#morbidly curious to see if he's still at it but I have better things to do + I have him blocked so I don't feel like fucking w that

[jinglecats]

Man. Anyone else remember that one Really Normal guy who had a blog completely dedicated to insisting goodra's a female-only pokemon. Because I do. Unfortunately.

[ariestrxsh]

⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧˚ ⋅₊ ⊹🍒⭒⋆. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ ⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧˚ ⋅₊ ⊹🍒⭒⋆

⚠️ content warning: ⚠️ smut, oral, praise, daddy kink, semi-public, risky, drugdealer!chris, enemies to lovers

✍️ Summary: ✍️ You start rebelling against your cop dad, and who better to be your partner in crime than Chris Sturniolo, the local drug dealer your dad busted last year and told you to stay away from.

⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧˚ ⋅₊ ⊹🍒⭒⋆. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ ⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧˚ ⋅₊ ⊹🍒⭒⋆

"You look a little out of place here," a familiar voice from behind me broke through the sound of the loud music and startled me, causing me to nearly drop my red solo cup. I whipped around to see who it was. Chris Sturniolo. My dad had warned me about him. He'd busted Chris for selling weed last year, but of course, he didn't learn his lesson and was still just as much of a scumbag as ever.

"What do you want, Chris?" I rolled my eyes after subtly looking him up and down. He looked really fucking good. He was in a black tanktop, a grey flannel, grey sweatpants, and a backward black hat. He held a blunt loosely between his lips as he smiled at me. "What I'd really like is to get out of here and smoke this with you," he said, taking the unlit blunt out of his mouth and holding it out to me.

"You know my dad would kill me if I smoked weed, but he'd kill me twice if I smoked weed with you," I scoffed. "He doesn't have to find out, sweetheart. Plus, he'd be pissed that you were at this party to begin with. Why stop pissing him off now?" Chris responded, smirking at me.

I was going through a bit of a rebellious phase. Growing up with a cop father, there were a lot of things I couldn't participate in as a high school student without being worried he'd play detective and find out or something. But I was finally starting to branch out and test the water a little bit when it came to boys and drinking. After all, I was 19 with nearly no experience. Why not weed, too?

"I've never smoked before," I told him. "I know. I'd love to be the one to pop your cherry," Chris devilishly grinned at me. I rolled my eyes at him and smoothed out the wrinkles in my dress. "Listen, I know you're trying to rebel against your dad. This is your first party. This is probably your first alcoholic drink," Chris said, pointing to the cup in my hand, and he was right, "and I'd love to help you rebel a little bit."

"What's in it for you?" I glared at him. "Revenge on your dad for busting me last year. Corrupting his little girl would be my pleasure," Chris leaned in and whispered to me. His lips brushed against my ear lobe, sending shivers down my spine.

I thought about it for a second. I'd always hated Chris, and I was still weary of him, because my dad had warned me about him, and had pretty much forbade me from ever making friends with him, even though he wasn't my type of people. But I was a little morbidly curious about him. "Fine," I agreed, and he extended his hand out to me, and I took it.

He led me through the crowd and out the back door, our shoes crumpling the dead leaves beaneath us. There was a spot on the side of the house that was tucked away behind a tree that Chris brought me to. We both leaned up against the house, looked up at the starry night sky, and were glad to get away from all the noise and people.

The autumn breeze kicked up as Chris attempted to spark up the blunt. "Here. Help me? Hold your hands out like this," Chris showed me, and I made a little cave with my palms to shield the lighter from the wind. The fire from the lighter was warm, especially compared to the cool outside air.

He took a few hits and then passed it to me. "Now, just take one hit. This is your first time, so you don't wanna overdo it," he said in a low raspy voice, "and make sure that when you inhale, you inhale into your lungs, not just into your mouth before blowing it out."

I held the blunt up to my lips, and as I sucked, the cherry on the end made a faint crackling sound. The smoke felt warm and thick in my lungs. "Hold it, hold it. Okay, now you can exhale. Good girl," Chris whispered, and as I blew out the smoke, I coughed hard, and I wasn't sure if it was from the smoke or if it was from when I gasped when Chris called me that.

"Just sit tight for like ten minutes, and if you don't feel anything, I'll let you have another hit, okay?" Chris said, rubbing my cheek. "Why are you being so nice to me?" I asked him, giving him a skeptical look. "Because I was once in your shoes, experimenting with drugs for the first time, and there was no one looking out for me, but I wish there were," he answered, taking another puff and blowing it in the opposite direction as I was standing. "I have a question for you now," he stated, glancing at me with his beautiful, bloodshot blue eyes, "why do you dislike me?"

"Chris, you're a drug dealer. My dad has warned me about you. You're a dangerous man," I told him, looking down at my shoes. "I promise I'm not dangerous. You don't know me, and your pig dad doesn't know me. Yeah, so I sell weed. That's one very small part of who I am," Chris replied, with a genuine hurt in his voice.

I could relate to his dismay in being judged by someone who doesn't even really know you. After all, having a dad who was a cop and being the odd one out when it came to experience with boys and drugs came with a lot of judgment as well.

"I'm sorry. I guess I don't know you," I responded in a shaky voice. "That's alright. After all, judgments aren't all bad. It's your judgment that tells you not to walk into a lion's den," Chris responded, blowing a cloud of smoke above him, and I watched it dissipate into the night sky.

"I think I'm starting to feel it," I whispered, fixating on the way the smoke danced through the atmosphere with Chris' every exhale. I felt less uptight and less serious. "Does it feel good?" Chris smirked. "Yeah," I said, my eyelids growing heavy while I smiled over at him like an idiot.

"You look so pretty when you're high," Chris whispered, holding the lit tobacco leaf back up to his lips. "God, I wish I were that blunt," I whispered back, and Chris' eyes widened as he smiled in disbelief. "Oh my god, did I just say that out loud?" I asked, covering my mouth with my hand.

"Yeah, is that how you really feel?" Chris asked, winking at me. I blushed. "I'm sorry. I'm high. I was thinking, and I didn't mean to say that out loud. Are weed and alcohol supposed to make you horny?" I asked, glancing down into my nearly empty solo cup.

"It can have that effect sometimes," Chris teased me, offering me the blunt one more time. I accepted it, inhaling just like Chris told me and blowing the smoke out, but this time, because the blunt was so small, it slightly burnt my fingers and lips when I took a drag. I still coughed, but Chris rubbed my back.

"Did you mean that earlier? About wishing you were the blunt?" Chris poked fun at me while he took a last puff and put out the cherry on the bottom of his shoe. I innocently bit my lip and ignored his question.

Chris leaned in and kissed me. His lips were smooth and soft, and he tasted of weed and cherry chapstick. His tongue begged for entrance into my mouth, and I allowed it. His kiss was gentle but powerful, and his hands immediately started wandering my body. I'd made out with boys before and even been touched by them before, but the way Chris' fingers danced across my neckline and down to my waist made me think we might go further than I ever had before.

Chris' hand traveled down to my thighs, and he pushed up the hem of my dress and started rubbing the front of my panties. "Oh my, look at you getting all wet. Is that because of me?" He asked, looking into my eyes. "Mhmmm," I moaned while he held my neck with one hand and slid his other down the front of my underwear. I gasped as he made direct contact with my clit and started gently toying with it.

"Has anyone ever kissed you here before?" He asked while he rubbed it. I looked up at him and shook my head, a little embarrassed. "Well, then, you're gonna love this," Chris whispered to me before he descended to his knees in front of me. He helped me out of my panties, one leg at a time, and he looked up into my eyes while he brought his mouth closer to my pussy.

As soon as he started twirling his tongue over my sensitive nerves in small, concentrated circles, moans started streaming from my lips. "Do you like it when I go slow like this?" He asked, moving his tongue in long, slow licks over it. "Or do you like this better?" He asked, while he sped up the pace and started fiddling my clit with his tongue faster than I thought anyone could ever move their tongue before. My knees grew weak, and I could barely think.

"Just like that," I whimpered while I entangled my fingers with his locks of hair. "Yes, daddy," I squealed. Why did I just call him that? I was so embarrassed, but he didn't stop or shame me. Instead, he started moaning against me, sending vibrations through my body. Maybe he liked that I had called him that.

"Oh, daddy, you lick me so good," I quietly cried out. "Mmmm, good girl. Cum on daddy's tongue, princess," Chris teased me as I swiveled my hips in circles against his gorgeous mouth. I couldn't take it anymore. Chris' words, his tongue, his eyes piercing my soul, the built up sexual repression, it all sent me over the edge.

I could barely stand, but thanks to the wall behind me and the way Chris was holding me up, I was able to let my body fall limp and relax into my orgasm. What a sweet release. The first orgasm that anybody had ever given me besides myself. And it was better too. Chris stood up after he lapped up my mess and leaned beside me back up against the wall, grinning at me.

"I wonder what your daddy would think if he knew you were drinking and smoking with me, calling me daddy while I eat your pussy."

taglist: @ariithereyet @bsturnzmtt @sofieeeeex @ribread03 @fratbrochrisgf @strnlxlqve (if I forgot to tag you, i'm sorry! if you wanna be added to the taglist, let me know!)

[aangarchy]

Alright. I've rewatched the trailer like 20 times by now and i've been processing it.

First things first: anyone that's gonna talk shit about Gordon Cormier is gonna have to go through me first. I've only had Gordon!Aang for a day and a half and if anything happens to him i'll kill everyone here and then myself got it?

Just look at him! This is the exact big eared cute little kid i wanted them to cast for Aang. He looks adorable and honestly his outfit is growing on me.

The glowing arrow looked cool as hell. I like that the light spread through his tattoo almost like veins. I'm still curious on how the full avatar state is gonna look, how they're gonna get the glowing eye effect. Please don't let it look goofy.

Y'know what does look goofy?

Is it better than the m night shyamalan appa? I guess. Does that mean it looks good? Well.... at least momo sort of looks cute instead of some folklore nightmare like in shyamalan's version. But also you can tell in this shot in particular that it's very green screen-y

Then we go over to the bending, the limited shots we have of it. Mainly firebending was shown (a little airbending too but kinda hard to get a stillframe for that one)

Idk how to feel about it. In screenshots it looks alright but the shots while they were moving looked a bit off, especially the one where zuko's kicking. We only got very limited shots and that's intentional. I feel like the bigger cgi fails are gonna show up once we get the full show. If the bending looked good all the time i feel like they'd be showing it off by now.

What i don't like, is how apparently they're gonna SHOW Zuko getting burned. Like sure in atla they didn't bc kids show and Nickelodeon wouldn't allow it, and netflix can take darker turns if they so please. But i personally always felt that scene made so much impact because we didn't see it. Iroh is telling it from his memory and he didn't look when it happened, so we don't see it either. It's like a courtesy the show extends to both Zuko and the audience. We just hear the harrowing scream, and that's enough to know how devastating it is. I don't need a dramatic overlook so we can see the whole thing in detail, netflix.

Another thing is the hair in some scenes.

Daniel dae kim looked better in that promo photo, bc here you can just see how the bulky goatie was glued on. And then Sokka's hair..... where's the ponytail? It's laying completely flat against his head... why? Is it bc that's Ian's hair and they didn't know what to do with it? Literally get a comb and tease that bitch. This is like the complete opposite of Jackson Rathbone's hair in the shyamalan version, and somehow that full maybelline ponytail makes more sense than this sad excuse of a tail. Either way at least Suki looked dope.

Another thing i found weird about the trailer is the narration. I think it's either Iroh's voice or maybe Gyatso's? (I haven't heard Iroh's actor talk yet so idk, but it felt like it was being said TO either Aang or Zuko) but the lines they gave him... it felt like some weird mumbo jumbo tbh. Something something about the past and present being the same and it's up to us to know the difference and be the difference? It's saying everything and nothing at the same time and it felt kind of out of place. They're probably saving the iconic opening narration done by Katara for the full trailer (i hope???) but still they could have just gone with music, or maybe just a few iconic existing lines?

The music? Fire. Nothing needs to be added there. Was i kind of hoping for a different soundtrack? Maybe a bit. But am i mad? Not at all. They clearly took the nostalgia route with the more epic version of the avatar theme, and i can only respect them for that.

So far, very mixed reviews for me. I'm morbidly curious and very nosy by nature though, so i'm absolutely watching.

[keelywolfe]

Around when did Charlie give Alastor the shovel talk? And did she figure it out before the story even began?

Mmmm, I think she suspected from almost the beginning. She grew up in Hell, she can note the difference between arguing and arguing with intense sexual tension, and also the sudden decrease in public arguments.

I can see her talking it out with Vaggie in their room at night. Vaggie, being a former angel, is horrified to think Lucifer, also a former angel, is letting that nasty radio demon put his hands on him, but Charlie insists it makes sense, sure compatible are drawn together (her and Vaggie) but opposites also attract!

And sure, it's a little...uh...weird...to think of her dad being with Alastor of all people, but Charlie can't help but notice her dad seems a little calmer, easier in his own skin. When he first got to the hotel he was all manic energy, desperate to be helpful, and as much as she understood the reason behind it, she didn't know how to reassure him it was okay. The only thing that would make him believe he wasn't going to lose her again if he said or did the wrong thing was time.

(Cutting because this got long)

So she started family dinner nights to give her dad a chance to be around her little found family, and she warned everyone else off of drinking the last of Alastor's coffee before her dad got a cup, and she watched her dad lose some of that 'King of Hell' protective shell and become more just...him. Her dad, who told her stories she'd never heard before about her childhood and showed her his sketchbook--

(and dad, really, trying to hide your relationship with Alastor and you had THAT sketch right there? Crying out loud, he might as well have drawn little hearts around it! She even tried to give him an out by asking if he sketched anyone else and he so obviously didn't. She still wasn't sure if she was relieved or irritated that Angel interrupted him, she was morbidly curious what her dad would come up with.)

--and her dad seems to be settling into the hotel better. And sure, he has a few moments, (finding him obviously fresh from the bar if not drunk was a little surprising but not a daily event) but all and all, Alastor seems to have been good for him. Something for him to push against that had no qualms about pushing back and if that was something her dad needed? She was glad Alastor could give it to him. But yeah, she also totally gave him the shovel talk, probably right after Alastor's little tantrum in the city where he ate the guy having the nasty fantasies about Charlie, and (she didn't know the details, Husk only told her quietly Alastor was protecting the hotel and she believed him) she walked in on her dad and Alastor standing suspiciously far apart in the parlor. Lucifer looked about as innocent as a kitten standing over a container of spilled cream and Alastor never looks innocent. She would have stalked right up to Alastor later that day and told him, "I know you and my dad are sleeping together!" Because asking Alastor questions when you want answers is always a mistake, he is a slippery little bastard and managed to slither his way out of answering with a laugh and a 'Oh, my dear, you and your ideas!' all too often.

Ask him directly, interrupt him before he can prevaricate, and you'll eventually dig a path to the truth. Especially since Lucifer never specifically told him to lie about it when directly asked. "What of it?"

And hey, stories about her dad were highly exaggerated, that's pretty obvious to anyone who ever meets him. Stories about her mother? Not so much and Charlie knows things Alastor would never dream she might, not even in his deepest, darkest nightmares, and if he hurts her dad, he'll learn about each and every one of them. But...if you just want to be with him, that's okay, Just don't tell him I know, not yet, I want to give him the chance to tell me! "It is such a joy to have the opportunity to see the more diabolical side of your mind in action, my dear. Rumor leads me to believe your mother would be proud."

"Thanks a lot. Just don't tell him I know, okay?"

"Agreed. The entertainment value promises to increase by the day!"

"What did I just say about hurting him?"

"Ah, ah, this wouldn't be me hurting him, now would it?"

"No, no, no, not another word, I know you, you'll get me thinking this is a bad idea! Just don't be doing any weird plotting or deals or voodoo magic to him, all right??"

"I assure you, Charlie, dear, when I am with your father, such things are the last on my mind. In fact--"

"No details!!!"

"As you wish." So yeah, I think it went something like that. 😂

[34saveme34]

okay so since the night came, my head ache isn't so bad anymore and I can think a bit better now

so. stupid ass crack theory but

hear me out. the reason both 3 and 4 react at the mention of the igloo ISN'T because of the gay sex, or at least not fully!

I can already hear yall being like whaaaaat, Nicc, are you out of your mind? Trying to pull some tricks here or something?

But nope. No, I'm not, I'm being 100% genuine with that claim

so, a few things- it's a very special episode, especially with how it's placed, I saw some people talk about how the ending was shocking in a sense

and yeah, I get that, that was the sort of humor that was in the videos at the time and it really leaned into that, even in writing sense, I do think it's a great episode, even though I don't care That much for classic smg4 (I watched episodes from it but the gmod era grabs me more, it happens, I also like physical comedy a bit too much)

anyways- my point is, especially after seeing this one post on twitter

I didn't think that hard about it before but this really did it for me

"it's time for some smg3 and smg4 quality time together....trapped" doesn't this seem....yknow....

it sounds like a shitty ship fanfic description

hell if you look at the video that way, it's kind of written like a fanfiction, with the cliches, the enemy shipping, the sudden ways the plot develops. Characters acting out of character in a way

like

the make love line from 4, it very much sounds like some shitty ass line from a wattpad fanfic that leaves me ranting at my friends because I hate it so much yet I continue because I'm morbidly curious

the thumbnail has a specific feeling too, as if they were grabbed for it like "okay!!!!!!!!!!! you guys are gonna have a gay moment and you're gonna like it!!!!!!!!!!" and they're just like °_°

so my point is- this episode feels like a fanfic parody

aaaaand, when you look at it that way, isn't it interesting how they react at the mention of the episode the same they react to Those kind of fanfics? It would sort of explain 3's weird averseness of it, yet still considering it a moment that he blames for getting too soft

yknow. that's. still really hard to explain without making it gay

so Idk about 4, but I think 3 didn't mind the gay sex just perhaps the plot. and also the. privacy of it all. Like besides fanfic vibes, it's still embarrassing to be revealed like that to the public.

Yknow, thinking about it more with 4, I think he would probably regret it less today, like even these days it might come into his mind, like a core memory, and make him confused, like how the elevator implied that he finds 3 pretty Rizzful (and hot) and it might explain why he propositions Just Like That in Snowtrapped

Maybe one day they will do it off camera and we won't know because they don't want to repeat the same mistake

[onestepbackwards]

Our Angel

Hello! Welcome to part 1 of my new fic series, featuring Greaser Submas! No need to worry! I'm still working on Beemas and Love That Bites! This was just something I've been wanting to write for a while. I'm still in love with the Greaser au... And had actually planned to write this waaaay before beemas, but the beemas brainrot hit hard haha. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy! （*＾-＾*） Summary: Walking home one day from college, you hear something strange in the nearby alleyway. Morbidly curious, you decide to venture off from your normal trek home, and come across a guy badly injured. Throwing caution to the wind, you decide to take him home to recover his injuries, unaware how drastically your life is about to change... CW: Brief description of injuries, injured Emmet, mentions of unhealthy family relationships, minor anxiety Word Count: 5094 words! Next: Here - - -

From the moment you woke up today, you had a feeling it would be different than normal.

You woke up, got ready for your college classes, ate breakfast, just like normal. Your father had even been kind enough to even drive you to campus for once, since you were up a little earlier than usual.

Classes had been almost painfully average. Most of it was just a review for some tests for Friday. As thankful as you were for the chance to study a bit more, you wish you could have just left to study at home.

Still, you dutifully took your notes (again), and left classes as early as possible. If you stayed any longer, you risked one of your classmates cornering you again, asking you to lunch. As much as your parents liked the man, you had no desire to hang out with him. He made you uncomfortable, and you knew you would be miserable if you agreed to go out.

Walking down the street, with your books in your arms, you held back the urge to sigh. The day had been painfully boring so far after all. Wake up, go to school, walk home… Now all you have to do is get home, eat dinner, study, and go to bed.

The perfect ‘good girl’ your parents had always wanted. You blew a tuft of hair out of your face, though turned your head when you heard the sound of laughing.

Over across the street was a park. It was average compared to Nimbasa’s amusement park, but it was a quaint little place. In the park, you could see a group of people having a pokemon battle. Your heart tugged at the sight, and you couldn’t help but be a little envious.

‘No pokemon allowed in our house!’ Your mother’s voice echoed in your head, a rule your parents kept, even as you were an adult.

Your head dipped low as you looked away. It would do no good to dwell on things you could not have.

Besides, all you had to do was finish college, and you would be free.

You couldn’t wait for that day. Until then, you would abide by the strict rules your parents gave you.

Even if you wished for more, at times.

Shaking your head, you continued onwards back home. You still had a bit of a walk, after all. It was best if you got home before too long so you could study some more. If anything, you would be prepared for Friday, and it would keep your parents placated.

Though you were beginning to get incredibly tired of studying almost every evening.

It wasn’t a rule per say, but if your parents didn’t like the place you wanted to go to, they’d heavily guilt trip you into staying, or make up some excuse saying they needed your help with something.

It was better not to push it. It only happened a few times, but they would hold your college over your head if you persisted.

‘We let you live here for free, and pay for your college classes. You agreed to follow our rules. You are not to go out tonight, or we’ll consider that you are going back on our deal.’

It left a bitter taste in your mouth.

You continued on your way, though your pace was noticeably slower than before.

As you got lost in your thoughts on your way home, you tried to ignore the heavy feeling in your heart.

However, you nearly missed what sounded like a clank in an alley you were passing. It brought you out of your musings, and you paused for a moment.

You stared into the alley way. It was a long one, one that had a crossroad down the middle. You could have sworn you had heard something.

Just as you shrugged and took a step to move on, you heard it again.

Clink!

You looked around you, to see if anyone had heard it, but no one walking down the streets seemed to care, all wrapped up in their own business.

Before you could consider just moving along again, you heard it once more.

Clink! Clink!

Right after you heard the strange sound again, you tilted your head when you swore you heard a groan.

It could be anything, you were sure. In fact, it was more than likely just a pokemon searching for food in the trash. Or it could even be someone who works in the stores on this street, restocking, or taking a break, or something.

Something easily explainable, no need to go check out a dark alley just for curiosity’s sake.

Though as you nearly decided to leave, you heard the same groan once more, followed by a very weak sounding cough.

Biting your lip, you debated with yourself. Going into an alley like this without a pokemon was just asking for trouble, but…

You couldn’t help but feel drawn to it. Like something wasn’t right.

Slowly, you took a step forward into the alley, feeling tense and nervous. You were ready to bolt at any second, should anything go wrong.

Your books were tightly held in your arms as you made your way towards the corner. If you were being honest with yourself, you were almost frightened by what you may find. And yet… The idea excited you. You couldn’t recall the last time your heart pounded like this.

As you came to the corner, you slowed to a stop, freezing when you heard another ‘clink!’ like noise.

It was now or never. Surely it was nothing, and you’ll get to ease your worries, and say you had a fun mini adventure on an average boring day.

Taking a deep breath, you slowly peered around the corner, and stepped back in shock.

On the ground was a man, with very obvious injuries. Even though he was a bit away from you, you could tell he had several bruises, and must be bleeding from somewhere, if the little pool of dried blood under him was any indication.

He was wearing leather, and had what you assumed was white hair, but it was hard to tell from all the blood in it. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he almost looked like those greaser guys you heard about around campus…

You nearly jumped when you heard another clink. Your eyes snapped a bit to the left, and your eyes widened.

A Galvantula was by a trash can, hitting it with its front legs.

Was that his pokemon?

Just as you thought that, the spider pokemon saw you peering, and let out a little squeak. The pokemon then carefully scuttled towards you, but kept its distance. You noticed it stayed between you and the man on the ground, but didn’t seem aggressive.

Taking a step forward, you pointed to the man, hands shaking.

“M-May I check on him? Make sure he’s okay?” You asked, feeling a little silly, but nervous. You heard most pokemon could understand human speech, but you didn’t know for sure. The last thing you wanted was for the poor thing to attack you, thinking you were going to do more damage.

However, after asking, you nearly jumped back in surprise when the spider pokemon squeaked, and scuttled over to you. It gently tugged at your pants, tugging you forward.

Briefly, you wondered if perhaps the pokemon was making those noises earlier to draw someone’s attention…

You didn’t have time to think about it, with the pokemon now pushing you forward.

“W-Woah! Easy!” You said, nearly tripping over your feet. The Galvantula tapped its legs against the ground anxiously, but refrained from pushing you again.

Lowering yourself to the ground, you gently sat your books to the side, and looked over the man.

He was on his stomach, and slightly curled in on himself. He must have been taking quite a beating.

Gently, you poked him on the shoulder. He let out a groan.

“Okay… good news, he isn’t dead…” you mumbled. But he didn’t look good. He almost curled in further on himself, and was shaking with each breath he took.

You debated on what to do, before shaking your head. Glancing over at the spider, you showed it your hands.

“I’m going to try and flip him over, and see his injuries, okay?” You told it, and it seemed to nod at you. Pleased you got the pokemon’s permission, you gently grabbed the man’s shoulder that was farthest from you, and rolled him over.

The whole time, your heart was back to thudding in your chest. You were nervous, and a bit anxious over what you might see.

The man let out a moan of pain at the action, but didn’t resist you. Though you gasped when you saw a little bit of his wounds and face.

He had a swelling black eye, and a gnarly cut on his head. He also had a bruise on his chin, and a busted lip.

His white shirt was covered in blood, that especially had you worried.

Carefully, you lifted his shirt, and were surprised at the lack of open wounds. There were a few, but it was mostly bruises, and the open wounds weren’t heavily bleeding.

“Is this blood not all his own?” You mumbled, eyebrows scrunched together as you thought out loud

Taking another look at his jacket, you grimaced at the blood outside of it.

Well, this guy certainly didn’t go out without a fight.

Shaking your head, you slipped your backpack off, and reached inside. You had some tissues you could use to clean him up a little. You even had some band aids you could use on the smaller wounds.

Grabbing a water bottle with your tissues, you slowly began to clean up his face. He almost seemed to relax when the damp kleenex dabbled across his skin.

After a few moments, you reached to grab a new tissue, and when you looked back, you jumped.

The guy was awake, staring right at you.

Despite the condition he was in, you were taken aback by his silver eyes. They were beautiful…

You were frozen, and couldn’t look away.

Though when he spoke, it seemed to pull you from your trance.

“Am I in heaven?” He asked, his tone flat. You shook your head, giving a small smile to try and reassure him.

“No silly, you’re still-“

“-Because I must be looking at an angel.” He finished, cutting you off. His blank face then morphed into a dopey-lovey looking one with a wide smile. Your jaw dropped, and you felt your face growing hot.

“N-No! I’m no angel. I’m glad you are awake though, I should probably dial an ambulance-“ you spoke, and nearly squeaked when his arm shot out, grabbing your wrist.

He coughed a bit before speaking.

“No hospitals…!” He coughed again, wincing in pain, “Ingo will kill me if I end up in one again.”

You had no idea who ‘Ingo’ was, but given he was probably a greaser, he’d probably have a lot of trouble headed his way for ending up in one. “Okay, I won’t call a hospital then…” you told him, a bit uncertain with yourself. He really needed professional medical attention, not just tissues and a bottle of water.

His smile returned though, and you felt your face flush as he watched you.

You thought for a moment, and let out a shaky sigh. You didn’t really have anyone you could call, but you didn’t want to leave him here, or upset him by calling an ambulance anyway.

What could you do?

Suddenly, a stray thought crept up in the back of your mind.

‘Your parents are out late tonight, both on a date… You could take him home… It’s not far…’

Biting your lip, you wondered if that would be truly wise, bringing an injured stranger into your home...

But when you looked down at him, and saw his wounds, how some were still bleeding, you made a decision. You just hoped it wouldn’t come back and bite you. With your decision made, you quickly put your books away in your bag, and slung it over your shoulder, before reaching for the injured man beneath you.

“Come here.” You whispered, and gently began tugging him upward. He didn’t resist you, but he did look a bit confused.

“Angel?” He asked you, and you ignored the nickname. This was important. You could be flustered later.

“If you won’t let me dial an ambulance, I need to take you home so I can patch you up. It’s not far from here, and we can take the back alleys.” You quietly explained as you helped him to his feet, and wrapped an arm over your shoulders to steady him.

He stumbled a bit as he struggled to find his balance, but he eventually found it after leaning on you for a moment. However, you could tell moving put him in a lot of pain.

“Okay, Angel.” He slurred, his eyes narrowed as he tried to keep himself together. You couldn’t help but give him a worried look. This poor guy…

Before you got to walking, you looked at his Galvantula, who seemed curious, but ready to follow wherever you led them.

“I’m taking him to my house, would you please help keep an eye out on our way there? These alleyways are not very safe…” You explained. The little spider gave you a nod, followed by a chirp. You assumed that meant they understood.

It definitely made you feel a little bit better at least. You wouldn’t be defenseless if you both were jumped.

Carefully, you began to walk. It was slow, but the man was thankfully able to keep a pace without too much difficulty. You decided to take that as a good sign, though you hated making him walk in the first place.

Though every so often, he would talk, his words occasionally slurring.

“You’re verrry pretty, Angel.”

“I must be incrrredibly lucky, I have my own guardian Angel.” “Hng… Ingo is going to be so jealous… When I tell him…”

You decided he must have hit his head too hard. No doubt he must have had a concussion, with all the silly things he was saying.

Though that didn’t exactly help your anxieties about the man’s health.

Still, despite the rough condition he was in, he was able to make most of the walk to your house without much trouble. He only had to stop a few times, but otherwise, was able to keep up.

You thanked whatever deity was watching over you that the remaining walk home had been a short one. Especially since it was still daylight, and you had been worried about someone seeing the man, and asking you about it.

Thankfully, even as you escorted him past the main parts of the city into your neighborhood, no one saw you carry him towards the suburban alley way. If they did, no one said a word.

Finally, you approached the gate to your backyard, incredibly thankful that your father had not yet bought a lock for it. It was a small struggle, getting the old gate open, but you managed.

Carrying the man through your backyard, you carefully maneuvered him to your back door. Though you mentally cursed, realizing the door was locked.

“Here, lean against this.” you said, gently having him lean against the wall near the door.

“M’kay, Angel…” He mumbled, doing as you asked. You tried not to fret over how quiet he had gotten, compared to how he was mumbling earlier.

Quickly, you scrambled for the spare key, ignoring how shaky your hands had gotten. Once you found it, you made quick work of the lock, and pushed the door open. You hid the key once more, and once again had the man lean on you to walk.

Once inside your house, you made your way through the home, before making it to the stairs. It was a bit of a struggle, but slowly, you managed to get the injured man to the second floor, and to your bedroom.

Carefully, you led him to your bathroom. You especially thanked any god listening that your parents let you have a room with a bathroom, or this would be so much more difficult. As if you were carrying glass, you gently sat him down on the closed toilet, and took a moment to catch your breath. The man easily sat down, also happy to relax for a moment. All the while, his cute Galvantula jumped up onto the bathroom counter to observe.

“Here. Rest here, and I’ll do my best to patch you up. I have a first aid kit here.” you softly told him, hoping he was able to somewhat comprehend your words.

His head lifted up a bit, and he gave you a dopey smile.

“Whaaatever you say, Angel.” he slurred, before his head rolled a bit, before hanging low again.

You had to fix him up, fast.

Quickly, you grabbed the first aid kit under your sink, thankful your father insisted every bathroom have one.

Putting the large box on the counter next to the pokemon, you quickly opened it up, and nearly sighed in relief when you saw it was mostly untouched. You figured as much, but you did not want to dig around the other first aid kits, just in case your family noticed something was out of place. Moving a bit to a cabinet on the wall behind you, you pulled out a few rags. Once again, you were thanking any deity listening, especially for the fact your towels and rags were black. Blood could still be noticeable, but not near as bad as any other color. You could probably wash them out before your parents even got home if you are quick enough.

Carefully, you wet down a rag, and bent down in front of the man. You gently cupped his face, grabbing his attention.

“Sir? I need you to stay awake so I can clean your wounds, okay?” You told him. His eyes fluttered open, and he gave you a small smile.

“Okay.” You gave him a nod and a small smile.

“Good. I apologize, but this will eventually sting.” You warned him. You were cleaning the blood off with water, but when you used the medicine to clean the wounds further, you had no doubt it would hurt.

The man playfully scoffed, though it came out more as a wheeze.

“I c’n handle ‘t.” He spoke, trying to sound touch as he gave you a smile. Though he kept swaying, and seemed to slur his words even harder. You had to work fast.

Thankfully though, you didn’t have to worry too much about him bleeding out, most of his wounds had started scabbing over, only a few still trying to bleed. You winced as you tugged at his white shirt. You probably should have ripped some clothes or something to help it stop the bleeding. You were such an idiot, you were lucky he was still awake.

Tossing the rag into the sink, you grabbed another, and some peroxide and ointment. You then bit your lip, before tugging on his jacket.

“I need to remove your jacket and shirt, sir…” You told him, fighting the urge to become flustered. He was injured, no need to make it weird.

“I am Emmet.” You heard him speak. Was that his name?

“Okay, Emmet. I’m going to remove your jacket and shirt, okay?” You told him gently. He fluttered his eyes at you, his grin widening.

“‘Course, Angel, anything f’ you.”

He then started to shrug off his jacket, which you quickly took off his hands and tossed to the side. You had to help him with the shirt though, his wounds a bit painful to do on his own.

Though when he got his shirt off, you were incredibly thankful to whoever was watching your life right now. The wounds weren’t quite as bad as you feared, but you still had work to do if you wanted to help him get out of this alive without infection. You got to work, grabbing some bandages as well, and setting them off to the side as you began to clean. If you could get the bleeding to stop, and clean these quickly, you could get the wounds bandaged immediately. The moment you began to clean and put pressure on some wounds, Emmet hissed in pain. You were surprised when he jolted away from you, before making himself relax. Maybe he was a bit more lucid than you thought? Or he had one hell of a pain tolerance up to this point. Though you had to ask yourself just how big of a concussion he must have when he spoke to you again as you began bandaging a wound. “D’ya like what y’ see?” He teased, and you attempted to ignore his question. He had a bit of muscle, some slim abs, and noticeable pecs. However, you didn’t want to become distracted when the guy was still so incredibly injured. “You are very injured, forgive me if I am a bit more worried about your wounds than your muscles.” You told him, though your words weren’t harsh. You swore you heard him chuckle.

He then let out a whine as you cleaned and wrapped another injury, one of his hands curled into a fist, before relaxing. You couldn’t help but frown.

“Sorry! I’m trying to be gentle.” You told him. It wasn’t your fault, but you couldn’t help but feel bad for him, knowing this must hurt a lot.

He simply gave you another smile. You wondered how he could do so when no doubt in a lot of discomfort.

“S’okay, Angel. You’re p’fect”

Thinking for a moment, you spoke up, giving him your name. He blinked. “What?”

“That’s my name.” you repeated.

“Okay, Angel.”

You had a feeling Angel was probably your new name from him now. There was a chance he wouldn’t remember much of this, and it seemed Angel was the easiest for him to use.

After you had the bleeding wounds under control, you shifted your focus onto his head. That cut wasn’t bleeding, much to your surprise, but it still looked fairly nasty.

Leaning in close, you began to clean it, only to pause when you heard Emmet speak.

“You’re so gorgeous.”

You then turned to his Galvantula, who had been watching on the counter patiently.

“I think your master hit his head too hard.”

The spider made some clicks in reply, but you simply turned back to Emmet, who was now pouting.

“I mean it. Y’re gorgeous.”

You clicked your tongue, trying to focus.

“Hush. You have a concussion.”

You could test that, but you almost had no doubts he had one. It made blaming his odd behavior on it a bit easier.

This guy was also possibly a huge flirt, you had heard of his type. It would be best to ignore him and not engage in his compliments, no matter how much they made you feel warm inside.

After you finished cleaning the head wound, you began to put on some ointment, and get ready for some bandages. As you were unwrapping the bandages, Emmet spoke again.

“My beautiful Angel, no, a god!” he spoke, staring right at you. You wanted to rub your temples.

Dear Arceus, he upgraded.

“My own guardian angel… What’d I do t’ deserve you?” he mumbled, looking a little more out of it. It would be sweet, if you weren’t so concerned about him. It seemed the exhaustion was finally catching up to him.

You just hoped he wasn’t passing out from blood loss. But you patched those wounds, and they hadn’t bled too much after you found him…

Still, you couldn’t be sure.

Thankfully, you were nearly done cleaning him up, and finished securing the bandage around the wound on his head.

You bit your lip as you looked him over. Where would you put him? Your bed? Maybe you could hide him out on the floor out of sight from your door, in case your parents came to check on you?

That wouldn’t be too bad. You could grab some blankets hidden away in one of the hall closets, and make sure he was comfortable, and he’d be out of sight.

Looking at Emmet, the poor man was slouching, and was more than likely almost asleep. Biting your lip, you gently went over, and put your hand on his cheek.

“Hey, I’m going to move you now, okay? So you can get some rest.”

He didn’t say anything, simply humming in response. However, he did nuzzle into your palm. You decided to take that as an ‘okay’.

You also did your best to ignore how cute it was.

Nodding to yourself, you then gave him a moment, before looping your arms under his own.

“Here we go-” you spoke, grunting when you began to help lift him up. He was even shakier than before, and struggled to find his footing.

When he started to sway, you struggled to hold him steady, and nearly panicked.

“M’Sorry, Angel…” you heard him groan out, and he stumbled over his own feet. The moment you felt him start to tumble, you panicked, and tried to hold him still. It proved to be futile, he began to fall, and you were going down with him.

…Right into the bathtub.

You both fell in rather clumsily, with you landing on his chest as he fell in on his back.

It took you a moment to gather your thoughts, before you quickly began to panic. You were straddling the man, as he lay dizzy on the floor of your tub.

“Oh my gosh, are you alright!?” You asked, quickly looking him over. Did you open any of his wounds? Did he hit his head?

His eyes blinked open, and he gave you a lazy grin. You then felt his arms wrap around you suddenly, and pull you back to his chest. A squeak left your lips as you were pressed against his bare chest, and you felt your face light up.

“N’ver better, Angel.” he spoke, his words heavy as he laid his head down on the floor of the tub. You briefly struggled against his grip, before finally relenting. He held you tight, and you didn’t wish to worsen his injuries after you had just patched him up.

You stayed that way for a while, your own body pressed against his.

It wasn’t so bad. If it wasn’t for the fact you were worried about his wounds, and were in a bathtub, you would even consider this kinda… comfy, if the situation wasn’t so odd.

And the fact he was, you know, a stranger. A stranger that was half naked and injured.

You weren’t sure how long it was until you felt him relax, and his breathing even out. Carefully, you lifted yourself up, and put his arms to the side.

Thankfully he never woke up. You weren’t sure if that was a good sign or not.

A little bit shaky, you stood up, and stepped out of the tub. Your eyes met the Galvantula, who was staring at you curiously from the floor. Glancing back at her owner, who was knocked out still in the tub, you let out a small huff.

“I’m… Going to go and grab some pillows and blankets to make him more comfortable.” you muttered, and quickly left the bathroom.

It didn’t take long to grab the stuff you needed. As you put the stuff aside outside the bathroom, when you went in to check on Emmet, you nearly gasped at the cute sight.

The Galvantula had crawled into the tub, and was now resting on the greaser. Emmet, still asleep, had subconsciously wrapped his arms around her, and held her close as they snuggled.

It was a genuinely cute sight. Precious, if you dare say so.

Quietly, you carried a few pillows and blankets in. The pokemon only gave you a glance, before going back to relaxing on her trainer. Carefully, you placed a pillow under him, and two blankets on top of both. You set a few more pillows inside, before deciding it was enough.

You watched them for a few more moments, before a thought hit you. Just as quiet as you entered, you left, heading to the kitchen. You grabbed a few painkillers, and a sticky note on the way back in your room, and wrote a note, before putting both on the side of the tub.

Hopefully he’d notice the bright blue note if he woke up.

Gently, you closed the door behind you as you left, and sat down on your bed. Letting out a sigh, you dropped your head into your hands, and groaned.

“What am I doing?” you asked yourself, as everything hit all at once. For some Arceus-forsaken reason, you saved some random greaser guy on the street. You didn’t even call the cops, or an ambulance, like you should have.

This was such a bad idea. Probably a huge mistake.

The stranger in your home wasn’t even the only issue! What if your parents found out? No doubt the man would be arrested on the spot, and you would be locked inside your own home for years. Even if you were a grown adult, you doubted your parents would let you live freely for such a ‘transgression’.

Not only was it a boy, it was a greaser. A greaser who no doubt was trouble given how you found him.

But… you may have saved his life. If you hadn’t walked into the alley from sheer morbid curiosity, who knows what would have happened? Would anyone have found him? Would anyone have cared to even call an ambulance, given he was a greaser? You knew a large group of people didn’t care for the gangs running around, so would anyone have cared to call anyone for this guy?

It made you sick to your stomach. Even if you weren’t sure if this was a good idea, you can’t say you regret trying to help him. You wouldn’t have been able to live with yourself if you had just left him there.

You glanced back at the bathroom door, and bit your lip. Your hands shook as you finally took in everything that happened today.

Hopefully this won't come back and bite you.

[twiceasfrustrating]

A Solution for All Problems

Rating: General Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: Gen Fandom: Shall We Date?: Obey Me! Relationships: Barbatos & MC, MC/Unnamed Partner Characters: Barbatos, MC Additional Tags: GN!MC (you/your), angst, time manipulation  Summary: Every time you have a fight with your beloved partner, you look for a kind ear to listen to your problems. Barbatos has become your go-to confidante because he is able to offer you a solution for all your problems.  Word Count: 552

"Did you have another fight?" Barbatos asked as he poured you a warm cup of tea, despite already knowing the answer. You always came to him first for an ear willing to listen to your woes. "That would be the fifth time this month, and it only just started."

"He's been so short tempered lately." You lifted the cup of tea from the table, enjoying the soothing scent of whatever he'd made before taking a sip. "It's caused a lot of arguments lately."

Every little thing set him off recently. It was as if even breathing would somehow offend him.

"I see."

Barbatos offered you the bowl of sugar cubes which you took with a single hand before adding your desired amount then setting it down.

"I'm tired of fighting with him." You stared into your tea as you spoke, stirring it with the small spoon meant for such things.

"You do fight often these days." He parroted back at you, which only served to solidify your feelings of anxiety.

"Barb," you asked in hushed tones, "could you-"

He raised the palm of his hand to stop you from speaking. "I know what you want to ask. Could I? Yes. Will I? Unlikely."

"Please, Barb!" You slammed your hands on the table and stood to be closer to eye level with him. "If you could just tweak the timeline a little so we wouldn't have these fights anymore-"

He stopped you again. "There is no reason the young master would approve such a request."

"He would." You clenched your fists as you tried to think of something – anything – that would convince him. "Because… because it would be better for the relations of our realms if we got along better."

Barbatos paused, seeming to take in your words and dissect them in his mind.

"Are you positive that this is what you want?" he finally asked. "What you're doing wouldn't be time travel. It would be resetting you to a more favorable position in the current time."

You smiled at him. "That would be wonderful." 

If only you could get over this little hurdle, you knew everything would be alright. You and he could move past this issue and get back to the good thing you had before all the little, nonsense arguments he'd been starting recently. 

Barbatos closed his tired eyes.

When he opened them again, you were gone – whisked away to another version of reality where all your problems had magically never happened.

He lifted the cup of tea you had left untouched and took a sip so as to not let it go completely to waste. Somehow, it was bitter enough to make his lip curl in revolution despite the fact that he knew he had brewed the pot perfectly.

Still, this moment was a small comfort while he waited for his consciousness to be assimilated into whichever version of him existed in your new reality. Just like the version before him and the one before that and so on and so on past the point he could keep track anymore.

He was morbidly curious to see how many times you could simply solve your problems by jumping from one reality to another before you realized the only common factor between all of your continuous problems was you yourself.

[kootiepatra]

#FFxivWrite2023 - Day 8: Shed

The GALL of this man, Amon thought to himself as he stared at his red-masked visitor. What does he MEAN, “my methods leave something to be desired”?

Yet even as he boggled at the man’s presumption— “I have come to claim you”, honestly—he could not help but feel morbidly curious. ‘Twas a bold soul indeed who would question his methodology to his face. He could not remember the last time anyone in the imperial court had done so. 

Which, he supposed, did mean the stranger was paying attention, and not just having a lark. And he had been unable to deny Amon’s results, which had to count for something.

“...As fortune would have it,” the man continued, in a tone Amon immediately recognized as dripping with guile, “the seat of Fandaniel—your rightful seat—lies vacant and waiting. Take your place amongst your peers, rather than die a pointless death amidst the ashes of your doomed nation.”

Amon remained uncharacteristically silent as he considered the words, unmoving on his seat, fingers steepled in front of his masked face. Such claims were extraordinary, and to any other individual, they would stretch the limits of credulity to the breaking point. A whole civilization that not only existed aeons before Allag, but had surpassed it in every respect? The star itself shattered into fourteen pieces that must needs be reunited? Amon himself, living a previous life, as a previous man—but a more whole, complete version of him? Surely this was all too much to be seriously entertained.

But still, he was given pause. 

The way the stranger had apparated into the room in a dark swirl of magic was certainly a mark in his favor. These “Ascians”, as he had identified himself, must be people of respectable power.

But for another thing, Amon could not disagree with his forecast of Allag’s demise. He had recognized the decay that was setting into the empire. It was, in fact, that very thing which had prompted him to do the unthinkable: to resurrect Xande, their greatest emperor, that he might steer them to better things.

It chafed him that the people spoke of it with the same irreverence as an unusually impressive parlor trick.

It destroyed him that Xande’s own post-death perspective confirmed his very worst fears.

This was all for nothing. 

It seemed not just that the Emperor could lose the war, but perhaps, he did not wish to win it.

Yet it took more than that to earn Amon’s attention. Anyone with half their wits—which excluded most of his countrymen, he assumed—could see the writing on the wall. Allag would not be the first great people to crumble, and presumably, neither would they be the last. Such pointless cycles littered history and required no soothsayer to predict.

Amon may well have laughed the stranger out of his laboratory, were it not for the dreams.

Those dreams were hazy, fragmented things, but they had haunted him as long as he could remember. They featured… a garden? No, a testing ground. Somehow both. It was beautiful. It was vapid. It was peaceful. It was a nightmare. It plucked at the mystery of creation itself, and yet there were no answers in it. He was himself, and yet he was not. He was surrounded by masked faces he did not recognize, whom he somehow knew. And there was a sense of something in the stars above—something grave, something hopeful, something existentially important. But he knew not what. None of it made sense to him. Every dream saw him disoriented and confused, a question in his mind he could not shake, reverberating louder and louder within him as the dream went on: “Why…? Why? Why? WHY??” until he woke up with a desire to scream.

But of course, it was just a vexing dream.

Unless it wasn’t.

The mask the Ascian wore was not like the masks he saw there. …But neither, he supposed, was it so very different. If there was any truth to his words…

A satisfied smile curled upon the visitor’s lips as he sensed Amon’s reluctant intrigue.

—

Within a fortnight, Allag’s foremost technologist disappeared from the empire—though no one really noticed, as his clone took his place. He found himself in a dark, formless space between worlds, adrift on an isle which floated in the nothingness. He had no inkling such a place existed before today, and it set his mind spinning to consider the ramifications. He no longer doubted the Ascian, at least not about this part. 

Shadowy robed figures surrounded him. Most of them were formerly men like himself, he was told. People who had realized that their feeble existence was but a pale, warped imitation of what could be. Of what should be. Above them towered a deific statue, imposing, haloed, and wrought from dark metal. He knew precious little about this “Zodiark”. He had been assured all would become clear in due course.

Amon looked down at the carved red stone in his hands. It was etched with a celestial design. Fandaniel. He turned the word over in his mind, trying to get used to it. As unfamiliar as the language was, he clung to what Emet-Selch had taught him it meant: pursuer of extant phenomena. He could live with that. Or die with that, whichever this counted as doing.

“Now,” Emet-Selch told him, jarring him out of his thoughts. “Focus on that stone. This process will suffer no distractions.”

“Your wish is my command,” Amon replied with a flourish, hoping it managed to cover for his slowly rising panic. He rebuked himself inwardly for his cowardice. After all, ‘twas not as if he had anything to lose at this point.

He could not see, but rather felt, the Ascian roll his eyes. “Are you ready to begin?”

“No time like the present,” he answered. Even if this were to be his end, he must admit it was a fascinating way to go.

Emet-Selch paused incredulously at the man who wore an outward nonchalance hardly befitting someone on the cusp of shedding his mortal frame. He extended his hand towards him, and then announced, “I advise you brace yourself. This will hurt.”

Amon barely had time to second-guess his decision before he felt a veritable explosion in his skull. The pain was like nothing he ever felt. It dropped him to his knees. A language he did not know—he could not even make out words—resonated in his mind, as he felt his very essence being crushed, stretched, extracted. The last sound Amon’s corporeal form would ever make was a protracted, piteous cry of agony.

And then it was over.

He stood there, a tangible soul without body, staring agape at his own crumpled corpse on the ground. The stone. He was meant to be focusing…

The memories contained in it all flooded him at once. 

Ever had he been a man of science, but it was one thing to learn information, and another to just know it. He reeled from all that he suddenly understood. Those masked figures around him—he did not know most of them. But of course he wouldn’t. They were not of The Fourteen. The Fourteen? Yes, of course. Emet-Selch had introduced himself already, but even apart from that, he knew him. He recognized that self-congratulatory smirk that he saw on his face even now.

And those two others in red masks—one wearing black robes, the other in white. “By the Emperor,” Amon gasped. My, what an absurdly weak oath that sounded like anymore. “Lahabrea. Elidibus.”

The former Ascian gave no reaction he could discern, but the latter offered a nearly imperceptible smile. “Welcome back, Fandaniel,” he replied.

He could not remember anything prior to swearing his oath of office. Well, that, and his life as Amon. That was fine. He had been warned of as much prior to accepting the Ascians’ offer. But he wracked his newfound knowledge for context for his dreams—something, anything to confirm that this was not a colossal mistake. A testing ground that was a garden… ah, of course. Elpis. He knew that place. He had worked there. He was overseer there.

He was Hermes.

He staggered under the weight of the realization. How could it—but he was. He was. This was his soul. It was all true. It was all real.

He resisted the unseemly urge to cry at these newfound memories, although it briefly occurred to him to wonder if, in this form, tears would even flow. He dug through his own mind like his now-past-self had once dug through tomes of research, relieved that at last he could untangle the mystery that had stalked him nearly every night. He would be able to understand. He would…

He…

He felt his gut twist at the yawning void where he expected answers to be.

The stone held no memories of that time, but he had not expected it to. That was not the problem. But that confusion? That dissonance? That primal scream of “why”?

Those were not Amon’s.

They were Hermes’s.

Darkness take me, he thought, swearing by a deity he only just now understood.

…What have I done?

[jxnisnotfunny]

before i go to bed once again. i just saw the most disturbing thing. and ofc i must talk about it, because it's ever so important.

(tw: discussion and censored presentation of extreme graphic violence)

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honestly there's no beating around the bush here, i'm just gonna get to the point.

(additional note from op: "Btw I censored the @ cause it was censoredmen which I heard is a right wing account using palestine for clicks")

i saw the uncensored image too. just about an hour ago. on here, in fact, through a screenshotted instagram(?) post from motaz... idk WHAT within me wrenched the second i saw it, but something did. this photo is absolutely horrifying, harrowing and disturbing.

before anyone gets morbidly curious, let me describe the image. and let it be known that i'm not trying to be funny when i say this:

imagine if someone was lying on the ground, and all of a sudden, 90% of their body turned into splattered tomatoes. no face or head, no torso, no legs. that's what it looks like. that was a man. maybe even a boy. he was someone's someone. and now he's gone. in this most mangled form, no less... and it doesn't even stop there. the exposed right arm (still uncensored even in the embedded tweet)? you can tell where the treads ran this man over because his upper arm is completely flattened. his other arm is indiscernible. his right leg was completely destroyed into nothing but saggy flesh and a protruding tibia bone. you can't even see his organs clearly, he's just a heaping mound of red and yellow, with the only things "remaining"- aside from his right arm- being his clothes... my explanation hasn't even scratched the surface.

listen. i'm not easily disturbed by things. i've seen and heard a lot about this world and how scummy people can be... but this did it for me. i can't believe my eyes. my body is actually still somewhat shaking and sore from shock. if you're one to get easily sick from violence even leagues less gruesome than this... welp, this is your warning.

frankly, i really ought to have stopped looking at the picture longer ago, but part of me couldn't... everyone says "don't look away" when referring to the silence of you and the world as these atrocities are photographed, filmed and posted in real time... but for a good 10-20 minutes, if not more, i just kept looking. part of me wanted to argue morbid curiosity, but at the same time, it couldn't be...

i think of it now more as the epitome. the weight of the situation was just presented to me, clear as crystal. this is what palestinians are dealing with constantly while i'm safe and well at home. i couldn't imagine what this feels like, physically or mentally, but they're experiencing it right now. meanwhile, "israelis" are living as usual, pretending this is actually a two-sided war...

"israel" and everyone else complicit and/or participating must never be forgiven. this needs to end. NOW.

and the timing could've have been better for me to see this and make this post. today is the global shutdown for palestine. today is the day where we can show the world that these actions are beyond unacceptable. this picture, censored or not, should fuel your rage and urge you to take action. the plight and suffering of palestinians will end someday, as long as we keep working as a collective society and fight like hell. it HAS to.

[metalomagnetic]

Original Voldemort meets fan fiction Voldemorts.

***A while back I got an ask that wondered about all of Voldemort’s lovers from my fics meeting each other. So I wrote a fun little ‘story’ (here it is) and I promised a sequel where OG Voldemort returns these strange people to their respective universes. ***

Abraxas

“Here,” he snarls at a younger version of himself, pushing Abraxas towards him. “You lost this.”

Voldemort worked tirelessly to escape that room, with all those crazy people. But now he has to return them to their respective universes.

“Oh, thank Merlin,” Abraxas says, rushing towards an eighteen-year-old Tom Riddle. One that looks at Voldemort with curiosity.

“What happened to your face?” he asks, regarding Voldemort closely.

Voldemort is not in the mood for answering questions.

Abraxas whispers how horrible it all was, clinging to Tom like a baby.

Revolting.

Yet less revolving than other future meetings. That’s why Voldemort started with this universe. He found it the easiest to stomach.

Sirius

He moves on to the next, popping in to snatch Black out of the room before opening another portal.

He finds a middle-aged version of himself pacing in Lestrange Manor.

“Oh, gods be good, there’s two of you now!” Black says, horrified.

“Sirius,” his other self says, sounding oddly relieved to have this boy back.

He moves in front of him, as if to protect Black from Voldemort’s gaze.

He’s hostile.

“I hope no harm came to him whilst in your care,” he says, caressing his wand slowly, in a threatening manner.  

“I could wipe the floor with you,” Voldemort announces.

“Try.”

For a second, he’s tempted. This one looks like a competent man. Yet how competent can he be if he has a thing for Sirius bloody Black?

“Yes! Fight! Wait, let me get a drink, first!” Black says, excited.

“I can’t. I’m on a tight schedule,” Voldemort drawls.

“How convenient,” his other self says, still eyeing him carefully. “No more drinks for you, Sirius. You’ve had quite enough. I wouldn’t want you to end up in yet another universe.”

He somehow sounds impressed with Black.

Voldemort makes a face and leaves them to it.

Bellatrix

Bella is next. And her Voldemort is very similar to him. They are virtually the same, from what Bella said, except this one has apparently agreed to have a child.

And there’s the child.

“I expected better from you,” Voldemort says, when he sees his twin, snake face and all, standing by a crib.

Bella hurries over, takes her beloved daughter in her arms. “Did you miss mummy?”

The other Voldemort looks exhausted.

Was he the one to take care of the baby in her absence? Surely not. He couldn’t have lowered himself to that.

“As if you don’t know persistent Bellatrix is,” the other hisses in parseltongue. “It might be in your future, too.”

“I assure you, there will be no children.”

“If you say so.” The other shrugs, doubt in every word.

Voldemort leaves, even if something inside him is morbidly curious to catch a glimpse of this child. How does it look like-

He squashes the ridiculous impulse and returns for the next traveler.

Gellert 

“Thank you for your assistance,” Grindelwald says, as soon as they Apparate in a…well…place. It’s very colourful. Looks like a fairytale cabin.

Oh, this is the dead one, right. There he is, coming out of the cabin. He looks as young as the first version, but only looks it. In his eyes, Voldemort can glimpse horrors that even he hadn’t yet faced.

“Liebling!” Gellert says, cheery. “Look who I found!”

But his other self doesn’t look at Voldemort. He grabs Grindelwald roughly, possessively, and drags him towards the cabin.

He’s dead, and he has no magic. No wonder he doesn’t want to face me.

Voldemort feels a stab of pity for him. That’s a horrible fate, really.

But at least he seems to get on well with Grindelwald.

“Trust me, my love. We are not missing anything. Being in the living world is so overrated,” Grindelwald is saying.

“Shut up and keep walking.”

Voldemort watches them advancing towards the cabin, past a row of strawberry bushes.

This one was the last easy one. Now come the hard ones.

He pops out of the Not Heaven but Not Hell place, and goes on with his burdens.

Albus

“I am disgusted,” Voldemort says, letting go of Dumbledore as soon as they reach Hogwarts. “Revolted. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

His other self already has the wand up and moving. Before Voldemort has the time to take out his own, Dumbledore falls unconscious.

“Now I’ll have to erase his memory,” the other one says, miffed.

“Dumbledore! Dumbledore! How could you? Traitor!”

“Oh, spare me.” He’s bent over Dumbledore, gently running his fingers through a mess of red curls.

“I demand an explanation!”

Abraxas- fine. He can understand. Bella, he certainly understands. Even Grindelwald- well, he looked handsome, and he was a fierce dark lord.

But Dumbledore…

“Demand?” the other one looks up at him. “You know very well what happens to people that demand things of me.”

Voldemort swallows. This one looks truly dangerous. Even if he has silly drawings glued to the wall behind him- really, what brave child drew him a skull with hearts instead of eyes- there’s something about him that would raise the hairs on Voldemort’s neck, if he had any hair left.

He looks odd, too. Almost like Tom Riddle, but not quite.

He looks done. With everything. He’s strangely calm, but Voldemort is weary of this new found patience. It’s more terrifying than one of his anger fits.

He backs away, slowly.

Harry 

When he returns to the room, he’s faced with two boys, tied up in a sturdy body bind curse.

If he hadn’t done it, Tom would have murdered Potter.

And Voldemort wouldn’t mind, usually, but he has to return all the travelers alive.

He won’t admit he also tied Tom up so he would stop hitting on Voldemort.

“Come along,” he says to Potter. “It’s your turn.”

“Finally,” the boy slurs. Black got him really drunk. “Did Professor Dumbledore make it back alright? How was his Voldemort?”

“He’s fine,” Voldemort snarls, opening the portal.

“How do you get yourself in these situations?” the newest Voldemort asks Potter. He sounds amused.

This one is the most handsome of the lot. He’s siting on a couch in what seems to be Grimmauld place. Voldemort looks around curiously. He always wanted to see Grimmauld.

Potter stumbles forward, throwing himself on the couch, burying his head in the latest version of Voldemort. “Make him go away,” he asks. “I don’t want to look at him. I forgot how bad it used to be.”

“Close your eyes, then,” new Voldemort suggests. He looks at Voldemort with envy. He looks at Voldemort as if he misses the red eyes, and the snakelike features.

“You married Potter,” Voldemort hisses. “You’re supposed to kill him, not fuck him!”

“What did you want me to do?” the other asks. “I tried killing him, as you know. He just refuses to die.” He shrugs. “I conquered him, nonetheless. That’s more than you ever did.”

“You work for the Ministry! That’s even worse than being a teacher!”

“If you can’t beat them, join them.” A smirk. “Worry not, though. I have a plan.”

“What plan?” Potter whispers, dread in every word.

“Shhh, Harry. Go to sleep.”

“Harry! Is Harry back?” a childish voice comes from afar, and then a door opens and-

Voldemort draws in a breath. For a second, he thinks it’s a very young Bellatrix, but no-

The eyes. His eyes.

This is the daughter.

She stops in her tracks, those brown eyes wide with surprise as they take Voldemort in.

“Oh, wow,” she whispers, breathless.

Voldemort looks at her just as fascinated as she seems to be.

“Delphi!” Potter might be blackout drunk, but he somehow escapes the other Voldemort’s attempts to restrain him, and is standing between Voldemort and the girl in the blink of an eye.

There he is- that’s more like Voldemort’s Potter. The real one.

The tame, traumatised look in those green eyes is replaced by a fiery determination.

“Don’t even look at her!” he hisses, pulling out his holly wand, his body covering the child completely.

The Voldemort from the couch laughs. “There’s the brave little hero. I knew you still had it in you, Harry.”

The girls peeks around Potter, still watching Voldemort mesmerised.

“Hello, father. I’m Delphini.”

Father. He shivers. That word is far more frightening than Potter’s wand aimed at him.

Voldemort gets out of there fast.

And now- now the hardest of them all.

Tom

Tom is still under a potent silencing spell, but his eyes- eyes he just saw on Delphini- are very expressive. Full of desire.

His Voldemort sounds like the sickest of them all. Voldemort needs a minute to breathe and still himself before meeting that one.

Really, who fucks their own self? After they raised their own self? What kind of deviant would do something like that?

"No sense in delaying,” he mutters, waving his hand and realising Tom from the spells.

The boy stands, elegantly. He brushes his robe.

“Perhaps I should find a way to go on my own. Marvolo might kill you. He’s very murderous,” Tom says, lovingly.

“I have to take you,” Voldemort says. “No other way.”

Tom is right there in his face. Just as tall as Voldemort.

“What are you doing?” Voldemort snarls, pushing him off when Tom tries to hug him.

“I know how lonely you are. You don’t have anyone. You don’t have me. Let me hold you for a moment.”

“You incestuous little-” Voldemort stutters. “That’s it! We’re going!”

He opens the last portal.

Marvolo. That’s so stupid. Worse than any other alias the previous versions used.

But Voldemort doesn’t dare point that out. He doesn’t even ask ‘how could you fuck yourself, you disturbed bastard?’.

This Marvolo really isn’t someone Voldemort wants to mess with.

What’s most surprising is that he is just as attached to Tom as Tom is to him.

More restrained, but his eyes spark when they fall on the boy.

“Are you alright?” he asks. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Tom says, though he doesn’t leave Voldemort’s side. “He took good care of me.”

Only then those red eyes turn to Voldemort.

Why can’t I be like this one? Voldemort thinks with envy. This, this is what he always wanted to become.

Marvolo looks regal, in his expensive robes. He looks powerful, a real force of nature.

From what he heard from Tom, Marvolo subdued everyone. He’s the Master of Death, he is highly feared but also respected by the people.

He’ll get to enslave all muggles.

It’s just not fair. Voldemort should be like that.

“Come here,” Marvolo says, and even his voice holds tremendous power. Voldemort almost moves before he realises Marvolo meant Tom.

“I-” Tom hesitates. “Can’t we keep him? He’s awfully alone in that universe of his.”

For a second, Voldemort wants to stay. For a second, he looks at Marvolo and wants. More than to stay. He just wants. Longs for something.

Oh, God! What is happening to me? Is incest contagious in this universe?

But no, it’s not that. When Tom goes to Marvolo, and Marvolo puts a hand on his shoulder-

It’s family. They are a family. Even if Voldemort ignores the sex part- and he does his best to ignore it- these two have each other.

There’s a bond between them, a strong bond, almost visible. Voldemort never yearned for that, but now-

You did yearn. When you were very young. You wanted a father.

It’s terrible to be reminded of that time in his life.

Is this how Marvolo became so strong? Because he had to raise Tom and relieve all that? Find a way to deal with it?

Voldemort goes back through the Portal, because he can’t bear to look at them any longer.

It’s almost…painful.

Original timeline

He sits at the table in the blessedly quiet room that had been so full before.

He lays his head on the table and exhales. It’s done with. He solved it.

The door opens. Potter walks through it-

“Not again,” Voldemort snarls. “Where the fuck did you come from?”

“Ah,” Potter stumbles, sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. “From the Burrow. I sneaked out.”

“The Burrow? The Weasley home?”

“Yes.”

He frowns. “You’re not from an alternate universe?”

“No,” Potter says, hanging by the door, wand in hand. “I was asleep, and I saw everything you’ve been through. I thought it was a strange, ridiculous dream, but… it wasn’t, was it? I had that happen before- seeing things you see.”

Right. Well, fuck. “So you’re a Horcrux in this universe, too,” Voldemort says.

“I-I guess.”

And Voldemort laughed at the others because they turned Potter into a Horcrux without knowing.

He sighs. “This is terrible.”

“Yeah,” Potter agrees. “I was actually about to go and hunt down the other Horcruxes. Was waiting for the wedding to be over-”

“What wedding? Who holds a wedding in the middle of a war?”

“I know, right?” Potter asks. “Bill and Fleur.”

Voldemort blinks at him, having no clue who those people are.

“Nevermind,” Potter goes on. “I just- those universes, huh? Wow! Crazy!”

“Tell me about it,” Voldemort mutters, trying to think. But he’s so exhausted after solving the unexpected traveler problem.

If Potter is a Horcrux- then I really can’t kill him. It might go the exact same way it went in the other universe where he tried to kill Potter one more time. Voldemort could die.

“Especially the one where we-” Potter blushes, looks mortified. “What were they thinking? What’s wrong with those two? Married? Disgusting!”

"Revolting,” Voldemort agrees. “You’re a child!”

“You killed my parents. How can that other Harry -” he shudders.

“He looked depressed,” Voldemort says. “Probably all those deaths at the end of the war? He mentioned them when he was drinking with Black. Many dead kids, apparently. He just lost his fire and will to live after that.”

“Yeah.” Potter looks aghast. “I really don’t want to have to go through that, you know? All those people dying- and God forbid then maybe we end up like- like- the other Harry and Voldemort- I can’t even say it, but what if it happens like that?”

It could happen like that. Or Voldemort could die and go to Hallow Hell. Or to the past, where he will raise and fuck himself.

Or to Dumbledore-

“I won’t let that happen,” he says, determined.

“Yeah, me either.”

“Did you know about the Deathly Hallows?” Voldemort enquires.

“No. I am still not sure what that means? Just caught snippets in my dream.” He looks angry for a second. “I didn’t even know I was a Horcrux until those people mentioned it. Dumbledore never told me.”

“He was never very forthcoming,” Voldemort allows. “Have a seat, Potter.”

“Really?”

“Well, can’t very well kill you, can I?”

Potter comes closer, grasping his wand. He sits. “So, what do we do now?”

“Everything in our power to avoid turning into those people.”

Potter nods, just as determined. “Oh,” he adds. “I do think there was an ok part about all that.”

“What?”

“Delphini. She looked very cute.”

“Don’t even dare mention it! I will avoid that, too.”

Potter looks away. “Might be too late,” he mutters.

“What?”

“When I snuck in, I walked past Bellatrix. She was sick. In fact, that’s why I could sneak in past her and her husband. Lestrange was asking her if she’s pregnant.”

Voldemort really is cursed.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Meteor Shower (Part 9)

Gonna give a little TW on this chapter for descriptions of a surgical procedure. So if you’re squeamish about that sort of thing skip the first paragraph. The first sentence after the description of the surgery is “at first she hadn’t thought it worth her suffering.” 

It is always one more thing. Just one more thing and then she will be perfect. 

She touches her hands to her cheeks. They are still somewhat sore. Valtor hadn’t bothered to warn her about the swelling. He also hadn’t mentioned that she would be awake for the procedure. That they would simply numb the area as though she were getting a tooth pulled. The surgeons had told her that she didn’t have to look at the mirror, but she couldn’t help it she has something of a curious nature, perhaps morbidly so. And so she watched them remove bits and pieces of her. Her stomach lurches as the image creeps back into her mind; the scalpel opening up two twin lines on each of her cheeks. The yellow-white of the fat beneath it. She had started to feel faint when the surgeon had begun to push down on them. But she couldn’t keep her eyes closed. She wishes that she would have…

At first she hadn’t thought it worth her suffering. She wagers that her cheeks looked much puffier than before the surgery. But Valtor had assured her that the swelling would subside and then she can see the true beauty of her new face. The swelling has gone down but the bruising remains and she still can’t see the beauty of it. 

“I look worse than before.” She mutters. Really her disgruntled grumbling had only been meant for herself. But then, she wouldn’t have said it out loud if there wasn’t at least a little part of her that wanted Valtor to hear her complaints. A little part of her that itched for a fight.

“Oh don’t be so dramatic, my dear.” He says again. “It is a surgery. Just as any other, you aren’t going to heal in an instant.” 

“Maybe if we had gone with the magical options…” She dares to question.

“That is hardly the same. Spellwork fades quickly…”

Maybe it is her anger that gives her teeth. The teeth that she should have gnashed with before the surgery. “I’m not talking about temporary glamor! I’m talking about the procedures that use magical tools to…”

Valtor raises a silencing hand. “Those methods aren’t as effective. There are some things that ordinary humans do achieve better than us magic folk.” He pauses. “Now quiet yourself before you hurt yourself.”

“I’m not…” 

“You can’t eat solid foods yet, do you think that you have a full range of motion for your mouth. Quiet down or you’ll need another operation. Would you like that?”

Further protest dies on Kyanite’s tongue, she swallows it down. 

She always does. 

Valtor doesn’t fight fair. And she can’t even place what is unfair about his fights so that she can call him out on that. He just seems to know the right things to say and how to say them to get her to shut down. And so she takes the next few weeks in silent suffering. 

A peculiar type of mental anguish that is born of anxiety. Of this sneaking suspicion that the bruising might never fade. Or that, when it does, she will be met with lumpiness or asymmetry instead of smooth skin and more visible cheekbones. Dread that, at any minute she will get this funny taste in her mouth, or feel the burn of infect, or any of the other symptoms of a botched procedure that she had come across in her minimal research.

What if feeling doesn’t return to her face?

What if she finds that she can’t move her mouth correctly?

What if, what if, what if? 

But some three weeks later, perhaps a bit longer, feeling does return and her cheeks are free of bruising and swelling. There is just one thing about it. The one thing that she had completely forgotten to fear…

That the results would be picture perfect, exactly as intended but she still wouldn’t like it.

By all means, she should. She has the sort of facial structure that most girls would die or kill for. Perfectly slim and perfectly smooth. The sort of face that can be capture from every angle and be called her good side.

She is terribly queasy standing in front of the mirror, hand held against her right cheek. It is essentially frozen there, she can’t bring herself to lower it. She can’t even bring herself to tremble. There is something paralyzing about seeing someone else when she is expecting to see herself. 

It had only been one surgery. One simple little surgery.

Just that one thing had altered her look almost completely.

Her head was already dizzy from her pre-show fasting. It is absolutely spinning now.

She can still see herself—the real her—in her eyes. But that is it.

And she understands why Valtor hadn’t been worried about her eyes or her lips. The change in her cheek had been so drastic that every feature of her face looks different.

And her mind severs that much more. The small cracks of disconnect between her mind and body have fractured further. Opening into a yawning crevice of dysmorphia. A gap between who she is and who she used to be that she cannot bridge. 

She doesn’t know how long Valtor had been standing there. Just that he has come up behind her. Just that his hands are on her shoulders, massaging gently. “Perfect.” He comments. “Surely you are pleased.” 

She can’t open her mouth to get the words out so he takes it as approval. 

“Good, because your chin could still use some work. It wouldn’t make sense for you to have slender cheeks and a round chin.” He prattles on but his voice is fading further into the background with each word. “Your breasts however could do with some of that rounding, I can book an…” Her head is growing dizzy. “We can also take you to a salon and have your eyebrows done…”

She can’t take it anymore. “One surgery!” She slams her fist onto the dresser. “You said one surgery! Do we have a different concept of how numbers work!?” She holds up a finger. “One.” And the two more. “Three.”

Valtor opens his mouth but this time she speaks over him. She hates that her voice is so shrill. She holds her pointer out in front of him. “How many fingers am I holding up!?”

“Kya…”

“Answer the fucking question! How many fingers?!”

“One.” 

“Okay so you can count! How many surgeries did you say I’d be getting?”

“One.” He mumbles. 

“And how many surgeries have I gotten already?”

“One.” 

“One.” She confirms. “That’s what we agreed to.”

And he is laughing. Laughing as though he is the one who had won that argument. Laughing because he knows that, somehow, he has. He always does win. “My darling, you forget that I can end your career any time I’d like to.” He takes a sip from the wine glass on the vanity dresser. The glass that she had poured for herself before looking in the mirror. “I can also share a few secrets.”

Kyanite’s stomach drops. 

“Tabloids love hearing about pop stars with eating disorders. The ones who throw up to stay as thin as you are.” He reminds her slowly.

“I don’t…”

“The ones who starve are also intriguing. Especially if they used to look like this.” He manifests a thin folder into his hands and slaps it on the dresser. He flips it open to reveal photocopies of old year books. 

“Wh-were did you get these?”

“Oh that doesn’t matter, my dear. But if I can get to them, anyone can. Would you like that? Would you like people to know how you used to look before MeTor Shower and your record label fixed you? Before I fixed you?”

“You won’t…” But she knows that he will. “I’ve just recovered from the first surgery.” 

“Think it over, Kyanite.” He holds his pointer and middle fingers under her chin and tilts her head up. “I’ll let you ponder it for a while. But I want an answer by the day after your show at the end of the week.” He lets her head drop. He doesn’t look back at her as he walks away, she is simply too unsightly for him.

She is unsightly for herself too. She waits until the door closes to slide down the wall and to the floor. She can’t imagine that her body can take much more abuse. What kind of surgeon is he paying for, that will take her in spite of her dwindling health. 

She eats just enough to function and not draw any questions but not enough to feel energized and strong. Certainly not enough to get her through another surgery and recovery period. He is going to get her killed, she thinks. She is so weak and growing weaker still. And she still has a performance to put on and, apparently, another round of surgery to go through. 

She can’t do this anymore.

She can’t do it. 

But if she stopped now,  she wouldn’t know what else to do.

Maybe if she gets enough surgeries she can disconnect completely. Maybe Kyanite will die and she will be someone else. She imagines that that person will be worse. She thinks that, maybe, Kyanite has already died. She no longer shows up in the mirror.

.oOo.

Icy closes her eyes and inhales. 

She hasn’t done it in some time, but she thinks that now is as good a time as any. She needs something to take her through this disaster. Snow has always helped her in some form or another. It has helped her in classes and combat in the form of magical prowess. And it will help her get through a tour in the form of coca plants and chemicals.She could use the euphoria. And she could use the energy boost.

Besides, it isn’t as though she has never ruined herself before. She’s done it many times over. Maybe this time it will save her. Her career anyways; nothing says ‘witch’ and ‘rock band’ like hard drugs. 

She wipes the counter down and slips her little bag of powder back into the slit she had made in her platform boots. Nobody has been able to find her stash yet. Nobody knows that she has one at all. 

She emerges from the bathroom and finds herself a spot on the bed. Stormy and Darcy are probably still at the pool. And that is fine by her, after so many weeks of sharing a cramped bus with them, she is thrilled for some alone time and a comfier hotel bed. Perhaps she should save her drugs for the tour bus when she really needs them. 

“Hey!” Bloom greets. “You left the door open!” 

Icy groans and rubs her face with one hand. The other she keeps free just long enough to throw a middle finger up at Bloom. Bloom who thinks that, that is the funniest possible action that she could have taken.

“You break into our dorm at Alfea all the time. Fair is fair.” Bloom declares. 

“Fuck fair.” Icy grumbles. 

“Are you always this cheerful?” Bloom asks. “I swear that every time I talk to you, you get grumpier and grumpier.” 

“Consider this; you have a presence that induces rage. The more time I spend in close proximity to you, the less joy I find myself able to feel.” Not that she hasn’t been steadily dying within for the longest time now. 

“Well I thought that I would ask you if you wanted to come with us to…”

“I don’t want to be seen with you in public.” 

“Well gee, then we have a problem considering that we’re touring together and inviting the general public to come to our shows.”

And there it is. Another bit of her soul vacates her body. She isn’t a particularly nice person but she doesn’t think that she deserves this kind of suffering. 

“Anyways, Darcy and Stormy wanted me to ask you…”

“Then why aren’t they here in person? Why would they send you?”

“Because they think that you’re still mad at them for the whole impromptu song mashup incident.”

“They are correct.” She is furious with them and still reeling from Darko. But that will subside soon enough when the drugs kick in. 

“If it makes you feel better, we added a few new rules to the list. And we made a ‘we’re sharing a tour bus now’ list of rules. And…”

Does the fairy ever stop talking? She is going to get another headache. 

“We made a schedule for who gets to choose the music.”

“Well that’s great except that there’s six of you and three of us.” 

“Which is why you three get two turns. So you get first pick and then I choose. Stormy picks next and then Musa. Darcy and then Stella and then you again. And after you, Layla gets to pick…”

She really could have stopped there, Icy gets the picture. But she carries on until she lists all of her friends and then repeats that pattern a second time just to really drive the point home. “And let me guess, you’re going to be playing MeTor Shower the entire time?”

“That’s right! See we know each other so well! We’re the perfect tour duo.” She pauses. “And that’s why you’re going to come with me and join your band and mine for a night on the town! Have you ever been to Solaria?”

“Do I look like I’ve even seen sunlight in the least ten years?” Icy grumbles. “I can explore Solaria with you idiots because I’m allergic to the sun. What a shame, how disappointing, guess that you will all have to do without me.” 

“I see you walking in the sunlight all the time!” Bloom protests. “You were in the sun for like three hours yesterday.”

“A mistake, I assure you. I had a miserable time and…” 

“You’re still alive. Besides, it is nighttime so you won’t have to worry about UV rays.” 

“I will have to worry about my eardrums though.” 

“Your eardrums?”

“Your voice does this thing to them where they start to bleed. You can’t see it because…”

“Your blood is invisible.” Bloom guesses. 

“Because I freeze my blood to the inside of my earholes before it can come out. It’s very effective because it also functions as ear plugs.”

“This is why I enjoy your company, Icy! You say some pretty amazing things, I think about them for days.”

“And your company makes me experience some type of psychogenic death. Not to be confused with the magically induced psychogenic death that Darcy has tested on myself and Stormy. Unfortunately it did not work and I’m still alive to talk to you. It is with deepest sincerity that I hope you think about this conversation for days. That you truly process every word until you feel all of the offense that I had intended.”

She is chuckling harder. Hard enough to grip her sides. “I love it when you talk like a tortured Victorian child.” 

“Name one child, Victorian or otherwise, that talks like I do.” 

.oOo.

Bloom is fairly certain that Icy is only getting dressed to get her to stop talking. She is completely certain that the woman has stripped down to her undergarments in a futile attempt to get her to leave. 

“I like your tattoos.” Bloom says instead. And she has a lot of them. The one on her chest is the most elaborate; a depiction of her wisteria crystal surrounded by a very intricate, lacey looking snowflake and a few swirling symbols that might be used for spellwork. There is an guitar and a microphone wrapped in a swirl of snow on her right bicep and an ice snake curling around her left. In several places on her torso, her ribcage just beneath her breast and several spots on her belly are a few black feathers with shimmering white ink on the tips. There is a snowflake, also done in shimmery ink, around her belly button. It is almost as eye catching as the dangling diamond belly ring. 

Her forearms from her wrists to her elbows are decorated with lines of icicles that seem to creep out from what, at first, bloom thinks is white ink crevices. She stares long enough to realize that she isn’t looking at ink at all but several thin scars. She isn’t sure how she hasn’t noticed those before. She supposes that she has never really been close enough to Icy, outside of petty campus combat, to get a good look.

For a moment she considers asking, but she has already pushed Icy’s patience very far tonight and really it is none of her business. 

“I didn’t realize that fairies like ink.”

“They usually don’t.” Bloom shrugs. “But I think that it can look nice. I’d be too scared to get a tattoo of my own though.”

Icy pulls a fishnet shirt over her head and then a simple black-blue mini dress over that. It is made of velvet and reaches mid thigh. Suddenly Bloom feels so under dressed in her band T and those jeans that are ripped at the knee and patched near the bottom.

She wears a simple golden chain around her neck, burrowed from Musa and a pair of hoop earrings that Stella had give to her. Icy puts in a pair of very dangly, very flashy icicle earrings. These earrings hook up to one of several helix piercings at the top of her ear. Bloom wonders if Icy can hook the piercing to her nose ring the way that Darcy hooks hers to her septum piercing. 

“Didn’t all of that hurt?”

“Nothing hurts more than enduring human existence.”  Icy shrugs. 

“That is so not a real answer.” 

She is given another shrug. She watches Icy fix a choker around her neck and clasp a second necklace. It falls against her chest and the unpolished blue stone catches in the light. Bloom’s lips part and her eyes narrow. “No way.” She whispers.

“What was that?” 

She doesn’t answer. She has to be certain. And she almost is. The tinsel is missing but the feather is still there. And the shape of the crystal is unmistakable. What she had mistaken for a flower is actually a snowflake. “Where did you get that?”

“Huh?”

“The necklace! Where did you get it?” Bloom practically shouts.

“Geez, Peters, relax. I didn’t steal it.”

But if she didn’t steal it…

“It was always yours?”

“Yes, it has always been in my possession. Shit, I steal one Solarian ring, one time…”

“You took it several times.” Bloom corrects. 

“Whatever. Does this look like fairy jewelry to you!?”

“Yeah, actually it does.” Bloom digs around in her backpack until she finds one of several albums. The special limited edition release of MeTor’s second album. “It looks like this one.” She points to the crystal glimmering on Kyanite’s neck. “It looks exactly like this one.”

[dijeh]

This made me laugh out loud when I first read it, it's got great, what do you call it, comedic timing? Anyway. It still makes me laugh but it also makes me a bit sad because it's one of those things Roddy came up with and came to believe super sincerely because there was no one to tell him otherwise. (I can't remember any other major character being this superstitious, but I devoured both books in four days, so I might have missed something...).

And this is just one of those benign things, that only gives -him- mild panic attacks, but there are other notions, like his idea of absolute noble superiority and completely worthless peasants that are just absurd. And you have to wonder, just where did he get that from? His mum made him spend his entire childhood among the servants, right? And I think that's it. She never told him why. His dad obviously never explained anything to him either, so his child brain had to reconcile the fact that he was the crown prince with eating in the kitchens and playing with the servants, treated like some guy and nearly invisibile to his mother. Elena never being affectionate with him also contributed to his lack of self-confidence and the only way he seems to have retained some pride was by considering himself better than the ones he spent time with (or at least the servants, since his cousins were already his "betters" when it came to their sex lives, etc [Rust is the eternal exception up to a point]). I'm not even getting into the Hester part, her "explanation" was worse than I had thought... gods.

But! Hester talking about what an evil child Roddy became (lol) highlighted to me something I had suspected since the earlier parts of the first book ("wtf is a metaphor", "no one taught me protocol"), ie, that he was simply neglected and only received the bare minimum education and copious punishment when he didn't know/listen/obey. I have a feeling he turned "bad" after his father died (again, I may be stating the obvious...) and was just sort of abandoned after a couple of failed tries. And again we have Elena's distancing (found him "trying") and his obvious need for her affection that keeps popping up in both books. Kind of sad that the issue of a father figure was solved, but the mother figure remained a permanent sore spot.

And, well, Hester tried, and it's odd to me that she understood why he was like that, but then just said screw it and became incredibly hostile towards him. I sort of understand why she'd be fed up with his attitude but she never told him why either. Roddy's entire upbringing consists of no one telling him anything and him getting worse and worse as a result, it's just so...

(I actually decided to read the books because I was morbidly curious about Roddy's shit personality and wanted to see just how much I would come to hate him; I'm glad he disappointed me in this regard 😂)

[spitdrunken]

Deathly and morbidly curious about the Jack Horner noncon,,,, please elaborate

uhehehehheheHEHE FINALLY. thank you for being the willing victim of my whims, anon. blows u a kiss.

notes: noncon, size difference (Bad), jack horner is HORRIBLE and COMPLETELY unapologetic abt it. just like in canon <3

Jack Horner has hordes of people working for him, and legions more that want to. (Well, duh. The pay is great, but that's only because very few last longer than a paycheck or two, and fewer remain to collect their dues after 'resigning'.) This means that it's awfully easy to get away with abusing a few here and there, then dumping them by the wayside once he gets bored. There are plenty willing to take their place, after all.

The way he fucks you depends on both his mood, and the circumstances leading up to it. If you've fucked up an important job, or simply gotten in his way while he was already in a bad mood, it's anger that fuels him. He'll have your skull in a death grip to keep your body from jostling around while he's forcing his cock inside you- And he laughs at you once the entry gets a bit easier. See? Was that now so hard, huh? (Whether it's arousal that's slicking up your hole, or something else, that's an entirely different story. He's called 'Big' Jack Horner for a reason.)

The most likely reason he'll use one of his employees as a toy however, is mere boredom. A need for a distraction. Jack Horner is not a good guy. He knows this. Everyone knows this. If he can feel even more powerful for a little while, and even feel pleasure while doing so, that's a win-win in his eyes. This is how a random employee might have the displeasure of finding themselves bend over his desk, with not even a pay raise or anything promised in return.

He finds it funny if you struggle, until he doesn't. He'll roll his eyes, and clamp one of his hands around your body to keep you entirely still, while saying something like: Look. I'm trying to fuck you here? Not sure if you were able to tell. But, ah... I'd stay still from now on, if I were you. Or I might decide to do something else.

Long story short: Jack Horner is absolutely horrible, and I feel he would absolutely, definitely noncon. For funsies! He's evil, after all. I briefly considered the idea of a Reader who had some kinda twisted crush on him, and him playing along and then raping you... But I don't think Jack could get invested enough in something to actually follow through with that HAHA He has better things to do than that.

[1016anon]

Title: Thinking About Crashing Author: 1016anon Fandom: Bridgerton Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton/Kathani Sharma

A/N -- I tweaked the timeline a little: the Conservatory Ball takes place five days after they meet in the woods, not the same evening.

A/N 2 -- Revised 4/27.

Who knows

He didn't care that he was being abominably rude.  He absolutely refused to dance any longer with Miss Something-or-Other.  Not when he had been aware of his omeg-- Katha-- Miss Sharma all night and her eyes on him.

She and her party of two others had arrived mere moments before he'd stepped foot in the Conservatory with his family; despite the crush of the dancefloor and the overwhelming cloud of gawdy smells which hovered like sewage floating on the Thames, there was never a possibility that he would miss her scent.

As soon as he'd caught the slightest hint of her (i.e. immediately upon entering), it had taken everything in him not to rush to her side like some besotted, newly mated alpha; that his recently-blunted sense of smell and recently-lackluster appetite had suddenly reversed course did not bear mention.  The intensity of the smells which bombarded him and the swift awareness of exactly how little he'd eaten since he last saw her had made him nauseous, but it was all secondary to the gnawing urge to follow her scent and ensure she was well.

Follow her scent, ensure she was well, then carry her off to somewhere to renew his claim on her-- both carnally and scensually.  After which, he imagined he would stand beside her all night, hand possessive on her waist, snarling at any alphas or betas who dared sniff in her direction.  The only time he would not have his hand on her waist was when he had two hands on her waist while they were dancing.

A part of him-- the part which had been taken over by a hive of overenthusiastic mating hormones and was therefore to be ignored-- thought this an excellent plan to be enacted immediately.  Another part of him was vehemently opposed; he'd had to clamp down on the impulse to turn around and leave the ball posthaste.  Still another part was morbidly curious, poking at the tether like a child would poke a snake (i.e. a dangerous endeavor, but irresistible no matter what wiser voices warned).

Anthony did not know how it was possible that he was divided into so many parts, because yet another portion-- and the largest one by far-- was simply an eternal shore of yearning, and he was like dead marsh water without a tide.

"Bridgerton!"

Was there no corner of the grounds into which he could escape?  The last thing he wanted was to speak to Fife and his ilk.

"I owe you a drink."

"Whatever for?"

"With you as the prize catch of the season, the rest of us shall receive a respite from the mate-minded mamas this season indeed."

Ah yes, that lovely gift from his mother.  She'd taken exception to his sudden cessation of any and all courting following the morning he met Kathani, especially since prior to the season's beginning, he'd informed the family of his intention to mate.

Before his mother had made that announcement to what may as well have been the entire ton, he'd planned to show his face for the absolute minimum interval acceptable in polite society, then retire for the evening or escape to the club.  There was absolutely no chance Kathani would not be at the Conservatory Ball; in keeping with their agreement, he'd put measures in place to ensure their separation.  Now, all of those safeguards had gone up in flames.

There was a prickling feeling at the back of his neck.

"Enjoy your freedom while it lasts."

His (mate)-- his (omega)-- his

"You, too, will soon submit to this ridiculous rigmarole of courtship--"

She had followed him outside.  Anthony couldn't help but send a tendril of ?

To which he received an emphatic push the scensory equivalent of shhh! keep talking! (the better part of valor: he did not comment on her contradiction)

"--squiring every eligible doe around town until you're barely able to see straight."

He could feel her narrow her eyes, to which he responded with one part defensiveness (it's true!) and one part contrition (I know).

"Is one hind unlike any other?"

Her attention was so sharp, he could smell burnt lemon rinds.

"Simply pick the least objectionable and get them wed, bed, and bred.  Then you can return to more pleasurable pursuits."

It seemed impossible that the others did not notice the anger wafting towards them, but he held his tongue.  What was she doing behind the shrub?  Was she--?

"And more pleasurable partners."

He could barely hold back his laughter at the thought of her crouching behind the bush to eavesdrop; he didn't because she would scorch his tongue if he agreed with the three jesters.  Anthony felt mischief spark in him.

"You may be cavalier, but if I must leg-shackle myself in mating, the doe in question should have more to recommend them."

!!!

Come join us, I shall introduce you to these fine gentlemen.

"Do not tell us you're hoping for a love bond."

Fife's sarcasm was as pungent as his pipe, and equally pleasant.

"Love's the last thing I desire."

You are deliberately goading me.

"But if my children are to be of good stock, then their doe must be of impeccable quality."

(shoe leather damp with a dog's slobber)

"A pleasing face, an acceptable wit--"

(charcoal and sulfur set on fire)

"--genteel manners enough to credit a viscountess--"

(tooth-cracking biscuits covered in powdered sugar and baking soda)

"--it should not be so hard to find."

(blankets left in bleach)

"And yet the debutantes of London fall short at every turn."

(cloud of dust along a desert-dry road)

Are you certain you don't want to meet them?

(mud pie with stinkbugs)

"You want the best, perhaps the Queen will finally name a Diamond.  Save you some trouble-- at least of choosing them.  Wooing the piece will be a different story, indeed."

(scent of the quiet before a typhoon)

"I shall have no problem there."

He nearly drew her out with that one (burned cinnamon, cloves, black pepper), but she managed to stop herself when Fife mentioned the smoking room.

"I shall be there anon."

(cold river water on a hot summer day)

There was a loud clang! as he turned the corner.

"Why didn't you join us, I would have introduced you," he teased.

"And explain how we know each other?  You are rather shortsighted," she huffed.  "Besides, your olfactions are not discreet."

"My olfactions aren't discreet?  I could smell you quite clearly through the foliage-- whatever was in Fife's pipe must have dulled their scenses.  It's a miracle they didn't notice you."

"Are they your friends?"

"Who, Fife, Cho, and Lowe?  We are acquainted-- though it's difficult not to be in a group so insular."

"A necessary evil, then."

"Every court has its fools."

"And you one among them," she smiled, pear blossoms in spring.

He couldn't help but reach for her; she couldn't help but allow him to reach.

"You followed me."

She looked away.

"I needed some air.  It is too warm inside."

"Any other reason?" the first bite of a late summer apple.

He dearly wanted to take his gloves off; slowly peel hers off as well.

She tried to take a step back; couldn't.

"I should-- I should go.  It has not been two weeks, we should--"

"Are you well?  Have you been sleeping well?"

"I-- no.  I have not."

"Nor have I."

A brief flash of image-- scent-- lying together under a gazebo.

It was enough for them to jerk away from each other, scalded by the warmth of comfort.  They each took one, two steps back, as if distance and willpower would make the connection thin to brittle straw.  She exhaled shakily; though her face remained impassive, her scent was sharp with cumin.  He didn't know what kind of olfactions he was making-- usually his face was enough to give away his feelings.

She straightened, regaining her composure.  She was so fierce and tall, plate armor gleaming gold yet repaired one too many times.  Something in him pulled, and pulled, but he put his hands behind his back and remained immovable as an emperor.

"I came to ask," she said, voice measured and even, "if you plan to find a mate this season."

"It had been my intention to do so.  I have since abandoned the endeavor."

"You need not change your plans for my sake.  Do they recognize bond-release in England?"

"We do," he nodded stiffly.  "Engaged couples are required to give voice to their intent."

"It is the same in India."

"You would release your claim on me?  And ask me to do the same?"

"I think we must.  Our illness-- the pining sickness should not be this strong-- we should not have it at all!  We spent less than an hour in each other's presence."

He had nothing to say to that, as it was all true.  With a jolt, he realized he'd only said his omega's name once: while they were mating.

In keeping with English tradition, Anthony stepped closer to her and went down on bended knee.  He looked up at her, hands clasped tightly behind his back, his neck exposed.

"Anything within my power to give you."

Even this.

Especially this.

She placed her hand carefully at his throat, thumb and index finger pressed at the base of his jaw.

"I give you permission to seek another."

Her voice was steady, but he felt her throat close and chest tighten.

"You are discharged of any obligation due to me as your--" she stumbled.  "As your mate."

He stared at her.  Then:

"As my omega decrees, so shall it be."

And it was done.

Some had described the dissolution as an unpleasant fizzle, one beta had described it as an embarrassing fart; their connections had been based on convenience than any real courtship.  Simon, when he'd tried to break the bond with Daphne, had described it as taking Will's fist to his chest, then driving a spear through it for good measure.

Anthony, however, felt nothing.  They were both panting as though they'd been running from hyenas; her eyes had a shadowed, glazed quality to them; Anthony felt like he was walking through a barrel of molasses when he re-entered the ballroom.

The breathtaking pain came the following morning: an iron-tipped cat o'nine tails clawed his ribs, ripped his kidneys, broke his back.  Anthony stumbled out of his chair and threw up on the floor, shaking and drenched in a cold sweat.  Benedict was yelling something indecipherable, though Anthony could smell the disgusting mixture of shaving cream, bile, and rotted meat.

It would have been a mercy to pass out on the floor, but he'd had to endure the entire hour fully conscious, listening to his mate crying out on the other side.

[jebbifurzz]

Loki Series season 2... (this is spoiler free aside from mentioning character names)

I hated season 1. I wasn't gonna watch season 2. Period... But I saw some posts on tumblr this morning, got morbidly curious and slightly hopeful, and long story short... I ended up watching the whole thing in one sitting. It's my day off, don't judge me! You're not, probably, but I'm judging myself and projecting.

Was it a cinematic masterpiece? No. Good writing? Meh. Good acting? Hmm...

I'm not here to praise the show, but I am here to say that I was pleasantly surprised. This season, in my opinion, was a LOT better than season 1, in every way. BUT that is a very low bar, because I have an undying anger in the pit of my soul for season 1.

What was better?

1. Less Sylvie. Yes, she was still a character, but the narrative and universe didn't revolve around her, and we didn't have all the characters singing about how the sun shone out of her butt. And she wasn't stomping around lording her will over everyone else.

2. Endearing Characters. OB and Casey were wonderful and adorable. Mobius actually seemed better, less horrible. Victor Timely was startlingly sweet in spite of how put off I was by HWR.

3. Loki did things. Very low bar when you're happy the main character actually did things, but here we are. Loki did things, and they mattered.

4. Loki talked about morality, choices, etc. Very surface level. Wasn't impressive or revelatory, but they at least talked about it and acknowledged that things were messed up.

5. Sylki was significantly downplayed. No hate for shippers, you do you, but the Sylki really detracted from the story for me in season 1. Here it was kind of treated like the Bruce/Nat thing after AoU. As in, it was mentioned, but didn't really go further. Thank you.

6. Loki wasn't a bumbling, flailing idiot. He was capable of thinking, introspection, problem-solving, magic he's been doing his whole life, etc.

I was still mad about a lot of things. They still tried to retcon a lot of MCU canon. There was still a LOT of problematic stuff all over. And they got really annoying and spent way too much time on some of the dumber plot beats. Loki was still quite often OOC. Not as terribly as in season 1, but still.

But. Somehow, with that ending, I feel okay...? Content. Like, I was filled with so much anger over season 1, but the season 2 ending helped me to feel like a wrong had been righted...

Maybe I'm riding a manufactured finale euphoria. I'll have to revisit this later and see how I feel. But yeah.

[sunshine-luca]

[ 🍦 ] - going out for ice cream late at night (Izzy)

(i apologize in advance how dumb this is but this is literally how they all bullshit in my head at any given time in the day 🙃)

--

[sometime in the future]

“God, you’re so boring now we can’t go out clubbing,” Luca complained teasingly, nudging Izzy with his shoulder. “You just had to go and get yourself knocked up, didn’t you?”

Izzy nudged him back, a dollop of her expensive gelato going flying as she did so. “Hey, it’s not like we’ll never go out dancing again. Besides, isn’t your man keeping you busy with work of your own these days?”

Luca scooped up another spoon of salted caramel ice cream. For a brief, insane moment, he’d considered trying something different like hokey pokey or choc chip but in the end, he’d found his favourite and had no interest in exploring other options.

A bit like how he felt about Ryan the first time they’d met. “Yeah, it’s been pretty fun. And Ry is really happy to be back in the air so much.”

“Is it weird? Having to step back now that Skye’s son is older?”

“Nah. I like having Ryan to myself to be honest. And plus, it means I can come visit your lame ass more often.”

Izzy blew a raspberry in his direction, making him laugh. He was teasing. There was absolutely nothing lame about Isobel Morrisini, queen of the Italian underworld and close ally to the O’Riain clan. She perched beside him on the edge of the penthouse’s private gardens, watching the eternal city that was Roma pass by below, beautiful and serene. From here, the ancient coliseum and scattered ruins were bathed in gold light. Luca loved visiting Izzy and Nico in Rome, but already he was homesick with the insistent tug calling back to the highlands and the stones.

“How far along are you now?”

Izzy rubbed her belly, the swell there only just starting to be obvious through the flowery sundress she wore. “Almost eight months. Sometimes it feels like it’s taking forever, sometimes I worry it’s going too fast. We’ve both wanted this so much.”

“I’m glad Vito’s gone now,” Luca said quietly, digging around for the last dregs of caramel. “You won’t have to look over your shoulder anymore.”

Izzy gave him a telling glance. “Nor you. Lainey’s gone?”

“Yeah. Ry dealt with her. I should have let him deal with her years ago when she first started her shit but I was… I dunno. I think I was kinda smug. I didn’t know she could be so dangerous.”

“I don't think anyone could have. But she’s gone now. They both are. Now we get to live the rest of our lives with the men we love.”

“Yeah,” Luca brightened then swung his legs around to climb off the edge. He helped Izzy up too. “God, if Nico sees you like this, he’s gonna freak.”

Izzy laughed. “Oh, he knows. He just knows better than to argue with me now.”

“Still, precious cargo and all that.” Luca gestured to her belly.

“Do you want to feel him kick?”

“What?”

“The ice cream must have woken him up. He’s moving around.”

Luca found himself morbidly curious. Not that he hadn’t been around babies, Kate and Skye pumping them out like it was going out of style, but it was another thing entirely to feel one moving around on the inside.

It kinda grossed him out a little.

Izzy laughed at the expression on his face. “Luca!”

“What! Sorry, I know it’s the miracle of creation and blah blah, but like, isn’t it just, fucking weird? Like… that. In… there. I’m-“

Luca pulled a face, only causing Izzy to laugh harder. “It’s really not that weird.”

“Not to you,” Luca sniffed, but he gingerly poked her belly, only for Izzy to roll her eyes and flatten his palm against the curve of her stomach. “This feels very hetero,” he muttered, only for Izzy to shush him.

At first there was nothing, then a tiny little flutter. His eyes widened. “Holy shit!”

“See,” Izzy looked smug. “Not so weird.”

“Wow. Okay,” Luca pulled his hand away. “So if it’s a boy, you’re gonna call him Luca, right?”

Izzy covered her mouth, trying to hide her laugh. “Um. No.”

“Come on, it’s a good name. And I totally just bought you that gelato and snuck you onto the roof so like, naming your first born after me totally seems like a pretty good deal.”

“Your husband’s black credit card bough the gelato,” Izzy corrected, sweeping past Luca in a swirl of flowing sundress.

He trotted after her, undeterred. “Do you know what Luca means? Bringer of Light. Ry says it's perfect because I remind him of sunshine. How cool is that?”

“Luca-“ Izzy started.

“See, just look how much you already love saying it.”

“Oh for god’s sake,” she melted against him, clutching his arm and finally giving up on holding in her laughter. He giggled right alongside her until they made it downstairs and back onto the street. Across the road, the gelato sign was still lit up in a neon glow and the two black cars flanked its shopfront, ready to take them home once they’d had their fun.

Izzy’s hand tightened on his arm. “You know. I’m not sure I’m ready to go home yet.”

“Aren’t your feet aching? And other pregnant lady stuff? Kate always complains about her back hurt-ow!”

Izzy pinched his side, hard. “You are such a brat.”

“I know,” he grinned then tugged her back across the street. “Come on, let’s get seconds then!”