#this place was never even meant to be fun

[inubaki]

Taking What’s His

-Chapter 2

-warning for Adams x Lucifer smut-

-commissioned art by @sir-tater-of-the-tot and story by @libby-for-life! A gift for myself. -the bonus comic picture that tater made inspired by this. It’s so good, I still have to add it. Please check them out!!

Not gonna lie. I’m spoiling myself a bit.

—-

"W-what...what do you mean no?" Lucifer stuttered out, not quite believing what he was hearing. Adam looked down at him with an unreadable expression before shrugging, as if indifferent.

"I said what I said. We're done. It was fun while it lasted but you had to know that this was never permanent, right?" Lucifer could only stare at Adam with wide eyes, refusing to let the tears fall. "I mean, you're just a side piece."

Side piece...that's what Lucifer was reduced to? But...wasn't he being good? Doing everything Adam wanted? Why he was throwing him away?! He could fix it!

"I can fix it, Adam! Please!" Lucifer begged, falling to his knees. "Just tell me what I did—"

"You can't fix it, dumbass." Adam said with a roll of his eyes. "Look, my new wife will be back soon and I don't want her to see...this." He gestured towards Lucifer's whole body with a grimace making him flinch. "Just go." And Adam walked away, leaving Lucifer to cry by himself.

This couldn't be happening! Lucifer...was being replaced?! By a new wife?! A deep throated growl left Lucifer's throat, his once blue eyes bleeding into red permanently. His claws got larger as he clawed the ground in anger and his sharp teeth grinded together as they got larger and sharper.

His horns ripped out of his skin, blood pouring down as they grew into full height. His wings were the only thing left of his angelic appearance, though even that was mixed with red feathers amongst the blue. Lucifer didn't care though. He was far too angry. At Adam for leaving but most at this new...human who has come into the picture.

Who did she think she was?

He turned towards the direction of voices. Times to see what the fuss was all about. 

Lucifer spied on them for days, his anger and bitterness growing by the day. It was his new wife, Eve, that was in the way...Lucifer glared at her coldly. What if she was getting what Lucifer had? What if she was getting that pleasure that should have only been reserved for him? His teeth grinded together in his anger once more. He hadn't seen his reflection in a while so he hadn't noticed that his teeth were now dangerously sharp.

She needed to leave. Now. Tricking her was easy. He simply gave her the fruit and told her that she would know so many things with it. The same deal he had once been so eager to dazzle Adam with, he now used to entrap. Unlike Adam, Eve greedily ate the whole thing and Lucifer watched as she slowly realized what she had done.

Lucifer slipped away, knowing that Adam would no longer be with her and that the Archangel could swoop in and take her place.

He should have thought it out better. Should have come up with a different plan because then Heaven got involved making everything so much harder.

The Elders had said, "For your disobedience and your reckless behavior, you will be banished to the darkness you created." Lucifer's eyes widened. That meant...he would never see Adam again. He would never again get that feeling he craved with the First Man. He couldn't let that happen.

XxX

Adam stood amongst the host of angels, the radiant light of their wings creating a halo effect around him, yet he felt an unsettling tension within. He had hoped that the scene unfolding before him would evoke a sense of inspiration or, at the very least, a familiar indifference. However, everything felt different this time.

Before him stood Lucifer, once the embodiment of purity and celestial brilliance, now marred and twisted beyond recognition. In Adam's memory, he could easily bring to mind the angel who had once soared through the heavens, filled with joy and light. But now, Lucifer was neither the angel he once was nor the devil Adam had come to associate him with. Instead, he lingered in a shadowy limbo, exuding an aura of bitterness and resentment. The familiar spark of mischief in his eyes had been replaced with a cold, piercing glare, one that seemed to hold a weighty accusation. 

Lucifer didn't cry or plead as he once had, desperate for understanding or forgiveness. Instead, he stood there, a bitter smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, gazing at Adam with a look that was almost akin to betrayal. The air between them felt thick and charged, as if the very atmosphere knew the history they shared—both beautiful and tragic.

Eve, standing beside Adam, was a stark contrast to the chaos swirling around them. She cast wary glances at Lucifer, her expression a mixture of concern and confusion. It was almost unsettling to witness her normally composed demeanor disrupted; Lilith, too, was visibly shaken, her usually confident posture faltering. The sight of Lucifer seemed to rattle her, sending ripples of discomfort through her strong exterior.

In that moment, Adam should have felt safe, surrounded by his kin and sheltered by their divine presence. Yet, an unsettling feeling gnawed at him, an awareness that the fragile peace they had once known was slipping through their fingers. The bond that had once unified them now felt brittle, threatened by the weight of betrayal and the remnants of a friendship that had transformed into something dark and complicated.

The atmosphere was thick with tension as the celestial beings observed the unfolding drama, their ethereal forms shimmering with anticipation. Lucifer, the Morning Star, was surrounded by an aura of chaos, his presence a stark contrast to the serene beauty of Eden. His gaze fell upon Adam, who was now acutely aware of the weight of temptation and sin lingering in the air, a testament to the treacherous legacy left by his fallen counterpart. Unlike the fateful narrative of old, Adam had never succumbed to the allure of the forbidden apple this time; Eve had not whispered sweet seductions into his ear, and the fragile balance of their existence remained unshattered—at least for the moment.

Yet, as Adam stood there, drenched in sweat and anxiety, an undeniable foreboding crept upon him. Every instinct screamed that upheaval was imminent. He clung to the hope that the tempestuous storm brewing around him would soon pass, that Lucifer’s wrath would not destroy the fragile peace they still held. He envisioned a future where Lucifer and Lilith would tumble from grace, where Eve would be cast out into the unknown, and Eden would return to its idyllic state, untouched and pure.

Unbeknownst to Adam, the winds of fate were shifting. When Lucifer learned of Adam's unexpected freedom from corruption—a purity that eluded even the mightiest of temptations—his reaction was perplexing. The scowl on his face, once a mask of all-consuming rage, began to fracture. Beneath the anger lay a glimmer of something deeper: a poignant sadness mingled with self-realization, all made raw by a primal instinct that clawed at his very being. 

Just then, the ground beneath them shuddered ominously, morphing into a quicksand of molten despair that threatened to engulf them all. In a heart-stopping instant, Lucifer lunged forward, seizing Lilith with fierce desperation before launching himself at Adam. He pushed Lilith away, sending her tumbling toward Eve, as he gripped Adam with a relentless death grip. The spears of judgment that flew toward him held no terror; he cared not for their piercing intent in this moment of primal urgency.

As the blazing earth caved in beneath their feet, it was as if all of Hell had opened up to swallow them whole, drawing them down into a maelstrom of chaos and sorrow. The air was filled with the cacophony of their struggles, the fierce clashing of intentions, and the chilling echoes of lost hope. The last thing that reverberated in the minds of those left above was the haunting sound of Lucifer’s laughter—sobbing and maniacal, it echoed through the chaos, a haunting reminder of despair, resilience, and the thin line between salvation and ruin.

—-

———

My birthday is tomorrow! And these came just in time! There will be a last chapter and I hope you all enjoyed it. Prevs:

[sunnydust2003]

Vent:

It's official

I'm scared of her rn because since i deleted my DA account, she won't leave me alone.

She's still stalk and harassing me despissd facts, i left this god awful website.

She's calls me like a pedo, zoophilia, child murder and etc with no proof and took out of context.

Like explame this as possible i am:

1. Pedo stuff:

The reason why she's call me a pedo because i favourite parody of Cuties which was make funny of pedo which i favourite because i like people make fun of this type people who deserve that from piece of shit but i regrett favourite this art.

And one thing, i hate Cuties because you know why.

I'm glad it's got remove from good.

2. Zoophilia:

She's calls me a Zoophilia just because i comment of one my friends art of "Oh No, He's so Hot" gif of Squidward from picture of Donald being muscular (it's not fetish art btw) and she's believe i have crush on Donald which i don't have actually crush on Donald Duck.

Do i like Donald Duck, yes but do you have crush on Donald.

The answer is fuck no.

Donald isn't my fictional crush.

3. Shipping Ren and Stimpy.

She's believe i ship Ren and Stimpy just because of i comment one of person which i ask person where she's start ship Ren and Stimpy because i like heard when they start liles ship or anything.

Beside i don't ship Ren and Stimpy because i see them as friends and nothing else more.

4. She's hates when someone favorite artwork just because they don't like.

She's blame me of i favourite Spongebob x Vocaloid: Lust because she doesn't like song which okay fine but why you blame me from this.

Oh yeah because he's was prevent to female or some shit which btw i never actually listen to Lust or anything because i'm not interest on song.

Only i favourite because artwork was amazing and that's why favourite art in first place.

5. She's blame me over i ship something.

She's blame me over i made status about i cringe myself when i used ship Elsa and Selena Gomez just because i thought it's was adorable.

Keep mind, i was minor back the day, i didn't have brain development until i get olded and realized:

What the fuck is wrong with me.

Idk what's wrong with my younger self when ship this two.

I'm glad i stop ship this two because it's was weird af.

6. She's calls me a child murder.

Yup she's calls me a child murder because of i was hyper about FNAF movie and says i'm only watch movie because i want see kids get killed which wtf are you talk about?!

I'm not watch movie because kids get killed, i'm watch this movie because of how adoption of game it's was.

And i'm glad they didn't show kids get killed in movie because last time i have experince with kids get killed is was hard to watch.

7. She's rant about how i so called treat my friends shit.

Now yes, this was true i was asshole about my friends about whole of "Freddy hates his friends" but i was only mad at this because my friends is remind me of toxic cartoon community and i don't want my friends become one of them but since i watch AOSTH and Scratch, Grounxed and Coconuts are become my new favorite characters, i realized i was asshole towards my friends and i apologie to him from real this time and he's accept this apologie.

This now, we talks about Freddy fight Peck or other his interest, hell i even give him a idea and drawing based of i comment on this because i want make him a happy and i love make friends a happy.

But what really pissed me off is she's lying about me so called sent my whiteknight to my friends which it's was bullshit because i don't even have whiteknight and don't want harassing my friends over this.

I may was asshole but at least i apologie about my action and i want improve myself.

She's just lying herself with no proof of this.

8. Finally she's get trigged over i made one meme of Lincoln get kick out which was meant be make fun of toxic TLH fanbase of how overprotective Lincoln when Lincoln is no better.

Now if you see Such No Luck, i made meme this because i want pissed TLH fans off because how over sentisive about this when Lincoln is no better because he's was lying about he's got bad luck just want have free time when he's could tells his family honest.

Before you say, no i'm not defense Lynn Jr and facts, both of them are unlikable.

So yeah.

9. She's blame me over the facts, voice actor of Abby (Back at the Barnyard) is anti vaxxer and she's say i should proud of her because she's so called cares her children which i have question:

If she's so called cares her child, she shouldn't realized maybe i should protect my kids from infection but nope, she doesn't give a fuck about her children and forced on people who tells to wear mask is canceled culture which prove me a point, she doesn't care from children.

And i want talks about her double stands ass because i like how she's called me a pedo when she's also defense Rev Says Desu who is lolicon and she's defense him by saying:

"Oh he's not going after a real kids, they are just fictional characters" which is gross af.

And thing is she favourite of My Melody and Kuromi from Sanrio x Yu-Gi-Oh pillow sexual which remind me of:

"My Melody and Kuromi are underage" which is red flags because how she support this type shit.

So remember i tell you about she's thinks calling me a child murder just because i was hyper about FNAF movie.

About that, she's also double stands because she's calling me a child murder over FNAF movie but yet, she's have favourite FNAF on her DA.

Hey are you same person telling me about i'm so called support child murder just because of one movie but yet, you favourite FNAF despised facts, you just said to me i support child murder but i guess, she's become stupid af and acting like she's a innocent person.

Yeah fuck this bullshit.

So yeah, i'm done with this shit.

It's time to move on from good.

So yeah, if you reading this:

Please leave me the fuck alone, i don't want have deal with you or anything.

I just want get free from stalker and harassing i got from you.

So please leave the internet and get some seriously help.

[princesskenny1998]

Hey! ^.^

I was wondering if you would write about a muggleborn fem!Ravenclaw!reader with Draco based on the Taylor Swift song, “But Daddy I Love Him”?

I thought it would be fun and I think Draco is a perfect fit for the main man of this song? Possibly because muggle parents heard about the powerful and slightly dangerous Malfoys?

Thank you if you do, and take care! 🤍

Hello <3 So, this is absolutely not my music bubble but I think I managed, hope you like it!

Harry Potter | Draco Malfoy x muggleborn!f!ravenclaw!reader ~ "But Daddy, I love him!"

The rain drizzled steadily against the windowpane, casting shadows across your open book, but you couldn’t focus on the text. The words blurred together, and you turned another page without reading it, your thoughts drifting back to the same place they always did when you were alone—back to Draco.

It had been a stormy and unexpected beginning, the kind of whirlwind that your parents would call a “bad influence” if they only knew half the truth. You were a Muggleborn Ravenclaw—a daughter of a family who, before Hogwarts, had only known the mundane world of academics and structured expectations. Your parents were good people, but they were grounded in a strict, almost suffocating sense of normalcy.

To them, the Wizarding World was a barely-understood mystery, something that they could accept on a superficial level but never truly comprehend. And when they heard whispers of the Malfoy family—of their history, their blood ties to the dark, ancient magic that had once gripped the wizarding world in fear—their acceptance turned to suspicion. They warned you, tried to cage you in with rules and boundaries even though they couldn’t set foot in the world you were growing into. They didn’t understand.

But you did. Or at least, you understood that Draco Malfoy, despite everything they’d heard, had become more than just the boy from the infamous family. He was chaos, he was raw emotion and jagged edges, and he made you feel alive in a way that studying, excelling, and being the perfect daughter never could.

The first time you kissed, it had been under the shadow of the Forbidden Forest.

It was your fifth year, and you’d stumbled across him in a rare, vulnerable moment, leaning against the base of a massive oak tree with his hair disheveled and a tired, haunted look in his eyes. You hadn’t meant to stay, but something in the way he looked at you—like you were the last person in the world he wanted to see, but also the only one he needed—kept your feet planted firmly in the cool, dewy grass. You didn’t know who moved first, but the moment his lips brushed yours, it was like a spark ignited, and suddenly you were drowning in a fire you didn’t want to escape.

From there, it was a flurry of stolen moments and whispered secrets, hands brushing under the table in the library, secret smiles shared across the Great Hall when no one else was looking. The world outside didn’t matter when it was just the two of you, and he wasn’t the cold, arrogant Slytherin heir—he was just Draco, and you were his girl.

It wasn’t long before you fell in love with his contradictions. The way he could be cruel and indifferent to everyone else, but soft and careful when it came to you. How he kissed you like he was starving, like he needed you more than he needed air. You knew he had his demons, and that he kept secrets even from you, but you didn’t care. He was wild, unpredictable, and imperfect, and you didn’t want anyone else.

But things changed before your seventh year, when the tension that had been simmering beneath the surface for years finally came to a head. You hadn't been able to return to Hogwarts, with your blood status it was prohibited and way too dangerous. Instead you had stayed hidden, blending in in the muggle world until the fateful day Draco had found you and told you that Voldemort was finally gone.

The war was over, but the scars remained, and Draco was still struggling to shed the weight of his family’s dark legacy. Your parents had heard too much, asked too many questions, and when they learned that the boy you were sneaking off to see was a Malfoy, they had reacted with horror.

You remembered that conversation vividly. Your father’s face had turned a deep, angry red as he slammed the Daily Prophet down on the kitchen table, a recent article about the Malfoy trial spread across the pages. “He’s dangerous,” your father had said, his voice shaking with barely restrained fury. “He and his family—they were on the wrong side. They were Death Eaters. How can you even think of being with him?”

Your mother, usually the more lenient of the two, had been equally resolute, her eyes hard and disapproving. “You can’t see him anymore,” she had declared. “We’ve let you live in that magical world, but this is too much. You don’t know what he’s capable of.”

They couldn’t understand. They didn’t know the way he held you when you were falling apart, or how he’d open up in rare, unguarded moments when he thought no one could see him. They hadn’t seen the way his eyes softened when he looked at you, or the way his hands shook when he thought you were angry at him. They only knew his last name, and the darkness that it carried, and they refused to look past it.

But you had never been one to follow the rules you thought didn't make sense.

So you continued to sneak away, seeing Draco in secret, the thrill of the forbidden heightening every touch, every stolen kiss. It was reckless, you knew, and every time you returned home, your parents’ questions grew more pointed, their suspicion turning into bitter arguments. They couldn’t understand why you refused to talk about your life, why you looked away when they mentioned the Malfoys, why you were no longer the dutiful, predictable daughter they had raised.

You lied to them, skillfully and effortlessly, until the lies became second nature. You buried the truth so deeply that even you began to lose track of where the deception ended and the reality began. They tried to pull you back, to anchor you to the safe, Muggle life they had planned, but Hogwarts had changed you. Draco had changed you.

Back at school, the tension only grew, a knot tightening around your heart. You and Draco were spiraling, caught in a cycle of passionate fights and desperate reconciliations. He was different this year—quieter, more withdrawn, as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Sometimes you’d catch glimpses of the darkness in his gaze, and it would scare you, but you never turned away. You were in too deep, and you had never been very good at letting go of the things you loved.

One rainy evening in mid-October, you sat alone in the Ravenclaw common room, staring into the fire, your parents’ words echoing in your mind. They had written you another letter—one of many—begging you to come home for good, to leave the “dangerous and untrustworthy” boy who had stolen your heart. You’d torn the letter to pieces and thrown it into the fire, watching the edges curl and blacken until nothing remained but ashes.

But you couldn’t burn away the doubts. They lingered, coiling in the back of your mind like smoke, and it was getting harder and harder to breathe.

“Maybe they’re right,” Draco said one night, his voice low and rough.

You were sitting together by the Black Lake, hidden under the cover of the trees, his arms wrapped around you as the moon cast silver light over the rippling water. He looked down at you, his eyes shadowed and weary, and you saw the fear there—the fear that he would lose you, that he was dragging you down into the darkness that had swallowed his family whole.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be with me,” he continued, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Maybe you deserve better.”

You pulled back, your heart breaking at the emptiness in his eyes. “Don’t say that,” you said fiercely, cupping his face in your hands. “You’re not dangerous. You’re not your family, Draco. I don’t care what they say—I’m not leaving you.”

He stared at you, his eyes searching yours, and for a moment you thought he was going to argue. But then his expression crumpled, and he kissed you—hard and desperate, like he was drowning and you were the only thing keeping him afloat. You kissed him back, pouring all of your defiance and love into that single moment, feeling the rush of rebellion and freedom wash over you like a tidal wave.

The storm finally broke over Christmas break.

You had come home for the holidays, reluctantly answering your parents’ demands that you spend time with them, but every conversation had been tense and stilted. They pressed you about school, about Draco, about the things you wouldn’t tell them, and you had retreated behind walls of silence and half-truths, your patience fraying with every passing day.

It was on Christmas Eve that the argument exploded, a blistering confrontation that left you breathless and furious. Your father had found one of the letters Draco had written to you—tucked away in your room, a place you thought was safe—and he had read every word, his face growing redder and redder with each line.

“He’s using you!” your father had shouted, his voice cracking with emotion. “Can’t you see that? He’s dragging you down, pulling you into his mess—”

“But, Daddy, I love him!” you had shouted back, your own voice hoarse with rage. “You don’t know him! You’ve never even met him, and you never will, because you don’t want to understand. You just want me to be the person you think I should be!”

Your mother had tried to step in, her face pale and drawn, but you had pushed past her, running out of the house and into the cold, biting winter night. You ran until your lungs burned, until your tears froze on your cheeks, and when you stopped, it was only because you had nowhere else to go.

That was when you made your choice.

You didn’t return home after Christmas. Instead, you sent an owl to Hogwarts, arranging to stay at the castle over the break, and you disappeared from your parents lives. The letters they sent went unanswered, unopened, left to pile up in a dusty corner of your dormitory where you pretended they didn’t exist. You were done playing the perfect daughter. You were done hiding who you were.

The spring of your seventh year was a blur of emotions and defiance, of laughter and tears and all the messy, beautiful chaos that defined your relationship with Draco. You were reckless together, daring the world to stop you, and every time you thought you were about to fall apart, he was there to catch you.

The day of your graduation Draco had pulled you into his arms, holding you so tightly you could barely breathe, then you had felt something inside you settle. This was your choice, your life, and you would fight for it until the end.

Years later, the scandal had faded, and the once judgmental eyes of your friends and families had turned to other stories. Your parents, though still wary, had begun to accept your decision, realizing that you were determined to build a life that they couldn’t dictate with or without them.

There were scars left behind, but they no longer hurt the way they once did. Draco was still unpredictable, still complicated and infuriating, but he was yours, and the life you had built together was more than you ever dreamed it could be.

The past, with all its secrets and shadows, no longer mattered.

All that mattered was that you had chosen him, and you would never look back.

[pookalicious-hq]

blue velvet... jinx x reader

| 1.3. find me. | prev | next | masterlist

synopsis: two girls trapped within a world full of hate would do anything for each other. too bad they're both crazy. tags/tws: mentions of mental health illnesses, mention of suicide, blood and gore, mc has split personalities, violence word count: 4.8k

six years ago - age 15 …

It was an intrusion, the weightless breath spreading through your polluted lungs like an unwelcome guest—too pure, too sharp to belong in a body accustomed to decay. Breathing it in was instinctual, but it felt like a crime, as though you were stealing their air—their pure, crisp air that had been theirs to enjoy every second of their lives.

The streets were spotless compared to Zaun, lined with polished stone and framed by buildings that, while modest by Piltover's standards, gleamed with care and affluence. The faint hum of machinery filled the air, not the grinding, screeching chaos of Zaun’s factories but a calm, rhythmic thrum that hinted at efficiency and progress. Even the light felt different here—clear and golden, untouched by the murky haze of shimmer-fueled smoke that stained the skies below.

The weight of your large cloak was a constant reminder of the disguise you both wore to avoid attention. It hung heavy around your shoulders, its fabric thick enough to hide your wings, but it was a constant reminder of what you couldn’t reveal—what you couldn’t be in this place. The scent of the clean air felt almost like an accusation against your every breath, too flawless for someone like you.

Jinx sniffed theatrically, tilting her head back as if savouring the difference. “Betcha we could bottle this stuff up. Maybe even make it ourselves or somethin’—”

[“We breathe in what the plants breathe out,” came the soft, echoing voice of someone who had once mattered to you—someone important. “They’re yours to protect, child.”

Grey eyes, warm yet serious, locked onto yours, the deep wisdom in them cutting through time and space. The towering giants around you—the trees—groaned softly in the wind, their presence ancient and enduring, as if the very breeze carried with it an age-old greeting, a promise of life.]

“—and sell it for hundreds!”

You blinked, her voice snapping you back to the present, and your eyes found hers, an old thought settling in your chest. “It’s the trees, Jay... all the plants up here.”

Jinx raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a playful grin. “The trees, huh? Fancy trees makin’ fancy air for these rich folks. Real nice of ‘em.” She shrugged and bounced on her heels, the sharp contrast of her energy and the stillness of the city making her seem even more out of place. “Think we could swipe a few and set up our own little tree factory? Might be fun.”

The memory of the voice from the past clung to you, heavy, suffocating. It felt like a lifetime ago, but the words never left. “Never take them for granted.”

You pressed your lips together, stepping forward with an unsteady breath. The trees, the plants—they were a gift, but the people of Piltover had no idea what it meant to need them. To breathe without poison in the air. To survive.

Jinx noticed the shift in your expression, her playful tone turning sharper. “Hey, what’s up?” She nudged you, catching the distant look in your eyes. “What, you gettin’ all sentimental on me now, Birdie?”

A small frown found its place on your features, the thought of Piltover's so-called prosperity making a bitter taste rise in your throat. The air here felt too clean, almost sharp against the remnants of the smog that clung to your lungs from years spent in Zaun. “They don’t even know what they have,” you hummed, your voice thick with confusion. The words came out colder than you intended, laced with something darker—something sharp, like the sudden burn of a raw wound.

Jinx frowned, her sharp eyes catching the change in you but not probing too deeply. She gave you a side glance before turning back to the street ahead. Her voice was lighter, teasing. “C’mon, let’s get to work. We’re not here to admire the trees, right?”

Before you could respond, Jinx dropped to a crouch, her fingers brushing against the ground as she plucked a small flower, the only violet among a primrose patch. Its petals were a delicate purple, soft as silk, the colour so vivid it seemed to hum with life. With a sly smile tugging at her lips, she tucked it behind your ear, the coolness of the flower sending a brief shiver down your neck.

The flower’s chill lingered on your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of her breath against your cheek as she stepped back, eyeing you as if she’d just won some silent victory. “Perfect,” she said with a grin, her voice playful and rich with satisfaction. “You look all fancy now, Birdie.”

Before you could protest, she spun on her heel and darted off, her footsteps a quick staccato against the cobblestones, the sound light and almost musical. Her laughter cut through the air like the tinkling of distant bells, a sound so pure and untainted it almost made you forget about the city around you.

“Hey!” You scowled, but it was too late—she was already a few paces ahead, her figure melting into the flow of the crowd. Your pulse quickened, a rush of adrenaline pushing through your veins. Your feet hit the pavement, the rough stones biting at the soles of your boots as you surged forward, chasing after her.

“Jay, slow down!”

But she only giggled louder, a mischievous ring to the sound, her voice slipping through the throngs of people with that impossible speed of hers. You gritted your teeth, the clamour of voices and the sharp scent of perfume filling your senses as you wove through the crowd, pushing yourself harder, faster.

The violet, still perched behind your ear, seemed to pulse with every step you took, the faint scent of its petals mingling with the crisp, clean air. For a brief moment, as you chased her, it was as if the world paused—everything except you and Jinx. The chase felt alive, a raw, frantic pulse of energy that seemed to tether you to something you could barely grasp.

In that fleeting second, the weight of Piltover's wealth, the bitter air, and the city’s polished facade faded just enough for you to remember what was real. The strange warmth in your chest as you ran—that was real. And for a moment, it was enough to make everything else seem distant, irrelevant.

The chase was worth it.

Up until the world’s cruel reminder of everything you once had came crashing down harder.

You pushed yourself harder to catch up with Jinx, but something pulled at you—an odd, gnawing sensation crawling up your spine. The polished stone beneath your feet seemed to shimmer too brightly, the golden light from the street lamps cutting through the twilight like sharp edges. It reminded you of things you had long since locked away, memories you’d buried deep in the dark corners of your mind.

The clean, fresh air here, so different from the murky fumes of Zaun, should’ve felt like a relief, but instead, it felt almost suffocating. It brought with it flashes of sterile white walls, the cold bite of glass pressed too tightly against your skin. The sharp clink of metal. Hands that weren’t kind.

You felt the corners of your lips twitch into a smile, but it was empty, distant. It didn’t quite reach your eyes.

"Feels so empty, doesn’t it?" You said almost peacefully, voice soft enough to be drowned out by the steady hum of conversation and distant street vendors calling out to passersby.

Jinx glanced back, a brow raised at you. "Why’d’ya have that cute-scary-pretty smile on, Birdie?"

You sighed, the sound dreamlike but almost hollow. "Ugh, topsiders' got it all," you said, keeping your voice light but with a hint of resentment simmering underneath. "The air, the trees, the people. They think it’s all just there for them like they deserve it. But what do they really know about it?” You giggled, the sound alone bringing a smile to Jinx’s features,  “What do they know about breathing without poison in the air, or surviving in a world that doesn’t care if you live or die?"

Jinx stopped and turned to face you, her playful grin faltering slightly as she read the shift in your tone. She tilted her head, not pushing but curious. "What’s up? You getting all deep on me, Birdie?"

You shrugged, still smirking, but your gaze turned darker, more focused. "What’s there to be scared of?" you said, the words coming out smooth, as though you were stating a simple fact. "They can’t break what’s already broken."

Your laugh followed, soft and light, cutting through the steady chatter and clinking of nearby street vendors setting up for the night. The laughter was brief, sharp—a flash of something unsettling.

The buzz of the street lamps overhead shifted the familiar hum faltering, followed by a sharp crackling sound. Without warning, every lamp along the block sputtered, their light flickering like a dying breath, and the air around you seemed to pulse with a strange, static energy. You felt it before you saw it—the telltale jolt of power rippling through the air, like a spark on the edge of something dangerous.

The lights buzzed and flickered again, a chorus of crackling static that grew louder, more erratic, until a loud crack sounded.

One lamp shattered, its glass scattering onto the street below with a deafening pop. In quick succession, the others followed suit—a soft crackle left behind until the entire block was plunged into darkness. The light from the nearby windows spilled out onto the cobblestones, casting eerie, shifting shadows across the street, but the lamps were gone, their fragile bulbs shattered by some invisible force.

A few pedestrians screamed, scrambling to avoid the broken glass, while others froze in place, uncertain of what just happened. A nearby vendor let out a nervous laugh, trying to calm the frightened crowd, but the air was thick with tension.

Jinx’s eyes flickered from the broken lamps to you, her grin widening as she took in the chaos. "Well, guess we just have that effect on the city, huh?" she teased, her voice light with amusement.

You didn’t respond immediately. Instead, you studied the shattered glass scattered on the ground, the last remnants of the once-glowing lamps gleaming eerily in the dim light. The electric hum of the atmosphere still lingered, crackling around you like the residue of a storm.

With a dark, knowing smirk curling at the edges of your lips, you turned to Jinx. "Guess so. Piltover’s perfect little world just... cracks."

For a moment, the usual hum of the city—the noise, the voices, the movement—faded into a distant background. It was just you and Jinx in the silence like the world had stopped to take a breath. But then, as quickly as it had all gone quiet, the sounds of the street came rushing back. People were talking again, rushing away from the mess, and the vendors were scrambling to get their goods undercover.

And yet, in that moment, the tension in the air still lingered, like everything around you had just shifted. You and Jinx shared a glance, and then, without a word, you both broke into laughter—wild, unrestrained, and full of that familiar, dangerous joy.

The city continued to pulse with life, the laughter ringing out through the noise, blending with the chaos that followed. But for just a moment, in the midst of it all, you felt lighter. Almost like you were breathing again.

present - age 21

"Stay still," you chirped, your tone light and sweet, as if offering a friendly suggestion rather than holding a man captive with a knife at his throat. Your knees dug into his ribs, the coarse fabric of his uniform scraping against your skin. The blade in your hand hovered mere millimetres above his clammy neck, sparks of electricity dancing along the edge like restless fireflies. Each flicker sent faint, ghostly reflections darting across his wide, terrified eyes.

The guard beneath you trembled, his breath hitching with every erratic rise and fall of his chest. He smelled faintly of sweat and grease, his fear mixing with the sharper metallic tang of blood from a small cut on his cheek. His hands twitched at his sides, his fingers curling into fists before loosening again as if trying to will himself into stillness.

"Don’t squirm," you added, your voice soft but teasing, like you were sharing a private joke. "It’d be such a shame if my hand slipped. So messy. Though, your uniform would pair nicely with a deep red..."

The hum of electricity grew louder, its faint, crackling buzz cutting through the heavy stillness of the warehouse. Overhead, a flickering bulb swung gently on its chain, casting jittery light and warped shadows across the walls. Dust motes swirled in the air, catching the sporadic gleam of your blade. The faint scent of ozone tinged the space, sharp and electric, mingling with the musty aroma of rotting wood, old crates, and spilled oil pooling in uneven puddles on the floor.

“Birdie!” Jinx’s voice rang out suddenly, sing-song and teasing, shattering the tense quiet. She leaned lazily against a stack of precariously balanced boxes, her rocket launcher resting casually against her shoulder. The dull green glow of her goggles glinted in the dim light as her wild grin widened. "You flirtin’ again? C’mon, you’re makin’ me jealous."

You giggled, glancing back at her over your shoulder, your cheeky grin as sharp as the blade in your hand. "Jealous? Bluejay, you know you’re my favourite."

Jinx snorted, spinning her zapper in her hand like a toy. The movement sent a faint whine through the air, a sound like a dying firework. "Good, now hurry it up! We don’t have all night."

You returned your attention to the guard, his pale face glistening with a sheen of cold sweat. His pupils darted nervously between your crackling blade and the manic girl in the corner. The sour stench of his fear was almost tangible.

"You heard her," you said brightly, your smile unwavering, even as the electricity crackled with menacing energy. "So, here’s the deal—stay quiet, stay still, and I won’t have to test how conductive you are. Sound good?"

He nodded frantically, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard, a visible tremor rippling through his body.

"Good boy," you cooed, your voice dripping with mock affection as you tapped his cheek lightly, the gesture more unnerving than comforting. When you stood, the blade still sparking faintly in your hand, he wasted no time scrambling away. His boots scuffed loudly against the concrete, the sharp sound echoing in the cavernous space as he disappeared into the shadows.

Jinx sidled up to you, her grin a crooked mirror of your own. “You’re way too nice, y’know that?”

You tilted your head, shrugging with an exaggerated pout, your tone playful. “What can I say? I’m a people person.”

Her laughter rang out, sharp and unhinged, ricocheting off the warehouse's cold metal walls. The sound seemed to echo in your chest, mingling with the electric hum that still crackled faintly at your fingertips. Together, you turned toward the rows of crates stacked like soldiers in rigid formation, their weathered surfaces bearing the scars of countless journeys. Each crate seemed to whisper promises of power and chaos, daring you to uncover their secrets.

“Just gotta find the blue stuff, right?” you asked, stretching your arms lazily, the faint shimmer of your wings catching the flickering light as you unfurled them. The motion sent a harmless ruffle through the air—harmless until the feathery edge of your wing smacked Jinx square in the head.

“Hey!” she squawked, rubbing her temple with a mock glare. “Watch your chicken wings!”

You stifled a giggle, glancing at her sheepishly. “Thought you said you loved them, Jay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbled, though her grin betrayed her annoyance. “How could I not?” She flicked her fingers, a few sparks crackling into the air.

As the two of you turned, a banner hung on the far wall caught your eye—bright, regal, and emblazoned with the unmistakable insignia of the Kiramman family. The same gold crest that once adorned the halls of the Piltover mansion where you had spent so many days locked away, trembling in fear under the watchful eyes of their cruel experiments. The familiar scent of polished wood and sterile, bitter air flooded your senses in an instant, the haunting weight of it pulling at your chest like an old wound that had never quite healed.

You froze for a moment, eyes locked on the banner, your breath catching in your throat. 

“Birdie?” Jinx’s voice cut through the haze of your memories, her brow furrowed. “You good?”

Your hands twitched involuntarily, a sharp jolt of electricity crackling from your fingertips before you reined it back in with a forced calm. You swallowed hard, shaking your head, and forced a smile.

“Yeah, just... hate these fucking topsiders,” you said, the words feeling thin, like a mask you had to put on to cover the shadows beneath. "Nothing more nothing less."

Jinx didn’t push, though she gave you a long look, her playful energy dampening just for a moment. She turned back to the task at hand with a sigh. "You and me both."

You nodded, though your eyes lingered on the banner for a second longer. You could feel the knot in your stomach tightening, the memory of those days—the dark, cold rooms, the smell of iron and sterilization—swarming back. You’d never forgotten who had bought you, who had taken you from Ixtal and twisted you into something they could control. But this was different. You weren’t powerless anymore. You had your revenge waiting.

“Let’s find the blue stuff,” you echoed, voice steady as you forced yourself forward.

The crates loomed ahead, stacked high and heavy, filled with Piltover’s precious tech and the hextech secrets you were here to claim. The whole warehouse was suffused with the dusty, metallic scent of industry, but there was something different about the air today. It felt heavier, charged with anticipation. And maybe a little darker than usual, especially now that you were back on familiar ground.

Jinx gave a slow, deliberate nod. “Right. And we’ll make sure it’s nice and... safe for our use.”

She flashed that gleam in her eye, the one that always meant a mess was coming. You couldn’t help but smile back, your mind momentarily distracted from the past as you focused on what lay ahead. It wasn’t just the blue tech anymore; it was the chance to prove you could be more than just a weapon.

The warehouse stretched out before you, the low hum of electricity growing louder with each step, as if the very walls were alive, ready to react to whatever you brought with you. You ran a hand along the rough edge of a crate, the splintered wood prickling your fingertips, before Jinx’s voice broke through the silence.

“Alright, Birdie, new stakes,” she announced, spinning her zapper in one hand. “Whoever finds it first gets the fluffy blanket tonight.”

You stopped in your tracks, tilting your head to the side in a silent question. “ The fluffy blanket?”

“Yeah,” she said, her grin widening. “Y’know the one. The soft, cozy, ‘wrap-yourself-like-a-burrito’ blanket. The one you always steal from me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and genuine. “You mean the one you keep kicking me for in your sleep?”

“Details,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “Point is, it’s mine if I win. Got it?”

You shrugged with a giggle, feigning indifference. “Fine by me. But don’t cry when I’m the one burrito-wrapped tonight.”

Jinx snorted, bounding ahead to a row of crates with her usual reckless energy. “Whatever you say, Dove.”

You followed at a slower pace, your wings brushing against the edges of the narrow aisles. Each crate you passed felt heavier, their secrets pressing against your mind like a whisper you couldn’t quite catch. You knelt by a smaller one, prying it open with a grunt. Inside, rows of gears and wires glinted under the dim light—fascinating, but not what you were looking for.

From the other side of the warehouse, you heard Jinx’s frustrated groan. “Ugh, more boring junk. Where’s the good stuff?”

You smirked, moving to the next crate. This one was different—smaller, heavier, with strange markings etched into the wood. As you cracked it open, a faint, pulsing glow spilled out, bathing your face in soft blue light.

Your breath caught in your throat as the hexstone came into view, nestled within layers of protective fabric. The gem pulsed faintly, its energy radiating out in waves that seemed to seep into your skin.

“Hey, Jay,” you called out, your voice quieter than you intended.

“Nooo, did you find it?” Jinx’s voice echoed from across the room, followed by the sound of her hurried footsteps.

But you barely heard her. The hexstone’s glow had grown brighter, more insistent, and the faint hum in the air had risen to a sharp, almost deafening pitch. Your wings twitched involuntarily, the metal plates inside vibrating in rhythm with the stone.

“Birdie?” Jinx’s voice was closer now, tinged with confusion. “What’s wrong?”

You tried to answer, but the words stuck in your throat. The gem pulsed again, and the edges of the world began to blur—not in an unsettling way, but with a dreamlike softness, as though reality itself was exhaling.

Warmth enveloped you, spreading from your fingertips to your chest like the first rays of dawn filtering through a thick canopy of trees. It wasn’t just a sensation—it was a presence, familiar and inviting, almost as if it recognized you. The faint blue glow of the hexstone intensified, casting the warehouse in a gentle light that rippled like water, its rhythm almost imperceptibly aligning with the beat of your heart.

You smiled without meaning to, your breath catching in wonder. The energy wrapped around you like a silken embrace, weaving through the cracks in your soul and filling them with something you hadn’t felt in years: peace. Your wings stirred, their metal plates shifting smoothly for once, no longer scraping or grinding. They felt lighter, freer—almost as if the stone had erased the weight of their existence.

The hum of the hexstone resonated through the air, low and soothing, like the distant rumble of a summer storm. It curled around you, a siren’s call that tugged at the edges of your mind, drawing you deeper into its glow.

But then, the warmth shifted.

The soothing heat became sharper, hotter, prickling against your skin like embers scattering across bare flesh. The pulse of the hexstone grew erratic, its rhythm no longer in harmony with yours but forcing itself into your veins. The soft hum rose into a shrill whine, scraping against your eardrums like nails on glass.

Your wings spasmed violently, the once-smooth plates locking up as sparks crackled along their edges. The metal groaned, the sound jarring against the memory of that fleeting lightness. You tried to release the stone, your fingers trembling with effort, but they wouldn’t obey. The warmth had turned suffocating, a crushing heat that coiled around your chest and throat.

It wasn’t just holding you anymore—it was taking you.

The air grew heavy, and dense with the acrid tang of burning ozone and the metallic bite of blood. Your lungs burned with every breath, as though the stone’s energy had leeched the oxygen from the room. Shadows rippled at the edges of your vision, and the once-gentle glow twisted into jagged streaks of light that lashed out like living things, searing patterns onto your retinas.

The whispers started then.

“Leave.”“Close your eyes—let us in.”“We’ve been looking for you, (y/n).”

They weren’t real, but they felt real, the voices sharp and clinical, each word slicing through your mind like a scalpel. The pulse of the hexstone matched the rhythm of the words, each beat a hammer driving the memories deeper into your skull.

“Birdie!” Jinx’s shout was distant, muffled by the storm raging in your head. Her footsteps echoed faintly, distorted like a sound underwater.

Your wings unfurled uncontrollably, slamming into nearby crates with a deafening crash. Splinters rained down, scattering across the floor as electricity arced along your feathers. The air sizzled with the sharp tang of ionized metal, and every nerve in your body screamed for release.

“Snap out of it!” Jinx was closer now, her voice raw and frantic. Her hands gripped your shoulders, shaking you hard enough to make your head snap back. “It’s just a rock, Birdie!”

But the hexstone wasn’t just a rock.

It was a trap, a cage, an anchor to everything they had done to you.

Then came the crack—a gunshot, sharp and deafening.

Pain exploded through your wing, the metal plates seizing as agony rippled through your body. The hexstone tumbled from your grip, its glow dimming as it hit the floor with a hollow clink . The oppressive heat vanished in an instant, leaving you shivering in its absence.

You stumbled back, clutching your injured wing as blood and sparks seeped from the torn metal seams. The acrid stench of burned feathers filled your nose, and the distant voices finally fell silent.

“Birdie!” Jinx’s hands were on you again, her grip trembling but firm. Her voice was closer now, desperate. “Hey, are you with me? Come on, say something!”

The world around you swam, blurring at the edges as you blinked against the blinding warehouse lights. Jinx’s wide, frantic eyes came into focus, her face streaked with dirt and panic.

“...Fuck—yeah,” you rasped, the words scraping out of your throat like shattered glass.

Jinx exhaled a shaky breath, relief flashing across her face. But the reprieve was short-lived.

“Shit,” she hissed, her head whipping toward the far end of the warehouse. Flashlight beams sliced through the dark, followed by the heavy clang of enforcer boots and the sharp bark of orders.

She grabbed your arm, yanking you toward the nearest exit. “Forget the blue stuff,” she said, her voice uncharacteristically low and serious. “We’re leaving. Now.”

Still dazed, you stumbled forward, every step sending jolts of pain through your damaged wing. But as you moved, your eyes caught the faint, flickering glow of the hexstone, still lying on the floor where you’d dropped it. Its light pulsed weakly, no longer suffocating but still insistent, calling to you like a whisper at the edge of your mind.

It had nearly destroyed you.

But you couldn’t leave it behind.

Your hand darted out, snatching the stone before shoving it into your pocket. It sent a sharp, biting shock up your arm, but you ignored it, your focus narrowing to the approaching voices and the faint glint of enforcer rifles.

Jinx tugged you forward, her grip grounding you as your legs struggled to keep up. The glowing hexstone in your pocket throbbed against your hip, each pulse faint but insistent, like a warning you couldn’t ignore.

"Okay, shake it off!" Jinx urged, her voice a strange mix of panic and forced cheer. “We’ve got company, and I don’t feel like sticking around to meet 'em!”

The clang of enforcer boots grew louder, the sound slicing through the eerie hum still buzzing faintly in your ears. Your body felt heavy, the aftershock of the hexstone’s grip making every step feel like trudging through quicksand.

As you reached the warehouse doors, a blinding spotlight flooded the room, casting long, stark shadows against the rows of crates.

“Hold it right there!” a voice barked, the sound amplified by a speaker and distorted by authority.

Jinx’s grin returned, wide and wild. “Oh, great! A party crasher, I really don’t remember inviting you guys here…” she quipped, letting go of your arm and reaching for her gun.

“Jay—” you started, but she was already bounding away, her laughter echoing through the cavernous space as she dove behind a stack of crates.

"Stay low, Birdie!" she called, her voice fading as the first gunshot rang out.

The sound snapped you out of your haze, adrenaline flooding your veins as you ducked behind a crate. The sharp scent of gunpowder mingled with the faint metallic tang still clinging to your senses.

You pressed your back against the cold metal, breathing hard as the chaos unfolded around you. Sparks flew as bullets ricocheted off the crates, the enforcers’ shouts mixing with Jinx’s delighted cackles.

But even as you moved to grab a weapon, your fingers brushed against your pocket, where the hexstone pulsed faintly. A shiver ran through you, your stomach twisting as its warmth seeped through the fabric again, teasing, beckoning.

The fight raged on around you, but the hexstone’s pull was undeniable. It wasn’t just a weapon. It wasn’t just a tool. It was alive , and it wanted something—something only you could give.

You clenched your jaw, shoving the thought aside. Not now. Whatever power it held, you couldn’t afford to lose yourself again.

With a deep breath, you unfurled your wings, ignoring the sharp sting in the injured one as you launched yourself into the fray.

a/n: aye chapter 3 im so glad that ppl are liking this so far! you can probably expect an update every 2-3 days (or not cuz school's kicking my ass and november burnout is real)

taglist: @deathvidal , @stupendousbananasharkcop , @titusmouser , @itosh1teru , @0sunnyside0 , @pulcen , @chuucanchuucan , @fluffygreatness , @pebble-peddle

[sillygoofyqueer]

More Wei Qingwei blabbering and I'll never stop (I will not apologise for the cliffhanger yesterday)

When something emerged from amongst the bushes and darted in front of them, Wei Yi reacted before he could think. It was that familiar instinct that came with fear, that instinct to run and hide as fast as possible but- but now he could fight. Now he could protect himself, and A-Zhang. He lunged. It was the only way to describe how he launched himself at the threat and knocked it down, falling with it for only a moment before they thudded against the floor and he found himself face to face with a mildly shocked looking disciple, fists clenched in the familiar white and dark blue, almost black, robes of Bai Zhan.

It took him a second to register that he had just accidentally pinned down a Bai Zhan disciple, of all peaks. It took him another second to register that A-Zhang was absolutely cackling behind him, and that the Bai Zhan disciple looked positively exhilarated despite the fact that they had been knocked over so easily. Wei Yi's heart had been racing even as he let go of the Bai Zhan disciple and stood up, A-Zhang gave him a warm congratulations, patting him on the back as he introduced him to Liu Yanfei, the head disciple of Bai Zhan Peak.

Before Wei Yi could even think about apologising, he received a demand to fight again. Liu Yanfei hadn't seemed mad; rather, he had seemed almost...excited, and Wei Yi almost felt as though he could understand it. Being the head disciple of the war peak meant that Liu Yanfei likely struggled to find opponents that were worth fighting; it surely wasn't often that he was actually tackled by someone, someone from another peak, no less!

So, he offered to spar with Liu Yanfei if he had any free time (he saw A-Zhang's expression of worry, but he really didn't mind. His hobbies were his normal duties anyway, so it was truly no big deal), and the way his shidi lit up was worth the injuries he would receive from sparring with such a boy. Anyway, he had been learning the other peaks' fighting styles (a responsibility for the head disciple alone) and it would be good to have someone to practice with!

Bai Zhan was honestly incredibly fun. There was something wild about the place, with the disciples having even more relaxed manners than Wan Jian and a Shizun that would charge anyone she saw fit if they were slacking according to her rules of what is slacking. Wei Yi was once was tackled when he was showing Liu Yanfei a spearhead he had made for him, and almost stabbed himself in the chest as he tumbled to the floor (luckily, he only stabbed himself in the foot due to how the spearhead dropped). It had been mildly interesting to realise that Yanfei's Shizun was colourblind as they both stared at the piece of pretty looking metal protruding from his foot.

Shifu hadn't let him go to Bai Zhan for a while after that, but he had found it pretty funny in hindsight. Plus, it meant that he was sent to An Ding more often to ask for forms and paperwork to complete, and even hung around to help some of the other distressed looking disciples with their tasks. One of these was someone who everyone classed as the unofficial head disciple (apparently their shizun was too busy to make it official). They had started talking when he noticed that this mousey disciple had similar hair to his, and that it was terribly unkempt.

As someone who had struggled with his hair a lot before Shifu took it into his own hands and showed him how it worked, Wei Yi sympathised and offered to do it for him.

He had never seen a disciple cry so much from a simple offer.

[lalacliffthorne]

Hi, I love your modern batboys roommate fic so much. I am obsessed with Azriel and readers relationship and the way you write them. It’s my comfort fic that I always fun back to.

I know you don’t take request and I totally respect that, but I would be really curious what it would look like when Az and reader get into a fight (either a smaller fight like a disagreement or even a bigger fight). I’m really curious what it would look like since they live together, how they would react to being in a fight. And I’m curious what Rhys and Cassian’s reactions would be as well. But I feel like depending on the fight it wouldn’t last too long since they seem to be good at communicating and they love each other so much.

Sorry about the ramble, I’ve thought about this way too much. Anyways love your writing and your fics 🫶🏻🫶🏻

omg hi 🥹 thank u so much!! this means the world to me 💕

oohhhhh okay?? this is a really good question?! I already know I'm gonna go overboard with this lol

so for me, I feel like disagreements are rare. because honestly, you rarely disagree on anything in the first place. like, you are so attuned to each other and in synch, barely anything can throw that.

which means, the few disagreements that might occur are usually based on concern or something similiar. like azriel thinking you need a break and you being too stubborn, and vice versa. but those are usually solved easily, with azriel simply literally dragging you away from work and you talking some sense into him. communication is something the both of you know is important, and while az might not seem like he's big on talking, he's actually one of the few people that can get through to you when you're caught in your head, with simple, steady words. vice versa, you are one of the only people that can get through to him.

which means, actual fights are even more rare. like, so rare that the first time it happens, it throws not just you, but everyone.

it would definitely be about something that actually runs deep, bc anything superficial you either talk out or never actually becomes a problem. it would have to be something that makes azriel shut down and you so frustrated that you do too. again, I think it would be most likely something that stems from concern about the other.

the fight itself would shake you to your core. not because azriel would get loud or anything, he would never, not even in a serious argument, not even if you lost your temper on him. but bc usually, you manage to talk through everything.

but this time, instead, azriel shuts down. barely says anything at all, whole body tense and eyes stormy. it wouldn't be to punish you or anything; the literal only reason he would shut down on you like this would be him getting caught in his own head until he's not able to see how desperate you are, angry - until you shut down too.

and that is when the actual hard part begins. azriel is still caught in his head and distances himself without even noticing, and you pull back too, bc you're stuck in your own head.

which means suddenly, the whole flat is quiet.

rhys and cassian would notice immediately - and it would throw absolutely everything for them. bc let's be honest, azriel and you are the one constant these two can always rely on when they get home, knowing you are either in one of your rooms, your body curled into azriel's on the bed, messing around in the kitchen or sandwiched on the couch. you are the two people in their lives they know are like - fucking meant for each other.

so I definitely think it would have a massive effect on them. like suddenly rhys, who has problems sleeping in good times, barely sleeps at all. just loses all his focus; burns food and gets the simplest recipes wrong. he gets snappy, not even sarcastic or anything, just plain pissed, until it mounts into an absolutely massive argument with his dad. and cass, who we all know is basically sunshine incarnate, is just worried to his core. bc you're his family, and he can't lose that. so, gone is the constant grin and jokes, until all is left is a broody attitude and a deep frown.

I don't think either of them would ever pick sides, like - they love the both of you way too much for that and can probably guess that this argument is not really anyone's fault. having said that, I do think cass would probably gravitate towards you. bc - he is so protective of you on a good day, and he literally physically can't stand to see you so upset. it just absolutely breaks his heart, and he would want to do everything in his power to make sure you're not alone in this. like, he's the one who gets you to finally open your door, and who you break down on. he's the one who doesn't leave your side until he absolutely has to, who takes you wherever you need to go, sends everyone who just looks at you for too long scrambling with a simple dark glare. don't get me wrong, he'd leave you alone if you'd asked him, but he would probably fucking camp outside your door or something, just in case.

rhys on the other hand is there for you quietly. like coming into both of your rooms to bring you food and, in your case, sitting down on the floor until you've eaten something. pulling you out of the flat for a walk so you get some fresh air, just letting you lean into him. other than that, he just watches quietly.

until he's had enough. cause honestly - it's clear to anyone with the barest bit of common sense that both azriel and you are absolutely miserable. neither of you leaves their room. you don't get any sleep, bc how when azriel's not there, your thoughts are swallowing you whole, and you don't smile anymore. meanwhile, azriel stops talking altogether. both of you are yearning so incredibly hard for the other that whenever azriel just catches a whiff of your perfume, he has to fight the urge to barge into your room, simply held back by guilt, and you well up whenever you just catch a glimpse at his door.

I think rhys would probably just march into azriel's room and tell him to cut the crap. he would be so angry, like - "please, for god`s sake, stop being a fucking idiot, get out of your head and talk to your fucking girlfriend, you moron". and azriel would glare at him so hard - but rhys just glares the fuck back until azriel breaks.

he probably finds you in your room. it breaks his heart to see you curled up under your blanket, looking tired and pale and likely with red eyes from crying, and he suddenly absolutely wants to kick himself. you're not any better tho, the sight of him, hair a mess, dark shadows under his eyes and gaze dull causing your chest to squeeze.

you definitely talk it out, azriel starting, voice quiet, rough. it needs a good, honest conversation, about the reasoning why he shut down, why you did the same. you also promise there and that moment to never let it get that far again, to not speaking for days, bc honestly - you're just miserable without the other, and you barely handled it this time. you make a deal to give the other space when needed but never go to bed without talking it out - and you stick to that, for every future argument after.

when azriel finally pulls you into a hug so tight, your ribs ache, you just squeeze back, probably tearing up bc god, you missed him. and you missed his smile and his eyes and the way he always seems to be right behind you, and nothing feels right without him.

cass and rhys are so relieved when you walk into the kitchen together bit later, cass breaking into the widest grin ever and rhys immediately making you promise to him too to never let it get this far again, bc fuck that - the two of you are meant together and fighting is just shit. it makes you giggle wetly, azriel cracking the first grin in days, and both cass and rhys swear the world finally feels right again.

anyway, jfc, I'm sorry for this ramble 🙈 that totally got out of hand 😂

thank u so much for this again tho, this was really fun!! if there are other scenarios you've been thinking about, I'd love to hear them 💞

[elizabeaufort]

⸻ Claude looked at Stella, holding his giggles when her father also requested her to be out, and the trio left. Outside he cackled at Stella's face. ⎯ He knew that his daughter isn't that happy with him. The fun was over, upon this realization. ⎯ Her grey-bluish hues were locked into Alex's blue hues, with a frown on her features when he explained she fainted. It now occurred to her she was fighting with her own father before the blank out. This wasn't a nightmare but a reality. Fucking hell. The younger Aussie almost forgot that she requested that Luke watch the twins. She watched her man walking away to check on his brother and their children.

The younger Aussie sat on the sofa looked at her grandfather, and hugged him. ❛ It's not your fault. ❜ She says after a certain moment, pulling away from John. ❛ My name is Elizabeth Louise. ❜ She had no idea if her grandfather knew her whole name, but he did find his way to her place, maybe he knew a bit about her, and she was unaware. ❛ My father isn't an easy man to deal with. As for my mother, respectfully, because she is your daughter. I don't know how I feel about her after all those years. There was a moment, I kinda hoped she would come and pick me but this day never came. And now, I was at one of the best moments in my life, having my own family. I should've known when things were too good to be true; meant something else was about to happen to break the temporary happiness.❜ She confessed.

When she was little, she was kind of hoping her mother would come and rescue her from the misery but this never happened. There was a moment when she wasn't even sure if she wanted her mother to pick her up either because she hardly recalls having nice moments as a daughter & mother. ⎯ Liz gave a space for John to sit beside her. Elizabeth was angry with both of her parents. Stella for ignoring her sentiments and thinking they can play a happy family that easily. Claude for lying for all those years. All the things her mother said, she wasn't sure if the older woman was lying or masking it to sound pretty to her side. Stella is basically a stranger to her, just like Liz might be for her as well. Liz is no longer the little girl who used to do anything to be recognized, pleased, or acknowledged by her own mother.

──Stella glared at Claude, but kept her mouth shut as he father took control of the situation while Alex was trying to wake Liz up. her blue eyes shifted to her father when her husband said that Liz was expecting twins, noticed the slight shift of surprise, but it was quickly replaced by his annoyance. Vivienne stood up to also follow after Claude and leave as she had been asked, this had been more than what she had bargained for; definitely hadn’t expected all this chaos and come face to face with both of her sons; especially not her oldest son. “shut your mouth.” John warned Claude, in an almost threatening tone. “out. all three of you.” Stella’s gaze snapped back to her father at his words, perplexed, but a look was all it took for her to not raise an argument. she moved towards the door but stopped a few steps behind her father to wait for Liz to wake up first.

when Liz shifted, John let out a breath, evidently relieved. “do you think we need to take her to the hospital?” he asked Alex as he crunched down beside him —he made to touch Liz’s hand, but then pulled his hand back; he didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable. Alex held her face, still, in one hand, thumb ghosting over her cheekbone, when John spoke and he looked at him. “let’s give her a moment first…” and the older man nodded, quickly moved to hand Alex a pillow when he noticed he was reaching for one. his eyes stayed on his granddaughter as the younger man gently lifted her head to put the pillow behind it.

“you fainted,” Alex responded to her, brushing strands of hair out of her face —the sound of the door closing as the three others left the apartment allowed John to breathe a little easier.

“they are upstairs with Luke,” he let her know and when she addressed John, he moved a little to let him get closer. Alex squeezed her hand before getting up. “I should let Luke know she is alright…” he said before walking away; a way to discreetly allow him a moment with his granddaughter. and the older man nodded, his gaze drifted back to Liz as he moved closer, too. “it’s John,” he smiled. “I am sorry my presence here causing all this chaos, my dear…if I had known…” he trailed off, shaking his head a little.

[blackkatdraws2]

I have a lot of leftover drawings in my gallery. [Blank Scripts AU]

[Content Warning: Images below contain Gore, Death, and Disturbing/Uncomfortable Imagery]

I find it a bit cute knowing they start out as crazy and then slowly settle into something calmer and relatively healthier after learning to adapt to each other's lust-turned-love. [Stanley did it first but hey :3]

[sonknuxadow]

sorry i dont really like the shadow is silvers dad theory/headcanon/whatever and part of the reason for it is that people keep presenting it as an actual thing that could be possible even though it makes no sense and all "evidence" people use to back it up is easily disputed

[lunarharp]

wip thing...

of my bg3 avatar hellebore. i also did some casual nude studies of my 3 characters which i'll put under a cut... rather unlike me after all. (so WARNING for abrupt non-sexual full Artistic nudity lol...,,,,) (< won't be making a habit of this)

they mean the world to me

[spotaus]

YEAHHHH!!!!!! >:D

Ancha I am SO glad you liked it because. Ough. I started writing it at like 11 at night and just. Kept going??? I was so so pumped!!!

I'm gonna try and follow where you went with the ideas, gimme a sec-

Okay so, yeah! Nightmare, at this point, views the training has his relax time! Kinda how someone can spend all their time doing work, say writing reports, and still enjoy writing stories in their free time! It still challenges him and interests him, but it's in a way with low stress. His knights can improve inch by inch now that their foundation is stable! And the training room is one of the most secure rooms in the castle, thanks to reinforcing it to withstand magic attacks!

And I really really wanted to take on idea of each of the guy's strengths! You got it perfectly so I'll try not to linger, but I kinda wanted to run off that original idea I had for the Knights knowing eachother and being in sync, but now it's more fitting to their personalities since I've gone into more depth with them! Killer has greatly influenced the others, in the way they fight and the way they act on the battlefield. It's like setting loose a feral animal on all these Knights who are Not Ready for dirty fighting. (Dust was used to diplomatic scuffles gone wrong, usually with the use of enchanted weaponry, Horror just. Did not fight prior to this. Abd Cross, as mentioned, was a muscle-memiry routine combat kinda guy!) And in the same breath, Killer learned from them too! Night might be their mentor, but Killer was committed to being a good influence on them, even if it didn't register to any of them-

A lot of that was also me trying to get a grip on how they'd behave in such a space alone with Night. Killer the most relaxed, Cross the most nervous, etc! And the little banter between them was fun!! (I also was trying to use technique I learned recently so combat reflection was a good opportunity for it, haha!)

One of my favorite bits in the beginning I think was, like you mentioned, Nightmare making sure they left training on a high note! I took the idea from your Q&A drabble actually, when u mentioned Night looking for ways to better keep hold of his knights? Yeah, he ensures to be even more vocal about what he noticed everyone doing well, just so they know! And Cross takes the praise the best visually, but he can tell the others at least seem pleased by it <3

Lastly!!! Yes, the bed-time was meant to be sorta a hint to the incoming turn of events, but it's also just meant to be a cute lil cameo too!! I think a few things never quite left his habits (like, his body getting more tired around Bedtime even though he regularly skipped sleep all together anymore) because. Y'know! Adult body still has Kid Night in there running the show! And because of the weird suspended state of his mind, it left him with odd quirks!

Okay, okay, hearing that you enjoyed the drama bit makes me SO happy, because this time I wanted to go with sonething that felt a bit more Nightmare-accurate. Night was always a quiet kid, a fawn rather than fight or flight, he kept his emotions tight to his chest because so few people cared in the first place. So, when his magic (the thing that made his moves for him, before he could freeze up or downplay or smother his feelings) Leaves? He's exhausted, and confused, and scared, and frankly out of it. He fawns again!

And the magic leaving, this time I wanted it to feel like it was in a moment of lull, no tension, no stakes (aside from a stinky Killer) and no sign for Night that anything was wrong. It all just dipped at once, and as it left his awareness it left him dizzy, disoriented, and!!!! I'm glad that you caught that he couldn't feel anything because the magic refused to work with him anymore!!! So the normal input didn't transfer to him!!! That weird lack of senses was also sort of my excuse to let the Knights start freaking out! Because idk how clear it was (intentionally not very if I did my job right lol-) but when Night's balance starts to screw up, Killer turns around. But it's Night initially who reaches out and grabs his arm, and then Killer has indirect permission to support his weight further and grab hold of him! Night subconsciously reached out to Killer, even if he didn't realize it in the moment. And ofc that's Killer being like 'oh that's not normal'.

And!!! Like in the og drabble, Dust goes on high alert immediately, but this time Cross and Horror hesitate! There's a part that Nightmare misses where Horror expresses worry and suggests he should grab the first aid and take a look, and Killer tells him no. Because Night (in that moment) is unresponsive, and Killer doesn't think Horror coukd help even if he tried. He might make it worse. And Horror tries to press his offer, before Night comes-to again to hear Killer snap at Horror to get Ccino! And like you said, Killer has no idea what's happening, but he's sure if anyone could help it would be Ccino! And in the meantime he just tries to keep Nightmare close, keep him steady. He doesn't like it one bit, but he knows he has to keep watch because Dust doesn't sense/see anyone, and Cross doesn't either as he guards the door!

And, ofc, Killer was horrified to find what was basically a babybones in his arms when all the goop left, but he was also shaken because. Well. That's the Prince from the tapestry. Night doesn't make the connection, but he'd seen images of Nightmare a few times, abd certainly images of his twin, enough to recognize that. Yeah. That's the same guy. And he can't explain it, but since Dust chimes in with magic loss, Killer makes some leaps in judgement. (Also!!! Dust isn't good with magic usually, but Nightmare's was so impressive it was always looming. The moment it was gone he spoke up. He's also OBNOXIOUSLY familiar with symptoms of magic loss. For. Obvious reasons 🙏)

Nightmare, in his fawning, couldn't decide whether the voice in his head reminding him that these Knights were kind, loyal souls was right, or if the instincts telling him to get away NOW were winning. He compromised in the firm of 'can't really move anyways so I'll sit here and be scared'.

And!!!!! I'm glad u liked Killer telling Cross to hold onto the magic! Killer's smart, and a fast thinker, and Cross was the nearest thing with any chance if keeping his king from??? Melting??? And to Cross' credit he DID grab it! He did great! (He feels awful about it after because from what *he* saw, it didn't help. It did! He just doesn't know!)

And. Ccino's piece in this was probably the part I was least certain on. Because Ccino assumed the Knights somehow set Nightmare into one of his worse episodes. Or, worse, he worried Night accidentally hurt one of the Knights and panicked. Horror was pretty vague about why he needed to hurry. And Ccino gets there and- well.

He hasn't seen that little skull in seven years, and it's got a big crack, and it's trembling, and one big eyelight is looking up at him. Nightmare was always his little brother, and yet all at once his instincts kicked back in. This was no powerful bomb waiting to be nudged just too far before exploding, not some otherworldly tyrant. This was his Nighty, somehow back to the way he was the day he protected his twin and swore into the prophecy. This was HIS Nighty.

So, for the first time in a while he drops pretenses. There's no effort to hide him away, Ccino knows well enough that trying to remove Nightmare from the Knight's vision right now would possibly get them both in hot water. So he does what he can, throws open his arms, and coddled his little brother tightly. So, so tightly. He has no idea how, or why, and obviously it's the same Night who'd spent the morning writing laws, but it was so surreal that he just had to get him close!!!!!

And Night, yeah, he just feels safe with Ccino, and irrational mind running off of a huge magic-drop? He deemed Ccino's arms a perfect place to shed some tears and then pass out-

If I had to do a follow-up it'd definitely be either a Ccino or Killer chapter following either the moment Night is free of the goop (Killer) or the moment he enters the training room (Ccino) and then the conversational aftermath! (I also think they move the whole party to Nightmare's room eventually, and somewhere along the line Dust brings up that lighter foods might help-) just lil silly details haha! But it's basically a force of nature making the Knights and Ccino agree to a pact of sorts just to agree to help Nightmare. He's still the king. He's just... young now. Again.

Okay I got a lil wild but- I'm just so so happy you enjoyed it!!! A healthy balance if shenanigans for the boys, panic for Nightmare, and an unexpected surprise for Ccino!!!!

New Age AU (The Magic Retreats)

Hi guys!!! So, I wrote this one in a fit of passion, but here's a brief take 2 on the most important chapter of the fic and the first one I posted! (In which Night becomes Tiny again :] ) As always this drabble is unedited and un-checked so uhh. Good luck!

(HI @ancha-aus , @papiliovolens , and @mutzelputz welcome back!)

   The days felt like they were growing longer again. Maybe it was the change of the seasons, or the workload ramping up again making his nights bleed into his mornings. No matter the case, Nightmare was lucky to have moments of rest from his endless piles of debts and taxes and laws and requests that were strewn all about his office. They were nice, neat, piles now, but they seemed to be an endless cycle. He'd solve one problem and it would result in a new report of catastrophe somewhere else.

   Often, he wondered whether it was that his Mother's ruling style had truly worked, or if she'd ignored it. After all, she'd been a God amongst mortals, why would she care for a few challenged livelihoods amidst her paradise?

   The sharp clash of metal on magic drew Nightmare's attention back to the present. Against all odds, he'd managed to convince Cross to start training his sword again. When Cross had first started getting lessons to properly control his magic, harnessing even whisps of Nightmare's own spells on occasion, he'd quickly neglected his physical training. Over the last few weeks, Nightmare had voiced his worry that Cross might find himself up against another foe like Dust. One who he couldn't simply control. He needed to re-learn his old battle tactics. Only then, he'd promised, they would move on to harnessing both at once.

   So, now, he was sparring against Horror in the training room. Nightmare sat off to the side on the benches, Dust and Killer on either side of him watching intently. Two of his tendrils hovered readily before him, ready to pounce to intercept any wayward attacks or truly dangerous intent, though he trusted his Knight to not put his newest comrade in any real danger. The other two tendrils lay lax behind the bench, curling comfortably beneath where his other Knights sat at his sides.

   These were the sorts of daily distractions he enjoyed. Which pulled him away from the stress of the papers and the outside world. He could focus solely on his charges and how best to help them. They helped him so often, he just wanted to return the favor.

   His eyelight followed the movements, as Horror stayed more or less right on Cross's tail. His axe swung slower than normal, and it was obvious he was taking the training seriously without giving Cross a heart-attack from the force of his normal blows. It wasn't often Nightmare allowed them to pair up precisely because of that. Horror had no magic for Cross to control, none that would help him at least. Meanwhile, Horror's brute strength could snap Cross like a twig if something were to go slightly awry.

   A swing of the axe, Cross's longsword cracking against the handle as he blocked. A push-off, sending Cross back a few steps before he swung. Missed. The axe was on him again, this time towards his side. Cross jumped over it, swung his sword. Missed again. The axe came in again, from above. A narrow block, one which forced Cross to his knee, before Horror let up.

   Horror was simply a marvel of physical combat. He hadn't been a good fighter when Nightmare met him, but he'd learned very quickly. From watching the guards, from listening to Nightmare. Though, Nightmare was almost positive Killer had actually been his biggest influence. Killer, the cockpit, single Knight at that time. He'd taken Dust under his supervision at the time, practically heading the dismantling of the crime rings Dust knew so well all on his own. Meanwhile, Nightmare was working with Horror to understand how to fix the farming situation across the kingdom. Once things settled, and Nightmare expressed interest in having Horror stick around, it was Killer who showed off in combat training. Horror spun off his feet and pushed off his hands in the way expected of a much smaller, leaner, monster. Very similar to how Killer fought when he was playing around.

   It was evidently too unfamiliar for Cross. He'd been taught formal swordplay, but here in this kingdom? That was about as useful as playing with a slingshot and trying to operate a trebuchet. It seemed similar, but it could only get one so far.

   Cross had been steadily improving, of course. Just a year or so ago, Cross had been besting all the rest of the royal guard out on the training field. But placed against Killer, the best of the best at practical combat, no holds bar? He'd fumbled. Now, Nightmare knew Cross could hold his own against his proudest Knight. That meant a lot in such a short time. Pride filled his chest at the thought, as he watched the two of them clash again and again.

   He knew his time was running short for today. He'd had Dust and Killer work on their team-building and attack him earlier on in training while Cross and Horror were warming up. As he already knew, they were chatty, but very efficient in their coordination.

   "On your left!" Killer would call out. Dust would simply duck as Killer instead vaulted over his head as though emerging from the shorter Knight's shadow, knife in hand, glowing red with energy.

   Killer's use of deceptive verbal cues was a talent he'd come up with all his own. Nightmare remembered him pestering Dust over it every dinner for a week after he'd first thought of it. Dust had seemed annoyed at first, but Nightmare could tell after the first session of them trying it out, against him? He'd been unaware, and if his magic didn't work separate from his mind on occasion, they would have gotten him in the first two minutes.

   They'd used it again earlier, and even after several years it still kept Nightmare on his toes. He figured that was why he felt tired as he watched the two locked in mock battle before him. The cognitive challenges did tend to make his socket heavy with sleep. And he hated to admit it, but he always knew about when to end their afternoon trainings, because it lined up with when his mind would start to lag. Even years later, his body still seemed to respond to the familiar draw of a long-discarded bed time.

   He'd let them exchange a few more blows, before calling it off and ushering them all off to clean up before dinner. Even if he knew only Cross and Dust would go wash up. Horror would go change out of his training gear into clean clothes, he hated to look messy at the dinner table, abd Killer would simply stick to his side like glue.

   It never was a point of complaint, he appreciated the commitment, but sometimes he really did wish he'd at least take a moment to swap clothes. Sometimes he tracked all sorts of dirt and scraps of magic out of the training room and into the halls.

   Mm. The clashing seemed to have reached a rhythm. That meant Cross had gotten familiar with Horror's movement patterns again. It never lasted long, Horror was very adaptable, but it did mean that Cross would be locked into the stalemate now, or it'd be an easy defeat for Horror. Better to call it now and send them off with a bit of praise. They never ceased to impress him, they'd all grown so much.

   "Alright, end the match." he called. It didn't take hardly a moment for the order to register after his voice carried to the two monsters.

   Cross was the first to pull away, with Horror letting his swing fall short and his Axe's momentum swing up and into the air. He caught the grip and almost immediately stuffed it back into its own holster along his back. Cross sheathed his sword, and while a bit out of breath, he still grinned triumphantly and bowed amicably to Horror. Horror returned it with a nod. Their little ritual.

   "Wonderful work today, all of you." Nightmare announced, his front two tendrils slinking back to his sides as they no longer had danger to be hyper aware of. To defend against. "Tomorrow, I want to see you two spar again, I believe you are making great leaps in progress, Cross. Dust will provide you both with terrain obstacles in the form of erratic magic attacks to simulate a more turbulent battle field and provide Horror with more opportunity to practice dodging." The suggestion seemed well-recieved, and Nightmare let his good eyelight turn to Killer, who sat grinning beside him. "Killer, you and I will be doing more endurance training for your magic."

   "Looking forward to it, my Lord," Killer replied.

   That made Nightmare chuckle a bit. Once upon a time, Killer would tense up at the premise of magic training. Then, as he grew bolder, groan at the mention. He was not proficient in the sort of magic Cross, Dust, or he himself relied on, but his preferred weapon was a knife or two summoned by his own soul. Since it was magic, Nightmare insisted he learn to better sustain and alter it rather than letting it atrophy in the wake of his extensive physical training. Now, seeing him grin lazily at the idea, not a worry weighing on his soul? It made Nightmare feel a lot more justified in making the rambunctious Knight do the more "boring" practical training.

   "If we understand what to expect for the afternoon tomorrow, then you are dismissed. I will see you all at dinner," he declared. Humor filled his chest at the warmth which rolled off his knights at the mention of food. Dinner was always cooked by Ccino, and Ccino was the best cook. Nightmare would know.

   He watched as Cross gave a little salute before he turned on his heel to begin to follow Horror's lumbering gait towards the heavy doors separating this room from the hall. The newest Knight's voice was quiet, but excitable as he started to reflect on his techniques to Horror. He always debriefed after a training.

   Beside him, Dust swung forward off the bench and landed silently, already moving to follow the other two. His body-language always seemed disgruntled, and his expression was hidden under his darkened hood, but Nightmare knew he was pleased with his work tonight. Content with what he had accomplished.

   "Cross is gettin' a lot faster." Killer's voice was calm beside him, and Nightmare followed the other's hollow gaze to where the other three were discarding their gear, hanging it up on the racks near the door where they always stored the supplies.

   Four spaces, one for each knight. Killer had gouged his name into the wooden base of his own years ago.

   "I agree." Nightmare let one of his tendrils wrap at the ground around a leg of the bench. "It helps that he is eager and willing to improve on his skills. And that he has others to lean on as he continues to learn."

   Killer's scoff quickly devolved into a laugh at the thinly veiled praise. It wasn't unusual of him to slip it into conversation. A quick, gentle nudge of praise. Acknowledgement and appreciation. Killer had heard to most of it, and Nightmare often worried he'd find it insincere.

   As far as he knew, he never did.

   "You should go put up your armor as well." Nightmare suggested, nudging at Killer's back with a tendril.

  

   "Yes, sir." Killer chimed, the sharpness of his laughter still on his tongue.

   Nightmare rose simply, and Killer pushed off the bench with a quick hop. His feet planted, and Nightmare waited for him to take a step towards where the others were before moving to follow. It felt right, to see them all in one spot. Relaxed.

   He moved to follow Killer's quick steps, only... All at once his vision seemed to double, and he halted himself. He could feel his tendrils lash out, moving to stabilize him against the floor of the training room. He still stood upright, just barely, but it seemed all his balance had left him. Instinctively, in a fit of habit, he shut his good socket and took a moment. The swaying feeling he was gripped by, even after a deep breath an counting to five, did not fade. The darkness which usually seemed to calm him only seemed to make the swaying worse. He could not tell if the motion was coming from him, or I the ground beneath him was shifting like the deck of a boat. Without his vision he couldn't orient up versus down, let alone find his stability again.

   Opening his good socket provided him with orientation, though his vision still danced and swirled. He was looking down, down towards the brick ground, from the space behind his palm. When did he place his hand to his socket? The view included his legs, which he recognized now were shaking, and his tendrils which were trying to hold him in place.

   And...

   He jolted at the contact he could see but hadn't felt in the slightest. He skull reeled up so that he could see who had touched him. One hand on his elbow. The other- when did he grab Killer's arm? When had Killer turned around to look at him? Why was Killer looking at him like that?

   It was Killer, who had ahold of him, though he couldn't feel the Knight's touch, and he couldn't tell if he was gripping the other's arm at all. Though he was, he could see it.

   His vision warped again with the quick movement. A desperate bid to look past Killer. Was there a threat? The blurry form of Dust shot past him, he thought. Horror and Cross still seemed to be by the door.

   The ceiling. Why was he looking at the ceiling? No, wait, the floor now. It grew closer, in the space between himself and Killer, as the opening for him to see it grew smaller. Then he couldn't see it at all, his vision replaced swiftly by- training gear. The leather smell invaded his senses as the rest failed him. He couldn't feel Killer, though he knew the knight was near to him. That, as far as he could tell, Killer had caught him. That he'd sunken to the ground under his own weight.

   Why?

   His socket wasn't being helpful. It seemed, from what he saw, that his tendrils were trying to melt away as they moved errantly to slap onto Killer's back or the ground beyond. Surely that wasn't right? His tendrils had never wavered. He shut his socket again, letting his skull sink into the training armor again.

   It didn't occur to him for a few moments, that he couldn't hear his knights, until he suddenly could.

   The voices were loud and grating, breaking his wobbling darkness once again as he tried to force his socket back open. What was wrong with him?

   "Horror, I said go get Ccino! Now!" Killer. He'd know that voice anywhere, though he didn't like the angry tone. Like fire spitting from his tongue seemingly right above Nightmare's skull. "This isn't some sort of test, I- I don't know what this is. It can't be good."

   Nightmare tried to reach out. Not physically, it felt he still couldn't control his limbs. No, he tried to sense. Did the others know what was wrong with him? Was the rising panic in his chest originating from his own emotions or theirs? Had... had one of them done something?

   No, it wasn't them.

   "Shit." Somewhere behind him, he heard Dust's voice hiss. "His magic levels are dropping. And fast."

   For a second, Nightmare was stunned. What did he mean his magic levels were dropping? Though, it made sense. Somewhere deep in his chest he could feel it, the swaying motion as his magic tried to peel away from his bones. He-

   "What do you-" Killer still sounded frustrated, and he too spat an expletive a moment later.

   Nightmare, for the briefest moment, thought he felt touch again against his skull. He let his blurry socket fall closed again, the vision only worsening as his magic rocked with unseen waves of revulsion.

   "Cross, try to grab his magic," Killer ordered.

   The familiar splattering of the young Night would've been comforting, if the suggestion didn't fill him with dread. Killer knew better than that. They'd agreed Cross could only touch on controlling his magic. Nothing more. It was too vast.

   "W-what! I- I shouldn't-" Cross attempted to stammer a defense, but Killer was quicker with words. Always had been.

   "Just try. Now. Hold it in place and see if it stablizes." The command was a lot more controlled than the previous one, but his tone was leaving no room for error. "When the King and Ccino are unavailable, I'm in charge. Listen to me."

   Nightmare had never heard Killer take charge in such a way before, and in his haze he might've written it off as a product of his imagination. All of this being some sort of weird hallucination. But he felt the invasive force of Cross' magic snake over his bones.

   He'd felt it before, a sort of blanket or hand-hold aimed at the ends if his tendrils which could make them twitch a bit with Cross's own will. This time he felt it creep up the length of his spine and dig unseen claws into his shoulder blades. He could feel it, just like he could now feel Killer's chin and shoulder, where his skull had been tucked. He could feel the hand supporting his back, the other his side. He felt limp as the forceful magic washed over him.

   Nightmare gagged.

   Cross's magic caught on something, like a hook finding the fish, and for a brief few moments, Nightmare felt like he had a ball of gunk in his non-existant gut. Something heavy and feral, trying to escape.

   For just a moment, he regained a breath of awareness. He felt his Knight supporting his weight, he felt the nakedness of his back where his tendrils had completely abandoned him, he felt the emotions of the three still with him. Fear. Confusion. Anger. He didn't like it much. He still couldn't move his limbs.

   And just as quickly as it was stable, the hold on the wild magic slipped away. Like the fish had broken the string.

   It flowed up, like the force of a dam finally released. Through his ribcage, past his shoulders where Cross's magic seemed to dissipate all at once, into his mouth.

   Nightmare regained some semblance of control over his body at that moment. As the magic seemed to rush towards freedom. He shoved away from Killer all at once, the chill of the stone hitting his palms heavily and his socket opening if only to watch as he lost it. That dark, thick, sticky magic that had marked him as a bad omen. That had gifted him the power to rule in place of his twin. Protect those he loved.

    It spilled to the stone before him, and he was stunned to watched that, as he heaved suddenly labored breaths, it sunk away. Disappeared. Just like that, instead of his familiar darkness, the protective shield, the instinctive defense he had grown to know, he was staring at the floor. And the space in which his wobbling arms hid under too-big sleeves, and from the cuffs escaped perfect, pearly-white bone. Bone he could never seem to reach no matter how hard he scrubbed with water and soap. Bones that seemed so frail in the torchlight.

   "My king?"

   Nightmare let his eyelight raise from the ground. It wasn't as wobbly anymore, his vision slowly coming back to normal. He still took his time trailing from the ground, to look at Killer's pants. He was on his knees, hardly an arm's length away. Then the edges of his chestplate. His arms were outstretched, hovering barely away from touching Nightmare. He shook at the closeness, but didn't dare try to move. Killer's soul was wobbling. Nightmare's boww furrowed at the sight. It was very small, but he'd always notice the little changes and moves. Though, he noticed an absence of something at the back of his skull as he stared. Something missing.

   Killer's face was last. He looked serious, his dark sockets not a new sight, but Nightmare hardly saw Killer so serious. He'd seen the look before. Usually when he'd see someone bothering Ccino. It had always been brief, quickly disguised under his patented sadistic grin. Killer just watched him now. As though he was sone glass sculpture ready to tip off the end of the table.

   He hated, as he stared, that he couldn't- he could feel-

   He tried to shift, to whip his head to look for the knight he knew should've been behind him. And he was right, of course. A glimpse of Dust's shadowed skull and tense body-language told Night he was on high-alert, but Nightmare hadn't been able to feel him. Hadn't sensed his presence at all. No emotions, no aura, no nothing.

  

   "Woah, steady!" Killer yelped as Nightmare felt himself tilt.

   Looking up at Dust had disoriented him. The weight distribution was different now. His body listed to the side, and he flinched when arms wrapped around at his sides and tugged his upper half onto soft fabric. Killer's legs. Killer had caught him.

   "My king, Nightmare, it's you, right?" He sounded the same. Something told Nightmare he was uncertain.

   "Y-" His attempt to speak was short-lived. His voice wasn't right. It was high-pitched and raw. All the rumble and low tones entirely missing. He couldn't be sure if he stopped on account of keeping his pride alive, or if he feared speaking in a voice he hadn't heard in years.

   It didn't help that he couldn't feel them. No matter how much he tried, the only feeling in his chest was his own solitary anxiety. Balling up tighter and tighter, an old friend come home again. If he could tell what they were thinking- if he could know if he was safe...

   He bit back his panic, holding in the weakness which was threatening to give him away. Though, what else was there to give? If he was right, then the prophecy had finally rejected him. Left him as an offering to a pack of wolves.

   Nightmare knew he was shaking, but some irrational part of him thought that if he kept his socket shut that this would all be some absurd night terror and he'd wake up cozy in his bed, or exhausted at his desk, or maybe passed out on the floor. Somewhere else. Anywhere else.

  

   "What's wrong?" That voice was deeply familiar, and all at once Nightmare felt like he had a surge of strength. "Why did Horror rush me back here? Where is our King?" It was Ccino. He sounded more frustrated than anything else, but he didn't need to feel his emotions to know the rise to his tone. The worry buried there.

   "We finished training and everything was fine," Killer explained, tone as even as he could muster, "But when we were on our way out, he just collapsed."

   Nightmare pitied him, having to tell Ccino any sort of bad news. Nightmare didn't think as he attempted again to shove himself up. If only to catch a glimpse of Ccino.

   As he peered barely over Killer's shoulder, he saw what the others did. Ccino had some sort if flour or wheat all down the front of his nice apron, and a few streaks along the thighs of hid pants from where he'd probably wiped his hands along the way. His expression was a mix of concern and fury that set Nightmare's soul into a pretzel-twist of regret, and his eyelights scanned the room as he rapidly approached Killer. Obviously looking for answers.

   Only, Ccino arrived to Killer's side, and his growing rage seemed to stop all at once, alongside his steps. He stared down at Nightmare with wide eyes. Nightmare stared up at him wearily. The king's sockets were beginning to water. Ccino's expression, the way his balled fists twitched and relaxed, the way he seemed to lose all the tension I'm his body, just getting a glimpse at him. Ccino recognized his face, no doubt about it.

   "Nightmare?" Ccino's voice was small.

   Nightmare fumbled a bit as he tried to launch away from Killer. Having Ccino so close to him simply... broke whatever had been holding back the emotional damage within. It didn't help in the slightest when Ccino crouched and immediately tugged him away from Killer and into a gentle bear-hug there on the floor.

   For the first time, in a very long time, he found that the welling of tears in his sockets didn't result in dark, tarlike, goop that fell in chunks down his skull. This time the tears were real, a transparent lilac which raced down his cheeks abd planted themselves against the fabric of Ccino's tunic and apron. He wasn't wearing his fur, he was smart like that.

   Ccino's arms wrapped around his back like they always did, and Nightmare felt himself slipping. Ccino was safe. He had always been safe.

   Nightmare didn't have time to begin sobbing as he had expected, or to even begin to hyperventilate into Ccino's shirt or curl into a ball against his chest. The moment Ccino nuzzled the side of his skull, his vision went blurry again.

   At the tightening of Ccino's grip, he heard Dust's voice again. "Magic-loss. A lot of it." Faintly rolled into his mind like a distance voice two doors over. He didn't quite catch when Killer started to speak again, or Ccino worriedly said his name. Dust was right, the magic was gone. Out of nowhere. It was a lot for his little body to handle.

[bearenjoyers]

sorry im just thinking about bcs but like. why not add a few smaller scenes of gus interacting with his own men? why does it seem like, in comparison, mike is almost immediately elevated to a higher status than those two in bcs purely because we actually get to see him having normal conversations with gus? like i understand they might not keep the plot moving as well because of the fact obviously if victor is currently doing something it’s because gus told him to etc. but for the most part all of the smaller interactions gus does have with those two ends up being in a somewhat high stress situation where it feels very tense between everyone. and it’s just like damn! is it always like that?? why do those two even care that much about their jobs if their boss is a bit of a dick? etc. i think even an additional scene or two with those guys (either alone or the both of them) talking with gus in a more normal situation could’ve both added a bit more depth into how gus treats his employees (we got a lot with how he treats lyle and co., but not a whole lot with the illegal side of things), how comfortable vic and tyrus feel around him in a calmer setting, and exactly why they both feel the need to be as loyal as they are to the guy.

and also on the other side of this i don't think it'd hurt to maybe elaborate on their pay just a bit..? i'm not saying to randomly put a number out into the atmosphere but i just mean some smaller things like. do they buy nicer things for themselves? what's their housing situation? what's their car situation? are the escalade / yukon their own vehicles or does gus just use those two for business situations? do they use them when they're doing their own stuff off the clock or do they have their own cars? etc. that can also help with understanding their motivations a bit. don't get me wrong i don't think they should be visibly rich or something because that's not what gus would want but just smaller things! cause it's easy to write their loyalty off as Well they probably get paid super well, which i'm sure is true, but if they don't show a single hint of that then what's the point. even something as simple as giving tyrus a nice watch, or maybe victor having a nicer looking gun, etc. something small like that. because as it stands right now the average 41 year old viewer who watched the show once only knows and will only ever know victor and tyrus as those two guys in the background who do random stuff for gus with no clear motivation. just the personification of "On it boss (salute emoji)". and to be honest this is true for a whole lot of fans who do watch the show multiple times and enjoy thinking about it more in depth, because on screen we barely have anything about the two.

and to be clear i'm not trying to say we should have an episode just for them or something like no i understand they're side characters. i understand we don't need all that. and i understand this is also primarily Jimmy's show. but it's not like these two are on the same level as like, arlo or paige and kevin etc. these guys have been around since brba. victor was literally introduced in the same episode gus was. and they are a huge part of gus's story, especially in brba. s4 wouldn't have been what it was without victor and tyrus. and in bcs, ignacio's situation wouldn't have been the same if it weren't for victor and tyrus as well. and i just personally believe that if their goal with gus in bcs was to go back and elaborate on how everything came to be and show what he was like a few years younger, they could've dragged victor and tyrus into that. and i think his character would've benefited from taking that extra step with those two.

[dairyfreenugget]

(Going insane boinkinh one AU in my head)

Hey hey hey

May I interest you in

(Slowly slides my FaaF AU towards you but void just Disappears without a trace one day before the accolade)

Teehee

[tevatron]

i'm so glad i won't be working with my pi after this month. i think i've reached my limit. i just can't deal with her anymore

[hella1975]

worked four sections today bc we were so understaffed. i had 20 tables. a normal section is about 5/6 tables. the way i didn't maul anyone will go down in the guiness book of world records as strongest silly guy alive

[mutalune]

hey siri how do I stop feeling gutwrenchingly anxious in the guilt way for using the treatment methods available to me to not be in constant misery