#look at this chaotic gremlin of a cross

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 10

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, family issues, generational trauma, self-growth, personal issues (and dealing with it), hurt and comfort, hmmmm…. let’s leave it at that for now :) A/N: Final chapter, guys! Thanks so much for reading <3

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

“Oh, what the hell—since when do you cook?”

“Bitch,” you laugh, nudging past them, the ceramic pot still steaming in your hands. “Do you want the risotto or not?”

The scent of garlic and pecorino permeates the air as you stand in front of the small foyer of the duplex where your friend—questionable, at the moment—lives. Your most recent culinary masterpiece, deemed safe (enough) for public consumption, rests between your hands in silent offering to the skeptic figure who’s barring you from crossing the threshold. 

It’s still warm, and you’re not one to brag, but you think you’ve outdone yourself with this one. Not that it matters—everybody’s a fucking critic these days.

“Risotto?” Khol parrots in disbelief. “You don’t show up in forever, suddenly you’re all cuoca straordinario or some shit. Get out of here with your Mario ass–”

“Don’t mind them,” Anna interjects from behind your biggest hater, all cheer as she plucks the pot from your hands. “This smells amazing, actually. Come in!”

With that, she vanishes inside, leaving you and Khol alone in the doorway. You give them a knowing look.

“Oh wow,” you remark, all mock surprise. “You live together now?”

Khol rolls their eyes, already tired of you. “You missed the biggest arc of the last five months, but yeah.”

You step inside, and right away, something feels… different. It could partly be due to how much time has passed since you last visited, and it’s clearly still their place—the brooding industrial-emo aesthetic remains intact, still suspiciously close to resembling the lair of an angsty comic book antihero on acid—but it’s been overtaken by bits of boho-chic scattered all over the space.

Where there was once nothing but charcoal, vinyl, and concrete, there are now textures. Colorful woven throws drape artfully over the arm of the leather Eames sofa they won off a Craigslist bid. Tasseled pillows have multiplied across every seat surface like some kind of fabric-based contagion, while pothos vines dangle lazily from macramé hangers, stretching towards the moody Edison bulbs like they’re trying to escape the existential crisis of living here.

And then there’s the rug. Oh god, the rug. 

A comically massive tufted ‘Flower Power’ rug sprawls across the center of the room, a swirling explosion of pinks and oranges—a final, cutesy fuck you to the apartment’s formerly depressing atmosphere before Khol’s new roommate staged her cheerful coup.

It should’ve been a hilarious sight, like a chaotic school art project where every kid picked a different medium to color and refused to compromise. But somehow… it works? 

Against all odds, the goth cryptid and the hippie gremlin have found domestic equilibrium.

“Love what you did with the place, Anna,” you call out, toeing off your shoes at the door. “It doesn’t look like a twelve-year-old’s fantasy bedroom anymore.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Khol laughs, shaking their head. “As if you’re one to talk. Last time I visited, you still had that stupid-ass sofa. Is it still there?”

You sniff haughtily. “Excuse you, but that’s a custom piece. You wouldn’t get it.”

"Alright, you two," Anna says, leaning against the archway between the living room and kitchen, one hip propped against the frame. "Both of you have terrible taste in decor. Now, I have a fabulous Prosecco to pair with the risotto." She tilts her head, shooting her partner a pointed look. "Khol, darling, be a dear and grab the crystal from the cupboard?"

"Whipped," you sing as Khol, predictably, does exactly as told. They don’t even bother with a comeback, just flashes you a lazy middle finger over their shoulder as they disappear from view.

You grin, shaking your head. The moment stretches into something easy, comfortable. It’s nice—being here, bantering like no time has passed. You let yourself sink into it, tugging off your beanie as you cross the room.

The creaky couch welcomes you like an old friend, and you flop down unceremoniously, stretching your legs out, rubbing your feet against the oversized monstrosity of a rug that is... honestly, pretty fucking comfortable, actually.

Anna follows suit, settling beside you with far more grace, tucking one foot under the other.

She watches you for a moment, expression warm but slightly inquisitive. “We haven’t seen you in a while.” 

You exhale, tipping your head back, staring up at the beams on the ceiling. "Yeah, sorry. Been a little out of it these past… couple of months, I guess."

Anna makes a quiet noise, something between understanding and acknowledgment. "You’re doing okay now?"

The easy answer sits on your tongue—yeah, of course. An automatic response, a reflex built from habit. Another front to put up, another lie to slip behind.

But you’ve been working on this. So instead, you take a breath and say,

"Not… really." 

The words feel foreign, heavy, but oddly freeing as they leave your mouth.

Your gaze flickers to the side table—framed photos of Khol and Anna, smiling, sunlit. You don’t linger.

“I mean, better now compared to, maybe, a few weeks ago. I’m getting there.”

Anna’s brows lift slightly—not in surprise at the sentiment itself, but at the fact that you admitted it out loud. There’s something thoughtful in her expression, something softer around the edges. “Good. That’s good.”

You can tell she means it. Maybe even more than you expected.

"Yeah."

There’s a brief lull. You catch yourself tugging at the edge of your cardigan—a nervous habit you never quite broke. The warmth of the apartment is settling in you quite comfortably, but there’s something about sitting still under Anna’s gentle scrutiny that makes you restless.

From the kitchen, there’s the unmistakable clink of glass, followed by a muffled, “shit.”

Anna exhales, long-suffering. “I don’t know why I even bother buying nice things.”

“‘Oy,” Khol’s voice carries from the other room, “get in here and help. We have, like, seven things to carry.”

You take that as your cue, trailing after Anna into the kitchen. Between the three of you, it’s quick work—bowls of warm, brothy risotto in hand, glasses of white wine balanced carefully between fingers.

By the time you step back into the living room, Khol is already dropping onto the blue accent chair near the window with all the dramatics of someone who’s worked far too hard for far too little.

You settle into your usual spot, Anna beside you. You don’t touch your food. Your appetite’s still in remission, though it’s been steadily improving lately.

Khol notices. “Now, why the hell aren’t you eating?” They shoot you a side-eye like you’ve personally offended them. “I knew it. You put something in this, didn’t you?”

“Jesus, Khol,” Anna sighs, exasperated, already two spoonfuls in. “Your diet was literally gas station burritos and eight-pack Coors before I moved in. You’ll live.”

She pauses, though, casting you a look. “Don’t get me wrong—this is really good.”

“Ha,” you retort as Khol prods suspiciously at a floating mushroom. You glare. “Are you fucking kidding me—”

“Alright, alright.” With an exaggerated sigh, Khol finally takes a bite. They chew once, twice—eyes narrowed in concentration, acting like some hard-ass seasoned judge from Top Chef. You can practically see them digging for something snarky to say—until, begrudgingly, they nod.

“Shit. This is actually pretty good. Who are you?”

You preen at the praise.

For a while, there’s nothing but the quiet clinking of spoons against ceramic, the occasional satisfied hum. It’s… nice. Comfortable in a way you haven’t felt in what feels like forever.

You’ve missed this.

Missed being here. Missed being with people.

Somewhere between the second glass of wine and the last few bites of risotto, Khol angles their head toward you, their curiosity piqued. “How come you’re free today? You on leave or something?”

You swirl the drink in your hand, watching the light catch on the amber surface before answering. “Oh, I quit my job.”

There’s a beat of silence. You don’t know what reaction you were expecting, but Khol just blinks at you. "Huh. Finally."

Anna looks mildly more concerned. "You quit?"

You nod, stretching your legs out beneath the coffee table. “Yeah. The OT was getting ridiculous, and they had me working night shifts again. That was kind of the last straw for me.”

Khol grunts in agreement. “Good fucking riddance. That job was killing you.” They pause for a beat, turning serious, contemplative. “You’re not hung up about it, are you? You’ve been bitching about that job for ages.”

You exhale through your nose, staring at the rim of your glass. “Yeah, no. I’m glad I left.” The words come easily, and they’re mostly true. But still—there’s something about suddenly having all this space, this aimless in-between, that makes you antsy. 

A thought strikes you, and you glance up. “Hey, you know if Marion's still looking for someone to work part-time at the bistro?”

Khol raises an eyebrow. "You looking to apply? It’s minimum wage, just telling you in advance."

"That’s fine," you assure them. "I just need something on the side. I’m doing freelance work right now, I just want something to fill in the gaps."

Anna perks up at that. "I think that’s a great idea. I can hit up Marion later, but I’m pretty sure they’re still looking."

Khol stares at you, and for once, they don’t have a quip lined up. No sharp-edged humor, no quick banter—just a quiet look of something almost foreign on their face. Pride. Maybe even relief. You’ve worried them. The realization jars you like a pebble dropped into a clear pond, sending ripples through the stillness of your self-imposed isolation. You hadn’t meant to, not really. It wasn’t like you deliberately wanted to disappear... But you did, didn’t you? You let the days blur into weeks, then months, telling yourself naively that no one would notice if you just—vanished for a while. Five months, to be exact.

You press your lips together, clearing your throat against the tightness creeping in. “Thanks,” you say, quiet but sincere. “Really.”

Khol snorts, and the moment shatters. “You can show your thanks by knocking ten percent off the cocktails when we visit.”

You roll your eyes, feigning exasperation. “Get me the job first, and I’ll see what I can do.”

Anna grins, raising her glass. “Now, that’s the spirit.”

––––

You get the job.

You stand in front of the fogged-up mirror, dragging your palm across the wet glass. The reflection that stares back is warped, smudged—half-formed, half-there—but unequivocally yours. 

A month ago, you wouldn’t have been able to say that with certainty. Back then, the figure in the mirror had been more ghost than person—distant, spectral. Fractured. Someone you watched from the outside, not as a host of the flesh you inhabit. 

Now, though, the pieces are starting to slot back into place. Some are still missing, and others don’t quite fit as they once did. You doubt it will ever return to how it was… But slowly, a familiar shape is coming back into focus. More than the shadow of a woman, but you.  Time moves like water carving through rock—gradual, barely perceptible, but steady. Inevitable.

The shifts are diminutive. A morning where you wake up feeling less crushed by the weight of grief in your chest. An afternoon where you suddenly break into laughter, and you realize it’s the first time you’ve heard it in weeks. A quiet night where you go to bed without feeling like you’re stuck frozen in an endless loop of wishing, waiting for the impossible.

You’re here, alive. Present. And for the first time in what feels like a lifetime, you’re doing more than just holding on.

(You think he’d be proud of you.)

And the thought doesn’t leave you aching the way it used to.

––––

“You think I can handle taking care of another living thing? Like a plant?” You ask Maru, glancing at him lounging by the window, right where a sliver of afternoon sunlight spills across the floor. “I mean, I raised you well enough, I think. But you’re pretty self-sufficient anyway.” Maru looks unimpressed. His tail flicks once—dismissive, uninterested—before he returns to grooming himself, utterly indifferent to both your question and your sudden enthusiasm for gardening. “Well, if your dad can grow plants in that dungeon he calls a base, I’m sure I can manage,” you mutter unconvincingly. “How hard can it be?” 

–

By the middle of the second week into your little project, you begrudgingly admit that your tiny repotted begonia isn’t exactly thriving. You don’t want to be a pessimist, but the (browning) margins seem to curl inward—more than they should, if the reference pics on that “Indoor Succulents” blog you’re subscribed to are anything to go by. 

You eye it dubiously, trying to stay gung-ho about the whole thing, forcing yourself to look up care tips again. It’s just a plant. Not rocket science. So you do the research, gather more supplies, and give it another shot. You reposition it closer to where the sun lands—earning a disgruntled hiss from the sunbathing feline—and sprinkle a careful amount of water just beneath the leaves, closer to the root. Then you lean back, waiting, tapping your foot impatiently like it’s supposed to just... fix itself.

–

The next few days pass with you watching it more than you’d care to admit—checking, hoping, second-guessing yourself. 

You narrow your eyes at the leaves, more russet than Inca Flame red, still hanging limp like a sad testament to your lack of skill. 

But you keep at it, because you’re nothing if not stubborn.

–

A single flower has bloomed.

You stand there, spray bottle in hand, caught in quiet awe at the metallic pink sprout peeking through the foliage. It’s small, delicate, barely more than a bud, but unmistakably there—nestled among heart-shaped leaves that, for the first time in weeks, look alive. Brighter. 

A faint smile tugs at your lips. It’s not groundbreaking, not by a long shot. But it’s something.

The fragile blossom clings onto dear life, stubbornly seeking the sun rays, inching toward the warmth it needs to grow—larger, stronger.

You can’t wait to bear witness to it. 

––––

You’re not entirely sure how you ended up in this situation; all you could recall past the sweat blurring your vision is the memory of being in front of the reception desk, pen in hand, scrawling your name onto the sign-up sheet for beginner boxing lessons. 

It’s not… something you planned on doing, really. You’d been showing up for the past week, trying to convince yourself that fitness was something you could get into. Something you could stick with. But this one’s more of an impulse decision, fueled by a mix of post-workout endorphins and the misplaced confidence that sometimes follows after an extra few—unpremeditated!—minutes on the elliptical. 

It all started with a casual glance at a flyer taped to the wall beside the water dispenser.

GET TOUGHER, FASTER, STRONGER! SIGN UP NOW!

The cheesy tagline stared you down as you were in the middle of refilling your teal green AquaFlask. And for some dumb reason—sheer curiosity, definitely not because it reminded you of a certain someone—you thought: Why not?

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you’d marched straight up to the nearest staff at the counter, credit card in hand, and asked to sign up. Now, as you stare at the buff woman currently goading you to hit harder, reality sets in and you feel a little lightheaded. Even slightly delirious.

“Up, up–” your trainer urges, somehow not even remotely out of breath, despite being thirty grueling minutes into the session. Meanwhile, you’re standing there, red-faced and sweating like a fucking pig. “Keep your arms up at all times, alright?”

You pant, nodding weakly, fixing your posture. She gives you an approving nod in return.

It’s part of the whole self-improvement thing, anyway. Pushing yourself. Fitness, jazz, and all that. You’ve never had much inclination for sports or anything remotely physically taxing, as far as you can recall.

…Or maybe that decision was made for you the moment you tried out for volleyball in high school and took a spike straight to the face. A memory so humiliating, that your brain did you a favor and buried it deep in the recesses of your mind. 

But things are different now! You’re trying new things. You’ve done wall climbing, aerobics, even pulled a hamstring attempting HIIT Tae Bo. And if getting punched in the face is the next step in this… wellness journey, then, well, so be it. You’ll take it with a brave face and, hopefully, minimal bruising to both body and ego.

You slog through two sets of combos and thirty jab-straight-hook-uppercuts, punching like your life depends on it. You’re wheezing like an asthmatic child, and you’re about one bad punch away from toppling over.

Then, mercifully—

“Okay, that’s enough for today.”

Oh, thank god.

“You did good,” she tacks on, flashing you an encouraging smile, like you didn’t just spend the last half hour flailing at the focus mitts with all the grace of a wrecking ball.

You stare at her, unconvinced. Did I? Because from where you’re standing—wobbling, really—you’re pretty sure you looked closer to an overstimulated toddler throwing hands with gravity, but sure. It must’ve been in the fine print, to segue in a little positive reinforcement. Probably to keep people from bolting after the first session. 

Not that you’re planning to. No, of course not. You’re just... reevaluating some things. Like your life choices. And your capacity to lift your arms tomorrow. As you trudge your way out of the yoga-studio-turned-boxing-area, still gulping for air and very aware of the soreness settling into your limbs, someone calls out.

“Hey! Wait up!”

You turn your head, blinking in confusion. A guy—mid to late twenties, give or take—jogs up to you, looking offensively too fresh compared to how you feel. “Oh, hi. Sorry, do you mean me?”

He laughs as he slows to a stop, running a hand through his shaggy hair. “Yeah, you. I saw you training with Coach. Just wanted to say—you’re improving.”

You blink. Wait, what?

A wave of mortification rolls through you. Shit, you didn’t know you had an audience. “Uh—thanks, I guess?”

You shift your weight awkwardly, clutching your boxing gloves tightly against your chest.

His grin turns sheepish, as though he realizes how that might’ve come off. “Fuck, sorry. That came out weird, didn’t it? I swear, I wasn't, like, watching the whole thing or anything.” He makes a vague gesture to his left. “The studio’s right in my line of sight when I did my TRX reps. Hard not to notice.”

You force a smile. “Ah, yeah. Figures.” 

“I’m Byron, by the way,” he offers, sticking out a hand.

Now that you get a proper look at him, you notice he’s got this kind of… geeky charm going for him. Curly hair, sleepy brown eyes behind round, rimless glasses, and shy boy-next-door vibes—except for the fact that he’s jacked.

(Honestly? Work.)

You give him your name, still smiling awkwardly. You’re about to wave goodbye and turn away when— “So, what are you doing later?”

Um.

You hesitate. “I’m, uh… heading straight home after this?” Your voice comes out a little more uncertain than you intended, mostly because you’re not really sure why he’s still talking to you.

“Yeah, ‘course,” he replies quickly, glancing down like he’s suddenly nervous. “I just… thought I’d ask if you’d wanna grab coffee sometime?”

Oh.

It takes a moment for the question to fully register. The first thought that pops in your head is: Wait, how does he know I’m a barista?

… The second thought is one of pure disbelief. Holy shit, did I just get asked out? At the gym? By the Temu version of Peter Parker?

Your face burns hotter than it did mid-workout, caught completely off guard.

“I—woah, um.” You stumble over your words, eyes quickly darting away from him. “Sorry, I already have… a boyfriend. If—if that’s what you’re leading up to.”

You say it like a question. He picks up on it.

“You don’t sound too convinced,” he comments with a light chuckle, shaking his head. “If you’re not interested, you can just say that, you know.”

A prickle of irritation flares up, followed by something sharper—something that stings. You push it down. “No, he’s just… not around.” “Ah.” He clicks his tongue sympathetically. “Long distance?” “…Yeah.” You have no idea.

He shrugs, undeterred. “Alright, no pressure. We could always just hang out as friends, if you want.”

I… don’t think I do. “Um, maybe?” you answer instead, forcing out a laugh.

“Oh, come on,” he says, his grin widening. “You can even introduce me to your boyfriend,” he emphasizes the word out, “when he gets back. Does he work out? We could all hit the gym together.”

Social anxiety is afraid of this man, you think belatedly. Unfortunately for him, you’re the very embodiment of what fears him.

You’re so out of your element that all you can manage is, “He boxes too, actually.”

“Yeah? He any good?” 

That gets an involuntary snort out of you. Unthinkingly, you say, “Could probably beat you up.”

Byron laughs, startled but amused, shaking his head as he raises his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright—message received.” He flashes you a wide smile. “Well, if you change your mind about the coffee, I’ll be around.” He jerks his chin toward the pack fly by the corner. “There, usually.”

Okay, nerd. Despite yourself, you can’t help but find the whole thing slightly hilarious. Then again, you find humor in the dumbest things. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You offer him a quick, half-hearted wave, trying (and failing) to mask your embarrassment with an exaggerated, too-casual show of nonchalance. It’s so painfully awkward, you can feel yourself internally dying from the cringe of it all.

Without another word, you spin on your heel and start speed-walking away, practically running back to the safety of your personal space.

Smooth.

––––

It’s another relatively easy night at the bistro. You’re on the last two hours of your shift, and you’re carrying a single glass of roseberry mule to serve at table four. As you round the corner, you catch sight of a student, glasses perched low on her nose, completely absorbed in a thick coursebook on Programming Languages. Papers are scattered across the table, and she looks to be utterly engrossed in her readings, unaware of the world around her. 

You don’t want to bother her more than necessary, about to set the drink down on the only clear space—by the iPad propped up on a tablet holder to her right—when something red catches your attention.

A familiar pair of crimson eyes stops you dead in your tracks.

For a moment, you feel like you’re suspended in time. The sharp memory of a similar instance where you’re in her place, and he’s there, keeping you company while he’s polishing a gun burns through your brain, and you don’t–you can’t think—

You stand there, rooted to the spot, wide-eyed and unmoving. Then, the girl’s gaze shifts to you, and a hot flush spreads across her cheeks, betraying her surprise.

With swift fingers, she locks the screen with a quick flick on the power button, pulling you away and breaking you from the echoes of the past.

“Oh, shit,” she giggles, a nervous edge to her voice. “That’s embarrassing.” 

You shake your head, forcing yourself back to the present moment. “No—no, don’t worry about it,” you chuckle weakly, setting the drink down beside her with shaky hands. “Cute guy, honestly.”

That makes her giggle louder, her eyes bright with an almost conspiratorial glint. “Oh my god, you have no idea.”

Fuck—you can’t breathe.

––––

The night hangs thick with stifling heat, accompanied by the steady ticking of the clock as you catch your breath, your broken moans too loud in the heavy silence. The sheets cling to your feverish skin, damp and uncomfortable, as your body moves in a rhythm that feels unnatural now, but still—but always—familiar.

Your chest rises and falls in shallow, rapid breaths as you force the draconic toy deep inside you. The heat, the fire—it licks at your skin, making your whole body yearn for more. To chase more of the feeling, to chase more of the memory of him. 

Errant strands of hair stick to your forehead, your chest flushed and burning, a quiet throb spreading through you with every friction, every desperate movement.

Your body aches, a relentless thrum urging you to push deeper, to find something—anything—to fill the gaping hole inside you, a wound you’ve tried to stitch shut over months, now threatening to tear its way open again, once more ripping from the seams. 

A sharp pressure builds inside you. Your body stretches too far, too much, struggling to take in what it can’t quite handle. It burns in a way that hurts, but you need it. You need to feel more, to fill the emptiness, to grasp at something that feels real.

“Yours, yours–” you tremble, desperate. “Yours. Just yours. Please.”

-

-

-

You lie in the wake of it—pleasure fading into something heavier, regret creeping in like a shadow, waiting as always.

“I miss you,” you whisper in the dark. You always do.

You try to ignore the pull of it, the sharp descent that comes with the high.

You were doing so well.

But it’s fine. You’re fine. 

Everything’s fine.

The words swirl and echo in your mind, until they’re swallowed by sounds that ring hollow. You let the moment wash over you, sinking beneath the weight of the tides, where sorrow and longing blur with the fleeting warmth of what you can’t keep.

Tomorrow will be another day. Another chance to try again.

For now, you let go of your grip on the fragile raft of sanity you’ve built, painstakingly, for months on end.

Tonight, you let yourself drown once more in the somber depths of loneliness and despair, confined within these four walls that feel—once more—like a penitentiary.

––––

The plane begins its slow descent, and through the window, the world comes into view—large swathes of land interrupted by winding roads that seem to follow no rhyme, nor pattern. A river glints faintly beneath the fading sun, while the sky turns a dull blue, a washed-out slate, streaked with the last embers of daylight.

Below, the small city stirs.

Tiny specks of color flicker to life, lanterns strung along the streets like beads on a thread, marking the season, an ending, and the inevitable turning of time. A chill hangs in the air, the wind whipping past you from the half-open window of the taxi, sharp and crisp in a way that you can only find in the province.

Your hometown. 

It all rushes past in a blur of light and shadow, an eclectic mix of old and new—some buildings unchanged, others unfamiliar, as if they’d sprung up in the years you’ve been away. It’s been a while since you last came back, long enough for the roads to feel... foreign, almost. Though muscle memory stirs when the car takes a turn. One you could have easily navigated even with your eyes closed.

Only your sister lives here now, her and her family—a couple of hundred miles far. Far enough to feel like another world, yet close enough for the past to catch up the moment you lay eyes on the old two-story house tucked away on the quaint cul-de-sac of this suburban neighborhood. 

The residential property was left to her, scrawled onto the title in an act of generosity, perhaps. Or maybe as a weight your mother never intended to carry, something meant to anchor her eldest child while she carved a different life for herself elsewhere. Free-spirited as she is, she left with the ease of someone shedding an old coat, slipping into the shoes of another, barely a glance over her shoulder.

But houses remember. And as you step out of the vehicle, your feet meeting the rough asphalt that once belonged to your childhood, you wonder if they remember you too.

"Maru, Maru!" Your five-year-old niece cries the moment she spots the grumpy feline peering through the mesh of his portable prison.

"What—no excitement for me too?" you tease, ruffling her hair. She giggles, scrunching up her nose.

"Auntie, hi! Hi!"

You snort at her enthusiasm, setting the carrier down. The second you pull at the zipper, Maru springs out, landing with a soft thud before stalking off with his usual air of disdain. Your niece shrieks with delight. 

"Ah! Cat!"

"Well, there go the chances of her socializing with her brother," your sister remarks dryly from the doorway, sauntering closer. "Hey, stranger."

"Hey," you greet, hoisting a handful of paper bags. "Where do I dump these?"

She eyes the bags. "Any of those for me?"

"You have three kids, and one of them insisted on a Lego set. Do you know how much those cost?" You shoot her a flat look. "You’re getting socks."

"Wow, stingy." She huffs but takes some of the bags anyway, hitching one onto her hip as she grabs your other hand-carry.

You step inside, and the house greets you with a riot of lights and color. Plastic tinsel and bright string lights drape across every visible surface—along the bannister, around doorways—leaving no space untouched by the festive chaos. A Christmas tree stands proudly in the corner, nearly buried beneath an avalanche of baubles and sentimental ornaments collected over the years.

The room feels swallowed by the exuberance of it all, an almost overwhelming jamboree of holiday cheer.

It’s gaudy, excessive, and completely over-the-top, but beneath it all, the bones of your childhood home remain unchanged—familiar in a way that settles deep in your chest. The Narra wood floors are still scuffed with the marks of time, there’s still the distinct tang of turpentine mixed with waxy resin and citrus you’ve long since associated with home, and the odd decorative masks still line the far wall, their painted expressions frozen mid-celebration.

Your eyes land on the canvas floater above the mantel—a whimsical cross-stitch of three women flying kites, their stitched dresses rippling in imagined wind. You remember it well, though you never quite understood why your mother had chosen that particular scene to painstakingly sew into existence. Still, it belongs here, another piece of the house's patchwork history.

Your gaze shifts to the couch, where Andrew, your sister's husband, is sprawled out, one arm lazily draped over the backrest, the other holding his phone.

He flicks his gaze up at you, offering a half-hearted wave before turning back to whatever has him so absorbed on the screen. Beside him, your three-year-old nephew is perched on his knees, bouncing with energy as he mirrors Bluey's movements on the TV with exaggerated enthusiasm, his tiny arms flailing in childlike glee.

You sigh inwardly, rolling your eyes. Typical.

“There’s a few more hours before dinner. Want to hang out in the kitchen while I roast the ham?” She asks casually, setting down your bags by the foot of the stairs. “Actually, scratch that—you’re in charge of the punch.”

“You just want a head start on the drinks,” you tease, the banter flowing easily between you. “Hey, where’s the little squirt?”

She points toward the small crib, near the island counter. “She finally stopped crying, thank god. Don’t wake her up, or you’ll be the one in charge of putting her back to sleep.”

The two of you slip into the kitchen, where the air already carries the promise of dinner—cloves and brown sugar blending nicely with the lingering scent of citrus. A tray of ham sits on the counter, prepped and ready, the scored surface glistening under the fluorescent light. 

Your sister pulls a bottle of Luisita Oro Rum and Agimat Gin from the second-to-last cupboard and places them on the counter in front of you.

"Go ham," she quips.

You give her a flat look. "You think you’re funny.”

She shrugs, unfazed, and turns her attention back to where she’d left off before your arrival. 

The two of you fall into a natural rhythm, the kind that comes from years of cooking together. You work your way through cans of Del Monte, the metallic clinks filling the space as you drain the syrup and dump chunks of mixed fruit into the large punch bowl.

Your sister leans against the counter nearby, arms folded, her gaze fixed on the oven door, as if sheer willpower alone could make the meat cook faster.

In the background, the soft drone of the TV drifts in from the living room, punctuated by your nephew’s occasional giggles.

There’s no rush, no need to fill the silence with anything more than the occasional clang of utensils against glass and the low humming of kitchen appliances. The day is winding down to a close, and for now, everything is alright.

“So, Mom called,” she says casually, one arm braced on the counter as she leans in, glancing at you. “Kept calling, actually.”

“Mm.” You reply noncommittally, shaking the last can’s contents into the crystal bowl, watching as the fruit chunks bob lazily in the pool of alcohol.

“She’s worried about you.”

You don’t answer.

“She was. She is.” Her voice shifts, more serious now. She watches you closely, noting your lack of reaction. “You know that, right?”

Your fingers tighten around the can opener, but you pull your gaze away from the bowl. “I know.”

She sighs, resigned, already familiar with this song and dance. Familiar enough to know there’s no winning this one, not tonight. Not anytime soon. “I am too.”

You blink, before looking away. “Oh.”

And maybe she does worry—your mother. But any hope of truly knowing is swallowed by the chasm between you, the one that keeps your conversations at surface level, never breaching the depths beyond. 

Your body, born from hers, perhaps more alike than you realize, might have been brought into this world with the same pains that she’s carried. The pains of separation. The unresolved hurt of being unwillingly removed from your person—her former husband, your father—and that if you and your mother were closer, you could have opened up about your own situation. Perhaps then, you wouldn’t feel like a ship that has lost its ballast, drifting endlessly in the same turbulent seas for the longest time.

But you are your mother’s daughter, and she is her mother’s daughter. There is the truth that the women in your family are not the best communicators, nor do they wear their hearts on their sleeves. So you were born mute and overly sensitive. Pain drips from you, unnoticed, like a purposeless leak in the heart. You’ll carry it with you until you die.

“But you look… okay,” she observes, cocking her head. “Are you okay?”

You swallow. For the same reason you compare your mother to a storm you can't outrun and your sister to an intermittent drizzle, you find it easier to admit, “I haven’t… been okay for a while.” 

Not wanting to bring the mood down, especially on a day like today, you quickly add, “Things are better now, though.”

She huffs out a laugh, shaking her head. “Could be a little more specific there, but I’ll take it.” She gives you an exasperatedly fond look. “You let me know if that changes anytime soon, ‘kay?”

Your lips quirk in the faintest semblance of a smile. “Yeah, okay.”

–

It’s ten minutes before midnight.

You’re leaning against the island counter that separates the kitchen from the living room, nursing a glass of the fruit punch (though it’s mostly gin, with the teensiest amount of fruit), watching your sister’s family at a distance as they eagerly wait for the clock to strike twelve. The blinds of the large living room window have been pulled up, giving an unobstructed view of the sky, ready for the first firework to light up the dark.

For a moment, you feel like an outsider, watching through a lens, as if you’re not quite part of the scene. There’s a strange sense of detachment—voyeuristic, almost—as though you're peering in on a private, intimate moment. 

Your sister cradles the infant in her arms, and that all-too-familiar pang stirs to life—the same one that always does when you look at her.

You can't quite place what you're feeling, exactly. It’s tumultuous, and it’s complex. Andrew’s practically dozing off in his seat, and you see your sister shake her head in mild annoyance. Your nephew, fighting to keep his eyes open, starts to fuss.

Something tightens inside your chest.

“Andrew,” she hisses, startling the man awake. He blinks, disoriented, before spotting their son and the early signs of an explosive tantrum.

He sighs, and pulls the boy closer to him. “Hey, hey, little guy. Look at the sky. In just a couple of minutes, the lights are gonna go boom-boom.”

Your nephew sniffs, his eyes blinking up at him as he processes the words. “Boom-boom?”

“Yeah! Just like the one we watched on TV!”

The kid’s face visibly perks up at that, bad mood quickly forgotten. “Boom-boom!”

You watch as your sister’s gaze softens, and a small smile replaces the earlier frown on her face.

And in that instant, you understand.

You look at your sister and, for a brief moment, all you see is a wretched mirror of yourself. She is all of your fears, all of your failures, and all of what you could’ve been rolled into one. Barely in her mid-thirties, and yet already carrying the weight of a family: three kids, a husband who feels like a faded echo of your father—a man who didn’t quite measure up, who never did, and just as unreliable. 

You feel the suffocating weight of it all, of being tied to a place that’s meant to be a home but feels more like a tomb, marking the passing of dreams unrealized. She’ll grow old here, buried in the same soil you both sprang from, fading into the landscape of this town that swallows its own.

You look at her and you almost feel the repressed pain of missing the last semester of college to give birth, the lament of a missed opportunity that life has stolen from her. 

You feel her pain as if it’s yours. You feel it in the marrow of your bones—her blood flowing through you. “3…” You look at her, and it feels like seeing someone bound, held down by an anchor around her foot, unable to break through the surface of freedom. You look at her and you see dreams once aglow, reduced to cinders. You look at her and see—

She glances up at you.

Oh. “2…” In the fleeting moment where your eyes meet—eyes you two share with your mother—you feel so small.

Just a kid. Shortsighted and unfairly dismissive. Too blind to see your sister’s quiet victories, too selfish to admit you’ve diminished them just so you could feel less alone about your own failures. A child grasping for meaning, unfair in the ways only children can be. “1…” And in the fraction of a second before midnight, it's as if you’ve been doused awake. 

You see her anew—what seemed like monotony is really the bedrock of stability; tenacity in place of routine. An almost single-minded doggedness to make something out of this life. You see the steadfast strength she possesses, the kind that gets her up every morning, to face the world and all its demands without question. With purpose. 

You see resilience. Compassion. Traits that you’ve always lacked, that you’ve long resented, the same traits your mother never learned to embody.

And now you see your niece in her arms, born from this, and you name the indescribable feeling that dwells in you—borne from the pure look of adoration in your sister’s eyes for her youngest daughter—as envy.

You know, with utmost certainty, that she will be okay, because she has your sister as her mother, and she is so, so loved.

As you watch them, something inside you shifts—a deep, aching realization. 

You see… home. Something you've always longed for but never truly found. “Happy new year!” The spell breaks. The two of you startle at the sudden eruption of fireworks, the distant chorus of car horns blaring from the streets outside.

Your niece and nephew jump and shriek, their laughter ringing through the room, celebrating something they barely understand but find joy in anyway. The baby in your sister’s arms lets out a wail at the commotion, and she is soothed instantly with murmurs of soft assurances. Her father struggles upright—then, with no small amount of effort, leans forward to press a kiss to the crown of her head.

The image before you is far from perfect, but it’s theirs.

“Auntie, auntie!” The little rascals cry out in unison, their voices overlapping in excitement. “‘appy n’year!”

A breathless, almost pained laugh escapes you. Still, you smile as you respond with your own, “happy new year!”

You’re tired—tired of running, of measuring yourself against the ghosts of your past. Tired of carrying the weight of a childhood that’s left you with more questions than answers, of making excuses for wounds that should have healed long since. You've spent so much time mourning the growing pains, the irreparable, that you never stopped to see what’s in front of you. 

This moment, this realization, feels like the final missing piece in the fractured puzzle of who you are.

The new year arrives, marked by the crackle of fireworks and the loud cheer from your family.

This time, you won’t hesitate. You’ll choose to embrace the change, both good and bad, with open arms. With the quiet resolve of someone finally ready to move forward.

You lift your gaze just as a brilliant burst of red explodes into the night sky, its iridescent glow bleeding into a softer silver before fading into the dark. 

A warmth settles deep in your chest—bittersweet, but steady. A quiet peace.

Happy new year, my love. . . . . . . .

.

.

.

.

. . .

The air at the threshold of Vagrant’s land is restless. Volatile. A hazy distortion ripples through it, folding and unfolding, like a lost mirage—an area of transition between worlds. Porch collapse, he calls it. 

Sylus has stood here countless times, watching the way this anomalous disturbance twists the very fabric of this reality, how it flickers in and out of form, erratic. Impossible to predict. 

It had taken him longer than he likes to admit to understand the phenomena for what it’s truly worth. Not just an alternate space caused by some spartan energy field. Not just any other protofield. But a thread. A connection. A door. 

A fault line between realities, an entryway that hums with the possibility of you.

Since the moment the idea took hold, he had thought of little else. It has consumed him in every waking moment; his entire being seeming to bend toward a singular purpose—getting to you. He had torn through endless streams of data, followed every unstable pulse of energy, mapped its fluctuations down to the smallest inconsistency.

Nights bled into days, and days bled into weeks, until he can no longer keep track. Not that the passage of time meant much to him at this point. 

He’s worked tirelessly through the stillness, through the storms of uncertainty, through the aching silence left by your absence. Ever since you’ve exchanged your temporary goodbyes. 

He had measured everything he could—the unstable frequency of radio signals streaming through the interstice. He had traced the influx in real time; recording the rate of deterioration, isolating the waveform, and filtering out outside interferences. 

But for all the data he gathered, for all the precision in his calculations, the core of this phenomenon remained just out of reach. His knowledge on the matter is rudimentary at most. He could waste years observing for abnormalities, trying to decipher how its presence has disrupted the very threads of this universe, but the why and how of it all will still elude him. 

Still, theory matters less than function. He doesn’t need to understand the full depth of it. He only needs to harness it.

It’s a gamble.

Contrary to whatever reputation he’s earned for himself, Sylus has never been one to play his cards recklessly. He deals in certainties, in probabilities stacked in his favor, in risks that—while dangerous—are still within his grasp to control. He has never been the type to leap without knowing where he’d land.

But this is different.

He has never needed to, before. Never had a reason to throw himself into the unknown with no assurance of survival, no way to predict the outcome.

He had no reason to—until you.

Now, it matters less whether or not the odds of his survival are abysmal, that he has no precedent to follow. That your world might reject him entirely. None of it matters. Because if the choice is between staying and never reaching you, or plunging into the great, endless unknown—

He’ll take the leap, every time. Without hesitation. 

He’ll leave this world behind, step beyond the edges of everything that has ever defined him, and venture into lands unseen, uncharted. Unknown. He doesn’t know what awaits him on the other side. If he’ll make it there in one piece. If he will make it there at all.

Sylus has never really questioned why he’s the anomaly in this world. The curiosities of his existence are yours to ponder. After all, he finds that he doesn’t care much of the answer as much as he cares about being with you.

Because wherever you are—that is home. 

He takes a step forward, and the universe dissolves into a blinding light.

-

-

-

Sylus wakes to the sensation of weight.

Something presses on him heavily, sinking into his limbs like gravity itself is wrapping around him for the first time.

The ground beneath him is unfamiliar, uneven—tangible in a way he’s never felt before. His fingertips press into the damp earth, leaving the faintest imprint, yielding beneath his touch. The scent of soil rises around him; a rich, bitter brown. 

This world does not recognize him, yet it cradles him like its own all the same.

Above, the sky erupts.

Fireworks split open the night, streaks of color exploding and dissipating in an instant—too fleeting to hold, too bright to ignore. A flashbang of incandescent reds and fluorescent greens, followed by bursts of crackling gold and shimmering silver scatter into tiny pinpricks before fading into the darkness.

The air is heavier here, denser in a way that feels almost… alien. It clings to the contours of his new form, seeps into his lungs with every breath. 

And oh, how it burns. Not in pain, but in its sheer presence. It rushes into him not as mere oxygen but as something real. Something palpable. He’s lost in the sensation. 

He exhales. Then winces. 

Immediately, he feels it—the weakness. The brittleness of this new body. Gone is the invulnerability he once wielded so effortlessly, the certainty that nothing could touch him unless he allowed it. 

That certainty is gone now, stripped away the moment he crossed the threshold.

He is flesh and bone. Finite. Mortal.

A lesser man might have feared it.

But in the middle of this empty field, miles away from civilization, Sylus can only laugh. 

He tips his head back, reeling from the sheer impossibility of it all, eyes tracing the brilliant display above—as if committing it to memory, a coronation of sorts. Of existence. Of arrival. Of a life finally his own.

Reborn. And for the first time in his existence, he is alive.

––––

It’s summer—the summer that marks two years since he left. 

Two years. It’s enough time to feel the weight of it, but not enough to make the events feel like something that happened a lifetime ago. 

The seasons cycle once more, as they always do, pushing time forward with a steady, indifferent rhythm. And with that change comes a familiar pang—a bittersweet ache, neither grief nor regret, just the weight of knowing that nothing stays the same. Mono no aware. 

You’re closer to thirty now, and the thought doesn’t terrify you as much as it did before. Your hair’s in a pixie cut—short and sleek, although the edges are a little ragged from the half-assed trimming you gave it a few days ago. 

It would have made you feel stupid, once upon a time, for trying out something drastic for a new look. Instead, you just take it for what it is—one more thing you did because you wanted to. Like the rest of the choices you’ve made over the past two years. It’s yours. Uneven, impulsive, maybe a little questionable. But yours.

It’s liberating. Even if it makes your head look like a pencil. 

The voice—the one that picks at your face, your body, your thoughts, everything down to the last imperfection—never really shuts up. It’s quieter now, easier to ignore, but it still lurks in the background, waiting for an opening, a moment of weakness. Maybe it always will. Maybe that’s just the price of being human.

But you don’t fight it anymore. You don’t let it drag you down to a breaking point. You carry yourself differently now, you'd say. No pep in your step just yet, but you don’t feel the need to drag your heels either. Literally and figuratively. 

The change has come in waves—sometimes gentle, sometimes harsh—but it’s there, marking you, marking the passage of time. Just like the earth, just like the seasons, you’ve shifted and grown. And perhaps that’s enough.

The sky is ablaze now, a deepening canvas of pinks and purples as the sun sinks lazily to the west. The fiery orange light spills through the large windows, bleeding into every corner of the room, and the world outside seems to slow, caught in the hour before dusk.

You’re behind the counter, wiping down plates with the kind of ease that comes from repetition, the motion so ingrained in you that it barely registers anymore. It’s all routine—the rhythm of it, the quiet hum of the bistro, the clinking of porcelain. The air is thick with the sticky smell of warm pastries, and it’s the sort of evening that feels almost liminal. A moment suspended in time.

You hear the soft tinkling of the door chimes, signaling the arrival of another customer. 

It’s a soft, unassuming sound, barely noticeable against the evening lull. You swipe your hands across your apron, turning on instinct, your mouth already forming the usual greeting. 

“Hi, welcome to—”

The words die in your throat.

It’s a slow unfolding—almost a gradual realization that stretches across the seconds like the last rays of sun dipping beneath the horizon. He stands in the doorway, a figure outlined in gold, and his presence fills the space between you, no barrier that separates, and it feels... impossible. Unimaginable. Inevitable. 

His height is the first thing you notice. He’s taller than you expected, and you know he’ll tower over you, even at a distance. His hair is dark now, the color of midnight, almost—not the silver you once traced with your fingers in your mind. The cut is still similar to what you’ve always known it to be, though a little more unkempt, as if he’s lived in this body long enough for it to take on its own wear.

Then his eyes. The red is gone—no longer the shade of crimson that used to see right through you, those sanguine pools you once loved. In its place, a stormy grey, deep and impossibly expressive, pulling you in like an undertow. The color is striking, alien in its own way, yet there’s a warmth buried beneath it—and the familiarity of it tugs at you.

Even with the changes, even though you’ve never met the person standing in front of you, you’ll know him anywhere. 

There’s a shift in the room, a subtle, yet unmistakable change in the air. It’s as if the whole bistro has drawn in a breath—and you with it. Time stretches thin, each passing second expanding into what feels like an eternity.

Your eyes lock—and for a moment, nothing else exists. 

It’s as if the world has shifted off its axis. Or, perhaps more accurately, it’s as though a piece that’s always been missing has finally snapped into place.

Something settles in you, something foreign and indescribably familiar at the same time.

Sylus smiles.

“Hello, my love. Have I kept you waiting?”

It feels like home. 

____

“Now I found myself this kind of love, I can't believe it I'll never leave it behind I thought I'd never get to feel another fucking feeling But I feel— This love, this love, this love Oh, I feel it.”

End A/N: So this is done! Wow! I'm kind of proud of myself for writing something this long in the span of, idk, three months? Basically, the entire duration of my "vacation" back home. Now with another term and a busier schedule coming up, I really wanted to finish this series before life catches up to me. *sobs* Anyway, I'm so, so happy about the reception of this fic, and you've all been so sweet :') Again, thank you for reading! I'll see you in the spin-off, or whatever shit I put out next haha <3 Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @shroomiethefrogwhisperer @blueberrysquire @lovely-hani @fiyori @peachystea @aeanya @sylus-crow @queen-serena88 @xthefuckerysquaredx @rayvensblog @poptrim @goldenbirdiee @amerti @angstylittleb1tch @reiofsuns2001 @j4mergy @touya-apologist @gladiolus-mamacitia @btszn @wrimaira

[luvst4rc0r3]

“Smudged Mascara & Stolen Kisses”

Jinx x GN!Reader

WC: 393

NOTE: Just Jinx doing ur makeup

Jinx had never been one for sitting still, so the fact that she was perched on your lap, legs crossed like a mischievous little gremlin, was already a miracle. A miracle further compounded by the fact that she was holding a half-dried tube of mascara and insisting—no, demanding—to do your makeup.

“Hold still, toots,” she hummed, nose scrunched in concentration. “You move, I poke your eye out. Then you’d have to wear an eyepatch, and people might start calling you ‘Pirate Queen’ or somethin’.” She gasped, grin splitting her face. “Actually, that’d be kinda hot.”

You laughed, trying not to blink as she dragged the mascara wand dangerously close to your lashes. “I feel like you’re the least qualified person to be doing this.”

“Wow,” she drawled, feigning offense. “I am exceptionally qualified in the arts of beauty and destruction, thank you very much. And considering you’re letting me do this, I’d say you’re in no place to judge.”

Fair point.

You sighed, resigning yourself to your fate. Jinx, with her usual chaotic energy, had already smeared some eyeliner across your lids with all the precision of a toddler with finger paint. But the way she was looking at you—bottom lip tucked between her teeth, eyes dancing with amusement and something softer—you couldn’t really complain.

“There! Finished!” she declared, dropping the mascara somewhere behind her with zero regard for its well-being. “Lemme see my masterpiece!”

You turned your face, and she gasped dramatically, hands flying to her chest like she was witnessing a work of art. “Oh, babe, you look gorgeous.”

“Do I really?” you teased.

“Absolutely.” She squinted, then leaned in close, close enough that you could smell gunpowder and the faintest hint of oil in her hair. “I mean, your eyeliner’s a little… uh, abstract. But I like it. Gives ya character.”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could say anything, she was cupping your face, tilting it just so.

“Hmm,” she mused. “Somethin’s missin’.”

You barely had time to register her words before she was kissing you, lips pressing against yours with the same reckless enthusiasm she did everything else. It was quick, playful—a stolen moment wrapped in the scent of gunpowder and smudged mascara.

When she pulled away, she grinned, all teeth and trouble.

“There,” she murmured, thumb swiping over your lip like she was fixing something. “Perfect.”

Y’all this is so short bc I wrote it in class

I want sleep

[deadghosy]

HAZBIN HOTEL X ALBERT/FLAMINGO! READER

prompt: after causing chaos in life is paradise, you accidentally clicked the wrong “alt” button.

Oh wow- listen…I’m in my Albert phase guys…so yeah. ANYWAYSSS-

You just got done making your Roblox video as you wanted to exit out of it. You were going for the alt + 4 button only for the alt to look red and shine into your face. The light blinding your sight made you scream as you opened your eyes to see you are in a new area.

…. “Am I in hell…” you said in a high pitch voice. You panicked out a pitch scream gaining weird looks from the sinners. You still kept your human look but as you screamed, the control panel of admins show up. You stopped screaming immediately with an “oh.” And smiled evily

After wrecking most of the pride ring, you felt tired. Seeing an advertisement on tv about a hotel that redeems sinners, you thought maybe you could do some good here. So you pulled out a keyboard and type to teleport to the said hotel

You can go into the wrath, pride, and gluttony ring. It’s pretty real as you have the wrath to destroy things when pissed off. You’re prideful that you can’t be destroyed, and you have the gluttony to eat. A lot.

I can see you just having a small flamingo demon pet following you around. Literally you would make it bite and stab people. You taught it how to do the billy bounce.

The crew most definitely thought you were schizophrenic because you talk out loud as if you were talking to someone 

BIG HEADCANNON THAT YOU HAVE ZOOMIES AROUND THE HOTEL😭

“I start stabbing, now that the lights are out?” “Albert/Reader, please no.” Charlie says holding your arms down. The power went out and you were craving blood.

You’re just a little gremlin :D

Imagine how chaotic it was to not fling someone out of the hotel for fun 😭 LMAO A SINNER FLINGING ACROSS THE WHOLE PENTAGRAM.

“I’m taking away their happiness in a good way!” You say smiling as you drag a resident away from Charlie who seems traumatized. You were like an alastor 0.2 but more happy actually.

LMAO YOU HAVING A BAN HAMMER SO WHEN A RESIDENT IS BEING AN ASSHOLE YOU JUST SLAM THE HAMMER ON THEIR HEAD WITH A “BOOP”

I can imagine you having the same physique as the og Albert. Literally one minute you look like your animal crossing character, and the next thing they know you are some buff Florida man.

“I’m going to make them regret being born.” You said as you clicked an admin that made your skin black with red eyes. The angels came towards you as your cut their heads off.

The whole cast was in shocked seeing a human like you being so powerful with just a panel no one can touch.

“Being a baby will not prevent me from shooting you.” You said jokingly as this toddler was winning uno. The mother ran away with her child as you screamed out uno.

Angel started to rant about what he does for his job and how he basically seller his soul to this moth porn demon. After he told you things what the demon does to Angel. You snapped.

“BITCH I WILL SHOOT YOU!” Yells reader as they cocked their gun. Basically the whole crew has to hold you back as Valentino is pissing himself.

Vox didn’t even know who you were until Valentino started having nightmares and random shadows in his room. (The shadows were you lol) Vox had to look you up and try to find who tf you were. You were a YouTuber. That all it showed up on his feed as he scoffs.

Husk has no opinion on you. He only knows you as that guy with a flamingo. He would sometimes side eye you while you do crazy shit. But matter of fact you two are chill.

“We have different ways of expressing ourselves..” you say to Angel trying to comfort him. “I like this way, he can’t defend himself. And I like that.” You say shooting down a sinner while in battle. Angel dust just side eyes you as if you were actually crazy.

You’re not allowed to go into turf war with him no more.

Velvette has no legit problems with you. Dead ass you and her might be fashion partners. HAVE YOU SEEN ALBERT’S DRIP ON INSTA?! That MAN IS GOOD!

You have so much wanted posters, even you brag to others at how cool you look while destroying someone’s house. All because you were bored.

Charlie is mostly worried for your mental health while Vaggie just knows that you aren’t really the most mental stable in the group.

“STOP DOING THAT! STOP CRYING! What are you a baby?!” You say while smacking away a whole imp baby that was crying beside you on the merry-go-round

Charlie’s eyes widen at what you did. You were like a man child.

I can headcannon you deadass bombed the Vees tower out of pettiness. It was just funny seeing Vox shocked to his damn boots that his home was now gone.

Lucifer made you a duck flamingo cause of how he was trying to be nice to you. He knew you wasn’t a sinner or an angel of sorts. But you were a human that he never seen before. He probably makes you some damn pancakes if you want them.

Lucifer would probably ask if you have a flamingo demon form because you told the crew that you go by flamingo and Albert. You just stood there confused to what this short man was saying. But you just nodded trying to see if you could actually turn into a flamingo.

Headcannon on you just actually helping around by just replacing and changing furniture. You help Charlie with trust exercises as the resident are just confuse at a human being here.

“WHO needs powers, when you have a gun!” You yell excited pulling out a gun from your admin control. You shot downa sinner who was trying to fight you. Alastor just doesn’t see why how your “guns” are more powerful. They don’t even have angelic metal.

Carmilla carmine had seen how you legit shot an angel down with a simple looking gun. It was insane but amazing. She definitely called you down to her place so she can see what your bullets are made out of.

Imagine how you basically see people’s/sinner’s names as if it was a name tag aka username. You would go around saying their name out loud as they look at you scared and crazy. “Hello Hakka!” “How you know my name?!!!!” 😕

Rosie adores you, you may be man child that’s like a gremlin. But you are so sweet and helping. Alastor made you meet her and honestly, it was a great meet and greet. Honestly 10/10.

Headcannon on you and Niffty both killing bugs together. You use your ban gun as Niffty uses a sewing needle. This sweet girl made you a big crown, you better appreciate it.

Alastor had messed with your food making you pissed off. It was the end of the day and you hadn’t eat anything due to not taking care of yourself much. So your reaction was justified when you see alastor’s grins widening.

“I hope you choke on your next meal.” You say as your voice had suddenly boomed across the hotel. It was like as if your mic boosted it, but you don’t have one.

You and Alastor have like a sibling relationship as you two just want to watch people suffer. Literally it’s funny as hell when it’s that one Xbox meme.😭

“MOM SAYS ITS MY TURN TO CAUSE SUFFERING!” You say trying to get over Alastor’s tall body as he causes chaos in the pentagram city.

Sir Pentious didn’t like you at all. Like he was actually scared at his crazy and psychotic you are at times. But when he saw how calm and laid back you actually were. He actually started to warm up close to you. 

The egg boiz follow you around asking if your pet flamingo could play with them. It was so cute as they play with your pet flamingo.

Cherri absolutely loves you and your destructive behavior. Literally you two are a deadly duo cause you would give her some of your admin powers and take it back.

You once actually set up a limb store, literally you were getting that money✨😈 you had chopped off so much limbs got your deer customers.

I can see you actually taking people’s souls lol. You just take souls for fun and not for contract which leaves some overlords confused and scared of your powers.

Heaven would be scared of you personally. Like you are such a menace, sera sent your ass back to hell. Your human appearance was still the same tho lol.

Adam and you, beef on sight. “Why do you even have that pink bird? What are you, ret@rded?” “No but your mother is.” You said back while flipping him off.

Sera doesn’t like you. Your chaotic energy and your “evil” doing are not prohibited in paradise. She might tell Big G about how a human is in hell in perfect condition.

Emily heard about your presence by sera, she wanted to meet you but then again. You are back in hell. But she hopes to meet you one day.

See, me personally you would rob a bank for fun and then give it to some homeless imps in the wrath ring. It’s just you doing random shit while bored.

I can imagine you turning someone into the hulk. You deadass have so much power that it’s concerning and crazy for the hotel crew and rest of hell. You have alot of powers and you can turn people into some green buff human?!?

[confused-wanderer]

As much as I love Dick and Damian’s relation, no way in HELL would Dick actually be that soft on him- like excusing his actions or favouring him over the rest of his siblings.

You wanna tell me Dick’ll immediately accept him and start showing him love. PLEASE. The man would take one look at the angry child craving revenge and immediately get flashbacks to his original days as Robin. He earns newfound respect for Bruce as he realises just how much of a chaotic gremlin he was.

But he can’t use empathy. Because while Dick was mad and wanted revenge for his parents, Damian doesn’t know any better and quite frankly even kills just to be petty. You can’t tell me Dick doesn’t pull out the logic stops and parallels Bruce training him.

The way he grills Damian harder, trains him to be faster and makes him spar knowing Damian would always lose. Because sure, it may not have always worked for Dick but it was perfect for humbling Damian.

When Dick finds out Damian tried killing Tim, you can’t tell me he won’t see red. He won’t allow another brother to die or get hurt, not on his watch. He’d give Damian a final line, a line he won’t hesitate to fire back with all he’s got if Damian crosses it. Dick would try to be empathetic, but not this far.

He’d divide his time, trying to figure out Damian and how to encourage him to choose his own path, while maintaining a strict code Damian has to follow to prevent him doing down the wrong one.

If Damian commits murder that is justified, or crimes that serve a greater good, he’ll dump Damian in Jason’s care to help him understand how grey areas work, but sometimes black and white does exist.

If Damian demands logical reasoning, Dick’ll escort him to Tim so the two can have an intellectual battle (if Tim agrees that is, but the chance to put the brat in his place is always too good for Tim to pass up)

Maybe Damian sees the warmth Dick has for his brothers, how they care for him in their own way and it helps him recognise how he can change too, in his own way.

All I’m saying- They may be close, but Dick wouldn’t have blatant favouritism, nor would he try and exclude his brothers or brush them off in favour of Damian. Dick knows how to be a team player, and utilise his team to complete missions too. Damian needed balance in all areas, and Dick knows he can’t do it alone.

Dick would help Damian, pay more attention to listen to his arguments to the others as Damian doesn’t have much of a reliable data to cross reference or emotional triggers or morals that Dick knows about, so he can’t “know” the person- therefore all his advice will be taken with a grain of salt.

But it does not make him excuse Damian actions, instead he’d be strict Batman style parent who won’t hesitate to take his brothers’ side over Damian if he’s wrong, and will strike back if he crosses certain lines.

[lefteagleblizzard]

𝔖𝔞𝔫𝔱𝔞'𝔰 𝔤𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔟𝔬𝔶 Mike Schmidt x male reader

A request that I received from a friend. Mike Schmidt works as Santa at a mall (not the one he punched a guy), with the reader getting flustered around him in the costume. This then culminates into Mike noticing and putting reader on his lap and asking if he's been a good boy this year with the obvious smut ensuing.

Tags: Part 11 of this series of Mike Schmidt x male reader but can be read as a standalone with no problems. No use of Y/N. Age-gap (5 years) between you and Mike. Male reader. He/him pronouns used towards the reader. Mike is annoyed by everything. Lots of teasing.Reader being called a good boy. Smut. Top Mike. Bottom reader. Anal sex. Riding.

Words count: 2500 words

Part 1-Part 2- Part 3-Part 4-Part 5-Part 6-Part 7-Part 8 -Part 9-Part 10-Part 12-Part 13

The mall was alive with a symphony of holiday cheer, its corridors decked with vibrant garlands and oversized ornaments. Strings of twinkling lights hung above, casting a warm glow over the bustling crowd. The unmistakable melody of Christmas songs played softly over the sound system, blending with the excited chatter of children and the hum of shoppers. The centerpiece of it all was the large Santa setup. A throne flanked by candy cane columns and a towering Christmas tree.

You weren't particularly thrilled to be here, especially during the chaos of the season with little demons running and screaming everywhere (Mike did such a good job at educating Abby), but when Mike had mentioned he'd be filling in as Santa, curiosity won out over your reluctance. You had to see this for yourself.

And there he was.

Your grumpy yet irresistibly charming man, now dressed in a plush red Santa suit that seemed both too big and oddly fitting, complete with a fake white beard that looked like it had been yanked out of the clearance bin at the last minute. The white trim of his jacket framed his face, his scruffy jaw and tired eyes unmistakable even under the fluffy Santa hat.

He looked so out of place, shifting awkwardly as kids climbed into his lap, their excited squeals contrasting with his forced chuckled. His discomfort was evident, lips twitching in what was probably meant to be a jolly smile but looked more like a grimace.

You couldn't help the smile that tugged at your lips. He was trying so hard that it was both hilarious and endearing. As the line dwindled, you hung back, blending into the crowd while sneaking glances. But your restraint faltered when a particularly loud kid tugged at his fake beard and you saw Mike wince, a look of barely contained annoyance flashing across his face.

He looked up to see the line in from of him to calculate how much longer this torture will last and it was there that he spotted you.

For a moment, he froze, then a slow smirk curved his lips. You felt a warmth rise in your chest and your gaze darted away, feigning interest in a nearby display of ornaments. He waved the last child off with a hearty laugh that sounded suspiciously forced.

The line had finally cleared and with no more gremlins in sight, Mike stretched, the red jacket riding up slightly to reveal a hint of his toned abdomen beneath. He stood, shaking off the stiffness from hours of sitting, and caught your eye again. With a barely perceptible tilt of his head, he signaled toward the employee's room in the back of the big mall. It was the same signal he used at home when Abby was around, a subtle but unmistakable invitation. Your stomach flipped, and your feet moved.

The employee's room was quieter, away from the chaotic mall floor. The hum of fluorescent lights buzzed above as you stepped inside. Moments later, Mike entered, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

You leaned against the wall nearby, arms crossed, trying to collect yourself as Mike closed the door. His red Santa suit creaked softly as he moved, the fabric brushing against itself with every step.

"So, this is what it's come to," you began, grinning as you looked him over.

He let out a low groan, tugging at the collar of the red suit. "This thing is like wearing a goddamn oven. I'm sweating in places I didn't know I could sweat."

You laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls. "You pull it off quite well. Maybe a little too rugged for a jolly old man, though."

Mike rolled his eyes, but there was a flicker of amusement in his expression. "Yeah, well, it's not exactly by choice. I owed someone a favor because of you, and they cashed it in big time."

"Me? What did I do?"

"When you came back a week ago," he said, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "I asked for someone to take my shift for that day and now he asked me to take his place for this."

You laughed again, shaking your head. "It was well worth it, if you want my opinion. At least it suits you good. ‘Santa Schmidt' has a nice ring to it."

"Oh, shut up," he muttered, but his grin gave him away. "You're enjoying this way too much."

"Can you blame me? You look ridiculous," you said, gesturing toward the oversized jacket, the hat slightly askew on his head. "It's like seeing a tiger wearing a bowtie."

"Yeah? That's why you've been staring at me like that?" He shot back, one brow lifting "Got something you want to tell me?"

Your face heated instantly. "I wasn't staring!" you protested, though the words came out too quick. The way he leaned against the couch with that cocky smirk made it hard to maintain your indignation. "I was just shopping. And you happened to be there."

"Right," he said, dragging the word out as he crossed his arms, the motion causing the red fabric to stretch over his broad shoulders.

"You're impossible."

"And you're a terrible liar," he shot back, his tone laced with playful challenge. "But it's cute."

He moved closer until he sank onto the small couch, the Santa suit rustling as he leaned back. The fake white beard had slipped slightly, revealing more of his stubble and you couldn't help but notice how the red of the suit made his eyes look even sharper.

Mike patted his lap, his smirk widening. "C'mere."

You blinked. "What?"

"C'mere," he repeated, his voice low, teasing. "You've been running your mouth all day. It's time for Santa to put you in your place."

You stared at him, your brain short-circuiting at the implication. "Mike-"

"I'm still on the clock. So, technically, this is official Santa business. Now, be a good boy and sit." he interrupted, leaning back further.

You hesitated, heat creeping up your neck. "You are ridiculous."

"And yet, you're still standing there," he pointed out, tilting his head. "Too scared now? Didn't seem shy when you dragged me into your dorm room last month."

That did it. With a muttered curse, you stepped forward and settled on his lap, feeling the warmth of him through the ridiculous costume. His hands found your hips almost instinctively, steadying you as you adjusted. The position was intimate, the small space making it impossible to avoid the way his body pressed against yours.

"There,” you said, trying to sound unaffected. "Happy?". The fake beard he had was way too annoyingly long.

"Getting there," he murmured, his voice dropping as his eyes swept over your face and momentarily dropped to your lips. "Now, tell me. Have you been a good boy this year?"

Your mouth opened, but no sound came out. The playful lilt in his voice and the way his hands tightened slightly on your hips made it hard to concentrate. "I guess," you stammered, unable to meet his gaze. Your hand shot up to wave down the beard he had after it went right under your nose.

"Guess?" he repeated, his tone mock-disapproving. "That doesn't sound very convincing."

"That depends on your definition of good," you shot back, trying to regain some semblance of control. Your voice low as your hand slid up his chest. "And maybe you need to lose this beard, because it's itchy as hell." You replied, emboldened by the way his grip on your hips tightened.

You reached up and tugged the fake beard down, tossing it gently next to him and exposing more of his face. His stubble was damp with sweat, his jaw sharp and annoyingly perfect. He leaned in just enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath, the corner of his lips twitching into a small smirk that softened into something far warmer, far more intimate, as his hands slid slowly from your hips to your waist, his touch deliberate and firm. "Now you're not going anywhere."

His eyes, sharp and glinting with a heat that made your breath catch, traveled to your lips. The humor and teasing were gone now, replaced by a focus so singular it made the air in the small room feel charged.

"I never did ask you what you wanted for Christmas." He murmured, his voice low and rasping, his lips brushing against your jaw as he spoke, his tone carrying more weight than the words themselves. His warm breath tickled your skin, the faintest graze of his lips along your jawline sending shivers down your spine.

"I-uh…" The words faltered, your chest tightening as he tilted his head, his nose grazing along your cheek.

"Go on," he urged softly, the corner of his mouth curling as he pressed closer. The heat of him seeped through the ridiculous Santa suit, his body firm beneath the plush fabric.

Your hands found their way to his shoulders, gripping lightly for balance as his lips trailed lower, ghosting over the line of your neck. You could feel every word he spoke, his voice rumbling against your skin. "I want to know, sweetheart," he continued, his hands sliding lower to rest on your hips again, holding you in place as you shifted on his lap.

The movement drew a low sound from him, barely audible but unmistakable, as the growing bulge in his lap pressed against your lower back. A flush of heat raced through your body, your breath hitching as you became acutely aware of how close you were, how little space remained between you.

Mike's lips found the sensitive spot just beneath your ear, his teeth grazing lightly as he whispered, "can i try to guess, then?"

"Mike…" His name escaped your lips in a shaky breath, your hands tightening on his shoulders as his hands roamed, fingers curling around the hem of your shirt. He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes searching yours as though asking for permission.

You nodded, your pulse racing, and his lips quirked into a small smile before he tugged your shirt upward, the fabric catching briefly before he pulled it free. His hands returned immediately, sliding up your sides, the calloused pads of his fingers a stark contrast to the heat of his touch.

"You look so good like this," he murmured, his voice rough and sincere as his eyes roamed over you. The Santa hat tilted precariously as he leaned in again, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that started slow but quickly deepened.

A kiss hungry, demanding, filled with a need that had clearly been simmering for far too long. His teeth tugged at your bottom lip and you couldn't help the soft sound that escaped you as his hands tightened on your waist, pulling you closer. The suspenders of his Santa suit pressed against your thighs, and with a smirk, he used one to tug you even closer, his other hand sliding down to cup your ass.

He shifted beneath you, the hardness of his erection pressing against you unmistakably now. He groaned softly, his head falling to your shoulder as you rolled your hips experimentally, the friction drawing another deep, guttural sound from him.

"Fuck," he muttered, his voice muffled against your skin. "You keep that up, and this suit's not going to survive the night."

You grinned, emboldened by his reaction and reached up to tug the Santa hat off his head, tossing it aside. "Better make it worth it then," you shot back, your voice teasing but breathless.

His hands slid to the waistband of your pants, his fingers toying with the fabric as his lips found yours again, tongue parting your lips as his hands worked to free you of your clothing. The anticipation was electric, every brush of his fingers sending sparks through your skin.

He broke the kiss briefly, his breath heavy as he pulled your pants down, exposing your ass. His hands immediately returned, kneading the flesh with a reverence that made your stomach flip. "You're perfect," he murmured, his lips trailing kisses down your neck as his fingers dipped lower, teasing along your entrance.

The first press of his finger was slow, deliberate, his other hand splayed firmly against your lower back to keep you steady. The stretch was intoxicating, his touch both careful and unrelenting as he worked you open.

"Tell me if it's too much," he murmured, his voice softer now, though his eyes burned with unrestrained need.

"It's not," you managed, your voice trembling as you shifted against him, seeking more. "Please, Mike."

His control snapped at your words, his fingers moving faster, lips capturing yours again as he prepped you thoroughly. The urgency in his touch was tempered by his care, the mix of sensations driving you closer to the edge even before the best part.

When he finally guided you onto him, the stretch was slow and deliberate, his hands gripping your hips as he helped you take him inch by inch. The sheer size was overwhelming in the best way, and he groaned low in his throat as he filled you completely.

"God, you feel so good," he rasped, his voice rough as his hands guided you into a steady rhythm. The pressure, the friction—it was perfect, every movement sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

His lips found yours again, the kiss messy and desperate as his hands roamed, gripping and caressing as though he couldn't get enough of you. His suspenders dug into your sides as he pulled you closer, his thrusts meeting your movements with an intensity that left you gasping.

"Mike," you whimpered, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pressed closer, the heat of him overwhelming.

"I've got you," he murmured, his voice a low growl as he tightened his grip on your hips, driving into you harder. "Let go for me, sweetheart."

The tension coiled in your stomach snapped, pleasure washing over you in waves as your body tightened around him. He followed moments later, his hips stuttering as he buried himself deep inside you, his release warm and overwhelming.

You collapsed against him, both of you panting heavily as the room spun around you. For a moment, the only sound was the soft hum of the fluorescent lights and the ragged rhythm of your breathing.

Mike chuckled softly, his arms wrapping around you as he leaned back against the couch. "Guess I'll never look at a Santa suit the same way again." His voice still rough but laced with humor.

You laughed, the sound muffled against his chest as you shook your head. "Neither will I," you admitted, your body still trembling as you rested against him.

Note: If you liked this, please leave a comment. I love reading them <3 Next thing I will now do is another 4 smut scenarios for all the until dawn men.

[amarald-pastry]

So cute!!!

Here's the new oc I was talking about ^^

Name: Nada (and Tutto)

Pronoms: she/her (and Tutto does not care)

Age: young adult, did not keep the count

Specie: human (and creature :3)

Home multiverse: Nadirverse (Mimosa's old home :P)

Timeline: current timeline

Family: orphan but considers Tutto as a family member

Likes: her eyes, grilling meat, pretty places, sleeping under the night sky, Tutto

Dislikes: cucumbers, the color orange, hunger, pain flares from her chronic pain ( left hand)

Relation to my other ocs: has met Jasy a few times, talked with Fancy once before he left.

Trivia:

-Nada is ambidextrous and has chronic pain in her left hand

-Tutto has the habit to rest on her left hand as she said his warm lil' body makes it feel better

-They sometimes play card games but neither now the rules so they make them up

-Nada likes to put things in her mouth when bored or thinking, the lace from her bag is the most common victim to that

-Tutto does nocturnal "walks"

-Tutto is an anomaly in his own specie, unique kind of guy

General story:

Nada has always been used to be pretty independant and lived a part of her life in a random orphanage (she did not care about them much).

After the big War, she ended up roaming around Nadirverse alone. Few were the survivors and most were pretty "hostile".

She somehow ended up in a desertic land where stone doors were littered here and there. A lot of them destroyed, the rest at least damaged. No sign of life except a lone old small house, full of stuff but void of people.

She slowly learned doors were doorways to other places and took to exploring.

The house and the land became her "base".

She met Tutto soon after and they became pals quickly.

Nada has usually a lot of luck which allows her to have a nice life despite the hardships of surviving there.

(She is unaware that her stubborness and skills are nice but the fact all is going so well is also mainly because she got the attention of the multiverse itself whose playing favorite)

Tutto is a smart and energic lil' guy. He feds on magic he finds around. He isn't a heavy eater due to his size but still needs to eat once in a while. He's not very empathetic but he tries his best! Nada is a warm body to sleep on and a fun distraction. Pal to protect.

Bonus:

Tutto zoomies

[randoimago]

CRASHES THROUGH YOUR DOOR BALDURS GATE 3 REQUESRS OPEN???

Can I have whatever comes to your head when I propose my idea of Astarion realizing with dismay he's in love with a goody two shoes character? I'd imagine that said character would also be a bit chaotic and gremlin enough that he'd be intrigued and then find himself like "oh no."

I hope this makes sense xD;

Realizing They Love a Chaotic Good Person

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Character(s): Astarion

Type of Request: Headcanons

Note(s): I love Astarion and all his fed up sass

Astarion

So much sighing and rolling his eyes because he's a dramatic bitch. Seriously, can you go two seconds without pausing to listen to other people's troubles? His back is killing him from all this weight in his inventory that you're making him carry.

Will complain about whatever task you were given by some idiot that can't do it themselves. I mean, it's not worth it to help them when you both have better things to do. Things that you can do together. Alone.

But you take that as a, "Oh yay Astarion bonding time by helping random civilians" and he wants to tear his hair out. So now he's running around with you, getting dirt and blood all over his clothes, doing stupid things for stupid reasons. And he is crossed armed and pouty when you both go talk to the people when you're finally done and he can't help the way his heart squeezes at seeing how happy you look from helping these idiots. And he wants to hate it, but your smile does make things just a tiny bit better.

Absolutely goes back to complaining when you get to camp.

[legendofmorons]

Hello there! Can I request a work on a gender neutral reader being a parental figure to the chain? Reader is both wise but chaotic, and has little quirks like humming or holding on to the boys clothing to keep them from walking to far from them.

Parental instinct

Hi! I'm so sorry this was late, but I had so much fun with it. I might just do more of it.

Pairing: chain & reader

Rating: G

Summary: A look into life and the chain's parental figure

Warnings: none

Other: If I missed anything, please let me know

You don't actually have a 2024 bingo card, but you know that being sucked into an adventure with nine heroes wouldn't be on it anyway. You should start making yearly bingo cards.

You step into something of a parental role, out of necessity mostly, but you're also probably a caretaker at heart.

So, after a few months, you've gotten the boys to really start listening to you. Which is a feat.

On days like today, you're thankful for the help Warriors, Time, and Twilight present. You need all the help you can get while coralling the heroes through the more modern hyrule.

You say modern, but you're all in the 1980s, with big hair, blur eyeshadow, and a lot of shoulder pads.

"Wind!" You call loudly, grabbing the back of his shirt to stop him from crossing the cross walk.

A car speeds by.

"What?"

"Please don't get run over." You say with that long suffering tome familiar to those responsible for chaotic gremlins.

"Didn't (Y/n) just go over traffic rules?" Legend huffs as if he didn't also have to be stopped by Warriors and the captain'squick reflexes.

"Shut up Legend you're just as bad." Wind sticks his tongue out.

"Boys!" You interject, "We're clear now, let's go."

You follow the chain, bringing up the rear.

Hearding them to a hotel and booking last-minute rooms is an experience that involves keeping Wind near you at all times.

(You promise yourself to find one of those cute animal backpack leashes. Or maybe nine of them, actually. That'd make keeping the boys in line easier.

Maybe Legend needs a monkey one.)

After you've gotten the rooms and divided them, you all settle in your room.

Four and Legend have taken a bed to themselves sitting side by side.

Sky, Wild, and Warriors sit on the couch. The three too tired to cause much trouble.

Time and Hyrule sit beside you on the third bed.

"We should totally try that pe-za." Wind declares as he flops himself over your lap.

"Pizza. But yeah, sure." You say as you toss Wild the remote to the TV.

Wild takes a minute but figures out the remote and starts flipping through channels.

You are ordering several pizzas through an app. You've got several large pizzas, lots of breadsticks, a few orders of salad, a few liters of soda, and a bunch of deserts by the time it's all ordered. Thank Hylia for rewards programs.

Wild has found full house and pit it on. Whether good or bad, nostalgia is probably there.

"(Y/n)!" Legend calls, "Tell Four to get his feet off my side of the bed!"

"Four." You say with a pointed look, "Stop tormenting poor Legend."

"He started it." Four says evenly, as though he isn't currently sticking his cold feet onto Legend.

"Hylia, grant me some patience." You mutter to yourself.

"Not strength?" Sky asks.

"If she gave me strength, I'd shake some sense into all of you."

Wind is laughing then, a little too much like a hyena, but he's happy, so we'll take it.

-------

After dinner and showers, the boys all gone to bed. You find yourself beside Time.

The old man is lying down, trying his hardest to sleep. But something seems to be bothering him.

It's instinct to start humming. The tune is old and familiar as your voice takes it on.

After a while, you look down, finding Time's face serene the way only peaceful sleep grants. Good. He needs it.

You didn't expect to gain nine kids this year, but you wouldn't trade them for the world. Ganon better watch his back, though. You'd kick his ass in a heartbeat for all he's done to your boys.

[spacebabesuki]

Wrapped Up in Love (Hellcheer Christmas AU) ‧₊˚🎄✩ ₊˚🦌⊹♡

The soft glow of Christmas lights illuminated Eddie Munson's cluttered living room, casting a cozy warmth over the chaos of wrapping paper, ribbons, and an overworked roll of Scotch tape.

Chrissy Cunningham sat cross-legged on the carpet, her pink sweater dotted with tiny reindeer, as she concentrated intensely on folding a piece of wrapping paper around a suspiciously vinyl record-shaped gift. 

The chaos of wrapping paper had reached its peak. Eddie sat with his long legs on the floor, trying to wrestle a roll of shiny gold wrapping paper into submission. His tongue peeked out in concentration; his Santa hat (which she had put on him) slipped precariously as he attempted to cut a straight line with scissors that were definitely too dull for the job, testing his patience.

While he was chaotic, wrapping gifts like trash bags, Chrissy Cunningham crafted perfect gifts with fairy-like precision. She tied a flawless bow, her pink reindeer sweater and glittery cheek evoking a Christmas movie star.

"You've got to fold corners like this," she demonstrated calmly, her nimble fingers making it seem effortless.

"I don't know how you're so good at this," Eddie grumbled, exasperated, glaring at his sloppy wrapping.

Chrissy giggled. "You're using too much paper again. You could wrap an entire room!"

Eddie lounged beside her, legs sprawled, curls barely contained by his Santa hat. "Babe, this is hopeless," he muttered, holding up the misshapen bundle meant for Dustin's D&D dice. "It looks like I trapped a gremlin."

Chrissy giggled, snatching the gift from him.

"You're hopeless. Let me fix it. It's the fingers; you have to be gentle, see? Don't push too much."

"I'm not good at this kind of stuff," Eddie said dramatically, leaning back against the couch with his hands behind his head. "I can be good with my fingers at a lot of things, but not this."

He gave her his best smoldering grin, the one that always made her blush.

"Stop distracting me," she replied, though her cheeks turned rosy as she worked to salvage the mess he'd made.

Eddie leaned closer, his Santa hat slipping slightly askew. "You know, we'd be done by now if we just stuffed everything into gift bags."

Chrissy shot him a playful glare. "Gift bags are cheating. Wrapping presents is supposed to be fun!"

"Fun?" Eddie said. "Chrissy, I've got tape in places I didn't know tape could go." He gestured dramatically at his black sweater, where a rogue piece of tape had adhered itself to his sleeve.

"Hold still," she said, reaching out to free him. "Look at you, such a crybaby!"

As she leaned closer, Eddie couldn't resist. He grabbed the ribbon and playfully looped it around her wrist. "Now you're my Christmas prisoner," he teased, grinning.

"Oh, really?" Chrissy countered, raising an eyebrow. She grabbed nearby wrapping paper and whacked him on the shoulder.

Eddie yelped, feigning injury. "Abuse! Abuse under the tree!"

Chrissy laughed uncontrollably, nearly falling over. Eddie gently tackled her onto the carpet. She squealed as he hovered above, mischief sparkling in his eyes.

"Alright, Mrs. Claus," he whispered. "You win. I surrender."

Her laughter quieted as she gazed up at him, her hair spilling across the red-and-green throw blanket beneath them. "Good. Because I still need to teach you how to tie a bow."

Eddie smirked, leaning down to brush his nose against hers. "How about we save that lesson for later?"

Before she could reply, he kissed her – a sweet, lingering kiss hinting at peppermint.

The world faded, leaving only the glow of Christmas lights and each other's arms. When they parted, Chrissy's eyes sparkled.

"You're lucky you're cute, Munson. Come on, Mr. Grinch. Give me your presents; I'll wrap them since you're useless."

"Fuck no!" Eddie protested, pressing a quick kiss to her nose. “Hey, where are you going? Come back here!.” But she was already gone.

"Not now, handsome. We've got gifts to finish."

Chrissy stood up, and he tried to grab her wrist, but he tumbled onto the carpet instead. She smiled mischievously from afar.

Without knowing it, Chrissy walked over to the pile of gifts he had bought for her. Eddie jumped up before she could see and spoil the surprise. 

"Hey, no... not these ones! Get out now!"

"Why, are these for me?" Chrissy's big blue eyes sparkled like stars as she let out a delighted squeal. "I'm gonna peek!" She laughed, attempting to grab the half-wrapped gift.

"No way, Christmas sneak!" Eddie shouted, leaping up and holding the gift high above his head. Chrissy jumped up after him, but he was too tall, and she only managed to brush the edge of the gold paper with her fingertips.

"Eddie!" she squealed, laughing so hard she could barely breathe.

"Not a chance, Cunningham!" he teased, raising the gift higher and spinning to keep it out of her reach.

Chrissy leaped, clutching his arm, and Eddie swept her into a dramatic twirl.

"You'll have to try harder than that, short thing!"

Chrissy pouted, crossing her arms. "That's not fair. You're cheating with those freakishly long arms!"

Eddie flexed exaggeratedly, the present still in hand. Chrissy tried again, jumping up to grab it, but Eddie caught her mid-leap, lifting her off the ground and spinning her once more. She clung to his shoulders, laughing uncontrollably.

"Put me down, Munson!"

"Say the magic words," Eddie teased.

"Fine! Please, Eddie, please," she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes but still grinning. She knew how he loved hearing this.

"Good girl," he said, setting her gently on her feet and holding the present behind his back. "I'm gonna hide this now, pretty thing."

"You're impossible," Chrissy said, trying to glare at him, but her smile betrayed her.

"And you're adorable," Eddie countered, leaning in to kiss her forehead before running off to hide the present in another room.

When he returned, Chrissy was crouched on the floor, shaking her head at the carnage of Eddie's previous attempts. She had taken his poorly wrapped gifts and was carefully undoing the tape, smoothing out the crumpled paper.

"Are you fixing my masterpieces?" he asked, feigning offense.

"I can't let you give Dustin a gift that looks like it's been through a tornado," Chrissy said, glancing up at him with a grin.

"It's part of the charm," Eddie argued, sitting beside her and watching as she neatly folded the paper.

"You're lucky I love you," she said, shaking her head with mock exasperation.

Eddie leaned back on his hands, watching her work with an affectionate smile. "Yeah, I am."

As Chrissy finished rewrapping his gifts, Eddie grabbed a loose ribbon and gently tied it around her wrist again. "There," he said with a playful smirk. "Now you're the prettiest present under the tree."

Chrissy rolled her eyes, but the pink in her cheeks gave her away. "You're ridiculous."

"And you love it," he teased, leaning in to steal a kiss. She didn't pull away.

As they untangled themselves from the ribbons and laughter, Chrissy leaned against Eddie, resting her head on his shoulder. Outside, snow began to fall, but inside, the warmth of their love made everything glow.

[lady-ashfade]

Little Gremlin

Kaz Brekker x fem!reader x Jesper Fahey

This is kinda little chaotic, but small and fluffy.

Warnings: Poly relationships, but you already knew this, fluff, the reader being-Well her.

He hissed as the liquid burned his throat, he slammed the small glass down and it made a clink on the counter. Next to him he could make his “boss” staring at him with the look. The one were he seems to not know how to look even just the bit of calm, always looking angry. But jes knew that he was indeed, almost always angry, if not always.

“Light up, you know you enjoy my company.” He flashed his charming smile in his face. Kaz rolled his eyes and down to the ground, looking away from him and fixing his hands on his cane. “Much to my dismay.” The man with the hat look at him like his word’s truly hurt, “Rude, you know that’s no way to speak to your boyfriend.”

Kaz looked back at him with a dead expression. “You’re still on the clock.” Jesper gasped and hit his chest. “And? I can have two titles.” Kaz’s lips actually brought themselves up in a mischievous smile, but the smallest bit. Jesper took his silence as defeat and tapped his fingers on the counter for a refill of his shot. Jes glanced back at kaz to see if he wanted to have a drink but the man just shook his head.

The doors slammed open and their attention was drawn to the person who stepped through. Their girl, y/n. She catched her breath but a smile on her face never fell, they could tell she was happy. Kaz looked down at the strap on her shoulder and then followed it down and saw it was a satchel. His chest filled with pride because that meant you had been successful. But he knew you would be.

Making your way over to them you stood between the both of them with your hand on the brown bag. “I suppose you got it then.” You smiled as your boyfriend wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you close to his side. His smirk matching yours. “Hmm, but you don’t think that’s all I did?” You ask and look at them both.

Raising a brow at you, kaz was wondering what you had done this time. He knew with you it was always random, because he’s had his fare-share of seeing what you do. Once he had you go collect money from some farmer, the person who needed the payment offered some of the money. That day you walked back in with a chicken just for fun, you hadn’t planned on keeping it but you just saw it and took it. He hated that because you kept in the your room for two days until he made you get rid of it.

You smiled at them both and stepped away from them both, “Meet me in the back.” And you walked off as the two watch you. Then both men look at each other, “Well, I want to see.” Jesper jumps up and followed you into the back. Kaz sighed and stood up on his feet and used his cane for support and follows behind the two of you.

“What do you think?…”

You look at them both as they stare down at the table in front of them. They looked speechless and their eyes filled with so many questions. You had poured out the bag onto the table of what all you had stole, the necklace you were sent to steal but there was so much more. Many golden and silver jewelry, then golden coins that looked like a fortune.

Jesper let out a laughed and kaz closes his eyes, trying not to smile. “I can’t believe this, this is a fortune. I could get so many hats with this.” Jesper thought of all hats in his head, one with a feather, one was bright red with a bow. Kaz just stayed there and then looked at you, and knowing him so well you could tell he was amused.

“This was more then I sent you for,” you crossed your arms and puffed out your lips. “But this a nice surprise.” Smiling again you went to him and sat on the table in front of him, your other boyfriend coming to be by the two of you. “What are we going to do with this?” Jesper asked.

“What do you want, darling?” Kaz leaned down a bit. Thinking for a moment of what you could possibly want, “I want to have dinner, I’m starving. Somewhere nice.” You added the last part and kicked your feet a bit.

“Then let’s get our little gremlin something to eat.” Jesper placed a kiss on your lips and you giggled. Kaz looked at the two of you happily, “It’s coming from her cut of the money.” You glare playfully at him and then jump up to kiss his cheek, Jesper moving with you and going to kiss the other cheek.

“Don’t push this.” Kaz advised the two of you.



[odusseus-xvi]

hi!! this is kinda a weird question but ur post about characterization for french ccs is rlly helpful for writing, so i was wondering if u had any like . tips or advice about speaking patterns or like. common terms or phrases they use and stuff like that. i have a lot of issues with auditory processing and other hearing stuff that makes it like . hard for me to always understand speech patterns or just like . what people are actually saying so if u have any like . advice or info about like How They Talk that u could put in text or like specific that would be cool. no worries if u dont/cant btw i completely get it i just remembered that u were the one w the previous helpful post ::D

Yeah, no problem I could try ! :D Now keep in mind again I'm not necessarily an expert, and I'm just doing this because it's fun. I still might make some mistakes, and miss some important details, but 'Ill do my best. SO

Let's go for HOW DO THE FRENCH (and swiss) CCS TALK :

Let's start with

ETOILES : So I feel like it might be the easiest because he's the clearest to me. He tends to speak at a normal space and in english with a noticeable slighly french accent, but not an extreme one. He likes to crack jokes constantly when he speaks with other people (most of the time hyping up others, and self deprecating, you know the "You are a legend, I am dumb".) . He can drop pearls of wisdom randomly through ridiculous metaphors ("You don't need to worry, My name means stars, that means that when you look I'm here." "It's like crossing the road, you have to, and there is cars, you need to be careful, but it can't be all you focus on. Wait I'm not sure about that one...") and sometimes actually genuine and inspiring, but more often that not in the tone of discussion, it doesn't sound like he's dispensing "wisdom of the elders", he's just a humble guy talking with you and giving a random advice. He often says in french "Wow a flop" when something doesn't work. Or "c.s.c." (Contre Con Camp, a football term meaning scoring against your own team) when he comments on someone being a tryhard for example ("WOW such a tryhard (csc)"). He'll often makes the joke that nobody likes him when they don't answer in chat to himself, (or chat) and will directly tell them "You want me to die irl don't you?" ensues a myriad of "holy shit you want me to die for real" answered by the "NOO" of the other one. Two last details that came to me, he rarely actually answers by "no" or "yes", he often use "Yeh yeh yeh", or "no no no". He also uses a lot of "euuuuh..." when looking for his words when speaking.

AYPIERRE : He is fairly simple too. He has a very relaxed tone, speaks slightly slower than most people, and has slightly noticeable french accent but less so than others. His tone differenciate between three states : Focused (while building or infiltrating a base), relaxed, and humourous. Note that he's never fully serious, he has that constant gremlin energy and smile that makes him want to make jokes that will make everybody cringe (his favorite pastime.) The only time he's been serious and slightly upset was when he earned gegg died or when he learned that the federation was trying to replicate his wine (there you can see his priorities). Most of the time people are assuming the worst when it's his countless time he starts a conversation with "So, I did something..." and is the type of guy to say "*known illegal act* is a strong word, let's say it's more like *not necessarily better*". I don't follow him as much, so I currently have no other mannerism in mind.

BAGHERA : I feel like she is a bit harder to pin down. When speaking in english she has a very noticeable accent, especially when she is tired. And talks a bit fast, especially in french. Though she doesn't crack jokes constantly, she has a constant chaotic energy that makes her say random things at times. She often say "Oh Yeaaaah" when she is happy or hyped about something, mostly when she is with other people to show them she is happy too. When she is ashamed or not understanding something she likes to take a voice we call the "Antoine Croute" voice (a character she played in a Rp series on GTA V), it's high pitched and really shy. (imagine a little "wut... ?"). She can be really serious, especially when investigating. She almost nver express vocally, in tone at least, her anger. Instead she sounds incredibly cold, like she was with ElQuackity. Her voice when serious drops a bit, and she speaks a bit faster. There is probably plenty more but I'm starting to get tired.

ANTOINE : He is the hardest to me because it is even hard to pin down in french. He has most of the time a very serious tone, while he ironically constantly making either dark jokes based on irony and cynism OR a pun. Because of this, it's sometimes hard to pin what's a joke and what's serious. His accent alternates between horrible french accent OR almost ProPeR eNgliSH. Even when discussing absolutely batshit insane things he sounds serious (he is not in reality, but it's a form of humor in itself). OCCASIONALLY he'll break and cracks a smile, and sometimes, even the heartiest laugh you've ever heard, a very vocal and deep "AHAHAHAHA" that you can hear a mile away (but it happens rarely.) Though I didn't specify, most people, including the french, stutter at least a little bit, and search their words, (like I said for Etoiles' "euh".) but Antoine tends to have a very clear speech, only occasionally looking for a translation. In the same vein, he also has a very quick reaction and can answer with a pun almost instantly (very impressive, especially when it's not his native language.)

That's pretty much all I can think of right now, and I'm tired. Maybe it's not exactly what you asked, but it's what I can muster. Hopes that helped :D

[justporo]

In between madness

A Night of Fake Smiles and Hidden Lies: Part 8

Author's Note: It's been like a week since I last updated - I needed to a bit of a break from this and now I feel the creative juices flowing better again. This is still rather... unremarkable? We're getting back into safer waters and to more exciting stuff soon I hope!

Astarion and Tav catch a small break from all the hedonistic craziness - not from their own shenanigans though. From here on out it will be a lot of chaotic gremlin energy with these two...

Songs: Stuck - Thirty Seconds to Mars Pairing: Astarion/Fem!Tav (You) Rating: Explicit Warnings: talk of past trauma

CHAPTER LIST | PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER ~~~

Having had enough of all the sinful shenanigans happening all around you for the time being, you both decided to get back to the ballroom – there was only so much of deep and dark desires that you could handle all at once. Although you couldn’t help but feel that you were of course much more affected by all this than Astarion was.

When you mentioned that observation to Astarion while you were making your way back, the vampire threw you a genuine tired smile. As you kept walking he dragged on your joint hands to pull you in closer so he could talk to you more silently as you passed through previous rooms. The guests, it seemed, had only become drunker and more unhinged since you had started exploring.

“Two hundred years of stuff like this is a quite frankly a long time to have your reactions dulled down a lot, my sweet”, he simply said – his voice lacking the usual tinge of playfulness.

You squeezed his hand affectionately before you replied: “I’m sorry, darling. I- I hope this is not…” Before you could even finish Astarion made a dismissive gesture with his other hand. Immediately you saw how his usual wit returned.

“I’m replacing tainted memories with more lovely ones as we speak, dear. For all that twisted shit going on here and all the memories it might bring back: I am still mostly thinking about that delicious strawberry that you so graciously offered me earlier, my heart”, the vampire drawled. His eyebrow twitched teasingly and his signature smirk was back also.

You would never get over just how quickly this man’s mood seemed to swing. One could argue that the term ‘drama queen’ would spring to mind.

Not even replying to his sultry comment you just gave him a look. He chuckled. And the rising tension of unwanted memories was at least for the moment resolved.

“It’s just… I thought I was more prepared. I mean, I’ve seen my fair share of messed up shit”, you continued as you left another room you had crossed before – the gambling den (and you couldn’t help but notice that cards and dice strewn about meant that some tables must have… tipped.)

“Absolutely, my love, I mean I was there for what I would guess was some of the most messed up shit. And if I may add” – he put his hand on his chest in his casually elegant manner – “I might even have been responsible for some of the fucked up stuff you’ve been put through”, Astarion gave back. The teasing tone was fully back now and his voice lowered for the last part until it was nothing but a whisper. His breath caressed your ear before he softly nibbled on it shortly – a drive-by reminder of what he could put you through.

You blushed and pressed your lips together until they were nothing but a thin line. This bastard just always had to keep going until he had you all flustered. You heard his triumphant chuckle.

You abruptly stopped and stomped down on his foot, catching him off-guard – payback! He stumbled into you and almost doubled over, making a nearby servant having to swerve around you.

“OWW!”, Astarion yelped and then hissed at you – his undying love for you temporarily put on hold. “You shithead!”, he spat at you.

“Yeah, just be thankful you didn’t put heels on me, you twat!”, you hissed back. He could change the mood suddenly. But guess what, so could you.

“What in the Nine Hells was that even for?”

“Don’t play coy, you know exactly what that was for! Stop making me all blushed and flustered at the most unwelcomed of times – and very much in public!”

Astarion’s eyes narrowed dangerously and you saw in his red eyes that he was ready to spit back again. But he, surprisingly, seemed to think better of it. But your sense of victory was only short lived when you saw the devilish sparkle in his crimson eyes.

“Oh, this isn’t over, love. Far from it”, the vampire promised, letting his tongue roll around in his mouth.

You stared at him and realised you might have made a mistake in thinking you could take it up with him on that. You stared at each other for a while. The vampire did not falter in the slightest.

But then Astarion just put his hand on the small of your back and proceeded to push you forward. “Not now though, my love, my payback will come in its own time, don’t worry”, he said cheerfully and drew out the last two words. And you blushed again.

But you were trying to be smarter about it now and refrained from trying to resist. You didn’t need to look at your vampire to know that a feral grin had found its way on his beautiful face.

Then, the two of you wandered quickly back through the rest of this maze of a mansion while trying to avoid the incubus or the drug den. And surely only after a few more minutes you made it back to the staircase that would quickly lead you back to the ballroom. You had been silent during the last couple of minutes of walking. But not because you were mad at Astarion (you could never stay mad at him for long if you were honest with yourself), but rather because your mind kept circling back to all you had seen, replaying scenes and images like a carousel. And on top of that you could feel that the whole rush of adrenaline set off by all the happenings so far started to wear off.

As you walked down the stairs, holding Astarion’s hand, the vampire threw you another glance: “Everything alright, my love?” He actually looked a little worried about you now.

You nodded at him as you kept thinking and dwelling in the oncoming wave of exhaustion. Truly, an opportunity to rest your eyes for a moment and also sit down would have been nice. But you were also determined to not let up and let Astarion have the full fun evening he’d been excited about for quite some time. So you decided to just push on – bit of exhaustion had never kept you from going on when much more perilous things than your social standing had been at stake during your joint adventures.

“I’m good”, you answered and squeezed his hand in assurance as you took the last couple of steps and were standing at the base of the staircase. Other than servants carrying around trays to and from the kitchen like bees busy to feed and provide for their hive, it was almost completely and pleasantly quiet and empty.

Every now and again, guests ventured up the stairs. But again, you couldn’t help but notice that people seemed to wander upstairs but so far it seemed you were one of the few that had come down again. Seemingly, it was almost as if two parties were going on at once – leaving the guests to decide if they were willing to cross a line; and some might even discovering that it had been a point of no return.

You were already heading back towards the direction of the big ballroom, but Astarion tugged on your joint hands and dragged you towards another direction – towards where the kitchen must be and the servants kept crossing. You grumbled at him for just dragging you on but the vampire just kept pulling you on with a smirk and a wink (“so many people would dream of me stealing them away and leading them to a hidden, dark corner, love. And here you are complaining for getting special treatment? Tss. Also didn’t we just talk about how you wanted me to not make you flustered in front of others?”)

But he didn’t lead you to a dark corner or even towards the kitchen but straight to where you hadn’t even noticed another set of double doors led outside. Much smaller than the ones you’d seen before and when you saw that it was just some of the staff standing around there and catching a break, you figured that it must be like a side entrance.

Astarion dragged you outside, earning some displeased looks from servants. But they still just went and left – obviously being instructed to not mess with guests and treating them with the utmost respect; no matter if they deserved it or not.

You stepped out onto a small round backyard that was now deserted except for the two of you. The space was surrounded by high hedges and much less pompous than the rest of the gardens or estate. A gravel path led around a pretty boring fountain and that was already the extent of the decorations.

It was pretty clear, that whoever had built this place had thought to accommodate servants with a little space – but only with barest minimum, baring them even from having a view on the city. Probably so they wouldn’t get ideas of working somewhere else, down there.

But despite the dull surroundings you were actually grateful for getting to have a few moments of peace amongst the rush of everything that was this night. You had imagined that it would be a wild ride, but this had felt quite like the fever dream for some parts.

Already you weren’t sure if you had actually seen the incubus with his pack of thirsty adorers or the poet reciting his dark words while being covered in blood. You still felt the buzz from all the drinks you’d had so far but in the crisp autumn air it let up a little. Your head cleared – as if you had come up from a dive and could finally get some fresh air into your lungs.

A sudden and even more urgent rush of exhaustion overcame you now and you realised that you had been holding way more tension in your body than you had admitted to yourself. And you suddenly felt the need to sit down.

So, you did and watched how a very poor stream of water came out the top of the boring fountain and pattered down into the basin below. Carefully you draped your skirts around you as to not ruin the wonderful garment. And on a whim, you stuck your head between your knees and let out a muffled groan – a mix of exhaustion and the pent-up tension.

Apparently, this, all this had taken much more of a toll on you then you would have thought: from the prospect of having to go to this spectacle and having to put up with rich arseholes (instead of just stabbing them with the pointy end of a knife and taking their purse) to experiencing a literal carnival of sin that tried to lure you in at every corner. Having sat down, giving yourself just a tiny break, you felt a bit like an oil lamp that you realised was about to run out of fuel.

“So, that’s what ‘good’ looks on you, my love, eh? What does ‘bad’ look like then, hm?”, Astarion said with a teasing and soft tone to you as he sat down beside you on the few steps leading down to the gravel path. Some tiny stones crunched under the soles of his fine leather shoes.

He softly placed a hand on your back and let it wander up and down – from your tailbone up to the nape of your neck where some small strands of hair had escaped from Astarion’s attempts of taming them with some pins.

“I’m not made for this kind of shit”, you muttered, your head still buried in between your knees.

You felt incredible grateful in this moment for Astarion seeing and realising your need to catch an actual break for a moment. It sometimes still surprised you how incredibly perceptive the vampire was. And the way he was so concerned about your well-being actually melted your heart.

Since the two of you had actually been in a committed relationship Astarion had been nothing but an actual sweetheart.

Yes, you bickered like an old married couple most of the time but that was just part of your chemistry. Yes, he made you occasionally want to scale a wall because of his antics. And yes, he sometimes almost lost his mind when you were unreasonable and stubborn about something.

But you loved each other and cared for each other deeply. And that fact was so deeply rooted in the basis of your relationship now that you could honestly assure yourself that there wasn’t something you were surer of in your life.

And so, you were thankful for Astarion – yet again – helping you with taking care of yourself a little better. This time, by having you sit down for a minute and relax instead of forcing yourself to always just push through.

For a few moments you just sat there, eyes closed, listening intently to the pitter of the boring fountain weakly spewing out water and some clattering from the nearby kitchen while focusing on the pleasant feeling of the vampire’s hand gently stroking your back.

“I think you’ve done rather well so far, my love!”, Astarion cheerfully exclaimed after a few more moments of calming near-perfect silence and pat-patted your back. “You screamed at some pretentious people, were the most beautiful person at this event and yet still haven’t sold your soul away for some temporary indulgence and also still have all your limbs about yourself – not even to mention your dignity”, he went on happily. “I’d actually call this evening quite the success so far.”

The vampire affectionately put his arm around you and pulled you against his shoulder as he said that. Then he bowed down and pressed a small kiss against your ear that tickled you and made you wriggle in the comforting hold of his arm.

“I thought I was only the second most beautiful person at this event?”, you replied from between your knees but couldn’t help letting a teasing tone enter your voice.

“I mean obviously, my sweet. But that’s what I get for trying to be nice? For trying to put my beloved before myself? I was only trying to make you feel better, love, but if little white lies is where you draw the line... And don’t go complaining about my ego again then!”

You peeked from where your head was still buried between your legs and saw that Astarion had started to gesticulate in one of his dramatic fashions. He was clearly putting on an act to cheer you up – and you loved him for it. Also, it was working.

“Yeah yeah, you’re putting me before you especially in the kind of situation you want me to stab someone for you”, you simply replied as you felt yourself starting to grin.

“What art thou accusing me of, villain, ‘tis a vile rebuke!”, Astarion went on placing the back of his free hand on his forehead then looking at you from the corner of his eyes seeing you peek up from your crouched position.

“Also, I can very well do my stabbing myself, thank you very much.”

The non-sense he kept spewing already made you forcefully draw down the corners of your mouth to not completely lose it.

“You’re full of shit – and yourself!”, you threw in.

“At least, I’m full of something!”

“Did you just call me hollow?” You lifted your head up from between your legs and stared at him in mock disbelief while struggling more and more to not break into laughter.

“You tell me.”

The audacity on this insolent godsdamned vampire.

But then as you kept staring at each other, both grinning, you just couldn’t contain yourself anymore. Some more tension easily left your body with the companionable laughter the two of you shared then.

Afterwards a hearty yawn broke free from your chest. And as you calmed down you went back to putting your head in between your knees with a deep breath. You really wanted to get back up again and keep going but then again – just sitting here with Astarion and goofing around was its own worthy pastime. Your partner started stroking your back again as you relaxed some more.

“If it’s too much though we can always leave, my heart. Get away from all this debauchery and the pretentious pricks. Although we’d be missing more chances to make ourselves the talk of town by the end of this night. But we could maybe grab a bottle or two of this wonderful champagne and make our own sinful little fun – at home”, the vampire broke the silence softly after a while – and with a tinge of naughty promise at the end.

You considered it for a moment because the thought of just spending the rest of the night with Astarion who would also probably make good on some promises from earlier in the night was indeed very enticing, but…

“No! We’ve fought literal fucking Gods! I am not going to back down because some wealthy, privileged noble arseholes are being mean to me or can’t keep it in their godsdamned pants”, you replied with a sudden exclamation and lifted your head up, looking up at Astarion.

And you saw the glint in his ruby eyes and knew that this had been exactly what he had intended. Astarion – as always – had known exactly what buttons he had to push with you. He knew exactly that you wouldn’t back down from a challenge.

But he had incited something in you know. You wouldn’t be intimidated or taken aback by all this stuff – as you’ve said before: some time ago you would have insulted all these arrogant assholes and taken their jewellery in the process. And ruining the night of some more of those nobles actually sounded like a wonderful idea right now.

You stood up from your reclined position, straightened your back and rolled back your shoulders, lifting up your chin. Astarion looked at you full of pride. His chest positively swelling with love and adoration for his fierce companion and lover.

“Good, because I didn’t have a single dance with you yet, my heart, and I would surely be inconsolable if I wouldn’t get the chance once to show off my wonderful lady. We can’t have that, can we?”, Astarion purred at you while he got up from his sitting position and stood in front of you.

He put his arm around your waist and pulled you to his chest in a single quick motion that made you gasp. Astarion looked at you with a fire starting to burn in his eyes that immediately made you feel the heat rise up in you again.

With his other hand Astarion cupped your face as he placed his forehead onto yours while firmly holding you against his body.

“No, we absolutely can’t have that”, you replied as a huge mischievous grin started to split your face.

Astarion’s smirk answered you with full power and he kissed you quickly and passionately. You were almost ready to completely lose yourself to him right then and there on the steps of this mediocre backyard when the vampire pulled back.

His glazed over eyes from the passionate and fierce kiss quickly coming back to a devilish sparkle.

“Let’s wreak some real havoc on this party then”, Astarion whispered, quickly pressing his lips onto yours again.

The grin you answered him with was almost feral: “Yes, let’s.”

Tags: Tags: @aurasyn

@margoteve

@usuallyunlikelyfox

@hollowmasque

@worryknotdear

[jerzwriter]

It's their fourth third Valentine's Day together, and it looks a little different than the rest. Still, all is going well until Tobias drops a little bombshell.

Book: Open Heart Pairing: Tobias x Casey Carrick (F!MC) Words: 1,500 Rating: Teen A/N: @choicesholidays Valentine's Day @choicesfebruary2024 Eros/Philia/Storge/Pragma

Darkness had already settled over the City of Boston, but the Carrick family’s kitchen was still full of life. Casey was tableside, desperately trying to convince Samantha to finish her dinner, while Tobias finished off the dishes from their meal that ended a half-hour before. In the midst of it, Pietro chased a ball around the kitchen floor, repeatedly skidding into a wall. Tobias shook his head with a chuckle.

“You know I’m going to have to pad the wall, or Pietro’s going to end up with brain damage.”

He peered over his shoulder when Casey didn’t reply, only to find her twirling around the kitchen, to their daughter's delight.   While Sammy happily babbled and clapped, the one thing she wasn’t doing was eating.

“Babe...” he said, bringing Casey's chaotic dancing to a halt.

“Uh.. yeah,” she stammered, slipping on her socked feet. “What did you say?”

“I said I need to pad the wall so Pietro doesn't keep slamming into it. But I think it might help you, too. What are you trying to do over there?”

“I’m trying to get our daughter to eat,” she sighed. “Bedtime’s in a half hour, and you know she won’t sleep long if she’s hungry.”

“True, and heaven knows we don't want any interruption tonight... but how is that Irish jig supposed to make her eat?”

Casey’s eyes met his, narrowing with both amusement and scorn. “It wasn’t an Irish jig! I was attempting to dance like Angelina Ballerina... I thought if I pirouetted these peas into her mouth, she just might take them.”

Tobias wordlessly turned off the faucet and dried his hands with a half smile. Walking over to the table, he took the spoon from Casey’s hand.

“Let me help.”

“I don’t know what you can do. It's been 30 minutes, and she hasn't eaten a thing. You're not going to..."

Casey’s jaw hung open as her husband began serenading their daughter, and the moment he started, she gleefully accepted her bits of chicken and strained peas.

“I’ve got sunshine... on a cloudy day... when it’s cold outside... I’ve got the month of May...” he crooned as his wife stood flabbergasted at his side.

“But... I don’t... how?”

“I don’t know, baby... I just have the magic touch. Ooh! Maybe I should sing The Platter’s instead.”

“You do that,” she huffed. “I’m going to take a quick shower.”

The thought of his beautiful wife stepping into their shower filled his head with less pure thoughts, and why not? It was Valentine’s Day, after all.   

“Nice,” he grinned. “Then, after I get this adorable little gremlin to sleep, Mommy and Daddy can celebrate grown-up style.”

With a chuckle, she stopped at the door. “Valentine’s Day sure is different in the parenting era... isn’t it?”

“Sure is,” he said, scooping the last bit of food off Sammy’s plate. “But it’s still amazing.”

“Of course it is,” Casey teased. “You’ve got me and Sammy... and she obviously likes you much more than me.”

“That’s not true,” he insisted. “And if it is, it means our daughter has horrible taste.”

“Well, she does like those peas,” Casey shrugged, then she was on her way.

~~~~~

Sometime later, Casey trotted down the stairs to find their rose bedecked living room looking like a scene from a movie. Awash in a soft, golden glow. Tobias had scattered meticulously selected candles all around; only Casey's absolute favorites would do. After lighting the last one, he turned his attention to her, eyes full of desire.

“You like?” He smiled as she sunk into the plush cushions of their sofa.

“What’s not to like,” she beamed. “Everything is beautiful! I sure am a lucky woman.”

With a gentle growl, he crossed the room and bridged the space between them, his hands sliding over the soft curves he so adored. Casey held him close, quietly giggling as he peppered her with kisses. The sound of her laughter, combined with the warm vanilla-jasmine scent that was hers and hers alone, left him lightheaded; Casey made the man drunker than wine ever could.

"What are you doing?" She laughed.

"What do you think? Any objections?"

"No, Dr. Carrick,” she swooned. “Not a single one."

He pulled back slightly with a smile, mesmerized as he ran a hand through her hair. "You know, you're the best wife I’ve ever had."

"Oh, really," she raised a brow. "I was under the assumption I was your only wife unless you have a whopper of a secret you need to divulge."

"Well, now that you mention it...I sort of do."

“You do?” she asked, eyes widened. “Do you have another wife... of a big secret?”

“Only the latter,” he chuckled deeply, his lips descending just under her ear. “But we can talk about that later.”

But later, it came much quicker than he had expected when Casey sat upright and turned on the lamp beside her.

“What are you doing?” he gasped.

“Tobias, you may be married to one of the most incredible women in Boston, but I’m still a woman... and there is no woman on earth that’s just going to carry on like nothing has happened after her husband announces he has a big secret. So... if you want to get back to our previously scheduled activities... I suggest you spill... and spill fast.”

“Case,” he whispered, the seductively playful gaze that usually got him out of anything firmly in place. “I’m just teasing. Now, why don’t we....”

“... have a conversation about this secret, Dr. Carrick.” She crossed her arms defiantly. “What happened to you? You used to be so smooth.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess I’m off my game.”

“Sleep deprivation will do that,” she smirked. “Now... your secret?”

Tobias shifted uncomfortably, finally settling, he took Casey’s hand in his.

“It’s not a secret, really. It's just something I’ve wanted to discuss.”

Her eyes silently urged him to continue.

“I just... I’ve been thinking. I’d really like us to have another baby.”

Casey sighed with relief. “Well, duh! That’s not a secret, Tobias! You’ve made it very clear you’d like enough children to start your own softball team.  And while you’re not getting that many out of me, we’ve always said we’d have more someday.”

“Yeah,” he turned to her with puppy dog eyes. “What if that someday were, say... now.”

Casey pulled away. “Now? Now, as in... you want to try... now?”

“Why not,” she asked, scooting closer to her. "It would be a great story to tell our kid... you were conceived on Valentine’s Day.”

“Iww. First, no... no kid wants to hear that... and you mean, now?”

“Yeah. I mean, think about it.  Even if we got lucky right away, we’d have to wait nine months for her to get here...”

“Wow, you know that? Looks like that Hopkins Med School degree really paid off...”

"Very funny," he smirked. "What I'm saying is we'd be looking at the end of the year. Sammy would almost be two...”

“She’d be a year and a half...”

“True, but... wouldn’t it be nice if our girls were close in age.”

“Girls?”

“Yeah, I'm pretty confident I don't make boys.”

"Babe," Casey laughed. "Are you being serious?”

“Do you think I’d interrupt Valentine’s Day sex if I wasn’t?”

“I don’t know,” she wondered. “It’s unlike you to interrupt any sex, so I guess you are serious.”

“And I take it you're not in agreement."

“Tobias,” she sighed, gently caressing his cheek. "You know I want to have another baby, but... now?"

“Sure... I mean it... I don't want the girls far apart in age. My brother and I had such a big age difference, and I'm not sure I want that for them. Besides, it’s not like money is an issue, and...”

Casey could tell there was more, so she gently pushed him along. “And?”

“And I’m going to be forty in five days.”

“Are you saying your bio clock is ticking.?”

“Wiseass," he grinned. "So, you're not on board."

“I’m... not... not right now. Sammy isn’t even a year old yet, and while I love being her mom and parenting with you... it’s not easy, Tobias. We’re both exhausted most of the time.”

“So, we can get more help. I’ll even let Ma come over more often.”

“Oh great! So then I can institutionalize you and have to raise two kids on my own? No, thank you.”

Taking in his small frown, Casey pulled him into a hug, gently kissing the top of his head as she caressed him.

“I know you’re going to be forty, but I’m only thirty-one... and if we’re honest, Sammy was a surprise. A wonderful surprise, but a surprise nevertheless.  I figured we were a couple years away from considering having our first, and I’m not so sure I’m ready to be the mom of two just yet.”

“Yeah, and it would really be the mom of three if you count me.”

“Hey," she said, raising her hands. "You said it, not me! I’m not saying we have to wait forever... Sammy turns one in April, why don’t we revisit this conversation at the end of summer... and not right before we’re about to get busy.”

With an impish grin, he grabbed his phone from the coffee table.

"What are you doing?" She asked.

“Scheduling our conversation for Labor Day weekend... that's kind of appropriate if you think about it.”

Casey gently shoved him, falling back onto his lap in a fit of laughter. "You are too much.”

"I am, aren't I?" He smiled, leaning over to give her a soft kiss.

"OK. So we're not making a baby tonight... but we can still get in some practice?" Animatedly wagging his brows.

"Sure," Casey laughed. "I'm always down to practice... where would you like me?"

Tobias bit his lower lip and eagerly flipped on top of her.

"Right here... I'm not waiting. Happy Valentine's Day, baby."

"Happy Valentine's Day," she replied. "But no baby yet, sir!"

~~~~~

I hope you enjoyed the silliness. I figured this is where they'd be in their relationship right now. Thanks so much for reading!

[sommerregenjuniluft]

@jegulus-microfic september 9 — carry — 1.6k words — mentions of sex at the end of the chapter! kinda nsfw

or; in which Regulus has a tense neck and James is so, so helpful <3

Regulus has, frankly, had enough of carrying children around for the next three of his lifetimes.

Ron has busted his knee open on the gravel outside while playing catch and is now crying? Regulus is cradling him close as he whisks back inside and playing doctor as he gets the gentle disinfectant and band-aids. Neville had a little pee accident? Regulus is carrying him to the bathrooms with outstretched arms for a change of clothes. Harry is getting into a fight with another kid over a toy situation involving being mean to Hermoine? Regulus has to swoop down and take him to the quiet room to calm him down and then talk about voicing one’s feelings or getting the help of an adult.

The frown gradually eases off his little forehead behind his round glasses as he listens to Regulus, sniffling occasionally. He has a spiderman themed patch over his left eye that Regulus finds mortifyingly adorable.

Honestly, Regulus would have quit long ago if it wasn’t for how easily these little stinkers have weaseled their ways into his heart.

Regulus is 23 and his back is a tragedy.

His joints bop and creak and the muscles in his neck are stiffer than cement at his point.

Being bent over the low desks in the tiny chairs to help the kids arts and craft the decoration for this Friday’s Halloween party is not doing him any favors either.

“Stan Lee called, he wants his wall-crawling, web-shooting superhero back!” a warm voice comes from the door to their group’s room.

Well, Regulus supposes there might be one or two more reasons besides the kids he likes his job for.

Harry groans next to him without looking up, vaguely wagging his arm in James’ direction, “Noo, daddy, I can’t go yet. I need to finish my snow owl!”

Regulus finally lets himself look up from his seat to catch James crossing his arms and leaning into the doorframe. He’s in a crimson cable knit sweater over a crisp white button down and dark gray slacks that fit inappropriately snug in all the right places.

James nods solemnly, “Right, right, because the other five snow owls taped to your bedroom window need one more for company or they’ll be lonely, huh?”

Harry sighs exasperatedly, “This one’s not coming home with us.”

James raises an eyebrow at Regulus in question, badly concealing his grin.

“These are for the party on Friday,” Regulus supplies helpfully, quickly swiping the glue from Ron before he sticks it in his mouth the fourth time today. Lily was the one to sign herself up for bringing Harry as well as brownies and lemonade so Regulus isn’t too surprised it wasn’t at the front of James’ mind.

This one shoots up then, “Oh, fu—n,” gawking at his own slip-up.

Regulus levels him with an unimpressed stare, lips twitching.

James drives his fingers through his chaotic curls, “Yeah, funny thing, I actually meant to talk to you about it, Regulus.”

A gentle shiver tingles it’s way up Regulus’ spine, “It’s Mr. Black.”

James makes a face that says obviously, “I know, love,” licks his lips to conceal the cheeky smile threatening to spill. Regulus wants to hit him. “Lily actually had something come up, and I was able to postpone a meeting so now I’m the one bringing Harry and staying for the buffet.”

Oh.

“Oh,” Regulus’ jaw might drop a bit.

James hums happily and then steals a pen out of the little basket on the table next the door, “Unfortunately I’m no good with brownies, I do however make the best fruit sticks covered in chocolate— so,” points the pen at Regulus with a grin, “Where do i sign?”

Regulus ducks his head against the flush crawling up his cheeks as he stands up, “Um— I’ll get the list.”

“Oh, no worries, Regulus,” his colleague Dorcas leers from across the table, “I’ve got the gremlins managed. I think James would be happy to head upstairs with you and while you’re at it,” Regulus already knows what’s coming as Dorcas’ smile turns overly sweet, “I’m sure he could give you a hand with my new desk chair with those big muscles of his.”

Regulus looks over at James, “You don’t have t—”

“Lead the way,” James says with a wink.

James carries the oversized carton up the stairs without breaking a fucking sweat while Regulus had taken one look at it, nudged it with a knee to see how heavy it was and then told Dorcas not a chance in hell.

Because, as established, his back is a tragedy and all that.

It’s twinging now too as he takes the thick binder out of the cabinet and drops it on top with a thunk.

Regulus tilts his neck and lets his upper spine crack with a grunt, does the same on the other side while he flicks through the papers.

James looks at him with an unnaturally blank expression when he asks, “You okay?”

Regulus rolls his shoulders to ease the tension, making a non-comical noise.

“Well, it’s no surprise you have some back pain working with children.”

Regulus chuckles humorlessly, flicking a glance James’ way, “What are you, a physio-therapist?”

“Oh,” a smug chuckle that has Regulus turning warily, “Close enough.”

Regulus crosses his arms in front of his chest and waits for him to elaborate.

James cocks his head, mimics his stance and waits him out patiently.

Regulus has half the mind to kick him.

Asks, with an eyeroll that’s nearly painful, “Well, what’s your occupation?”

“I’m a chiropractor.”

“Oh, you’re kidding.”

“Am not, today might just be your lucky day.”

Regulus considers that for a moment.

He could easily shrug it off as a joke. Roll his eyes once more, hand James the damn list to jot down his name and stupid, sexy chocolate covered grapes and strawberries and god knows what else and then kick him the fuck out and back down to collect Harry and have him on his merry way.

He could do that.

Should, probably.

It’s just that his neck really fucking aches and it’s even gotton to the point of disturbing his sleep the past few days.

Regulus sighs, “I don’t have any cash on me right now.”

James snorts, “I didn’t expect you to pay me, love.”

Regulus worries his bottom lip between his teeth for another moment.

“C’mon you look stiff as a board,” James nods his chin at him and Regulus turns dutifully but not without another eyeroll.

James steps closer and immediately draws his left palm up over his back, thumb tracking his spine. “I’m warning you though, these babies have it in them,” digs the pads of his strong fingers into Regulus’ shoulders for enunciation.

Regulus blames what comes out of his mouth next on the mind boggling spice of James’ cologne, “I’m good with hard.”

The hands twitch against Regulus for a moment and he hears a noise that sounds like James is running his tongue along his teeth behind his lips.

Voice husky and breath tickling Regulus’ dark curls, “Alright,” a hand running down Regulus’ spine as a thumb digs into a pressure point in his neck, “Good to know.”

James seems to mostly palpate the hotspots of Regulus cramped muscles and the places of where joints would have to be realigned.

Body heat warm from behind and palms thorough as he kneads Regulus’ hard muscles and puts pressure along where he scans for more issues.

When he circles back to his neck and uses both his hands on one side Regulus can’t help but groan, shivering involuntary.

James makes a small cooing noise, “Yeah, I know, I’m sorry, I'm sorry.”

Regulus pants a breath, shakes his head feebly, “Mm, you’re good.”

“This doesn’t look too good, love,” James voice rumbles, closer to Regulus’ ear now.

Regulus hisses at the sting when James releases the muscle and goes over to the other side. His mouth drops open and he whines too loudly when James picks back up with his administrations.

“Regulus,” if he was less caught up the unforgiving press of his fingers Regulus maybe would have noticed how strangled James sounded.

He works him dutifully through the other side and then slides his palms past Regulus’ shoulder blades and rests them at the dip of his back for a lingering second before gently squeezing at his waist.

Prompts Regulus into turning around and coming to face the other man again.

His lips look a bit redder than Regulus remembers.

“Well, that’s all I can do for now without my office massage table,” James rubs at the back of his neck sheepishly.

Regulus rolls his shoulders out and notes with satisfaction how much looser he feels already, “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it, love,” James replies with a smile so warm Regulus melts a bit around the edges.

He feels embarrassingly gooey.

James ends up filling out the sheet and then leaving with Harry five minutes later.

When he shows up Friday noon he’s clad in ridiculously tight pants again and a ridiculously orange pumpkin jumper. Also cat ears for some reason.

Lily is able to join for a few minutes at the end, watching Harry perform the trick or treating song they had the kids learn and then taking him home.

James ends up staying to help clean up.

He feeds Regulus one of the last chocolate covered fruit sticks—grape, strawberry and blueberries, honey melon and peaches.

Regulus ends up blowing James for it, turning him into a groaning, whimpering mess as he sucks his heavy cock into the back of his throat and James retaliates by realigning his spine in a very non-chiropractor way.

They crush the rest of Molly’s blueberry muffins while they’re at it.

[stepswordsen]

【Magi】 Judar Wearing Hanfu 🖤❤️🐈‍⬛

【Magi】 Judar wearing hanfu 🖤❤️🐈‍⬛

【マギ】 漢服（ハンフ）を着るジュダル

Intro

Judar is my fave Magi chara, and JuAli is my fave Magi ship, so I REALLY wanna create plushie designs of them one day, as well as a Tegaki fan-animatic MV... It's my dream 🙏

My unhinged gremlin black cat son who's Black Sun, Moon, and Eclipse themed! 🐈‍⬛☀️🖤🌙

1st Judar doodle is a planned concept art reference sheet I wanna do for my headcanon design of him wearing black and red hanfu 💞

2nd Judar doodle is based on a Vocaloid song parody with JuAli (Judar/Alibaba) x Unfriendly Hater by Meddmia (drawn by WOOMA) 🖤❤️💛

In my HCs, Judar wears a type of hanfu called Ruqun (襦裙). Ru (襦) is the cross-collared top of a hanfu, and the wrap-around skirt is called Qun (裙). The coat jacket is called Da Xiu Shan (大袖衫)

He'd look great wearing black and red hanfu with white and gold accents~ The black outer coat jacket is slightly translucent, so it'll show the cross collared top's red sleeves through it.

I drew some tentative rain drop earrings for now, but I imagine he would wear gold and red hanfu earrings, and/or snowflake/icicle ones (since Judar is an ice magic user) ❄️

I've been forgetting to post my doodles from my side account onto main, so here you go. I missed talking about my son and drawing him.

I think my art style is getting more refined 🥰💖 The way I draw faces/eyes has been improving steadily! The first Judar doodle was the first time I experimented with an eye style with thicker eyelashes and underlashes! I love the new eye style a lot, so I've comfortably settled into it for the rest of my arts.

I want to draw him in different styles of huafu too, but I made the main hanfu he wears in my HC version, simple to draw (black coat jacket, red cross collared top, black wrap around skirt) with simple patterns, just for my own sake.

...

I'm obsessed with Meow meow mf charas. Black and white colour scheme and design aesthetics. Black and/or white hair. Black Sun & Moon themed. Sharp tsurime eyes. Eyeshadow. Causes problems on purpose. C*nty Sen-core bastard cat. Smug chaotic edgy evil asshole character. Violent, unhinged, bloodthirsty and murderous. Arrogant with a huge ego that distances them from humanity (or social interactions).

I love "Sen-core Meow meow mf" and "Cunty Sen-core" bastard cat Annoying Nyam Nyam types like him /pos <3 🐈‍⬛💗

Judar's long black hair with braids, and black + white + red + yellow design hits my fave aesthetics 💗I love his braids sm

Judar is my fave Magi chara. No one is surprised LOL. Judar is a perfect Sen-core character.

Especially since I KNEW I have a history of being obsessed with Kuroha (KagePro) since I was 12. I knew exactly what would happen

The fact that my evil unhinged meow meow pipeline has led me from Kuroha (2013) to Judar (2022) is really not surprising at all.

It's so funny rereading my messages from 2022 when I first read Magi and guessed that he'd be my fave after seeing his 1st CAMEO appearance 😭😂 It's like watching my downfall in real time /lh

My friends mainly associate me with my meow meow mf faves like Douman, Xanxus, Judar, Idate, Kuroha, and Hibari. To be known for them is an honour ✨ It makes me very happy (❁´◡`❁)

Judar's a fun chara and a perfect squishable gremlin it's natural I'm devoted to him. I love my son

I wanna draw even more of him cuz he's just so fun to draw. I need to practice more cuz I have trouble drawing his spiky hair at times

I put the rest of my doodle WIPs, and talks of my headcanon design for him, and my art process under the cut ✨ Cuz I don't think I ever talked about how I got obsessed with this chara in full? I'll put that too

WIP Shots

The last one is an older doodle. I still like aspects of it but I'd redraw it (also the above doodles are just better drawn versions of it)

Headcanon Design

Judar wears hanfu and hanfu earrings in my headcanon design.

I imagined that he would wear gold and red hanfu earrings, and also snowflake/icicle ones! Silver snowflake ones, and glass icicle earrings would be cool...

So I think I may wanna put snowflake/ice and dragon patterns on his hanfu. The silhouette of a Chinese dragon (ice dragon) would be rad 🐉

I want Alibaba to wear traditional Arabic clothes (white and yellow). I've been looking into it for now, but I wanna draw it soon... I also HC Alibaba to have tanner skin in my HC design

Ohtaka is really good at harmonizing colour palettes (seen with the volume covers). I loooove using teal/cool tinted black when colouring my meow meow mf faves, so this is a treat hehe

Since Judar is from the Kou Empire, which is based on China, I wanted to project Judar's ethnicity onto his design more (since many friends who I've spoken to from my other interests didn't know he was even CN inspired until I told them)

I always take aspects I like from canon and imbue it with my own tastes! I base my drawings on my own headcanons/interpretations of my faves.

I agree with the above post <3

Magi is in my top favourite series ever in terms of art and writing. It's generally peak imo

Magi's biggest flaws are the whitewashing, colourism and racial stereotyping (ex. racially stereotyped clothing in the character designs) and some parts of the setting being bastardized takes on SWANA and South Asian cultures, and I've always been critical of that.

Of course, it's totally normal for cultures to do cultural exchanges with each other, but that's not what's going on here.

A lot of EA media feeds into insensitive/distasteful racial stereotypes on non EA cultures, we don't need more of it being perpetuated in fandom spaces. I personally won't be drawing certain Magi charas in their canon clothing designs.

Ohtaka's drawn him (Judar) in hanfu before, it should've been his canon clothes instead.

I love his hair design with the braids sm. I draw him in huafu in my HC design instead as a fix-it for the obvious colourism going on in Magi's chara designs, and also, the charas' clothing designs and parts of the settings too, being bastardized and racially stereotyped takes on SWANA and South Asian cultures.

WIP Shots (Art Process)

I drew these, which I like, but I liked the original best (up top). A few of them have slightly more curled hair strands! I think 1st and 2nd are the best in capturing the vibes, but the others are also interesting to see. I might incorporate some aspects from them when I refine this doodle

I think there's a lot of improvement from my past doodles. I still like this but I'd redraw it (since I feel like my recent doodles are just better drawn versions of this)

Admittedly I'm MUCH better at drawing meow meow mfs, so I haven't gotten the chance to draw Alibaba yet.

I find Judar's spiky hair hard to draw so I'm still trying to decide how I want to draw it...

I love how Ohtaka draws the shape of his braids. I didn't get the time to refine the sketch yet so I just blocked in the shape of his braids roughly with a silhouette (so I'll go fix it later)

I wanna redraw and refine the hair and clothes later 👍

I think when I actually get to colouring, though, I'm gonna desaturate the teal tinted black colour slightly

On the 1st sketch pass, I just care about making the face and eyes look good (since it's usually the main focus of my pieces)

Then I just scribble whatever for the clothes.

And then when I go back to clean up the sketch, then I fix everything else, including the clothes

Inspiration

(Magi: Kou Empire Arc - Ch. 255 Spoilers)

I was rereading the Judar vs. Aladdin fight in the Kou Empire arc and I love how dynamic Ohtaka's art is. I'm in love with the compositions

Judar's ice dragons and the the last page with Judar being themed with the moon!!! That's so cool. My son is so cool and iconic

Judar’s leitmotif is the Black Sun and Moon ☀️🖤🌙

I reread the Kou Empire arc so many times cuz it's SO good art/writing wise and just in general like WHDSHDHSH

But this is why I want Judar's hanfu to have snow/ice and ice dragons on it. I'll make it an easy pattern/silhouette and use a stamp brush probably cuz uh I don't want to have to draw that by hand every time

...

Ohtaka is one of my main art inspirations of what I wanna draw like someday in terms of technical skill. Her inking is godly.

Ohtaka is BRILLIANT with inking, dynamic battle compositions, perspectives, and colours... Her art is soooo good, it's such visual eye candy.

Ohtaka is brilliant with complex dynamic perspectives and inking. She draws GREAT expressions. Her colours harmonize really well. She's a brilliant author/story writer.

Her inking style is so unique. And it fits thematically too with how Magi is mainly in black and white (black and white rukh)

Since Magi was loosely based on 1001 Nights for the charas' names and parts of the setting, the roc/rukh is a giant legendary bird.

It's apparently a reference to Rukh/Rok (A mythological bird) and Rūḥ ("Essence/Soul")

Source: (X)

The way her inking stands out on its own with minimal screentone usage (except for BG effects and lighting) is a testament to her skill

Misc Rambles

These are my top fave meow meow mf faves.

My top main faves are all very important and personal to me, just in different ways. So I tie them all as no. 1 ✨

Irt Judar and Kuroha/Saeru, they're completely different characters personality wise, since Judar is mischievous, bratty and playful, childlike and emotionally immature (due to his personality and context), but they have similar~ish designs and a couple similarities, in terms of their basics.

As in, they're both evil black haired meow meow mfs with similar expression ranges, who are bloodthirsty, sadistic, and love causing violence for fun. They have the same Sen-core character type.

They have similar~ish hairstyles (black hair with braids in the back, unique eyes (Kuroha's snake eye pupils and the rings in Judar's eyes), and are unhinged bloodthirsty meow meow mf core charas

...

My History

(Magi: Ch. 15 - Judar's 1st Cameo Appearance)

Ok I don't think I ever told in full my origin story with this chara, I guess. Basically I was going off the mutuals/blorbo osmosis and just my friends' rambles at this point before I read the series.

And I was reading back my messages of what I sent to my friends at the time

I first read Magi, I think around Sept 2022, two chapters, then started again in Oct 2022 read to Ch. 15 saw Judar and was like. (.) 🧍 This design is Sen core. Don't let me go down like this.

When I first saw Judar’s CAMEO in Ch. 15... I had a feeling.

Cuz I sensed Sen core meow meow mf.

I felt my doom. I knew it... I sensed it with my instincts 😭

WHEN I FIRST SAW THIS PANEL OF JUDAR, I WAS LIKE OH NO... I SENSED MY DOWNFALL.

And then I was like, "Well I made my bed, so time to go lie in it 👍"

Since I saw the charas from my friends' tweets before, can you believe that at this point I was like "Wow I wonder how my would be ship interact together. They're on the same page!!!" 🤸

THIS IS INSANE OF ME DSAKLSDKLKLSDKLS

My friends were like "I can't believe you're shipping them this early 😭 Even before they actually interact omggg"

And I started shipping JuAli by Ch. 15. So before they even interacted. So when I JUST saw Judar. And then I doodled them right after (it was my first doodle of them!) 😭😂 LMFAOOOO

Good god me getting obsessed with charas/ships is like my insanity speedrun

Me with JuAli and KuroEne... Insanity speedrun x1000000

Like I had a feeling that he'd become my fave by his first CAMEO appearance... He makes his first major appearance around like ~Ch. 44

Douman took 5 days for me to be obsessed with after I found out about his character/writing.

Judar just took me seeing his 1st cameo appearance in the manga.

Kuroha/Saeru took just seeing the Outer Science MV when I was 12 (Tbf, Outer Science is peak KagePro and is one of the best KagePro MVs in terms of visuals and storytelling)

...

Judar is extremely important and personal to me, I feel this as someone who comes from a similar cultural background to him as well, Judar is EA/CN inspired and so his background and backstory context really makes me feel for him… Speaking personally, as someone who is Viet/SEA diaspora.

Considering Judar's backstory context, and his character arc themes of resentment and grief… Wahhhh ;__; I can mildly relate to him.

Like, ahhh, this character makes me so emotional… He makes me want to cry (in a good way). Emotional tears, cuz this chara is so healing and cathartic for me. I'll punch him out of love! 🫶

[majorproblems77]

all right! For a fic request how about some Sky, Wild, Hyrule crack/fluff? I know people usually pair up wild and hyrule as the chaotic adventurers who explore and get lost, but I’d love to see Sky get in on the action. Do with it what you will 😉 angst or no angst

Oh what a fun combination! (I love gremlin Sky.)

"Hey! Where are you two off to anyway?"

Sky found the Hyrule and Wild headed into the woods. The traveller and the champion looked back at him with a smile passing between them.

"Oh hey Sky! We were just...." Hyrule started, looking to Wild his eyes flicking between the champion and the skyloftian.

"Yeah. Just..." Wild tried to get the sentence but Sky stopped him. His arms crossed.

"Where are you going?" the skyloftian's voice was monotone, concern laced through it. Last time he caught them sneaking off they got lost and were missing for three days before Wolfie had managed to bring them back to camp.

Man he loved that wolf.

"We were going cliff jumping..." Hyrule gave a sheepish smile scratching the back of his head.

Cliff jumping? He loved cliff jumping!

The Skylofian's eyes lit up, his hands grasping together in excitement. "Can I come?"

"You want to?" Wild asked, confusion in his eyes as he and Hyrule shared a look.

Sky crossed his arms, "I spend my life jumping from my island home in the sky to land on a loftwing to fly around. We've not been to my home in months and I miss that wind. Of course, I want to." the skyloftian gave a hopeful smile. As the others looked on.

"And..." The skyloftian placed his hands behind his back, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he looked to his right, back in the direction of the camp. "I could clear things up with Time. When we get back..."

Wild and Hyrule looked at each other and then smiled. the spark of adventure flashing across them.

"Well then let's go!"

---

"So Wild... You know the way back?" Sky asked, raising an eyebrow as he watched the champion climb down from his perch up a tall tree.

"So you know how none of us are good with navigation..." Wild landed on the ground with a gentle thud.

"Wolfe is gonna be so mad again..." Hyrule deflated, as he looked at their surroundings.

"Oh, I can totally help with that." Sky smiled between them two. "you just let me handle it alright?" The Skyloftian smiled as he settled under the tree. "If we are going to wait for Wolfie to find us, might as well catch up on my sleep while we wait."

Sky settled under the tree and was just about to doze off when he heard a call from the forest. A wolf call.

"Wolfie! Thank Hylia!" Hyrule ran over to the wolf as it appeared through the trees.

The wolf growled, his eyes clearly unimpressed.

"Oh don't be angry!" Sky said, "Hyrule and Wild were helping me!" Sky smiled as he walked over. The wolf tilted its head in confusion as the Skyloftian patted it on the head.

"Yeah! He asked us to join him..." Wild said, forcing a smile through his teeth.

"You see..." Sky started, as he held his arms, an expression Wild and Hyrule had seen before. "And you can't tell the others. I've been feeling really homesick." The wolf lowered his head as a wine escaped it. Gently bumping its nose against Sky's hand. "I know you've spent your life on the ground but I spent my life in the sky. Freefalling was a daily activity." Sky sat on the ground, allowing the wolf to pad at his legs.

"Wild said he's seen somewhere high enough to feel like it. so. He and Hyrule brought me here. I hadn't realised how much I'd missed it." Sky looked away. "It's not exactly like falling at home is. But it's kind of close. Can we stay for just a little longer? Please?"

Wolfie sits, giving a single nod. Before settling under a nearby tree.

"Thank you! Thank you thank you!" Sky sounded ecstatic, as he stood quickly. "Wild, let me show you how to fall properly. Come on!"

Wolfie remained sat with Hyrule while Sky and Wild jumped a few more times. each time yells of enjoyment and laughter escape the pair.

"We should get back. It's almost dark.."

---

Walking back into Camp was an adventure. the look on Time's face seeped disappointment, as he spotted Wild and Hyrule first.

"Well, that's two of the three. is Sky with you?"

"I'm here." Sky waved as he too entered the surrounds of camp. giving a small smile

"And where have you been...?"

Times Gaze turned to Sky as he wrung his hands.

"Well... I was feeling homesick. and Wild and Hyrule found this Cliff to jump off. They were just trying to cheer me up, please don't be mad at them!" The skyloftian pleaded with the older hero.

Time's gaze softened as he placed a hand on the Skyloftians shoulder. "Next time Sky. Just tell us where your going, we've been worried sick about where you three have been."

"I will. I will. " He beamed as he entered the camp, leaving Time with Hyrule and Wild.

"Ahh no you dont." The older hero stopped them. "We are talking about this when Twilight gets here.

"Wolfie, will you go and find Twilight, tell him to come back as it's safe." The wolf huffed in response before turning and sprinting off into the forest and out of sight.

The three heroes stood in silence before they heard the rustling of someone coming through the trees behind them.

Twilight.

"Ahh there you two are! You had me worried sick." The rancher looked over to camp to find the Skyloftian a smile on his face as he and Wind shared a hug. "you found Sky too! good."

"It is. Now you owe this one an apology, you've had him pacing circles around camp for hours now."

"Sorry, Twi..."

"No worries cub, I know you two need y'all space, just tell someone next time." The rancher smiled as he patted Wild on the shoulder.

"We will. Thanks Twilight..."

With that the two heroes walked into Camp, Wild moving over to the cooking pot, might be worth trying to make that Pumpkin soup recipe.

Just in case something in the Skyloftian was telling the truth when he said he was homesick.

Just in case....