#i'm sorry but you need me to explain what

[pet2theking]

This is super delicious and actually reminds me of my rice making tip. I almost exclusively use an electric rice cooker (it's easy, does the job while I'm cooking at the pan, and takes so little effort. I literally wrote the measurements for the rice and water in sharpie on the side of it), but that isn't the tip and this works fine with rice cooked in a pot as well.

First you gotta measure your rice, then wash it and set it aside (like just have it sit in your rice cooker or pot). Then leave it to sit, it's fine.

Take the pan you're about to cook your other food in on low to medium heat, add a fat (butter, vegetable oil, ghee, bacon grease, etc), when that's warm add some crushed garlic and/or diced onions (you can get diced onions in a frozen bag, in my area it's relatively cheap), let that sit a bit to caramelize (onions take longer to caramelize than garlic, so if you're doing both add the garlic a while after the onions), then toss in some seasonings that will work with whatever you're planning to eat the rice with. That last part is insanely subjective and relative to what you're eating, but literally just some crushed pepper flakes and cumin is a fine place to start. Then, you'll have this sorta fragrant, spiced oil on your pan. Add all this to the rice, then add the water and a pinch of salt and cook it.

The pan you just used? Cook your other food on it before cleaning the oil and seasonings off, if you need to add a bit more oil/fat to the pan but you've already still got some seasoning in whatever oil didn't pour off easily into the rice, and if needed you can add more.

The rest of your cooking just continues like normal. I'm sorry I don't have a bunch of measurements here, I learned most of my cooking from my grandma and she did a lot by more vague directions and making adjustments as needed (like everything was a pinch), so I just had to learn to do the same. Mainly, you don't wanna add an overwhelming pile of spices or a ton of garlic / onion, just enough to give the oil some flavor before it goes in the rice, and you'll probably adjust how much you add each time as you try to dial in the flavor you want.

I usually do this when I'm gonna have some stir fried meat and veggies with my rice, and it makes those bites of just rice after I've eaten everything on top taste even better (or when it's a really rough month for my wallet, I'll do this so if a meal is almost only rice it tastes less bland). I'll also do this if I'm making curry, but I feel like explaining how to make curry should be a different post. Hopefully one of y'all will see this and get some value from it.

kill the shift manager in your brain

[always-just-red]

Oh I forgot to add 😭😭😭 be it fluff like jelly sylus but fluff maybe he trying to make the mc jelly too ? I’m going wild with ideas, I will be quiet

(Part 1 of ask) FINALLY finished this fic oh my goshhh I've loved it so much but writer's block was my constant companion for this one 🫠 Thanks for your patience!! Sy is jealous but I'm still pushing my 'Sylus is the softest man alive and would die before hurting MC' agenda, so I had to get a lil creative! Hope I've pulled it off idk 😭😭

Be Mine

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: Sylus is getting a little tired of sharing you with the other men in your life (and he doesn't mean Luke and Kieran 🙃)

Genre: lil bit of angst, comfort and fluff

Warnings/Additional tags: gn!reader, jealousy, other LIs mentioned, brief allusion to Raf's self-harm tendencies, cheating mentioned, some intimacy & kisses-- more soft than spicy!

| Word count: 4k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Sylus has spent centuries waiting for you, so he’s going to give you another minute.

Patience is not a virtue; it’s an old acquaintance he greets with a false smile whenever he’s forced to pass it on the street. Sometimes outside your building, whilst you’re chatting with a neighbour from the apartment above yours. Sometimes when you’re running late from a doctor’s appointment.

Patience has been cropping up a lot these days and gods, he’s sick of its face. Even now, it sits with him at this table for two as he sips at a glass that’s almost empty. There’s poetry in stalling, in savouring what’s left, especially as a waiter hovers anxiously nearby, anticipating the need for yet another refill (it would be the third).

Dregs of blood-red wine swirl with solemnity. Sylus is a patient man, a man who waits, but he doesn’t want to be. He wants the reward of it: the pot of gold at the end of that insipid rainbow. Hasn’t he waited enough?

He lifts his drink to his lips again.

“Sylus!”

They curve as he swallows the final drop.

“I’m so sorry,” you stammer, flinging yourself into the seat across from him so quickly that he’s cheated of the chance to rise and help you with your chair. “Sit back down,” you usher, because he had made a start on it, “really, Sy, I’m so, so sorry. Things at work just got crazy, and I—”

“You don’t have to explain, sweetie,” he smiles as he signals the waiter. He’ll have that refill, now, and he orders your favourite drink as you shrug off your coat and fumble with your bag, looking for something. “I’m more than familiar with the Association’s… dedication to a cause.”

You glance up with an amused smile. “We’re keeping you on your toes, huh?”

“Mmm. There is one hunter who’s proving to be a real thorn in my side.”

“You on top of that?”

“Most evenings, yes. Some mornings, too.”

You poke your tongue out at him. You’ve retrieved a compact mirror and you use it to study your dishevelled reflection. “Is everything all right at work?” he asks as you fuss over your hair.

“Yeah,” you puff. “Long story.”

“We have time.”

With a warmer smile, you stash your mirror away and sequester your bag by your feet. “You sure?” He gives you a look. “Fine,” you chuckle. “Basically, Xavier forgot to write up some reports. He’s been away on an ultra-secret, special mission or whatever—” you tap your nose conspiratorially— “which I didn’t just tell you, okay? But yeah, the reports weren’t done, and they were due tonight, so…”

Sylus raises an apathetic eyebrow. “He asked you to help?”

“Begged me, more like.”

Of course he did. The waiter arrives with your drinks and Sylus has never been gladder for a distraction. His mouth is full of pettiness, bitterness, so he drowns it with wine. You could have called. Texted. “So kitten’s been playing secretary, hmm?” he goads instead.

“That would imply kitten could keep track of time,” you pout, “so no. And speaking of playing a part—” you poke his nose— “you’re allowed to be mad at me. I should have called you. Texted. So let me have it, yeah? I feel bad enough already without you being all… perfect.”

You’re only teasing, but Sylus doesn’t feel perfect. He’s thinking about you working late with your partner, laughing at his jokes, poking him with your pen to keep him from falling asleep on his paperwork. He smirks, regardless. “What if I want you to feel bad?”

“Oh, gods,” you slump forwards, face-down on the table. “How long were you waiting?”

“Years.”

You fake cry into the tablecloth. “Don’t, Sy. Just tell me the truth. How bad was it?”

“Really, years,” he insists again, folding his arms on the table and sliding forwards, too. His chin is resting on his hands, and he blows at the top of your head. “Look.” Your face lifts so you can peer at him. He pinches his hair. “I’ve even gone grey, see?”

You sit up the tiniest bit more and your noses are almost brushing. “It looks nice,” you whisper.

“You think so?”

“Mmm. Suits you.”

Your eyes are every gem— every jewel in an illicit auction Sylus has to steal away from the rest of the world, because something that pretty just has to be his; it will find no worthier home than his hands. His devotion fills vaults. Aren’t they spilling with emeralds, rubies, sapphires, diamonds— those reckless imitations of your gaze? No-one else could deserve them, adore them like he does.

And they’ve nothing on the real thing.

Someone clears their throat and Sylus tracks the noise begrudgingly. The anxious waiter is back, clutching menus this time. You sit up fully, laughing to break the tension, and sure enough, Sylus feels less like hurling the man through the nearest window.

He’s still thinking about it though. He tells the waiter as much with a smile, and the menus are passed over with shaking hands. When Sylus says, “thank you,” it sounds like a bomb, ticking.

“Play nice,” you tut, once the waiter’s cleared the blast radius.

“Sweetie, when do I ever not play nice?”

You blink back at him disbelievingly. This should be good. “How about the time that you—?”

A familiar ringtone interrupts you, and your eyes widen in apology as you grab at your bag, rifling around for your phone. You find it— check the call and decline it— but relief is hiding, refusing to set foot on stage. Not yet, it confers to Sylus darkly, because it knows what comes next.

“Do you need to…?” he asks anyway.

“Nah, it was just Rafayel. Thanks, though.” You set the phone down. “Where was I?”

“You were about to tell me what a terribly bad man I am, sweetie.”

“Right!” you giggle. No, not yet. “So how about the time that you…” The phone rings again. You check it. Decline it. “How about the time that you—ugh!” It’s ringing again.

Sylus taps a finger on the table, impatiently patient. You can’t mute the wretched thing: the next call you miss would be a Wanderer, tearing through an orphanage or the like. It’s the reason you check, even when there’re no orphans at stake— just a pest of an artist with too much time on his hands.

Except… “Oh,” you say, glancing downwards, “it’s Zayne. I should probably—” Sylus gives a half-smile of blessing, but you weren’t waiting around for it— “hey, Zayne! I can’t talk right now, unless— Raf? What the hell? How did you get Zayne’s phone?”

You pull yours away from your ear as a string of whines come through:

“— ignore my calls, don’t even text me to ask what’s up, and then pick up his call right away? You hate me, right? Just say that you hate me, cutie.”

“I don’t hate you, Raf.” The phone is back to your ear. “I’m busy. Now seriously, how did you get— oh, hi, Zayne. Why is Raf…?” Sylus can hear a deeper voice answering your questions. “He’s at the—? Shit, is he okay? Ugh, tell him I can hear him. Tell him I know he’s not dying.”

You meet Sylus’s eyes as conflict erupts on the other end of the call. Sorry, you mouth as static filters through, interspersed with broken words and curses. The doctor’s voice prevails. “Yeah, Zayne,” you speak back to it. “I’ll call Thomas, get him to pick him up. Mmhmm? Oh!” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I forgot, he’s at that stupid art thing. Look, maybe later, I can…”

The artist’s shrill tone is protesting.

“I know it’s my job, Raf!” you counter. “But gimme a break, please. If it was any other night, you know I’d be there. Of course I wanna be there! But I can’t—”

It’s just a slip of the tongue— words you don’t even realise you’re saying— but Sylus still feels his heart sink. He hates it. A heart is so difficult to argue with: it’s long gone before you can talk any sense into it. He stands from the table, those priceless eyes of yours pursuing him. When you tilt your head, he musters a smile, then a weak excuse: “I’m just stepping outside for a moment.”

You nod, a follow-up question on the tip of your tongue, but then there’s a voice in your ear again— two voices— and you’re you, so of course you listen.

…

Sylus waits on a bench outside the restaurant, closing his eyes as he waits for his heart to come back.

It’s only been a few minutes. He’s thinking about your eyes, your nose and lips— an inch from his— and how he should have closed that gap before it grew treacherous. Shouldn’t he be done with this? This… longing? You’re his. You’ve told him you’re his, over and over again, but he finds himself needing to hear it once more; the ghost of your voice is starting to lack persuasion.

He is yours without exception, but you? There’s always a caveat. I’m yours, Sylus. But only so long as the city is quiet. I’m yours, Sylus. Until someone else calls. The door to the restaurant opens— he can hear it— but he doesn’t open his eyes. He wants to pretend.

I’m yours, Sylus. No caveats. No exceptions.

“Sylus.”

He swallows the dread in his throat.

“I’m sorry,” you entreat softly. His eyes open, and you’re wearing your coat, holding your bag. “I have to run to the hospital— it’s this whole thing. Raf, like, passed out or something. He’s not been eating again. Zayne said when something like this keeps happening, it’s a sign that… yeah. He just… needs someone. And he hasn’t got anyone else, you know?”

“I understand.” You’re worried about your friend. That’s all it is.

Why can’t he believe that’s all it is?  

You come over and sink down on the bench beside him, looping your arm through his and giving it a reassuring squeeze. Don’t you know that he’s afraid? That a selfish, spiteful part of him wants to hide you— with the rest of his treasures— away from the light, so he can love you in the dark?

There’s a sigh as you lean against him, savouring his touch like the wine one swirls in a glass when their thoughts are elsewhere. It’s gone in a mouthful; you check your watch, and he hopes it’s bitter.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

No, he would rather be sweet for you, but look at you— making him lie. “I’m okay,” he says, and it doesn’t have a drop of conviction. He’s tired of philanthropy.

…

“What are you gonna do? Come on, tell us. Tell us! What are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know, Luke. Give me a second, okay? Jeez.”

You literally just got here. Your pace is brisk and the night air still clings to you— you shed a layer of it by peeling your arms out of your coat. Luke and Kieran are close behind, keeping to your heels like terriers hoping you’ll trip with a plateful of food. They’ll take even a crumb at this point.

“You gonna fight him?” Kieran nudges, but your lips stay tight.

“Oh, you’re so gonna fight him,” Luke takes away from the silence.

You don’t know what you’re going to do. You’ve reached a decadent lounge, lavished with black and gold, and you throw your coat over the arm of a chair before starting to wrestle off your combat boots. You’ve been off work for hours, but it doesn’t feel like it. One call-to-duty after another; first the hospital, now this.

Mephisto caws in greeting from a nearby perch. “I’m not gonna fight him,” you say as your second boot drops with a clunk. “I just need to—”

“Say no more,” Luke cuts you off. “We want in.”

With a tired sigh, you gaze up at the twins at last. Kieran is readying a fist: punching his hand softly, the beak of his mask low and threatening. Beside him, Luke swings a baseball bat over his shoulder. He didn’t have it a second ago. Where did he even—?

You put your hands on your hips. “You guys got a death wish or something?”

“Yes!” they enthuse together, nodding excitedly.

You haven’t got time to ask. Your focus drifts to Sylus’s bedroom door, where music is leaking with honeylike light. You can’t count the number of times you’ve fallen over that threshold, exhausted— always slightly broken. You want to crawl into cool silk sheets and a warmer embrace, but there’s one small problem.

The text that had brought you here, anxious and out of breath:

Boss is with someone.

“What’re you thinking?”

You’re closer to the door, now, and Luke’s whisper makes you jump. You spin, twisting the bat from his fingers and pushing him back until the tip is pressed to his throat. “Get back,” you hiss, before levelling the weapon at an encroaching Kieran, “both of you.”

Luke leaps behind his brother— swinging him between you for protection. The baseball bat stays hovering, and Luke peeks over Kieran’s shoulder, swatting at it like an indignant kitten.

“Stop it,” you scold, poking back at his hand and his masked face. “Begone!”

“Yes, boss!” Kieran goes to move, but Luke is holding him in place. He’s dragged backwards: a human shield until they can both scurry around the turn of a corridor.

You smile fondly. You forget, for just a moment, that you’re alone and full of uncertainty. The song in the next room lulls, at its inevitable end, and then you can’t forget. You’re stood in silence, staring at a door you’ve never had to knock before. Another song starts up.

Whatever this is, you can handle it.

You use the baseball bat to tap against the dark wood. “Sylus?” you call.

He makes you wait. You can hear him, moving around— unmistakably taking his time— but you don’t mind. You’re running scenarios through your head. Is he in on this, too? Or…?

He opens the door and oh, he definitely is. His silk robe hangs haphazardly over his figure, one side threatening to slip from his shoulder and the belt dangerously loose at the middle. A flush is tinting his face, spreading down through his neck, past his collarbone and lower, you think, but you’re trying not to look.

“Sweetie,” he purrs in the way that tells you he’s up to no good, “what a pleasant surprise.” His eyes flit downwards. “And you’re armed, too.”

There’s a breathlessness to the observation, and your ability to breathe briefly eludes you as well. His hair is damp and unkempt, his skin warm, his gaze hot. Is this a test? It feels like a test.

“Are you alone?” you snap, because he’s clearly put some thought into whatever it is, and you’re a good sport, so you’ll play along.

“No,” he says, but then: “You know you’re always with me in spirit, kitten. Even if not in—” another downwards glance— “body.”

“Sylus.”

“Mmm?”

“I’m going to ask you one more time.” You catch his chin with your free hand, forcing his gaze back to your face. “And I want a real answer.” He swallows thickly. “Are you alone?”

His submission is fragile. He lifts his hand, wraps his fingers around your wrist like a reminder of the fact. “Careful, sweetie.” His grip tightens as his voice drops. “Think about what you’re asking.”

“I know what I’m asking.” You snatch your hand free and step closer. “Get out of my way.”

Sylus narrows his eyes, but soon relaxes. He sweeps a hand through his hair, chuckling as he obeys— moving aside to let you past. You storm through, looking over every visible inch of his room. There’s nothing to see, of course. No clothes that aren’t yours pooled over the floor. No lover wrapped up in his bedsheets.

“Just what exactly are you looking for?” he asks smugly behind you.

“Save it, Sylus.” Your pretend patience is gone. “The twins told me everything.”

So you start searching more strenuously. You make your way over to his bed, baseball bat slung over your shoulder as you check behind the far side— even stooping to peek under it. You open the wardrobe. Nothing. Use the baseball bat to push back the curtains, letting in more blood-red moonlight. Nothing. You huff in frustration.

“You know, don’t you?” Sylus says quietly.

He’s leant against the doorway, arms crossed, and you spare him a glance. “Know what?”  

“That there’s no-one here.”

It sounds like defeat. “I’m taking this very seriously, actually,” you dismiss as you roll open the drawer of his bedside table, where no-one is hiding. You move on to even more absurd places: lifting flowers out of their vase to glance about inside it, peering into the horn of his vintage gramophone.

You’d hoped your antics would elicit at least a short laugh, or a scoff of amusement. There’s nothing, though, so you plonk onto the bed— defeated, yourself— and look to the man as you set your weapon down.

He looks back with an insincere smile. “How did you know?”

“That you weren’t really with someone? Because you’re you, Sylus. The key to a good prank?” Your fingers twinkle in the air beside your head. “Believability. Besides—” now a forefinger taps at your temple— “nothing gets past this.”

“Your ego?” he guesses with a smirk that is sincere, if nothing else.

“My brain, Sy.”

“Ah.”

Your ego— tsk. Your feet are dangling from the bed, playing with a slipper they’ve fished out from underneath it, and you have half a mind to launch it at him. This doesn’t feel like one of your usual games, though, and you’ve had a whole ride through the N109 Zone to figure out why.

“I really hurt you, didn’t I?” you speak like a confession, staring down at the floor so you don’t have to meet his eyes. “That’s what all this is about, right? You wanted to get back at me for dinner?”

“No, I—”

“I get it.” Your feet find the second slipper. “I do. I mean, it was a really shitty thing to do— walking out on you like that. Especially after you waited for me. You went to all that effort, and I— ah.” You’ve toed one of the slippers out of reach.

“Allow me,” comes a voice that’s suddenly close. Sylus’s figure looms over you before he’s crouching, kneeling by your feet. He still looks like a mess of sin, but he’s gentle as he retrieves the slipper for you. Removes your socks for you. Slides a slipper onto each of your cold feet. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he mutters.

You let out a sigh. “Sylus.” You’re scolding him, and he gazes up at you, his eyes garnets of adoration only you could afford. “You can tell me anything, you know.”

“I know, sweetie.”

“So why won’t you tell me how you feel?”

He sits back on his knees, his thumb drawing circles on the inside of your ankle. The ministrations are mindless, and so are his words: “How I feel is not important.”

“Of course it is!” You pull away from him. “Don’t say things like that.”

“But I thought I could tell you anything, kitten.”

It’s a nick from a blade that could do much worse; he wants you to feel how sharp it is. His smile is a warning and he’s waiting for the hunter in you to strike back, because violence is what you’re good at. What you’re both good at. It hurts, but it’s easy.

You shift forward on the bed. “Sylus… you don’t need to protect me. Not from you. Not from anything you feel. I want you to be happy, to tell me if you’re unhappy. I don’t need you to—” your fingers skirt over his chest and you falter inexplicably— “to sacrifice yourself for me.”

Sylus looks down to where you’re tracing the shape of his heart on his skin. He lets out a long, beleaguered breath, then leans closer to you, his head turning away as he settles it on your lap. Your hands find his hair instinctually, threading through it in slow, meandering motions.

“I want you to be mine,” he admits on another sigh.

He can’t see you smile, but he’ll hear it in your voice: “I am yours, Sy—”

“No— just mine.”

He won’t make it a demand. Even asking you nicely has him breathless and still, like the drawn-out pause of a finished symphony. Your hands stop moving, out of respect for the quiet. You’re remembering the times you’ve been late out of your building because you’d stumbled into Xavier in the lobby. The doctor’s appointments that always overrun, and Rafayel’s ‘emergency’ phone calls.

“Come and sit with me,” you mumble, patting the bed beside you.

When Sylus does, it’s with the same reluctance a cat surrenders a sliver of sun. Lazy and listless— still warm from the light. The bed sinks under his weight and you turn to face him. His robe’s collar has fallen further, so you hook a finger under it to draw it back up to his neck. Then you straighten the lapels, smoothing them over distractedly.

He’s watching your face, not the movements of your hands. Your cheeks feel warm. “I was speaking to Rafayel earlier, and we—”

A groan, and Sylus is no longer at your fingertips; he’s flopped down backwards on the bed, his hand over his face. You can’t help giggling— you’ve broken the big, bad boss of Onychinus, it seems. Is that all it takes? You grin as you lie down with him, settling on your side, propped up on an elbow. He doesn’t stir when you fix a few stray strands of his hair.

“We talked about boundaries,” you continue. “How I can’t be on call twenty-four seven, and how he’s going to take better care of himself, so I don’t have to be.”

Sylus has moved his hand, ever so slightly.

There’s more: “I’m gonna call in sick to work tomorrow. I made a deal with Xavier, that’s why I stayed late today. He’ll cover for me.” You shift closer. “I wanted it to be a surprise. I know I can’t always be with you, but I am always thinking of you, I promise. You’re always with me in spirit, Sy, even if not in—” you press a quick kiss to his chest— “body.”

He chuckles at the words, or maybe the touch tickled.

You grin down at him. “I’m yours. Say it.”

“I’m yours.”

“No! Ugh, just—” Smart-ass! You flick his forehead as he laughs quietly. “Not the words ‘I’m yours’, say that I’m—”

His hand is at your face, pulling you in so he can kiss you. It’s slow and it’s patient; he’s taking his time, and you won’t slip away. You can feel his smile. “You’re mine,” he murmurs when he finally withdraws. One more kiss, lighter, on the tip of your nose. “Just mine.”

Always. You let him pull you into an embrace, snuggling into his warmth like you’ve been wanting to from the moment you last left it. You can hear his heartbeat beneath the lullaby of his breath. “Sy?” you whisper.

“Hmm?”

“You look really hot when you’re pretending to cheat on me.”

He scoffs, but a yawn comes before his response. “Don’t get any ideas, kitten.”

Your quiet is pensive. “I have this lunch with Zayne later this week. I really should text him to find out—”

The grip around you constricts, and a voice is in your ear, soft and possessive:

“What did I just say?”

[ariestrxsh]

bsf!chris x bsf!reader

🤍 content warning: smut, fingering, oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex, sexualization of religious imagery

🤍 summary: after a date gone bad, your best friend chris is there to make you feel better with his cock

this fic was inspired/requested by this ask that was sent in forever ago (and it was also inspired/requested by someone who asked for a plot where reader goes to chris for comfort after a bad date but I forgot to save their ask </3)

angel like u

꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱

You buried your face into Chris' chest, tears staining the front of his shirt, but he didn't mind at all. He didn't mind the tear stains, and he didn't mind that you'd interrupted him playing video games on stream. All that he cared about was that you were okay.

He cradled your head with one hand, and with the other, he tenderly rubbed your back. You hadn't even been able to explain to your best friend why you were so upset yet, and he still held you against his chest, smoothing down your hair.

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," he said in a comforting voice. You pulled away, sniffled, and looked up at him with your big, misty eyes. "It's embarrassing, really," you started off, wiping away a tear with the sleeve of your sweater.

He listened quietly without judgment as you continued on. "I went on a first date with a guy, and I don't usually do this, but we were getting along really well. So I went back to his place, and things got a little heated," you started to tell him, searching for his reaction and hoping he didn't think differently of you.

"What happened?" Chris sharply asked, clenching his jaw and imagining the worst-case scenario. "It's not that it was bad or anything. It's just that he didn't make me.." you started to say, but you turned away, too flustered to finish your sentence.

"He didn't make you.. cum?" Chris speculated. "Exactly," you said, somewhat relieved that Chris had finished your sentence for you.

"He came, and then it was just over. He didn't even try to get me off after or even cuddle with me. I just put my clothes back on, he told me he didn't feel anything for me, and then he suggested that he take me home," you admitted, your lip quivering and your eyes welling with tears again.

"What an asshole," Chris muttered under his breath, wiping away your mascara-stained tears from your cheek with his thumb.

"I didn't want to cry in front of him, and I didn't want to be alone, so I asked him to take me here since it was only a few minutes away. I hope you don't mind that I just showed up unannounced on your doorstep, sobbing at midnight," you apologetically said.

"Of course I don't mind. You know I'm here for you whenever you need it," Chris comforted you. "Thank you, Chris," you replied, pulling him into another hug, tightly gripping the fabric of his shirt as if he'd float away if you let go.

"Boys like that don't deserve angels like you. How are you feeling right now, pretty girl?" Chris wondered, resting his head against yours.

"I know I agreed to it, but I just feel so used, you know? I feel stupid for giving it up on the first date. And listen, I know this is weird, but I still feel kind of.." your voice trailed off as you cracked an embarrassed smile.

"Turned on?" Chris guessed, finishing your thought again.

"Yeah, I mean, it was good up until he stopped. I was so close," you admitted, almost forgetting you were talking to your male best friend instead of your therapist. "Oh, god. I'm so sorry. You didn't need to know that," you buried your head in your hands after your confession.

Chris let out a small chuckle, caressing your back with his fingertips again. "You don't have to be embarrassed to tell me things like that. I don't want to make you uncomfortable or anything, but I could, you know, finish you off if you'd like," Chris offered, his tongue darting out and wetting his lips as his gaze fell to your mouth.

Your eyebrows flew up. "Y-you'd do that?" You asked, seriously considering his proposal. "Yeah. I hate seeing you cry," Chris whispered, wiping away another tear as it fell. "If I could go back in time and make sure the whole situation didn't happen to begin with, I would. Making you feel good is the least I can do."

He tilted your chin up to look at him, searching your face for permission to kiss you. "What do you say? You want me to make you cum?" He sweetly asked, his gaze lingering on yours. "Yes. Pleeease, Chris," you softly begged, the words surprising you as they tumbled from your mouth in such a desperate manner.

He smirked down at you before his eyes fluttered closed, and he leaned in, his lips gently meeting yours. It started off slow - a few soft pecks here and there and a gentle caress of his fingertips along your jawline, sending goosebumps across your warm skin.

Before you knew it, the two of you had been swept up in the moment. His lips passionately engulfed yours, and his velvet-like tongue gently brushed against yours, filling your mouth with the taste of a blue raspberry-flavored piece of candy he'd eaten shortly before.

You softly moaned into his mouth, the vibration tickling his lips and sending blood rushing below his waist. He reached up your shirt, gently pinching your sensitive nipples, feeling them harden under his touch. He pulled your top off over your head and admired the sight of you half-nude on his bed.

His hand wandered to the button of your jeans, and he slipped his long, slender fingers into your waistband. He gasped and pinched his eyebrows together when he felt how wet you were, his face only a few inches from yours as he explored your folds.

You relaxed against his body, a few breathy, textured moans spilling from your lips. "Let's get you out of these," Chris suggested, removing his hand from your waistband and motioning for you to lift your hips, so he could pull your jeans and your panties off of you and have better access to you.

Once you were completely naked, you leaned back on Chris' bed and slowly parted your legs, showing yourself off to him. "Look at that. She's so happy to see me," Chris seductively cooed, sliding his middle finger up and down your slit. You shuddered at the sensation and his words.

Your breath hitched in your throat as your best friend toyed with you, spreading open your labia and admiring how pretty and pink it was. He placed two digits at your entrance and watched them slowly disappear into your drooling hole.

"You weren't kidding. You are turned on," Chris observed, pumping his fingers and slightly curling them. You bit back a moan and grasped at the bedsheets beneath you. "Don't be shy. I wanna hear you," Chris responded with a smile on his face, indicating to you that he didn't care that his brothers were asleep upstairs.

You nodded and released your lower lip from between your teeth. As Chris picked up the pace, another sensual sound tore through you, but you didn't hold back this time. "That's it," Chris purred.

You peered down at the way he pistoned his fingers deep inside of you, your eyes traveling to the silver chain around his wrist and his prominent veins on his arms. With his blue eyes locked on yours, he lowered his head between your thighs and took your clit into his mouth.

You jumped and squealed at the feeling of his soft tongue exploring you, fluttering around on your needy pussy. He closed his lips down around your sensitive bundle of nerves and started gently suckling on it.

"Oh, Chris," his name fell from your lips as your tipped your hand back and started combing through his soft, brown hair with your hand. He worked tirelessly, his mouth and his fingers caressing your sensitive flesh, and he was determined to do so until you were finishing all over his tongue.

"Chris.." you whispered, his name falling from your lips again, but this time in a tone that indicated that you needed something from him. He peered up at you with his perfectly blue eyes and his drunk expression as he drank from your center. "Hmm?" He hummed against your clit, causing you to raise your hips and grind against his face.

"Your tongue feels heavenly, but I need more. Please," you requested. "More?" He asked, pulling away for a moment. You reached down and gently tugged on the collar of his shirt. "I need you to fuck me, Chris," the words tumbled out of you with fervor.

He was towering over you while you laid on your back, staring up at him like he was a god whose cock was going to bring you eternal salvation. He pulled his shirt off over his head, revealing his gorgeous body to you that had become more muscular in these recent months due to how often he'd been working out.

Your eyes danced over his chest, his stomach, and the prominent lines on his lower abdomen that directed your attention to his hard on that was struggling against the grey cotton of his sweatpants.

Before you had time to take in just how flawless he looked shirtless, he was hooking his thumbs in his waistband and tugging down his bottoms. His dick sprung out, and your gaze followed the way it gently bobbed.

"You ready, angel?" Chris asked, positioning himself between your legs. You stared down at his smooth, pink cockhead that was glistening with precum, and you nodded. Your jaw fell slack at the initial stretch as he pushed the tip into your weeping hole. Chris was much thicker than the man you'd been with earlier that night.

"So big.." you whimpered as he pushed it in a little deeper. A smug smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I know, angel," he said in a breathy groan as you fluttered around him. He started to rock his hips back and forth, inserting more of his length with every thrust. You let out a relieved sigh as he found your gspot, and your eyes rolled around in your head.

Chris gazed down at you beneath him, arms outstretched and tightly gripping his soft sheets. You loved the way he looked hovering above you, his flushed cheeks, his desire-filled blue eyes, and his pouty, pink lips parted as the room filled with his moans.

You felt his hand brush against the inside of your thigh as he spread your legs open further. His thumb found your clit, and he started moving it in circles as he drove himself into you over and over again. You let your sounds of pleasure pour from your lips with reckless abandon as Chris skillfully brought you to the edge.

You felt that divine feeling brewing deep within your core as Chris drilled his cock into you at an increasingly harder and faster pace. He could feel you sucking him in, and the way your pussy was throbbing around him. "You wanna cum, don't you, pretty girl?" He purred, looking into your eyes. "Mhmm," you hummed back desperately.

"How many times?" He asked, smiling down at you. His question surprised you. The man you'd gone on the date with couldn't even make you orgasm once, and now Chris was offering multiple? You were nearly too fucked out to answer him, but you regained your composure long enough to tell him, "three."

"Three? Greedy girl," he teased you, still making circles on your clit with his fingers as he rammed his tip into your gspot. "Show me what you've got, angel," Chris whispered, jolting his hips into you in a rhythmic pattern that he loved the way you reacted to.

Before you knew it, he was driving you over the edge, and your muscles tightened around him before you started to shake violently. You practically screamed in pleasure as you came on his cock, clenching around him uncontrollably which made it hard for him to hold on until your second orgasm, never mind your third. You felt the tension leave your body.

You'd been waiting all night for this feeling, and as you were sinking into the pleasure rippling throughout your system, you felt a second wave coming on. The pressure built so quickly this time, but the release was just as incredible as the first, resulting in you curling your toes and tearing at the sheets beneath you.

Chris was holding on for dear life, trying to get you to your third climax before he let himself cum, and with every powerful thrust into your drooling cunt, the harder it became for him to control his orgasm. He was begging to finish inside of you.

However, he maintained his stamina, pistoning into you at the perfect speed and pressure to get you what you asked for without giving in just yet. You trembled as you came onto his length a third time, leaving a thick ring of white at the base of his shaft.

Once you were completely spent, he snapped his hips forward and held them still, a guttural moan passing through his lips while he pumped you full of his heavenly substance. You could feel him release his load into you, his cock pulsating in your hole and leaving you with an incredible post-orgasmic state. He slowly pulled himself out of you, admiring the beautiful mess he'd left behind.

"How was that, angel? How do you feel?" Chris asked, checking in with you and cradling your face in his palm as he ran his thumb across your cheek. You smiled in sheer bliss, your chest still rising and falling as you caught your breath.

"That was divine. Your cock is like heaven," you whispered into his ear. "Well, angels like you are who heaven was made for," he whispered back.

[grandline-fics]

For your Valentine's Event: Single Red Rose with Benn Beckman. ❤️

DESCRIPTION: Single Red Rose- When your date goes wrong, they come to your rescue

WARNINGS:  mutual pining but it all works out.

CHARACTERS: Benn Beckman

WORDS: 923

A/N: Thank you @thecrimsonacademic for this request for the Valentine's Event! I hope you like what I came up with for Beck. This is my second time writing for him so I'm still trying to get the hang of getting his personality down

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST | KO-FI | VALENTINES EVENT MASTERLIST

————————

When you’d returned to the Red Force, Benn immediately noticed the extra bounce in your step and unshakable smile. His eyes always seemed to find you regardless of what was going on around him but when your mood was this good, it was impossible for him to not notice. You must have encountered something very fun to do on the island they’d stopped at. Still it didn't explain why you were back so soon. He was one of the few on watch duty. You were part of the group out exploring the island. Curious he stepped up beside you as you made your way to the kitchen to grab a drink. “What’s got you so upbeat? Yasopp get drunk and fall asleep in a flowerbed again?”

“No! It's too early for that, even for him.” You grinned, leaning against the counter while Beck grabbed a drink of his own. “I’ve got a date tonight.”

Not a lot surprised Benn much anymore but that declaration did make him pause and the once delicious mouthful of ale in his mouth seemed to become heavier and harder to swallow. While nothing ever explicit had happened between you both, Benn was very aware of his feelings that had been growing for you to be beyond just crewmates and friends.

You’d both flirted more times than he could count and been affectionate but nothing ever romantic or sexual since Benn believed letting things take the natural course to be the best plan of action. Seemed while he was on the ship and you were out on your own, someone caught your eye. He was a realist to know this wasn’t love for you and this random person. The ship would be setting sail in a couple days, this was just something to pass the time. Regardless of the meaning, the word ‘date’ twisted something unpleasant in him. 

“A date huh?” Beck asked, keeping an air of calm and lightheartedness in his words because the last thing he would ever do was sour your happiness. “Hope they’re able to show you a good time. You deserve it.”

“I hope so too.” You smiled warmly as you finished your drink and sighed with a light shrug. “But if turns into a bad time, I’ll not cry over it. They’re cute, but not that cute. I’m going to get ready.” You stepped away and walked towards the door only to stop and quickly turn to look at Benn warningly but still with a touch of playfulness in your stare. “And if Shanks asks-”

“I know, I know. ” Beckman chuckled, knowing the last thing you'd want on a date was for Shanks to lurk nearby or tease you and disrupt things. “I won’t say a word until we set sail.”

“You’re the best, Beck.” You beamed before disappearing down the hallway to get ready for your night.

It wasn't long after you’d left to go meet your date when Lucky and Hongo returned to allow Benn and the others remaining on board to go out and see the island and have some fun. Beck knew he wouldn’t need to search far to find at least someone in the crew, knowing their lively presences would make themselves known without any effort. He was right because someone in the crew did appear, he was just surprised to see it was you and even stranger still you were on your own and the bounce you had in your step earlier was gone. “Hey you.” Beck greeted, his voice snapping you out of your thoughts. “What happened?”

“Guy never showed.” You explained with a small shrug. “Left a message that had he known I was a pirate he wouldn’t have asked me out.”

“You’re kidding.” Benn asked with eyebrows raised and a disbelieving shake of his head, some people were so gutless. “I’m sorry-“

“Don’t apologise, Beck. Like I said he was cute, but not cute enough to cry over. I just wish I hadn’t wasted my time getting ready for it to go to waste.” You shrugged, smiling softly at Beck’s sympathy. “Have a good night. I’ll see you on the ship.”

As you moved to head in the direction of the ship you were swiftly caught by Benn’s hand and stopped. You looked up at your crewmate and let out a sigh to see him looking at you with a serious look. Truthfully you weren’t in any way hurt by what had happened. You’d mostly agreed to a date with someone else because you thought it would take your mind off of your feelings for the man in front of you. Now you hated that he looked upset on your behalf.“Beck, honestly I’m fine.”

“Fine or not you look too good to let it go to waste. C’mon you wanted a date, you’re getting a date.” Benn instructed, leading you back towards the town. When you opened your mouth to protest he grinned at you. “Don’t worry I’ll make sure you have fun.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” You huffed out with a smile, finally letting him lead you wherever he wanted. “Fine, I’m curious now to see how Benn Beckman operates on a date. Show me what you got Beck.”

“Oh that’s a tall order.” Benn laughed, adjusting his hand to lace his fingers with yours. “Y’see to really get the full experience it’ll take a lot more than a single date. Could take a long while.”

“That so?” You grinned walking side by side with him. “I’ve got the time.”

——————————————-

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[pomefioredove]

hellooo !! can i please get a sugar cookie , #2 , with chocolate chips and powdered sugar ??

tc of urself n evrythingg !! i love ur works and i love reading ur writinggg its soo nice i love it <3

keep it up !! ur super duper cool !! o((>ω< ))o

AWEE thank you!! sorry this took so long to post ;w;

order #2, sugar with chocolate chips and powdered sugar

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ a presumptuous affair

summary: kalim mistakes you, a random barista, for jamil's date. you go along with it tropes: coffee shop au, fake dating characters: jamil additional info: romantic, gender neutral reader, reader is not yuu, use of y/n, a little kalim x yuu, kinda long, a kissy

As if today couldn't get any weirder...

For a moment, you had almost believed it was fortune. You made it to work on time despite the snow, your shift manager let you take the afternoon off, even your customers were feeling generous- your tip jar was almost to the brim.

And then it got weird.

"Jamil, look! See how cute these cookies are? It's like they're dressed up for the new year!"

That sparkly ray of sunshine has had his hands and nose pressed against the glass of the pastry case all morning. He's dressed in a Night Raven College uniform, but you can't imagine what someone so cute would be wearing it for.

"I just can't decide what to get! Everything looks so good!"

On the contrary, the taller, quieter, tired-looking boy, the one called Jamil, standing by the door, suited his uniform quite nicely.

"I'm sure the Prefect will be pleased with whatever you choose for them, Kalim. We're going to be late,"

The sparkly one (Kalim, was it?) pouts. "But this is our first new year's party together! Usually, I'd just buy everything, but they said..."

"Only one thing. I know. Surely, with all the time you spend together, you'd know their preferences,"

"I do! But it's hard... you'd understand if you had a date, too, Jamil,"

He narrows his eyes. "I'll be kept busy enough by the party,"

"Aw, that's no fun. You should enjoy yourself, too! If you need any help finding a date, I'd be happy to ask for you!"

"That is completely unnecessary-"

You finish wiping down the case, having shamelessly eavesdropped on the entire conversation. "May I make a pastry suggestion?"

Kalim's eyes widen, as if he'd forgotten you were standing behind the sparkly glass, but Jamil nods.

"Please, please do. And thank you..." his eyes dart down to the nametag on your apron. "Y/N."

"You guys know each other? Oh! I see," Kalim grins.

"Now I know why we came here instead of my favorite place- this is your date!"

The silence is almost worst than the bickering. You and Jamil (perfect strangers, by the way) exchange similar expressions of surprise, while Kalim grins, waiting to be introduced, or... something.

You open your mouth, but before you can explain yourself or the rather presumptuous affair, Jamil nods.

"Yes. This is them,"

He gives you a look that either says "please go along with it" or "I will make you go along with it" but you're too shocked to speak, anyway.

Kalim giggles. "This is perfect! Now I won't have to worry about you being lonely at the party. Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I didn't want to take away the attention from yourself and the Prefect," Jamil says, dryly, crossing his arms.

Kalim either doesn't notice his tone, or he ignores it.

"Aw, you guys don't have to worry about that! Here, I'll have one of those, and those... that date pastry for Jamil, and... here!"

He takes out a roll of thaumarks thicker than your hand and forces it into your tip jar.

Jamil's eyes widen with panic. "Kalim-"

"I want to make a good first impression!" he says, and then to you: "I can't wait to see you at the party!"

You finish bagging his pastries, shellshocked, and watch him skip out of the coffee shop like a little kid.

Jamil lingers, seemingly unbothered, and yet apologetic all the same.

"Sorry I dragged you into this, he's been begging for a double date all week. I'll tell him you're sick when the party comes around,"

He turns to leave. Your eyes dart between the tip jar, him, the boy outside, him, your coffee-stained hands, and him once more.

"Wait!"

Jamil stops, one hand on the door, and looks over his shoulder.

You try to stop yourself, but the words spill out of your lips anyway. "What time?"

You had never been inside Night Raven College, but the very last thing you were expecting it to be, anyhow, was warm.

You'd dressed in something thick and wooly for the winter weather, and now you're sweating, there's sand stuck under your nails and cool drinks are being passed from hand to hand.

"You're dressed like a penguin," Jamil whispers, holding you by the wrist and pulling you towards a closet, lined with gold and stuffed with coats and shoes from the partygoers.

"I didn't know it'd be hot!"

Jamil closes the door. "I suppose that was an oversight on my part. But I can't have you afflicted with heatstroke- not under my care, at least. Take off the coat,"

You do as he says. You've learned very little about Jamil over the evening, but he seems to know what he's doing.

"Better, but you're drenched in sweat. I'm sure we have dorm uniforms in your size somewhere..."

A loud, raucous noise that you can only assume was a cheer comes from beyond the door. You're not so sure you want to know.

Jamil notices the look on your face. "Too loud?"

"It's a little... much,"

He scoffs, though there's a smile on his lips, now. "That's one way of putting it, I suppose,"

He begins moving coats and shoes, boxes and chests, looking for something to cool you off. You sit on the floor behind him.

"I apologize again. For making you a part of this. I... didn't think you'd actually come," he says, facing away from you.

"I don't mind. I didn't have any plans for the holiday, anyway,"

Jamil makes a noise of acknowledgement, but, no words. You suppose he's trying to figure you out as much as you are him.

"...Ahem. Well, I'm... pleased to have you here. As much as it hurts to admit Kalim was right about one thing, I did need company today,"

"It's no problem,"

"It's some problem," Jamil scoffs, but he's smiling, too. "You'll have a headache for days after this."

"Then it'll be worth it,"

He seems to give up on finding a uniform, or perhaps he's just forgotten about it altogether, and he sits next to you.

You tilt your head to the side, a smile playing at your lips.

"I think Kalim was right about two things, actually,"

Jamil looks at you as if you'd hit your head on something and started speaking in tongues. "And what is that?"

You point up towards the heavens, or, rather, towards the ceiling of the closet, where a mistletoe has been poorly strung up.

"You should enjoy yourself, too,"

Jamil's eyes widen, but before he can ask who put that thing up there?! your kiss is on his cheek and his stoic demeanor is gone.

"Eh- what was that for?"

You could laugh at his expression, but you don't want to rub it in his bewildered face. Rather, you gently nudge his side.

"For being so kind,"

"Kind?" Jamil repeats the word as if he'd never heard it before. "I would hardly call myself that. I'm only... repaying the favor for your kindness."

You smile.

"I guess I'll just have to keep being nice to you, then,"

[svetamillss]

Hiii i love your hyunju headcanons so much!! if possible can you do more of the mommy ones, or more focused on her boobs? Like maybe how she found out she liked it and how it started and stuff like that?

Headcanons: she likes to be your mommy🫦

Featuring: Cho Hyun Ju x Reader(f)

Warnings: NSFW, dirty talk, porn mentions, mommy kink.

A/N: More mommy Hun Ju, more!! Thank you for such a wonderful order!!

🫦🫦🫦

🫦It all started after she had surgery on her breasts and did it so big that many girls could envy her size.

When Ju began to wear lace bras or tight dresses with shirts (in which she will definitely unbutton a couple of top buttons), you begin to stare at her huge breasts and give compliments.

- I would bury my face into your tits and never come out again. - At first this comment discouraged her, and then she wanted to hear similar phrases from you more and more.

🫦Looking at Hyun Ju, you might think she's a pretty shy girl, but she has too depraved scenes with you in her head. She literally became addicted to your words about her tits, as soon as she hears a compliment from you, her dick immediately hardens. She wants to hear more. Every day. Every hour. Every minute. She wants it. She deliberately dresses up for you openly, as long as you look and say what she wants so much.

🫦The last blow for her was when you gave her a blowjob. You trivially wanted to tease her, without thinking about the consequences at all.

- Does mommy like the way I suck her fat dick?

At first, Hyun Ju didn't pay much attention to your nickname out of excitement, but after she scrolled this phrase in her head several more times, she was literally ready to explode. Mommy. Your mommy. She wants to be her.

- God, I'm too dirty a pervert. - she said to herself, after every thought about how you call her mommy.

🫦Secretly from you, she started watching lesbian porn, where there were a lot of role-playing games, where the younger girl obeys the older one.

Ju picked up a few wishes for herself from these videos and planned to discuss with you and offer to do the same.

- Baby, I want to confess. I watched porn to gradually learn how to do lesbian sex with you. And I took some ideas from there. I've recently become addicted to your comments about my tits, and when you called me mommy... I'm ready to cum just because of this. - she was very embarrassed that she even stopped saying her opinion.

- No need to be shy, I'm pleased that I give you such emotions. Tell me what you want?

- Call me mommy and during sex..please.. play with my tits. I want you to suck them as my little child. - but after the last sentence, she was even more embarrassed that she was in a hurry to explain herself, thinking that you misunderstood. - I'm sorry that I'm such a pervert!! I just...

- Everything is fine, mommy. I will do anything to give you pleasure.

🫦After your conversation, you really began to call Ju mommy, almost everywhere and always, except for crowded places, after all, your girlfriend was still shy of such words in public, but at home, in correspondence, you had fun to the fullest.

During sex, you always suck Ju's tit. They are really very soft and amazing, and your bites and drool look very good on it. If your girlfriend could release milk from her breast, you would gladly drink only from her tits.

Now your mommy Ju gets orgasms much faster.

🫦🫦🫦

[cuubism]

this instagram reel made me think so strongly of a human AU viktor that I had to write a little ficlet about it

--

Normally, the fact that Jayce is such a light sleeper is a problem. Being easily awoken by any rain, wind, traffic, Cait traipsing in at midnight after going to see Vi, his own anxious thoughts--it's not beneficial to his sanity. Today, though. Today, he's grateful for it, because it means he wakes up at 4am when his phone buzzes with two Snap messages in quick succession.

Blearily, he opens the app, squinting against the bright light of the screen. There are really only two people in the world who send him snaps, and Cait is asleep in the other room of their shared apartment. Which means it's Viktor.

It takes him a second to even comprehend what he's seeing.

Viktor seems to be reclining in a hospital bed, shirt open over his bare chest which is covered with various wires stuck to the skin, an IV in the back of his hand and a heart monitor clipped to his finger. Despite all this, he's throwing up a peace sign with his free hand and the look he's giving the camera is downright sultry, his dark undereye circles almost giving the impression of a smoky eye.

I lived, bitch, the text over the photo says.

Jayce rapidly taps through to the next one.

Similar photo, but now the text reads, It's giving Consumption core, whatever the fuck that means.

It doesn't sound much like Viktor but hopefully that means someone's there with him, even if they're just taking photos instead of, you know, helping.

Nevertheless, Jayce vaults out of bed, pulling on the nearest clothes and grabbing his keys and-- because Viktor is sick or hurt or having a flare up or God knows what-- rushing out of his bedroom.

He's scrambling so much that he trips over the rug in the living room and goes down, hitting a side table with his shoulder and knocking the lamp on it onto the floor with a clatter. Fuck. He pushes himself to his feet again and--

The light in Cait's room goes on. Vi opens the door, rubbing her eyes. "What the fuck, man."

"Sorry," Jayce says, abandoning the fallen table in favor of shoving his feet into his shoes. "I gotta go, Viktor's in the hospital and--"

"What?" Cait emerges behind Vi. "Is he okay?"

"I think so? He sent me a snap so--"

Vi picks up Jayce's phone from where it's fallen to the floor and studies the picture. "Sounds like Jinx is with him." She tilts her head. "Kind of a good photo. Hot."

"Vi." Cait takes the phone and gives it back to Jayce. "Do you want me to come with you?"

"No, he wouldn't want everyone crowding." Viktor hadn't even specifically asked Jayce to come but like hell is he not going to. "I gotta-- I need to go--"

"Alright, be safe," Cait says, and Jayce is already rushing out the door.

While on the bus to the hospital, he texts Viktor directly. Are you okay??

The singularity is near, Jayce, Viktor writes back. I'm ever closer to transcending biology. I am composed of so many wires now; soon they will replace my veins entirely.

Jayce can't tell if the fact that he's typing in coherent sentences means he's okay or if the fact he's expounding on futurology at four in the morning from a hospital bed means he's not okay.

I like you not composed of wires, he replies.

Too late, Viktor says. I did try to explain to them that this is normal but they insisted on all of the wires.

Pretty sure it's not *normal*, Jayce says.

On the plus side, this hospital isn't stingy with the good drugs.

Jesus Christ. That explains the philosophizing.

Excuse you, I can do it perfectly well sober.

Should have brought you your Fuller novel the way people bring stuffed animals to the hospital. You could hold it for comfort while you fall asleep.

You are coming? says Viktor.

Yeah, Jayce says, of course I'm coming.

~

Technically, Jayce is Viktor's emergency contact, but there's still been issues getting in to see him in the past since Jayce is "not family." But apparently, Viktor had Jinx tell the hospital front staff that he was allowed in, because this time they direct him right to Viktor's room when he arrives.

Viktor is sitting up in bed when he gets there, indeed attached to a lot of wires, though a nurse is taking some of them off so they must have finished some tests. This is a different hospital bed, an actual room rather than the temporary ER situation he seemed to have been in in the photo before, which is not a good sign, though at least it hopefully means Viktor will be discouraged from leaving before its safe for him to do so.

The nurse passes Jayce in the doorway as she leaves, and Viktor turns to him, offering a wan smile. He looks tired, but then, he always looks tired lately.

Jinx is indeed there, perched on the end of the bed like a gargoyle. She waves at Jayce. "See, I told you my messages would get him to come."

"Some messages," Jayce says, sitting in the chair by Viktor's bed. Viktor looks at him curiously, and Jayce hands over his phone.

Viktor studies the snaps, and rubs his forehead tiredly. "Jinx, I asked you to text Jayce, not send hospital boudoir, or whatever this is." He peers closer at the messages. "Hm. They are good photos, though."

"Told ya."

"Viktor. Are you okay?" Jayce asks, pocketing his phone again. He takes Viktor's hand between both of his own, rubbing his knuckles.

"Just a flare up," Viktor says. Sure, Jayce thinks, 'just.' "Truthfully--do not gloat--I've been up too late and I got dehydrated, and I'm sure that exacerbated things."

"We were on a roll," Jinx complains. "There's no time for sleep when you're in the zone."

"Hm, until there suddenly is," Viktor says brightly. "I am okay, Jayce, truly."

"Alright. I was worried." And, carefully, he lifts Viktor's hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles.

This thing between them--it's still new and tentative. More tentative from Jayce's end, really, he's always worried about mucking it up. But he tries to remind himself that nothing's really changed, they're still the same friends that they've always been. They just... do other stuff, too.

Well, and Jinx is now sending him photos of Viktor looking like the star of a vampire romance film.

"I'm going to get snacks," Jinx declares unsubtly, climbing off the bed and heading for the door.

"The vending machine has Taki's," Viktor calls helpfully as she leaves.

"How do you know that?" Jayce asks.

"I've been here before."

Of course.

Jayce sighs, pressing his forehead to their joined hands.

"You know," Viktor says, "if you were not able to bring me a book to cuddle. Am I allowed a you to cuddle?"

"I'm pretty sure that's against the rules."

"Meh, rules," Viktor says, dismissively. "What will they do, kick me out?"

"Kick me out," Jayce says.

"They won't," Viktor says, with such certainty that Jayce somehow believes him.

So he climbs into the hospital bed beside Viktor, arranging him carefully around all the wires and connections. Viktor curls into his side, resting his head on Jayce's shoulder.

"Thank you for coming," Viktor murmurs.

"Of course." Jayce can't imagine not coming as soon as he got that message. Even if Viktor thinks it's all unremarkable and normal. Viktor being in pain is never not going to make him drop everything and run. Even if that means he has to do a hell of a lot of running.

"You know," Viktor says. "The future of disembodied cloud consciousness does have a shortcoming."

"Oh, yeah? Only one?"

Viktor tsks, poking his arm. "It occurs to me that without a body it would be difficult to appreciate my personal furnace here."

Jayce squeezes him tighter. "Maybe your future disembodied consciousness will just have to have a temperature sensor. Might as well give it a pressure sensor too... oh wait, I think we might be circling back around to a body..."

"Perhaps it is not all bad to have a body," Viktor sighs. "Only mostly."

"Only mostly," Jayce agrees, kissing the top of his head.

--

two books referenced obliquely in this:

The Singularity is Near by Ray Kurzweil

Operating Manual for Spaceship Earth by R Buckminster Fuller

I think Viktor would be into them.

[sdmnpact]

Heyyyy can you plz do a fan fic of George Clarke x reader where they look after the readers little cousin for the day and they go out to different places

Day Out.

George Clarke x Reader ff

~~~

Are we still on for today? 😘

You received that text from your boyfriend George Clarke, you love the boy to pieces and today you two had a whole date planned. He had spent so much time planning such a lovely day out for the two of you. Unfortunately or maybe not so unfortunate your aunt had just asked you if you could babysit your cousin.

As much as you would love to go out with George, you know your aunt needs your help and of course you love your cousin so you couldn't resist seeing them.

Sorry baby, my aunt needs me to watch my cousin, y/c/n. Remember them? Raincheck?? 🥰

You sent back. You were hoping he wouldn't be upset by this as he knows how much you love your little cousins. You looked at your phone screen as bubbles appeared then disappeared repeatedly.

What if we take them along with us? 👀

You didn't hate the idea. Your cousin hasn't met George yet and you don't know whether they'll be fine with it or not but who knows maybe it'll be better than you think.

Alright then xx

>>>

"Okay now, his name is George and he's a really nice guy, I think you'll like him." You explained to y/c/n who was hesitant on meeting this guy. You looked in the rearview mirror to see them still slightly discontent with this situation but you know that once they meet him, they'll love him.

You finally arrived at George's flat, calling him to come out. He came out with a backpack on holding a small plushie. You narrowed your eyes, wondering where he pulled that from. You watched at he walked up to the back window.

"Hey there." He said waving the plushie in y/c/n's face. You saw their face light up as they reached for the plushie as George smiled widely. He gave the plushie to them as they laughed happily. You 'awwed' at the sight watching as he got into the car.

"That was sweet." You grabbed his hand. He leaned forward and gave you a small kiss on the cheek. "Well, I'm only sweet." He winked at you as you let go of his hand and rolled your eyes. He laughed as you began driving. "So where are we going anyways? Shouldn't you be the one driving?" You said driving aimlessly. "Well it isn't that far from here, I'll drive after this." You nodded as he pulled up the maps on his phone.

You finally arrived at the destination, an outdoor mini golf course. "Mini golf? Is this what you had planned for us?" He nodded smiling from ear to ear. "Only the finest for ma' lady." He is such a dork, but he's your dork.

All of you went up to the putting booth and grabbed your equipment. Y/c/n seemed so happy to be there. "Yay golfing!!" They shrieked as they ran to the first hole while you walked side by side with George. "They're so cute!" He gushed as you grabbed his arm. "I know, they're just like me" You batted you lashes at him as he playfully shoved you off.

"I'm gonna beat both of you!" Y/c/n shouted grabbing the club in their tiny arms. "Is that so? Well, I'm the golf master!" George said getting his club ready. You chuckled to yourself as you watched them playfully fight with their clubs.

"Okay, settle down, let's do this."

You know George is a big softie but you've never seen him like this. When he's around children, he sort of turns into a big teddy bear. You watched as he would playfully tackle your cousin, hugging them in his arms or helping them putt when they couldn't get the angle right.

You couldn't even concentrate on the actual game but rather George's interactions with y/c/n.

"Y/N! It's your turn!!" Y/c/n shouted at you as you were caught up watching George.

"Distracted, are we y/n?" George smirked. You shot him a little glare but sent a cheesy smile to your cousin.

You set yourself up for the shot, taking your sweet time aiming the putter.

"Any day now" George teased as you just shook you head, finally striking the ball, getting a whole in one.

"Was that good enough for you?" You said a bit sassy, swishing your hair at him. He playfully rolled his eyes coming over to grab your waist.

"You're actually really annoying" He towered over you, the breeze sending a whiff of his cologne, you basked in his musky scent.

"You're one to talk, so obsessed with me." You chuckled lightly pushing past him.

The three of you continued your game of mini golf, with y/c/n taking first place at the will of George who you watched purposely throw the game so your cousin can win after you explicitly told him not to. Of course that meant you got second place and you couldn't not rub it in his face.

After mini golf, George planned on having a picnic for you two at a botanical garden but since your cousin has gone along, he decided a park would be more suitable.

You guys arrived at the park and found a nice spot on the grass underneath a giant oak tree.

He laid out a large blanket, unpacking all the food he had packed for you guys. Sandwiches, crisps, fruit, juice, gummies. He had packed a whole meal for you lot and you couldn't have been more appreciative of the thoughtful man that sat in front of you.

"Here you go baby, just how you like it." George laid out a plate in front of you filled with your favorites.

"You're so ridiculously sweet." You teased, pinching his cheek making him blush a bit.

You watched as your cousin went off to play on the playground. "Be careful!" You shouted making sure they don't injure themself.

"Calm down, mom, I think they'll be alright." George chuckled taking a bite of his food.

"I just wanna be cautious, if there is one scratch on that little head, my aunt will have my ass on a swivel."

"Don't worry, everything will be fine." He reassured, getting closer to you. He sat behind you, wrapping his arms around your body. He planted a soft kiss on the top of your head.

You sat there for a while in his arms watching your cousin play on the swing set. "You fancy having one, one day?" He asked you suddenly making your eyes go wide with shock.

You have been dating for quite a while now and seeing as basically all your mates are having babies, you can't say you haven't thought of having one with George.

"With who?" You joked earning a smirk from him.

"Of course, I'd like to have one, one day. I need to find Mr. Perfect first." You continued.

"What if you've already found him?"

"Then I'm the luckiest person in the world." You looked up towards him, the sunlight beaming through the leaves down on his face showing just how beautiful he is.

You enjoyed spending time with him, safe in his arms. You loved him deeply, and you made sure that you always showed him that.

After a while you both laid back on the blanket looking up at the clouds.

"Look at that one." He pointed out. "Looks like a heart. It's almost as big as the heart I have for you."

You looked at him and he turned to look at you. "I love you, so much."

"You know I love you with my entire being." He replied back brushing a loose strand of hair from your face.

You brought you hand to his face, brushing your thumb against his cheek. It was a moment of bliss. Just you two in this vast open world, without a care in the world except each other.

"Y/n!" Y/c/n yelled as you sat up, forgetting about them for a split second.

"What's up?"

"Can we get ice cream?" They asked pointing to the truck that pulled up near the playground.

"Of course, come on, I'll take you." George said standing up, grabbing their hand. "Get your usual babe?" You nodded as a reply.

He walked off with your cousin, hand in hand. Seeing George with a small child was making you go crazy with happiness. You know that he will be the best dad ever.

~~~

After you enjoyed your ice cream. you got a text from your aunt telling you that she was home.

"Your mom wants you home now? Shall we go?" You said brushing your cousin's hair.

"NO! I wanna stay with Georgie!!" They yelled grabbing onto his leg. "Aw it's okay, we'll see each other again, next time I'll plan a better day out for all three of us." He said picking them up.

Your cousin hugged him tightly, not wanting to let him go.

He walked like that to the car and placed them in the backseat.

You both got in the car and you began driving towards your aunt's house. George grabbed your hand, shooting you a toothy grin. You shook your head at him as you looked back towards the road.

You finally arrived and got out to greet your aunt.

"That's your boyfriend?" She asked as she walked up close to you. You two watched as your cousin said their goodbyes to George.

"Yeah, he's a sweetheart." You gushed.

"He's a keeper, make sure to tie that one down."

"Don't worry, I'll make sure to do that." George said holding y/c/n as he walked up behind you.

"Thank you and nice to meet you." She said taking y/c/n from him, shooting him a smile.

"Nice to meet you too." He said as she winked at you, walking back inside the house.

George grabbed your hand as he led you to the car, opening the passenger door for you.

"Thank you, but you're driving? Where're we going?"

"The night's still young."

---

A/n

This is such an adorable idea!! I hope you enjoyed it!!

[nottivagos]

https://www.tumblr.com/buralaryalannstuff/773302179869163520?source=share

this is SO stalker!carlos comforting reader (could also be me) (please)

no idea attached to this, i just saw it and had to share it!!

- 🐇

an: i'm not classing this as a notebook post because there's no filth. it's basically a long ass idea (poorly written, i'm too tired for grammar today) that has been in my drafts for ages. on that note, more and more every day i believe we are the same person, 🐇anon because HOW DID WE GET THE SAME POST AND SAME IDEA IN THE SAME DAY?!?!?!?

it was the same as it usually was. a bad dream followed by carlos’s arms around you, your emotional state confused by the emotions you were feeling. your mind frantic as it was on overdrive.

the dream was always vivid and constant, as if you were living in the moment again. he’d come around for dinner, that charming look glimmering in his eye as he passed you that wine glass, before they had darkened upon your first sip. 

then it was fuzzy. the distant crack of a mobile phone followed by some muffled words. did you even finish your food? that you couldn’t remember. you must’ve done, surely. what was it again? it was definitely hearty— warming, even. then it was darkness. you could remember being awoken by that bumpy dirt track, before carlos pressed a sweet finger on your lips, cooing you so you’d fall back asleep again. to which you did with no protests.

the next phase, however, was more corrupted and stark. carlos’s uncontrollable rage when you tried to leave for the first time, the pathetic tears that shed and burnt your cheeks from the fact that they fell so uncontrollably. the sheer fear followed by a half-assed “i’m sorry, cariño” as he held you that night, before laying you ever so gently onto his lap, toying with your hair absentmindedly in the silence of your new home. the forest and your little cottage. that stupid, stupid dream he’d made a fucking reality, even if it was being seen through rose tinted glasses. 

then came the lack of contact with your parents and friends. carlos’s sweet words when he tried to explain that you didn’t need them anymore. that first christmas you’d both shared, the new phone he’d gifted you with the numbers he thought you needed already put into it. the way “my love” rolled off his lips whenever he walked into a room to see you. that stupid smile you always smiled when he did so, followed by a pounding heart and an afraid face whenever his body language tensed at something you’d done or said that he didn’t approve of. 

“oh my sweet girl,” broke you out of your frantic thoughts. carlos then sighed, brushing your hair from your eyes with a large hand in a sweet gesture. it felt right being here like this. in carlos’s embrace, feeling his warmth as burly arms cradled your sobbing form, engulfing you with his size like a blanket of love and safety.

a choked sob followed. your big watery eyes came to look up at his caring brown doe ones as you sniffled, rosy coloured lips formed into a pout as your cheeks stained crimson and stung from the salty tears you’d shed.

“what are these tears for, hmm?” he consoled ever so gently, his thick accent like the calm in the storm as calloused pads of his thumbs came to brush some stray tears from your cheeks, coming to cup your face. “it’s just a dream, nena. just a dream,” he whispered as if he was talking to a child.

you were too emotional to speak. sobs were the only thing to escape your lips, throat dry as you strangled yourself in your own overwhelming sadness. 

“that’s alright,” carlos soothed, pressing your face back against his chest as you continued to cry. “we can talk about it later,” he murmured into your ear, pressing a loving kiss against your temple whilst a hand came to tangle in your hair whilst cupping the back of your head.

“i-i’m sorry,” your croaky voice managed merely a whisper of an apology, nuzzling your face into his chest. carlos knew you’d ruin his shirt with your messed up mascara, but he was willing to sacrifice that if it meant you were safe and happy in his arms. 

“shh,” he was quick to shush you, pressing another loving peck against the top of your head as he sighed contently. “there’s no need to talk right now,” carlos mumbled, “just let it all out,” his other hand coming to wrap around your waist, his thumb brushing up and down your spine gently in soothing motions.

and it was in these moments that it felt pure with carlos. he cared. of course he fucking cared, he was the only one for you. he believed in his own sick and twisted way. your soul and life was his, but all in all, was it so bad? a few night terrors were easily fixed in these moments as carlos kissed away your tears, whispering those sweet words you desperately needed to hear into your ear as you just hopelessly let him comfort you. like always. and forever. <3

[misspelledwordswizard]

How about a reaction from the Chain to a witch Reader, but in a Harry Potter style?

Reader, in addition to being scared at first, would undoubtedly be confused by the blatant display of magic without punishment. It doesn’t help that she quickly mistakes and identifies Twilight as an Animagus after seeing Wolfie just once. It would definitely lead to an interesting conversation where Reader reveals herself as a witch and explains how, in her world, the Statute of Secrecy exists, along with the reasons it was created.

The Chain would be horrified not by the massive concealment of magic itself, but by the reasons behind it, with the main one being the indiscriminate hunting of magical beings.

Hey, I'm back baby! After a while on vacation and having to deal with the return of my classes, I was finally able to organize myself to return fully, I hope. But hey, I'm sorry for the huge delay with the requests, and happy new year to everyone, considering that this is my first post of the year!

Oh, thanks for the request, I really love crossovers, and I love Harry Potter!

I’ve been here for a few weeks, traveling with this group of men who claim to be heroes of the realm, or something like that. I’m not sure how I ended up here, but it was obvious that this was a different world from mine. For starters, the humans here have pointy ears, like elves. Okay, I can deal with that. And then there are other races, which I’ve never seen anything like in my world. I mean, a race of stone men, seriously? Not to mention the totally different monsters. 

But none of these things surprised me as much as the lack of care with the exposure of magic. Everyone, even the supposed “muggles” who don’t have magic, are fully aware of its existence. It’s natural, it’s normal. But it’s also strange that they don’t have any organ that regulates its use, considering how much it is used. 

From what I could see, one of my traveling companions, who took me in for some reason when I fell on top of them after passing through a strange portal, has magic and uses it medicinally.  I don’t know if the others can do things like that, but from what I’ve noticed, most of them have some object that has some magical property and makes things easier. That boy with the rings – I think his nickname was Legend – has one for every situation. 

Well, okay, I know they’re all called Link, confusing, even more confusing when I found out they’re from different timelines. Is temporal magic really that normalized around here? I’ve only been with them for a short time, and I still find it hard to associate them with their nicknames, because not only are they all blond with blue eyes, which doesn’t help much, but each one seems to have about three different nicknames, and each one is weirder than the last. 

Okay, I’m in a different world, where magic is common and doesn’t need to be hidden. I’m traveling with a group of heroes from different eras who consider themselves brothers, and are, from what I can understand, reincarnations... so why are they acting like this wolf that appeared is some kind of pet? 

— Soooo... you know that this wolf is one of you transformed, right? – I ventured to say. 

Everyone’s eyes turned to me, surprised. They didn’t know? Seriously? They looked at each other momentarily before someone finally answered me. 

— Well, we do know, but how do you know? – The long-haired hero spoke, the Cook, if I’m not mistaken.  

— And how could you not know? It couldn’t be more obvious, I mean, even the markings on his face are the same as the wolf’s, they’re never seen together in the same place, and, to tell the truth, Twilight kind of smells like dog. It’s pretty obvious that he’s an Animagus.  

— Animagus? Huh, Wolfie, are you that thing she said? – The youngest of the group spoke, and the wolf just tilted his head in confusion.  

— Oh, great, it takes her three minutes to figure that out while eight heroes took months to do the same. – Legend complained.  

— Speak for yourself, I knew from the beginning!  

So, they already knew about it, and were just pretending so I wouldn’t find out? Strange people.  

 While the others debated who had been the first to find out about Wolfie, he retransformed, without having to worry about hiding his secret, and approached me, visibly confused and curious. 

— So, in your world, it’s normal for people to turn into animals? 

— I wouldn’t say it’s common, but it’s possible, and all wizards know about it. 

— Wizards? What about people without magic, don’t they know? – The hero with magic joined the conversation, visibly curious. 

— No, of course not. We can’t let the Muggles find out about magic! 

— Muggles? – The little boy asked, interested in the way I called the non-magic users. 

— They’re the non-wizards, we keep magic hidden from them, or else we’d go to war... it’s very dangerous, that’s why the Ministry of Magic exists, to make sure wizards don’t reveal themselves. 

— For Hylia, your world is confusing. I can’t even imagine what it’s like to live in a society as segregated as this one... – I heard the comment coming from one of the quieter boys, the one called Sky. 

 — Yes, well, but it is necessary, or else wizards would still be burned at the stake for using magic to this day. 

— WHAT?! – Everyone gasped as they heard my last statement, shocked by the brutal concept. Oh man, I think this conversation will go on for much longer than I had imagined. 

[accio-sriracha]

@bradleysass SNIPPET TIME

(Thank you for the tag darling <3)

This is a little long, but it's from my Jegulus fic called "A Hostage Situation"

"Let go of him!" James shouted, holding out his wand, "Step back! Now!"

The man jumped backwards, holding out his hands. They were filthy and covered in a layer of grime,

"Can I help you?" He asked, eyes narrowed.

"Yeah, you can start by walking your sorry arse out of those doors." James tipped his wand towards the exit.

"Auror scum." The man scowled, shoving away from the bar and elbowing through the crowd to the door.

James turned to the other, slipping his wand back into its holster, "Are you alr-"

He froze.

It was Regulus.

"Potter?" Regulus' voice sounded far away, his eyes unfocused as he stared at James, "What are you...?" He trailed off, looking confused.

James' looked down at his drink,

"Shit." He took it from Regulus' hands, "He put something in this, didn't he?"

Regulus frowned, eyebrows furrowed, "I haven't seen you since Hogwarts."

James set the drink down, holding out a hand as Regulus swayed on his feet, "Come on, let's get you outside."

Regulus giggled, "You look different." He whispered.

James tried to smile, it didn't come out right, "And you haven't changed a bit."

"Potter, where are you?" Frank's voice came from his earpiece. James cursed under his breath,

"I got a situation. Give me a minute to sort it out and I'll be right there."

Another click in his ear, Frank's voice was irritated now, "If it isn't life or death you need to drop it and get over here. The target's missing."

"Missing?" James repeated, "Are you sure?"

"He's not here. We're spreading out to search. We could use the help."

James helped Regulus to a bench just outside of the restaurant, "Okay, I'll be there as soon as possible."

He turned to Regulus, "Can you wait here for a bit? I'm calling your brother to come pick you up."

"No." Regulus groaned, his words slurring slightly, "Sirius doesn’t like me."

"Okay, well I can't take you with me, so you need to-" James cut himself off when Sirius picked up the call,

"Hey, brother. What's up?"

"Actually, that's exactly what I'm calling about. I need you to come get your brother."

"What happened?" Sirius' voice switched instantly to concerned. James sighed,

"I'm on a mission right now, I found Regulus at the Draught of Happiness. Someone spiked his drink." He explained.

"What's going on?" Remus' voice came from the other line. Sirius cursed,

"I'm on my way. Hang tight."

James looked up at Regulus, who seemed less and less conscious by the minute, "We'll try. Get here fast."

The call disconnected.

Regulus' eyes widened, "Potter-" He whispered. Before James had the chance to respond he felt something hard press into the back of his head.

"Set the wand on the ground and stand up."

James closed his eyes, this was not how he wanted this mission to go.

"Potter...?" Regulus started again. James let out a slow breath,

"It's okay. Just stay right there." He held up his wand so the other person could see it and set it on the pavement in front of him, "You have me, alright? Just let him go."

Fingers curled around James' wrist and he was yanked to his feet, spinning around to come face to face with the man from the bar.

James' stomach sank.

He knew that face.

He'd been studying it on the case files for the last twelve hours.

"I think we should have some fun first, don't you agree?"

[getaapologist]

The Tension and the Terror............Part XIV

Pairing: Emperor Geta x OFC (extremely loosely, character is named but otherwise not described besides hair length)

Summary: With everything so precarious, Macrinus feels the tension in the palace. A sign from the gods steers him to the conclusion of this long, protracted series of events.

Warnings: violence, death, 18+ only.

Word Count: 4.2k

Part 14 of 15 (I'm sorry)

[ Part XIII ]

Series Masterlist

A/N: Okay, here it is. I did the best I could with the hole I'd written myself into. I hope you enjoy it. The end might feel final, but we still have another part after this where we get some more much-needed closure. Thank you for following me on this ride.

Geta reclined in his chair, watching the spectacle, isolated, all sound missing his ear. The food tasted like nothing, his head swam, the wine serving as his only comfort. Even Caracalla had retired early, clutching a plate of treats for Dondus. When his boredom grew to a suffocating level, he rose from his seat, coldly dismissing their guests. 

He could feel their stares, could still hear the mutterings in the arena that afternoon. 

A moment of weakness. One he would not suffer from again. He’d promised Macrinus as much. Which was why he’d sent him to retrieve his weakness so she could be dealt with once and for all. How he would do that, he had no clue.

Macrinus had appeared almost anxious after Caracalla’s man took Plautianus down. Flighty and on edge, he carried himself with less grace than usual. He openly watched the guards standing around the Emperors, keeping himself aware of where they were and when they came and went.

Geta was beginning to realize he’d killed an innocent man.

Before the grief of his stupidity could wash over him, the man himself reappeared, glancing around at the abandoned seats, servants already moving in to clear tables and any other flat surface used as one. He kept his commentary to himself and approached Geta.

“Geta, she is gone,” Macrinus spoke, true concern in his voice. It was the most agitated he had ever seen the man. 

“Gone? What do you mean, ‘gone’?” 

Macrinus grew uncharacteristically frustrated. “She was not in her cell. Viggo could not tell me what happened.”

“You seem to surround yourself with incompetence,” Geta commented, his wine dulling his desire to maintain a friendship with this man he no longer trusted.

Macrinus’s eyes flashed for a moment before he corrected himself. “They were given a delivery of wine, your majesty,” he explained. “From the Emperors. You wouldn’t have had anything to do with that, would you?”

Geta relished the way the man seemed to be coming apart at the seams, his perfectly tailored persona cracking just a bit under the pressure. 

“No, but I believe it is customary. To repay the effort spent in readying the prisoners.” Gets finished his glass, setting it down on the table. “Are your men looking for her?”

“As we speak,” Macrinus confirmed.

Geta wasn’t even particularly mad Letha might have escaped. If she meant what she said, was as good as Caracalla seemed to believe, she wouldn’t be returning to collect. She would disappear. He might never see her again. 

That was what bothered him. 

More than bothered him. Filled him with despair. Every second was another opportunity to wallow in that grief. Wine.

“Where is Emperor Caracalla?” Macrinus asked. 

Geta waved him off. “Probably with his concubines, having a much more entertaining evening than I. Besides, what does it matter?”

“If he sent the wine–”

“A customary gift,” Geta reminded him, growing irritated.

“I do believe it was hand-delivered, by that Praetorian always at your brother’s side.”

“Ancus?” Geta laughed. “Yes, well I will instruct that he stick even closer to my brother. No more excursions.”

“That is not what I–”

“Enough, Macrinus. I am tired. You ought to get some rest yourself, it’s been a long day.”

Geta stood and walked away through the eerily quiet hall, wondering if he’d live through the night. He would ask someone to fetch Tegula. He could sit in his study with his best men, to make sure no one got through to his bedchamber.

As he entered his chambers, stripped the day from his skin, and sank into his bed, he realized just how much he missed Letha. He missed the hope she brought him. The possibility of a life steeped in warmth and love. But it had been ripped away just as quickly as it had taken root, and the agony of that still consumed his waking thoughts.

Maybe she escaped the city. He tried to imagine where she might go, with nothing to her name and no family that he knew of left to find. He could picture her so vividly, cycling through the innumerable times he looked at her long enough to memorize the expression on her face. 

She had so willingly accepted her fate, resigned herself to death. It was him that put her in that position in the first place. Her death would surely have shattered what bit of his sanity remained. He did not think of consequence when he ordered the fight to end. He could feel his blood racing through his ears, could hear each beat. It was what she was owed. A life for a life. He hoped she would use it well.

He fell asleep clutching a pillow that still bore some scent of the oil she’d brushed through her hair. Jasmine.

Macrinus paced. And paced. And paced. He could see the hallway that led to the Emperors’ rooms. What he was waiting for, he hated putting words to. To have to admit it, even if only to himself, it was just another indignance dealt by Letha. One he would rise above, once he worked up the nerve.

He was suffering her loss. For all his threatening and scheming, he realized quite quickly he wasn’t cut out for this direct involvement. He needed a new agent, but lacked the connections while stuck inside the palace. He felt the Praetorians watching his every step, could feel the heavy scrutiny from Caracalla at every mealtime. 

It shouldn’t be so difficult, he agonized. If Letha could do it, so can I. 

With renewed purpose, Macrinus strode down the hall, thinking of what he could say if caught. Before he got more than a few steps down the hall, one of the doors opened. He tucked himself behind a column, beside a bust of Caracalla. He peered around the edge of the column and watched.

Someone wearing an elaborate cloak, complete with a hood, stepped out into the hallway, followed by a guard.

Ancus.

“You ought to stay here,” the figure spoke. Her voice was low, hardly a whisper. “I know where it is.”

“You will need someone to check if anyone is there,” Ancus retorted, concerned.

“You said he is sleeping, yes?” she questioned, glancing down the hallway. She turned, about to look in Macrinus’s direction. He tucked himself flush with the wall, out of sight. He could only listen now.

“Yes,” Ancus confirmed. “Tegula is watching over him.”

“Then I will be only a moment. Do not leave Caracalla unattended with that snake about.”

Macrinus’s blood ran cold. 

Letha.

By the time he could hear footsteps retreating, she had already turned the corner, heading deeper into the Emperors’ wing of the palace.

Letha was in the palace. Kept hidden by Caracalla. And Geta didn’t know.

Macrinus felt a weightlessness settle just above his shoulders. Fresh, delicious surprise and hope sprang forth. He hardly resisted the urge to laugh at this fortuitous turn of events. The gods smiled on him in his hour of need.

As he strode away to his chambers, he was already putting together ideas.

Yesterday Morning

“I think I like this one best,” Caracalla commented. He turned to Ancus. “Ancus, what do you think?”

The guard raised his eyebrows, looking over the tunic his emperor held up. “I-I do think it brings out your eyes, Imperator.”

That drew a smile from the smaller twin, and he stared down at the garment. After a moment of thought, Caracalla approached the servant, holding the outfit out for them to take so he could be dressed in it.

“Do I have your loyalty, Ancus?” Caracalla called out. 

Ancus turned his back to his Emperor, pulling at some of his armor. “Of course, Emperor.”

“You will not speak of this to anyone, even Tegula? Or my brother?”

Ancus glanced over his shoulder, concerned, but he didn’t let his eyes focus on anything in particular. “If you will it.”

“Leave us,” Caracalla muttered. 

Ancus waited until the servant left the room to turn and set eyes upon his Emperor. The color did brighten his eyes.

“I intend to save my brother from himself,” Caracalla explained.

“How?”

Caracalla approached a small table. He opened a drawer and produced a linen-wrapped object, setting it in Ancus’s larger hands. 

“We start with this.”

As Ancus realized the genius of Caracalla, he couldn’t help his smile.

“You will help me, Ancus?”

“With anything.”

Later that day

“Letha?” The voice was soft, uncertain. 

She looked up, more than a little shocked to make out the form of Caracalla standing outside the cell in the dark, Ancus dutifully holding a torch up behind him. 

“Caracalla?”

He approached, clinging to the bars of the cell, his jewelry clinking against the rusted metal. “How is your arm?”

She didn’t spare it a glance. “What are you doing here? Where is–”

“My brother is not well.”

Her fear returned, quick as lightning. “What’s happened? Did Macrinus–”

“He’s heartbroken,” Caracalla interrupted. “You, that’s what happened,” he frowned. 

Letha moved to Caracalla, her dirty hands covering his on the bars. He didn’t draw back. “Tell him I’m sorry,” she pleaded. 

“Would you have done it?” Caracalla asked. “Really?”

She shook her head. “No. I… I couldn’t have.”

“And it wasn’t Thraex’s doing, was it?” 

She frowned. “No.” He didn’t seem to need to be told who was truly responsible.

He studied her in the torchlight, mulling things over. Finally, he pulled his hands out from under hers, taking a step back away from the door, closer to Ancus. 

“I’m an Emperor too,” he announced, “and I require your presence. Your sentence is vacated by the order of Marcus Aurelius Severus Antoninus Augustus. The door, Ancus,” Caracalla ordered, beaming. 

Ancus stepped forward, a slight smile tugging at his lips at Caracalla’s display.

Letha released the metal, stepping back away from the door, uncertainty swimming in her gut. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as Ancus unlocked the cell door, pulling it open, leaving it open for her to step out of, free.

“Come back with us. You can stay in my rooms until my brother is less… volatile.”

“He’s angry?” she asked, thinking back to the way he’d looked at her with blazing eyes. Should she be fearful?

“He can’t get over your betrayal, Letha,” Caracalla sighed. “He’s lost a bit of himself. It’s a bit ironic, right? Me trying to look after him?” He let the question hang in the air, but he didn’t need an answer from her, just giggling to himself. “Let’s go. Dondus will be delighted to see you.”

Letha felt touched by Caracalla’s faith in her as he grabbed her hand, tugging her along beside him as he left the cavernous depths where she’d been kept, Ancus following behind.

The next morning, Geta didn’t want to leave his bed. It was an ordeal for his servants to get him up and dressed. There were still more games to attend, more people to meet, and dinner parties to host. He didn’t understand how he was expected to return to the normalcy of their life with all of it so fresh.

His thoughts drifted to Letha. The one stolen night. The happiest he’d been in years. He could pretend she waited for him in his rooms to get him through the day. As he sat and forced food and drink down his throat at Caracalla’s nagging, as he watched men fight for glory in the arena, as if he hadn’t just seen his love almost meet her end in the exact same spot. And even now, guests dwindling, as he was forced to paste on a smile with some of the senators, the play-by-play of the day’s fight boring him nearly to tears, he thought of Letha.

“Excuse me,” Geta muttered, abandoning the glass in his hand on the nearest table before heading to his rooms for a moment of peace.

As he passed Caracalla’s door, he heard a laugh that stopped him dead in his tracks. In a split second he was back in the box, the first day of the games. His eyes lifted just the same, but a door was all that greeted him. Before he could convince himself his sanity was slipping, he knocked loudly.

A few seconds passed, long ones. Geta heard rustling, but not much else.

“Yes?” It was Ancus.

“Can I come in to speak with my brother?” Geta asked, his stomach in knots.

After a moment the door was opened, and Caracalla stepped out, the shreds of a smile still on his face and in his eyes. “Yes, brother?”

“You have guests?” Geta questioned, his voice strained from lack of use and the nerves burning his throat.

Caracalla stared at him before falling into one of his usual giggles. “Just, you know, my usual attendants.”

“I heard a woman’s laughter,” Geta accused. 

A flicker of concern was overridden by sympathy. “Hearing ghosts, brother?”

Geta scowled, waving off his brother’s concern. “Nevermind.”

“Are you alright?” Caracalla asked, a hand on his brother’s arm.

“Just perfect,” Geta ground out before turning and heading back to the party. There wouldn’t be enough wine to get him to forget this.

Macrinus watched Geta return to the party, his troubled state much more obvious. As he downed a glass of wine and requested another, Macrinus knew this was his opportunity.

“That was close,” Caracalla sighed, looking up to where Letha was currently stepping out from behind a large curtain panel, her face drawn. “He was so sure it was you.”

“How do you know?” she asked.

“It was in his eyes.”

Letha nodded, sitting on the edge of Caracalla’s unmade bed. “Is it still too soon to tell him?”

“While Macrinus still stays here you are in too much danger,” Ancus spoke up, scratching at his jaw. “He’s supposed to leave once the games are over.”

Letha thought it was amusing how Caracalla and the Praetorian he’d dismissed so readily had truly bonded. There was a glimmer in the Emperor’s eyes as he looked up at his guard. It relieved her to see him happy like this. And Letha did not miss the flush that filled the cheeks of the man anytime Caracalla paid him specific attention.

Oh, Ancus.

The Emperors truly were magnetic.

A small part of Letha wanted to ignore their advice and storm out of Caracalla’s rooms in search of his brother, but she understood their hesitance. And she truly believed her reappearance would not be met with joy. She wasn’t sure she wanted to feel that agony so soon. 

“Well, I need to go out and show my face some more, but we’ll be back in a bit. Keep Dondus company for me.”

“I will, Caracalla,” Letha promised, looking down at the small monkey pulling at her dress. “We’ll have our own party, right Dondus?” She got a squeak in return as he climbed to her shoulder.

Geta walked further into the gardens, another night coming to a close, the day weathered by some miracle. He wasn’t drunk, just comfortable, warm. He could allow himself this, now that their guests were gone. His feet led him, no destination in mind. Still, tragically, that jasmine-smothered statue came into view and he took another long sip of his wine to try to swallow down the confusing slurry of emotions.

He found himself leaned back against it once again, trying to remember, wishing he could have done something to help her. If she’d just trusted him enough to tell him, he would have protected her. He would have shielded her from Macrinus, he wouldn’t have told another soul, his selfishness overriding duty. 

He pressed his own palm to his chest, over his heart, his eyes closing to avoid the welling of emotion, the pressure behind his eyes, the knot in his throat.

“Brother?”

Geta stood up straight, shaking off his melancholy. “‘Calla?” He spotted his brother as he walked over, saw Ancus lingering by the stairs, a good distance away.

“You look sad.”

Geta scoffed. That wasn’t the half of it. “It’s fine.”

“You haven’t been yourself lately.” 

It irked Geta that he wasn’t allowed to feel the wealth of emotions in his chest without someone having something to say about it. Everyone else was allowed their moods and frustration, but if he felt something so strongly… He felt like he wasn’t being allowed to mourn. Because that’s what it was, mourning.

“Emperors, how fortuitous,” Macrinus spoke, disrupting the calm that the gardens granted. 

Caracalla made no effort to mask the shift in his expression, annoyance obvious.

Geta stepped away from the statue, gesturing to Macrinus with his cup. “Something you need?” 

“Oh, no,” Macrinus smiled, a return to form after stumbling through the last couple of days. “I just wanted to thank you both for your hospitality.”

Geta watched him, the relaxed lilt to his voice concerning.

Caracalla groaned in frustration. “Yes, yes,” he muttered. 

The impolite response didn’t deter Macrinus, not for a moment. Geta should have known then that whatever he was about to say stood to derail the entire day. But he didn’t, instead shooting his brother a scolding look.

“I have not had the opportunity to meet your other guest. She seems to avoid parties, meals, games…”

“We have no other guest, Macrinus,” Geta explained, quite confused. He looked to Caracalla, surprised to see him clammed up. “Brother?”

“Should someone go fetch her?” Macrinus suggested, eyes fixed to Geta. 

“No,” Caracalla insisted. 

Geta looked to his brother, concern growing. “What did you do?”

Caracalla’s frustration grew under the intense scrutiny. “Neither of you can be trusted with her!”

Geta felt overwhelmed. There was no way. “You lied to me?” he questioned, feeling faint. 

“You are not in your right mind,” Caracalla accused.

“So it is I who cannot be trusted?” He couldn’t help his frustration.

“For all we knew, you would kill her!”

The glass collided with the stone, shattering. Geta still spoke, though Caracalla paid him no attention, his eyes glued to the shards littering the grass. “You know nothing.”

At the commotion, Ancus approached, a protective hand pressed to Caracalla’s shoulder as he took in Geta’s affected state. 

“Ah, here she is. The search is over, your majesties. Here is your traitor.”

Geta’s heart stopped. He felt each agonizing second it took for him to turn, to see Letha being led into the gardens, Macrinus’s man keeping a tight grip on her arms. The sight drove a spike of anxiety into his chest. 

Letha didn’t struggle, she kept her eyes trained on Macrinus, wondering what was coming next. 

“What a reunion,” Macrinus chuckled, rubbing his hands together. “Didn’t you have some justice to dole out, Geta?” At that, Macrinus approached Letha. A sword was produced, and Macrinus held it to her throat. “How did you put it? A weakness, to be dealt with once and for all?”

Letha’s eyes met his, and Geta felt tears coming as he took in her fearful expression, the cut across her cheek, the bruising.

“Stop,” he ordered, approaching them, his hand held out for the sword.

Macrinus leveled the sword at Geta, the flat of the blade smacking his open palm. “I don’t think so.” 

Geta recoiled, withdrawing his hand. 

“I didn’t expect this,” he admitted, gesturing between Geta and Letha. “I should have, and I have paid for that mistake, but I will not make it again.”

Geta bit back his protest as Macrinus reached over, his hand squeezing Letha’s bandaged shoulder tightly enough to bruise. The cry she let out wounded him.

“I should thank you, Caracalla,” Macrinus smiled. “Up until last night, I was so sure I’d wake up in a cell myself. But the gods have other plans for me. They sent me this solution as a sign of their unwavering support. It could not be anything else.”

“The gods do not care for you,” Letha spat. She struggled beneath Macrinus’s grip, trying to wriggle her shoulder free. 

Viggo renewed his grip on her wrists, scowling at her, as Macrinus brought the sword back to her neck, a warning. She stilled.

“Ancus,” Caracalla muttered, his voice betraying his fear. 

Geta felt trapped. They were all in danger, all caught off guard.

“I will tell you of my plan,” Macrinus grinned. “It’s too good not to share it. While not perfect, I do believe it is the best anyone could do in these circumstances.” He let the blade leave Letha’s neck, pacing leisurely before them. “It would seem that Letha here, having escaped, decided she would come back and finish the job,” Macrinus gestured to her with the sword tip. “Finding the two of you here in the gardens, after felling him, of course,” he gestured to Ancus, “she made quick work of you. And I, hearing the commotion as I just so happened to be passing by, came upon this grizzly scene. Fortunately for you both, I was able to avenge you. And with your last, gasping breath, you named me your successor,” he spoke, moving the sword over to press against Geta’s neck. “Go on, say it.”

Geta said nothing.

Macrinus’s grin grew, the sword pressing closer to where his neck met his shoulder, the razor sharp bite of it beginning to draw blood. Letha let out a cry, struggling with Viggo. 

As Macrinus turned to ridicule Viggo, a jovial jab that he seemed to be having trouble restraining a woman, a hand gripped Macrinus’s wrist, pushing the sword away from Geta’s neck. 

Macrinus whipped his head around, eyes falling to Ancus, indignation settling in on his face for only a moment before a dagger pushed through the ornate white robes he wore, sinking into his stomach, pushing the breath from his lungs. Geta’s eyes fell to the hands wrapped around the hilt, seeing his brother’s ornamental jewelry.

Geta was pushed back as Ancus stepped in to shield Caracalla, ripping the sword from Macrinus’s hands.

Still partially frozen, Geta looked over to where Letha was, or had been. His feet moved him before his brain could formulate a plan.

Letha was on the ground, struggling against Viggo, the base of her palm pushing at his chin, her other hand trying to pull his hands away from her throat. He seemed to have the strength of ten men, knowing death awaited.

Her throat burned, the pressure in her head from the buildup of blood, her circulation cut off, overwhelming. Spots filled her vision, and she wondered if this would be it, finally. She should’ve been happy, she got all her wishes. Macrinus dead, or in the process of dying, and she got to see Geta one last time. It was all she had asked for. But the desire to remain, to live, breathed life back into her muscles.

Letha abandoned her efforts to claw his hands away, instead opting to make a firm fist and punch as hard as she could into his groin. Viggo let out a choked gasp, one of his hands moving down to shield himself from further attacks, a reflex. The vice around her throat lessened and she could get some air. As Letha was able to suck in a halfway decent breath, Viggo was ripped off of her.

The unnerving sound of a fist meeting Viggo’s face filled the normally tranquil gardens. Letha sat up, surprised to see Geta leaned over her attacker, one of his knees pressing hard into Viggo’s stomach, a hand gripping his clothes while the other repeatedly punched his now-bloody face, rings and all. 

Letha tamped down the satisfaction she felt, calling it relief, and moved over to Geta. She pulled at his shoulders, trying to get him to stop, telling him it was enough. He didn’t listen at first, but she pressed herself to his back, pulled his arm to her, her hand wrapping around his wrist. 

“It’s done,” she soothed, inspecting his hand, seeing the bite of his rings in his own skin. It would need the attention of a healer and it would surely be swollen purple in the morning.

“Letha,” he whispered, his eyes closed as he turned his head, pressing his forehead to hers. 

“I’m sorry,” she breathed, her throat still quite tender. 

“Mmmh, no,” he managed, shaking his head. 

“Emperors?” 

Praetorians were upon them, forcing everyone apart, taking stock of the damage done to their rulers, if any. Letha stayed sitting on the ground beside Viggo, not sure what might happen next. 

Before long, Tegula himself appeared, speaking with the twins, and then Ancus, who delivered a succinct version of events that included a charitable explanation that Macrinus had masterminded the entire thing, even down to Letha’s inclusion, implying that she was innocent after all. 

She didn’t dare correct him, her eyes fixed on Geta where he stood. His knuckles were stripped of his rings, the healer dabbing at the small cuts. Geta winced each time, eyes falling to his injured hand for a moment before he continued watching Ancus recap their evening, as if surprised by it.

Caracalla stood beside Ancus, quite close, certainly closer than an Emperor would be to his guard, rubbing his fingers together, staring down at the blood on them with soft fascination in his eyes, his other hand still clutching the dagger. Plain, military issued, it looked like. 

Letha was brought to her feet as someone inspected her neck, commenting on the redness around her throat. Geta looked over, the people and the circumstances creating a great gulf between them that he couldn’t yet ford. There would be business to attend to before she would get her chance to speak to him again. 

It gave her something to look forward to. 

[ Part XV ] coming soon

[songs-of-future-past]

Got bored, have a random sketch page for practice because I struggle drawing faces. And Ghosts.

Characters and their players (as well as a couple ask blogs);

Nocturne, Elyan, Castle, and Shard belong to myself

RZ and Ori: @themetalmenace

Ellis and Yú: @ellis-the-lightguide

Gerda-3 and Rufus: @gerda-3

Crow and Glint: @crow-the-hunter-vanguard

Drifter: @ask-drifter

Eris Morn (lmk if someone has an ask blog for her, I'd love to lurk)

Andal Brask: @great-shot-terrible-gambler

Cayde-6 and Sundance: @cayde-6-hunter-vanguard

Couple notes to self under the cut:

For Nocturne, I need to broaden the shoulders a bit. Just proportions in general. First sketch so that's my excuse. Elyan turned out better, but its features are squished. Ellis I just need to even the features out a bit.

I wanna do another attempt at RZ, I think I could do better. Same with Gerda and Cayde. I need to figure out how to draw Exos.

Drifter looks too soft, somehow. I don't know how to explain it.

Eris and Crow turned out pretty well, just some minor tweaks and it would probably be fine?

What is Andal's hair?

Ghost shells are... weird. I think I'm close to getting Glint and Shard? Once I figured out I need to start with a leaf shape it went okay. Not sure about... any of the more standard shells. I genuinely got lost while doing Rufus, I'm sorry.

If you actually made it this far (why are you here?) send me a picture of your guardian and their ghost, I need practice. I might even do it in colour with the glass pens if you toss some Silver my way ;)

[abyssalpeach]

in the case of the people vs. bell's hells...

and also the campaign 3 finale overall. disclaimer: this is gonna get long bc of my propensity to yap so i'm gonna simultaneously try to keep it short but also put it under a "read more." spoilers will be referenced throughout.

i wouldn't call these rent-lowering gunshots, but i desperately need some of the folks in this fandom to get a grip. so instead i'm asking: walk with me. hold my hand. i am looking you in the eyes and want this fandom to be a nice place. please forgive me for any attitude but i am tired of being talked down to.

"they never faced any consequences" consequences are the result bad dice rolls. of which they had plenty. if you think their narrative choices should have resulted in more punishment, say that. but i think you missed the part where they have targets on their back from several factions and now-mortal deities and you need to kill the cop in your head.

"it was too confusing and the pacing was bad" i don't even disagree with this takeaway. i will say this was actually the easiest campaign for me to follow. m9 is so fun, but was very narratively scattered at times. however, i think this is just the nature of ttrpg/actual play. it's not scripted. it's messy and sometimes you'll zone out about it. sometimes what the players want isn't what grabs you personally. it doesn't mean they're wrong or bad to play it that way.

"i fell off c3 and everything i've heard about the finale is stupid" fall off, then. totally fine, i'm not here to stop you, sincerely. and not to hurl cliches, but with tabletop it really is more about the journey than the destination. without context, you are missing too many pieces to pass judgement. that's all i'm gonna say on that.

"the other PCs were just so much better" i gotta say this one seems like a skill issue lol. there's not a single party i haven't loved with my whole heart, but they satisfy different purposes or dynamics! vm was destined for greatness. m9 was destined to pull important strings. bh was destined to shake up the order of things. they were supposed to be controversial in-world. they're salt of the earth, rising far beyond their stations ever expected. they became important at work and it very nearly ruined their lives.

"it was like sitting in a philosophy 101 class" praytell what philosophy classes that you've sat in discussed the ethics of magic, direct divine involvement in human* lives, and potential outcomes that would come along with killing all the gods or releasing something called the god-eater. look. i grew weary with the rehashing of these conversations too, really i did. that said, i think it needed to play out this way in order for the finale to go the way it did.

allow me to explain. one of the defining qualities of bell's hells was how different they all were. whether it's their perspectives, life experiences, backgrounds, desires, aspirations... you get it. this was the point. they were bound together by compassion and love for each other. and this extended to those they stood for personally, and those their friends cared about. it was how they approached ruidus, the gods, the people of vasselheim. and they walked the walk and trusted the process, prepared to face anything. including death.

*obviously including all exandrian/ruidian races beyond just human

"the finale cheapened the ending of vox machina" it didn't. i'm sorry but it very fundamentally did not and if that's your takeaway from a change of circumstance ~30 years down the line, i am worried that you are too lost in the sauce due to favoritism. if your takeaway from vax being allowed to return to the material plane is that now his conclusion from 30 years ago was just him going on a work trip, that is a you problem.

the narrative doesn't treat it like that. the characters don't treat it like that. the cast doesn't treat it like that. let me repeat myself: if you think vax's c1 ending is now nothing more than a glorified work trip, that is a you problem.

life goes on. the state of the world is changing constantly, especially in a world with gods and magic and different planes of existence. matt allowed these players to have direct involvement in the ways it changes. if vax was allowed to return in some capacity as a result of those changes, the cast made that happen. it wasn't even on bell's hells priority list! this was a natural change of circumstance. if that's the kind of thing you find upsetting, maybe unpack that elsewhere.

i'm gonna wrap it up here but i hope you keep this in mind: if you don't like a thing anymore, you can absolutely drop it. you don't need anyone's permission. but what i ask is that if you want to engage in thoughtful conversation and criticism about it, you keep these things in mind.

i don't believe this show or cast to be above criticism. i have plenty of critiques of my own. but the campaign three finale was the opposite of bad. it was the most satisfying conclusion we could have possibly gotten. it was the culmination of the last 3 years with almost everyone who encountered bell's hells and honored the last 10 years of their hard work. i am so so proud of matt and the cast and i think you should be too.

[thevoicefromanotherworld]

"CAN I...?"

Another fic with him because I need him so bad isn't funny anymore, please just one chance Dave PLEASE I love him

I hope you like it!

You and Dave had been friends for quite some time.

You had gone to each other's houses on countless occasions, but in the last few weeks something had changed between you.

Your best friend ignored your messages and when you were together he would quickly look away from you, as if he was trying not to pay you more attention than necessary.

That's why, tired of that strange situation, and taking advantage of the fact that you were alone in his room in the middle of an afternoon of studying, you decided to leave the notebook on his bed, where you were doing your homework, to look at him.

He turned around when he heard the knock, his blue eyes went from the notebook to you for a moment.

"Why did you do that?" he asked, putting a hand on his chest. "You scared me."

"We both know that's not true," you said, crossing your arms. "Spit it out."

"What?" –he questioned, staring at you intently-

-You've been ignoring me for weeks, Dave –you reminded him, as if he didn't already know- if I've done something that has offended you, I'm sorry, okay? But I can't go on like this –you confessed- I miss my best friend

He left the pen he was holding on the table, while he turned his desk chair around to focus fully on you.

-Sorry, it's just been a few rough weeks and I… –he swallowed hard- yes, that's the reason I've behaved like this

-You're a very bad liar –you murmured, holding his gaze- I know you too well to know when you're being sincere and when you're not, and now you're not –you paused for a second before asking in your most reassuring tone- What's wrong?

He lowered his head for a moment, before focusing on the slippers he was wearing.

-I… -he swallowed nervously- before I tell you, promise me it won't affect our friendship

You raised an eyebrow

-Are you gay? –you questioned, he frowned and shook his head vigorously-

-What? No!

-It wouldn't be a problem if you were –you added- there are a lot of boys in our school who…

-I like you –he interrupted you, making you open your eyes wide-

You blinked a couple of times quickly, as if your ears had gone bad, and you hadn't understood him well.

-What? –you asked, dazed, staring at the way his blue eyes shone-

-I like you –he repeated, looking away somewhere other than you- I'm sorry, I… I wanted to tell you before, but I didn't want to… -he took a deep, shaky breath- I was afraid this would end our friendship

-Nothing is over, Lizewski –you affirmed- you will always be my friend, no matter what

-No matter what happens –he repeated in a low voice-

Now it was your turn to ask

-Since when? –you wanted to know, he tilted his head, sketching a shy little smile that made you want to get up to kiss him-

-I don't know for sure –he confessed- but I think it was since we were paired together in the science project –he explained- Do you remember? you invited me over to your house to do it, and then when it got late you insisted I stay for dinner and the night –he looked up at you again- you were wearing green jeans, a white t-shirt and a black bow to hold your hair back –he listed blushing with embarrassment as he remembered all the details- you were… -he swallowed nervously again before finishing- you were very pretty

-Oh, Dave, I… -you started, but he stopped you with a nod-

-It’s okay if you don’t feel the same –he said- I… I feel better now that you know –he confessed- it was too heavy a burden to carry alone

-I was going to say that I feel the same for you –you confessed, this time you were the one who blushed and he stared at you with his beautiful blue eyes- I’ve never felt this way about anyone –you confessed- and I think… -you pressed your lips tightly before saying- I think I’m in love with you

-Really? –he asked hopefully, as he stood up and sat down next to you on his bed slowly-

-Yes –you whispered, his closeness making all the barriers you had built around yourself to protect yourself from his charm fade away little by little- Are you…?

-Yes –he interrupted nervously- yes, I think so –he said making both of you smile- Can I… -he looked down at your mouth before fixing it on your eyes again- can I kiss you?

-It's not that you can –you whispered unable to take your gaze off his pink lips- it's that you have to

His lips connected with yours delicately, as if he was making sure that this was real, that you were in front of him and that this was really happening.

You returned the kiss following the movement of his lips, at the same time that you placed your hands behind his neck, catching several curls of his brown hair between your fingers.

He sighed into your mouth as you lightly pulled him closer. You felt like you were going to melt just from hearing him.

He pulled away from you to catch his breath, the lenses of his glasses fogged up and his lips swollen from the kisses you had given each other. You couldn't help but smile at the sight of each other.

-It seems that I'm not the only one who had dreamed of this moment -he mocked, sketching a half-smile-

You shook your head as if it were hopeless, before hooking your arms behind his neck again, bringing him closer to you.

-It's possible -you ventured- now kiss me, Dave

And that was exactly what he did

[communicationthroughlyrics]

I Work Too Hard, Can You Fuckin' Pay Me?

Part 14 - Y/N moved to escape some of thier looming troubles from Westview, to the place that their best friend said would make a difference. New job, new digs, will Y/N make a change for the better, or leave another city with their tail between their legs?

TW: Angst

Word Count: 3K

Read Pt. 1 HERE Read Pt. 2 HERE Read Pt. 3 HERE Read Pt. 4 HERE Read Pt. 5 HERE Read Pt. 6 HERE Read Pt. 7 HERE Read Pt. 8 HERE Read Pt. 9 HERE Read Pt. 10 HERE - Read Pt. 11 HERE - Read Pt. 12 HERE - Read Pt. 13 HERE

You Run Away When You Just Can't Face It

You knew you had to handle this as soon as possible. After leaving Wanda's late Thursday night, you got into your car and called a half-asleep Pietro. "Hey, man, I need to talk to you. Can we talk?" You hoped the urgency in your voice was enough to convince him without alarming him.

"What's wrong? Can't it wait till tomorrow?" He sounded sleepy, and you felt guilty for waking him up.

"It can't," you said firmly. "It's about Val."

The silence on the other end of the line was deafening. He finally broke the silence with a groan. "Dammit," he said, the sleepiness evaporating from his voice. "How did I know this bitch was gonna ruin everything?" he mumbled to himself. "Come over, Y/N."

You drove through the dark, empty streets of the city, the light rain tapping against the windshield like a persistent drumbeat, echoing the anxiety pounding in your chest. The warmth of your tea with Wanda was long gone, and you felt cold, despite the heat blasting from the vents. When you arrived at his penthouse, you took a deep breath and stepped out into the cold, damp air. The walk to his door felt like an eternity as you rehearsed what you were going to say, trying to find the right words to explain your messed-up past with Val.

Pietro answered the door with a weary look, his dark hair sticking up in all directions. "What's going on?" he asked, his voice tight with tension. You stepped inside, the stark contrast of the modern, well-lit room highlighting the shadows under his eyes.

"Are you going to invite me in, Piet?" you laugh nervously, scratching at the back of your neck.

Pietro's eyes narrow, "This better be good." He steps aside, gesturing for you to enter, and you follow him into the living room. The space is sleek and modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a breathtaking view of the city skyline, but you can't appreciate it. The anticipation of what's to come is a heavyweight in the pit of your stomach.

You sit down on the leather couch, your heart racing as you take a deep breath and begin to explain. The words come out in a rush, spilling over each other as you recount your tumultuous history with Val, the way she manipulated you both, and the guilt that's been eating away at you for years. You leave nothing out, not even the parts that make you cringe with regret. You watch his expression shift from surprise to anger, and finally, to something that looks a lot like pain.

You detail the conversation you had with Wanda, telling him about her reaction, Natasha, and everything that happened tonight. The anger in his eyes is a living, breathing thing. You watch as he sits, staring at the floor, his jaw clenched tightly.

"I'm sorry," you murmur, feeling like the words are insufficient. His expression faltered, and he looked at you with dusky eyes.

Pietro remained silent for a long moment, his fists clenched at his sides. "I know, Y/N. I can see it. And, frankly, you wouldn't have uprooted your life if it wasn't a necessary change. But I can't say I'm not upset. Do you know how much I've lost because of her?" he finally said, his voice strained.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. "I'm sorry, I truly am. I never wanted any of this to happen. I just... I didn't know how to tell you."

"I get it, Y/N. This is far from ideal." Pietro ran a hand through his hair, his eyes still on the floor. "But you need to understand that Val... she's toxic. She'll ruin everything she touches if she gets the chance. And now, that includes my sister."

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words. "I know, and I'm going to do everything I can to stop her. To make sure she doesn't come between us."

"I understand your desire to do that, Y/N. But it may be best to lay low for a little bit. Val is like a predator. She gets bored when you don't give her something to engage with."

Pietro's words echoed in your mind as you nodded slowly. He had always had a way with words, a way to cut through the bullshit and get straight to the point. "What do we do then?" you asked, feeling a little lost.

"It's best you give Wanda some time. But, just know that I am extremely proud of you for telling her right away. The Y/N I knew in Westview wouldn't have."

You nodded, feeling the warmth of his words, even though the situation was far from ideal. "Thank you, man. That means a lot."

Pietro looked at you, his expression a mix of anger and concern. "But you can't keep hiding shit like this, Y/N. It's not good for you, or us. You need to be honest with Wanda, and me. She deserves that much, and I'm supposed to be your best friend."

You nodded, feeling the sting of his accusation. "I know, and I'm sorry." You paused, trying to gather your thoughts. "But Val, she's dangerous. She's going to cause trouble, and I don't know how to stop her without dragging everything else into it."

"Y/N, just lay low. Don't feed into her bullshit. You'll only give her ammunition. And you will likely hurt someone in the process. Now, please. Get home and mind your own for a while. I, frankly, don't want to see you for a little bit myself."

The words stung, but you knew he was right. You had to give Wanda time and space to process everything you had just told her, and him too. The drive back to your house was a blur, the rain now coming down in sheets. You felt like you were driving through a never-ending tunnel of guilt and regret. When you finally pulled into your driveway, you sat in the car for a few minutes, trying to gather the courage to go inside.

Stepping out of the car and into the cold embrace of the night, you wiped the rain off your face and made your way towards the house. The porch light flickered, casting eerie shadows across the lawn as you made your way to the door. You glanced over, noticing only one light on at Wanda's, making your heart clench at the thought of her in there, alone.

Once inside, you kicked off your drenched shoes and hung your coat on the rack, the quietness of the house almost deafening. You felt a pit in your stomach, a mix of dread and hope, as you made your way to the bedroom. You knew you had to give her space, but the thought of not holding her was like a knife twisting in your gut.

You slipped into bed, the coldness of the sheets a stark contrast to the warmth of the tea Wanda had made you. You could still smell her perfume lingering on the fabric of your pillows, and it was like a cruel reminder of the closeness you shared a few nights ago. You rolled over, burying your face into the pillow she had used, inhaling her scent, and trying to hold onto the last vestiges of comfort it provided.

Your Friday was a blur, burying yourself in work, completing a flurry of projects before thier deadlines. You stayed late, and your boss commented on you being here far after even the janitors. But you needed the distraction, the mind-numbing repetition of work. It kept you from spiraling into the dark pit of your thoughts, the echoes of Wanda's anger, and the fear of losing her, echoing in your mind.

When you got home that night, you were met with silence. The house felt eerie and empty, it didn't feel like home. You tossed and turned, unable to shake the feeling that you had made an irreparable mistake. The digital clock on the nightstand read 3:15 AM, and you hadn't slept a wink. Your mind was racing with thoughts of what Val could be planning, and how you could fix this mess without losing the people you cared about most.

Deciding that sleep wasn't going to come easily, you snuck downstairs, the cold wooden floorboards creaking underfoot as you made your way to the kitchen. You grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the top shelf of the pantry, the amber liquid glinting in the moonlight. You poured yourself a generous glass, the smell of oak and smoky warmth filling your nose as you took a deep breath. You downed it in one go, the burning sensation a welcome distraction from the emotional turmoil you were feeling.

You felt the effects of the alcohol almost instantly, having not cracked open a bottle in months. You grabbed a wooden box hidden next to the bottle, cracking it open to display the emergency stash of joints you kept, in the instance that you needed to unwind, and nothing else was helping. You took one out, lighting it with the lighter that had been in your pocket all evening. The sweet, pungent smell of the weed-filled the room as you took a deep drag, exhaling slowly, the smoke curling around your head like a warm hug.

You grabbed the jacket that was lying over the back of one chair in the dining room, pulling it on before opening the back door and stepping onto your patio. The cool, humid air hit you as you walked over to one of your patio chairs, taking a seat and leaning back. The rain had stopped, leaving a gentle mist that kissed your skin and the smell of wet earth wafting up around you. You took another deep drag from your joint, letting the smoke billow around your face like a foggy shroud. The silence of the night was occasionally broken by the distant sound of a car driving down the wet streets.

You sat there for a while, just smoking and thinking, trying to figure out your next move. The whiskey had helped to dull the pain, but it hadn't done anything to solve the problem. You knew that you had to tread carefully with Wanda and Val. The last thing you wanted was to lose Wanda, and the thought of her being hurt because of your past with Val was unbearable.

As the night grew colder, you realized you needed to come up with a plan. You couldn't just sit around and wait for the situation to blow over; you had to be proactive. You needed to find a way to protect Wanda and her family from Val's toxic influence. You thought about leaving for a while, hoping things would blow over, but deep down, you knew that wasn't the right answer. You had to face this head-on.

"Can't sleep?" a familiar rasp startles you out of your thoughts. You jump, dropping your joint into the ashtray, and look up to see Wanda standing at the edge of your patio, her eyes red and puffy from crying. She's wearing your oversized t-shirt that barely covers her thighs, her feet bare and cold-looking against the damp concrete. The puzzled look on your face turns into one of concern as she takes a few steps closer to you, her eyes never leaving yours. "I, uhhh...smelled the weed. I looked outside to see where it was coming from, and saw you out here." She runs a hand through her hair, looking lost. "I thought you quit drinking?" she motioned at the now empty glass next to you.

You stood, peeling off your coat before bringing it over to her. "Not quite, just cut back significantly," you said, holding it out. She took the warm jacket gratefully, pulling it around her shoulders with a small shiver. "I've had a lot on my mind."

Wanda nodded, her eyes never leaving yours. "I know," she murmured. "I can say the same."

You led her over to the chair, sitting down beside her, the plastic cushion cold and damp from the rain. She curled into the warmth of your jacket, the silence between you heavy and pregnant with unsaid words. You took a deep breath, the scent of mint and rain mixing with the lingering aroma of whiskey. "Wanda," you began, "I know you're hurt, and you have every right to be. But I need you to know that I never wanted to hurt you. I've been trying to be the person you deserve."

"Y/N." Wanda's voice was barely a whisper, the name a question and a plea all rolled into one. "I know. I know you're sorry." She took a shaky breath, her eyes searching yours. "I also know you're trying to change from that person back in Westview."

You nodded, feeling the weight of her gaze. "But it's hard to trust you," she continued, her voice cracking a little. "Everything I've been through with her, with my family... I just can't handle any more betrayal."

You leaned forward, elbows on your knees, the coolness of the night air seeping into your skin. "I get it," you said softly. "But I'm not asking you to trust me blindly. Just... give me a chance to prove it to you. To show you that I've changed, that I'm not that person anymore."

"I know you're not that person anymore, Y/N." Wanda's voice was softer now, the anger from earlier giving way to something more vulnerable. "But the thing is, I don't know if I can trust that Val won't drag you back into her mess." She looked away, staring out into the night. "I just don't want to get hurt again."

"Wanda," you whispered, taking her hand in yours. It was cold and trembling slightly. "I understand your fears. But I won't let that happen. I'll do whatever it takes to protect you and Piet."

Wanda's gaze returned to yours, searching for sincerity in the depths of your eyes. For a moment, you could see the walls she had built around herself start to crack. "I know you mean it," she said, her voice small. "But what if you can't?"

"We will kill ourselves with the 'what if's', Wands." You took a deep breath, feeling the coolness of the night air fill your lungs. "But I won't let that happen. I promise."

She looked down at her hands, playing with her fingers in her lap. You kneeled next to her, grabbing onto her hands to still her movements. "Even if it means that I need to leave you alone, I will do it. I mean it. Whatever it takes."

Wanda sighed heavily, "Y/N, I don't want you to leave." Her eyes searched yours, a silent plea for understanding. "I just... I went through a lot. With my ex. And I don't want to do it again."

You nodded, feeling the weight of her words. "I know you did. But I'm here, willing to work on this, willing to face whatever comes our way."

Wanda took a deep breath, the chilly air visible in the moonlight. She leaned forward, pulling herself closer to you. "Okay. I still need some time, but we can do this," she whispered. A small smile crept across your face.

"But you have to promise me one thing," she said, her gaze intense.

"Anything," you vowed, feeling the warmth of hope begin to fill the void that had been growing in your chest since you told her about Val.

"Promise me," Wanda's voice was steady, "that you'll never make me cry like this again," she let out a watery chuckle.

You felt a pang of guilt in your chest, "Wanda, I swear to you, on everything that I am, I will never intentionally let this happen again. You have my word," you vowed, your voice thick with emotion. "I cannot promise that I won't make you cry, but my only goal is that you cry from laughter and happiness."

Wanda's smile grew a little, a spark of hope in her eyes. "That's all I ask," she murmured, leaning into you. You wrapped your arms around her, feeling her shiver slightly from the cold. "Come inside," you whispered, "It's freezing out here."

"Y/N?" Wanda's voice was a whisper, a question and a plea all rolled into one. She stepped closer, stopping your movement as the scent of rain and mint washed over you. She stepped up to you, wrapping her arms around your neck, as you engulfed her in your warmth.

You felt her tremble in your embrace, whether from the cold or the weight of her emotions, you weren't sure. But you knew that she needed you, and you were there for her. "I've got you," you whispered back, pulling her closer. Before you knew it, she was standing on her tiptoes, her eyes closed as she kissed you softly. It was a kiss filled with pain, confusion, and a desperate need for reassurance. You kissed her back, gently, your hands rubbing her arms in an attempt to warm her up.

You stood up, taking her hand, "Come on," you said, leading her back inside. The warmth of the house wrapped around you both as you entered, the silence of the night replaced by the comforting hum of the heater. You guided her to the couch, tucking her into a blanket before you started a fire in the fireplace. The flames began to dance, casting a warm glow across the room, and illuminating the tears on her cheeks.

You sat next to her, leaning back and opening your arms, allowing her to curl into your chest. The crackle of the fire was the only sound that filled the room, the warmth of her hand in yours the only thing keeping you grounded. Wanda looked up at you, her eyes searching for the truth in your gaze. You took a deep breath, feeling the warmth of the whiskey spreading through you.