#its implied but its up to you to decide!!

[thewertsearch]

The Doctor is in.

And they're a bit of a pattern-breaker, aren't they?

We've already used up every permutation of GCAT, to the point where the post-Scratch Players have been forced to share Persterchum initials with their predecessors. UranianUmbra has evidently decided they're not going to bother with all that nonsense, and has chosen a completely original handle.

That's not the only pattern they're breaking, either. Instead of pestering, trolling or bothering Jane, UU claims to be cheering her. To me, it reads as a little too saccharine for comfort - as though Umbra is trying a little too hard to seem non-threatening.

UU: good morning, lovely. ^u^ GG: Why, hellooooooo. UU: so i gUess today is finally the day yoU make everything better.

Also, they're aping Karkat's original Pesterlog, which does nothing to allay my suspicions.

Karkat originally portrayed himself as a huge asshole, but was slowly revealed to be a pretty nice guy - so, when someone uses his words, but places themselves on the opposite side of the coin, I'm obviously going to be primed for another inversion.

UU: it is the day whereafter the legendary octet of mUtUal progenitoriety will come together and heal a great breach in paradox space.

Mutual progenitoriety sounds like a phenomenon where two or more entities are responsible for each other's creation.

It's been explored extensively in art, science and philosophy, and the concept fits very well into a self-generating cosmology such as Homestuck's.

I don't think Umbra is referring to the Reacharound, though - if nothing else, the Reacharound had nothing to do with Jane. After all, her session is supposed to create an entirely new universe, and has nothing whatsoever to do with Alternia.

Unless...

...one of my oldest, most ambitious theories was right all along.

UU: a day delivered throUgh eighty billion years and foUr distinct Universal instances worth of Unfathomable tUrbUlence. UU: and while the emerald eye of this storm is fixed in the abyss forever

I assume the 'emerald eye' is the Green Sun. As one of Sburb's most critical components, it holds a place of extreme importance in the cosmos.

Which, let us remind ourselves, is a bad thing. The Sun was, after all, created on the orders of Doc Scratch, and its existence means that English can exert his influence over every session with a First Guardian - which, I'm pretty sure, is every single session.

The fact that the thing is apparently here forever is probably the worst news we've heard all Act - assuming, of course, that UU is telling the truth.

UU: today yoU are poised to escape its scowl once and for all.

Umbra seems to be implying that there's somewhere completely outside the Sun's domain - some part of reality where the mechanism of Skaia no longer applies.

That's certainly news to me - but hey, if that's an option, count me the fuck in.

UU: by skaias gUiding light, yoU may leave behind its tUrning arms of bright coloUrs and mayhem, and secUre peace for yoUr cosmic progeny for all dUration.

That said; even if you can escape into a Sburbless reality, Sburb will still exist. Skaia's mechanism will still be there, right behind you, and English will still be pulling it apart at the seams.

Like, sure. Escape the game, find a home, restore your species - but don't just abandon the multiverse to its fate. English is killing trillions, and it almost sounds like UranianUmbra is trying to convince you to let him.

[hivemuthur]

Can u request something with modern au with viktor where there’s an established relationship between reader and him and readers an artist? You can write whatever you want whether it’s dating hcs , fluff, nsfw !!

Dear Anon, I took the liberty and added a small, but significant detail to this request - the Reader is visually impaired. It is not implied why, as it wasn't relevant to the one shot, but you can imagine their vision to be compromised to the point of having to use a walking cane and being able to only recognize shapes/shadows. The picture for it is Hephaestus, as he is the godly representation of Viktor for me, just read about him. Having said that, here is: Hand of the Beholder

viktorxgn!reader mature! some suggestive content, Reader has a sight disability, Viktor is their muse :') A small fic, in which Viktor discovers that softness feels nice.

edit/author's note: I treat Elliott as a gn name in general (I might be wrong, but well). And Bono the dog's name - it's a reference to a pin Sinead O'Connor was wearing during one of her interviews after she had met Bono. It said Bono in short legs shock! and I think it's hilarious :)

word count: 3,3K

—

A loud thump, followed by the clatter of something wooden on the pavement. Then, “Are you blind?”—a voice exclaimed with utter irritation, one very familiar to you—followed by a gasp. You always loved that part.

“Partially. Getting there,” you replied, flashing a sweet smile in the direction of the voice. Kill them with kindness—that was the usual strategy.

What was odd was that the voice—and the vague shape you assumed was its owner—didn’t move from the spot where your clumsy dog had knocked them. Either you’d made an astonishing first impression, or they were too stunned to move.

“Forgive me, I—I am usually less… rude.”

“That’s alright, no need to beg for forgiveness on your knees,” you said, offering a more genuine smile. “I’m sorry about Bono; he’s a bit awkward in crowds.”

“This is embarrassing, but I might need your help getting up,” the voice admitted, followed by an awkward chuckle.

Once he accepted your hand and scrambled to his feet, he kept hold of your palm just long enough to give it a quick shake. “Thank you. I’m Viktor.”

You almost introduced yourself when your friend Elliott emerged from whatever pound shop she had left you in front of. “Oh God, this dog! He’s going to get you killed one day,” she huffed, grabbing the leash from your hand.

“Bono. So… are you a U2 fan?” Viktor asked. Smooth, Viktor. Very smooth. He felt his face twist in cringe but decided to own it, smoothing his clothes with his hands to distract himself.

“Ah, definitely not. But I’ve been told he has short legs, so there it is,” you replied with a chuckle, crouching to give Bono a pet and a treat. The dog licked your face in return, and you groaned in mock offense.

“Alright, is everyone fine? Can we get moving?” Elliott pressed, clearly eager to move on. Her ‘just a second’ stop had already turned into twenty minutes of snooping through junk.

Viktor, utterly confused, felt words pushing their way out of his mouth before he could stop them. “Or, I could buy you a coffee? For the inconvenience? If… you’re not busy?” His voice rose slightly with each question, and again, he decided to own it by gulping down on this weird lump in his mouth and producing a smile.

“I feel like I should be the one buying you a coffee, Viktor. But yes, sure,” you replied casually, though truthfully, you just wanted to hear that warm, accented voice for a little longer.

Later, at the café, Viktor found himself absolutely baffled by your bluntness and the merciless jokes you’d thrown in his direction. He wondered where the hell his sass had gone. His legs were continuously bumped by Bono, who had clearly taken a liking to him and wouldn’t stop drooling onto his lap. When Viktor tried to joke about service dogs, usually more collected, he learned that Bono was, in fact, just a dog, and his only service was being a good boy.

Everything about this was so surreal and unlikely that his curious mind wouldn’t let him not ask you out again.

And this was how you met, two years ago, give or take. Two three-legged creatures connected by another, four-legged one, whose short legs seemed to give him matchmaking superpowers.

What had been the strangest feeling in the world for Viktor was being seen in a way he had never been seen before. Without a single question about his looks, without prying touches or purposeful exploration, you had managed to put together all the pieces that made him who he was. And suddenly, his cane didn’t matter, the way others looked at him didn’t matter. What mattered was the warmth of his hands, the tone of his voice, the feeling of soft jumpers, and his mind—the most brilliant thing you’d ever had the pleasure to explore.

And Bono got so many treats for it, his legs seemed even shorter as he grew fatter.

Which is why Viktor agreed to do something that, ordinarily, he would nervously laugh off before fleeing the country. His wobbly legs carried him to the sculpture workshop, late enough for it to be private and unoccupied.

Seeing you setting up the materials around an inconspicuous clay figure, he walked up to you from behind and draped himself over your back, his arms cradling your shoulders, palms connected at your sternum. You could feel his heart thundering against your spine and asked, “Are you nervous?”

“A little,” he murmured, pressing his nose into the crook of your neck. “Is this me?”

“Not yet, for now it’s a dummy. Though, the frame was constructed to depict your figure,” you said quietly, placing your palm over his hands, your head leaning back to place a kiss on his temple. You could feel his scent filling your nose­—clothes that are just clean and a faint smell of shampoo lingering in his hair.

“Is it empty inside?” he asked, and you only nodded, brushing your nose against his cheek.

“Hmm, philosophically ironic, don’t you think?”

“Love, if I were to sculpt your liver, I doubt this experiment would prove useful,” you chuckled, hearing Viktor let out a bemused huff. “Besides, it would be very heavy.”

“Pity. I’m sure my liver is magnificent,” Viktor tried to deflect, but his breath betrayed him. The room was unbelievably warm, and he could feel his hands starting to sweat.

“And where do you want me?”

“Right beside me. We’ll do a lying pose, with your hands on your chest. I’ll show you, roughly,” you said, your own nervousness beginning to grow as you realised this was probably far more intimate than anything you’d experienced together before. Suddenly, all the sex you’d had in strange places didn’t seem so insane.

After a short presentation and a couple of awkward chuckles, Viktor splayed himself on the couch beside you, while you sat down by the worktable. You needed to mark the key points of his body to keep the proportions intact, so the first obvious choice was his face.

You placed your hand on his cheek, and he hummed softly, relaxing into your touch. Your fingers traced the structure of his bones, his nose, eyelids, the curve of his mouth, assessing the distance between them with one hand and marking them on the dummy with the other. You couldn’t help yourself and exclaimed, “Oh Viktor, you are so beautiful! All this time and I had no idea.”

Viktor let out an uninhibited cackle and playfully bit your fingers. “There it is—superficial vanity. And here I was, hoping someone would finally love me for more than my looks,” he said in mock offence, making you bite your lower lip to stifle a laugh.

“Of course I do. But at least now I can say things like, ‘Thank God you’re pretty,’” you grinned at him mercilessly, and he laughed again. When the laughter faded into a comfortable silence, you took a deep breath and made sure once more. “Are you absolutely confident you’re up for this?”

“Positive,” he said firmly. “Should I—?” The unfinished question was answered by his hand landing on his shirt, pinching it expectantly—a force of habit stronger when his nerves showed.

“Just the torso for now. It’ll take a couple of sessions, I think. And after that, who knows? Maybe you’ll abandon me and become a world-famous model,” you mused, attempting to hide your own anxiety.

Viktor only huffed in response and obediently slid his shirt off. Taking your palm, he placed it flat against his chest. “For some reason, I feel very close to a heart attack, but I have a feeling you do too,” he said gently, the brave honesty in his voice completely disarming you.

You exhaled softly, leaning in to kiss him on the lips—a lingering, delicate gesture meant to reassure rather than ignite. “Thank you,” you murmured against his mouth, your voice warm and sincere. “Remember, we can stop at any moment. Just say the word.”

Viktor nodded, though words seemed to escape him now. His eyes followed your every move as you shifted closer, warming your palms by rubbing them against each other. You began your work, one hand ghosting over the sharp line of his jaw, the other placed on the dummy to mirror his shape.

Your touch was deliberate, slow, and almost reverent. Your fingers started at the hinge of his jaw, ghosting over the texture of his skin. Most of it was smooth, with the tiniest bit of grain, like a piece of glass worked by the sea over the years. You paused, mapping the angle where his jaw met his neck—the hardness of bone giving way to the flexible tendon beneath. You tapped on it delicately to test the bounce of his muscle—here his skin was silky, and firm and you could smell the faint scent of cream he applied after shaving. You gave it one more lingering touch, before moving to the earlobe, tracing it with your thumb, your fingers brushing against his hairline. Viktor let out a breathy exhale, and you smiled under your nose.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“Mmm, you have no idea,” he hummed, placing his palm over yours instinctively. His hands were warm, and you could feel the heat radiating off his cheek onto your wrist.

You slid your hand toward the hollow beneath his cheekbone, pausing on the beauty mark under his eye to mark it on the dummy. It had a faint rise over the rest of his face, and you did your best to depict it’s shape. You could feel his cheek rising in a smile.

Moving to the slight curve of his lips, your fingertips lingered there for a moment longer than necessary. You pressed on the plushness of his mouth and felt Viktor leaning into your touch, his hot breath fanning your skin. Your finger trembled, when you found the tiny bump crowning his upper lip and Viktor pouted slightly, as if leaving a peck against your skin.

“Your bone structure is ridiculous,” you murmured absently, your voice hushed as though you were speaking to yourself, your fingers still pressed where they were.

Viktor’s throat worked as he swallowed, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm he was no longer in control of. “Ridiculous good or ridiculous bad?” he asked, his tone half-teasing, though the rasp in his voice betrayed how affected he was. You could feel the movement of his lips under your hand and a hot breath coming out, warming you up.

“Ridiculous perfect,” you replied simply, fighting your brain to focus on the clay in your right hand rather than on Viktor’s soft mouth under the mercy of your left.

You took a steadying breath and worked your way up to his brow, your thumb grazing the bushy ridge, your palm cradling the side of his face as you turned it slightly to study the other angle. You could make out the first wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, and the more prominent ones of his forehead, reinforced regularly by a thoughtful frown he wore so often.

His skin warmed under your touch, the heat blooming wherever your fingers roamed. Your other hand shaped the first layers of the structure of Viktor’s face in clay, its coolness a stark contrast to what your left one was going through.

As your hand slipped down to trace the lean column of his neck, Viktor couldn’t help the quiet exhale that escaped him. The feel of your fingers—gentle but firm, your nails just barely skimming over sensitive skin—caused him to tense up in places he didn’t expect himself to, not in this context. Your thumb and index finger examined his Adam’s apple, and it slipped away from your touch as he swallowed and chuckled awkwardly. The pulse in his neck quickened under your hand, and you paused for a moment, your lips curving in a soft, knowing smile.

“You’re doing great,” you whispered, your voice soothing, though you couldn’t help the subtle tone of praise he had granted you so many times when his hands travelled across your body with equal care. “Just breathe.”

“I am,” Viktor replied, his breath there, yet hitching as you moved to his collarbone, the tips of your fingers brushing the hollow above it before trailing the length of the bone. His skin prickled under your touch, and he found himself sinking further into the couch, his limbs loosening as if you had found a secret way to unlock him.

You kept working, holding on to your focus, but Viktor couldn’t take his eyes off you. The way your hands moved—deliberate, confident, as though you were committing every inch of him to memory—was so utterly erotic, so private. The soft furrow of concentration in your brow, the way your lips parted slightly as you worked, the occasional tilt of your head as you checked your progress against the clay—all of it was unbearably intimate, the dummy becoming a labour of love under your steady hand.

His own reaction caught him off guard. His breathing grew heavier, less controlled, his chest rising and falling with a rhythm he couldn’t mask. A flush crept up his neck, and he wondered if this was what you felt like when he had you pinned to the mattress.

You paused, brushing your thumb against the side of his throat. “You’re warm,” you remarked softly, tilting your head toward him. “Is this too much?”

Viktor smiled stupidly to himself, though his voice was low and rough. “Not at all. Just—unexpected.”

You chuckled lightly, your breath skimming his cheek as you leaned closer to reach the other side of his neck. “Unexpected— good or bad?” you asked, echoing his earlier words.

“Unexpected perfect,” he murmured, placing his hand over yours and craning his neck to kiss your jaw. It was utterly disarming—what it felt like to be touched for the sole purpose of being memorised.

You smiled to yourself as your hand moved lower, homing in on the flow of Viktor’s form. The tips of your fingers trailed down his chest, pausing to trace the curve of his clavicle before brushing over the flat planes of his sternum. You gave it a firm press, mechanically forcing out the breath Viktor had been holding. You could feel his heart thundering under your fingers, and it made you lick your lips. Here, his skin was thinner, more flexible, with a speckle of tiny bumps you knew to be his freckles.

Viktor exhaled under the pressure of your palm, and you could hear him chuckle nervously. A soft smile tugged at your lips as you allowed your hand to ghost over the defined ridges of his ribs, your fingers tracing just enough to make him shiver under the tickle. The motion was slow, deliberate, your palm spreading over the warmth of his chest as though mapping the heartbeat beneath.

“You’re tense,” you murmured, your eyebrows arching, cheeks rising in an involuntary smirk.

“I wonder why,” he replied, his voice softer now, laced with dry humour and vulnerability he judged was not worth hiding anymore. He felt himself slowly being disassembled to parts, the tiniest fractions of his being, each held to the light in the safety of your hands.

His cheeks were burning and his forehead dampening as you took your time, letting your hand move lower to the flat plane of his stomach. His muscles tensed instinctively, his tummy sucking in as if too shy to be touched, his body responding before his mind could catch up.

“Relax,” you coaxed, your voice as gentle as your touch, and he let out a quiet, shaky exhale as if obeying your command.

The curve of your fingers moved over his stomach to the sides, giving him a firm squeeze to follow your words. His breath steadied only for a moment before you slid your palm flat on the V-line of his underbelly, tracing the trail of hair disappearing under his trousers. Viktor let out a breathy moan, his spine flexing into your touch as he murmured an embarrassed, “Sorry,” the sound catching in his throat. His hands gripped the edge of the couch, his knuckles pale as he worked to steady himself. “I don’t believe I’ve been this flustered in years,” he laughed breathlessly.

“I shall make a mental note of that,” you whispered with a smile, and you could hear him chuckle again.

Your fingers continued their roam, brushing along the sharp lines of his hips, where the bone protruded just enough to catch the light. The fabric of his trousers shifted slightly under your fingertips, and Viktor shifted with it, a quiet gasp leaving him before he bit down on his lower lip.

The warmth beneath your hand grew, heat radiating from him in waves. His chest rose and fell in an unsteady rhythm, and his eyes—half-lidded and hazy—watched your every movement as if he couldn’t look away.

“You’re quite sensitive, you know,” you teased softly, the curve of a grin in your voice. You could feel the dummy slowly giving in, moulding into the shape of Viktor, his curves and sharp angles, as you mirrored each of your movements.

“Sensitive, am I?” he rasped, though his tone lacked its usual sharpness. It was warm, pliant, as if every word came from somewhere deeper than his throat.

Your fingers brushed the ridge of his hipbone, and Viktor’s breath faltered again, his hands twitching as though he wasn’t sure whether to still them or reach for you. “You’re certainly proving it,” you replied, your voice low, tenderly teasing.

Viktor swallowed thickly, his head tilting back against the couch with a soft thud. “I think I need you to kiss me,” he murmured, his accent thickening as his restraint faltered further.

You chuckled quietly, withdrawing your hand but letting it rest lightly against his side. “Hmm. Do I have your consent?”

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at his lips. “W-what? I just asked you.”

“Well, I’d rather make sure. I am no Picasso. This was supposed to be professional; I will remind you,” you said, your feigned seriousness accentuated by taps of your finger against his belly.

Viktor’s eyes darkened slightly at that, his gaze dropping to your lips as he said in a pained voice, “Please don’t tell me you would touch anyone else like this, because I will lose my mind.”

You leaned back, your hands stilling for the first time. “I would never,” you whispered. You pulled out your clean hand to caress his cheek, but his arms were faster as he yanked you into a hungry kiss, smearing some of the cold clay on his chest.

Still holding you close, Viktor let out a soft laugh, running his fingers through his hair as if to ground himself. “I think I would be a terrible model,” he joked, though his voice carried the faint tremor of someone not quite recovered.

“I think you did wonderfully. And I’ve learned a thing or two,” you hummed, your lips finding his nose to place a peck on it. Which reminded you, “Oh. I forgot to trace your nose.”

“Shall I book an extra session for that?” He teased, his tone coming back to himself as his hands slid up and down your back.

“Definitely. Though I think this particular session we should move home. I am feeling very inspired.”

[fushiguruuzzzz]

MEET ME IN THE MOONLIGHT.

PIRATE!K.TETSURO X SIREN!READER

Based off of this request. Implied mentions of violence. No pronouns but fem reader in mind. -1.4k wc

“You’re in the wind, I’m in the water // nobody’s son, nobody’s daughter”

Something intensely beautiful about the ocean was its rise and fall, the roar of tsunamis and the gentle lapping of low tides against bare feet. That's what Kuroo always thought, always admired the emotion, the passion of the moon's ever changing pull. He enjoyed the thrill of waking up in the berth and spending the first five minutes of his day wondering what he’d be facing the moment he stepped out on deck. The tides weren’t just a force deciding the difficulty that would come with doing his job, they were an art—a blessing by the earth filled with mystery and life and the burning rage of mother nature. Every minute came with the anticipation of change. Kuroo always liked consistency, but this was something entirely different.

His boots clanked against the wood of the boat, dampened by the gentle rain that happened hours prior. The moon's cool light casted a fragile glow over the vast ocean ahead, and it grew larger with every step towards the edge. Every movement was driven by purpose, the thrumming in his chest growing louder as the seconds passed.

Pressing his forearms to the plank of wood that kept him from diving over the edge, the cool droplets of splashing water greeted him. It was refreshing, drawing him from the way his mind wandered to what resided beneath the tides. A better statement might be who resided within, because he couldn’t care less about the coral or sunken ships, the decaying wood meaning nothing when put against the new, life giving feeling in his chest.

He knew you’d be here. You trailed in the wake of his ship like it was your reason for breath, even though he was partially certain you didn’t have such a mortal need, anyway. If he was wrong this time, he’d retreat back to his bunk, heavy hearted and feeling sick for reasons other than the sea. But it was rare that Kuroo's instincts drove him to failure; it was what made him a good captain. It wasn’t just leadership and the confidence he strided with, it was knowing deep down when something important was nearing.

He heard a swish, louder and more idiosyncratic than the sound of hungry waves colliding with wood. His head whipped to the side, black locks of hair brushing from his face, similar to times when the winds had caught them. His heart jumped in his ribs as if drawn by the call of a siren. Or love. He thinks it was definitely love.

Through the dimness of the night, he made out a faint yet undeniably distinct outline. He was sure he had it memorized by now, after so many hours spent searching the water for even a trace of it.

He grinned like a fool, catching your piercing gaze as you peeked above the wale. It didn’t leave his lips, a dopey sort of confidence surrounding him as he pushed himself from the railing and sat. his legs dangled over the edge, so close you thought that maybe you could simply reach out and tug him into the ocean with you if you wished—whisk him away and force him into his own demise. Had you been any other being, you might have. If you hadn’t parted from the shackles of your name, his devotion would have been taken advantage of long ago. But you were different—you had grown far too fond of him for that. Truth be told, he could do the same. The glint of sharpened spears in your peripherals reminded you of such.

You took a moment to study him, how docile he looked at the moment. In the gentle glow of the moon, his messy hair appeared a deep brown and his skin looked to be a cool olive. He was pretty, you thought. Prettier than the boys below the surface, with their flowing hair and scaled tails and the lack of risk that came with cherishing them. Besides, even if Kuroo had been blessed with the unity that was sharing your species, nobody else would match the capacity to which he yearned for you. Late nights were spent gazing over the horizon and imagining the way your damp skin would feel beneath his calloused hands, and you often found yourself perched atop a rock and staring at ships from a distance, awaiting the day you’d come by his again.

“You know, in most stories told on shore, the siren calls defenseless men out to her,” he broke the silence, the softness in his voice a contrast to the snarkiness weaved thickly through his words.

Your fingers ran over the side of the boat, absentmindedly feeling the patterns of the wood. “You’re calling yourself a defenseless man?”

He chuckled, the sound ringing out over the quiet of the distance between you. He looked down, a familiar, fond gleam in his eyes. “You and I both know what I am. Is there much of a point in hiding it?”

You paused for a moment, lips tugging up into an almost imperceptible smile. “I suppose you’re right,” you agreed. “...no point in hiding.” The repetition had more meaning than it let on, and both of you knew it.

A comfortable silence settled over you for a moment, only filled by the ambience of the sea, the conflicting directions of the water and masses alike.

He drew in a shaky breath, mouth opening only to shut again. Finally, “I’ve missed you,” he said quietly, a shift from his tease only moments before. He glanced away, and you were sure that pink was starting to bloom over the bridge of his nose.

Something bloomed in your chest, familiar and welcome at the small confession. Of course he’d missed you—Tetsuro Kuroo did nothing if not longing for the blessing of your presence, but to hear him say it made a new form of affection coil within you.

“I’ve missed you too,” you breathed, voice holding a sort of gentleness that contradicted the alluring tone of your song.

“How long has it been, now?” he inquired, “Months?”

Far too long. That’s all you knew, and you knew the same thought was present with him.

With a soft nod, you spoke again. “You’ve been busy. It isn’t your fault you have a crew to support… and authorities to run from.”

His face broke into an amused grin, chest puffing out as he drew in gasps of laughter. “We do,” he said. But then his tone grew softer yet again, and though a layer of humour was wrapped around it as if to protect his heart, there was no denying the vulnerability in it. “But honestly, I probably wouldn’t be so determined if it weren’t for the hopes of meeting you again.”

A pause. Your lips parted in momentary shock. You had always known Kuroo loved you, he wasn’t exactly quiet about it, but you always figured the reason for his lifestyle ventured farther than his infatuation. Kuroo loved supporting others, he enjoyed inspiring and controlling, and he always made sure to have the last laugh. The part that you missed was that he spent every waking moment with your visage etched into the back of his mind, how he’d smooth his hands over the wood of his ship and wonder if the slivers in his skin went as deep as the way he longed for you. He knew the answer was no. From the first moment he saw you, from your first cautious glance from below, he knew that a piece of his soul had broken off and dove beneath the undertow. And as your wary appearances molded into a trust thicker than the misfortune that separated you, that bit of his being was only dragged deeper and deeper, so much so that it was becoming one with your society.

“But you know you’ll always meet me again.”

He smiled. “You’re always somewhere in the currents, sooner or later,” he agreed. “And I’m always waiting.”

He was right. As long as the two of you breathed the same air, you were bound to cross paths again. And for now, you’d share laughs and fleeting tenderness from your separate worlds, united as one.

Gen tags: @sh0ot1ngst4r @azinniyaa @kashee-h @fiannee @bubybubsters @lizbix @aldebrana

@cherrysurf & @wakeupmaddie also asked to be tagged 🙂‍↕️

[natsuminmin]

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆ CHATBOX LOVE -> kenma kozume !!!

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ NEVER MET! by CMTEN , glitch gum

synopsis; in which kenma is sent into a spiral after seeing a familiar username cw: deff slight angst, discord type-love , usage of baby , erm exes trope , kenma crash out , unproofread + lowercase , implied f!reader but can be interpreted as gn!reader , idk if its ooc but prob eek,

"and even though it's been a week, i still think of your face"

already? wow, a week since you had ended things with kenma. to him, it felt like months. years, even, which was why he decided to stop counting the days.

so imagine his surprise when he had randomly matched up with you in roblox.

he swears it was you, had all the the same numbers in your user, all the same accessories in your avatar.

he just had to type in the chatbox, he didn't care how desperate he sounded, he wants you back:

kod5uken : [baby? baby thats u right? its kenma]

skibidi1234 : [uhhh no sorry dude idk you]

ah. and then skibidi1234 left, probably weirded out. damn it, he was hallucinating now. on top of that, he was stupid enough to say his real name online.

he left the game himself too, closing roblox in a rage. he wanted to sleep, but his puffy eyes and stuffy nose made it hard to do so.

─── ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ───

barbie : [kenma we need to talk ]

kennie : [what is it]

barbie : [lets break up]

kennie : [oh]

kennie : [okay]

barbie : [im sorry, i cant juggle you and studies]

─── ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ───

that was the last he's heard from you because you've blocked him on everything. hell, you even blocked him on spotify. he should've listened when everyone told him e-dating was going to ruin him.

but how could he resist? he had fallen in love with you already. you were his perfect partner; games with him (somewhat bad, but you both managed), funny, attractive, his type. it's just unfortunate that you had to live miles away from him.

kenma's done sooo much impulsive things just for you: blew all his money on the latest 2-player game from steam so he could play with you, vc'ed until the latest hours of night just so he could keep talking to you, he even skipped some volleyball practices so he could come home earlier just to see you in a video chat.

ugh, he can't count all the times he's lost his dignity either. he had called you "his barbie" and he called himself ken. oh god, that was probably one of the cringiest things he's said in his life.

and don't even remind him about online karaoke, god knows how much screen records you have of his voice breaking mid-song.

speaking of records, he can't bear to delete all the adorable pictures you sent while updating him about your day. he's always liked seeing what weird and interesting things you've done. but worst of all, he's kept screenshots of every loving and tender message from you that had flustered him (spoiler alert: anything you said made his ears red.)

he opened the album he had moved the screenshots to, scrolling through it until his eyes settled on a certain one:

─── ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ───

barbie : [baby u live in japan right?]

kennie : [mhm]

barbie : [nice]

barbie : [just wait, im gonna buy tickets to fly there soon]

kennie : [ur crazy]

barbie : [sure yes whatever... i luv u ken :P]

kennie : [i love you too]

─── ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ───

oh, dear. he can feel tears running down his cheek again. yep, there it was. his recently cleared sinus was blocking up again. damn it, he thought, as he wrapped himself tighter in the sheet. he can't even enjoy playing his games anymore.

kenma still misses you, from the very day you left him. you were his perfect partner, even though you had heartlessly shattered his heart and he would probably never entrust someone with it.

you know what, he'll never respond to some random dm ever again.

unless it was from you, of course.

"it'd be better if we had just never met"

a/n: was a request from two of my dearest friends who suprisingly are kenma luvrs LOL hi guys @rahhhr @terrariumaura also this was a nod to his 2020-self ik this was so cliche and someone has probably done this but i hoped you like my own (short) spin on it guys do uu know the genius that thought of their chat names BECAUSE BECAUSE THE SONG GOES LIKE "REMEMBER WHEN I CALLED YOU MY BARBIE AND I WAS KEN" IT FITS SO WELL BECAUSE KEN-MA okay bye

[caelivir]

congrats on 600!! best friend’s brother with karasu to memphis by justin bieber please ♡

now playing: memphis by justin bieber

ree your mind is amazing i was giggling the whole time i was writing this. i hope you enjoy this <33

content. karasu x fem!reader, mention of weed and mentions of/implied drinking (karasu and reader are drinking age in this), making out | wc. 1.3k (i tend to get carried away)

it happened by the chance of the heavens placed into a bottle. you should've thanked whoever was up there for ensuring that your best friend was nowhere to be found when this occurred. she would've killed the both of you if she saw.

that night your friend group had joined together with karasu's during a party for a classic, teenage game of spin the bottle. you had tried backing out, terrified of the possibility of it ever landing on karasu, yet your attempts to worm your way out of it were thwarted. when it was finally your turn to spin, you held your breath. your hands were clenched into tight fists as it went around the circle. as it slowed, you felt your heart pound in your ears. it inched closer and closer to karasu, and you were begging the bottle to turn a little bit more to the right in order to pass him.

but it didn't. it stopped and pointed to him as clear as day. your eyes snapped up to him, complete mortification written all over your face. karasu on the other hand was amused, and it didn't help that cheers bloomed from the people surrounding you.

your mind was in such a frenzy that you didn't even remember crawling over to him. he laughed at how tense you were. he saw the panic behind your eyes.

"relax." karasu had whispered to you, and only you, before he pressed his lips to yours, hand sneaking upwards to cup your face.

it was baffling how easily you melted into its softness. as you moved your mouth against his, fireworks exploded in your stomach. for a brief moment, you were thankful that the group had decided that pecks weren't counted as a kiss. they wanted three seconds of action, and that's what you gave them.

the moment you crawled back into your spot on the floor, the rest of the game went by in a blur. you weren't fully present when you kissed other people. you don’t remember who they were. the only thought on your mind was that they didn't feel like him.

ever since that night, you've been fucked, ruined completely.

you swear you're going insane having karasu on your mind 24/7. you imagine what it’d be like to touch him, to graze your finger on the mole under his left eye. what would it be like to sit on his lap? to be held in his arms? to kiss him until you couldn’t breathe?

these thoughts make it impossible for you function when he’s near because it reminds you of your fantasies. you’ve dodged him in his own home. a gut feeling tells you he has something to say. you could feel his eyes on you at dinners, and his burning gaze forces you to stare at your plate.

it’s so pathetic how you badly you want him. you've never wanted anyone more in your life, but you can't do a single thing about it. he's your best friend's brother, and that is a relationship you know you can't have. it's a line you don't want to cross.

but fuck, karasu has been making it so difficult tonight.

you're both attending a party hosted by reo. you didn't want to attend in the first place, but your best friend ignored your protests. now you're stuck with the bass that's booming against your feet. there’s too many people and too many drinks littered around. and because your friend groups are too intertwined, karasu is too close for comfort.

his demeanor’s shifted. he’s messing with your head and he knows it. everytime your eyes meet, he’s throwing you a knowing smirk as he takes a sip of the drink in his red solo cup. you could feel him staring when you were forced to dance. any time he has to brush past you, his hand grazes your waist. he can feel you tense under his touch.

he’s suffocating you, and you need air.

“i’ll be right back.” you say into your best friend’s ear. she nods at you with a smile. you abandon your circle of friends, leaving your drink behind.

you maneuver your way through the countless people inside. you have no clue where you’re going. the flow of the crowd spits you out. you end up outside where the party is still in full swing.

reo’s backyard is packed with plenty of partygoers surrounded by the pool playing beer pong or taking body shots. you ignore them, navigating your way to find somewhere more secluded. the side of the mansion is surprisingly that. the air is fresher, lacking the odor of weed and don julio.

you lean against a wall, exhaling a pent up breath out of your mouth. you press your head against the wall, casting your gaze upward. the sight is disappointing. from what you can observe, there are only a handful dotted on the night sky.

"(y/n)." a voice, one that you know too well, calls out to you. the sound of it makes you jump in your spot.

what the hell is he doing here?

"did you follow me here?" you ask shocked. karasu continues his march towards you. you look around for an escape.

"oh yer not leavin' if that's what yer thinkin'." karasu scoffs as he stands before you, crossing his arms. even in the dark you can tell how buff they are. "try runnin' i dare ya."

"what do you want?" you hope he can't sense the nerve in your voice.

"what do i want?" he echoes, closing the distance between you two. you're already backed up against the wall. you gulp as he practically cages you in, one leg between your legs and one hand placed by your head. "ya know exactly what i want."

"i'm sorry?" you choke.

"yer not dumb i said what i said." karasu raises his free hand to trail down your jaw.

is it possible for your heart to be leaping for joy while simultaneously sinking to the core of the earth? it doesn't matter because that is exactly what it's doing right now.

"y'know, i haven't stopped thinkin' about ya since we kissed. deep down, i know yer aware of that." he continues confessing. karasu's fingers move to toy with your bottom lip.

"karasu-" you start.

"i could give ya everythin' if that's what ya want." karasu pulls his eyes up to meet yours. "but yer makin' it so difficult fer me. ya keep fuckin' dodgin' me."

"your sister-"

"forget about her." he snaps, making your mouth fall shut. "tell me if ya want this. do ya want us?"

you know you shouldn't, not without talking to your best friend first. but that logic blurs when karasu's hand is a damn blaze against your skin, and his lips are begging for your attention. your heart is threatening to rip out of your chest. it knows exactly what it wants like how a compass knows true north, and you can't deny it that.

"you." you choke out. "i want you, karasu. i need you."

you both move at the same time. your hands are bunching up his shirt, and he's pressing himself to your body.

and then your lips collide. god, it's even better than the last time. it's messy, desperate, and hot.

karasu doesn't know where to place his hands. for a moment, they're cupping your face. the next they're on the sides of your throat. he settles on your waist, giving it a gentle squeeze as his tongue swipes at your bottom lip. you let him in, accidentally whining when you do, which causes him to smile.

you release the grip you had on his shirt. you're sure it's wrinkled now. you'll apologize later, but you're sure karasu won't even care. you're hands trailing a path up to his neck. he's just beginning to slide his hands under your top when you're both screamed at by a voice that you know better than your own mother's.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TWO DOING?!"

oh shit.

want more? check out my aux event!

[dreaming-hibi]

In my quest to better understand the dying will flames’ system in KHR, I once again went into a deep dive of both the manga and the anime (as I have few other sources to consult). I immediately got derailed by the rings. 

I began my search at the very beginning of the future arc, considering that’s where most of the explanation on the dying will flames is, and found some interesting facts about the rings before I found anything about the flames. The interesting facts opened a can of worms I had purposefully decided to overlook many times, but now it was open so dig in I did!

In chapter 139, Lal explains the rules of fighting in the future. Fights in the future are fought with rings and boxes, completely changing the whole fight aspect of KHR going from there. Anyway, 

「リングはマフィアの黎明期に暗黒時代を生きぬくために」

“At the beginning of the mafia, the rings were (used) to survive in its dark age.” = when the mafia started, the purpose of the rings was for survival (perhaps through legitimization of the power? as rings are passed from one generation to the other, especially from boss to boss)

「先人達が闇の力との契約を交わしたことの象徴だと思われてきた・・・」

“It has been considered to be a symbol of a pact made between our ancestors and the forces of darkness” = the rings were so weird and mysterious that everyone thought they were forged from a satanic ritual

「だが沈黙の掟に守られてきたマフィアのリングには 人知を超えた力が宿っていたんだ」

“However the mafia rings, which were protected by the vow of silence (omertà), held a power far beyond human comprehension” = only the mafia rings protected by the omertà hold powers, and these powers are beyond human understanding

Lal points out that Tsuna and Gokudera must have seen the rings light up with flames at least once. And while she’s interrupted when she tries to explain that the rings are capable of more than just that, it’s obvious that she was hinting at the rings’ ability to open boxes. Lal’s explanation makes it very clear that only MAFIA RINGS are capable of… er, lighting up. So what do we understand from this? 

Mafia rings are made with a special conductive material, which automatically transforms wave energy into visible dying will flames. This material is not found in common rings, something which simultaneously answers a lot of questions and rises just as many. 

You can’t accidentally light up a wedding ring or a candy toy ring just because it’s a ring and you know how to use dying will flames

Where the hell is everyone finding all these rings? 

 If they’re not finding them and actually making them (implied by Gokudera’s Skull Rings used for his Sistema C.A.I), how come everyone seems to know the recipe for making these rings but still consider them “Oh so mysterious”? 

Who the fuck crafted all these rings? And still is! (cause the Varia gets some custom-made rings)

Further down the line, we also get a ranking system for the rings, with E-rank being a low grade ring and an A-rank being the highest grade of ring, and the Tri-ni-sette being OVER RANK-A (basically SS). Considering the Tri-ni-sette was made from the seven stones supporting the Earth, it’s obvious how they would be of superior quality — which to me honestly just confirms that the mafia rings as a whole are made with a special material, not on par with the seven stones but somehow similar material.

So, the difference in quality of rings is probably due to: 

High quality material (A-rank) vs low quality material (E-rank) (it’s the same principle as choosing which material to use for a normal ring, some are more durable while others tarnish easily so think of it like that)

.

.

.

Where was I going with this?

[fernfie]

best friends

[hinamie]

I don't want to regret the way I lived

[formosusiniquis]

When Mike Wheeler, red faced and still faintly tear stained, asks him how he knew he liked both Steve doesn’t know how to tell him it was his sister.

Before Nancy Wheeler it had only been boys. Before Nancy Wheeler Steve had been sure he was gay and knew well enough to keep it to himself; dating around enough to earn himself a protective reputation. Before Nancy Wheeler there’d been Marcus Summers, from the baseball team, during freshman year. Steve had gone to every game, and had been forced to make up excuses about schoolwork and his other commitments when asked why he hadn’t tried out for himself. Before Nancy Wheeler there’d been Tommy Hagan. The summer between seventh and eighth grade had been very kind to Tommy, he was sunkissed and boy next door sweet, Steve had wanted to hold his hand and count the freckles across the bridge of his nose. 

Before Nancy Wheeler there’d been his first love, a boy who only visited one summer, the year Steve turned ten. His name had changed every time they hung out but he’d favored E’s. Eli, Emmett, Elliott, Eric, Excalibur, Excelsior, and once for about an hour Wayne. His hair brushed his chin in pretty brown curls and his big brown eyes were always bright with excitement. He always got storm off mad when any of the other boys they’d played with that summer said he was acting like a girl, E would run off to the woods and Steve would always follow. E always came up with the best games anyway, he didn’t like playing soccer or HORSE or anything else with rules that couldn’t be bent; he preferred imagination games where they were knights or wizards. He didn’t laugh when Steve said he always liked playing house, but never wanted to be the dad because why would he want to be someone who never wanted to spend any time with his kids. E who, while insisting on being called Samwise all day, was his first kiss.

Cause he knows what Mike wants to hear. He’s seen the way Mike and Will have danced around each other since the last portal closed. He’s heard the things Mike has said to and about Will. He’s heard all about the week that Will was in the Upside Down. He’s heard all about the summer of ‘85. He’s heard all about the final off again that seems to officially mark the end of Mike and El romantically. He knows that Mike wants him to say that he’d never even thought about boys before he met Eddie. That there’s just something special about Eddie that makes him want to give up his lady killing ways. That Eddie was different. That it was okay that he was having these scary new thoughts, maybe Will was just an exception.

And Steve doesn’t know how to have that conversation. When he realized he liked both it was a relief, that maybe he could have something normal and wouldn't have to spend his life lying or hiding. 

But Eddie was different. Eddie was special. Eddie was probably it for Steve which is scary in a different way that he’s not ready to touch yet -- not when it’s only been three months.

There’s never been another girl since Nancy Wheeler, not really

There will never be another boy after Eddie Munson.

So he tries to help, as best he can. It’s easier with Eddie there, not quite dozing against his shoulder -- the kid’s emergencies always seem to come so late at night these days. “When I was ten, there was a boy whose name kept changing who decided prince charming should get to kiss his faithful knight. And when I was sixteen, your sister-”

Mike’s goodwill diminishes quickly as his sister gets introduced to the conversation.

“Stevie,” Eddie says. It’s not an admonishment for bringing up Nancy. It’s awestruck and watery. “You remember that?”

“Of course I remember the first boy I ever loved," that word catches up with him a second later. Remember. 

Cause there's Eddie with his riot of brown curls and his Bambi eyes. Eddie, who has explained why soft feminine words chafe against his skin leaving him itchy and anxious. Eddie, who has an Uncle in Hawkins. Eddie who moved to town the summer before he entered high school with a buzzed head and his mother's last name. Eddie who finally settled into an E he liked best.

"Wheeler, here's a tip from me to you," Eddie says, his advice is always better received than Steve's anyway, "if you have to ask you probably already know."

"Straight people don't really spend much time wondering if they aren't really straight," Steve agrees.

They don't rush Mike out the door, a crisis is a crisis and even in the wake of new discoveries Mike deserves to be heard out. Deserves a chance to cry and rage and feel those emotions someplace safe from his Reaganite father -- just as much as Will deserves to have someone who knows what they want come to him, deserves better than experimentation.

They cross the bridge from late into early by the time Mike sets off. The sun is creeping up over the horizon and Mike looks solid, certain; the dawn hints at the man he is growing up to be. Though every instinct of Steve's begs him to drive the kid home, Eddie's soft hand lingering at his hip holds him fast. They wave instead, encouraging Mike to go home and to bed before he does anything; knowing his front bike tire is already pointed toward the Byers-Hopper place.

"The first boy you ever loved, huh, Stevie?" Eddie teases before the door has even managed to click shut.

"And the last, I'm hoping, if I play my cards right."

"You were always pretty good at that. You were the only person that summer who called me by my name, except Wayne."

"It was your name." He knows that's too simple. Knows how hard Eddie has had it, continues to have it. But that summer it had been that simple, Eddie trying on names like shirts each one fitting until they didn't. "For what it's worth, I like Eddie a lot more than Excalibur."

"Oh fuck off, I was going through a fantasy knight phase. Which I know you remember."

"Right a phase, and how much longer is this fantasy 'phase' going to last?"

They're the kind of tired that makes you feel drunk, when Eddie tackles Steve and sends them both to the floor and to giggles. Eddie might not have been his bi awakening, but Steve is pretty fine with him being his everything else.

[cuppajj]

I made an x reader one shot for a friend and wanted to share it! I’m not confident in my writing to post it haha but I wanted you see anyway! ^^” but I hope you like it despite how ass my grammar is LMAO

You were in the Vanilla kingdom, tucked away in the palace. It was a bright sunny day, the wind calm with a pleasant breeze to break the heat of the morning sun. You awoke to the scent of vanilla, strong as it always was in this growing ‘kingdom’- at least that’s what you call it. Speaking of he, Saint Vanilla wasn’t present in the room. You shifted in the sheets of your bed, the scent of vanilla still lingering so he likely had checked in on you before leaving. Likely for morning sermon. You sighed as you took in the moment of peace you’ve been granted. It’s been rather hard staying in the vanilla kingdom, you missed home.. you missed having alone time. You could tell, that despite being physically alone, you were still being watched. The eyes the of the vanilla orchids always following you, even in your shared living space.

You were seized on a morning such as this one, the Saint taking great interest in you. You had spoken with him as Pure Vanilla, considered him a close friend even… those feelings must have carried over when he became a beast. He didn’t purify you on the spot. Instead, he opted to save you for last. You remembered it clearly.

The benevolent Saint Vanilla had you cornered in your own home, his lambs standing at the front doors, windows blocked with similar forces. His arms outstretched like a best friend member reuniting with you… except he wasn’t your dear friend anymore. He was someone else now- the sweet man you knew for years twisted into some.. beast. He took a step closer. The air tensing as you stared at his hands, his eyes calm despite the ever flowing tears. Until he finally spoke.

“Please forgive me, Bluebird.. for my soul is tainted with greed and selfishness. Your beautiful heart and mind deserve the freedom and safety of purification and as much as I know that, I cannot bring myself to go forward with your salvation.” He cooed softly, like how you would reassure a stray animal into approaching you. In a way, he sort of was. You pressed your back into the corner you sought protection in with no where else to go but to him. “I am afraid I cannot rescue you yet… but do not fret. Instead, you shall have the greatest honor of all, should you stay by my side. You shall witness my ascension, my deliverance as I rescue all of Earthbread!” His smile grew a touch warm as he finally closed the space between you, his arms wrapped around you now. He was warm… his robes of silk dances on your trembling skin. Despite the danger you faced, you were oddly.. calmed by his embrace. Though you couldn’t bring yourself to hug him back you were too terrified out of your mind to move- after all one wrong motion and you were as good as the dust that lingered on your shelving. He spoke up once more, “I hope you can forgive me and my selfish soul. I do promise to rescue you from this world one day.. you’ll be mine in this world and the next… I promise.” You could feel his tears stain your shoulder, but you refused to be fooled by such crocodile tears. He’s ‘purified’ entire civilizations- he was a beast but you were his lamb.

So against better judgment, you stayed in that bed, ever since that faithful day you aimed to change his views one step at a time and mend the broken man he’d become. Perhaps you can save the world from his ever gleaming kindness through peace. Though, as you reminisced and contemplated, the savior himself entered the room after sermon. Ah right… you slept through that. Though he was never upset, even now all he ever wore was a soft, welcoming smile.

“Ah. Good morning, little lamb.” He chuckled, walking over to your side of the bed and petting your hair. You on the other hand sat up finally after bed rotting and looked up at him, a smile on your face to match his. “Heh.. Good morning. Sorry I slept through another one of your… meetings.” You always hated calling them sermons despite what the lambs say. It felt too cultish- you were still denial that’s what this was. “Oh, don’t worry your little head about it, orchid.. you need your sleep to stay as strong as always.” If you didn’t know any better, he was the gentlest and kindest soul ever. You wish that he was… “Thanks.. you’re always so understanding.” You sighed in minor relief, it’s not like you expected him to upset about it after all- he never really experienced anger like that as far as you knew. “How can I not be? Every soul is bound to make mistakes. It’s merely the nature of it. If getting extra sleep is what aids you in your strength and safety then so be it..”, He responded. As you two had your conversation, the Saint had found your cheeks and gently played with them. Holding your face his hands, gently massaging, and over all just being as physically affectionate as he usually was. His hands were usually used for killing so you theorized that he enjoyed having someone to hold without the need for them to turn to dust. Even if he believed it was a necessary sacrifice for the greater good of the soul it must be nice to have something- someone tangible. “Now then,” He spoke up, “Why don’t we get up and out of bed? We have a beautiful day ahead of us and I think a walk would do you some good, my little flower.”

✨

[tiredpacdad]

most exhausting hospital trip ever

[raptureshots]

happy pride month, Frank Fontaine doodle upon ye

[tacagen]

dont know whether zixx is a bishop clone or not? a 100% accurate test: put a wedding in front of him and see what he does.

[jonathanbyersphd]

This whole "I didn't see the heavily implied thing on my screen so it didn't happen" trend in fandom spaces rn has gotten so irritating

[astranauticus]

finally put together a sheet for (some of) my ocs..... skjfahksjhfk

anyway please send me asks about them (and penny's work partner i don't have a design for yet) and i will try my best to answer 👍

[randomwriteronline]

Perditus grunted a little as he adjusted his leg while laying down against the rock. It was a pleasant day, all things considered: the sun was warm without being smoldering, the winds were strong but not as harsh as usual, and he had something to make the pain a little more bearable.

With his eyes shut he fished a flint lighter and a medicinal sghitt out of the pouch under his thigh armor.

He didn't bother looking as he heard footsteps approach quickly; medication stuck between his teeth, he clicked lazily until he caught the telltale crackle of papery tissue catching fire, took the longest, deepest inhale he could, soaking in the acrid taste and familiar burn in the back of his head, and let an enormous cloud of septic-smelling smoke blow out of his mouth with a growling sigh.

His fellow debtor sat beside him nervously, scanning the horizon.

"Any news?" he asked.

"I was going to ask you," the Glatorian replied.

"None, then."

"None."

Hard nails tapped far too quickly against the rock.

Perditus took another drag. The numbing effect was starting to take hold of his anguishing limb.

"Do you think it'll be soon?" Atakus asked.

The Tapyri exhaled: "Maybe."

"Yes or no?"

"Maybe, I said."

"Maybe means nothing," the other said, glaring at him with his typical nervous anger, the fact that the larger being still wasn't looking at him inconsequential: "Will it be soon, yes or no?"

A shrug: "Probably, yes."

"You think?"

"Unless he wants to observe these freaks of nature do their merry little dance in a new environment for a while. But I'll bet a guy like him has already watched them long enough to get bored by now."

Another pause.

The hard nails were now scratching at the stone.

Another long drag and a puff of smoke.

"Do you think he'll kill us before or after the plan's done?"

"Who knows," Perditus answered lazily. He reclined his head to better bask in the sun. "Before would be a little annoying. For us, of course, he wouldn't care if we never saw what all this thankless work has been for. But then again we're his cannon fodder - maybe he'll wait till he has no need even for that."

He played with his sghitt, turning it between his fingers.

The knowledge that his eventual instantaneous murder would be inevitable had slowly but surely numbed him to the very same fact across the span of the many, interminable centuries that had passed since the day he'd started wracking up this blasted debt, and his only request (which he knew would never be taken into consideration) was to be allowed to die slowly, painfully, so that he could at least feel the life leave his body properly; but Atakus had never managed to make peace with the horror of their shared fate, and now that the moment was drawing near he was every day a little closer to losing his mind completely to the horror of his situation.

Frankly he was surprised the Potori had lived this long, with as anxious a disposition as he had. He'd always imagined he'd get out of his shackles with a stroke.

And yet here they both were.

Awaiting the second coming of a cruel god.

And while entire species were about to be massacred into heaps of melting, wailing scraps any second or day or month now, they were sitting against a rock under a pleasantly warm sun bathing in its light.

He could hear the Agori's irregular breath become louder.

"How's your leg?" Atakus asked in a fruitless attempt at changing the course of his spiraling thoughts.

"Hurts as usual." Perditus replied. "How's your heart?"

"Beating too fast," the Potori answered, "As usual."

The Glatorian's hand leaned over to the smaller being, offering the sghitt between his index and middle: "Take as many as you need."

The medicine was taken from his fingers by significantly shakier ones. He listened to the air slither with a long hiss into Atakus's lungs for the first time; the second was a little longer, a little less frantic, followed by a loud sigh; the third time was slow and deliberate, finally a little more at ease.

He listened to the sound of Skrall armor scraping against stone as the Agori laid back against the warm rock with him. A smaller hand placed the medication back in his palm, and he hummed gratefully before taking another drag himself.

The wind picked up slightly and dragged the smoke away from them.

He opened his eyes blearily, squinting in the sun.

Such a nice day.

Something far, far away, up in the clear sky, exploded. He saw the burst, a blot of bright hot color tearing apart the stratosphere, and long lines of white and faint red as pieces of whatever that was tried to land on Spherus Magna; but the destroyed body was barely above the size of a dot from where he was, and its meteors shriveled up into dust before coming anywhere close to the highest point available for them to strike, and in the end nothing of whatever tragedy had just transpired mattered at all.

The Glatorian hummed.

"Did something happen?" Atakus asked, eyes closed.

"No," his companion reassured him. "Relax."

The Potori did not respond, and got a little more comfortable.

Perditus glanced at him.

Maybe it made sense - he mused for a second, a second only - for Velika, of all cruel, paradoxical beings, to one day have complete and total control over this cruel, paradoxical world.