#this is the first thing i've written in a week

[kkoga]

DO IT. DO THE HURT NO COMFORT. PLPSLSPLSPSLSPLS I LOVE ANGST!!!

-🎧

A/N : your wish is my command....

RAINY NIGHTS, sophia laforteza x fem!reader

Warning ! Hurt no comfort, toxic relationship, mentions of sensitive topics, not proofread

Disclaimer ! Everything written here is pure fiction. Every person is not a real portrayal of themselves.

Now playing ! Cologne by beabadobee

WC — I dont knkw bruh i wrote this and its 3 fucking am im not mentally sane lawl phones also 7 percent.

Synopsis ! After Sophia Laforteza fucks up multiple times, Y/n decides she's had enough. Time and time the girl had waited, but much to her dismay, all Sophia had done, was disappoint her.

Y/n shamefully exits the restaurant, feeling dozens of eyes on her. The girl had been waiting for her girlfriend, Sophia Laforteza, to show up to a date they've been planning for weeks now.

The first hour wasn't so bad. Maybe she had gotten stuck in traffic, or maybe she would be just a little late. The second hour was worse. At that point, waiters and waitresses had started asking her where her partner was. And what Y/n hated the most, was the fact that she had no answer to their questions.

Now here she was, after the fourth hour of waiting. It was currently 12 am, and much to the girl's luck, it had just started raining.

The girl could only sigh.

"What a great marvellous day! Not only does Sophia leave me waiting for our date, it starts raining right after I get kicked out! Absolutely hilarious!" Y/n mumbes to herself, tears beginning to well up.

"Maybe she just forgot. I mean, she's busy afterall..." The girl tried her best to convince herself that this was going to be a one time thing.

She was wrong.

Y/n bites her inner lip. It has been 2 hours since their designated sleepover. It's been weeks since Sophia had gone over to her house. So they'd been planning for a movie night. And tonight was that night. So why exactly has Sophia been ignoring her calls?

Y/n presses the call button once more, but to no avail, she was met with Sophia's voice mail for the nth time.

The popcorn was starting to get cold, and the ice cream was starting to melt. Y/n sighs. It's been two hours. Maybe she got caught up in an emergency schedule?

"Couldn't she just have told me...?" Y/n shakenly whispers to herself. This was the fourth time Sophia had stood her up this month alone.

Y/n begrudgingly placed the ice cream back in the fridge and seals the popcorn in a random container. The sound of rain keeping her grounded.

"It's okay. This will be the last time this happens."

Finally. Sophia had finally shown up to a hang out. Y/n had been waiting for the past month. The girl had greatly missed her girlfriend, and she hoped Sophia felt the same.

"Sophie! Hi!" Y/n ran up to Sophia, and hugged her as tight as she could. Afraid to let go, scared she might lose the one person able to cheer her up with a simple smile.

"Y/n! Baby! Hi, i missed you so much." Sophia hugged the girl back, and for a moment, Y/n thought,

"Finally. We're back to normal. Oh god, how I've missed my girl."

Y/n couldn't help the small but sweet smile that had formed.

It had been an hour since their hang out started, and apparently, Sophia had to go. Y/n felt sad, but knew it was her job, her dream. And Y/n would never get in the way of that.

As Sophia entered her car, Y/n bid goodbye to her girlfriend.

"Bye Sophie, miss you, and i love you." Y/n leans down for a cheek kiss, almost missing the unreadable expression Sophia had on her face.

"Yeah, bye." And with that, Sophia drives off to god knows where.

"No i love you too...? No... maybe she just forgot. It's fine." And suddenly, rain had started pouring. Y/n quickly ran for cover, but couldn't avoid looking like a somewhat wet puppy.

It was infact, not fine. It had been three months since that little mini date, and Sophia hadn't said the words "I love you". Atleast not without Y/n basically telling her to.

What went wrong? What did Y/n ever do? Did she offend Sophia? Did she do anything to form this... this gap between them?

Y/n felt so lost. So... confused. She was so sure she hadn't done anything. At least not anything she could remember. Well, she was going to find out tonight.

The door opens widely, in a swift manner. And in comes Sophia, sick and worried.

"Y/N, BABY, ARE YOU OKAY?? I came as soon as i got the text, I—" The panicked Sophia came in, expecting to see an injured or sick Y/n. But all she had found was Y/n sitting on the chair of one of her counters, with a stoic look on her face.

Sophia's breathe was heavy, like she had ran to get to Y/n's apartment.

"Why are you completely fine? You texted me it was an emergency Y/n, I was busy—!"

"Well, you always are, aren't you?" Y/n looks up to Sophia's eyes, and frustration begins to fill the Filipina.

"Excuse me? You know I'm constantly busy. For fucks sake, I'm an idol! You can't—"

"I know. I know what I signed up for, Laforteza. I know I'd never get in the way of your dreams. You would never even let me." Y/n gets off the stool, and faces her girlfriend.

"So what's your point! What, you call me here because you missed me? I was in a fucking meeting Y/n. With one of HYBE's officials!! Do you know how fucking important that is?" Sophia scratches her head in disbelief, her anger bubbling up faster than it ever has. Y/n sighs defeatedly.

"More important than me?"

Silence filled the apartment. What felt like hours were only a few measly seconds.

"The silence was more than enough, Laforteza. I'm tired. I am so fucking tired of you leaving me hanging. At first, it was a date here, a date there, but nowadays, it's like everything we plan just ends up with me waiting."

"But I'm trying Y/n! I'm trying my best for you, for my members, for my fucking dream. Why can't you just understand that?"

"Then answer this, Laforteza. When was the last time you had told me the words "I love you"? When was the last time you had willingly told me those three words."

Sophia tried to recollect, the Filipina had really tried her best. But the realization had hit her hard.

"Fucking THINK Laforteza. Give me a goddamned answer. When was the last time you had given me a sincere, loving, "I love you"?... ANSWER ME!"

"I... I can't remember...." Sophia had started tearing up. Why couldn't she fucking remember the last time she had said I love you to her own fucking girlfriend?

Y/n let out a laugh. But it wasn't the usual light and hearty laugh Sophia had always heard. This laugh sounded painful. It was like all of Y/n's vocal chords had suddenly forgotten what a laugh had sounded like.

After a few seconds, Y/n's laughing had turned into sobs.

"Do you know how many times I've had to shamefully walk out of a restaurant, or get kicked out? Sophia, everyone looked at me. Their eyes were so full of pity. The waiters and waitresses constantly checked up on me like I was some poor child, left behind by her mother. Countless times, Sophia. I endured it all, thinking it would be the last time."

Y/n's voice had started cracking, and the girl had made a face Sophia had never seen before. One filled with so much sadness, so much sorrow.

"But time and time again, you proved me wrong. Every date you stood up, every "I love you" left unanswered, destroyed me, Sophia."

"Baby... baby I'm so sorry, please—" Sophia tries to move closer to Y/n, but the girl pulls away.

"Don't. Don't ever call me baby ever again. You don't get the fucking right, Sophia."

"I'm so disappointed in you Sophia. I never thought you'd ever treat me this way. Your career may have excused a missing date or two. But seven in a row? Sophia, we've gone on three total dates for the past four month's. And we had planned seventeen. Seven fucking teen Sophia. You stood me up fourteen times, and that's only for the past four months."

"I.. please I'm so—"

"So let's end this."

"...what?"

This felt so surreal. Y/n had just asked her if they could end it. Sophia had felt her whole world crumble. She caused this? Has she really broken down the one person who had supported her through everything?

"No.. no, no we aren't. Please, just give me a chance to—"

"No, Laforteza. Get out. We're over."

Sophia laughs, hoping this was some sort of wicked sick dream.

"We aren't over Y/n. Please, I just—"

"We've been over for the past seven months, Laforteza. What we've had for those last few months was just me trying to keep us both on the same page. But a relationship requires two people. We can't keep going if your heart isn't in it, Laforteza."

Sophia couldn't help it. Her tears had burst out like there was no tomorrow. The girl hadn't cried like this for a long, long time.

"But.. but I need you Y/n, please..." At this point, the Filipina had gotten on her knees.

"No, you don't. Hell, you don't even want me. You just think you do. So please, get up and leave, before I say things I don't think I can take back."

"I can't just leave!"

"Yes you can. Leave. For the both of us, Sophie." The mention of her nickname was driving Sophia crazy.

"But I fucking love you Y/n!" .

Y/n looks at Sophia with a tired face.

"Do you really?"

Sophia looks at Y/n. A look of desperation displayed on her pretty face. Y/n hates how she's never going to see that face ever again. Hates how she's never going to kiss that pretty face to sleep ever again. Hates how those soft and comforting arms will never comfort her ever again. Hates how she will never wake up next to the love of her life ever again. Hates how Sophia will never be hers ever again. But she was okay with that. She knew it had to end one way or another. It was better this way.

And so, after more back and forth conversations, Sophia reluctantly leaves. Sophia closes the door, and Y/n locks it right after.

Y/n will never open up her heart for Sophia ever again. And the latter knows that. They were over. They were really over. Neither could believe it. The two fall to their knees, on opposite sides of the door. The sound of heavy rain masking the others cries.

Guess rainy nights were never their thing.

[essektheylyss]

idk I kind of feel like I'm an idiot bc I actually enjoyed cr 3 from the jump to the end but like the blogs who follow bc I feel they are definitely more articulate and insightful than me are like "the whole thing was meaningless and pointless! matt fumbled everything!" so maybe I'm wrong to have liked it all? I'm not really sure where I'm going with this sorry

I think one thing to keep in mind is that many (and in fact, I would argue, most!) people who are critiquing the story and construction have also generally enjoyed the campaign as a whole! Certainly I don't know anyone who stuck it out through the end who did not overall enjoy watching it, for various reasons; I know there are people who hate watch, which I think is an absurd and honestly really stupid waste of time, but from my experience they are normally making snide and vicious tweet-length posts rather than long considerations of what isn't working for them.

There are also a lot of levels of critique—I've greatly enjoyed a lot of moments in isolation that I simultaneously felt weakened, contradicted, or even actively undermined the structure of the story as a whole, but those moments were still really fun and interesting beats. The Arch Heart's cameo comes to mind, as does, in hindsight, some of the construction of the post-Solstice split, but there are plenty of others of higher or lower impact on the story. In the finale the Raise Dead falls into this place very strongly, so I'm going to talk about it at length for a moment, since it was an absolutely stellar moment for me personally and as such I do think it serves as very illustrative of an example where I simultaneously fucking love a moment while finding it worth significant critique. I think it also touches on the critiques you're referring to, which I would summarize overall as the idea that many of the outcomes feel influenced negatively by pulled punches on the part of the DM rather than a flaw of one player or another. (Also, I want to talk about it cuz I love it. :3) This got very long but I think that to your point, it is worth examining in this amount of depth.

First, the good: it is an absolutely phenomenal culminating point of an arc that was only really concluded in summary; I have, as noted earlier this week, written at length about how Essek is never situated as a protagonist, which is functionally fine and even good. He ends up tied very strongly to Caleb's arc, and moves in the narrative in such a way after 2x97 that allows Caleb to reach a concluding note, and strengthens that narrative. So we only really hear about the outcome of Essek's choices, his inevitable leave from the Dynasty, in the summarization of the campaign 2 epilogue. This is not inherently a problem, because he is not a protagonist. But this moment does functionally create a material representation of that denouement, and in particular the tension between the outcomes of his poor choices and the better—potentially even good!—person he is trying to be as a result of the Nein's influence, which does strengthen his arc in its own right.

This moment also, hilariously, bears out my argument from this post. That the resurrection should only work with this intervention, particularly while the Nein are involved, does follow through on the Nein's general positioning within Exandria. Essek's leave happening without a fight (and, frankly, with only one attempted Counterspell) both makes for a very well-paced moment and also maintains the overall sense of story that the Nein impart when they are on screen; I'm thinking again of how their Ruidus episodes feel, much like their campaign and their post-campaign one-shots, like an intrigue action thriller series, and this fits well in that framing.

So overall, it is a fantastic moment... for the Nein. The Nein are not the protagonists of this story. They exist in the world, and are such active agents that they do continue to develop and exert motion on the narrative into this campaign, and frankly, I think this would have been fine if the party given ownership of this story and campaign did not abdicate their responsibility for it with unfortunate frequency. They do not exert a strong control over their story, which is at odds with the fact that the Nein do, and are present and also involved by the nature of their ending. It completely overshadows Ashton's heroic moment, in that the culminating action beat of this sequence is Essek getting away, which kind of takes the wind out of the sails of the Hells' involvement in the gods' outcome. It doesn't negate it, certainly, but it does refocus the story from them to, for some reason, Essek. So in this sense, it occurs at the expense of the Hells.

I find that while the handwaving of using dunamantic intervention to push Raise Dead beyond its limits (if indeed the reason it didn't originally work was because Ashton's brain was essentially gone) fits fine and even well within the framework of the Nein's story, and an NPC being able to do so without a roll is fine, since NPCs are vehicles the DM uses to guide the story, this is a significant divergence from the overall mechanics of the world at large; even the Nein had to do a full ritual for the resurrection of their tiefling. Matt put those mechanics in place specifically to create narrative meaning behind resurrections, which can feel very unmotivated and like a get out of jail free card in D&D, and while it's been noted that this would've really strained the runtime beyond its existing length, prioritizing it at the cost of, for instance, more truncated end notes for the Nein and Vox would've bolstered the Hells' presence in an ending to their own story that even many of their fans felt was ultimately lacking.

Giving the resurrection full weight would've also given Ashton's sacrifice and the Hells' involvement more narrative weight; the reason the other parties are involved at all is because the Hells were truly running on fumes by that point, but any lack of involvement this created could've been alleviated by having them directly involved through pre-established ritual elements that are not contingent on them having any mechanical offerings. So this moment sits within the context of critique that I agree with: that it felt like a pulled punch that ultimately also served to decenter the Hells within their own narrative, when it could've been used with more deliberate narrative force.

At the same time, I fucking love it, and watched it four times in a row yesterday, because it is so good—and it is, as I described, narratively and thematically coherent in one sense! And I think that is one issue of the campaign: many, many great moments are excellent and coherent in a certain framework but are weaker to varying degrees when considered as one piece of a larger whole. There are so many frameworks at play in this narrative, and not enough direct intervention to manage those as frameworks rather than as a single story, but at the same time, I think those frameworks are far more apparent if you're really looking for them, and that's much more difficult, if not impossible, when you're in the midst of them and telling the story.

I also don't think this means one cannot critique this; in fact, I would say this is more an issue of being a serialized narrative than an improvised one, which is often how critique of it has been pushed back against within the fandom. I was thinking about this as I'm currently in a course on, quite literally, how to critique comics, and we discussed this week how Marjane Satrapi said in an interview after making the film adaptation of Persepolis, which was first a serialized comic, that she ended up preferring the film, and I speculated that was because with a film, one has the ability to make a more cohesive narrative purely by virtue of the fact that with a serialized form, you cannot go back and make retroactive edits when new developments come to light. This is something that long-running comics must constantly navigate (as do many long TV shows), and in extreme circumstances such as decades-old comic franchises, ends up resulting in infinite timelines and hand-waving, which becomes so ridiculous that at this point it's a meme. In that scenario, though, it is not presented as a non-contradictory story, let alone a cohesive one.

Many of the critiques of campaign 3 are operating within the idea that this is presented as one overarching narrative. (And honestly, comics and other narratives that don't utilize that presentation are also still critiqued on that merit by people who greatly enjoy the texts they're critiquing anyway.) Within that context, I feel that the framing of the Raise Dead, as well as much of what would be my critique of the other pieces I referenced (the Arch Heart's cameo and some of the party-split sections) if I was to do the same kind of rundown of those, actively undermine this presentation by introducing and forefronting too many conflicting frameworks that are not interwoven well enough to create a single, cohesive overarching narrative.

This is a very long-winded way to illustrate my point, which is that I would really encourage reading critique not as a lack of enjoyment of the campaign, let alone a suggestion that no one should've enjoyed it (and if you did, then you're not smart enough to know better), but as a way to engage with the text(s) as presented within one framework or another. I think this is sometimes obscured in online fandom spaces, where we're not engaging in critique in as formal of a sense as one would in, say, an academic setting, where the norms generally dictate the framework one is using is explicitly stated if not fully delineated within the critique, but it is, more often than not, still implicitly present within the critique.

And as a final note, I would also really urge everyone reading others' opinions on something they enjoy to resist the urge to elide their own opinions from the conversation, even if you don't feel as articulate or as well-versed in critique. Critique is a trained skill, so it is certainly something one can pick up if they are inclined, and at the same time, someone doing it does not mean they are inherently right—and in fact, with all argumentative writing, it is up to the reader to consider the argument and decide whether or not they agree with it. (You can decide that you disagree with me about the Raise Dead! Just because I wrote a thousand words on it does not inherently make my interpretation truth; it's just an interpretation. You get to say whether or not you think my interpretation makes sense based on the evidence presented.) Even here I'm using the framework of some critique that others have made, but I don't delineate in full myself. In doing do I'm not presuming that you agree, but I am presuming that you've read it and know what I'm referring to. Strictly speaking it's also not even saying that I take that critique as true; it's saying that I feel the conclusions drawn are applicable as a basis for my argument. If you wanted, you could even say that you feel that my argument is irrelevant to you because you don't feel those critiques are true! But you ultimately do have to be the one to decide any of that, which does involve a balance between a confidence in the formation of your own opinions on the text and an openness to entertaining others'.

[arliaeien]

This makes me think about my evolution as a writer.

My first long fic, as a new writer, I used to consider a chapter done around 2k~2,5k words. That's around 10 pages in Word.

Rewriting this same story one year later, it grew between 3,5k~5k. At the same time, as a reader, I was enjoying more and more the longer chapters (between 5k~10k).

There had been a long time while I only was writing one-shots, then engaging as a beta reader, making translations... To sum up: not writing stories, and even less, ones needing me to arrange a new story in different chapters.

Some years ago, I dedicated myself to the rewriting of my first story (the last I've done) and had those quite big chapters (around 7k), I was happy with, and that didn't make me think, except that one time, I had to cut one too big in two smaller ones. Those chapters were in no way a 'one idea, one chapter' thing like. The cuts were rather happening when there was a change about the place, and/or time passing.

And when I started writing the sequel of this 80k story, about the characters meeting monthly, I just wrote a one-shot for every month. Whatever it was 10k, 20k or even 30k.

It's not written in English and the fandom was almost dead for the last ten years. There were no readers (think like 30 hits in five years on AO3). So why should I have cared? The big one-shot was what I personally prefer.

Came year 2021. New fandom, existing fan base in English, no one in my mother tongue. And I've gotten this idea of post-canon story. One, nobody had done before me. Or rather, nobody had done it, the way I wanted it to be. It's this that has triggered me trying to write in English. ...probably succeeding, at some point. It is a 70k, in the end.

First long story in a while, whatever the language was different, I've kept the same tastes and methods, reflecting over the construction of the story, and ended up having chapter between 5k~7,5k. My goal was quite easy : three main ideas / scenes making one chapter. Providing long chapters to readers was what's important to me, because that's what I love myself.

Up to these last years. I'm working on a monster story (156k ongoing \o/). I didn't have any plan, starting writing it. My first chapter was a two-big-scenes, around 3K words, which I consider cool enough. Second chapter... was happening later, somewhere else. And I ended up having four-big-scenes, 7k words. Yeah, could cut this in two parts. Except number 3 was 3-big-scenes and 5k words. Go tear your own hair out. This was difficult to me. I couldn't work with chapters with sizes so different. It wasn't me. It didn't feel good. I couldn't see how anyone could actually enjoy such variations. How could it be considered otherwise than "Oh yeah, one long/short chapter!" / "Oh no, one long/short chapter!" depending on the reader's taste.

How long is not the point. REGULARITY was the point.

So my badly proportionate 'chapters' became 'arcs'. And every arc, was cut around 1,5k words. One idea, two maximum, and cut! I loved this. Writing fanfictions about one manga whose chapters were arranged to form arcs, it felt like respecting the canon better. Felt great!

...well, I was still myself. My goal of going between 1,2k~2k words for one chapter become 1,5k~2k. Then 2,5k. Today, I'm a little annoyed proofreading, having to fight against myself for some of them not going over 3k. Not too bad, but not what I wanted.

This to say: I'm living a paradox. The way I publish this story wouldn't suit me as a reader. 1,5k or even 2k a week is to me desperately slow.

I just can't. Re-reading some moments of the story for pleasure, or working on it, I usually go with 3 of them. Sometimes 4. All by instinct, not caring whether it's an arc or crossing two or more of them. Because the 5k~10k is what work for me as a reader :P

So, what's my point?

The ideal length doesn't exist. It's a matter of skill, and of feelings, but not only. My ideal length as a new writer was different from 2-years experience me, 5-years, 10-years, and now 18-years experience me. Sometimes I've cared about reader-experience, sometimes I haven't. I have loved the years producing the fattest one-shots. It's unrivaled freedom writing something. But even without arranging chapters, there were breaks, cutting scenes, the reader was able to breathe. And nowadays, publishing weekly for one year and a half, I use a format I wouldn't like myself but readers seems to enjoy (and that's strangely the same as the one I once used as a beginner : 2,5k per chapter).

...perhaps all this is a circle. ⚪

While looking for something else, I found an old ask I answered about "ideal chapter length" in terms of word count.

I've been asked this probably a dozen or more times, and each time I need to take a moment and adjust my thinking to take the asker's point of view into account. Because the thing is? The only time I ever try to factor the word count into how I write a story is when I'm aiming for a true drabble.

For whatever reason, this difference in thinking stuck with me today and I actually considered why that might be. And I think it's because I'm in my 40s and the first 25-30 years of my life, any stories I was reading were printed on paper and bound into physical books.

When I imagine a novel, I still think of a mass market paperback on my bookshelf. An average one would be maybe an inch thick, probably in the neighbourhood of 300 pages. A long one would be maybe as much as two inches thick and 500 or more pages long. A short one was always nice to have because it filled in the gaps in the shelf because 200 page books were so much narrower. Or so it seemed.

When I started posting my fic online, I still thought in terms of pages. I'd type them out in whatever word processing software I was using at the time, and I'd usually get a chapter's worth of ideas into 3 or 4 pages. Turns out that's about 1000 words, which makes sense with the number of 1000 word essays I wrote in high school. I'd been trained to encapsulate an idea into approximately that length.

And that's what it comes down to. The thing that always made that question seem weird to me. A chapter isn't about how many words there are in it, just like a cake isn't about how many cups of flour exist in each slice. A chapter is a an idea that helps make up a bigger idea called a story, and it needs to be however many words that idea needs to be to get it out.

[mixingandmelting]

Hey so how do you think Tim and Dick would deal with going to this specific: Bar/cafe/coffee/candy shop to buy something just to have the excuse to see another customer they started crushing on after a conversation the first time they went there and at some point down the line after asking this customer s/o out, they find s/o’s stash of goodies from the place in a draw in the kitchen at s/o place and s/o walks in on this “I forgot about those in there. I needed an excuse to talk to you”?

A/N: The temptation to write a full out fic for Tim was so real. 😭😂Honestly, this is by far the cutest request I've gotten

Dick:

The original purpose of going to the animal cafe in Bludhaven with Damian was so he could get the teen off his case. For ten days, he would come and terrorize him every night in an act of revenge for all the crap he was given by the whole family for getting grounded. Yes, as the eldest sibling he shouldn't have teased him so much but come on. The teen ran around Gotham, taking down each criminal while holding the giant Bat Signal in its lit state. How could he not? 

Promising to take him there for a whole week, it was on the first day of the seven he met you and the gray rabbit who would eventually become his wingman in winning you over. Resembling Haley, it was as if the rabbit knew the two of you were meant to be when the small thing hopped from you to him, then turning his head towards you to beck you over so Dick could get guided on how to hold and properly pet him. Every day, the rabbit would do this, leading the two of you to get closer to one another where soon, it started to come as natural for him to walk up and sit next to you. 

He knew he was completely hooked as Damian had once come up and whispered with disdain how he was “ogling” you, to which he still argues he was admiring. It was what led to him to start bringing Haley to the cafe on his days-off, smiling as he always saw you with the same fluffy, gray rabbit in your lap, munching on a carrot whenever he entered the shop. All to take a chance and worm his way into your heart.

Now he’s happily living with you under the same roof. Along with becoming Haley’s other parent,  you’ve been helping him get situated with the newly adopted rabbit he saved during his last mission (though he has yet to bring up that the rabbit was actually illegally acquired and was formerly used to energize a bio weapon). 

For right now, he’s helping you find your library card, scorching the whole unit from bathroom to the living room. 

“Did you check your desk yet?”

“No, I didn’t get that far!” 

While you go through the dresser, he stands behind you and goes through your desk. Keys, notepads, paper clips, oh wait. Maybe? Pulling a card out from between your notebooks, he opens his mouth to tell you he may have found it only to stop from recognizing the logo and the date written on it. 

“Did you find it, Dick?” You ask when you don’t hear any shuffling from him for a while. 

“No. But,” he waves the card at you as you turn to face him, “I didn’t know you had a crush on me for that long.” 

His smirk stretches wider into a grin, gleefully watching your confusion and frustration merging into horror as it registers what exactly he’s holding. 

“I… completely forgot I left that there.”  Your voice barely above a whisper to which he nearly tells you it’s fine since he got you to flush from head to toe. 

Instead, he takes a step forward, his fingers gingerly wrap around your wrist before pulling you towards him. Nuzzling his cheek into your hair, he occasionally lifts his head up and presses lips on your forehead, nose, and cheeks.

“Cute”, “precious”, and “I love you”s are what he says in between each one before planting one last kiss on your lips. 

He chuckles from the random noise you make when you duck down to hide your embarrassment. Then sighs in content, words unable to express how he’s fallen head over heels for you all over again.

Tim:

The day he first met and had a crush on you was definitely a memorable one. It started as two random, sleep-deprived students standing in line at the only coffee shop closest to campus. Until he, his sleep deprived mind, and caffeine withdrawal spilled his coffee onto you as soon as he got it off the counter. Great first impression he left as you both went into full out panic, you trying to tell him it was fine while he kept apologizing and promised to, at least, pay for your drink. 

He still cringes at the moment, especially when he later found out once he was on friendlier terms with you, that you were more upset that it was your favorite shirt that had gotten ruined. Your Red Robin shirt to be exact. But now looking back, had it not happened he would’ve never gotten your number, nonetheless talked to you. It would’ve become another normal day in his life without the person who currently gives him joy in his life.

He lost track of how many times he went to that coffee shop just so he could bump and get closer to you.  For a while, coffee became his go to for caffeine when Babs had asked once why he was pouring the coffee from her coffee pot rather than drinking his usual energy drink during a Batfam meeting. 

As the saying goes, hard work pays off. Currently, he’s helping you pack so you could move to what you affectionately call his “dingy old” boat to which has upgraded to becoming somewhat habitable after you visited him more and helped organize his space and belongings. 

“Hey, did you pack your stuff in the drawers?”

He picks up the word “no” coming from the bedroom. Giving you the heads up he was going to start working there, he grabs another empty box and continues to open the drawers in the kitchen. Nothing stands out, the typical utensils organized in their respective holders until his hand nudges onto something in the very back corner that holds your silverware. 

A tiny smile dances on his lips as he pulls out and recognizes your stack of punch cards to the coffee shop the two of you now frequently go to together. You did mention you always liked that place long before the two of you dated. Never thought it was this much. Giving it a good look, he starts considering where he should place it since it was obvious that you were keeping them until the date on the very top card registers in his head. 

“Tim? What are you doing? Do you know how many times I called you-”

His fingertips matching the same red as his neck and face, he wordlessly turns towards you. Slowly your face starts turning the same color, your lips in the shape of a tiny “o” from recognizing what exactly he was holding and what mostly just occurred.  

“You… liked me?” He couldn’t manage uttering the “for that long” part out loud. Thankfully, and another reason why he loves you, you’re quick to catch on what he means as you start looking everywhere but him. 

“Y-Yeah.” It comes out so softly yet he can hear it loud and clear. “I, um, needed an excuse to see you again.” 

He doesn’t know what expression he’s making when he walks up to you. Nor did he have any thoughts in general. His head is in the clouds  right now, finding out how much he’s loved back that makes him love you even more. Adore you even more. Softly he brushes stray hair away from your face. 

“I love you.”

And he leans forward to seal his words in both your and his heart.

[leashybebes]

fic: blue and gold (9/28)

today's @bucktommyfluffebruary prompt is moving in together and my fill is here

so excited, this is the first of my five favourite fills that i've written for this. tumblr version below the cut.

Tommy knows it's going to have to be him that raises it this time. After he blew things up so spectacularly before, there's no way Evan will. Evan's braver than Tommy, more honest, more open. But he's not an idiot. He's not going to go looking to get hurt, and despite how much better they are this time around, Tommy sometimes still senses that slight hesitation before Evan says something heartfelt. Tommy's trying really hard not to beat himself up about that, and he thinks, if he can just stop feeling like he's going up before a firing squad, this conversation will help.

If he can only work up the courage to start it.

This is the fifth time he's tried in the last couple weeks.

"'Hey, Evan'," he mutters under his breath. "'Can I talk to you about something?' Great start, Tommy, that won't freak him out at all. 'Evan, can we touch base about something?' Worse. Fuck. 'This is going well, right? I'm not screwing up this time around, so maybe - ' Oh my god, why is this so - "

"Babe, are you talking to yourself?"

Tommy almost jumps out of his skin.

"Evan! Hey!"

Evan's eyebrows raise and he looks at Tommy like he's…like he's talking to himself in his kitchen and acting nutty, which. Fair, honestly.

"I didn't hear you get out of the shower," Tommy says lamely.

"Well," Evan says. "Here I am. You okay?"

"Yeah," Tommy says. "Yeah, I'm good. You hungry?"

"Tommy."

"Hoo, okay," Tommy says, blowing out a breath. "Yeah, okay. Can we sit?"

Evan looks…anxious. Tommy wants to kick himself.

"O-okay, sure," Evan says, and takes a seat at the kitchen table. Tommy sits next to him, wipes his hands on his jeans because - god, he's sweating.

Now he's actually trying to push through his own bullshit, he's realizing how bad it actually is, how rough this stuff is for him.

"Tommy, you're freaking me out."

"Yeah. I know, I'm sorry." He reaches out and covers Evan's hand with his own. Rip off the bandaid, he tells himself. "I want us to live together. I want us to start talking about living together. But I know that I - I made that a difficult subject for us…before."

Evan laughs, rubs his free hand over his eyes, turns the other under Tommy's to lace their fingers together.

"You idiot. You scared the hell out of me, man!"

"Sorry. Sorry, I know. I've been trying to bring it up for a fortnight."

Evan does that thing Tommy's been crazy about since the night they met - that coy smile, that head tilt, that glance up through his lashes.

"I used to think you were so cool," he says.

"Well," Tommy shrugs. "Now you know."

"Now I do," Evan agrees. "Okay," he says. "Let's talk about it."

Tommy blinks. Evan makes everything feel so easy, and often not even in that way that feels like missing a step in the dark. "Yeah?"

"Tommy. Of course."

[tackytigerfic]

Writer interview game

Thank you to my pals @arminaa8, @citrusses, @garagepaperback, @houndsinhades, @sorrybutblog, @sweet-s0rr0w, @wholahoop for tagging me - as always i'm deeply late to the party, due to an anxious few weeks/horridly busy work month! so love being tagged in these things though, i appreciate you all and loved reading yours.

how many works do you have on ao3? 69 😏 under tacky and 2 under BrassTacks (the account I set up when I was going to migrate all my fics over to a new name for some reason)

what's your total ao3 word count? 679,422 (nervous laughter) (also this is just the tacky account)

your top 5 stories by kudos? (a clear indication that kudos count means fuck all imo, three of the five of these are very much not my best imo - but which three?!)

If It Takes All Night (E, 11k)

A Lick and a Promise (E, 55k)

Modern Love (E, 62k)

And One To Play (E, 22k)

Through the Window, Clear Skies (M, 1.4k)

do you respond to comments? I used to reply to all, then i fell hugely behind with Modern Love, and then life got exceptionally busy and for ages it was either reply to comments or write new fics. i am currently working my way through comments on my new long fic though - really trying to catch up, albeit slowly.

what's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending? People might say my MCD fic Last Offices. I would say The Quiver of a Heartstring.

what's the fic you've written with the happiest ending? First Watch, imo - i think they really had to work for their happy ending, and also it's a double Drarry happy ending

do you write crossovers? I have a rough idea for an F1 crossover based on the Grosjean fiery crash/coming back wrong trope

have you ever received hate on a fic? a few times, that stuff doesn't really bother me though. personal unpleasantnesses are much harder to deal with but luckily don't happen often.

do you write smut? yes i do! it's something i've been actively working on improving, in fact. my most recent fic Standing in the Way is probably my best (though the sex scene at the end of First Watch was the one I found most satisfying in terms of the resolution of the fic)

have you ever had a fic stolen? yes, had a few put on that AI voice-recorded site recently.

have you ever had a fic translated? yes, a few - always a great honour as i see translation as an art in itself

have you ever co-written a fic before? yes! and it was very fun. Body Electric with @shealwaysreads and the Dreaming Skies Dronarry fics with @sweet-s0rr0w

what's your all-time favorite ship? look i've been reading drarry since around 2002 so...

what's a wip that you want to finish but don't think you ever will? Dudley with a magical baby/forced marriage/drarry on the run after Muggles find out about magic. MoD Harry who keeps dying but not for good having to go retrieve Draco from death. Draco going through the Veil to get Sirius back. Vicar Harry that I started years ago and would probably need a full rewrite. Caravan park worker Draco in a holiday camp in France. Seer Ron. I have lots. Though I do hope to finish them at some point!

what are your writing strengths? probably immediacy of emotions/ a strong visual style?

what are your writing weaknesses? sloppiness, sameiness, trying to be concise but just making it dull. getting discouraged at never being as good as the writers i really admire.

what are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? i... don't really have many? if someone in the story speaks a foreign language and doesn't speak english then I'd find a native speaker to help me translate their dialogue. I would never write an accent/dialect phonetically a la JKR though (RIP Fleur and Hagrid, you deserved better)

what's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to? F1!! I have two WIPs, a Maxiel non-racing AU where Daniel owns an organic farm shop and Max is a finance bro who makes friends with him and joins his 11-a-side amateur footie team and they hook up on a stag do while dressed as mariokart characters, and a Galex fic with Vicar!George.

what's your favorite fic you've ever written? First Watch! I think it's a really good fic (relative to my writing i mean), it does exactly what i hoped it would, and the people who like it seem to really genuinely love it, which is the best feeling. Also I do love the Voldemort-Wins trope and we don't have a huge amount in Drarry so I'm happy I wrote one.

Since I'm so late I'm not sure who's done this already (will try a few F1 pals too in case this hasn't reached you yet) @beloved-child-of-the-house @boxboxlewis @disarmd @elskanellis @epitomereally @faiell @kendra-vendetta @maesterchill @magicalrocketships @powerful-owl @saxamophone @skeptiquewrites

[s0m3b0dy2u]

"but roman..."

"why didnt you script youre immune to hate" / "why did you literally script haters into your dr???"

three words: because it's funny.

I scripted that hate doesn't bother me, and that i think it's funny. also, im very petty and i cant do dumb shit just to spite the haters if there are no haters. i did script that my friends dont get any/get very little hate. for example, people only think good things about theo because he literally posts the most gorgeous photographs, shes amazing at their job, and hes just the kindest person to literally everyone they meet. nico has haters in the way any loud and obnoxious youtuber will but theyre very few and far between and he also finds them funny, but in a slightly different way then i do. felix's legitimate work is amazing, and theres so little room for criticism to begin with, and most of his shitty takes are on tumblr, so hes safe. venus gets the same kind of hate anyone that makes the kind of music she does will, also largely angry christians like i have in my hatebase. she, of course, is the best at handling hate out of any of us. shes absolutely brutal. shes also the first to clap back if any of her friends get any hate to begin with. of course, she has the largest fanbase out of all of us so... yk how that goes, im sure. she also like... thrives off of drama.

also, i've litterally written whole critical articles about myself, if anyone wants to read them

Blasphemy Disguised as Art: The Dangerous Message of Empire’s 666

Style Over Substance? The Fall of Rome’s Theatrics

etc.

the first one is my favorite (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ

lets talk about 666

the only reason the ep (or even me in general) blew up as hard as it did is because of christian supremacists.

!! i dont hate christians or christianity, and i do not intend to mock the religion itself !! 666 is about my own personal struggles with religion !! also, the christians im talking about here are the kind that hardly live like christians--the ones that dont live and lead with kindness, but instead anger, and the kind that would condemn you to hell if they saw you walking down the street holding hands with someone of the same sex because "its a sin." the bible says we, as humans, are in no right to judge one another, etc. etc. etc. the reason i didnt script people like this out in this dr is because theyve greatly helped shape the person i am today--for better or for worse. (i feel the need to mention, now, i did script out homophobia, transphobia, and other forms of discrimination) !!

these people, maybe they saw the album cover, read the lyrics, or even just read the album and song titles, whatever it was they got so pissed. most of them havent seen anything else about me, and just jumped to the "hes encouraging devil worship" "he thinks hes better than God" etc etc etc. this lead more and more people to seeing my stuff and so... yeah

also the people that are like "EMPIREs too theatric" "romes too dramatic" like... no shit?? thats my whole thing?? idk what to tell you. my fans eat it tf uppppp too.

the people that are like "mmm maybe try making happy music now?? :/" piss me off tho like no???? my whole thing is doom and gloom. i am death incarnate, im fuckin--IM A VAMPIRE OK IM SUPPOSED TO BE VAMPIRIC ૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა /silly

also theres nothing funnier than tiktok comments like "you need jesus" and "go read the bible" pllssss what????? (╥﹏╥) lmaoooo

and like keep hating, all youre doing is making me more famous??? idk like....

i also love ironic haters

like yes, lets pretend we hate each others guts while were sitting in a cozy lil cafe tg

lets say we hate each others music and then drop a collab not even a week later

૮꒰˶> ᴗ <˶꒱ა

uhhhh rant over

if youre still here, how was your day/morning? remember to take care of yourselves, drink some water, eat something--even if it's just a little bit--and take a break if you need to. i love you all <3 have a nice day/night

[kabr0ztrousers]

hiya it's🦋anon again can I request a fem reader x male vampire, while reader and the vampire have sex he ends up putting his fangs in her neck and he turns her into a vampire.

Today's been busy again so I'm letting this one jump the queue a little because it's a little shorter. After this I've still got about a week's backlog so if you've asked for anything please don't feel put out, it's coming (pun intended(yes even you, Clown Fucker))

Kabr0z Writes episode 40: Sanguinare Vampiris

Also entitled: You have contracted Hemolytic Porphyria

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: death (kinda); blood play; vampires; blood mention; this list expands if you're familiar with Vampire: the Masquerade to include ghoulification; intox; loss of agency/control; possessive/obsessive relationships;

A/N: I am again reminding you all, you can submit any requests, ideas, verbal abuse, et cetera in my asks and DMs, it will most likely get written.

Even that thing you're thinking of.

Especially that.

###################################

Winter time was a blessing. The sun setting so soon meant your lover was able to come around sooner, and didn't have to wake you in the small hours of the morning to escape the scorching rays. In summer you had to go to his Haven, waiting for dusk before he'd wake up, normally in the small hours in the morning, and only until dawn.

A knock came on your door. He couldn't enter without permission, apparently something to do with the specific kind of vampire he is? He was always pretty vague about it, apparently the less you knew the safer you were. Vampire society seemed pretty cutthroat, you weren't sure you wanted to know more about it.

You answered the door. Nobody was there, but you knew better "come in, then" you said to the empty street

He didn't appear, exactly, you more just realised he was stood there. The deep kiss drawing snapping his illusion as he pressed his body to yours, closing the door behind him.

He was cold, almost clammy, he could mimic being alive if he wanted to, the warmth, the breathing, the heartbeat, but it drained him when he did, so you didn't want him exerting himself if he didn't need to. You were with him because you liked him, not just for the sex. Although, the sex was damn good.

He smiled at you "You eaten yet?"

You shook your head and he pulled out his phone, dialling up a takeout "I'll get you something, my treat"

He ordered a Chinese, and you watched a movie as you ate, him just watching. Vampires can't stomach actual food. He tried when you were first dating, but it didn't stay down and wasn't pretty when it came back up.

So your night together drew on, him asking about your day, your work, your friends, then hanging on every word as you told him.

Being an immortal member of the living dead must get lonely.

The film wasn't very good, some action flick without any real plot or substance. You found yourself staring at him as he absentmindedly watched. He dressed casually, a button down and jeans, a nice watch, a pair of practical boots left by your door. He only became a vampire in the 90's, and he's looked like a 20-something ever since. It made it easier for you to explain to your friends, and the age gap didn't really bother you, even though he was turned before you were even born.

He noticed you watching him, eyeing his sharp jawline, his mouth twisted to a smile and he took a breath. You watched as colour flooded his face, the greyish pallor of his skin turning rosy, his eyes moistening and starting to blink. He kissed you again.

It was warm this time, his breath hot against your face. You touched his chest, feeling it rise and fall beneath your hand. You knew what it cost him to do this.

You rolled on top of him, pushing your hips against his, feeling his cock start to grow and harden. You opened your shirt and one of his hands slid around your waist. He bit the other, holding the wound to your lips. You sucked out a mouthful of his Vitae, feeling the strength and vigour it gave you blossom in your chest, making your skin flush and your pussy moisten.

You slipped off his lap onto the floor, unfastening his jeans and slipping his cock out, licking it up and down as it twitched under your attention, coating it with your spit.

Your pants were already on the floor next to you as you fingered yourself, keeping his cock in your mouth and two fingers in your cunt. The way he stroked your hair as you sucked his cock always just made you wetter and needier, your pussy already clenching around your fingers as you toyed with yourself, teasing out a small orgasm before the main event, just enough to quicken your heart.

His breath quickened as he watched you cum, the little noises escaping you making his cock twitch in your mouth but you knew he wouldn't cum too soon.

You pulled yourself back up to his lap, moving his hands to your tits as you lowered yourself onto his cock. He gasped as it slid into you, your spit only helping it into your soaking pussy. He squeezed and rubbed your breasts as you started to ride him. He always managed to hit the best spots inside you, making you whine and whimper with every roll of your hips. He cradled your face, turning you to look into his wine-dark eyes

"You love this" his voice was even, it made your head spin

"I love this" you echoed to him

"You love me" came his voice again, echoing through the corners of your mind

"I love you" you responded, the only things in the world were his eyes and his cock, each one driving you wild

"Cum"

You came. Still transfixed by him, your body jolted and squirmed as you squirted around the cock skewering you, still rolling and bucking your hips, wringing out every drop of pleasure he was giving you

"Again"

You screamed, your pussy clenching and squirting. Your body pulsing in sync with it, white knuckles gripping his shoulders as he pulled you in to him.

The bite was ecstasy. You came again as soon as his fangs pierced your skin, arms dropping to your sides and brain clouding. You felt your legs twitching and shivering. Your fingertips tingling.

Your head spun faster and faster as your breathing got faster and lighter.

The room got cold, and darker, maybe the power was on the fritz?

The sound of the TV was distant, quiet, as though heard from the next room

It's getting colder.

It's dark.

You can't feel your legs.

A kiss.

Your mind explodes. You spasm and twitch as every vein in your body fills with fire. You try to scream, pain searing through you. You can see. You can hear. You can smell.

You hear the sounds of your neighbours snoring, you can see everything in the room as though the lights were on, but the only light is the TV. You can smell... Blood. Yours, your neighbours', carried on the wind. You're so hungry.

He's stood there, licking his lip, sealing the wound.

You get up, strength coursing through you.

He smiles at you. "Welcome to the rest of your life. We can go over the formalities later. For now, let's get you someone to eat"

#################################

Postscript: Wow, that was another fun one to write! Massive thanks to the folks at White Wolf/Onyx Path for the Vampire: the Masquerade system which I couched this in.

If you can correctly identify the clan Vamp!BF belongs to, you get your request fast-tracked, contest closes when the first winner's story is published! Guess early, guess often, send me your requests!

[ray935sworld]

i physically NEED to know your opinions on a/b/o pedronzo

pls i need it like there is no tomorrow

-mango anon 🥭

Oh 🥭, my dear you are sending me down a spiral with this one. Funny enough I was actually thinking about a marcmarc ABO AU today 😂

Alright, first off, talking about designation. Right out of my guts, I'd say Omega Dani and Alpha Jorge. (Partially cause that's how the smut ABO scene sitting in my draft is written, ups). Just from their whole dynamic, it'd make sense to me. Dani being more calm and level headed while Jorge can be totally unhinged and easy goes over the top. Especially when it comes to Dani.

And I totally see Jorge trying to "court" Dani with his weird behavior. Cause that boy has no idea how to court an omega properly. Especially one that's older than him. So I'm putting his whole asshole behavior when they were teens as him trying to prove to an older omega that despite his age he is tough and can defend Dani. But that idiot kinda went over the top and made it look like he was fighting Dani himself rather than defending him, ups. Idiot Jorge.

And then he tried to prove himself to Dani on track. Like in his mind the omega only choses the best one so he is desprete to be the best even if it ends up with him fighting on track against Dani. And when he stepped up before him, oh Jorge was heartbroken. Definitely saw it as a set back and that he wasn't good enough yet.

Meanwhile Dani is kinda interested in Jorge but he is so not into that macho asshole imagine Jorge is pulling up.

Soooo maybe, let's say... A little break down from Jorge? Like he is trying SO HARD to get Dani to notice an like him but the more he tries the more Dani ends up hating him. So one day he is fed up. He is tired but he can't stop trying. Like he's alone and he's ready to throw away all attempts and never think of Dani again. Then he steps in the paddock and between all those 10000s of smells he immediately clocks Dani's and he's like. "Nevermind. I want that" and he's gone.

And it hunts him SO MUCH that when Dani once again ignores his attempts and wants to leave Jorge is like "No. Just fucking tell me what I have to do! I've been trying for years now. Please. Please, whatever it is, I promise I will be what you need. I'll be a good alpha. I'll be the perfect alpha for you. Just - Just let me try. I can protect you. I can defend you. I can - Please!" something like this. I imagine him angry in love if that makes sense. Like he is in love, he is soft and all, but he still has so much anger in his chest that it has covered his love up too much.

And Dani just stands there, staring at him. He stares at Jorge, not understand what is going on and then maybe he realizes that Jorge is not just the angry macho kid he thought he was. "Jorge [first time he called him by his first name if you care]... An omega doesn't need an alphas protection. We don't live in 1920s. An omega needs an alphas love"

And THAT RIGHT THERE is where Jorge understands he fucked up. So he either ends up googling or asking someone he trust. Probably an omega though. And he then starts trying to use the textbook courting way. He is polite, even though he feels really awkward. He uses all the knowledge he gathered about Dani in the years (do I think he has a small diary with all the things Dani mentioned to him/ in an interview that he likes? Yes. Yes I do.) to kinds wooh him. He buys him his favorite chocolate, flowers, a blanket, stuff like that. And then the first hoodie exchange (both had already stolen shirts from the other for the smell)

Okay now this is all still very very soft cause I think that's what's needed at first. Soooo let's spicy it up a little, shall we?

Heat or rut? So either unexpected rut with Jorge returning to his asshole tendencies and Dani being fed up and distance cause he doesn't know about the rut yet only to be found by a very desprete and begging Jorge (Dani is getting fucked into the next week after that) or unexpected heat?

Both are great BUT I think I'll go with the unexpected heat. Now what if Dani is being clingy with someone else? Maybe his teammate? Nicky Hayden? For the record this would be in a way that Dani feels sick and weak and very out of his own skin and Nicky had massive dad vibes. So nothing actually sexual. Maybe Dani is even a little bit scared cause he knows now that he and Jorge are dating, the heat will be even worst than the ones he spent alone. So either torture when he's alone or him in heat with Jorge when they hadn't really talked about the whole rut/heat thing (or for the drama, it's early in the relationship and they didn't had sex yet).

And when Jorge notices that Dani is hanging to Nicky he is kinda sad/ jealous even though he knows Nicky isn't after Dani. But still, that is his omega. He definitely hates that the Americans smell is on HIS Dani.

So once Jorge and Dani meet, it's even worst. Dani definitely can't think straight atp anymore and just straight up hangs on Jorge. Like full on, hugging his arm, forehead against his shoulder, begging him to go anywhere where they are alone. Jorge is fully concerns cause he has never seen Dani, strong, confident, cold like this. And once he understand what's going on ("Jorge... Please... Please, alpha... Said... You said you'd protect me. Please, save me. It's so hot.") OH THAT BOY IS STRESSED!

He is so scared to somehow fuck up, it's almost scary. He is taking Dani to his hotel room. (Dani by then is wearing the hoodie Jorge wore a minute ago. He was sitting on Jorge's lap during the taxi ride and Jorge was really thankful for the dark window to the driver. Heavy make out session with Dani's hand dangerous close to Jorge's pants.)

And as soon as the door is closed, the action begins. Im not gonna go into to many details cause I'm not that confident in my NSFW writing but Dani wants to ride Jorge just as hard as he rides his bike. He is screaming and wants more and more and comes more time than Jorge knew a human body was capable of. He is getting knotted and continues. (Sorry) Jorge is so in love and crazy he definitely bits Dani's shoulder. Maybe even the mating mark.

And then once the heat goes down, Jorge is slightly panicked cause he's unsure if Dani was even clear enough to actually give his concent to the whole thing. Meanwhile Dani is laying next to Jorge, really happy, still drunk on all the sex and more than happy to still have a reminder of that.

Okay now this kind of escalated. For the record I did NOT think about Pedrenzo in an ABO verse yet so if there are some things that don't add up/ make sense/ not properly thought through it's cause I made this whole thing up while writing in like 30mins.

Anyway, the other alternative would be Alpha Dani and Omega Jorge. Intresting as well. This would include a very in denial/ lying Jorge, that's trying to hide his designation from the world. So he's overly agressive in his teens to make people think he's an alpha and to keep them away from him so they don't find out the truth. His father definitely has something to do with that. And then there's alpha Dani, calm and trying not to draw to much attention on himself outside of the track. And they always seems to collide.

I'm thinking since Dani would not fit the typical alpha behavior, Jorge would call him out in one of his rages when Dani was trying to talk to him about his unsafe riding "I am NOT taking criticism from some small, weak freak. I don't care what a fake alpha like you think of me. You can't even fight properly" Now something about this hist Dani really hard cause while they subconsciously are connected and competable, both don't know yet. So hearing *his* omega call him fake, weak and especially small (biggest insecurity and so far Jorge was the only one not to throw this at him) this would definitely bring a scar he can't explain himself.

So what if Dani starts keeping his distance from Jorge and since Jorge is an omega this would cause him loss of anxiety and frustration cause he knows he shouldn't act the way he did towards *his* alpha.

Next point would be, idk how but somehow Dani ends up being stressed and sad and panicked. (Maybe a crash?) and he hides in a dark corner having a panic attack and Jorge ends up looking for him. Like he is already distressed and suddenly he smeels Dani having a panic attack and all the fights are forgotten. He is going to comfort Dani. Especially after what he said. So he does exactly does.

Jorge sits down next to him. "What do you want? Do you want to yell at me again and call me fake? Weak? Small? The useless pedrosa, can't even be a real alpha and-" And Jorge just hugs him. Dani accepts and Jorge leans against him, head against his chest and he apologizes and tells him the truth.

And after that Dani is slowly starting to court him. He shows Jorge love and they are happy. *possible unexpected rut/heat - but in this case actually preferably Dani being in rut to make Jorge fully understand how crazy Dani is about Dani*

Thoughts? Did you like it?

[lola-theshowgrl]

"Star-Crossed Blades" - Writing Update #2

Month: January Stage: First draft Word Count: 7785 Currently Listening To: Ep 3 of "Monty Don's British Gardens" Beverage: Chai latte Mood: Anxious

It's going well! In the past week I've written the prologue, chapter one, and about half of chapter two. I've got almost the whole novel plotted out, which is very strange for me (I'm usually much more of a "pantser" than this!) and I even have the two main characters' voices very strongly in my mind. I've been bombarding close friends with all my little thoughts and ideas, and, at the risk of sounding immodest, I really think I have something here. I really do.

There are two problems I'm facing right now. The first is that with such a clear story in my head, practically screaming in my ear to get out into the world, I simply can't write quickly enough. I'm not a very fast writer in general, truth be told. I enjoy writing - I'm not one of these people who complains about the act unless I'm burnt out or dealing with an awkward scene. Generally speaking, I love doing this and actually writing is just as much fun as sharing the finished result. Still, I wish I could be quicker this time around, or at least I wish I didn't need a day job so I could spend the bulk of my energy on SCB instead of data entry and wearing a bra.

The second problem I'm dealing with, is that I'm coming fresh from the fandom space. I'm used to posting chapters as I finish them, and having people to talk to about characters and plot developments. That sense of community is very difficult to do without, especially when I'm practically boiling over to talk about what I'm doing.

I'm part of a few servers on Discord, and I'm trying to spread my excitement across them so I'm not being a huge bore by talking constantly about my WIP. It's difficult, though! I'm so torn between wanting to sit on it, to keep it all secret so I can get people's reactions when the whole thing is finished, or to just blurt it all out like a fog horn to anyone who will listen.

I've been going backwards and forwards about finding a platform I can post it chapter by chapter, as I have no plans to traditionally publish or go via KDP, but with the rise of plagiarism and pirating and AI scraping, I just don't think that's the best idea right now. There's Patreon, but I don't know how I feel about that, either.

It's a shame, really. If nothing else, all I ever want for my writing is for it to be read. At the moment I have a lovely, small but dedicated little group of people who are interested in my scribbles, and I worry that they'll have lost interest before I'm ready to share the whole, finished thing.

I'm in the unusual position of having a good idea how long this story will be, and it's going to take me a while to finish, I imagine. I can't see it'll be ready this year, and right now I'm aiming for September 2026 - that's a very long way off!

For now, I suppose I can only keep chugging along, and reminding myself how much I love this part of the journey. The rest I'll figure out as it comes!

[soupbtch]

ummm. my fic is done.

[polarisbibliotheque]

Nemesis (Vergil x Reader) - Chapter 1, Prologue

Nemesis

Pairing: Vergil x Reader

Summary: The Abyss opening is a rare occurrence. In his youth, Vergil wanted to harness its power, but never thought he would meet his greatest adversary along the way. Years later, the Abyss is once again open and that might call for some rather unlikely alliances.

Age restriction: 18+ - there's a lot of blood, violence, cursing and all those things people want to forbid younger audiences of seeing. Also, cosmic horror is a thing here. Procceed with caution.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Vergil has a LOT of internal turmoil, and both main characters struggle with self-worth, self-hatred, abandonment issues, etc. The reader also gets seriously injured and humiliated in this chapter, so, again, proceed with caution. It gets dark and it might be too much for some people.

Author's notes: And so, it begins! I HOPE I'll be able to update this one weekly, but I don't know if my creativity will be that nice to me xD This is something that has been brewing for a while, based on my initial hatred for Vergil. Expect the slow burn of the century, they'll be hopeless and so friggin' proud in this one :)

Also I'm so proud of this header :')

Chapter 1 - Prologue

The city was swarming with demons.

Vergil had rarely seen anything like it – chaos took over, the streets stained with blood, the sky red with fire. He marched with resolve towards his objective, ignoring the demons terrifying humans.

There was nothing he could do. He wasn’t there to be a savior – only the strong survived and Vergil had no time to spare. He searched for power, and, if he took too long, his opportunity would be lost until another Abyss was open – and that could take years.

Vergil could feel the tingle in his hands, the stench from the demons in the Abyss. The closer he got, the fouler the smell of blood and rotten flesh. He inherited that enhanced sense from his father – and Vergil constantly questioned how Sparda could have lived in Hell for so long with that horrid reek engulfing him. It had to be something he discovered only after locking Hell behind himself.

All of his senses indicated the source of all mayhem was inside the building he had just entered – if it had been a church of sorts, a castle, some headquarters… Vergil wouldn’t know. Everything was destroyed beyond recognition, and he walked upon the rests of what was once inhabited by the humans who used to live in that city.

The Abyss was close. Soon to be near the reach of his fingertips: a source of power not even the most notorious demons had access to. Something ancient, beyond creation itself – source of salvation to some, source of damnation to others.

If Vergil was about to condemn his soul, it didn’t really matter. He had already been damned; since the day he was reborn on that fateful night his home was torn apart.

Another strange smell assaulted his senses, though. Vergil couldn’t quite tell what it was – no demon; that, he was certain. It was a scent of something that certainly did not belong to all that destruction…

And it came from behind a door within his reach – only a few steps away from the entrance of the courtyard: the place where the Abyss had manifested after centuries asleep.

Along with his human heart, came human curiosity. That inherent human feeling, always distracting Vergil from his path and quest for power. That incessant itch in the farthest corner of his soul that couldn’t be ignored – and that made him divert his steps towards that door.

As his hands were about to touch the sturdy wood that resisted the chaos, Vergil’s steps came to a halt when he felt another presence behind him.

“Not a step further, demon.”

And that presence was human.

Slowly turning back, hands already gripping the Yamato and ready for battle, Vergil found a set of eyes filled with fire and resolve. They had something inside them that bothered his spirit, for he did not know logically what it was – his heart, though, seemed to identify something he couldn’t quite put into words.

As you pointed your sword towards him, Vergil furrowed his brows.

“Step aside, human.”

“I will not let the likes of you roam this place.” You tilted your head upwards, revealing in the faint light of that godforsaken place the wounds and bruises that covered your face and neck. Vergil slightly narrowed his eyes; you must have been battling since all of that started. You were probably the last line of resistance of whatever humans lasted in that pitiful city. “Leave before I have to make you leave.”

Vergil’s eyes narrowed even further – not because of analyzing more, but because of your words. How dare someone like you even entertain the possibility of making someone like him leave…?

His hands took their battle stance on the Yamato. You lowered your sword, reading his posture and correcting yours to get ready to fight him.

From all the demons you fought that day, he was the most… Different. They all looked like creatures from the darkest pits of Hell, blood thirsty, power hungry – either ready to kill and fulfill their bloodlust or trying to harness some of the power of the Abyss. But that one in a blue coat who stood before you… He looked human. Painfully human, even. If it wasn’t for the way he carried himself in that battlefield – the way he held his sword, the way his steps seemed so calm among the mayhem, the way his eyes carried only ice and rage – you would’ve deemed him human.

But you didn’t have to be a demon expert to know that blue coated young man was nothing but a demon like all the others you had fought earlier – or, maybe, unlike the others.

Nevertheless, in your experience, once a demon, always a demon.

“I do not have time for this.” Vergil hissed between his teeth, tilting his head upwards in hubris, leaving the Yamato sheathed. He turned his attention back to the wooden door – you were almost as good as dead; it would be extremely unwise to engage in battle with him.

But something Vergil still had to learn about humans was that the heart doesn’t always follow the wisest of decisions – sometimes, it acts by itself; and whether that is a good or a bad thing, it’s debatable upon the situation.

He heard as your steps lunged quickly towards him, giving Vergil only a few seconds to dash from your vicious attack, making you almost hit the door with your great silver sword. He kept looking at you with annoyance – not only because you attacked, but also because that fire in your eyes seemed to glisten even more than before.

“Leave.” You tried one more time – but Vergil was prouder than that.

He wouldn’t let himself be ordered around by a human.

“You chose your fate.” He growled between his teeth, attacking with the still sheathed Yamato.

It wasn’t his intention to kill you – with just a few blows from the sheath, you’d be on the floor, begging for your life or passed out. Vergil wouldn’t kill, but he would teach you a lesson: no human could think they could defeat him. He was much too powerful for such a weak, pitiful creature.

But you parried him – once, twice, three times. Your eyes still carried that fire, burning with rage and that something else. You didn’t fall, so he attacked again. And again. And you kept on resisting, refusing to give in.

You promised no demon would go beyond that point – only over your dead body. And you would keep that promise.

Vergil growled in disbelief, vexed by your resistance. He didn’t have time for this. Why weren’t you falling? Where were you getting your strength from? He was the son of Sparda. A meek, fragile, battle wounded human just like you should have fallen from the first blow of Yamato.

But your movements were as skillful as his. You held your sword with as much grace and strength as Vergil yielded his demonic heritage. With another blow, you parried masterfully in the right timing, both of you stepping back from each other to recover your stances.

You had your head slightly upwards; and you held his gaze. Vergil hardened his jaw, mimicking your demeanor – or was it you who were mimicking his? He couldn’t know; and you couldn’t either. The blood inside yours and his veins burned with the rage to be dealing with someone else as proud – and as arrogant – as the other.

It was the first time for Vergil, such a human thing to feel, but oh… Your eyes were crushing his pride. Your resistance mocked his power. And he couldn’t let that happen.

Charging towards you, Vergil didn’t hold back. You stood your ground, fighting him as best as you could – your body, though, begged for some rest. Even with the pain, you defended and counter-attacked with the might Vergil would expect of someone in a better shape… Of someone as powerful as him.

You, in the other hand, did not expect a demon so versed in martial arts. You thought he was going to use only his strength, like all demons did, but he had skill. As you parried another blow of his – the sheath of the Yamato threatening to break your stance, unbothered by your silver blade – your eyes met his and, there, you saw not only ice, but the sparkle of a fire that could only be human.

His eyes burned with the same fire yours did – the flame that kept telling him you wouldn’t give up: the human stubbornness.

Although you read it as arrogance.

Bothered by your eyes, Vergil pushed you back, with enough strength to make you stumble on your hurt feet and plant one of your hands on the ground so you wouldn’t fall. You let your head low for a while, taking a few deep breaths to control your spinning head. Vergil furrowed his brows as he noticed the smell of blood came from a wound in your flank – making the fact you were there, fighting him, even more absurd.

“Hmpf.” Even with that realization, he couldn’t recognize the strength in you. That would mean a mere human, battered and hurt even, could put up a decent fight with him. That you both were in the same level of power. Vergil would never accept that. “You’re not worthy as my opponent.”

You shot your head upwards, eyes stark in his blue silhouette as that demon turned his back at you in a nonchalant manner, going back to his business. He didn’t even want to kill you. That was mortifying. With those words, sharp as a sword, he cut through your heart and your pride: you weren’t even worthy of dying in a fight.

With the blood boiling in your veins, you used your silver sword to help you up. As he heard your movement, Vergil stopped; turning around slowly only to find you cleaning the blood running down your lips – those eyes setting his soul on fire.

“I am not done yet.” You spat the blood on the ground, almost hitting his boots. Vergil didn’t give you the joy of seeing how much his temper was affected by your attitude – even though his hardened jaw betrayed him. Lifting his head slightly to try to remain above his opponent, Vergil slowly walked towards you; and you mirrored his demeanor, even if you weren’t doing it in a conscious manner. “Demon.”

This time, Vergil didn’t allow you to attack first – he would set the pace of the fight; almost like leading a deathly waltz. You were his partner and you would follow his lead to your demise; as he always did with every opponent.

As soon as his domineering footwork tried to set the pace, yours refused to dance according to his lead. He tried his best to tame you – but that fire kept glistening in your eyes, and your footwork followed your own beat.

You tried to break his and make sure you were the one setting the pace, but that man in a blue coat had too much will to let himself be lead across the battlefield. His steps worked on his own – and he had the audacity to try to dominate you; the same way you were trying to do with him.

Your tiredness and his annoyance, though, made Vergil knock you down again – but still, you got up. And again. And one third time.

As you took your sword from the ground, barely able to stand up and wield the silver weapon with bruised hands, Vergil had a hard time hiding his shock – cloaked by the annoyance under his furrowed brows.

How were you doing that? You had no demonic blood like his to mend your broken body and burn in flames of survival. How could you get up, over and over and over again…?

“C’mon, demon.” You muttered one more time, raising your head as you could.

“Enough.” Vergil growled between his teeth, charging at you with a speed a human would never be able to counter.

You fell once more. With the sword away from your hands, you had to crawl on the floor to try to grab it again, as Vergil finally unsheathed the Yamato and walked towards you as a death omen. The blade glistened in the last cold rays of the day, as you ignored the blood dripping from your mouth and reached out for your silver sword. The demon approached, unrelenting, and if you couldn’t get back to your weapon, those would be your last breaths.

“Y/n! No! NO!”

The voice of a child made you and Vergil freeze where you were – eyes shooting up to the door he almost opened out of sheer human curiosity.

“Stay back!” You immediately screamed, pointing at three children looking at you both in horror. “Lock the door! Take the other children! Get out of here!”

“Y/n, no! We…!”

“GO! GET OUT! I’LL HOLD HIM BACK!” Your eyes were stinging with tears, knowing full well they wouldn’t have a chance against the demons – but you could at least give them a chance to run and save themselves.

Vergil’s fingers froze on the grip of the Yamato, his glaciers’ eyes stuck in that scene. His heart couldn’t let him move, couldn’t let him breathe. As you struggled more and screamed the last words that made the children finally close the doors and run – with a bunch of steps that could only be of a group of at least fifteen children – he watched as your bloodied fingers held the hilt of your sword once more, tears falling from your eyes as you struggled to get up.

You cannot kill your own mother.

Those words echoed through Vergil’s mind as he watched your struggle to protect the ones weaker than you. All that fight, all that will, all that power… It came from that. You weren’t just keeping people safe by forbidding demons to walk towards the Abyss – and forbidding anything to come out of it – you were there to help those kids find a safe path through the city to a safe haven. You came back to that hopeless building because of them.

Eva had died saving Dante from the hell their home became on that fateful day. She plunged in the fire for her child, she did it out of love and protection. Vergil had heard Eva tried to save him as well, throwing herself in the danger to keep him safe – but he couldn’t accept that. He couldn’t live with the knowledge that he had his mother killed, he didn’t want to believe that; and so Vergil decided to remain with the belief that she had abandoned him for Dante, even if his stupid human heart screamed otherwise.

As you tried to get up from the ground once more, Vergil saw his mother – crawling on the floor, blood dripping from her lips, tears staining her face while she muttered his name, doing her best to keep her children safe. He couldn’t kill her; Vergil couldn’t kill you.

He was brought back to reality as the floor rumbled violently. Snapping his head towards the courtyard, Vergil knew quite well what was happening: all the fighting had taken too long.

“We are done.” His words were muttered between his teeth as Vergil used the sheath of the Yamato the keep your hand pressed on the floor.

With a last glare from his silvery eyes, he left in a hurry before you let your head fall between a deep sigh.

The children were gone, they were safe. Your job was done.

**

There were many circles and places in Hell, accounted for throughout history in all sorts of arcane writings.

There was, however, one place unaccounted for – with little information, whispered around as a legend of a nightmare: the Abyss.

Some believed it was real, some said it was nothing but a tale to scare children at night. Vergil had read enough to believe in its existence – as well as to know it could take centuries for another gate to be opened once more. No one knew when they manifested or where, but one thing was certain: there was power to be harnessed on that place.

The kind of power was another mystery. The Codex Daemonica had no information on it or what kinds of demons it harbored – if it was inhabited by demons at all. Some believed Sparda had locked Mundus in shackles in that deepest part of Hell, while other said it was the home of something… More ancient.

Vergil approached the courtyard with his hand on the hilt of the Yamato, ready to unsheathe it. There was a fissure on the ground, in the middle of the dilapidated stone garden. There was no sound to be heard: no leaves, no wind, no walking. Only silence.

His steps were calm but firm, approaching with care but never leaving their regal pace behind. The closer he got, the warier his heart became. Something wasn’t right – but, at the same time his soul told him to leave, something inside him told him to walk towards the edge and peak inside.

Vergil had already decided he would be the first one to venture in the Abyss in search for power and, upon coming back, telling his findings in his arcane journal. If his father had trapped Mundus inside it, he saw no reason why he, the son of Sparda, wouldn’t be able to enter it and survive. In order to protect himself, to make sure nothing would happen to him again, Vergil needed that power – and he would go to the farthest depths of Hell and back to make sure no one would be able to threaten him anymore.

Stopping at the edge of the Abyss, Vergil looked down, trying to see something – he had already had many experiences with Hell and knew how some places looked like.

But all he found was darkness.

A darkness that came from the deep – that had no end and, still, seemed to go as far as the depths of his own soul. It was an all-consuming darkness, one that would pull Vergil willingly to its clutches – one he couldn’t understand.

He held the hilt of the Yamato with more strength, the sweat almost making it glide down. His heart pounded inside his chest and Vergil could hear the blood flowing through his head. The darkness consumed his eyes, searching for the deepest part of his soul… The part he smothered, hiding even from himself. The part covered in bruises, blood and self-hatred; the part Vergil couldn’t bear to see: his own mirror, naked and vulnerable, staring right back at him.

He had to get out of there.

Vergil’s heart rate increased and he had no air in his lungs. He didn’t want to look; he didn’t want to see. All those things, all those feelings, all those wounds… Himself. He didn’t want to see himself. He had broken all the mirrors, buried all the broken shards left from his heart, asphyxiated the light from his soul… But there, right in the back, covered in darkness, one mirror was left. One fragile heart made of glass. One ray of light cradled by his bony, bruised, pale white hands.

He had to go. He didn’t want to meet Vergil. He couldn’t look him into his eyes. Not those pitiful, helpless, bruised eyes begging for help… Begging for love. He had to go.

“Vergil…? Vergil…!”

Inside the Abyss, a familiar voice echoed, snatching Vergil away from that last mirror alone in the depths of himself. In that deep darkness, his eyes couldn’t see nothing more than the void, but a voice called him down in the depths.

“Are you there Vergil…? My son…!”

It was Eva.

Vergil hadn’t heard the voice of his mother since the day he discovered the extent of his demonic blood. Many times, he heard her voice inside his head – knowing it was all but a memory; the ghost of his mother coming back to try to comfort him in his desolation, at least a little bit.

But that voice in the Abyss… It wasn’t in his head. It wasn’t a memory. It was there… It was in there.

“Can you hear me…? Vergil…? I… I am scared.”

“I am coming to get you, mother.” Vergil’s voice was no higher than a murmur, but it was filled with resolve.

Ready to take another step and finally venture into the Abyss, another earthquake took the city. He lost his footing, tumbling backwards and falling far away from his mother’s voice as the courtyard came down and the Abyss slowly closed.

“Vergil…! Don’t leave me here alone…! Please…! My son…!”

“Mother… No!” Vergil did his best to run towards the very place his heart and soul screamed at him to stay away, ready to plunge into its depths not knowing what would happen next.

As Vergil finally reached the center of the courtyard, his hands and knees found only the stony floor as everything stood silently still.

The Abyss was closed.

**

Your empty eyes stared at the crumbling pieces of the city as its last pieces came down in destruction.

They promised. They should have waited for you. That was the deal: you went back for the children and your friends would wait for you all to come back – if you weren’t with the children, they should have waited fifteen minutes.

It had been ten minutes. You were on time. You were on time. There was no reason for leaving you behind.

They were the last way out of the city, the very last ride. The last hope of survival.

And they left you there, in the middle of those crumbling flames, filled with blood and death. You had dragged your feet until the meeting point, you wandered around, screaming their names in hopes they were just hiding to keep themselves safe. You searched; you did your best. You did your best.

No one was there. No one appeared. You were left behind. You were alone.

“Oh, child… Hush…” A snake-like voice dragged itself from the shadows, followed by cadenced steps. It was sweet, mesmerizing… Too comforting for all that desolation. “I know, I know… Your heart is broken. You don’t have to cry.”

“I am not crying, demon.” Your voice was hardened like stone, resonating between your teeth. Even if you wanted to cry, your pride wouldn’t let your tears fall for that kind of betrayal. Not for those people. They didn’t deserve your tears.

“Oh, but your heart, I can feel it…” The she-devil approached you, her hands resting seductively on your shoulders. You would have wiped them off, but you didn’t have the will to do so. “It is… Dead. Completely dead inside that little chest of yours. There’s no reason to lie to yourself… They forgot you, child. That is worse than being left behind, isn’t it? Your already hurt heart is in pieces, I can feel it.”

All your life, you learnt demons lied to get what they wanted. They listened closely to the winged words people let out of their mouths without thinking and later used those to their advantage. That demon, though… She wasn’t lying.

Your heart had already been hurt numerous times before, but that… That was the last blow to kill you. If you were left behind, people at least had thought of you – but they didn’t even remember you existed. You were forgotten, that’s how important you were. You meant nothing, you were worth nothing. Left to die because no one remembered you were dying.

Indeed, it was as if your heart had been torn out of your chest… And there was nothing. Not even tears.

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. Your chances of survival were close to none. You had been sentenced to death by those who couldn’t remember all they had to do was wait only five more minutes for you to come back.

“I know… There is no reason to fight anymore, no reason to remain in this pain…” That voice was now close to your ears, so sweet, so dangerous. “I can give you rest child…” It whispered in your ears, always so seducing. “Just give me your soul… Your blood. And I can make it all go away.”

“Hmpf.” You opened your eyes again, slowly turning to look into the blood red eyes of the voluptuous demon who stood behind you. Beautiful, but something in it made you wary. “You can have my blood, demon. But only over my dead body.”

“Hmmm. So be it.” The she-devil rolled her eyes, immediately nonchalant with your attitude. “You are as good as dead anyway. I could’ve made it painless, pitiful creature.”

Her words allowed a band of lurking demons nearby to approach and you finally noticed you weren’t being attacked before because she had claimed you as her prey. You were too weak even to fight her alone, but a whole bunch of demons… Your death was certain.

Taking a deep breath, you held your silver sword with pride. If it was for you to die that way, at least you would make it worthy of a hero. You wouldn’t fall easy and you would take as many demons as you could with you.

*

As he left the city, Vergil felt a commotion. With lost steps, still disoriented by the voice of his mother, he was naturally brought to the place – as if the demon inside himself wanted blood from the fight happening nearby.

He had never had an experience as the one with the Abyss. He was very aware of demons with psychic powers, able to instill confusion and hallucination in their victims… What he experienced with the Abyss was different.

Was his mother trapped in there? All this time, all alone, in the deepest, most dangerous part of Hell? Years and years in suffering, instead of spreading her beautiful wings as the angel she should’ve become upon giving her life to save Dante…?

Furrowing his eyebrows, Vergil let out an audible huff. He didn’t know what was worse: to believe his mother died trying to save him or that she had been trapped for endless years in the suffering and desolation of Hell.

It was definitely easier to believe she forgot him, saved only Dante and died, watching her beloved younger child from Heaven. Feeling anger was easier than mourning. It was easier than guilt.

Being forgotten was easier than being loved to death.

“Oh, child. Give up already!”

“I can keep going… Demon.”

Vergil immediately paid attention to what was happening in the distance – there he found that stupid little headstrong human who delayed him enough so he lost his chance to enter the Abyss to harness its power… And even to save his mother. He narrowed his eyes, ready to burn all his anger in you.

Until you were hit by a demon and fell on the floor, barely able to get up. They were all laughing, humiliating you. They kicked your sword away from your hands, making you crawl towards it, spitting blood, as they screamed and laughed, telling you to give up.

But, as you did with him, something made you get up and keep on fighting.

Vergil watched in awe as you finally pulled yourself again to your feet and looked at your foes, barely able to hold your silver sword.

It was pride.

The demons attacked you once more and, this time, your eyes couldn’t keep open. You put on your last defense, your last stand. You tried, but you were only human. There was nothing left inside of you and you could only do so much – you could keep your pride, but your physical strength had come to an end. You let go of your sword and allowed yourself the be engulfed by darkness.

Vergil’s hand stopped your bloody body from hitting the floor as the other yielded the Yamato.

“What a shameful thing…” He muttered, lifting his head above the eyes of the demons who stared at him. “Resorting to humiliating a half-dead weak human to feel powerful.” With those words, his hand gently left you on the floor, his feet walking in front of you to take a fighting stance. He couldn’t let you die – not like that. You deserved a better death. You deserved to die by his hands in a fair fight, not humiliated like that. “It’s time to teach you what real power looks like.”

The demons were decimated by the blade of the Yamato – in all that fight, Vergil didn’t touch your body a single time, not even accidentally. If those creatures wanted your blood, they would have to go through him, the son of Sparda. Your death was his, you were his nemesis. No one would touch you.

It took a human to kill a monster. Maybe, one day, his death would be yours as well.

**

A dark, cloaked figure of a tall man walked with resolute steps under the rain, cradling a frail body in his arms, keeping it from the water and wearing the dark veil of the deep night as protection.

Vergil carried you all the way to the next city – avoiding the looks of those concerned with and helping those who were able to flee and seek shelter nearby. He stayed in the shadows, keeping away from the big groups of volunteers who received injured and lost people – providing food, shelter, warmth and care.

You needed that. You were as good as dead in his arms. Vergil could hear as your breath was barely none, as your heart rate fought to keep you alive. Even in the brink of death, it was as if your body struggled for its own survival.

The hospital wasn’t big, although it was one of the biggest buildings in town. Seeming like an old mansion turned into a public building, Vergil crossed the entrance garden with his strong steps, not hearing much nearby. Most of the staff was probably working on receiving the refugees from your derelict city.

Going up the very few stone steps, he stopped by the door, finally protected from the rain. It was a great wooden door, heavy, adorned with iron, with a single candle keeping some kind of warmth and light in the darkness of that desolate night.

Vergil left you on the floor, ringing the bell on the wall. A woman peeked through the window, immediately initiating a fuss inside – it wouldn’t take long for them to pick you up and start your treatment.

His job was done. You would be alright.

As he was about to leave, Vergil noticed how your lips were already painted with a tinge of purple, your skin too cold for your own sake. Taking off his midnight blue scarf, he wrapped it around your body – it should be enough to keep you alive until the hospital staff took you in.

When the door opened, that strange man wasn’t there anymore. Gone like a shadow, the only one left was that poor person – beaten up, bloodied, bruised… Cozily wrapped around a deep blue scarf.

Respect was implied when one had found their greatest enemy.

**

To be continued...

[icewindandboringhorror]

Recent images I suppose ~

[pfhwrittes]

good evening have some eddie wells angst as a little treat.

you stare sightlessly up at your ceiling as eddie huffs next to you, your shared sweat and regret cooling on your skin. you don’t move to snuggle into his chest despite the way a part of you screams out for him to hold you just once. you don’t do anything at all. 

he called you jo. somehow it hurts to know that he was thinking of his ex-wife while he was losing himself in your cunt. you don’t even know if he’s aware it slipped out muttered against your temple as his hips faltered and he filled the condom. 

“i should - i should go.” it’s tentative. softly spoken like you’ll roll onto your side and beg him to stay just for a minute longer. 

you blink the burning sensation in your eyes away. you don’t want to cry over this man again. at least not while you can feel his gaze on the side of your face.

“yeah.” you manage to choke out.

neither of you move for a long moment before the bed dips on noisy springs as eddie rolls away to deal with the condom and searches for his jeans. 

“‘m sorry.”  me too, i’m sorry too you think as you hear the backdoor open and close from your spot on the bed as he slinks out.

[m0thisonfire]

Damned if I do, damned if I don't.

Devanii deals and has dealt with many things in his life. And sometimes he prefers getting drunk in his nightclub to relax and forget about the waiting tragedies on Earth's doorstep. The last thing he expects is his 'lover' to show up in his office one night with a request. Devanii does not appreciate this request.

Angst. Lots of sad lore. Cursing, lovers to enemies but still lovers, love being intertwined with war. Trauma. Lots of trauma mentioned.

The Dimonique was a safe place for dragons, magic users, and normal humans alike. Supposed to be, anyway. The huge, futuristic downtown building in Tokyo was extravagant and large for a nightclub, with multiple bars in multiple themed and neon lit rooms. The suites it had on topmost floors were lavish and designed for comfort. The staff were decent, it was ensured the guests, at least the human ones, were safe, and the liquor and food were always stocked. It was Devanii's pride and joy, the one place in the universe he could retreat to and allow himself a night of peace to wallow.

His office and penthouse, located on the top floor, were where he hid away when he wasn't being pulled away to deal with Outbreaks or hunt down ancient artifacts to fight the Hive. Or deal with the Citadel.

This thought made Devanii scowl as he drank his beverage, the burning liquor soothing him as a distraction from his tempered thoughts as he reclined back in his office chair. His long finned tail flicked from side to side, scratching over the black carpet as it slid across it. If his old caretakers saw him now, they'd have an aneurysm. He could hear them now, even after thousands of years.

'No claws on the table!'

'Sit up straight! How unbecoming for an Heir!'

'Such shameful behavior! Your Bane and Bormah would be appalled!'

A grunt escaped the violet dragon as he squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out the old manners that were beaten into his head as a whelp and focusing on the steady thrum of music beating through the building. Electronic music, dubstep, Nightcore, sometimes. That was rare, and only because Connie would beg him to play it when she visited -He wondered where the human kid was now. Probably at home or in school- Currently a more relaxing electronic beat was playing, making him hum. Soothing, slow, tickled the brain right.

He eased more into his buzz as he listened, humming along as he relaxed. However, his relaxation was interrupted by his radio on his desk, one of his bouncers tuning in and asking almost hesitantly: "Eh, boss?"

Devanii rolled his eyes hard, moving his head with it as he pulled his feet off the desk and scooted closer, prepared for some new nonsense as he pressed a button and asked politely, if not impatiently, "Yes, what is it?"

"There's a guy here who wants to speak to you. He isn't very happy."

The dragon narrowed his eyes, curling his lip as he made an agitated gesture, despite knowing the bouncer couldn't see it, "A guy. What does that mean, a guy? Just some guy? What, they expect to see me, despite me being the owner of-"

The radio clicked for a moment, the sound of a struggle causing Devanii's ears to flick in surprise as he leaned back, his eyebrows knitting together as his eyes widened. Then his ears dropped as he gulped, hearing a familiar voice seethe through the radio feedback: "Devanii Hellfrost, let me up, or I swear to The Eight I am going to force my way up. And it is going to be very bloody."

Fuck, shit, balls and cock.

Devanii blinked and smiled nervously, forcing his tone to a cheerier one as he attempted to hide his nerves, "Sybil! Love! How unexpected! Why didn't you call? I would have made an appointment-"

"I literally do not have the time for your shit right now, Hellfrost. Let me up."

The dragon's expression fell as he made a sound between a groan and a sigh, managing through a voice crack as he massaged his temple, "Yeah. Yeah, come on up."

Shit.

What in Akatosh's name was Sybil doing so far from the Citadel? That was all the way in the Andromida...

Devanii groaned as he poured himself another drink. Rather, he refilled the glass and thought better of it, pushing it back to the other end where he knew Sybil could reach before taking a swig out of the bottle itself.

He stood, glancing around his dark office to make sure it was at least neat. It was dim, the only light illuminating it being the neon violet and light blue lights he had hand-picked to reflect his color scheme. The walls were black, the carpet was black and thankfully clean as usual, his black desk doubled as a high end computer system, and the huge window behind him made for a lovely Tokyo backdrop. He sighed, examining the dark leather couch one side and the built in bar in the other, deeming both acceptable before the elevator dinged.

Forcing a charming grin onto his face, Devanii casually leaned on his desk, cranking his smolder expression onto the highest setting as he greeted, "'Ello again, Sybil. How can I-"

He shut himself up seeing the doors open to reveal the High Elf standing in with his arms crossed and a pissed expression on his face. Then again, when didn't High Elves look pissed. The elf strode forward, and it took all of the dragon's willpower not to retreat at his approach.

Sybil stopped at the desk and put his arms at his sides, clenching his fists as he glared daggers at Devanii. The larger male took the opportunity to give a quick look over of the elf's appearance, if only to ensure he didn't massacre any staff on the lower floors.

Same black light armor, same emblem and sleek design, no blood, thank the Eight. Sybil looked as he usually did, his long blonde hair pushed back as usual and meticulously neat. He had the same light gold skin, and those gorgeous green eyes that still managed to make Devanii's heart skip a beat despite the murderous glare-

"... If you're done staring at me, we need to talk."

And there it was. Devanii's soul promptly left his body for a split second before returning, the dragon asking curiously despite the sudden tightness in his chest, "Of course, darling. What happened? I doubt you stopped by from Andromida for a simple visit."

Devanii hated how true that actually was. For a moment, an uncomfortable expression passed over Sybil's glowering features. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, making Devanii internally sigh. Okay, yeah, so something was definitely wrong if Sybil was visibly nervous. Great.

"... It's the Hive. Xin."

The tight feeling grew stronger, Devanii's tail now nervously twitching as he asked tensely, "Yeees? What about them?"

Taking a deep breath, Sybil took the filled glass of whiskey and took a drink -Devanii stomped down the smug feeling of 'Called it'-, and began with a much more hesitant and nervous tone than his confident scathing one, "... The... Counsel has come to a decision. They're willing to remove your bounty if you renounce your old title and return to our ranks and fight for us again."

Silence filled the office. Devanii stared at Sybil for a good long moment. Renounce his old title? Did he mean the title Devanii had held onto with both wings and claws through thousands of years with all his might? The only thing he had left of Esteria and Nirn? His, their homeworlds? His blood status, his birthright?

"... You want me," Devanii started slowly, in a dangerously soft tone, "To renounce my position as King of Dragons. So I can keep the people, who outlawed me and hunted me down for thousands of years, safe from the creatures and deity that had tortured me in Oblivion. For thousands of years. Not to mention the fact your fleet has been trying and failing to harvest this solar system's sun the last year and a half."

At least Sybil had the decency to look ashamed. He stared down in shame, his ears drooping as he sighed and began, "Devanii-"

"Get out."

Saying the words felt like tearing out his own heart. He loved Sybil more than life itself. He was his everything, one of his very purposes for existence. But this was not the night. Not with Devanii half-buzzed and already irritated from protecting Earth. From the Citadel. From Xin. From the Hive. From Sybil himself. Not tonight. Not ever.

The High Elf sighed and took the glass to take another gulp, nearly draining it before he set it down and sat in the chair beside him. He laced his fingers together and rested his head on them, leaning on the desk looking like he was carrying the weight of the world. So to speak, he technically was.

Devanii wanted to be angry. He really did. How fucking dare he?

No, how fucking dare the Citadel?

They knew Devanii would never hurt Sybil. If it had been any other commander, they would have already be a burnt ice statue that Devanii would have been preparing to send back to the Counsel as a 'Fuck you' gift.

But not Sybil. Gods, please, anyone but Sybil.

Devanii sighed and collapsed back in his own chair, leaning back to glare at the ceiling. Fucking perfect. Great.

The dragon made a pained sound, covering his face as he increased the volume, drawing out a long angry groan before he growled, whined rather, "Why do you do this to me, Sybil? Why? Why can never be a simple fucking visit with you?"

Sybil pulled back to slam his fist against the table, snarling with tears in his eyes, "You don't think I hate this as well!? How horrible I feel about asking this of you!? You know I can't-"

"But you could." Devanii calmly refuted, lowering his hands slowly as he sighed. His voice didn't reflect his rage, his disappointment, his sorrow. "You could and you know it."

Sybil glowered at the violet dragon, growling out through grit teeth, "But the Emperor-"

"Fuck your Emperor." Devanii interrupted, annoyed and tired, "Fuck your Counsel. Fuck your Citadel. Fuck that fucked up society that harvests suns and turns them into batteries because that damn mega system isn't self sufficient. I said I was done with it. So I'm done."

They glared at each other for a long moment, neither backing down. Then Sybil dropped his head, sighing in defeat, "... Well, I tried. Told them it was a waste of time."

The elf looked up to see the dragon staring at him disappointed, his expression one of pure contempt as he smoothly acknowledged, "Good to know you at least knew I would never agree."

"Of course." Sybil responded, sitting up a bit more, "I know you."

Sighing, Devanii pinched the bridge of his nose. Then he agreed, "Yes. Yes, you do know me."

Gods, what happened to us?

The thought twisted Devanii's insides up in knots. Because he knew the answer.

Their homeworlds were overrun by Xin and the Hive before either of them could fulfill their roles. The Citadel picked Sybil up while Devanii was literally dragged to Hell. Sybil rose through the ranks and became the Emperor's favorite. When Devanii escaped Oblivion, he had been vouched for by the elf. And the dragon had been too ecstatic seeing his lover alive after years of uncertainty and suffering, going along with system wide blackouts until the initial relief wore off. Then he defected. And Sybil did not. He knew what happened.

Sybil had a taste of uncontested power after losing the one purpose he had been born for, fighting for. And Devanii...

Well, he went and made his own purpose.

He growled, covering his face again as they sat in silence.

Another long sigh broke the suffocating quite as Devanii managed quietly, "I take it you're leaving soon?"

"My ship is lingering in the atmosphere," Sybil answered in a soft voice, "They're waiting, but we're in no rush. Doubt they're going to be looking forward to going back without you on board..."

Yeah, the Citadel was definitely going to be pissed Devanii refused them again...

Frowning, he nodded, taking the bottle on the desk and refilling Sybil's glass. The high elf didn't say anything else, nodding in thanks as he sipped the burning liquid, Devanii taking a drink himself as they sat together.

Then, quietly, "... You and your crew are... Welcome to stay. For as long as you need before you're called back."

Sybil glanced up in surprise. But nodded again, already less tense. Not relaxed, but definitely not on edge anymore. Tired, Devanii acknowledged with a pain in his chest. Tch. Fucking sadistic Emperor and his brainwashing bullshit...

Devanii watched Sybil stand, groaning softly as he did as he decided, "I'm... Going to let the fleet know. Let them decide to come down on their own."

The dragon nodded, watching his mate leave with a growing emptiness in his chest. Every time, it was the same. And he hated it.

But Sybil stopped at the elevator, his hand hovering over the button before he turned and shot a look over his shoulder. Devanii knew that look. It didn't mean he wasted any time standing immediately and rounding the desk to close the distance. He could see the relief in Sybil's posture, felt it as he embraced him up and held him close, his tail curling around him protectively. Despite everything, Devanii still loved this fool. Had for thousands of years. Would until the eventual heat death of the universe.

This will end, eventually, he silently promised. Eventually, they could simply be again without any expectations, any obstacles or threats.

He had to believe that.

He did believe it. Wanted to.

Letting Sybil pull away to cradle his face and pull him down for a desperate kiss, Devanii closed his eyes, and promised countless promises. Vengeance for them, for Sybil, for their worlds, for the lost.

For the moment, all that mattered was the night and the man in his arms.

[kisuminight]

c!George and c!Dream have a bond that lets them feel each other's emotions. It is not a fix-it solution.

~

There is a bitter ember is George’s resonance with Dream. There has been for a while. It started as a small thing, back when Tommy first joined the server. But it grew and grew, until it was a bonfire that George could feel in the center of his chest, winding out from his lungs and strangling his throat like the thorns of a creeping rose.

Dream never named it, but George could guess. It was obvious, from the way it might flicker and wane but always, always flared up again whenever George tried to rely on him these days. First when Tommy burned down his house. And again, when the Badlands attempted their assassination. It’s been an acrid coating on his tongue, worse than brewing potions with spider eyes, since Technoblade… well, since Technoblade.

(George isn’t jealous about him. Isn’t jealous of the way Dream had been excited when Technoblade first arrived on the server, and admiration clicked and fizzed like redstone, even as the bitterness swallowed his appetite and choked at his breath).

The ember has grown into a proper inferno now, like the constant hissing of lava roaring in his ears. It’s hard to hear what Quackity is saying, but the resonance is winding tighter about him because Dream is coming. Dream is coming, and today George is going to demand answers.

-

“Just say you hate me.”

-

Sapnap is dragging George away, away to Mexican L’Manberg. There’s enough lava to drown the whole Nether, a conflagration that could swallow the whole server is burning him from the inside out and he is gasping around the feeling of thorns tearing him apart from the inside. Is this what it feels to swallow a wither rose?

“I don’t—how could he do that? George, let’s go. George—shit, George!”

Sapnap is there. His hands are on George’s arms. George can’t feel it through the armor. Just a bit of pressure as his whole world shakes apart around him. It’s painful, and George can’t breathe. The world is in and out and he can barely make out that they are out of the castle. There are grass blocks underfoot and no walls to lean on.

“C’mon, breathe with me. In one, two, three, four—” Sapnap’s voice curled about his ears, rhythmic and worried. It helped, a little. Gave George enough stability to sooth his own reactions until he could manage something more than panting sobs.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Shut up, George. Keep breathing.”

“I’m fine. What is this?”

Sapnap’s hands squeezed, keeping George from pulling away. He looked worried, the corners of his eyes crinkled and uncharacteristically soft. “It’s a panic attack, George.” The corners of his mouth dragged down. “Of course the first one you’ve had was caused by Dream.”

“No? It’s not my panic attack?” The pain ebbed as the heat did. It didn’t quite die back down to an ember, but the bitterness receded into something more sour, as the roses in George’s throat wilting into something easier to breathe around.

“Really?” Ugh. Sapnap made a face, and George made a face right back. “Okay, sure. Let’s just get to Mexican L’Manberg.” He turned away, but kept one hand tight around George’s wrist to pull him along.

“You are ridiculous,” George told his back, pretending that the sun wasn’t drying his cheeks into a sticky mess. He used his free hand to rub at his goggles. He tugged at the tangle of emotions in the resonance, feeling it spool out as they got farther away from Dream.

Whatever. It didn’t matter that the wilting had turned into the same soupy-bog in his lungs as when Sapnap killed Spirit. George didn’t care about the return of the almost-pneumonia of grief that settled like a fever and made Dream uninterested in the world for days or even taking care of himself. Maybe Dream would feel George’s fury like a fire in turn, and come apologize to bank it.

Tomorrow, probably, because he was so busy with Eret today. Tomorrow, George could get his answers. Demand what Dream was even thinking, and why he was even being this dumb when it made all this wrongness curl about him like a miasma and twist the emotional bleed into something dark.

Dream didn’t come home that night. Or the next. Tomorrow stretched on into the taught, painful pull of a distant resonance, like barbed wire strung between their hearts.