and I,” continued Heimerdinger as he walked hands behind his back, the two elements of his sentence simply inseparable, ”consider it a real cultural benefit to be able to organize such a program to link our two schools. The trip will therefore take place in a month and a half's time.”

Some of the students laughed, the joy of the news filling them. The idea of a school trip puzzled you. You'd never left Piltover or Zaun. You'd always clung on to those two towns, and upsetting that perspective was something you hadn't quite figured out yet. But it would undoubtedly be a good way of discovering new horizons, of not having to confine yourself to the same landscape of two cities you didn't like for different reasons. 

However, your thoughts paused for a moment, as you sensed that Heimerdinger hadn't finished with his announcement. 

“Yes, I know.” He chirped. “The excitement of a new journey is not a small thing in young souls. However, an event such as this deserves an organizational rearrangement.”

And that's where things got complicated.

“First of all, your duet presentations that were due in two weeks' time have now been determined by myself into an overall assignment for your year.”

The majority of students rejoiced, but your heart fell into your stomach. An assignment, spread out over the whole year, that you were to do with none other than Viktor as your sole partner in this work?

You exchanged a glance with him, the latter seeming unaffected, neither hot nor cold.

“And...” The professor resumed. “The planning of this event alone will eat up a good two weeks of this year. Consequently-” Silence fell, everyone waiting for the end of his sentence, "the exams in each subject for this semester have been brought closer together, and will therefore take place in two weeks’ time.”

Your lips parted, as if the apocalypse had just been added to your diary. 

Two weeks. You had two weeks to study everything. Two weeks to get to know everything. 

Two weeks to overtake Viktor and regain your place at the top of the ranking.

✦﹒ previous chapter

✦﹒ next chapter

[etrsilk]

Hi ! Can I request what would do the main four if you were catcalled?

Today I have been catcalled and it's made me feel so bad and embarrassed.. Anyway I love so much you're a headcanon !

₊✩‧₊˚ ᡣ𐭩 ��𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 ⇝ 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 .ᐟ

˗ˏˋ ➛ 𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙡𝙪𝙙𝙚𝙨: 𝘒𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘶𝘢,𝘎𝘰𝘯,𝘒𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘪𝘬𝘢,𝘓𝘦𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘰

˗ˏˋ ➛ 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 — 𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴

˗ˏˋ ➛ 𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙧𝙚 — 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧,𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵 (?)

⎝ 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚:: firstly I'm so sorry it took so long!! As I said in one of my posts I had to study for a very important exam that I had on Friday and then I had to take a little break! But now it's good I'm back !! And I'm sorry for what happened to you...take care of yourself I hope you get better 🫶🏻 and thank you very much ♡♡ while writing I realized that it looked more like one shots than headcanons but I hope you like it anyway!! ♡

 —𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐔𝐀ꫂ ၴႅၴ

You had just left your candy store and were on your way home when a stranger approached you and started making inappropriate remarks.

"Hey beautiful, you know you’re really sexy with those big breasts?"

You suddenly stopped and let go of your boyfriend's hand. Killua turned around with a piercing, icy gaze and a murderous intent in his eyes.

The stranger, surprised by Killua’s serious and threatening tone, took a few steps back, laughing nervously.

"Hey... it's okay, man. I’m just joking. I was just giving your girlfriend a compliment, chill."

Killua, still with his dark assassin’s gaze, activated his claws. He wasn’t going to use them or harm the stranger; he just wanted to terrify him.

"That’s not a compliment. It’s disrespectful. Say one more inappropriate thing, and you’ll regret it."

The stranger, feeling the murderous aura emanating from Killua, continued to back away until he bumped into a trash can.

"Pfff, I’m outta here." He said, raising his hand to seem cool. He then quickly walked away.

Killua let out a small, mocking, proud laugh, then turned to you to see how you were doing. He took your head in his hands and kissed your forehead.

"Are you okay?"

You remained silent.

"He’s just a jerk, you know that?"

"Yes, I know. Let’s keep going."

"That said, he’s not wrong, you are sexy... ouch, I was just kidding!!"

 —𝐊𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐈𝐊𝐀ꫂ ၴႅၴ

You were having a quiet morning when a stranger approached you and started making inappropriate remarks towards you.

"Hey beautiful, you know you’re really sexy with those big breasts?"

Kurapika widened his eyes and squeezed your hand tightly.

"Ouch, Kurapika, you're hurting me... just ignore him, okay? It's nothing."

"Oh, she's ignoring me..."

...

"I know you heard me, princess..."

...

"Just answer my question; don’t you have a phone number to give me? With your boyfriend's build, you must not be very satisfied in bed. You’ll see what it's like to—"

He didn't have time to finish his sentence before a punch sent him to the ground. Kurapika, his eyes red with anger.

"You should be careful about what you say."

"Damn, man, who do you think you are—"

He noticed the hatred in Kurapika's eyes and stopped short.

"Uh... it's not a big deal, I'm leaving anyway. She's not even that sexy"

He quickly walked away, visibly intimidated. Kurapika watched him go, then turned to you, his expression softening as soon as he met your eyes.

"Are you okay, my love? I'm sorry you had to hear that..."

He kissed your hand before taking it and squeezing it gently.

"Everything’s fine, thank you for putting him in his place, Kurapika."

 —𝐆𝐎𝐍ꫂ ၴႅၴ

You were at a fair, the lights of the rides, the laughter, and the screams of joy creating a cheerful atmosphere. Everything was perfect until a stranger began making inappropriate remarks towards you.

"Hey beautiful, you know you’re really sexy with those big breasts?"

Gon, holding the stuffed animal he had worked so hard to win for you, sees his joyful expression gradually fade.

"What did you just say?"

The stranger, thinking Gon is just a simple teenager, laughs at the situation.

"Relax, kid. I was just giving your girlfriend a compliment."

"A compliment? You should apologize right now."

"And if I don't, what are you going to do?"

Gon clenches his fists, his aura becoming more intense, but he tries to stay calm.

"I won't repeat myself. Apologize."

"No-"

Gon punches the stranger squarely. Everyone around starts watching you. Gon grabs your hand and you both run to escape the security guards chasing you.

A few minutes after escaping, you stop near a supermarket and burst into laughter. In the end, everything turned out fine!

"I'm so sorry someone spoke to you like that."

"It’s nothing, thank you for defending me."

You stand on your tiptoes to reach his level and kiss him tenderly.

"My superman..."

He blushes before taking your hand.

 —𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐎ꫂ ၴႅၴ

You are quietly chatting on the terrace of a café when a stranger approaches and starts making inappropriate remarks towards you.

"Hey beautiful, you know you’re really sexy with those big breasts?"

Leorio furrows his brow and freezes.

"What did you just say??"

He shouts in a loud, authoritative voice.

"Your girlfriend is really hot. Should we share her?"

Thinking Leorio is harmless, the stranger steps closer with a sneer.

"Oh, relax. I was just giving a compliment."

"That's not a compliment, it's disrespect. You better apologize right now. Didn't your mother ever teach you to respect women?"

The stranger chuckles but begins to sense the seriousness of the situation as he sees Leorio's unyielding and threatening gaze.

"Get lost."

The stranger, intimidated by Leorio's stare and tone, quickly retreats, casting a nervous glance back. Leorio turns to you with a worried expression.

"Damn, the next time someone talks to you like that…"

You grab his hand and envelop it in yours.

"It’s okay, Leorio. It's nothing. Let's go home and forget about it."

Leorio smiles gently before kissing you, and you walk away hand in hand.

—English is not my first language, so sorry for any mistakes!! (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ

[that-house]

The Tarrasque Can Blow Me or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Make 5e Bosses That Don't Suck

HI, I'm Catherine that-house, and I play Dungeons and Dragons Fifth Edition almost as much as I hate it. I do this because I am a sicko pervert who likes to tinker with abysmal dogshit, not because it's a good game. This screed is dedicated to everyone trapped in the same mine as me.

D&D 5e combat sucks! Here's the flow chart for your melee champion fighter's turn:

IF BAD GUY: smack bad guy

IF BAD GUY WITHIN 30 FT: move to bad guy, smack bad guy

IF LOW ON HP: second wind

IF NO BAD GUY WITHIN 30 FT: dash towards nearest bad guy

action surge, take it from the top

IF YOU'RE FEELING DARING TODAY: maybe a grapple or an item interaction

And pretty much any non-caster monster has a pretty similar flowchart: there's no real back and forth, just the same set of actions over and over and the only time you have to pay attention on someone else's turn is for an attack of opportunity maybe. Finally one side reduces the other side's number to 0, and you can get back to roleplaying in your roleplaying game.

In general, I strive to make my boss fights hard and interesting, with interesting being the more important of the two. For some reason the wicked clowns working at WOTC got it into their heads that the only ways to make a fight hard are Bigger Number and Less Counterplay. I don't have any data on how they sought to make fights interesting because as far as I can tell they were too busy siccing the Pinkertons on people like it's the fucking 1800s.

Probably not all 5e combat is like this. But, like, look at the statblock for the Tarrasque, the CR 30 "strongest monster in the game" and try to tell me that that thing looks INTERESTING to fight. Difficult? Maybe, if your stats are bad. But INTERESTING? It walks at someone and murders the shit out of them, then rinses and repeats. The fetid dog turd that is the Tarraque is the perfect example of the Bigger Number, and even its meme status as the DM's "fuck you" monster is eclipsed by later additions to the game.

The other end of the "strongest 5e statblock" spectrum is shit like Sul Khatesh from Eberron, who earns the title of "most bullshit" by being immune to nonmagic attacks and creating antimagic fields. This is progress, because you might force someone to grapple it out of the field or something so everyone can deal damage! But this is still ultimately a pretty linear fight, not unlike fighting any other caster in the game, but with Less Counterplay.

My DMing style is pretty character goal-oriented, with the occasional bullshit superboss. We sit around for a few sessions while people pursue side projects and gather information, and then I subject them to the Horrors of a 5e fight that requires things like "positioning" and "planning" from turn to turn.

When playing a high level D&D campaign with insanely bullshit homebrew magic items and character-specific custom mechanics, it becomes necessary to pull out the big guns. The biggest guns. I'm talking a gun like my boy Hierarch Ozyas, undead demigod, father of monsters and heart of a living city, who had a meaty 2000 hit points and took somewhere in the vicinity of thirteen rounds of combat to bring down. Building bosses is an arms race and it's my job to lose in style. Here's Ozyas' statblock:

The bitch himself

Anyways I've been talking for a bit without actually saying anything of substance besides making fun of the Tarrasque. Which I will do one more time:

...deep breath...

D&D 5e is a pretty widely-disdained game by pretty much anyone who's ever played more than one RPG system. I myself only play it because I enjoy game design, and the thoroughly-beaten dead horse that WOTC calls a game serves as a decent foundation to do a lot of heavy tinkering. The Tarrasque is perfectly emblematic of all of the trash I have to wade through in order to get to the stuff worth keeping: it is an uninspired, anticlimactic relic of the past that didn't even manage to cling to a shred of its old glory and is instead content to wallow in the filth of what it once was, never once providing a challenge to any character with a flying speed. I would probably attempt to beat it to death with my hands (and fail, because it checks your character's stats rather than challenging you as a player in any way), but Jim the 1st level aaracokra with a save-forcing damage cantrip already solo'd it for me, so I'll settle for chewing through the throat of whichever game designer forgot they were making a "game" and submitted a three step flowchart for D&D's ultimate boss monster.

But anyways, I promised you a guide to how I design boss fights these days, so let's get to that.

Actually, first here's a quick aside about action economy that I didn't bother finding a place to fit in elsewhere: legendary actions are basically a necessity for any boss past level five or so. One big action is going to be a lot more polarizing than several small ones (i.e. one big crit on a large attack could completely flip the course of the fight, whereas multiple smaller attacks offer the same amount of damage output in a more consistent fashion). If you don't want to give your boss a bunch of HP to make it live long enough to take a few turns, you could consider giving it two turns in the initiative order (reducing the damage per turn to keep the damage per round constant). Low health minions are also a good way to pad out action economy, and even if they're easy to kill they tend to buy the boss another turn or two just from the actions it costs to take them down.

ANYWAYS, here's the core ideas I like to focus on in my boss design:

Keep them moving

Keep them working

Keep things changing

Reward good play

Punish mistakes

Make it a game

Along the way I'll be using snippets of the boss I mentioned above to illustrate examples of these principles and how they affected play. Let's begin.

KEEP THEM MOVING Positioning doesn't really matter in 5e. AoEs and movement values are both so large that you can easily get away with not having a battle map and sorta just tracking "in melee" or "not in melee." I run most fights without a battle map and just kinda track that, but for a good boss you need a map.

But how do we keep the game from just falling back into "move into range and hurt people," you ask? Simple: the Zone of Nasty. The Zone of Nasty is something on the map that is going to hurt the PCs if they're in it, and the Zone of Nasty moves. Depending on the boss, it could grow, shrink, follow a player, follow the boss, alternate between areas of the map, whatever. Some bosses might have multiple different Zones of Nasty that move in different ways and do different things.

There are other ways to force movement besides a moving AoE, such as punishing players for being too close or too far from each other or the boss.

The general principle here is that a boss should at times force suboptimal play: optimal play involves simply standing around, spending all your actions on damaging the boss, and it's incredibly boring from a strategic standpoint. There should be turns in which your players have to spend their action economy on protecting themselves or helping their allies. If they find themselves in a Zone of Nasty, it should force a decision between suffering the consequences to continue optimal play, or spending resources to get out of it.

Our boy Ozyas had a Cancer Field that he could move slowly around the arena that damaged and debuffed PCs inside it, and Pretender-God-Piercing Strike, a telegraphed line attack that oneshot anything that stayed in its area too long (more on this one later).

KEEP THEM WORKING Everyone needs a job to do! This job is probably just going to be based on what their class and abilities encourage them to do, but it sucks for someone to not be able to meaningfully participate in a boss fight.

Let the DPS players kick the boss's teeth in, obviously, but make sure the person who focused on AoE effects has some extra enemies that they can deal with. Bonus points if the extra enemies have something that forces them to be dealt with instead of just rushing the boss' HP bar.

Worst case scenario, throw in a secondary objective like completing a ritual, controlling a point on the map, or fighting the boss' soul on a higher plane to give someone who isn't immediately needed for DPS to still have something to do.

Ozyas spawned a bunch of extra monsters from these gross Birthing Pillars around the map, and killing the monsters and destroying the pillars provided a nice secondary course of action for people either not equipped to slug it out with the boss or not currently positioned right to fight him.

KEEP THINGS CHANGING The tarrasque sucks because it does one thing over and over until it works or it dies. The Theros splatbook improved on this marginally: Mythic Traits are fucking baller! Combats should change over the course of the fight, or this could have been a fucking autobattler. But we can go further.

In addition to occasionally shaking things up based on health thresholds, here's a few ways I like to do it:

Rotating list of effects that change every round

Huge list of options the boss can choose from for one of their effects with no repeats

Some sort of meter that increases and decreases based on what's happening in the fight and modifies the boss' abilities

Ozyas summoned new monsters every round and could customize the statblocks with a bunch of quick templates I whipped together, and in his second phase he started alternating between scaling the to hit/damage of his tentacle attack, the reach of his spear attack, and applying extra buffs to his summons.

REWARD GOOD PLAY These next two kind of tie together but the core idea here is that it's okay if a boss is a bit easy, as long as it makes your players work for it.

This can include things like ways to trivialize certain parts of the encounter as long as the players utilize them, typically at the cost of advancing other parts of the fight.

I knew that Ozyas was going to be a long fight, so I gave my players the ability to heal to full health, as an action, whenever they wanted. They were fighting inside Ozyas' body, and he was a generous host. However, any time they healed, he would be healed for the same amount. They got around this restriction by hitting him with Chill Touch to disable his own healing whenever people needed to heal, but that obviously had the cost of losing two actions' worth of damage output.

Towards the end of the fight, everyone was still standing thanks to that healing, but as he began to infinitely scale his stats once he reached his second phase and started taking them seriously, they couldn't afford to waste turns healing anymore and the safety net they built up by healing earlier in the fight kept anyone in the party from dying.

PUNISH MISTAKES The range on D&D characters' HP pools and general survivability can be pretty broad. I like to give my bosses a reasonably-heavy hitting melee and some sort of light ranged attack to remind the backliners that they too can die. But there's a third kind of attack.

The great equalizer.

The One Hit Knock Out move.

These need to be telegraphed. There needs to be copious time to get out of the area, or to stop the boss from using it, or whatever the case may be. But any superboss should have a way to threaten any player on equal standing: a move that will always hit if its conditions are met, and puts them clean to 0.

Ozyas' OHKO was Pretender-God-Piercing Strike, where at the end of each turn he would wind up a spear thrust with enough range to hit across the entire map, targeting a 15-foot line through the nearest player. Neither he nor the line could move after that, and if you were still in that line at the start of his next turn, you were done.

It wasn't hard to avoid: just walk like 10 feet and don't get pushed back in by another enemy. They even lined it up to target some of his own allies sometimes. But it forced them to think about positioning and stay moving, and there were a few times where it aaaaalmost caught someone in the line. The prospect of Instant Death really does wonders to ratchet up the tension.

And now, finally, we come to the most important part:

MAKE IT A GAME D&D 5e likes to jerk off while fantasizing about being real. "Catherine what the fuck are you talking about?" What I mean to say is that D&D makes a fumbling attempt towards a more simulationist style of game, trying to distance itself from the fact that it is, in fact, a game. It tries to comport itself like reality, such that every part of its combat makes sense in-universe, and then immediately falls short because it can't be assed to indulge in actual simulationism.

It is my belief that if you're going to spend 4 hours fighting a boss, and one of the boss mechanics doesn't really make much sense as an in-universe concept but does make the boss more interesting and fun to fight, then that's a perfectly fine mechanic. Obviously finding some way to justify it is preferable, but my bosses prioritize good gameplay over verisimilitude.

The upcoming boss in my campaign has a feature which puts the fight on a ten-round time limit before he begins kicking substantially more ass than he was before (and the prior ass-kickery was indeed already substantial). If this is a desperate fight with his life and his dreams on the line, why doesn't he open with that? If this were a WOTC statblock, barring a mythic trait, that's exactly how it would work. But fuck that, because it would make the fight way less interesting! Now there's time pressure! And sure, the post-round-ten version of the boss is meant to be fled from, not fought, but if he's at a low enough HP it could instead make for an insane climactic finish!

I let my players see the whole statblock before the fight. We talk through all of its abilities, and I'll even point out some of the potential points of complexity and the big risks to watch out for. There's no in-universe justification for why the characters would know this (beyond, perhaps "you're exceptional adventurers and are good at evaluating your foes"): in fact, one of the quintessential examples of classical 5e metagaming is the Guy Who's Read the Monster Manual. I think that's fucking stupid, though. With open statblocks:

Features can be game-warpingly deadly without instantly incurring a TPK born of ignorance. OHKO moves don't feel fair unless the counterplay is known

The players can strategize around the ways in which the boss is going to change throughout the fight

It's fundamentally fair. Some GMs just wait X turns and then let the boss go down when it takes a big, impressive hit (and I fully respect people who do that! That's still more compelling boss design than 5e's normal schlock), but I personally like when numbers have meanings.

You can still hide some information (I like to black out the boss' Mythic Trait, and then only use it if the players stomp the fight too easily), and you can still tweak it to adjust the difficulty, with the difference being that your players know it's being adjusted and how so (which again comes back to my feelings of fairness).

A few other fun mechanics to toss in include stacking debuffs that trigger something horrible at some certain threshold, additional win conditions or lose conditions, and silly little minigames. One trick I particularly enjoy is having my players secretly vote between two or more bad outcomes, and punishing them even more if the vote is tied.

CONCLUSION Your mileage may vary, but I'm hoping at least some of the insights here were useful to you! I have a particular strain of undiagnosed mental illnesses that make me especially predisposed towards piloting huge convoluted intricate bosses with 1k+ word statblocks, and I'm lucky enough to have players who know their shit well enough to play around this bullshit. Find something that works for you and your players.

If you hate 5e combat and think this sounds like way too much work to be worth doing, go play something else, like Pathfinder or Lancer or (heaven forbid) a game that actually struggles to trace its lineage of inspiration back to D&D. Go to itch.io and find some game no one's ever played before, and toss the creator a bit of money. The only way we're making it out of these goddamn Mines of Phandelver is if people try something new from time to time.

On the subject of cool games with cool combat, bear with me as I shill for a friend real quick. If you want a game that cares less about combat as an abstract dick measuring contest and more about combat as a facet of violence and all that that entails, check out [BXLLET> by @rathayibacter.

And, finally, from the bottom of my heart, fuck WOTC. Your books aren't even worth pirating, and the Tarrasque can blow me.

[we-are-maladaptive]

a story in which katsuki's bratty son tries to blackmail his mother! how terrible

— characters. katsuki, reader, katsuma (the son)

— contents. fluff, katsuma is a little shit

— word count. 600

— authors note. GJFCK MFGVFDXK GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRDOMESTICTRASFJNRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGJBJFNVDSLM

Your son is alot like his father, in good ways mostly.

He stands up for himself at school, and is mostly independent. For the most part, Katsuma was a pretty easy kid.

However, he can also be the most major little shit on the planet, much like in the situation you're in now. He's learned what blackmail is, and he loves it.

You were in the kitchen, baking cookies, when you heard Katsuma’s voice from the living room. "Ma! What's this?" he yelled.

You turned to see your five-year-old holding the pregnancy test you had thrown away earlier.

Oh no.

Your heart skipped a beat. "Katsuma, where did you find that?" you asked, trying to stay calm.

"In the trash," he said with a mischievous grin. "I'm gon' tell Dad unless you give me extra cookies- and I wan' that brand new hero figurine at the store...AND I wan' my own bb gun- AND!!! I wan' a brand new pair of boo-"

"Katsuma." you sighed. You've known your son to be a major handful all his life, but also know realizing he did indeed have you in a tight spot. "Katsuma, this is important. I wanted to tell your dad in a special way."

Katsuma pouted, crossing his arms. "Fine, but I still want extra cookies...and the figure...an' can I still have the bb gun?" You sighed once more.

"Alright, you can have two extra cookies- AND the figurine... but you have to promise to keep this a secret for now," you said, hoping to buy some time.

"Deal," he said, his eyes gleaming with pride.

As you handed him the cookies, you couldn't help but feel frustrated, yet a bit amused. Katsuma was a lot like his father—brash, stubborn, and always wanting to be in control. You watched as he stuffed the cookies into his mouth, crumbs falling everywhere, and shook your head with a small smile.

Just then, you heard the front door open. Katsuki walked in, looking as intense as ever. "What's going on in here, hm?" he asked, sensing the tension.

Katsuma jumped in before you could speak. "Mom's got a secret, but she won't tell me!"

You shot a look at Katsuma, then turned to Katsuki. "It's not like that! I just…I found out something today and wanted to surprise you..."

Katsuki raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? What's that?"

Taking a deep breath, you decided it was now or never. "Katsuki, I’m pregnant. We're having another baby."

For a moment, he just stared at you, processing the news. Then, a rare, genuine smile spread across his face. it was sadly short lived, and replaced with a smirk instead. "Oh really?".

Katsuma looked between the two of you, his earlier mischief forgotten. "So, does that mean I get a little brother or sister to boss around?"

"Katsuma, you will not be bossing your them around." you said, ruffling his hair. "You have to be a good big brother, okay?"

Katsuma's eyes widened. "I’ll be the best big brother ever! Can I teach them how to play hero games?"

You chuckled. "Sure, but you'll also need to help take care of them."

Katsuki walked over and pulled you into a gentle hug. "I'm really happy, you know," he said quietly. "This is good news."

You relaxed into his embrace, feeling a wave of relief. "I was so nervous about telling you."

He pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes. "Why? You know I’m always here for you, no matter what."

Katsuma tugged at Katsuki’s pant leg. "Dad, does this mean we need to buy more baby stuff?"

Katsuki laughed. "Yeah, it does. And you can help pick it out." "Good! Yknow dad...when we go to the store,I wanted to see if you could buy me a new figurine..or a bb gun...or a brand new pair of boo-" "No." "Oh.. DAMNIT!"

The rest of the evening was filled with excited chatter about the new baby. Katsuma kept asking questions about what it would be like to have a sibling, while Katsuki suggested names and joked about teaching the new baby how to be tough like him.

Later, after dinner, you all sat together in the living room. Katsuma was snuggled between you and Katsuki, half-asleep from all the excitement.

Katsuki looked over at you, his expression softer than usual. "You know, I never imagined myself having a family like this," he admitted. "But I wouldn't trade it for anything."

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you. "Me neither. We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?"

He nodded, reaching over to squeeze your hand. "Yeah, we have. And it’s only going to get better from here."

[bwabys-scenarios]

Halloween with the Spiders

Phantom Troupe x Fem!Reader

!!REBLOGS APPRECIATED!!

warnings: looots of pussy eating, characters get hard/horny around reader. they eat her pussy after drinking, but they’re only buzzed, not drunk

A/N: I write Chrollo as the shy and awkward guy he actually is so… he’s not super suave in this. Also sorry I wrote out Kortopi, Franklin, and Bonolenov. I’m just not interested in their characters like at all 😭🙏 they’ve got nothing going for them I’m afraid!

taglist: @desiray562 @lovelyxkazuha @ashdownunderscorebeloved

if you would like to be added to the NSFW taglist, comment a ❤️!! make sure you have your AGE in your bio, and that you’re able to be tagged/mentioned!

It was the end of summer, august slipping into September before you knew it. The weather was still warm enough outside for you to be wearing a tank top and shorts, something the blonde you were currently dealing with appreciated greatly.

“Okay Shal, you should be good to go. You can get a popsicle from the fridge now.”

You were the sweetheart of the Phantom Troupe, a woman Chrollo had recruited to be the troupe medical director after he watched you donate your time and services to meteor city residents.

Right now, you were at one of the various expensive hotels Chrollo rented for you, using your nen to tend to Shalnark’s wounds. “Thanks, (Name)! I really thought I was a goner this time!”

He gives you a sly smile as he laps at the popsicle you give him, causing you to laugh. “Shal, you had a cut on your cheek. I swear, you’re such a baby.”

You didn’t know the real reason he always came with injuries in… strange places. He wanted you to use your nen on him, knowing it worked in an unusual way.

When you wanted to heal someone, you used physical touch, and depending on the severity, it could be a touch of your finger to a kiss from your lips. Today, it was a simple touch.

You glanced at the TV, a Halloween themed add popping up. “Oh wow, they’re showing these real early this year.”

Shalnark looked up, biting down on his popsicle. “Huh, weird.”

He hummed, getting a mischievous look in his eyes. You were a real sweetheart, but also easily manipulated by sob stories. “You know, none of the Phantom Troupe has ever celebrated Halloween.”

This had your full attention immediately. “… what?”

———————

Ever since Shalnark informed you of the troupes lack of Halloween experience, you’ve been meticulously planning a way to celebrate with them.

It wasn’t easy getting them all together unless Chrollo willed it, so you’d have to go to the leader to ask for a favor.

You were one of the only members that knew of his location at all times. In your mind, it was because you had an important role, but in reality it was because Chrollo quite enjoyed your presence.

“Chrollo!”

You sprinted towards the dark haired man, and though calling out his name in public wasn’t exactly the safest thing to do, he didn’t scold you. He instead smiled, opening his arms and allowing you to jump into them. “I’m glad you could find me with ease. Let’s go to a cafe and you can discuss what you wanted to talk about with me.”

Chrollo never let you pay for your own things when he went places with you. He said it was because you did so much good for the Troupe, but that was only a half truth. He enjoyed taking care of you.

“Mmm… oh!”

You placed your pumpkin spice muffin down, and Chrollo couldn’t help but laugh when when you held up a finger as you chewed. “I almost forgot to actually talk about what I came for! Chrollo!”

He lifted a napkin, wiping at your mouth. “Shh, (Name). You shouldn’t speak my name out loud so easily, it’s not exactly a common name.”

You blushed, and he placed the dirty napkin in a nearby trash can. “Oh, sorry…”

He motioned for you to talk, and you cleared your throat. “Anyways, Shalnark told me that none of you have ever celebrated Halloween! Is that true?”

He stared at you for a moment, trying to see why you’re bringing that fact up. “Yes, that’s true, we haven’t c-“

Your tears surprised him, but not enough for him to react. You’re kind of known for being a bleeding heart, so his expression stayed neutral, but he did offer you his handkerchief. “Chrollo, Halloween is so much fun! You get to carve pumpkins, wear costumes, eat lots of treats…”

You paused, reaching out to grab his hand. “So, the reason I asked to see you…”

Chrollo waited for you to continue patiently. He couldn’t help but find your ditzy and forgetful nature endearing, so he smiled.

“I want the troupe to get together on Halloween at my house!”

This actually surprised him. He nearly choked on his strawberry scone, having to pat his chest for a moment. “You… you said the troupe? As in everyone?”

“Mhm!”

He stared at you for a moment to see if you were being serious. You were smiling, looking hopeful and expectant.

‘How… can I put this gently..?’

Chrollo squeezed your hand, causing you to tilt your head. “(Name), my sweet and kind friend, the troupe has only come together once in the past three years, and that was for an important heist. I’m not sure if they’ll want to meet for… a Halloween party.”

You giggled. “Oh, but I’m sure they’ll love it! Besides, if you order it, they’ll come!”

He sighed. You looked way too cute, giggling and smiling as you pulled out a notebook and began showing him the things you already had planned.

Sometimes, when he watched you, all he could see was Sarasa. Your perky personality and compassion for others reminded him of her so much, it was one of the reasons he adored you so.

And one of the reasons he had trouble telling you no.

“Alright, alright. I’ll ask them to come, but it won’t be mandatory.”

You squealed in delight, nearly jumping over the table to give him a hug. “Oh, thank you Chrollo! It’s going to be fun, I promise!”

He sighed, smiling and patting your back. Normally, Chrollo would push any other person away, but he let you get away with a lot. “Okay, (Name).”

———————

It was the day before Halloween, and you were sulking. Already, three of the Troupe members wouldn’t be able to come. Franklin, Kortopi, and Bonolenov each called to say they couldn’t make it.

You’d spent most of the week decorating your house and getting it ready for guests. Feitan, Shalnark, and Shizuku would be staying in your three guest bedrooms while the rest rented hotels.

“(Nameeeee) come open the door!”

You blinked, looking out the window to see Shizuku behind your door. “Oh, Shizuku, you’re early. I thought you’d be here tonight?”

She walked into your home, turning in a circle before tilting her head. “I wanted first pick of the rooms, so I finished up my job quick.”

That was only half true, she wanted more private time with you!

“Oh, that makes sense. You’re just in time then, I finished making all the beds a few minutes ago!”

She nodded and walked upstairs to pick her room. Not even five minutes later, you heard someone knocking at your door.

“Coming!”

You open the door to see Feitan standing behind it, holding…

“Feitan, is that… is that a pumpkin?”

“Halloween, pumpkins are important.”

He handed the pumpkin to you before pushing past you into your house. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he looked almost… proud of his “gift” for you? Feitan watched you carry the pumpkin into your kitchen, where you sat in on the counter.

“Oh wow, it’s huge! What a nice pumpkin!”

He nods, following you. “Stole best one.”

You held back a laugh, knowing he was a bit sensitive when it came to giving gifts and being nice. “Oh, I can tell. Thank you so much Fei!”

Feitan had the habit of following you around like a stray cat when he was around. It was an improvement to your relationship when you first joined the Phantom Troupe as an honorary member. He used to sprint away from you the second you looked at him, and now he followed a few feet behind at all times. Honestly, he was pretty cute. Like a stray cat.

“Hey princess!”

You blinked as your door was torn off its hinges and Uvogin walked in, laughing and stomping into your kitchen before picking you up into a crushing hug.

Feitan stood in the doorway, watching the interaction with narrowed eyes. “Careful, Uvo. She not like us. Fragile.”

uvogin looked down to see Feitan was right. The girl in his eyes was making a pained expression, patting his arm to signal she couldn’t breathe. “Oh, my bad.”

He let her go, keeping her steady as she drew in breath. “Woo… now that is a bear hug that I think an actual bear would give, Jesus Christ…”

You turned back towards the cabinets and began taking out what you would need to get started on baking. “Uvo, could you be a dear and grab my Halloween decorations from the attic? I tried to get them earlier, but they were way too heavy.”

“Of course!”

He walked up the stairs, leaving you to sigh softly. “Okay, let’s see what we can do about that door-“

“It’s aight, (Name). I’ve got it fixed.”

You nearly jump out of your skin when Phinks and Shalnark just appear behind you, and peek over them to see that your door was indeed fixed!

“Oh, thank you guys!” You give them both an affectionate pat to the arm before continuing your baking preparations.

———————

By the time you finish baking, your house is full of Phantom Troupe members. Pakunoda, Nobunaga, and Machi arrived individually within the last few hours. Machi shyly offered to help you bake, watching you from the corner of her eye as you worked. ‘Cute, she’s even wearing an apron…’ Machi thought, her eyes soft as she watched you.

Chrollo was the last to arrive, getting to your house at nearly 8 pm. He opened the door, every member looking up to him when he did. “Hello, everyone. I’m glad to see you could all make it.”

You rushed forward and took his coat, gently scolding him for not wearing a shirt underneath. He laughed, sitting down and smiling at the troupe. Chrollo waited for you to go back to the kitchen before his face returned to its usual serious expression.

“As you can see, (Name) has tried her hardest to make our first Halloween celebration the best it can be. You’ll do as she says, and have fun, though I’m sure none of you wish to upset our special girl.”

They all glanced between each other, nodding slowly. After that, they had a quick meeting to discuss non Halloween matters before (Name) came back into the living room. “Okay, I know I gathered you all here before Halloween, but it’s only to go over my plans and give you all your gifts!”

“Gifts? Aww, you didn’t have to do that for us, sweetheart.” Nobunaga said, smiling.

“But I wanted to! Lemme go grab them!”

You scurried up the stairs, giggling the whole way up. “It seems she’s excited about this.”

You walked down the stairs a few minutes later with a large box in your arms, whining a bit. “Hnn… it’s kind of heavy…”

Several of the boys jumped up to help you, but Feitan got there first. “Give. Too weak.”

You handed the box over, knowing Feitan was doing it to help you. “Thanks, Fei!” You gave him that pretty smile of yours, and the rest of the troupe grumbled lightly.

Feitan sat the box on your coffee table, using his sharp nails to slice open the tape. “…”

Inside were clothes, all the same design. “(Name) what exactly are these… gifts?” Shalnark asked, tilting his head as he pulled a set out.

“Oh, they’re matching pajamas! I was hoping we could all get a picture together!”

You hand out everyone’s clothes, smiling.

“How did you know our sizes?” Pakunoda asked, seeing the set of pajama was her size. You giggle, turning towards her.

“I have my ways~”

Surprisingly, most of them were completely fine dressing in the Halloween themed pajamas for pictures, and the ones that weren’t did it anyways.

Phinks sat on the couch after the pictures, humming. “Huh, these are pretty warm and soft. You mind if I take these with me back to my hotel?”

“I don’t mind at all, they’re yours after all!”

The people that weren’t staying the night filed out soon after, all thanking you, a few giving you hugs and cheeky kisses to her forehead.

“Goodnight, (Name). Sleep well, and thank you for this.”

Chrollo was the last to leave, saying that before cupping your cheek and planting a kiss on your forehead. It left you. A little flustered, but you still waved at them all. “Be safe, and make sure you’re here by 9 am!”

Shalnark, Feitan, and Shizuku stayed behind, the former two eating some leftovers you had in the fridge. “Wow, it’s been nearly a month since I’ve gotten to try your homemade cooking, (Name)! This is amazing!”

You felt your face heat up, giving your friends a sheepish smile. “I’m happy you’re enjoying it.”

Soon, everyone went to bed, and you climbed into your own, excited for the day to come.

You wake up in the middle of the night to the feeling of eyes on you. You’re quick to reach for your light switch, only for your hand to come in contact with someone’s face.

A hand covered your mouth before you could scream, the person shushing you gently. “Don’t worry, it’s just me, (Name).”

Shalnark sat, crouched next to your bed, that boyish smile on his face as he pulled his hand away. “Huh… why are… why are you in my room?”

“Oh, we’re watching you sleep.”

“We’re?”

You blinked, glancing around the room to see Feitan standing in your doorway, leaning against it. “I not watch, making sure he don’t try something.” Feitan corrected, glancing to the blonde.

“Oh, you wound me Fei. I would never hurt (Name)!”

“Not hurt, but might touch while sleeps.”

The blonde blushed, glancing down at you as you gave him a disturbed look. “No, I promise I wouldn’t do that! I just… you look really cute when you sleep!”

“… how many times have you watched me sleep??”

“… almost every time we have a mission together.”

Feitan nodded to confirm this, walking into your room. “He not mean any harm, just worried.”

Shalnark pouted at his friend. “So you were teasing me on purpose earlier?”

The two ignored him. “Worried? What does that mean?”

Feitan sighed, plopping down on your bed. “We… lost people before. Shalnark get anxious, not want you to get hurt. Watches you.”

You soften, gently patting the blondes head. “Aww, Shal, that’s really sweet. I’m okay though, I promise!”

You give them both a smile, tentatively patting Feitan’s arm. He tenses, but doesn’t move. ‘Progress!’

You kind of treat Feitan like a scared stray cat, and it works most of the time. After your gentle pat, he scoots closer ever so slightly. You rub your eyes and yawn. “Well, I’m going back to sleep.”

You turn around and pull the blanket up to your chin, snuggling into your pillow-

“Shizuku!?”

“Hi.”

The dark haired girl was lying next to you, wearing the Halloween pajamas you gave her. “W-when did you get here?”

“I’ve been here the whole time.”

“She has.”

“Longer than Shal.”

You sigh, lying back on your pillow, accepting this. “Okay, as I said, I’m going to sleep. Just… don’t do anything weird and you can all stay.”

Strangely, having the three in your room helped you sleep better. It almost made you feel safe, knowing your friends were watching over you.

——————

The Troupe gathers in your living room at 9 am sharp, some looking tired, others perky. You’re surrounded by your comrades, some(namely Shizuku and Feitan) hovered around you shamelessly as you began to speak.

“Okay, the first thing on our list is pumpkin carving!”

You had Uvogin and Phinks help you carry in the pumpkins as Pakunoda and Machi laid out newspaper to keep your living room clean. “So this isn’t just normal pumpkin carving, it’s a contest! I’ll be the judge, and whoever makes the pumpkin I like the best, wins!”

“What’s prize?” Feitan asked, poking his pumpkin. You blinked at the shorter man.

“Oh… I think I completely forgot about a prize. Any ideas guys?”

You smiled, still in your cute pajamas. Shalnark raised his hand. “Shal?”

“How about a blowj-“

Phinks smacked the blonde over the head before Shalnark is pulled away by a few members and scolded in the corner.

“Hmm? What did he say?” You asked, tilting your head. Chrollo cleared his throat, the man surprisingly flustered easily.

“Nothing. How about… a kiss from you as a prize?”

You hummed softly. “A kiss? That doesn’t seem like a good prize, I don’t think anyone here would want th-“

The entire troupe started to argue with you, and you blush.

“Oh, um… okay. A kiss it is.”

This helped to motivate the group, but before they could start you raised your hand. “Two rules, guys. No nen, and you have to use these pumpkin carving tools.”

Already, Machi and Shalnark were pouting. Feitan took the pumpkin carving kit, raising an eyebrow at you. “… dull blade. Why?”

“Well, it’s supposed to be child safe.”

“(Name), we’re a band of thieves.” Chrollo said, his lips twitching into an amused smile. “We can handle actual knives.”

You whine and hand him his own kit, puffing out your cheeks. “Well too bad, thems the rules!”

You cross your arms and walk into the kitchen.

“Haha, you sure pissed her off, boss! Boss?”

Chrollo sat in the chair with his head in his hands, groaning. “I’m an idiot.”

Uvogin clapped him over the back with his large hand, laughing. “Oh don’t worry boss, you know she can be pouty when it comes to our safety.”

“Boss not wrong though. Kill people, can use knife.” Feitan grumbled, stabbing his pumpkin.

“Fei, I don’t think that’s how you carve a pumpkin.” Phinks said, crouching down.

“Tch, you know better?”

Phinks held up his phone, a tutorial on the screen. Pakunoda, Machi, and Shizuku sat together, ignoring the men as they carved their pumpkins, occasionally dodging flying pumpkin guts.

——————

You walked out of the kitchen 30 minutes later, carrying in some muffins shyly. “Sorry, I was a little rude earlier. I made some- oh, are you all done?”

You ignored the complete mess the troupe had made, happy that you laid out plenty of newspaper. Nobunaga nodded, holding up his pumpkin. For an expert in the sword, it looked… really bad.

“Yep, we just finished up!”

You hummed and looked over each pumpkin. “Oh, Paku, is yours a cat?”

She nodded, trying to keep a neural expression. It was a little cat, and you couldn’t help but coo and take a picture. “Cute!”

It wasn’t amazing, but cute nonetheless. You continued looking, the next one to catch your attention being Shalnark’s. It was an image of some anime character, and despite looking amateur, you could recognize the character. “Oh, is that sailor moon? It’s really good Shal!”

He gave you a proud smile, holding his pumpkin i his lap. The last pumpkin that caught your attention was Feitan’s, which was honestly the best looking one. It was a detailed carving of human heart, and you couldn’t help but be impressed.

“I think we have a winner!”

You pick up Feitan’s pumpkin and hold it up for everyone to see. Despite being upset they didn’t win, everyone also agreed his was the best looking.

You placed the pumpkin on your table before smiling. Under his jacket, Feitan’s cheeks were a soft pink as he stood before you. “Fei, are you ready for your prize?”

He froze, his hands trembling slightly in his pockets. Feitan had always been on the shy side, and when it came to you, his shy nature only intensified. The others could pick this up, especially Phinks and Shalnark. The two were about to speak up, but you talked first.

“Fei, I won’t kiss you if you don’t want it.”

His eyes widen slightly. How should he tell you that it’s not that he doesn’t want to kiss you, it’s the fact that he wasn’t sure how his body would react to such a thing? Shit, it was already hard enough to not pop a boner in your presence, a kiss might kill him!

“Kiss… kiss alright. Can handle it,” he tried to say nonchalantly, but his words came out shaky. You smiled warmly, stepping closer and gently tugging the hood of his coat down.

“Are you ready?”

His heart thumped against his chest rapidly, his eyes half lidded as he stared at your soft lips. “Y-yeah…”

You leaned forward and pressed your lips to his for a moment before pulling away, giggling. “There you go!”

You open your eyes, only to see him tug his hood back into place and speed away from you. Feitan’s face was bright red, and he could feel his pants tighten as he his under hid coat.

“Well,” Chrollo said, getting everyone’s attention. Only few people would be able to read the hint of jealousy in his eye as he spoke. “What’s next, (Name)?”

———————

After a quick lunch, the group gathered at a corn maze. “Okay everyone, we’re going in groups of two, using the buddy system in case we get separated! Stranger danger, ya know?”

Phinks patted your head. “No one else is here, (Name), we’re the only people in line. I don’t think we’ll have any trouble with stranger danger.”

“Besides, we’re all adults and nen users.” Pakunoda said, slightly amused by your concern.

“Hmph! We’re doing the buddy system, there’s scare actors in there. What if one of them can use nen? It’s better to stick to pairs of two!”

Chrollo nodded, paying for everyone to enter. “That’s smart, (Name).”

The pairs were as so: Chrollo and Pakunoda, Phinks and Feitan, Shalnark and Machi, Uvogin and Nobunaga, then Shizuku and you.

Pakunoda glanced at you and Shizuku. “Are you sure that’s a good idea, (Name)? Shizuku can be a bit forgetful, I don’t want you two to get separated. You’re scared easily, aren’t you (Name)?”

Shizuku huffed before pulling you into her chest. “Hey, I’ll keep her safe! I’ll stay focused!”

You blushed a little, your face directly in her breasts. “Mmph!”

She released you, patting your head. “Whoops, you alright?”

You nodded shyly, your face hot.

The group entered the maze, taking different paths. It was large and intricate, more like a labyrinth than a maze. Shizuku kept a hold on your hand, occasionally squeezing it when someone jumped out to scare the two of you.

“Oh. (Name), are you scared?”

You were trembling and holding onto her arm, giving her a slight nod. “A little, y-yeah…”

The two of you continued to walk through the maze, but Shizuku seemed to space out. “Hmm…”

She let go of your hand for just a moment, and when you attempted to grab her hand again, she was already gone. “Shizuku? Shizuku!”

You shook in your little Mary Janes as you tried to find her. Just then a man with a chainsaw begin chasing you, causing you to shriek and sprint in a random direction. “AGH! SHIZUKU! SOMEONE!”

You cried in fear, spotting a familiar figure and nearly sobbing. “Uvo! Nobu!”

They looked up, Uvogin opening his arms to allow you to jump into them. He held you close as you trembled and cried, obviously terrified. Nobunaga gave you a look of concern before glancing up, unsheathing his sword and the man approached.

“Hey, back off. She’s scared.”

The man takes one look at the two menacing figures before turning around and running away. Nobunaga turns back to you, gently running his hand over your hair to smooth it out. “Hey, he’s gone. You’re okay now.”

You sniffle a little, but relax into Uvogin’s arms. “There ya go, princess. Just relax. We’ll find our way out.”

The two spent the rest of the maze in silence. Their intimidating presences alone were enough to keep all the scare actors at bay. By the end of the maze, you had fallen asleep, your arms around Uvogin’s neck.

“Uvo, Nobu? Oh thank god, you found her!”

Shalnark ran towards the three, looking over you with relieved eyes. Nobunaga held a finger up to his lips, the blonde getting quiet. “She’s sleeping, Shal. Did anyone find Shizuku?”

Said girl was being scolded by Feitan close by. She seemed sorry enough, glancing at you with regretful eyes. “I didn’t mean to leave her, I got distracted…”

Chrollo took you from Uvogin’s arms, sighing softly as he tucked your hair behind your ear. “That doesn’t matter, all that matters is she’s safe. Let’s get her home.”

By the time the group got home, it was dark. You awoke when you heard a wet thwack!

“Huh? What was that?”

Chrollo set you down. “I’m not sure, I think it’s coming from around the corner.”

You peeked arousn the corner, your eyes going wide. “The pumpkins! Hey!”

You run forward, the troupe following close behind. A group of drunk men were smashing the pumpkins you all worked hard on. “Hey, you assholes! Get away from-“

You attempted to shop them away, but were pushed to the ground. “Shut up, bitch. Stupid whore thinks she can tell us what to do…”

Thankfully, Phinks caught you before you could hit your head on the concrete, his strong arms lifting up up. “You alright, sunshine?”

You nod, sniffling a little, tears running down your cheeks. “They… they’re smashing our pumpkins…”

He did his best to comfort you as the rest of the Troupe advanced. “Trash, make her cry.” Feitan spits, wielding his umbrella.

“What should we do, boss? Can’t let them hurt our sweethearts feelings, can we?” Pakunoda asked, ruffling your hair as she passed by.

Chrollo hummed. “Take them out, but wait until we get (Name) inside.”

Pakunoda, Feitan, and Shizuku stayed outside while the rest walked in. You heard screaming for a minute, then the sound of Shizuku’s nen activating.

“I’m sorry about the pumpkins, (Name). I know you liked them.” Shalnark said, sitting next to you as you sulked on the couch.

“It’s okay… I got pictures of all of them… at least…”

Shalnark patted your back before opening his phone. “I’ll call in some pizza, okay? Uvogin and Nobunaga brought alcohol, so why don’t we watch some horror movies and chill?”

You nodded, rubbing your teary eyes. “Yeah, that sounds fun…”

——————

It didn’t take long for everyone to get pleasantly buzzed, you included. The troupe gathered around your TV, each taking turns to sit next to you. After all, you always jumped into the lap of whoever sat next to you when you got scared!

You stood up, humming. “Imma grab some treats, made ‘em yesterday.”

Little do you know, Shizuku had an idea. You returned with the tray, placing it on the coffee table and smiling. “Okay, dig in g-“

The dark haired girl snuck up behind you, yanking your skirt down and sitting you on the coffee table. “Let’s play a game, whoever can eat her out and make her cum the fastest, wins.”

You sat there dumbfounded, trying to process the fact that your pussy was on full display for the entire troupe, and they were all blatantly staring. You tried to close your legs, whining, but Shizuku kept them held open. “H-hey!”

You pour at her, but you don’t make any further moves to stop her. You’ve never had someone eat you out before, you hadn’t even had sex, so the thought of all 8 members present taking turns making you cum was making your pussy drool in delight.

It’s not like you haven’t imagined it a few times. Your fellow troupe members were attractive, and although this was a little embarrassing, you were a little excited.

“F-fuck…”

Phinks crouched down in front of you, taking a good whiff. You squeaked, your face hot with embarrassment.

He’s quickly shoved away by Machi, who huffed. “You said you get to go first? We’ll have to draw straws.”

Chrollo cleared his throat, the bulge in his pants more than evident. “That’s a good idea, Machi. Get the straws.”

You were allowed to sit down on the couch, a pillow under your hips to get you comfortable.

The first one up was Feitan. You felt a bit sorry for him, he was obviously inexperienced in such a thing, staring at your pussy with wife eyes, his hands shaking a little when he grabbed you by the hips.

He lowered his head to your pussy, looking up at you with those dark eyes. He took his coat off, now only wearing pants. Even from this angle, you could see the tent in his pants, his cheeks a light shade of pink.

“Come on, Fei. Hurry up!” Phinks yelled, tapping his foot impatiently.

Usually, Feitan could be pretty intimidating to most people, but you knew that he wasn’t actually a bad guy, he was just a bit shy and awkward. You played with his hair, trying to encourage him. “It’s okay, take your time.”

Even as you said this, you lightly bucked your hips trying to reach his face. You couldn’t help it, he was so close to burying his nose in your pussy.

Maybe he just needs a little guidance…

You look at him, grabbing a fist full of his hair and gently guiding him to your cunt. His eyes widened, and when his lips touched your pussy, he moaned into you. Feitan’s tongue darted out of his mouth, testing the waters.

“Mmph…”

He buried his face in your pussy, licking and sucking everywhere. Occasionally he’d touch your clit, but you knew without some more guidance, he wouldn’t be able to make you cum.

Gently, you grabbed his hair again, cooing softly as you guided him towards your clit. “Here, Fei.”

He glanced up at you through his dark eyelashes, immediately latching onto your clit. This had you mewling, your hips bucking into his face.

Feitan was a fast learner, you only had to show him how to please you once and he was on it like a hawk. After a minute, you ended up cumming on his tongue, panting softly.

Phinks clapped Feitan on the back as the dark haired man pulled away. “Hey, it took a bit but you got her there! Nice job, man.”

Feitan looked at you shyly, patting your thigh. “… good girl.”

‘Oh, he’s so cute.’ You thought, wanting to give him a kiss or something for his efforts, but the next person up was already crawling between your legs.

Pakunoda held your thighs apart, her thumb rubbing against your clit. “Is that good, princess?”

You nodded, whining a little. “Mhm… ahh!”

You squeak when she inserts a finger, now sucking on your clit as she adds another finger in. You bucked your hips, but she keeps you still.

You cum pretty quick, the woman smiling up at you as you catch your breath. “Mm, you taste divine, (Name).”

She gave your pussy a kiss before moving away for the next person to come.

Chrollo and Shalnark were similar in the way they ate you out. They liked to make a lot of eye contact, their fingers curling inside you, sometimes chuckling on your clit as they suckled on it.

Phinks and Uvogin were rough, their big tongues filling your pussy up, their fingers stretching you out. They both groaned when your walls clenched around their fingers as you came.

Nobunaga and Shizuku were a little desperate, their tongues lapping at you and fingers thrusting into you at ungodly speeds. Although you came quick, it wasn’t as satisfying when you came the previous times.

Machi was much like Pakunoda, taking her time and making you cum on her tongue easily. She was the only on to grab your breasts, making the others jealous. They hadn’t even though of that!

By the end of the night, you were exhausted!

The pillow underneath you was soaked with your cum, your skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat. “Our sweetheart seems tired.” Phinks teased, crouching down to help you get dressed.

The group decided to sleep in the living room, and you fell asleep being cuddled by the entire troupe.

Was it easy being loved by a band of thieves? No. Was it satisfying?

Oh yes.

“This was the best Halloween ever…” you whispered into Chrollo’s chest. He smiled and kissed the top of you head.

“It really was.”

[slashers-gf]

I'm here for you... pt2

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.

Kenji sato x reader

Word count: 3k

Summery: You and kenji are childhood best friends. Kenji hasn't been answering you for several days, and you start to get worried. You go to a good place to see what's happening to him and to try and help him.

“Ah crap..”

He mumbled and looked off to the side awkwardly, avoiding your gaze. He felt like an idiot, sitting here and being all emotional and vulnerable with you while he smelled like trash.

"Wanna tell me you smell like that?" I said, looking at him up and down suspiciously.

Kenji tensed and swallowed hard, feeling like a deer in headlights. He cursed silently, thinking up an excuse in his mind. There was no way in hell he was going to admit what happened..it would be too embarrassing.

“It’s..not important” He muttered, still looking off to the side. He hoped to all things good that you’d drop it, but he had a feeling there’d be no such luck..not with you.

"Mina can you come here please" calling out to the small robot.

Kenji immediately panicked as you suddenly called out for Mina’s assistance. He knew exactly what you were planning and mentally cursed. He should’ve seen this coming, but again, he stupidly forgot about the damn robot.

“Wait no don’t-“

Mina the robot assistant suddenly appeared out of thin air, her usual cheerful facial expression as she looked at you.

“Hello, may I help you?”

"Mina can you tell me why kenji smells like fish and barf?" I asked Mina, waiting for her reply.

Mina turns to look at Kenji, her eyes beeping as she analyzes him

“Mr. Kenji Sato currently has an odor of fish and vomit on his body due to an incident occurring earlier today”

"What incident happened?" I asked Mina again.

Mina continued to beep before answering.“Mr. Kenji Sato attempted to feed the infant Kaiju while not experienced in doing so and was vomited on, explaining why he currently smells the way he does.”

Kenji scowled and sighed in defeat as Mina explained the incident to you, his face flushed with embarrassment.

"Kenji, so you're telling me you have an infant kaiju and you are taking care of it" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. No one has even seen a baby kaiju.

Kenji grumbled and reluctantly nodded at your words. “Yea, I’m taking care of the damn infant kaiju." He mumbled, but I could still understand what he said.

"You never told me about this. That's why you've been ignoring my calls and texts' ' I wasn't mad about it but he couldn’t have asked me for help, I mean I'm his best friend.

Kenji looked away, feeling a pang of guilt as you reminded him of his recent radio silence. He fidgeted awkwardly, knowing that it was cowardly of him to suddenly go dark on you like that.

“Yea..yea that’s why..” He mumbled quietly, avoiding your gaze

"Can I see the kaiju?" I asked, wanting to see what a baby kaiju looked like and see if I can help Kenji In any way I can.

Kenji looked at you skeptically, his dark eyes wary as if questioning your sanity. But after a few moments of silence, he shrugged and got up off the couch.

“Alright fine..c’mon..” *He said and gestured for you to follow him.

I followed right after kenji.

Kenji led you away from the living room and down a hallway. You both walked in silence until you reached a large double door*

“Okay..so..just a heads up she might be sleeping. So keep it quiet if she is..” He said as he pushed open the doors and flicked on the light.

Once I saw her I was in awe. "She is beautiful. What's her name?"

Kenji nodded in agreement. Despite being a literal monster, the Kaiju infant was surprisingly cute…well at least in his eyes she was.

“Yea she’s a cute little thing. Her name is Emi.” he said as he led you further into the room. The room was large and mostly filled with things to keep the baby Kaiju entertained and comfortable. She started to shift and wake up properly because of the lights being turned on.

To be continued...

[roosterforme]

The Birthday Blues | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley loves celebrating your birthday. It's his favorite day of the year. But you're almost too upset to celebrate, and you don't seem to want to tell him why.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, smut, swears, mentions of trying to get pregnant

Length: 2800 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

"Roo?" you mumbled when you thought you felt your husband touching you. Was it morning? Or were you still asleep? You must be having a dream, because you felt good. No, you felt fucking great.

"Happy birthday, Baby Girl."

You cracked your eyes open, searching for the source of your pleasure, and then you saw that Bradley was nestled between your thighs, eating your pussy.

"Oh!" you gasped. That's why you felt like you were melting into a pool of pleasure. Because you actually were. You watched Bradley's head bob slightly as he licked long, languid stripes along your pussy. The early morning light was turning his messy bedhead hair a pretty copper color, and when you pushed your fingers through it, he kissed your thigh before returning to his task.

It was your birthday. You were thirty one. And you were pretty sure he wasn't going to stop until you came at least one time on his face. So you propped yourself up on one elbow to watch the show.

"Is this my birthday present?" you whispered as Bradley's mustache brushed against your clit.

"Just one of many," he rasped before kissing his way up and down your slit. When you were sufficiently moaning for him, he wrapped those pretty lips around your clit while you played with his hair.

Each little flick of his tongue had you gasping and asking for more. But he knew your body like the back of his hand, and he was drawing this out on purpose. Every time your voice got higher in pitch, he eased back the pressure until you calmed down. And then he started all over again.

"Roo!" you whined, practically riding his face as he held your hips down on the bed. "Let me cum! It's my birthday!"

The devilish look he gave you should have been enough warning, but a minute later, he was fucking you with two fingers and sucking your clit just right. When you felt the prickle of his mustache on your skin, your head tipped back against the pillow, and you felt yourself squeezing his thick fingers as you whined his name until you were laying in a limp, boneless pile. 

Then you felt his warm body weight on your sensitive skin as he kissed your lips. His mustache was wet, and he let you lick his face clean.

"I need to be on base in thirty minutes," he rasped, making no move to leave you or the bed. "Fuck, why didn't we take today off? It's the most important day of the year."

"Because we burned through all of our vacation time for our honeymoon," you reminded him. 

"It was worth it," he whispered next to your ear before he climbed out of bed. You watched Bradley step into his flight suit before he disappeared into the bathroom. You desperately wanted to coax him back to bed, but you also really wanted Bradley to leave for work.

He kissed your lips one more time and said, "Birthday dinner at seven. I'll let Tramp out before I leave. I love you, Baby Girl." 

And once he was gone, you dashed out of bed and into the bathroom. You dug around in the closet for the pregnancy tests you bought yesterday after work. 

"Come on," you whispered, pacing around the bathroom and bedroom after you peed on the sticks. This could potentially be the best birthday present of your life, even better than a birthday morning orgasm from Bradley. 

When your timer went off and you checked the tests, tears of frustration filled your eyes. You tossed the tests into the trash and got dressed for work. 

----------------------------

It was actually unfair. Finding yourself on the verge of crying at work on your birthday shouldn't have been happening. And now as you sat in your office, swiping tears away, you realized you were just angry at yourself for taking the pregnancy tests in the first place. 

But you had been trying for two months. And you'd spent the last decade trying your damnedest not to get pregnant. And if you knew there might have been something wrong, you'd have stopped taking birth control months ago. Because you and Bradley had been having very frequent sex for weeks now, and you felt like you were disappointing yourself and him, too.

You closed your computer and carried it down the hallway to your lab where your newest coworker Cat seemed to be having a great day. She was laughing with your other labmates just like you would normally be doing, but you weren't feeling like yourself. So you just kept your head down and got your work done. 

You knew you shouldn't have done it, but you texted Bradley and told him you were simply too busy to make it down to the cafeteria for lunch today.

Bradley Rooster Bradshaw <3 <3 <3: really? everyone wanted to see you. i wanted to see you...

And then you started crying again. Because the negative pregnancy test was getting to you so much, you were letting Bradley down even more.

--------------------------

"I think you should wear the dress you wore on our first date," Bradley crooned next to your ear as he wrapped his arms around you from behind. "You look so good in red."

You wiggled out of his grasp and finished unbuttoning your uniform shirt. As you removed your pins, you said, "Our first date was in the summer. It's too chilly out today."

Now he was looking at you like he was trying to figure out what he had done wrong. "I'll keep you warm. Or you can wear one of my sweatshirts over it if you want to. Or you can wear leggings and your oversized sweater. It's your birthday. And you're perfect. And you're going to look perfect."

But you really weren't perfect. You sighed and nodded at him. "I'll just throw on something casual. You said it doesn't matter what I wear."

You could tell he wanted you to wear that red dress. But you were feeling like punishing yourself for being in a bad mood on your own birthday. And you were bloated. Plus you'd gained a few pounds on the honeymoon and over the holidays. You'd look terrible in that dress right now. But Bradley just nodded his head once as you walked away from him. "Anything is fine, Baby Girl." 

"Great," you muttered, pulling on the leggings and sweater. The car ride was painfully quiet, and as soon as he got on the highway, you knew where he was taking you. You bit your lip to keep the tears at bay.

"Did I piss you off today?" he asked as he parallel parked the Bronco in front of the hot sauce restaurant he'd taken you to on your first date. 

"No," you whispered, closing your eyes against the tears you could once again feel. You were emotional because your period was starting, not because you were pregnant. And that thought was making more tears burn your eyes. 

"Sweetheart, if you're not feeling it, we can go home," he assured you. "I won't be upset. I should have let you pick what you wanted to do today."

"No, it's fine, Roo. I love it here. You did good," you said, trying to infuse your voice with the excitement you usually felt when he surprised you with silly little things. Normally you would have been climbing across the seat to wrap your arms around him, excited that he brought you back here, but instead you climbed out your own door onto the sidewalk. 

"Okay," he whispered a moment later, taking your hand in his larger one and kissing your fingers. "I'll let you order both meals and eat half of each one. I know you love doing that here." Bradley guided you inside as a smile found its way to your lips.

"I do love that," you told him. Soon you and he were sitting side by side in a booth, and he had his arm wrapped around your shoulders. You were pouring out little samples of various hot sauces onto your plate and tasting each one while Bradley sipped a beer. He helped you rank the bottles in order of deliciousness, and then you ate half of your meal and half of his. 

"Let me buy you bottles of your top three draft picks," he joked, taking out his credit card to pay the bill and asking the waiter to add on a few bottles of the hot sauces you liked best.

"Thanks, Roo," you whispered, kissing his cheek. This wasn't so bad. You'd get over this sadness like you had last month. It would just take a few days, and you could blame it on your period. 

Your husband took you by the hand, but instead of leading you back to the Bronco, he crossed the street with you. "Thought we could walk along the pier? For old time's sake?"

You looked up into his eager face in the dim glow of the streetlight. He just wanted to please you, just the same way you always wanted to please him. So you nodded and started out along the pier where you'd spent plenty of time getting to know him and making out with him so many months ago.

When you leaned against the railing and looked out at the dark water beyond, Bradley rested his chin on your shoulder and wrapped his arms around you. "Promised I'd keep you warm," he murmured next to your ear.

You smiled. "You should have put that in your wedding vows."

His soft sigh as he rubbed his hands along the front of your body made you feel a lot better. "I hope you enjoyed your birthday dinner. I wasn't joking, this really is the most important day of the year. My very favorite day of the year. Besides our anniversary."

"I love you even more than I love hot sauce." 

The promise fell from your lips as he chuckled and said, "I hope you don't lose your taste for spicy food when you're pregnant."

The chilly night air started to seep through the fabric of your sweater everywhere that he wasn't touching you. Your face fell into a frown. The dark water no longer looked peaceful. Tears filled your eyes quickly, as if they had been right there at the surface, just waiting for another excuse to drip down your cheeks.

You tried your best to keep it together, but Bradley knew right away that something was wrong. He spun you in his arms until you were facing him. "Please, Baby Girl. Please tell me what's going on. If I made you upset, you need to tell-"

But you just shook your head and pushed him gently away from you, and Bradley looked like you had slapped him across the face. "I'm not pregnant, okay? I'm not. I took a pregnancy test this morning, because my period should have started today."

"Sweetheart, that doesn't matter. We have time-"

"Just stop it, alright?" you asked, wiping away your tears as he reached for you. "Please, just stop talking. Let's go home."

Bradley rubbed his hand along his lips and mustache before he nodded. When he held his hand out for yours, you didn't take it. Rather you just strolled back up the pier toward the street a few steps in front of him, continuously wiping your eyes with the backs of your hands. 

When you reached the Bronco and went to climb in, Bradley jogged up behind you and buckled the seatbelt for you. He didn't try to kiss you, but he did run his thumb along your knuckles as he whispered, "Love you." 

But you pressed your lips together against the pain in your heart instead of responding to him. And then he took you home in silence, not even bothering to choose a playlist to listen to. 

Now you'd upset your husband by telling him the truth about what was bothering you. He probably thought you were insane, losing yourself like this for the second month in a row. Blaming yourself for not being pregnant yet when you knew, deep inside your mind, that you hadn't actually done anything wrong. But you felt the uncontrollable, hateful desire to blame yourself anyway. 

You were still dabbing at your eyes with your sleeves when Bradley pulled into the driveway. He killed the engine and turned to face you, but you were out the door and heading for the front porch before he could get a single word in. After wrestling with your key for a moment, you shoved the door open and nudged Tramp to keep him inside. But when you turned the lamp on, you froze in place.

Your entire house, literally every surface you could see, was filled with yellow flowers. Tulips, roses, daffodils and zinnias. Everywhere. Just like he had done for you last year. You squeezed your eyes shut, but you could feel Bradley's presence behind you. 

After you sucked in a breath, you peeked into the kitchen and saw more flowers along with pink champagne in the ice bucket next to a beautiful confetti cake. Music was playing softly through the small speaker you kept next to the sink, and you recognized the songs as ones from a playlist Bradley made for you when he had been deployed. Your breathing was getting ragged as you sobbed into your hands.

"I'm sorry," Bradley murmured. "I had Nat and Bob bring everything over to surprise you. Give me a couple minutes and I'll get it cleaned up."

"No," you gasped, crying harder. "It's perfect."

You looked up at him through your tears, and just shook your head. He was hesitating to touch you now, and you hated that. And a second later, you were stumbling forward into his arms.

"Don't clean it up," you whispered. "I love it."

You could feel him slowly wrap his arms around you as you buried your face against his chest and sobbed until you couldn't cry any longer. He just held you there while your head throbbed, gently rubbing your back and shoulders until you were done.

As you sucked in a deep breath, he whispered, "You know, you're not alone here, right? You're literally never alone, because I'm here, too."

You swallowed down your guilt and looked up at him. When you nodded he kissed the tip of your nose. 

"I don't want to have to keep telling you every month that you're not the only one trying for a baby. I don't want you to keep thinking that. This is 50/50 here, Baby Girl. You and me."

"I'm sorry."

He kissed you hard on the lips, effectively silencing you before whispering, "You're not allowed to apologize on your birthday."

You smiled up at him, half laughing and half sobbing. "Fine. I won't then."

He pulled you flush against his body and you took his face in your hands as he said, "We've got plenty of time, Sweetheart."

You ran your thumb along his scars. "I just don't want to disappoint you."

"Never," he promised, his voice growing deep and raspy. "You could never."

"But-"

He kissed you hard again. "All you ever do is make my life better. I wouldn't lie to you about that."

Instead of trying to argue with him, you just nodded and let him kiss you until you were smiling. He was right. You had plenty of time to do everything you wanted to do together. 

With Bradley's lips gliding along your forehead, you whispered, "Should we have some cake?"

A few minutes later, you were sitting on the piano bench next to him with Tramp in your arms, and Bradley played and sang Happy Birthday. He kissed you about a million times as he poured two glasses of champagne and sliced into your birthday cake. Then you stood in your kitchen which smelled like all of the floral arrangements, and he wrapped his arms around you from behind once more. You laughed every time he kissed your cheek and opened his mouth for some cake.

"Thanks, Roo," you whispered before you fed him a bite. You'd make sure he had his favorites for his birthday, lemon cake and beer. And maybe with a little luck, in a few months when he turned thirty seven, you would be skipping the beer in favor of something non-alcoholic. 

"I hope you enjoyed the best day of the year," he murmured. And you realized that all the best parts were when you were with your husband, living in the moment instead of worry about what you couldn't control.

Later, when you were ready for bed and snuggling up on his chest, you told him, "You could never disappoint me, either."

---------------------------

Once again, this one hurts a little bit. Because this really happens. Don't beat yourself up, BG. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls.

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@swthxrry

@chassy21

@yaboid19

@solacestyles

@avoirlecoupdefoudre

@daisyhollyxox

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@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

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@heli991113

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@little-wiseone

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@o-the-o-grim-o-reaper-o

@hecate-steps-on-me

@xoxabs88xox

[noosayog]

[how a loser dates] ft. kuroo

warnings/content: fem! reader x kuroo, office setting, timeskip characters obvi, fluff and kuroo being a loser

wc: 1.2k

"Morning, princess," your coworker, Kuroo, calls out teasingly from his desk in reference to the dress you're wearing today that replaces your usual slacks. 

"Morning, rooster head."

He chuckles a bit and returns his attention to his computer. 

Throughout the morning, Kuroo looks up every now and then, just staring at you but saying nothing. It's only later in the afternoon when you're settled down from the rush of the morning that Kuroo asks. "What's the occasion?"

"What?" you ask distractedly.

"The occasion," he repeats. His voice comes from right over your head and you look up to see his desk empty. Instead, he's standing behind you, leaning an elbow against the wall of your cubicle.

"What?" you parrot.

His eyes drift deliberately down your silhouette, then back up to meet your gaze, punctuating his silent question with a raise of his brow.

"Oh," you laugh. "The dress? I have a date tonight."

Kuroo's other brow raises. "A date?"

"Yeah."

“With who?” 

You swivel your chair to face him with your whole body. “You wouldn’t know them. They’re not from work.” 

He hums in acknowledgment then walks away with a pensive expression. 

–

It’s almost the end of the work day when you hear your boss’s reprimanding voice. You look up from your computer to see your boss angrily saying something to Kuroo about losing the data for an important client call tomorrow. 

After your boss stomps away, you hear Kuroo sigh. His eyes meet yours. 

“You okay?” you ask. “What happened?” 

“I was supposed to store the presentation for tomorrow’s client call but for some reason, I can’t find it anywhere on my drive.” 

“Did you check your trash?” 

“Empty.” 

“Yikes.” 

“Yeah.” 

You stare back at him, lips pursed.

“Well…” he says awkwardly. “I better get to it if I’m going to redo the presentation by tomorrow.” 

You swallow guiltily, throat itching to offer help. No, you can't. You have plans tonight. 

“Okay, good luck,” you say instead. 

He deflates. “Thanks.” 

Concentration broken, you return to your work. You shift uncomfortably when you hear him sigh. 

Five minutes later, another deep exhale. 

You can’t stop yourself when you finally ask, “do you want me to help?” 

Kuroo perks up, head poking out from the walls of the cubicle. “I mean I would love help, but you have plans and all tonight…” he trails off. 

“The reservation isn’t until 7, so I’ll help until then.” 

“Great, thanks!” he smiles. 

–

Kuroo is an efficient worker. It’s almost as if he had the entire thing memorized as he effortlessly lists off the slides that need to be redone, easily navigating to the resources that have the perfect data for each topic. 

“It’s like you don’t even need my help for this,” you joke. 

“No!” he interrupts loudly. 

You give him a weird look.

“Sorry” he mutters. “Can you summarize the data from these sites?” 

He passes you a sticky note with 2 websites on them. When you navigate to them, they’re long, tedious pages. You settle into your chair and get focused. If you’re going to leave here by 6:30, you better get working. 

When you finally pass the data to Kuroo, the two of you begin to compile the data you’ve respectively gathered into the proper slide deck format. When 6:30 rolls around, the to-do’s left still make up a massive mountain. 

“Um,” you say. 

Kuroo takes an exaggerated look at the watch on his wrist. “Oh, your date.” 

“Yeah.” 

He looks at the progress on the presentation just stares at the screen.

“Kuroo?” 

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, don’t worry about me. You’ve already helped so much. Go ahead and have fun on your date.” 

“Okay…” you say hesitantly, packing up your bag. Before you leave, you look back to see Kuroo, alone in the office, leaning heavily against the back of his chair with his arms draped over his eyes. You hear him sigh again before guiltily leaving him behind. 

You make it all the way to the lobby before you can’t stand it anymore. You text your date that you won’t be able to make it rush back up to the office. 

Kuroo looks surprised when you drop your things off at your desk and return to his side. 

“What happened? Don’t you need to leave?” 

“I can’t just leave you here by yourself with all this, you’ll never finish.” 

“Are you sure…” he trails off. 

“Shut up and get working.” 

“Yes, ma’’am,” he salutes. 

– 

Late in the night, even after security has left the building, Kuroo gets up. 

“We need a break,” he says. “Want some coffee?” 

“Sure,” you say, equally exhausted. 

He gets up to head to the break room as you continue to fiddle around with the slide deck. As you look through his computer, your eyes slide to the little trash can on the screen and see that it’s not empty. Curiously, you click into it and the first thing you see is the very client presentation that the two of you have been slaving away at to reproduce. 

“Oh my god, Kuroo!” you say excitedly. You repeat his name, but he must not hear you, because there’s no response. 

Then, you notice the time of deletion. 3:52PM. You remember Kuroo getting chewed around 4PM. If he deleted it, there’s no way he would forget that quickly. And he said he had checked his trash. 

“Hey, what’s up?” Kuroo comes back, holding two steaming cups of coffee and tie thrown over a shoulder. “I heard you calling.” 

“Kuroo,” you say, pointing at the screen. 

When Kuroo sees what you’re pointing at, his smile freezes in place. 

“What’s this?” 

You press when he doesn’t respond. “Why did you purposely get yourself into trouble?” 

He stares at the screen, avoiding your eyes. 

“Kuroo!” 

“Okay!” he breathes. He mumbles something unintelligible. 

“... go on your date,” you hear. 

“What? Speak up,” you say irritatedly. 

“I didn’t want you to go on your date. Okay? I know it’s immature of me to resort to such tactics, but I’ve been dropping hints for awhile and I dunno, I guess I just got impatient.” 

You sigh.

“Well, I’m just glad that you aren’t going to be yelled at because there’s no way we were going to finish by tomorrow.” 

“You’re not mad?” 

“I am. Why couldn’t you have just asked me out on a date like a normal person?” 

“I’ve asked you to go on coffee runs with me?” 

You pinch at the bridge of your nose. “Being our boss’s errand boy does not count as a date, Kuroo.” 

He just chuckles, abashed. His cheeks are turning pink and you sigh, feeling almost affectionate at how your snarky, quick-witted coworker is reduced to the romantic maturity of a high-schooler in front of you. 

“Okay, well, since I didn’t get to eat tonight, you owe me dinner,” you say, throwing him a bone. 

He blinks. “Like a date?” he asks dumbly. 

You sigh exasperatedly for what feels like the millionth time that night. “Yes, Kuroo. A date.” you emphasize heavily on date, worried that he still won’t get the picture. 

“It’s late, so there’s probably only ramen shops around if that’s okay? But I promise to take you out to a nicer diner. Like a real date.” he promises solemnly. 

“You’re already assuming I’m going to want to go on a second date with you?” 

His signature grin returns in full force. “Oh, princess. You’re gonna want that second date. Trust me.” 

“Only ‘cuz I want to see how you tame your hair for a real date.” 

“Told ‘ya you’d want a second date.”

[s4toryuu]

12:37 am — gojo satoru; sashisu

gojo satoru refuses to drink his medicine…

reblog to help gojo get better

out of everything you could call satoru, you think dramatic takes the top spot. so when you wake up in the middle of the night, you listen out for what could possibly have waken you up.

“koff! koff! UGH!” you recognized gojo’s voice from the dorm building behind yours.

oh my fucking god. you sighed. that morning, that idiot had to get sent to his dorm because he kept coughing every time yaga spoke. he sneezed and sniffled, so you assumed that he was actually ill and didn’t just decide to up his antics for no reason. besides, he was a little quieter than usual today.

you got up to put on a jacket and practically stomped to gojo’s dorm, where you were met with his open door and geto standing against the door frame.

“satoru, I told you the medicine wouldn’t be as effective later on.” geto sighed. you noticed his socks. they were pastel with characters on them. you ignored it to yell at who probably gave it to him.

“gojo! if you’re gonna cough just cough! you don’t have to yell after!” you said before sliding one of gojo’s slippers. there that idiot was, laying down faced up with arms stiff on his side and his comforter raised up to his chin. “are you playing dead?”

gojo groaned. “guys.” he sniffled. “I think this is it for me. suguru, I always loved you. y/n, I did steal your marshmallows last movie night. shoko—where’s shoko?” he looked up, illness suddenly voided for a second until shoko appears behind you. her dorm is a couple doors from yours after all. the snow-haired drama queen’s head fell back on his pillow and his sickness returned.

“eh, what?” she muttered to him before stepping inside. gojo started coughing again.

“are you contagious?” you asked before shifting away from gojo’s bed. geto took the medicine he got from gojo’s counter and placed it on the latter’s nightstand.

shoko walked over and sat on his bed. she placed her hand on gojo’s forehead before snickering. “you’re burning up. you really are gonna die.” she laughed.

you all chuckled, except gojo who whined again. “can’t you use reverse cursed technique on me shoookooo…”

“nope. I’ve only done it on physical injuries. why won’t you just drink the medicine?” she took the plastic little spoon and wiggled it to gojo’s face for emphasis.

gojo screwed his eyes shut and shook his head like a child. “don’t wanna.” if it wasn’t 12:37am on a school night you might’ve found it adorable.

“you might really die, satoru.” geto shot from the foot of gojo’s bed. he definitely woke up from his coughing and subsequent yelling, seeing as geto’s room is right next to gojo’s.

the next morning after your first class, the three of you gathered in the cafeteria and geto stirred up a plan.

“he’s probably not drinking it because he thinks it’s bitter.” you conclude.

suguru sipped on his tea. “ah, I know. that’s why I got the honey flavor version.”

“how are we gonna force him to drink it? it’s not like we can force feed it to him.” shoko shook her lollipop. you were just glad it wasn’t a cigarette.

“he’ll just turn on his infinity. I think we have to ambush him.” you laughed at the image.

“geto, summon a cursed spirit to hold him down.” shoko joked.

the cold breeze practically slapped you while walking to the dorms. geto was sure your victim was still asleep. he had the spare key when you thought to take off your shoes for maximum stealth. the two followed.

geto stood in front of the door to block the light while you and shoko slithered in. it was dark except for the nightlight by satoru’s night stand. you could make out the important things. the untouched medicine, and gojo sprawled over his bed under his sheets. he faced the left side cuddling a pillow. tissues filled the trash can dragged by his bed and some on the floor. poor kid.

geto tiptoed to the other side of the bed where satoru was faced while shoko prepared the poison. you got in position across geto and stifled a laugh at shoko trying to break the seal as quiet as possible. she tiptoed next to you and nodded to geto.

“satoru” geto called out. “satoru, wake up.”

“sugu…” gojo whined. he didn’t open his eyes. geto gestured for the syrup-filled spoon. shoko handed it to him promptly and again, you stifled a laugh at your plan.

“satoru-kun. aaah,” geto opened his mouth. geto using “-kun” was too funny.

surprisingly, satoru opened his mouth slightly too. what the hell? this wasn’t even part of the plan. suguru took the spoon to satoru’s mouth.

shit, it would probably just spill out with the way he was faced, you realized. you lunged to push satoru’s shoulder to the right so that he would face up. you decided him choking on it was better than it spilling. because that way it would at least get in his mouth.

gojo woke up. he made eye contact with you and immediately tried to get up. he moved his hand to push yours off but you held his shoulders down with your weight and geto got all the syrup in.

“MMGHFHG!” gojo yelled with his mouth closed. he struggled against you, and you gave it 5 seconds before his strength took over and even less before he activated infinity.

“geto!” you called and he took over your hold on sicko’s shoulders.

gojo started kicking, and you straddled his shins.

“swallow!” geto exclaimed as gojo tried to push his hands off. shit, this wouldn’t work.

“geto! get on!” you yelled and geto straddled gojo’s stomach.

“swallow it!” suguru grabbed gojo’s arms and held them against the bed by his head.

“HHNGNGGHH!” satoru shook his head.

“satoru! it’s honey flavored!” geto argued.

shoko laughed and you heard her camera shutter. she stood far enough to snap a picture and you realized what it looked like. you were straddling gojo’s calves while suguru was straddling gojo’s, uh… lower stomach with his hands pinned by his head.

then, as if on queue, the door opened. your heads snapped to the door and you saw your sweet (to you, at least) junior nanami for about .7 seconds before the door closed again.

you flew off of gojo’s calves. “nanami! wait!”

this ended with a lot more stsg than I thought lol

[utilitycaster]

A couple things before I do this as I said I would here

I’ve decided it’s more effective in the long term to bring up a handful of people than everyone who’s ever been obnoxious, mostly to maintain ongoing leverage, ie, maybe if people leave me alone they can get away with their lower-key shitty behavior, and if people don’t, then they won’t.

Do not harass nor send hate to the people I've mentioned; take the high ground. Blocking, vagueing and openly going “what the fuck is wrong with that guy (gn)” however is chill, but I won’t be taking anons personally that are pile-ons on these people because that is not the point of this exercise.

Similarly I just delete anon hate or post it if I have a funny enough response for it but it won’t elicit this kind of thing for various reasons I don’t care to get into right now.

If my good opinion is important to you, really, the quickest way to lose it is to treat me expressing my own opinions on my blog as a personal attack on you. I wasn’t specifically judging you until you decided I was; now, I will ruin your day or week and I won’t feel sorry.

Now, I’m going to be honest. The reason I haven’t done this earlier despite the shit I and many others have waded through all campaign is that the vast majority of people who engage in harassment, hate, or “how dare you exist and have opinions that aren’t mine, don’t you know the world revolves around me” will then immediately make a post like this, such as the loser who led to this: (rest below the cut)

source

To be clear I do hope they get whatever presumably important medical procedure this is and I too am in opposition to transphobia on an active political level, however, if you take your own shit out on me, a random woman on the internet, I will continue to fight for what I believe to be your fundamental human rights like gender expression and healthcare but there is no right you have that prevents me from calling you a stupid thin-skinned loser and that I feel sorry for anyone who has the misfortune to love you as I suspect you’re incapable of truly returning it, and also your blorbo still sucks. This has been: if you attempt to treat me even slightly like your punching bag, I punch back.

With that in mind let’s go to the people I’m talking about today. If you're not into this, skip the cut.

I think it goes without saying that warrior/inrecovery was an embarrassing blight on this fandom and imo/dna shippers’ steadfast laxity in taking out the trash is yet another reason why this ship ain’t it chief. I’m posting all of the aliases under which they attacked me and others, but they flamed out during the Laudna addiction metaphor and hopefully got help, though as you can see their blog for the past like, decade, is them attacking people over femslash ships, so idk if it’s gonna stick, pals. Anyway, they have a distinctive style so hopefully if they ever rear their ugly head again I’ll be able to get and post an IP address. I did have some suspicions about Tulsa OK but they are not sufficiently founded. Anyway: you can also find them under tlb/wc (they use that one to make death threats); thatguy/10592; clearcowboy/angel; screechingalpha/nightmare; and holysoul/enthusiast, all of which are still up and have the evidence as of posting

Honorable mention to the person who called me a hypocrite for checks notes liking callowmoore more than Imo/dna (series of asks from November 11th, 2023 in which they harassed not just me but many people who had simply interacted with my posts). I have my suspicions as to who it was [noted tar pit from Westphalia, Germany absintheheartbeat, who I also think sent this Dorym ask] but as I have no proof that’s really all there is. While we’re talking about generic tar pits disconnectedkat is a discourse blog that is just generally a piece of shit and is one of those people who clutches pearls about HOW DARE YOU TRY TO WIN AT FANDOM WITH LEFTIST CAUSES ignoring the big elephant in the room of “countless C3 fans lecturing incompetently about this being a revolutionary anticolonialist narrative and how we’re just status quo loving conservatives and then crying when we point out that they are being shitty in real life.” If you are one of those people reading this and finding yourself getting huffy, do take a look at the people mentioned throughout this and ask yourself: are you okay with them? Because if so, then your issue isn’t “it’s mean to call people stupid and attack them on a moral basis”; your issue is “it’s mean to call me stupid”, and you are part of the problem, and, moreover, I am in your walls.

Theshepardshuffle deactivated but I do want to point them out here just to note that I have in fact suffered more than Job and been more steadfast than any US Marine at the hands of imo/dna shippers for the sin of saying “this ship isn’t very good.” I’d also want to point out that they are why I started checking on people I’ve blocked. See, this is a side blog, so if you block me I cannot interact with you, but I can still see you, and our buddy shep joined tumblr, blocked me, and then posted discourse about me constantly not realizing I could literally see it (and to be clear. I know people I have blocked can see this. I hope they do.)

Anyway, the main event: let’s talk about noted racist idiot hecate astralley/wright (main blog bone/heat), to my knowledge a white American cultural Christian, seen here (archive link if they delete it) mocking someone who found Bells Hells’ behavior justifyingly reminiscent of a conquering colonialist army as their family experienced, and horrifying for it (note: this mention is made with everypigeondeserveslove’s knowledge and permission; they are well aware of this bullshit). Hecate decided it was a good time to be a truly unfeeling piece of shit about this in the service of checks notes convincing people that Bells Hells was an anticolonialist narrative. They did, to be fair, just start reading Wretched of the Earth, so they do know who they’re talking over. I mean about. They also accused me of, when I pointed out this article’s discussion of history and whether it was written by the victors, Godwin’s law, which is not really what that means (saying ‘this phrase has its origins in a lot of hateful groups who used it to evade their responsibility in historical events, and also even if history is written by the victors, that doesn’t mean every alternate viewpoint is automatically wrong’ is simply factual), then turned around and claimed, in a truly stunningly insolent case of putting words in someone’s mouths, that criticism of Imogen and Laudna on the basis of their unkind actions was akin to calling them degenerates (archive)to the point that people were confused. This is an ongoing pattern with that circle; you’ll see it with cringefae/compilation too of just. Making shit up. 

What you need to know about them is in the end they’re mostly just a hypocrite and a loser. They’re really into 9/11 jokes, which to be clear I’m not personally squeamish about, but I also don’t go around screaming about how cruel the fandom is to Aeor, a city that is entirely pretend, while joking about real-life civilian deaths. Absolutely terminal case of caring more about pretend people than real ones. As for the idiot part, interesting to claim at one point that Orym would be saved by the Wild Mother and should, and this is a direct quote from someone who, again, is only now reading the first book listed the “Notable Theoreticians And Theories” list on the Postcolonialism wikipedia page, that he should “read theory” and then claim to have Gotten It From Hearthdell after spending much of the intervening time, as discussed, arguing for the deaths of the gods. In fact, I recommend looking back through their blog in depth for a combination of tiktok-brained politics, an utter lack of empathy, and Consistently Getting It Wrong And Lying And Pretending They Didn’t. 

Second person is cringefae/compilation. When they’re not throwing tantrums interspersed with gifs of the pink My Little Pony, or throwing different tantrums about Kipperlily Copperkettle, or throwing different tantrums about Essek and Verin Thelyss existing within the narrative, you can find them throwing tantrums about how everyone but them is a bigot, often in the main tag. This has been commented on by the general fandom, and it is notable that even others in their circle often won’t touch their vent posts (also many of said posts directly attack others in their circle, which is funny to me). Now I’ll just keep it very basic: I think what’s going on is that cringefae does not think they are a very good person, deep down, but is trying to project an image of being a very good person, and so they have decided that people in the fandom, of which I was public enemy number one before they seemingly discovered the native text block function, are the Real Bad People, and don’t seem to have the ability to process. Now the thing about cringefae is that if you dislike a character OR like but would enjoy them experiencing some fictional horrors and that character is not Essek Thelyss; the Briarwoods; a character I personally like such as Fjord when they are on the warpath (they actually seem to personally really like Fjord and I think high key hate that I like him because they have basically no consistent identity other than contrarianism; they do not seem to like anything, really, other than possibly the pink My Little Pony); or a white cis straight man that they do not headcanon as not that, then they will call you a bigot. Now: you may notice, with a quick perusal of their blog, that they believe Ludinus Da’leth to be a racist who started a race war, which would imply Essek Thelyss is nonwhite, but they have definitely argued against this as well, and recently argued both in favor of Ludinus having a redemption arc and also that they don’t believe in zero-effort redemption arcs, because again, there is zero logical coherence other than attacking people they don’t like for whatever reason. I don’t even have links; just scroll down their blog for a few minutes and you’ll get the vibe (bad). They too have a tendency to make up a guy and get mad at that guy (and have to clarify they're just making shit up in the notes); possibly to assume the worst of the fandom in order to feel better about themself. And whereas I think astralley/wright might know deep down they're attacking real people to defend pretend people and hoping no one will notice and call them on it, cringefae seems to be genuinely too stupid to understand the concept of "it can be interesting for a story to be tragic." They also tend to frequently insult the positions of people in their circle and conflate everything they don't like into one person; again, horse-immorality (deactivated) was one of the loudest "bor'dor is a dog" people and cringefae liked them and now is like IT'S SUPER RACIST TO SAY BOR'DOR WAS A DOG because again, it's not about any position, it's just about finding some arbitrary scapegoat and attacking them so that you can feel righteous, and in doing so, they become a cesspit of a person.

I think the kindest thing you could say about cringefae is that in their incoherence it all kind of cancels out, and absolutely no one really seems to take them seriously. They seem entirely unaware of the concept of crying wolf and how maybe if you say that a woman who checks notes happens to openly prefer the canon art of Jester, Yasha, and Imogen to fan redesigns, canon art that was checks notes designed by women and checks notes drawn by women is a “soft MRA” you might be wildly irresponsible in your accusations to the point of eroding an ability in the fandom to actually point out misogynistic views (also, hanging out with astrall/eywright does kind of fuck your image as caring about the oppressed). It’s accusations as a tool against the people they’ve decided are The Bad Ones. And really that’s the thing. I know we’re all online here, this is explicitly my fandom sideblog and I try to keep it light on politics not because they’re not vitally important but because I do see Tumblr largely as an escape and not as a news source, but I would bet good money this is someone who doesn’t like, do anything other than post. Anyway, just kind of a stream of nonstop constantly shifting incoherent bile worth a block. One of those cases where you're like "have people...just put up with this person in their fandom spaces forever? why? don't fandoms deserve to not have a missing stair like this?"

[twistedpink]

Who’s your valentine? @/cafekitsune banner

And the spinner says….

Jamil + hurt to comfort + non sexual intimacy (Post-graduation, ~1000 words)

Everyone and their mother knows how hard Jamil works. (Literally, there’s a colony of older women that pass him trinkets on the way to work now) It’s practically a walk of fame whenever you take him out.. Your neighborhood is poorer than most, and he’s got the best job in the building by far! Your man, a big shot <3

You’re lucky that even with all the attention, nobody sees the holes. That all the friends from college stopped visiting after the first month of avoiding clubbing like the plague- and it’s not that he’s abusive! Far from it! You only worry for his reputation, now that it really matters..

It feels like all you do these days is worry. How the washing machine is making those noises again (the sigh Jamil makes when you bring it up), or how the neighborhood cat turns her nose up at you even though you’ve spent hours at the porch for her (he says it’s a waste of time and money, but he’d never liked cats very much anyhow).

He goes on and on about how you should be resting and enjoying the “free time” you have more than you talk about anything meaningful anymore- You even miss small talk, and small talk sucks!

But, tonight, you’ll give him mercy. Today just feels special, and instead of mourning your past, sparks will fly!

When Jamil gets home you’re in a pressed, tight ensemble. Dinner is made fresh. The apartment is spotless (save for some petals)! It’s tasteful, romantic ;) He doesn’t make a single comment. In a frantic scramble to save dinner, you make the first contact in what feels like months

“So, how’s dinner? I tried out that seasoning pack you got!”

“I see.. You definitely tried.” Your own husband feels alien now- And it’s no wonder. He’s doing all these big, important things at work, and what do you do? What can you provide other than a decent meal and complaints?

Nothing.

Jamil heads to bed before you do, as he’s done for years, expecting you to amble in after a spot of trash tv. He isn’t awake long enough to cuddle, or do much of anything for your pleasure nowadays,,

The pleather couch is your only comfort now- and between fits of insomnia and cold sweats your covers are tossed aside in favour of wrestling up any half-decent sleep. Tomorrow will be better. There’s always tomorrow.

.

“Tomorrow”, as a concept, is terrible. A horrible thing tied so enthusiastically to hope should be illegal, but, boiling baths are pretty famous for making things more bearable, and you’re willing to try! There’s still rose petals in the hall, you kick limply at the velvety blobs in your peripheral, even if they don’t deserve the spite. If one thing’s for sure, you’ll probably never do something like this again.

The bath is already drawn when you arrive, aromatic steam tickles at your body hair as you’re lowered into the tub like one of those hot spring monkeys. You miss going to the zoo. God, you miss dates! It just feels like takeout and movies grew legs and walked away after your wedding- You were young, then, so full of potential,,

“You could’ve asked to join me.”

Suddenly, your eyes dilate like a kitten looking at a plastic mouse, and that faint, aware part of you floats away in the steam- Not before reminding you that it’s the weekend :) ! You can only watch as a drop of condensation make it’s way down his torso and into the towel laying loosely across his hips..

You waste no time- water splashes over the edge when you rush beneath the bubble cover. Sure, he’s seen you naked more times than you can count, but this is private!! You consider tossing the shampoo bottle, but decide against it. Even that’d be too good for him.. He’d run the bath with your salts and soaps, this belongs to you on principle!

“It’s my bath, I don’t need to ask!”

“Is that so? Then, I don’t need to either.”

You sigh before helping him in limply with one hand, and flicking water towards his face with the other- His hair is braided and tied back, but the front pieces where you helped him cut bangs a few years ago skim across the foamy surface. You resist fixing his exhausted hunch to spare your his pride.

You grab for his ankle with the tepid washcloth, and rub circles into his skin. He sinks back into the water to scooch into your touch and more of his hair gets wet, you make a note to wash it later.

“Is anything going on? Are the neighbours treating you well?”

Hm. Now you know his angle- Even after all these years, Jamil’s never been the type to initiate physical touch, but he knows you like it. The snake’s trying to butter you up!

“I’ve been treated well enough. Gonna’ start looking for a job soon, I think it’d be good to get out more. You understand, don’t you? With all the people you see?”

The wash cloth’s much softer in the warm water, and you scrub harder- only stopping when you notice the area going a little red. No matter how mad you are, he doesn’t deserve dry skin,, Jamil tosses around sighs and mumbled comments. You don’t need to work, he says, and you respond in kind. but I want to. The muscles in his thigh flex a little in response- akin to an eye twitch, you’d learned early on that he’d use flexing as a subtle way to reduce stress in school. He can’t hide from you here.

“Why would you want to work? It’s the worst way to spend your time. We have enough money- let me provide for you until we retire. You shouldn’t have make that sacrifice.”

You make him turn in the narrow tub, and begin to lavish his back and shoulders with the soapy water. Despite your ministrations, he stays so tense. Thinking back, maybe Jamil had never been truly comfortable.

“You ‘sacrifice’ yourself every day for your job. I’m tired of being alone all the time. Tired of not having you when I need to- When was the last time we were close like this?”

“I guess.. You’re right. We need to do this more often, but I only want you to work if you want to.”

“I do! Promise! But, in return I want you picking up less hours. There’s no point if you’re not here.”

For the first time in years, you are happy. He leans into your chest lovingly, and looks at you. Really sees you again, like when you were younger, when you were passionate. The change’ll take time, but for now, you’re happy with the progress.

“Happy Valentine’s Day. Thank you.”

“It’s Valentine’s Day??”

Beta read by @/Echosofmortality!!

[mariacallous]

Perhaps you’ve heard: Young people aren’t dating anymore. News media and social media are awash in commentary about the decline in youth romance. It’s visible in the corporate data, with dating-app engagement taking a hit. And it’s visible in the survey data, where the share of 12th graders who say they’ve dated has fallen from about 85 percent in the 1980s to less than 50 percent in the early 2020s, with the decline particularly steep in the past few years.

Naturally, young people’s habits are catnip to news commentators. But although I consider the story of declining youth romance important, I don’t find it particularly mysterious. In my essay on the anti-social century, I reported that young people have retreated from all manner of physical-world relationships, whether because of smartphones, over-parenting, or a combination of factors. Compared with previous generations of teens, they have fewer friends, spend significantly less time with the friends they do have, attend fewer parties, and spend much more time alone. Romantic relationships theoretically imply a certain physicality; so it’s easy to imagine that the collapse of physical-world socializing for young people would involve the decline of romance.

Adults have a way of projecting their anxieties and realities onto their children. In the case of romance, the fixation on young people masks a deeper—and, to me, far more mysterious—phenomenon: What is happening to adult relationships?

American adults are significantly less likely to be married or to live with a partner than they used to be. The national marriage rate is hovering near its all-time low, while the share of women under 65 who aren’t living with a partner has grown steadily since the 1980s. The past decade seems to be the only period since at least the 1970s when women under 35 were more likely to live with their parents than with a spouse.

People’s lives are diverse, and so are their wants and desires and circumstances. It’s hard, and perhaps impossible, to identify a tiny number of factors that explain hundreds of millions of people’s decisions to couple up, split apart, or remain single. But according to Lyman Stone, a researcher at the Institute for Family Studies, the most important reason marriage and coupling are declining in the U.S. is actually quite straightforward: Many young men are falling behind economically.

A marriage or romantic partnership can be many things: friendship, love, sex, someone to gossip with, someone to remind you to take out the trash. But, practically speaking, Stone told me, marriage is also insurance. Women have historically relied on men to act as insurance policies—against the threat of violence, the risk of poverty. To some, this might sound like an old-fashioned, even reactionary, description of marriage, but its logic still applies. “Men’s odds of being in a relationship today are still highly correlated with their income,” Stone said. “Women do not typically invest in long-term relationships with men who have nothing to contribute economically.” In the past few decades, young and especially less educated men’s income has stagnated, even as women have charged into the workforce and seen their college-graduation rates soar. For single non-college-educated men, average inflation-adjusted earnings at age 45 have fallen by nearly 25 percent in the past half century, while for the country as a whole, average real earnings have more than doubled. As a result, “a lot of young men today just don’t look like what women have come to think of as ‘marriage material,’” he said.

In January, the Financial Times’ John Burn-Murdoch published an analysis of the “relationship recession” that lent strong support to Stone’s theory. Contrary to the idea that declining fertility in the U.S. is mostly about happily childless DINKs (dual-income, no-kid couples), “the drop in relationship formation is steepest among the poorest,” he observed. I asked Burn-Murdoch to share his analysis of Current Population Survey data so that I could take a closer look. What I found is that, in the past 40 years, coupling has declined more than twice as fast among Americans without a college degree, compared with college graduates. This represents a dramatic historic inversion. In 1980, Americans ages 25 to 34 without a bachelor’s degree were more likely than college graduates to get married; today, it’s flipped, and the education gap in coupling is widening every year. Marriage produces wealth by pooling two people’s income, but, conversely, wealth also produces marriage.

Contraception technology might also play a role. Before cheap birth control became widespread in the 1970s, sexual activity was generally yoked to commitment: It was a cultural norm for a man to marry a girl if he’d gotten her pregnant, and single parenthood was uncommon. But as the (married!) economists George Akerlof and Janet Yellen observed in a famous 1996 paper, contraception helped disentangle sex and marriage. Couples could sleep together without any implicit promise to stay together. Ultimately, Akerlof and Yellen posit, the availability of contraception, which gave women the tools to control the number and the timing of their kids, decimated the tradition of shotgun marriages, and therefore contributed to an increase in children born to low-income single parents.

The theory that the relationship recession is driven by young men falling behind seems to hold up in the U.S. But what about around the world? Rates of coupling are declining throughout Europe, as well. In England and Wales, the marriage rate for people under 30 has declined by more than 50 percent since 1990.

And it’s not just Europe. The gender researcher Alice Evans has shown that coupling is down just about everywhere. In Iran, annual marriages plummeted by 40 percent in 10 years. Some Islamic authorities blame Western values and social media for the shift. They might have a point. When women are exposed to more Western media, Evans argues, their life expectations expand. Fitted with TikTok and Instagram and other windows into Western culture, young women around the world can seek the independence of a career over the codependency (or, worse, the outright loss of freedom) that might come with marriage in their own country. Social media, a woman veterinarian in Tehran told the Financial Times, also glamorizes the single life “by showing how unmarried people lead carefree and successful lives … People keep comparing their partners to mostly fake idols on social platforms.”

According to Evans, several trends are driving this global decline in coupling. Smartphones and social media may have narrowed many young people’s lives, pinning them to their couches and bedrooms. But they’ve also opened women’s minds to the possibility of professional and personal development. When men fail to support their dreams, relationships fail to flourish, and the sexes drift apart.

If I had to sum up this big messy story in a sentence, it would be this: Coupling is declining around the world, as women’s expectations rise and lower-income men’s fortunes fall; this combination is subverting the traditional role of straight marriage, in which men are seen as necessary for the economic insurance of their family.

So why does all this matter? Two of the more urgent sociological narratives of this moment are declining fertility and rising unhappiness. The relationship recession makes contact with both. First, marriage and fertility are tightly interconnected. Unsurprisingly, one of the strongest predictors of declining fertility around the world is declining coupling rates, as Burn-Murdoch has written. Second, marriage is strongly associated with happiness. According to General Social Survey data, Americans’ self-described life satisfaction has been decreasing for decades. In a 2023 analysis of the GSS data, the University of Chicago economist Sam Peltzman concluded that marriage was more correlated with this measure of happiness than any other variable he considered, including income. (As Stone would rush to point out here, marriage itself is correlated with income.)

The social crisis of our time is not just that Americans are more socially isolated than ever, but also that social isolation is rising alongside romantic isolation, as the economic and cultural trajectories of men and women move in opposite directions. And, perhaps most troubling, the Americans with the least financial wealth also seem to have the least “social wealth,” so to speak. It is the poor, who might especially need the support of friends and partners, who have the fewest close friends and the fewest long-term partners. Money might not buy happiness, but it can buy the things that buy happiness.

[rileyglas]

The List ~Pt. 7 - Condemnation~

Alastor (Hazbin Hotel) x Reader

Summary: As you try to cope with Alastor's absence, you find solace with the King of Hell, who presents an interesting offer. However, some unexpected news from Husk forces you to rethink your plans.

Themes: The usual angst, mystery (Alastor), sassiness, cursing, fluff, eventual smut, actual plot, Lucifer is a cunning shit, slow burn, Husk is going to be in trouble, and of course 18+

3.2k Words

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5  Part 6 Part 7 (You're on it!) Part 7.A Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

**sentences in italics are internal thoughts of the reader

The last few days (weeks?) have been a blur. It was a weird switch going from sleeping terribly because you longed to be near him - to sleeping constantly so you didn’t have to feel your body long from him. Anyone who came to your door was just told you weren’t feeling good. “Just caught a stomach bug, don’t come in! I would hate for you to catch it.”

Today you decided it’s time to finally leave your room. Charlie needs help and there are things around the hotel that need to be done before her meeting with Heaven. You aren’t one to let others down just because of your own emotional baggage.

You throw some makeup on to try to brighten your face. Usually, you wouldn’t be bothered but all the crying significantly darkened your eyes. I’d rather not let them see me like this. The less questions the better. Plastering a smile on your face, you head down to the lobby to get the list of ‘to-dos’ from Charlie. Surprisingly she isn’t there when you arrive, so you take a seat next to Angel on the floor. You lean your head against his leg as a silent ‘hello’.

“Hey toots, how ya feeling?” he says without looking up from his phone. “Better, thanks.” You say cheerfully.

“Good! Guess you and Smiles must have shared cooties ‘cause he ain’t been seen or heard from since Lucifer’s visit.” A pang hits your chest, but you try to brush it off. He’s probably just pissed off.

Charlie rushes down the stairs and scoops you into a lung crushing hug, “So so so soooooooo glad you’re feeling better! I didn’t realize how much you did around here! Could you do me a huge favor and go pick up a few things from the city and take them to my dad? He said he can meet you at this address. I have to go pack - Thank you!” Just as quickly as she came down the stairs, she hurries back, leaving you with a short list and an address.

For the first time in weeks, you leave the hotel without Alastor or his shadow close by. It’s not that you’re afraid of going out alone, but you realize you enjoyed his company more than you thought. You glance up at the radio tower as you walk away from the hotel and can make out a dark figure with glowing red eyes staring down from the window. Well at least that’s confirmation he’s still around.

You pick up the few things from a local shop and walk across the city to the address Charlie gave you. This doesn’t look right. The building you walk up to is more of an abandoned warehouse for a drug deal rather than a cozy meetup with the King of Hell. Cautiously you walk through the door which looked like it had been kicked in already. Just as expected, it’s an empty building with piles of trash scattered about. Graffiti and posters plaster the inner walls. You triple check the address on the small paper and it matches.

Sooo now what?

After waiting and pacing for a few minutes, you hear someone call out to you. You turn to see Lucifer standing outside a portal in the middle of the building.

“You didn’t actually think I stayed within the city, did you?” he chuckles as he motions for you to enter into the portal with him. Once inside you look around to see a large open room filled with…ducks? And this guy was trying to give me a hard time?

“Is – is this your office, sir?”

He boots a few ducks out of his path. “Yes, this is where I work on – important – matters. Also, no need for formalities, Lucifer is fine. Those bags for me?”

You almost forgot why you were even standing in the King’s office. All the piles of rubber ducks grabbed your attention and now you wanted to look through them out of pure curiosity. Handing over the bags, you keep scanning around the room. Lucifer notices your curious glances, “Would you – like to see my most recent project?” he asks nervously. You feel your face light up at the offer and he can’t help but mirror your excitement.

He starts to show you all the ducks he’s created, their names, what they can do. His eyes glimmer excitedly every time you display even the slightest interest in one. What feels like a mere fifteen minutes ends up becoming a couple hours. As he shows you the last of his collection, a solemn look crosses his face.

“Thank you for this. I don’t get a lot of visitors and haven’t really been able to share my work since Charlie…grew up. Plus, it’s nice to see you smile, especially after our first encounter.”

Your breath catches at the memory of that night. Not so much the crying in the arms of the devil part - rather the grief you felt shortly after. “Oh – thank you for taking the time to show me. Truthfully, I haven’t had much reason to smile lately so it’s a lovely change.”

His smile drops. There's a long pause as he fights with himself to find the right words, “Did he…Alastor I mean…hurt you that night? You can tell me. I know Charlie is close with him, so you probably don’t feel comfortable -”

“He didn’t hurt me. At least not in the physical sense.” Frowning, you curse at yourself for being too honest. You can’t help but feel at ease in his presence. He was Lucifer, King of Hell and easily the most powerful in all the seven rings. What ulterior motives could he possibly have or need? He has no reason to be anything other than genuine in his worry for you. He made it all too easy to tell him anything. Rule #1 Never trust another Overlord/Demon

He looks at you pitifully. I hate when someone looks at me like that. “I’m fine. Nothing to worry about.” You force a smile then hang your head towards the floor to hide the truth. The wounds were too fresh. The last thing you want is another breakdown in front of him. He’s seen enough tears from me. 

Two fingers pull your chin up to his gaze, “Your eyes tell me a much different story. Tell me, does he know of your power?” he asks delicately.

Weird, Alastor never really asked me to show him what I could do. He always just said he could ‘sense’ it. Your brows gather at the realization, “Not exactly. He knows I have it, just not what I can do fully.”

He lets go of you with a sigh of relief, “Probably for the best.”

“Wait, do you – “

“I do not know, though I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a little curious. You must have something special to survive down here.” He flashes a devilish grin that makes heat rise to your cheeks.

Rule #2 Never tell a soul what (or how much) power you have. Can’t hurt for the King to know, right? “Well you were gracious enough to show me your special collection. Let me show you something that’s special to me in return.”

Taking his hand, you lead him to his chair and motion for him to sit down. “Do you have anything sharp?” you ask. He hesitates slightly before grabbing a small knife from his workbench.

“So - I don’t know how this will work with the whole ‘fallen angel’ thing but...trust me?”

His worried eyes are surpassed by a warm smile, nodding for you to continue. You kneel in front of him and take his hand palm side up, “Sorry, this might hurt a little.” He flinches as you slice into his skin and golden fluid gushes from the wound. I didn’t know angelic blood was so beautiful.

Flipping his hand over, you press your lips to his knuckles. A hiss leaves your throat from the sting as the cut heals and blood disappears. Lucifer pulls his hand away to inspect his palm. “Wow…that is…..definitely something,” he breathed in amazement. His hands find yours as he stands to help you up from the floor, but he doesn't let go. Eyes widened in curiosity, “Do you feel anything when it happens?”  

You shrug, “Depends on the wound. Stuff like that just stings. Other times it feels like my body is getting ripped apart.”

Lucifer hums, drawing nervous little circles in your palms with his thumbs, “The gift of healing is something truly amazing.” He seems to lose himself in thought but continues to ghost across your skin. The light touch from his tracing sends you into full body chills.

“You're beautiful.” he whispers under his breath.

You catch his attention to pull him out of his own mind. “I’m sorry?”

“IT’S beautiful - the gift. I mean you’re beautiful too I just - I mean …” You try to hide your giggles as he continues to stammer like a schoolboy. It was refreshing to see him flustered like this, vulnerable and unsure of himself. He stops to take a breath and recollect his thoughts, “I'm sorry I’m just trying to figure out what you, of all people, could possibly want or need from that…demon.” His voice sharpened bitterly at the word. He really likes to poke the sore subjects doesn’t he.

“I didn’t need anything. And I wanted…it doesn’t matter what I wanted. He made his intentions clear that night that I was only some tool for him. He never cared. And I knew better but yet here I am - “

“Heartbroken…?” 

Tears swell in your eyes as he said the word. Uhg not again…Rule #4 Never let your weaknesses show. 

Lucifer wraps his hands around your waist and pulls you against him. He softly presses a kiss to your forehead then to each cheek, taking your fallen tears with his lips. Your body freezes at the sudden affection. This feels wrong…

“Look, I know things are getting bad out there, but I can promise you safety - true safety. You can stay here. Away from the sinners, the exorcists, him…you can be here with me and away from all the evil that floods the streets –“ “No!” you interject louder than you mean to. He cocks his head at your sudden outburst, looking offended but softens when he sees tears continue down your face. “I see why Charlie likes you so much my dear. You both try so hard to see the best in everyone and want to help. It’s unfortunate such kind souls like yours are taken advantage of far too often.” You feel his grip tighten at your waist as he presses a hand to your cheek. This feels so very wrong…Rule #3 Never bring anyone too close

You grab his wrists, not to move them away but rather to make sure they don’t travel your body any further, “I have ways of keeping myself safe, Lucifer. I appreciate your offer but I can’t…I won’t…hide away. I refuse to be caged when there are people out there that need help.”

He lets out a low chuckle and rests his forehead on yours. His eyes close as he sighs, “Your determination and stubbornness remind me so much of her…”

“Who?” you whisper.

His lips hover above yours, “Lillith.”

This IS wrong. “Luci –“

Before you can say anything else his lips interrupt yours. His kiss is gentle yet unwavering. Your body aches from how tense your body has become. Any other sinner would kill to be in your position right now, but your mind is only focused on one person – and it isn’t the one kissing you. I hate this...

Like a saving grace, Lucifer’s phone begins ringing with Charlie’s adorable baby picture lighting up the screen. He pulls away and answers it reluctantly, “Heeeey you! How’d the m – oh? Yes, we will be right there.” He hangs up with a groan and intertwines his fingers with yours, “We will have to put this to the side for now. Apparently, the meeting with Heaven didn’t go well. Charlie needs us back at the hotel.” With his free hand he opens a portal into the hotel lobby and pulls you alongside him. 

Stepping into the lobby, his hand keeps a firm grip on yours. You walk in just in time to see Charlie bursting into tears and running upstairs with Vaggie and Alastor trailing close behind her.

“Charlie wait – “ Vaggie tries to stop her but halts at the banister, knowing she is far too upset to talk right now. Lucifer finally lets go of you and rushes to follow his daughter, shoving Alastor to the side as he makes his way up the stairs.

His face twists into a snarl at the King’s boorishness. Realizing he wasn’t alone Alastor glances over his shoulder to see you staring. A strange mixture of hurt and relief fills your body seeing him for the first time since that night. He didn’t look like his usually pristine self. He looked…tired? Disheveled? Why does he look like he’s been worse off than me? As if he’s suffered just as much? You notice his smile falter as he looks back at you before turning to see Lucifer making his way back down the stairs.

“She seems to need some time alone.” Lucifer announces with a hint of hurt in his voice. Ignoring Alastor, he walks over to you and takes your hips forcefully, making you flinch at his grip. “I think it’s best I take my leave for now. Promise you’ll at least consider my offer, please? I’d hate for you to..” he glares back at Alastor to ensure he was watching, “…get hurt in any way. You’re worth protecting my dear.” He places a long kiss to your forehead and vanishes in a stream of red ribbon. 

You rub your sides where he had grabbed you to take away the sting. Your face contorts uncomfortably at the remnants of his touch and kiss. Alastor takes a step towards you almost unconsciously. You snap to his eyes, silently begging for him not to come closer. You want nothing more than to run to him, to feel his touch, his warmth, his safety but you know it'd just hurt more. He stops, offering a nod as he dissipates into his shadow without a word.

Vaggie fills you in on what happened in the meeting with Heaven. Your stomach turns at the idea of the Exorcists targeting the hotel and your friends. You know you’re going to be needed more than ever come that day. I need to be stronger; they’ll need all the help they can get.

You lay down for the evening hoping sleep would come easy but find your eyes only burning into the ceiling. The Extermination, Lucifer’s offer, Alastor…Your mind didn’t know what problem to try and figure out first. After lying awake for a couple hours, you give up and decide to go for a walk to clear your thoughts. As you walk through the lobby you give a quick smile to Husk who was closing up the bar for the night.

“And where are you off to so late?” he hollers, making you jump from the sudden break in silence. 

“Just need to clear my head, Husk. Have a good evening.” you continue walking towards the front doors. He quickly catches up and puts a paw on your shoulder, “Mind if I join? Some fresh air sounds pretty good right now.” You shake your head and step to the side for him to lead the way. 

The two of you walk in a comfortable silence around the small path circling the building. Distant yells and car horns fill the air from the city below. “Quite an exit from the King this afternoon. Sure got Al riled up.” Husk says casually. You stop dead in your tracks at the comment, “What do you mean?”

“If Al comes for a drink, it’s just that. A single drink. Tonight you would have thought he was trying to drown himself.” “If you came along to try to guilt trip me, don’t bother. He did this to himself.” you bite, continuing down the path in hopes he would drop the subject. 

Husk stops you again, “I ain’t trying to get in between whatever messed up relationship you two have, but as someone who is usually at the brunt of his bad moods, he hasn’t once bitten my head off since you came around. You have an…interesting…effect on that evil bastard.”

You shake off his hand, frustrated at the continued prodding. “That’s exactly what he is. Nothing more than a selfish, heartless -”

“He can’t be too heartless considering...” Husk stops himself seeing your head whip around. You walk back towards him, keeping your voice low, “Considering?”

He rubs the back of his neck nervously and takes a deep breath, “Look he never confides in me. I mean he barely speaks to me other than when he needs something. The liquor really did a number -”

You grab his shoulders to stop his rambling, “What did he say?”

“I - I didn’t even know he had the word in his vocabulary -”

“HUSK!?”

“He said…he loves you.”

If it wasn’t pounding so loudly in your ears, you could have sworn your heart stopped. Any air in your lungs felt as though it was sucked out, “What…”

“That was all he said before leaving for the radio tower. It about broke him seeing Lucifer with you. I never thought he’d say something like that out loud.” Husk says quietly, as if afraid someone else would hear the confession. You stare at him for a while, trying to process what he was saying. Your head starts to spin. Is he just trying to lie his way back to me? Why would he even tell Husk anything? Did he really lose his tongue from the liquor? “I - I need to s-sit down.” your knees buckle but Husk grabs you before you hit the ground.

“Woahh - alright yeah let’s get you inside.”

He helps you inside and sits you on the lounge chair in the lobby, “You okay kid?” 

You finally catch your breath and rest your head in your hands, “Yeah, just a lot to take in today. Thanks Husk. I’ll be good.” He takes the hint that you need a few minutes to yourself and starts to head to his room. 

“Actually wait - mind pouring me a double real quick?” you try to ask but it sounds more like a demand. Husk reluctantly walks back to the bar to pour your usual, “You uh - sure this is a good idea?”

No but fuck it.  

“Yes, it’s fine. Thank you again.” you slam back the drink, not letting a drop go to waste. You needed to feel the burn to ground yourself and prepare for what you were about to do. 

Husk leaves you in the lobby. You wait a few moments to allow the liquid courage to burn through your veins, then make your way to Alastor’s radio tower.

Here we go.

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