#but still i think it needs some preparation beforehand if at all possible

[wild-at-mind]

Also now I'm feeling really shit about not getting to anything for trans day of remembrance this year.

[monzabee]

prison for life - mv1

masterlist ||

Summary: The one where if anybody hurts you, Max is going to prison for life.

Pairing: max verstappen x pregnant!reader 

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: fluff, pregnancy, mentions of throwing up, cursing, kinda angsty in some places, jos verstappen

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! i’ve been in such a max mood recently that is actually shocking to me, but i just needed some fluffy anything after working on smutty pieces for weeks. i got this idea in my dream and honestly i think it turned out better than i could’ve imagined!! feedback is always appreciated, and my requests are currently open if you want to check that out, i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

If you would have to choose a word to describe Max, it would be ‘overprotective’, because that’s what he is. It’s not a bad thing, per say. He isn’t overbearing or controlling at all, but he is simply overprotective. And if you thought he was overprotective when the two of you were dating or when you first got married, you have to admit that you were not, at all, prepared for his protectiveness when you told him that you were pregnant. Apart from his initial meltdown over becoming a dad, or rather becoming like his own father, Max has been pretty chill about the whole thing – with the exception being your safety, of course. The underlying problem isn’t the fact that you’re some sort of daredevil because you’re not, the problem is the fact that Max believes that everything is out to get you. 

The olives you wanted to eat for breakfast? Choking hazard.  

The candles you bought for the living room (to be purely decorative, but still)? Fire hazard.  

The pool lounger Victoria thought would be a cute addition to the pool? Drowning hazard.  

The seatbelt in his car that is surprisingly tight? Could be all three, according to Max, given the right (or wrong) circumstances.  

So, yeah, maybe he wasn’t that scared of becoming a dad, but he was surely scared of you being in danger. That’s why you agreed to stay back for the most races this year – you knew he didn’t need to worry about you or your baby’s safety on top of the stress he had to deal with during the usual racing weekend. That was until you realised how much you would miss your boyfriend after almost a month of not seeing him due to a triple header. And so, you did the thing any person with a common sense would do – flying out to see him without telling him beforehand, because what’s the fun in that?  

The sheer look of shock on his face might be the funniest thing you’ve ever seen when you meet him in his driver’s room, but of course Max doesn’t share the same sentiment as you. Because all he chooses to focus is the fact that you were on a plane – a 0.23% risk out of very 7.7 million flights each year, but still. He spends at least half an hour, just checking you over and assuring himself that you and the baby are fine; at some point he decides that you need to go to the nearest hospital to get an ultrasound just to make sure the baby is okay, but you tell him to fuck off and calm his tits down in the kindest way possible. And that’s how the two of you end up on the small couch in his driver’s room, with his arms around you as you lay between his legs, his hands splayed on the swell of your stomach as he caresses the skin through the fabric of your dress. His voice is low as he tells you about his day, mostly media duties since it is only Thursday, and how he thinks putting a cat tree in the nursery is a bad idea (that was your idea initially, but you can see how having two rumbunctious cats hang out in the nursery could cause problems). 

“I also thought about something else,” he mumbles, suddenly busying himself with the flower pattern of your dress instead of looking at you.  

You raise your brows slightly, motioning him to continue, but let out a huff when he doesn’t do so right away. “Come on,” you whine softly, “tell me what it is Maxie.”  

“I don’t want him to get into karting.” His words are soft, mumbled, and most definitely final. You know how Max can be when he puts his mind into it, and this particular topic has been a discussion in your household ever since the two of you found out that you were having a boy. “I don’t want him to go through what I went through.” 

Letting out a soft exhale, you motion Max to six next to you on the couch. “He won’t,” you assure him, voice soft as you give pleading looks at him, “you’re not your father, Max.” He gives you a look that basically begs for you to not dwell on the topic, but you continue despite the look he gives you, “And what if he wants to get into karting? Are you going to tell him no?” 

Max tries his best to ignore the knowing look you give him, knowing very well that he won’t be able to ever say ‘no’ to his son, who already has him wrapped around his finger. “I might do that, you never know.” He grumbles, hiding his face in your hair – though the soft giggles coming from you manages to put a soft smile on his face. “You’re supposed to agree with me, you know, we have to be a united front.”   

“We’ll discuss it when the baby comes, until then, I’ll be the voice of reason.” You emphasise, poking him at his bicep to convey your point. “You feel better now?” 

“Kinda,” he murmurs, leaving small kisses onto the exposed skin of your shoulder as he keeps on murmuring against your skin, “I would feel better if I knew you stayed in bed all day, relaxing.” 

With that, you choke a loud laugh, and motion him to stand up as you try to do it yourself – though, of course, he has to help with the baby bump being in the way of you doing any sort of physical activity. “You’re funny, let’s go get me ice cream.”  

The only response you get back is a confused look from your husband, his head tilted to the side as he eyes you warily. “What does that have to do with anything?” 

“Um, excuse me?” You raise an eyebrow, “Your son,” pointing to your stomach, you emphasise your words, “is craving ice cream right now.”  

Max’s eyes soften instantly, and a smile creeps across his face. He nods, taking your hand gently as he helps you up. “Well, if my son wants ice cream, then ice cream he shall have.” 

You giggle as you both make your way out of the driver’s room, Max's hand never leaving yours. The paddock is bustling with activity, but for a moment, it feels like it's just the two of you, cocooned in your little world. As you approach the nearest concession stand, Max’s protective instincts kick in once again. “Is this ice cream stand safe? How long have they been here? Do they have the proper health certifications?” 

You roll your eyes playfully. “Max, it’s ice cream, not a five-course meal. I’m sure it’s fine.” He sighs but nods, deciding to trust your judgment. After all, you did manage to fly all the way here without incident and somehow alerting him. You both get a generous serving of your favourite flavours, and as you sit down to enjoy your treat, you feel a sense of normalcy and contentment wash over you. 

Max watches you with a tender expression, his eyes filled with a mixture of love and worry. “I know I can be overprotective,” he says softly, reaching out to brush a stray hair from your face, “but it’s only because I love you so much.” 

You smile, leaning into his touch. “I know, Max. And I love you too. But sometimes, you need to trust that everything will be okay. We’ll figure things out together, just like we always do.” 

He nods, his gaze shifting to your belly. “You’re right. I guess I need to talk to my mom.”  

“Why?” You ask, tilting your head to the side in curiosity.  

“Well, she promised me she’d look after you but you’re here, so I think we need to have a talk about not keeping secrets from each other.” He mumbles, dragging a hand down his face. 

You laugh, nudging him playfully. “Oh, Maxie, who do you think helped me with my bags at the airport? Your mom is unsurprisingly a strong woman.” 

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. “I should’ve known better than to think you’d stay put for a whole month.” He sighs, but there’s a smile playing on his lips. “Alright, but next time, at least let me know you’re planning something. My heart can only take so much.” 

Max feels a lot better after tricking you with ice-cream into at least staying put withing the Red Bull hospitality for the day as he gets through his media duties. Max feels a lot better after tricking you with ice cream into at least staying put within the Red Bull hospitality for the day as he gets through his media duties. He periodically checks in, making sure you're comfortable and well-fed. Each time he sneaks a glance your way, you catch him with a knowing smile and a roll of your eyes, and he returns it with a wink. He knows that there is absolutely no reason for him to be checking on you as much as he does, because you’ll be fine in the cool hospitality suite with enough water to keep you hydrated for years, but he can’t help but worry about anything and everything going wrong. And his worries prove to be true when he sees the one person who he definitely doesn’t want around you.  

“What are you doing here?” He asks the approaching figure, “I thought you were not going to be coming to this race but the next one.”  

“Given the drop in your performance in the last few races I thought I should be here for... support.” His dad supplies, eyes finding you behind his son’s back on one of the couches in the hospitality, “And I can see the reason for why you’ve been distracted lately, what is she doing here?”  

Max scoffs, crossing his arms on his chest protectively, “She’s my wife, she is more than welcome to be here.” 

“She’s also a distraction, Max,” his father points out, “you’re going to lose your focus if you keep–” 

Since Max is faster than his father where it matters the most, he cuts him off before he can say anything further. “Leave, I don’t want you here.” 

Max’s father looks taken aback, his eyes widening momentarily before they narrow into a scowl. “Excuse me?” he says, his voice low and dangerous. 

“You heard me,” Max replies firmly, his stance unwavering. “I don’t want you here if you’re going to criticize my wife and stress me out, or worse, stress her out.” 

“You’re being irrational,” his father argues, taking a step closer. “I’m just trying to help you stay focused.” Seeing that his son is not going to back down anytime soon, he points a threatening finger towards him. “I’ll be back on race day, but you better be ready to put in a winning performance,” his father finishes, his voice laced with finality. He turns on his heel and walks away, leaving a tense silence in his wake. 

Max sighs deeply, running a hand through his hair as he watches his father disappear into the crowd. Looking back at you over his shoulder, talking to some interns from the social media team, he can’t help but feel the dread of you having to face his father – which gives him another reason to somehow stop the two of you from running into each other during the weekend.  

On Friday, Max’s luck decides to do him a favour as you tell him that you’re not feeling well enough to go to the track with him for the qualifying, and though it is true that he wants you to be with him, he also realises that this will give him one less thing to worry about. He knows how stressful it can be for you to navigate the bustling paddock and deal with the crowds, especially with the added pressure of possibly encountering his father. 

“You rest up, okay?” he says, his voice full of concern. “I'll be back as soon as I can. If you need anything, just call me.” 

You nod, giving him a reassuring smile. “I will, Max. Good luck today. We'll be cheering you on from here.” 

Max leans down to kiss your forehead gently as he mumbles into your skin, “I love you.”  

“I love you too,” you reply, your voice soft and comforting, “be careful out there, okay?” 

Max has one goal throughout qualifying, and to his team principal’s dismay, it is not being on pole. His one and only goal is to get the session done with as quickly as possible and get back to you as soon as he can. After the session ends, he barely waits for the car to come to a stop before jumping out and heading straight for the hospitality suite. His team notices his urgency but knows better than to question it once he tells them he’ll pay whatever fine the FIA will give him for missing his interviews. 

Bursting through the door, Max finds you resting comfortably on the couch, a cup of tea in your hands. The sight of you immediately calms his racing heart. “Hey,” he says softly, walking over to sit beside you. “How are you feeling?” 

You smile up at him, still in his team gear and the hat he almost never takes off, the warmth in your eyes easing his worries. “Better, now that you're here. How did it go?” 

“Starting on pole,” he replies, mostly in a mumble, taking your hand in his. “But all I could think about was getting back to both of you.” 

You squeeze his hand, your expression tender. “I'm proud of you, Max. You did great.” 

He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “Thanks. Let's just relax for the rest of the day, hm? I want to hold you to make sure you’re not getting out of this bed until tomorrow.” 

“You know, I would be happier about this proposal if it was until different circumstances,” you sigh, earning a laugh from him as he pulls you towards his chest, being careful not to spill your tea, of course. Why? Because it is a safety hazard, of course. 

As you settle back into the bed together, Max feels a sense of relief wash over him. The stress of the day melts away in your presence, and he realizes how much he needs these quiet moments with you to forget all about the outside world and focus his energy on what actually matters instead. 

The next day, feeling much better, you prepare to join Max at the track for the race. He’s still concerned but reassured by your determination to support him. As you arrive at the paddock together, Max is more attentive than ever, keeping an eye out for his father in hopes of trying to prevent the two of you running into each other. Navigating through the bustling paddock, Max keeps a protective arm around your waist, and a hand on your bump whenever the two of you stand somewhere talking to someone, guiding you through the throngs of people. His eyes constantly scan the crowd, his jaw set in a determined line. The other drivers and team members greet you warmly, and you return their smiles, feeling the anticipation that surrounds you. 

“Max, relax a bit,” you whisper, squeezing his hand as you notice the tension in his posture. 

He glances down at you, his expression softening slightly. “I just want to make sure everything’s okay.” 

“I know,” you reply, reaching up to stroke his cheek, “but we’re here to enjoy the race and support you. Try to focus on that.” 

He nods, taking a deep breath as both of you make your way to the Red Bull hospitality area. The team welcomes you with open arms, and you settle into a comfortable spot where you can watch the preparations for the race. He asks one of the interns to keep an eye on you, which he thought he was being sly whilst doing it, but you of course catch him in the corner of your eye. That’s when you realise the man walking towards him, your eyes meeting in nothing short of disdain for each other.  

You stiffen slightly, your hand tightening around Max’s hand as he turns just in time to see his father approaching, his protective instincts kicking into high gear as he lets go of your hand and decides to wrap his arm around you protectively instead. 

“Max,” Jos says, his tone neutral but carrying an underlying condescension. “We need to talk before your race begins, walk with me.” 

Max's grip tightens around you for a moment before he reluctantly loosens his hold. “What is it, Dad?” he asks, his voice steady but tinged with irritation. 

Jos's eyes flicker to you before focusing back on Max. “I wanted to discuss strategy, but I can see this isn't a good time.” 

Max's jaw clenches, his protective instincts on high alert. “If it's important, we can talk here. I’m not leaving her side.”  

Jos sighs, clearly frustrated. “Fine, if that's how you want it.” 

Max’s arm remains firmly around you as his father steps closer. “Make it quick,” Max insists, his tone leaving no room for argument. If other people were to see your eyes moving from one Verstappen to the other, they’d probably think you are watching a tennis match, though the situation in front of you is certainly more tense than that. 

Jos glances at you once more before addressing Max. “I just wanted to remind you to stay focused. Pole position is a great start, but you need to keep your head in the race.” 

Max's eyes narrow, and he lets out a scoff, “I know how to do my job, no need for reminder. Anything else?” 

Jos shakes his head, his expression a mix of disappointment and resignation. “Just don’t let distractions cost you the win.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Max hisses, taking a step towards his father as he gently pushes you behind himself. You have to put a hand against his chest to slow him down, though that doesn’t prove to be a sufficient prevention method. “I already told you; she is my wife, and he is not going anywhere so you better get that into that damaged brain of yours.” 

“Max,” you try to plead with him, “please, not before your race.”  

He gives you a look over his shoulder for a short moment before turning back towards his father. His jaw is set as he looks at the man in front of him. “I’ll only tell you this one more time. When she’s here with me, you don’t show up. If you do show up, you don’t come near her, you don’t talk to her, you don’t even look at her.” Another step taken towards his father has you tightening your hold on him, but he still manages to convey his message. “Try something like this again, and you won’t be in my life anymore let alone my son’s.” 

Jos's lips press into a thin line, his eyes darting to you briefly before settling back on Max. “Fine,” he repeats, his tone colder. “Just remember what’s at stake every time you get behind the wheel.” 

Max stands his ground, his eyes locked onto his father's, unwavering. “I know exactly what's at stake, and I don't need you reminding me. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a race to focus on.” 

Max stands his ground, his eyes locked onto his father's, unwavering. “I know exactly what's at stake, and I don't need you reminding me. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a race to focus on.”

It’s not the first time Max has stood up to his father, not by any means. But you can tell that this time affects him in a different way. The weight of the words exchanged and the implications for their future relationship linger in the air. You can feel the tension radiating from Max as he watches his father walk away, and it takes a moment for him to relax his posture and turn back to you. “Please tell me something that will calm me down so I don’t somehow do something that would put me to jail.”

“Okay,” you singsong, quickly positioning yourself in front of him so that you can fix him with a strict look on your face. “You are not doing something that will put you into prison, period.”

“I’m going to need a very good reason because all I want to do right now is follow him to his car and punch him.” Unfortunately for you, the way his jaw is set is a telling sign that, no, Max would actually do something like this given the circumstances.

“There is no sim racing in prison.” You try to provide, giving him a weak smile.  

Max's lips twitch into a small, reluctant smile at your words, the tension in his jaw easing slightly. “No sim racing in prison, huh? Do you honestly think that would keep me from doing something stupid?” 

“I panicked!” You exclaim, hitting him on his chest lightly as he laughs at you silently. “How are you supposed to help me raise our son,” you point to your stomach to emphasise your point, “if you’re in prison, huh?”

Max's smile grows wider, the tension in his posture finally starting to melt away. “Okay, okay, you’ve got a point,” he says, placing his hands on your shoulders and looking into your eyes. “I need to be here for both of you. But it’s so damn hard to ignore him.” 

You reach up and cup his face in your hands, your eyes soft and filled with understanding. “I know, but you’re stronger than him. And you have more important things to focus on. Like winning this race and getting me more ice cream on our way back to the hotel.” 

He takes a deep breath, nodding slowly as he lets out a soft chuckle. “You’re right. I can’t let him get to me. Not today.” 

“Exactly,” you say, giving him a reassuring smile, “I usually am.” 

Max laughs, the sound lightening the mood even more. “Yes, you usually are,” he agrees, pulling you closer for a brief kiss. “Thank you for always knowing how to calm me down.” 

“That’s what I’m here for,” you say, resting your forehead against his. “Now, go out there and show everyone what you can do. We’ll celebrate with ice cream afterward.” 

“Deal,” he replies, his eyes twinkling with affection and determination. With one last squeeze, he lets you go and turns towards his team, his focus now fully on the race ahead. “But I feel like I need to let you know that I would definitely go to prison for life for you.” 

You laugh, shaking your head. “Don’t you have a race to win, Verstappen?” 

He grins, giving you one last kiss before heading off to prepare for the race, giving you a grin over his shoulder as he starts to move away, “So, I’ll get the rest of that kiss after the race, then?” 

“Yeah, Max,” you let out a breathy laugh, your eyes not leaving his for a moment, “after the race!” 

[autumnywinter]

could you do some yandere elliott nsfw? i need this man like i need air to breathe i swear-

Just had a surgery this morning, I hope this is coherent because I still feel a lil groggy haha. I tried to make the reader as sexually neutral as I could since I don't do that very often. I hope I did decently ^^;

Yandere!Elliott x Reader

Tags: NSFW, MDNI, Stalking, masturbation, sex toy usage, general creepy behavior, gender neutral reader, no sex specified for reader

For hours at a time, Elliott would follow and stalk you (although he would put it into more light terms) as you went about your business. He wanted to be near you at all times, but the crowding might have scared you away so he made do with spying.

Sometimes Elliott would pretend to accidentally bump into you in town, acting as though it was coincidence that you were on the same street and walking in the same direction.

When you were gone, he sometimes snuck into your home. At first, he would only go to touch your things, the things that had touched you and smelled of you. He would hold up your shirt to his face and breathe in the smell, trying to simulate your embrace.

It wasn't as good as the real thing by any means, but it satiated him for the time being.

He grabbed a discarded pair of underwear on the ground, and didn't even think about his next actions. He brought it up to his face and shakily inhaled. A choked moan escaped his mouth.

Just as he was ready to pocket it and leave, he heard the front door open. He didn't have enough time to crawl out of the window, so he frantically locked himself in your closet. It wasn't the first time he had been in there without your knowledge, but it still filled him with panic each time.

His heart raced as you walked in, humming softly. He peered through louvered slats and saw you taking off your clothes. Elliott covered his mouth with his hand to keep from moaning aloud. His cock throbbed, and he felt ashamed.

You weren't a mere object for his satisfaction, but he couldn't help himself.

You stripped down completely, and he nearly came in his pants when you removed your undergarments and dropped it on the floor. This was so much better than watching you undress through the window.

Sure, he always had binoculars or a camera on you, but the visual was never enough. Now you were just a few feet from him, body ready to be ravished and worshipped.

It took every fiber of his being not to come out of the closet and do it himself. The anticipation was too much. He began to undo his fly as quietly as possible.

He watched as you slowly and sensuously rubbed yourself. He imagined it was him you were thinking of.

Next thing he knew, he was using his free hand to bring the underwear up to his face. It smelled just like he imagined it would, your scent driving him wild.

Like fate, you flopped on the bed and grabbed what he recognized as a dildo. As upset as he was you were using other toys when you could be using his very-real cock, his disdain melted into pleasure again once you started fingering yourself, preparing yourself for it.

He imagined he was the one preparing you for his own cock. He imagined his fingers deep inside you, gently caressing your warm, wet inner walls. He would coax you open, until he would be able to replace his fingers with his leaking cock.

Not without pampering you beforehand, of course.

He ached for you, and had to finally free his erection from the confines of his pants. He shuddered from the cold air against his burning flesh.

He spit into his palm and stroked himself to the rhythm of your fingers. Normally he never used his own spit, but he was too frenzied to care.

The underwear pressed against his nose as he inhaled deeply. It was intoxicating, and he felt more drunk than if he had chugged an entire keg of beer. The scent was pure you, and he would never have it any other way.

You started teasing yourself with the toy, just about the size of his own cock. He wished it was him, filling you up and making you cry out in ecstasy.

A beautiful moan escaped your lips once you slid it inside, slowly. 'That's it, theeere you go, sweetheart,' he cooed to you in his head. He started stroking his cock slower, only to imagine it was him pushing inside you at such a gentle pace. He could be so sweet to you if you just gave him a chance.

You rocked yourself back and forth on the dildo, making a motion so mesmerizing to watch. He couldn't take his eyes off you, even if the view was obscured.

Elliott didn't notice he was drooling pathetically, but he didn't care.

He sped up his pace to yours again. He felt so dirty watching you like this, but he felt too good to stop.

Suddenly, you switched positions and the view got a little better. Now Elliott had the full picture of your entrance accepting the toy so readily.

He envisioned himself hovering over you, and kissing your soft skin while moving in and out of you. Oh, what he'd give to have your arms wrapped around his neck and your legs around his waist.

The scenario was set clear in his mind. After a romantic candlelit dinner, he'd make love to you on the bed. The lighting would be dim and sensual, with his scented candles burning pleasantly. He would treat you to a full-body massage first, getting you all loosened up before he made sweet love to you. He would whisper how much he loved you in your ear and cover your face in kisses. He'd make sure you climaxed first, before taking his own.

That is, if he could even control himself. He had came in his pants an embarrassing amount of times just looking at you. He was barely hanging on at this point, but he tried to wait for you to finish first.

Your shift in moans showed you were getting close, so he brought the undergarments down from his face and to his cock. He wrapped them around himself and ardently stroked his cock.

His breath hitched at how intimate it felt, using the garment as a tool for masturbation.

He was teetering on the edge when you suddenly cried out in your orgasm. The noise was a symphony to his ears, and he came soon after.

For a moment, he saw stars. He had masturbated to you countless of times before, but that was the best orgasm he ever had.

His vision returned, and he felt disgusted with himself. He had came in your underwear. He couldn't return it to you now; he was supposed to leave no trace behind. He supposed it'd make another good keepsake.

Elliott's attention turned back to you. You were covered in sweat and catching your breath.

He wished he could cuddle you afterward, stroking your hair and nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. He'd give you a nice bath, and then order something nice from the restaurant for take-out, since you'd both be exhausted. He knew how much you loved your take-out, anyway.

Elliott rearranged himself into his pants. You stood up from the bed and went to the bathroom, and he quickly gathered your discarded clothes from the floor, along with your used toy.

He wanted to use that opportunity to leave, but he was still too busy composing himself.

You entered your room again with your regular night clothing and passed out on your bed. Elliott peeked through the slats of the closet again to watch you sleep for a couple minutes. It was such a gorgeous sight.

Finally he opened the door, gauging your form for any signs of reaction. He silently sighed in relief when you didn't move. He did his best to not step on anything that would creak under his weight and had to stifle a chuckle. You kicked your covers off of you in your sleep.

He risked pulling them back over you and taking that moment to stare once more at your relaxed expression.

One day you'd be his. He considered himself a patient man.

[temis-de-leon]

Shy gn!reader goes to their first date with the Dateables

Characters: Diavolo, Barbatos, Solomon and Simeon (x reader, separately)

Masterlist

Part 1 , Part 2 , Demon Brothers version

Romance Anon: Could I request headcanons for Diavolo, Barbatos, Solomon, and Simeon react to shy gn s/o who asked what he would like to do for their first date because he made them happy by accepting their confession so they want to make him happy?

.

A/N: wrote this while my upstairs neighbors were doing the nasty, so I got a little distracted

.

Diavolo

He feels somewhat conflicted, to say the least. Growing up having everything his way, you could believe this would be easy for him, but you would be wrong. On the contrary, it’s precisely for that reason that he doesn’t want to be the only one organizing the date.

Still, you asked him directly, so he’ll humour you.

He asks Lucifer and Barbatos for ideas and he’s left with even more questions.

He could go big, book Ristorante Six so it’s just the two of you and hire a string quartet to set the mood; or he could literally go home, as they say, ask his butler to cook a special dinner and make the garden look pretty.

There’s also the possibility of going downtown, share some ice cream and take a stroll in the park or the busy avenue.

His indecision doesn’t come from a lack of interest, but rather from cluelessness.

Should he do all of that? Should he make another plan? Something more extravagant? Something tamer?

He’s completely lost. You made him happy when you agreed to go out with him as well, so there’s no need for letting him decide everything, especially for your first date.

He wants to be with you, talk to you, have your whole attention and let you have his as well, so, in the end, he settles for the most private option.

Hopefully, you both will have time for more.

Barbatos

There’s a contradiction in your interests.

He’s immensely glad you’re happy upon going out with him, but what he wants the most is to know you more than anyone else has ever done before.

Therefore, his idea of a perfect first date is to know what’s your ideal first date and to make that a reality.

Do you like big gestures? He can take you to the opera or to a luxurious dinner, maybe even both.

Or perhaps you prefer a more intimate setting, which would be most preferable.

He excels in tea parties after all, something the both of you know, and he can use the opportunity to try new recipes and impress you. Maybe even use the tea blend he prepared just for you, a part of his efforts he deeply hopes you like.

Barbatos is perfectly aware that serving his date as a first date may not seem like something one may do for his own enjoyment, even when you were the one to ask him what to do for your day out together, but you have to understand, MC.

In his eyes, the best path towards your happiness is the one where he is the cause of it.

Solomon

At first he thinks of cooking something for you, maybe ask Luke to bake dessert beforehand, and have dinner at Purgatory Hall, but his roommates’ immediate refusal confuses him.

He just wants to impress you!

But, hey, if his friends insist on changing plans... There’s plenty of other things to do anyways.

Why not get out of the Devildom for starters? A change of scenery sounds like a good idea and it’s not like you’re going to be away for too long. Plus, you can forget the brothers for once and he gets the opportunity of having your sole attention for a whole day.

It’s a win-win situation.

You’re going to be a human couple spending time in the human realm doing human things.

And what’s more human than the sun? The warmth, the light… He could take you to a coastal city and sunbathe in the beach or to a small mountain town and walk through its green pastures.

Do you know how to make flower crowns? You could learn with him!

Take advantage of your human curiosity! What better companion than him?

Sure, the brothers and the royals could sweep you off your feet in many different ways, but if there’s something only he can give you is understanding.

You’re going through so much, learning and improving, saying goodbye to the person you once were, he’s the only one capable of comprehend the change in your humanity.

Trust in him to take the weight off your shoulders.

Simeon

He knows exactly what to do.

While he would love to have a traditional date with you, dining in a nice place before going for a stroll and take you home, he knows Luke wouldn’t understand the concept of a date per se.

And as much as he loves the kid, he wants to be just with you for the night.

So, he does just that. He invites you to go out for the night while Luke is sleeping.

There’s a spot in one of the rooftops of RAD and he has visited it enough times to know it’s the perfect place for your date.

He asks Belphie for help and Diavolo for permission, borrowing books and asking simple questions about the sky, the constellations and the legends behind it.

It’s not about studying as much as possible about the stars to impress you, which he’d prefer happening in a more natural setting, but rather having you discover the wonders that surround you with him.

Just the thought of keeping you close, shielding you from the cold of the night and staring at the dark sky with your fingers tightly intertwined with his, sends an involuntary smile to his face.

He wants to spend time with you, it’s as simple as that, but why not make it even more beautiful?

.

.

[scientia-rex]

Hi Dr. Kristophine, do you have any advice on what kind of information doctors need for medical issues that are more nebulous than "my knees hurt"? I've been feeling Weird and Bad in a way that has me concerned, but I'm afraid to make an appointment because I don't know what to say that will get the Weird and Bad feeling across in an actionable way. Going to the doctor takes SO much energy that I don't have to waste and I don't want them to just take a blood test and say everything's fine go home (again).

The best thing you can do with medical information you're trying to prepare for your medical provider, as a lay person, is be as specific as possible.

-Location: Is it one place in particular, or everywhere? Does it stay in one place, or move around?

-Timing: When did it start? Did it come on suddenly or slowly? Does it happen continuously? Does it come and go? Is it always there to some extent, but it gets better and worse? On a scale of 1-10, with 1 being fine and 10 being the worst you can imagine, how bad is it at its best, and how bad is it at its worst? How much time does it spend really bad vs only kind of bad?

-Quality: If it's pain, is it aching, burning, stabbing, dull, electrical zap, etc.? If it's not pain, what is it? Is it discomfort? Is it weakness--i.e., you can't do that thing? Is it fatigue--like maybe you can still push through doing the thing but it feels like you're trying to wade through mud to do it? Is it a racing heart, sweating, pressure?

-Triggers: Does something in particular set it off? A time of day, a food, an action, a medication, a thought? A surprisingly common trigger for migraines is sitting still with your neck in one position. (New research suggests that necks are critical to migraine formation, to which I yelled out loud at the paper, no duh!) There may be triggers you haven't noticed; try keeping a symptom diary, where you note down when you have episodes and what you were doing beforehand, what you ate that day, menstrual phase, etc. Any detail that you can remember, whether or not it seems relevant at the time.

I cannot tell you how many times I've dug deeper into a chronic issue only to discover that the patient can, in fact, tell me what the trigger is, but because it's something important to them, they simply haven't noticed. May subconsciously even avoided noticing. Do you get migraines every time you DM? Do you need to work a stretch break into your D&D session?

There can also absolutely be multiple triggers--I know I'll get migraines if I don't sleep, if I'm sick, if I sit still for too long, if I have dental work, etc.

So bring in all the info you can. Write it down if you're afraid you'll forget. Don't hand it to the MA, too many doctors will go "oh my GOD they brought a LIST how high-maintenance" and tune out. Hang on to it but tell them about everything.

I don't expect patients to be able to tell me "I believe I've had a left radial styloid fracture" but I do expect them to tell me "I fell and tried to catch myself with my left hand and now my wrist hurts," and that's good enough. The rest of it is my job. When it's something more vague, like "I started feeling different and bad about six months ago," any other information helps. Did you start a new med around then? Are you going through menopause? Do you struggle with anxiety? Do you have first-degree relatives (parent, sibling, or child) with genetic disorders, autoimmune disorders, etc.? Do you have a history of anemia? Are you vegan? Have you started having night sweats and unexplained weight loss? Did you recently travel internationally? This can go a lot more different directions than a hurty wrist, so bring in all the info you can.

And keep in mind that modern medicine is very limited--much more so than most people think. There is an excellent chance that medicine will not be able to diagnose your condition. It may still be able to offer treatment. It may fall on your shoulders to manage it as best you can, knowing that doctors don't have answers. Nobody can tell me why I have chronic pain, and I don't mean as in "I've asked doctors and they don't know," I mean "I've personally scoured the literature and had the relevant and appropriate tests and no one can know at this phase of medical knowledge." So I deal with it, I've stopped trying to push myself past my reserves because people who can't admit to ignorance tell me to, I keep my painful body moving because that helps, I do PT, I take a multivitamin occasionally because I know my diet sucks. I manage.

There are not always right or wrong answers--I don't take gabapentin, because I don't want the sedation and kidney exposure, but patients with my exact symptoms might find it helpful and may find the risks and costs worth the benefits. My mother, who has whatever it is that I have, right down to the tricky stomach, from whom I presumably inherited it, has taken medication at different points in her life, depending on how much pain she was in and what other responsibilities she has, and that is perfectly reasonable. Autonomy matters. People have to be able to make these choices for themselves, with assistance but not paternalism from their medical professionals, because the math is different for everyone.

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

Pls don't ignore if you don want to do it, please just dm me that you don't want to or I will assume you didn't see it and wait forever. I have a very specific request. How would bsd cast react to guiding light not being able to do a lot of things due to medical problems? I have a port wine stain on my left leg, it covers the whole thing, and it swells A LOT. Like, it is always swollen but sometimes it gets worse. I can't jump or run or even climb well because of it, making gym class hard and stuff like that. How would they react to it? On top of that, I think it'd be funny if the guiding light was short af, like shorter than CHUUYA. Teen reader if possible, gender neutral or male please. Byeeeee.

I hope, you enjoy it ☺️

Teen! Short! Male! Reader with medical problems

Self-Aware! Platonic! BSD Characters x Male! Teen! Reader

Slight Self-Aware! Platonic! Chuuya Nakahara x Male! Teen!Reader

Slight Self-Aware! Platonic! Oda Sakunosuke x Make! Teen! Reader

Warning: OOC. English is my second language

_________

🐾 BSD Cast have a feeling, that you have some health problems. They heard, how, sometimes, you rant to "them" about having problems during gym classes, or hissed under your breath, because "it hurts again". So, they prepared in advance. Yosano, Doc and Mori were searching web , trying to get all possible information about any possible way of treatment. They weren't sure, what exactly they need to do to help you, so, they try to prepare for anything.

🐾 When Kirako "woke up" from her stasis, she shed the light in your condition. So, they start to look in about your medical problem specifically. Yosano, Doc and Mori will keep all information in mind, to help you ease the pain. Or, if there is a way, to heal you.

🐾 When they got into the real world, BSD Cast won't immediately attack you with questions about your health. They will wait, until you feel comfortable sharing this information with them.

🐾 But, from the first day, they will try to make you happy.

_____________

School was over, and you were on your way home. Today was one of "this days", and your leg was sore. So, you tried to move carefully. Unfortunately, today all cars in the household were occupied, and Albatross was still in a process of getting license, that would allow him to drive teens on his motorbike. So, you will have to go home by feet. You called home beforehand and explained to BSD Cast, that you might be a little bit late for lunch.

You walked 1/4 of the road to your home, when you saw Chuuya and Oda walking towards you.

"[Y/N], hello. How is my little brother doing?" if Chuuya's grin is implying something, it would be the fact, that Chuuya liked, that you were smaller, than him, and he can tease you in a friendly way. You rolled your eyes.

"I am fine. And what you two are doing here?"

Chuuya point at your backpack.

"We decided to meet you and go home together. Now..." without further words, Chuuya put his hand towards you, waiting. You took off your backpack and give to him. Immediately, Oda offered his elbow for you to hold on.

"And, remember, just ask, and we will slow down." Oda ruffled your hair.

You three went home, talking about your day and what you want to do today and these weekends.

___________

🐾 Yosano, Doc and Mori will be ready to help you at any moment of the day. Will offer to ease your pain (medical herbs, special massage, etc.)

🐾 If there is a treatment for your problem, Fitzgerald will offer to pay for it. The cost doesn't matter, he will pay for anything.

🐾 For the most part, their relationship with you won't be too affected by your medical problems. BSD Cast will still treat you as their son/nephew/little brother/older brother/grandson. They will spend time with you (watching movies, reading books, playing video games, doing hobbies, etc.)

🐾 They want to make you happy. And will do everything, to achieve that.

[heartseungbin]

L.F

synopsis; you bought some new makeup just for your pretty boy, which he looks great in of course. So great you'd love to see how it looks running down his soft freckled cheeks.

This fic can be read with a gender neutral reader in mind.

"Hey Lix, i got somethin in the mail today." You bring the package towards your shared room, making the boy look up from his pc. "Really? Is it something for me?" He looks up at you from his place in his seat.

You hum, biting your lip. "I wanna try it." So here you are now, Felix sat snuggly on your dick with you facing each other. You apply a rosy shade of pink blush to match his adorably freckled cheeks and the cute peach sweater he has on.

He lets out a whimper as he gets moved a bit, making you fake frown. "Messed up your blush, now i gotta restart," You complain, knowing a small movement couldn't possibly have messed it up. "What's this?" he asks, picking up the mascara and inspecting it.

"Mascara, it's for the eyes. It makes your eyelashes pretty. Don't you wanna be pretty for me lovely?" You ask, tilting you head while looking at him. He whines looking away from you.

"Look up baby, i need to do your mascara. Don't blink." You say, leaning so close to him your able to see the heart shaped freckle on the side of his cheek. You thrust into him purposely, making him grab onto your shoulders and throw his head back.

"Lix!" you scold, "M' sorry, feels so good." He whimpers, attempting to rise a bit to take the pressure away from his prostate. "You're so full of love aren't you Lix? So cute love," His prettily long eyelashes flutter at praise, making him place a hand on your thigh for comfort.

"Poor Lix is so flustered from a bit of praise huh?" you tease, making him whimper. "Are you almost done? Feels so good," He slurs, already feelings so good despite you not moving. Poor boy gets so flustered from praise. With a dramatic pop of your lips you set down the mascara wand.

"Now for the finishing touch, some cute lipgloss i found that's just your shade." You coo, grabbing it from next to you and applying the sticky peach pink gloss to his plump lips. You kiss him, even getting the gloss onto your own lips.

"Oops, i gotta reapply it," you fake frown, making him sigh. You reapply the gloss for a final time, marveling at your work. The eyeliner and mascara make the boy look as pretty as a fairy. His glossed lips are so plump and delicously thick that you can't help but think about what else could be done with them.

"Im done sweet boy, have a look." You say, handing him the small mirror you prepared beforehand. His eyes light up, his small fingers going to his eyelashes to tug.

"Wow.." he says taken aback, looking back at you with big eyes. "You're so adorable Lixie, do you want your reward now?" you coo, brushing a stray hair behind his ear. He nods and puts down the mirror, looking back towards you in wonder.

"Gonna fuck you for doing such a good job keeping still." You say, flipping him around and staring at him from your position above him. He moans, grabbing onto the sheets below him as you start to fuck him.

"Feels so good," he slurs, looking up at you with the prettiest of tears in his deep brown eyes. "Crying already baby? We're just getting started Lix." You say, picking up the pace making his body jolt. He moans out, Throwing his arms around you and digging his nails into your back. "Please," He whimpers, biting his lip.

He brings a hand to his eyes to wipe at the steady flow of tears cascading down his face, smudging his carefully done mascara. "Should've bought waterproof mascara huh Lix? Messed up my hard work," you falsely pout, bringing a hand to wipe his tears for him further smudging the mascara.

"M' sorry," he stutters. "Feels s'good," he whimpers out, bring a hand over his mouth smudging the gloss there onto his cheek. "Look at you crying away all your makeup baby, it must feel good." You say, bringing a hand to toy with his nipples smudging gloss there too.

He lets out a string of moans, "Gonna come, please come with me," He begs, looking up at you with fresh tears in his eyes. "Come in me," he sniffles, meeting your thrusts half way. You groan, "Of course pretty baby." you coo.

ngl i was thinking of adding smth in where Lix holds the mirror while hes getting fucked lol but enjoy!!

taglist: @imrllytootiredforthis @queerpumpkinnn

i think this is like..the best thing ive ever written and its now 3:30 am so i shall head to bed asap after posting this lol

[xxcallmemaryxx]

Ghouls x GN reader

(who is suffering from horrid cramps)

(Warning: reader in a lot of pain, talks of nausea and throwing up. But nothing in detail.)

Our beautiful gentle giant, Mountain, is well prepared for this. He basically lives in the abbeys greenhouse, he is like an encyclopaedia of plant knowledge. What balms and rubs and oils he can make to help you out, you best believe he has an abundance of them stocked up. I like to think if this is a regular occurrence then Mountain has a little cupboard that keeps these remedies safe and sound for you. For whenever you need them. He takes this seriously, and he will put them on you himself if you’ll let him. Mountain absolutely tricks you into letting him rub one of the mixtures on your stomach, (you insist you can do it yourself and he knows this, but he doesn’t let up easily so he prepared to just give in) and so there the two of you lay, on your bed, as Mountain slowly massages an oil into your skin to help soothe the cramps. As much as he hates seeing you in pain, he really loves doting on you. He will make you his self made herbal teas to help as well, and he will 100% spend every minute with you making sure you’re as comfortable as possible. You’re not to move from the bed without him, not that the cramps would let you anyways…

Aether is pretty much the same in the sense he spends most of his time with you researching ways to help you feel as comfortable as possible. He keeps a heat pack on standby, he has a cupboard stocked with pain killers and anti nausea medicine and he even has Mountain make you some kind of rub to help relax the muscles where your cramps are. All in all, Aether stays calm. He knows that if he started freaking out about you being in pain then that would just make you feel worse. Of course he absolutely hates every second of it, and there’s a pit of worry and anxiety that sits at the bottom of his stomach and eats away at him throughout the duration of your cramps, but he knows you’ll be okay soon and he knows that he has to stay calm and collected for you. What kind of help would he be if he was outwardly worried the whole time? Aether likes knowing that he can be a rock for you, to keep you grounded and steady when you need it. He takes great pride in knowing you allow yourself to rely on him during this time of pain and vulnerability, and he would rather send himself back down to hell than ever betray that.

The only time Dew has ever cursed the unholy Lord below, was when he experienced this with you for the first time. You were stuck in bed, such intense nausea you needed to keep a large bucket next to you incase you couldn’t make it to the bathroom in time and you couldn’t even keep your eyes open because of how exhausted you were from the pain of the cramps. He honestly thought for a moment that you were dying and he panicked and ran to Copia for help. It took him a while to come around, and even now after being with him for ages, and going through this multiple times whilst with him, he still panics. He kind of hovers around the room, he’s unusually quiet and it’s like he’s too scared to touch you incase he somehow makes the pain worse. He gets angry for you. Angry that you, his lovely human, has to deal with this so often. He wants to take your pain, he wants to take it all away and keep it to himself and let you stay comfortable and happy. Dew will keep you as comfortable as possible, bringing you food and water so you don’t have to get up, he does not step foot out of your shared room the whole time until it’s over. His eyes stayed glued to you the whole time ready to do whatever you need him to do.

Swiss doesn’t panic when your cramps start, for he already knew it was going to happen. He can literally smell it on you, on the way your body changes and adjusts. He picks up on your body language and the way that changes during the few days beforehand. You like to tease him a little and call it his “ghoul powers”, and while yes being a ghoul has a lot to do with it, Swiss has just become so accustomed to you and your body that he just knows. So by the time the cramps have started he is mentally prepared. For the most part he lets you sleep and rest as much as possible, he understands how exhausting the constant pain is. Only waking you up to give you some more pain killers once the previous ones have worn off, and to keep you hydrated. He still makes sure you’re eating, but he never puts anything too heavy on your plate. Just incase you’re not able to keep it down, Swiss will give you lighter meals and snacks so you at least have something. During the night he really just loves to sleep next you, keeping a protective tail wrapped securely around your waist, for his own comfort to still have some kind of contact with you, and to remind you that he is right there next to you should you need him. (He doesn’t wanna cuddle up to you and risk accidentally rolling on top of you during the night) (it’s happened before) (he almost didn’t get back in bed after).

During the beginning, Rain was really no help at all. Of course you knew the things that worked for you, but Rain was just a nervous mess. The image of you in so much pain you couldn’t even move got stuck inside his head for days after, it really upset him to see you going through this. After a little while he realised he needed to snap out of it and he came to you asking you to tell him everything you needed and wanted him to do for the next time so he is better prepared and can actually be of some help to you. It took him a few months to really fall into the routine, but eventually it became like a second nature to him. He knew what positions to help you lay in to decrease the cramp intensity, he knew what painkillers worked best for you and he kept you as comfy as he possibly could. He really enjoyed knowing that you could confidently count on him when you needed him. He likes to spoil you a little bit too… he steals Mountains fluffy blanket for you, he raids the abbey kitchens and risks his tail just to bring you back some of the special snacks that are kept aside specially for the papas, he even learns how to give massages for when you’re feeling up for it. Anything he can do to help you relax and stay settled, consider it done.

Phantom freaked you out the first time he experienced this with you. After being summoned not that long ago, obviously he still had a lot to learn about humans and how they function, so you can only imagine the real fear that would have struck him when he saw how much pain you were in. It took you a minute to explain it to him, between horrid cramps and almost unbearable nausea, you did the best you could… but clearly Phantom went into freak out mode and almost lost his head trying to pull things together to look after you. You had about 7 glasses of ice water sitting at your bedside table, he panic cleaned the toilet incase you needed to empty your stomach into it (because send him back to hell if you even think for one whole second that the toilet isn’t going to be spotless before you even get near it) he ransacked the cupboard for your extra blankets and made a makeshift nest for you to lay in and throughout the entire time you weren’t well Phantom did not sleep a wink. He sat on the floor in front of you and watched you like a hawk while you slept just incase he needed to spring into action. He settled down a lot after the cramps were gone and you were back to your normal self again, but expect it to be like that every single time. He just loves you and seeing you in pain is hard for him.

[finelinevogue]

smile

summary - harry can’t go a show without calling you beforehand

warnings: fluff?! swearing, it’s based off that photo abov

word count: -1k

L.A. traffic had its reputation for being the worst traffic on the planet.

You’d drive 50 metres and it will have taken you 50 minutes. There was no traffic like it - other than maybe the M25 outside London.

Most people would avoid this traffic, trying to get to their destinations with as little car congestion as possible. However, Harry had other plans. Harry would happily sit for 50 minutes to travel 50 metres, because he happened to love car journeys.

They were his only trips alone. They were a few minutes, or a few hours, of solitary peace and he depended on them to keep him sane. The only other person he would be okay enough to share this time with was his fiancé; you.

Normally you’d be travelling sat next to him, his hand on your thigh whilst you both hum along to the shared playlist you’d both created. However, on this particular journey Harry found himself alone with you staring at him through the phone on Face Time.

You were away with work for a few days and out of town, meaning you couldn’t be there for some of Harry’s shows. However, that didn’t stop you both from talking to each other 24/7. Any spare moment you both had you’d be on FaceTime. If Harry went shopping he’d call you. If you went to the loo you’d call him. If you were reading in bed he’d want you to call so he could read with you.

FaceTime kept your relationship in the honeymoon phase - even 3 years after the honeymoon phase is supposedly over.

As Harry drove himself to the Forum he couldn’t help but be ecstatic when you answered first try on FaceTime.

“Heyyy, love.” He smiled at you, whilst stopping at a red light.

You were busy putting on your makeup for the day, so your phone was propped up on a vanity so Harry could see your head down to your waist. Your makeup was splayed out in front of you and you picked up some concealer to carry on with your routine.

“Hello, my favourite human.” You replied, cheerily grinning over your reply.

“Favourite human? Quite like the sound of that. Might even top fiancé.” Harry said, reaching to turn the radio off so he could only hear you. It would be rude of him to have anything drowning out the sound of your voice.

“Really?”

“Maybe not. Fiancé does just have a night ring to it, doesn’t it?” With one hand on the steering wheel, his other hand went to rub his fingers over the top of his lips where his moustache was growing in. As he did so, his engagement ring sat pretty and made you internally squeal at how you were the person attached to that ring.

“I think i’ll like husband better.” You answered honestly.

“It’s weird we’re both each others fiancés now, but when we get married you’ll be my wife and I’ll be your husband - like we’ll have different names for each other then.” Harry drove on green.

“You can still be my wife if you want. My little housewife.” You giggled at the thought.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you? Me, in an apron, making dinner and doing the laundry.” He teased, unfortunately not catching your reaction since he was concentrating on the road.

“You do that already, H.” You laughed. “Are you off to the venue?”

“Hm? Uh, yeah, yeah.” Harry was momentarily distracted as he had to turn onto a busy junction. His UK driving was a lot easier than LA, because of how short and simple the roads were in London. New York driving wasn’t even worth thinking about.

“And how was therapy?” You moved on to fixing your eyebrows, being prepared to stop and listen carefully to Harry if needed be.

“Yeah, it was good. She helped me through some of that tour stuff I was worried about.”

“About being away from family for so long?” You double checked.

“Yeah, yeah. She was trying to explain that if I’m happy doing what i’m doing then that’s all my family should want for me. Just happiness.”

“She’s right H. Your mum will be perfectly fine, as long as she knows that you’re happy - and that you’ll call often.”

“I try.” He said honestly.

“I know you do. I mean, when you’re not calling me that is.” You laughed, trying to lighten the situation with a bit of silly humour.

Harry got stuck in another traffic jam, meaning he would be late for rehearsals but he didn’t care because it meant more time on the phone with you. His favourite moments were spent with you, so he’d take ever extra second he could just to make new and happy memories.

“Have you had breakfast already?” Harry asked, in awe of watching you put on your makeup.

Harry was lucky to find someone that cared more about other people and the world than colouring in their skin and buying fake boobs. So your makeup routine didn’t in fact take too long to run through.

“Not yet, no.”

“Well, please have something before you leave, alright?” Harry asked, always concerned for you and your health whenever he wasn’t around to take care of you. He liked being the one to make you breakfasts in the morning, so often when you were apart from each other he’d believe you weren’t eating anything as good as what he makes - which is true, but you do also eat still.

“Okay, yes. I promise.” You rolled your eyes at him but gave him a smile, knowing he only meant well. “Have you eaten?”

“I actually am on my way to have lunch with Jeff now. He wants to run through Grammy stuff.” Harry explained.

“How are you feeling about that? The Grammy noms, I mean. Tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, tomorrow, yeah. Um, I’m feeling alright y’know? Like, I thought I’d feel a lot more dependent on them, but I think after last year I’m still feeling that high. Any nom would be great, but if I don’t get any then I also know that it is a great album and there was only one person I wanted to impress with it anyways.”

“Oh yeah? Who?” You asked, knowing the reply already.

“You.”

You smiled and shook your head. He was too cheesy sometimes, but it was no lie, or secret, that Harry’s House had been solely made for you. It was a love letter from Harry to you and a declaration to the world that Harry Styles was the happiest he’s ever been.

[adiluv-moved]

❥ COMPOSER / BLOODY QUEEN + COOKING HCS. ˚⊹꒷

🕊️୧・꒰word count꒱ total—1605, frederick—816, mary—789.

🌸୧・꒰warnings꒱ possibly ooc ꒰mary꒱, not heavily edited.

🐇୧・꒰adi moment꒱ request here! i ended up adding mary to this request, since i thought it would be interesting to have a character that could cook with one that can't. ꒰i also just love mary ♡꒱ hope you enjoy! ꒰˶ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ˶꒱˖⁺‧₊˚

જ⁀➴ frederick kreibrug, the composer. ˚⊹꒷

꒰🎹꒱・Frederick can only be described as a natural perfectionist, and this trait isn’t something that so easily disappears whenever he enters the kitchen. After all, he’s lived his entire life with expectations being piled onto him by both his fans and his family—and while he may no longer have any affiliation with them, such high external pressures do eventually tend to seep in. Regardless of what the subject matter may be, if he doesn’t do something to the very height of his abilities, then what’s the point of doing it at all?

꒰🎹꒱・As such, he’s the type of chef to use a recipe and follow it to. The. Tea. His amazing memory tends to become extra useful in remembering the steps, his muscle memory even allowing him to get near perfect measurements every single time. Similarly to memorizing your favorite music pieces, I do also think he’d be quick to memorize any dishes you mention your enjoyment of. He also does his best to avoid using any unnecessary cookware, as he’s never been a big fan of having to wash everything afterwards. At least within the manor he’s not always the one that has to clean the dishes after meals, though the survivors that do can appreciate his efficiency.

꒰🎹꒱・He’s most experienced with savory dishes, mostly due to his attempts to recreate the food he’d eat before being disowned by his family. They’d been quite insistent on the importance of eating well, believing that one couldn’t perform their best if they did so on an empty stomach—a sentiment that Frederick continues to carry despite their estrangement. He will pile extra food onto your plate if you have a match coming up, especially so if he knows that the hunter is one that you tend to struggle kiting against. There have been times where other survivors have attempted to tease the both of you for this… though the silent look that he gives them tends to ruin the mood.

꒰🎹꒱・Even if he doesn’t have the time or energy to make something for you, he’ll still be sure to ask whether or not you’ve eaten properly before you head over to the waiting room. He’s quite menacing with it, too, even though you know he means well—and he’ll absolutely nag you if you respond in the negative. Did you lose the match? Oh, how unfortunate… Perhaps you got too distracted by the sound of your stomach rumbling at some point? Next time, you should make sure to eat properly before running around. Did you win the match? Well, congratulations! But you didn’t eat too well beforehand, no? You must be starving. Go sit down, he’ll quickly prepare something.

꒰🎹꒱・Depending on your personal threshold for spices and seasoning, you may or may not find Frederick’s food to be in need of a little extra flavor. He’ll be slightly surprised if you end up bringing this critique to him, not really seeing much of an issue with it himself. He’d probably assume that he messed up on the recipe somewhere along the way, so it’ll take a bit for you to convince him that while he does follow things with extreme precision… there are also times when breaking away from the recipe can help. Although it takes him a bit to fully accept that conclusion, he’ll still allow you to add additional seasonings to his food—and deeply appreciate it once he realizes how much better it is.

꒰🎹꒱・Regardless of how much more he enjoys your additions, I don’t see Frederick as having a particularly high spice tolerance—though his poker face works wonders in hiding that. In most cases, so long as it’s not extremely spicy, he can manage to maintain his composure until the meal is over and he can chug as much water as his heart desires. However, when that method fails him he’ll become red in the face ꒰which he still tries to keep straight꒱ and awkwardly fidget within his seat. Offering to go and get him some water will result in him looking at you like you’re an angel.

꒰🎹꒱・He’s a big fan of cooking with you, despite the extra mess and time that it’ll take. Granted, it does take him some time to get him to loosen up entirely—perfectionist tendencies shining through when you first start—but the activity does come to grow on him by the time your food is ready. I don’t see him as the type to be too goofy with it, though he’ll humor you most of the time. He’ll often ask if you’d like to make something with him when his brain gets too fried from compositions, and there have been many times where you’ve had to guard your creations from the other survivors. It’s fun, to him, and you might even find him drifting away from the recipes of his childhood over time. No need to remember them, in his eyes.

જ⁀➴ mary antoinette, the bloody queen. ˚⊹꒷

꒰🪞꒱・Mary, on the other hand, has absolutely no idea how to cook—though this isn’t exactly something that you could blame her for. Having been regarded as a member of the nobility for the entirety of her life, eventually even rising up to the title of queen—she’s never had much of a reason to bother herself with learning. Especially so considering that she had personal chefs to do the job both more efficiently and skillfully than she could ever dream of. 

꒰🪞꒱・This inability of hers to fend for herself in the kitchen isn’t something that changes when she enters the manor, either, considering that she’s one of the undead residents. Make no mistake here, she could eat if she desired to—in fact, she actively enjoys swooping in and stealing the food of living hunters—but she faces zero consequences if she decides not to. With that in mind, stepping foot into the kitchen isn’t exactly something that she does often. If I’ll be honest, most of the hunters would be totally fine with keeping her out of the room as a whole, too.

꒰🪞꒱・Not only is Mary very vocal about her displeasure of being forced into something so ‘unbefitting’ for her status, but all the more concerningly—has nearly burnt down the kitchen during each and every one of her attempts to make something. It’s gotten to the point where even Joseph—who’s not the greatest cook himself—jokes that asking Mary to cook something is the same as setting off a ticking time-bomb within the kitchen… though the downright nasty glares that she sends over in his direction are quick to shut him up. You can’t help but find it a little funny, but I wouldn’t recommend saying that to her face. 

꒰🪞꒱・While I do think she’d initially be less than welcoming to the idea of finally learning how to cook, she’d probably also give in if you ask her enough. She’ll insist that the only reason behind her agreement was due to how ‘annoying’ your repetitive begging and whining was, but she simply just hates to see the sad look on your face whenever she denies your requests—a truth that the both of you are well aware of. Do be warned, however, the task of showing her how to cook is far from easy, and you’ll have to stay by her side throughout the entire process. She’s clueless, but at the same time refuses to ask for help when she needs it. She’d probably be the type of person who believes that turning the oven to the highest temperature will cook the food faster—and you’re honestly lucky that the manor possesses no microwaves, because she’d absolutely put metal inside of one.

꒰🪞꒱・Another product of her upbringing, Mary has exceedingly high standards when it comes to food, with you being only partially spared from her high expectations. She will, however, gush over anything that she manages to make, believing it to be incredible despite any criticism she receives. Once again, her status as one of the undead hunters does protect her from issues such as food poisoning, leading her to eat all of her creations with a straight face… all while you’re physically convulsing from how terrible the taste is. She initially becomes offended by your reaction, but calms down slightly once you remind her that your stomach is far more sensitive than hers.

꒰🪞꒱・Despite how prideful she is, she’d feel utterly horrible if you became sick from eating one of her meals, and the entire thing would lead her to wanting to give up on cooking as a whole. I already see her as the type of person that becomes frustrated whenever she’s not immediately good at something, and seeing her significant other getting sick because of her certainly doesn’t do much to help. Although, assuming that you do convince her to continue cooking once you recover, I do think that the entire experience would get her to open up to suggestions. She’d hate to see you suffering within the infirmary for something avoidable, after all.

꒰🪞꒱・Considering her sweet tooth, I think that Mary would likely be more invested in baking than in cooking, even if it’s the harder of the two. ꒰Though she certainly isn’t helped by the fact that her favored pastries are more on the luxurious side.꒱ While it would require quite a bit of time—which you have an abundance of within the manor, anyway—she’d probably really only learn how to make some more basic dishes. Of course, it’s still amazing progress considering her starting point, so I don’t think she’d mind all that much. Be sure to deliver a few compliments of your own, too. She enjoys seeing you smile, especially when she’s the reason behind it.

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[le-92vi]

Into each life, some rain must fall.

Geto Suguru x Reader

Genres/Warnings: angst, the reader is in the same grade as GJ, GT & SK, and was injured very badly on a mission, slight(?) hints of depression and anxeity, after the village arc, reader is (kinda) introduced to Mimiko and Nanako, not proofread

Word count: 1.8k

Notes: this is just a very random idea that popped up in my head and, i wrote it in a haze. hopefully, you enjoy it<3

(P.S. english is not my first language and this is also my first fic ever, so i apologize for any mistakes beforehand!)

____ Two days.

That’s all it took to turn your world into a shamble. Two days were all it took to turn your life into a complete mess.

The whole Jujutsu community had been shaken to shambles in the past two days. Everyone was stunned, unable to fathom how such an incident could've occurred. That too, at the hands of one of their own. The higher-ups were left dumbfounded like anyone else but still chose to feign indifference.

It hit you like a ginormous wave, demolishing everyone and everything in its path—a wave you could only hope to have been a nightmare.

But it wasn't.

Shoko sat beside your bed, holding your hand with both of hers. You realized something was wrong the moment you saw her face. The cool-and-stoic Shoko looked upset for the very first time. You knew she was preparing what to say to you, choosing the best possible words to break the news.

"What's wrong?" You breathed before she could even say anything. Shoko sighed, her eyes falling back on your injury-laden body.

"Tell me, Shoko. I can see it all over your face." You tried sitting up straighter to see her face better, but the gash running through the majority of your torso set your whole body on fire with every little movement. To no avail, you were forced to lay on your side, limp and ailing.

"Don't move!" Shoko's eyes widened as she jolted to your aid. She helped you adjust yourself. She fell back into her chair as you grunted in pain, getting used to the shift in your posture. You could see her hands clenched in tight fists, her nails cutting crescents through the palm of her hand.

"It's…Suguru," she began. "The mission Suguru was sent on recently—they're saying he has massacred the whole village. He summoned his curses and massacred a hundred people. He's been sentenced to death by the higher-ups, but they can't find him anywhere…"

Shoko's words began losing meaning. She was still telling you about what happened, but her words seemed to blur together; you couldn't understand anything anymore.

Suguru wouldn't do such a thing, right? He would never hurt a soul.

Shoko must've noticed the distress settling on your face. Her hand rested gently on your shoulder, drawing you out of your thoughts. "I think if we are able to talk to him, things might clear up. We still don't know for sure what happened in that village."

You remembered how just two days ago he sat in Shoko's seat. Late at night, he quietly popped up at your door with a copy of your favorite book. You sleepily listened to him go on about his very "mundane" day and then read you to sleep. He must've left shortly after you fell asleep, for you woke with only a tiny note stuck to the book he left behind for you: "I'm sorry I couldn't stay longer."

That's when it dawned on you that Suguru had, knowingly or unknowingly, let you in on his plans before he went A.W.O.L. To you, what felt like a silly little, maybe even a little exaggerated, story of his recent missions was actually what his whole world was like in the past few months.

He was miserable. All alone.

And none of you could see it.

Nothing in the world seemed to matter anymore. You felt bile burning up in your throat. The weight sat heavy on your chest as you doubled over, gasping for more air. You had to see him. You needed to meet him.

"Have they been looking for him?" You manage to croak out.

Shoko stroked your back, trying to ease up whatever pain you felt, however little she could. "Gojo's been trying to find him before the higher-ups' do." Her voice was shallower and heavier, as if she was barely able to keep her emotions in check.

Everyone had already made up their minds about Suguru. They weren't looking for their student anymore. They didn't care about a kid they'd let astray. They never had. Suguru would only be made one of the two things if they found him; a criminal or a scrapegoat.

Much later at night, when everything was quieter, you snuck out of your room. Your wound barely hurt anymore since you found out about Suguru. Surely it wasn't anything that could compare to what he was going through, right?

Quietly, you slung your bag over your shoulders and made your way out of the institute. You couldn't leave even a slight chance of someone following you to Suguru, though you weren't sure he'd want to see you either. But you at least had to try.

Behind the Tokyo Institute of Jujutsu Tech, a tiny shack stood abandoned at the foot of the mountain. A local legend-- often the topic of many conversations among people, but it was never actually discovered until you and Suguru stumbled upon it by accident during a regular inspection. The seclusion of the shack made for a perfect, peaceful hideout. For the two of you, it was the perfect getaway. If he wanted you to find him, he'd be there.

And you were right. The lights in the shack were visible now that you were up close. You stood at the end of the makeshift entryway of the shack, trying to gather up the courage to finally face him. Your hands were clammy, no matter how much you wiped them against your side. You breathed in for a final time before knocking on the door.

It opened almost immediately, as if it were waiting for your arrival.

Suguru stood at the door. Disheveled and anticipating. He had been waiting for you. He grabbed your hand to pull you in and locked the door behind him. His breathing had obviously hitched as he whispered your name, almost as if he were reminiscing about the taste of your name. "I thought you'd... I wanted to see you one last time. I didn't know if you'd actually come."

His fingers laced with yours as the two of you stood stuck to the floor, unmoving. Both of you felt this insane amount of uncertainty. Sure, you had held hands with Suguru before, but it was always platonic. It was different—the way he held your hand this time. It was almost as if he wasn't sure of what to do next.

Was this how it went? Were you still his friend?

"Suguru," you began. "It's not true—what they're saying—is it? They're just trying to frame you for it. Right?" Your brows furrowed together as you looked at him, waiting for him to deny everything. For him to tell you that he was being wronged. That he was being framed.

But Suguru stood speechless. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. His grip on your hand loosened as his head dropped.

You felt confused and betrayed by his silence. It surged through you like a pain you had never felt before—your wound seemed like a mere scratch in comparison. But you couldn't let it show on your face. Not until you hear his explanation. "Suguru." You reached for his hand this time, holding it with a firmer grip. "Can you at least tell me what happened?"

And just like that, something visibly shifted in him. It was like a newfound trust that perhaps you wouldn't condemn him that much. Maybe—just maybe—you would understand why he did what he did. That you would comprehend his actions and why he did them. Suguru bent over, your body barely holding his as his knees gave out.

"I am just so tired of this life," he sobbed. His shoulder shuddered under your touch. "I'm so sick of living like this."

You braced his shoulders, trying to console him. "It's not too late yet, Suguru." You weren't thinking straight. You didn't even completely know what you were talking about. It only mattered that Suguru was breaking down in front of your eyes, and you couldn't do anything to hold him together.

"It's not too late to return yet." You pulled away slightly to finally look at his face. "Hmm?"

Suguru shook his head in disagreement. "I can't go back. Not after I... I did it. It is all true what they're saying. I'm a monster."

You felt the air knock out of your lungs at his confession. Now that you heard it from him, the realization finally sank in. Suguru had massacred hundreds of people.

There was no going back.

"Oh, Suguru," You choked on your words, not that you had any left. "What have you? No! I'm sure we can find a way. Gojo can. Right? He's the strongest." Your face twisted in fear and something else you couldn't quite pin.

Suguru called your name, pulling you out of your thought train. He was much calmer now, as if he knew nothing more could be done. The realization had set in for him too. "I can't go back anymore."

He stood up, pulling you along with him, and guided you carefully to the back of the shack. He lifted the room divider open just a little to reveal a glimpse of two little girls curled up against each other on the dusty couch. "I won't. Those people were monsters, no less than me."

You let out a gasp at the scene before you as he drew the curtain close again. "They're just kids. Like we were. Like they once were. So why did they have to live like that? What fault did they have?" He was barely keeping his voice even.

Your mind was sending you into a spiral. Nothing seemed to make sense anymore. You swiftly made your way towards the front of the shack, where your bag lay, abandoned. Suguru followed after you, calling your name. Prying open the zipper, you pulled out some canned food, grabbing them in his hands.

"What are you doing?" He called after you, worry lacing his tone as he watched you pick up your empty bag, ready to leave.

"I need some time... to think, Suguru." You tried to keep your voice as unreadable as possible. How would he feel if you sounded terrified, repulsed, or anything at all? "I'll come by- I... Would I be able to see you again?" You stopped to look at him one last time, hoping he'd stop you. Hoping he'd ask you to stay just a little while longer.

He was hesitant. "I'm not sure." He looked as if he were stopping himself from holding onto you too. He'd be too selfish if he did that, right?

"Take care, Suguru." You whispered, choking back your tears and putting on your straightest face. Suguru only watched as you left, unmoving and unspoken. You'd just be a threat to him if you stayed, right?

No matter how close you were to him, he was still a criminal.

And you, a sorcerer.

[csphire]

The mystery that's a part of Dammon's appeal and a solution to preserve it.

From this clip posted by Frazer Blaxland, provided to me by northlandcleric I'm starting to understand where his voice actor is coming from and can even respect it.

But it's also a really brilliant idea for his romance conflict and/or character arc. The thing is, Larian could keep some to most of Dammon's history and motivations a complete mystery. By simply having him struggle, dodge, or even outright refuse to open up about his past and present.

They could drop little ominous clues. Scraps of paper are found during his missions or around his tent in camp with drawn symbols not even Gale can recognize. For his character arc missions, he needs our help to collect a few mysterious items from various sometimes dangerous and highly guarded locations. But the problem is he won't tell you what they are, he refuses to show you them or admit why he needs them. They all just go into this peculiar box of his which he works on out of view of the camera. Much like when he was preparing a fix for Karlach's heart. It could cause the device inside to glow and make some chilling sounds that make us question our decision to keep helping him.

If that wasn't bad enough, there are odd things he mumbles to himself in passing you can't quite make out. We could have a cutscene where we catch him continuing to work on this mysterious device that he quickly hides away.

He could occasionally disappear from the game. As in, he's not available as a companion for a day here and there. He warns you this could happen beforehand and not to worry. Or there is simply a note he's left behind.

I should be back in a day, possibly two. - Dammon

When he comes back, and we ask where he went, he tells us he can't say. Sometimes, he comes back shaken or injured and still won't tell us what has happened or what's wrong.

His story is filled with all kinds of little things that would pique our curiosity and cause us to wonder and yearn for answers.

Perhaps the items he collects look to be transfered into a special locked chest at camp near his tent that he says is private and to not touch. And if the player doesn't listen, picks one surprisingly low roll lock, and opens it regardless, it provides zero answers. It contains just a few mundane, possibly sentimental items. What do these items mean? It doesn't matter, at least not yet, because it was a duplicate box. A temptation. A test to determine if Dammon could trust you, and you just failed it. Upon opening his chest, and violating one of his boundaries, he leaves the party and disappears forever. Or better yet, the game suddenly ends, and the credits roll.

What the hells happened?

We'll never know but we just messed up big time.

Why do I think this idea is perfect for him?

One Frazer wants him to be a man of mystery. Okay, that's valid. Here is your mystery, another paycheck, and more acclaim Frazer.

Two, because it's already set into Dammon's character somewhat. Upon minutes of knowing us, when he speaks of his time in the hells he outright admits, "I hope to forget most of it."

Again, that could be the issue the player character has with him. He simply doesn't want to talk about his past, his trauma, and possible sins. He wants to focus on the present and future with you and/or Karlach. Dammon can be a rather private and guarded character. Why is he like that? It's another mystery.

Being with him as a friend or lover is a complete leap of faith.

Perhaps he actually did, or was made to do, something horrifying and possibly unforgivable. If he confesses, maybe he fears it would destroy our warm view of him and the better person he wishes to be now. Maybe something unspeakable has happened to him, and he doesn't want to be an object of pity. He could be a god, a devil, a Great Old One, or something else in disguise. He could be from the future or an alternate dimension. Or maybe he's entered into an infernal pact of some kind that's bound his tongue on the whole matter. The list of what his secrets are can go on and on.

Then as his love interest or just friend, do we accept that he has a few secrets and respect his boundaries? Do we keep our hands off his metaphorical Pandora's box? Or do we break things off with him for refusing to trust and open up to us? Better yet, he could choose to break it off with us eventually or even leave the party for good if we keep pressing and again, open that chest of his.

This would allow us fanfic writers to go wild with theories. The fandom as a whole will debate over which ones seem more plausible. None of which the developers at Larian will ever confirm.

Parts of his past will never be explained to us the player.

Finally, after he's collected the last thing he needs, and fiddles with it after he places it in the box, it just winks out of existence. Maybe dramatically, it hums, levitates, and glows first then poof! A real "Stand back!" like it's going to blow up moment.

After it's gone, Dammon drops to his knees, shivers, and lets out this huge sigh of relief, maybe even laughs next. Make it a touch maniacal? Sure, that would make us sweat over if we did the right thing in helping him. Make us squirm Larian, please.

The important thing is, that whatever problem Dammon had is over... or is it?

The player character can ask him if he can now explain himself. If a friend, he'll just shake his head and thank us. If we have low approval with him, he'll just shake his head and apologize that he still can't speak of it and ask us to, yet again, drop the matter.

But if he's our love, he'll ask if we are sure we want to know and if we can keep a secret. If we vow to, he will lean in and whisper something into our character's ear. We the audience won't know what he's told our character. But at least now there are no more secrets between him and the one(s) he loves.

We just get to watch on as our character's eyes go wider and bug a little in shock as he whispers away. When he pulls back, we can choose to rush and hug him. So tight with an expression of utter belated fear of all that could have gone wrong on our character's face. Or we could choose to break up with him because whatever our character heard has damaged the relationship beyond repair.

Now that the player character knows everything they can consummate the relationship. Why now? Because full disclosure is sexy, and so is a good slow burn.

Oh, and remember those sentimental items? After telling us about his completed mission to our character, he finally shows us what's in that locked chest that had been a test of trust. The one we decide to respect his wishes and leave alone. He finally opens up about his past a tiny bit and talks about why each item he kept in there was so important to him. But of course, most of his trinkets will not be related to his time in the hells or his mysterious now completed task.

Later on, we can ask, "What in the hells were you thinking, taking all that on?!"

Dammon's response? He gives a sheepish shrug and says, "I think you know why. Everything is in order now. That's all that matters, my love. Thank you for trusting, helping, and believing in me."

To just a friend player character, who tries yet again for an explanation, Dammon will only offer, "Just know everything is in order now. That's all that matters, and you have my deepest thanks."

Again, to be clear, we the players are still kept in the dark. It will be only our romanced player character that will know what happened, and there could be an option to whisper Dammon's secret to others. That temptation could always be there among the dialogue options when speaking to the other companions. But kissing and telling will come with consequences. Anywhere from earning a large chunk of disapproval with Dammon to him outright breaking up with the player's character and leaving the party. Maybe he tells all to Karlach too or maybe not, it could all depend on your and Dammon’s relationship with her.

But no matter what, Dammon keeps a majority of his mystery.

Frazer is hopefully happy. We'll be happy.

Everyone. Can. Be. Happy!

If you agree, please consider sharing this to help bring it to Larian's attention. Feel free to discuss your thoughts in the comments below too.

Let's get Dammon into a starring role as an origin character and romanceable in a DLC to help feature the Artificer class!

[project-sekai-facts]

Are there any characters in-game that are notably really good/bad cooks? I know that Toya almost poisoned Rui in Never Give Up Cooking but idk about the rest

Also ty for posting all of these cool fun facts daily! They make my day

Yeah so as you said Toya is abysmal at cooking but he does get lessons from KAITO towards the end of Never Give Up Cooking! and is able to make significant improvement to his cupcakes. According to KAMIKOU FESTIVAL!, he's good at preparing and serving candyfloss.

VBS!Miku also cannot cook for shit (a trait she probably inherited from Toya) and is also given lessons by VBS!KAITO. VBS!Len receives lessons too, but I don't recall it being stated that he was a bad cook beforehand. Oh yeah goes without saying but VBS KAITO and MEIKO are good cooks.

Honami is canonically a good cook. She's part of home economics club and cooks meals for Kanade often. In the 2021 Valentine's voicelines it is mentioned that she taught Saki how to make sweets. An can also cook, as well as prepare coffee and tea, because she works at the cafe. It's also mentioned that Kohane can bake in multiple seasonal menu voicelines.

Airi can cook as demonstrated in Operation♡Secret Valentine! and she is also a member of tea ceremony club. She helps Saki and Emu bake cakes and other sweet treats in the aforementioned event.

Honami and Emu also cooked a BBQ in Let's Have the Absolute Best Summer!.

Akito, Shiho, Haruka and Mizuki can all make chocolate, as shown in The Gentleman Thief's Thrilling White Day!?.

The 2023 White Day voicelines mention that Rui has made appliances for baking specific sweets, meaning that he probably has knowledge of how to make these by hand in the first place. Meanwhile the 2022 White Day voicelines reveal that the base forms of Len and KAITO can bake.

It's mentioned that Mafuyu can cook in the Mirage of Lights event story.

Ena's speciality is listed as "picking the best ingredients for cooking" in her official bio, so presumably she can cook.

Actually, all of Leo/need has some cooking proficiency. 4koma #10 reveals that they can all make apple pies.

And finally, Shizuku can cook as well. She also mentions that she can make chocolates in her 2021 Valentine's voiceline.

And for some assumptions

I don't think Kanade can cook. She can make instant foods but I don't know if she can cook actual meals. We do know that the reason she has pot noodles is because it saves her time, so maybe she can cook and just has priorities. She can be seen helping out Honami in her wedding card come to think of it, so she probably can cook.

Idk about Tsukasa and Nene. It's probably mentioned somewhere but I haven't read every card story.

I still don't trust WxS' island cooking.

Someone in the Wonderland SEKAI can cook. that or they have a magic oven/fridge like in cartoons (always a possibility with the Wonderland SEKAI)

p.s no problem! glad to hear that

[kittyball23]

Neverglading (a Trolls fanfic)

Summary: John Dory meets an unexpected companion while trekking through the Neverglade Trail

A/N: Taking place before TBT; Makes references to my oneshot from Trolls 3.0 titled "Found" (ch 18) :)

__________________________________________

I guess there’s a reason they call it the NEVERglade Trail, John Dory thought, exhaustedly taking another step forward and forcing himself to look past the fatigue that plagued his body.

The marshland was not that deep underfoot, only coming up to his ankles, but it sure was thick. One could only go so long taking forcible steps before you got awfully tired out, and before the marsh started to feel like it was taking its grimy hands and holding you in place. But John Dory was not letting it deter him. He refused for it to. He had been the leader of BroZone, and there had been certain traits that a leader needed to have. A key one of those was determination, a strong drive to get done what one strived to get done, and, if it could helped, completing it in the best way possible (or, as John Dory liked to call it, in the most brodacious way possible!).

Come on, JD, he urged himself, you CAN do it! Hauling his knees up, he marched through the boggy trail, ignoring the burn in his muscles. FEEL the burn, he encouraged himself, using the same words he had on Spruce when the Troll had adamantly prepared for every show they’d performed with some workout exercises beforehand. And besides, he continued lecturing, why would I give up now? Just a few yards or so away, he could see the telltale green that indicated a smooth, solid patch of grass. The end of the trail! Knowing his victory was just a hop, skip, and jump away fueled the Troll, and he hauled himself forward some more. Yes! Almost there! Just gotta -

“Rrrwoaw !”

JD gasped at the sudden cry that pierced the air and, upon reflex, took a fighting stance. It was very unexpected, with the only sounds that had accompanied his trek thus far being the bubbling of the bog, a couple of bugs flitting by with a quick ZZZZT! , distant bird calls, and the sound of his own heaving grunts. The sound was foreign among the others, and did not give off the vibe of a creature who was in any way relaxed. And that made the green hair on the back of his neck rise in an unpleasant way. Was he being hunted? Was that the creature's cry of battle, ready to charge at the unsuspecting Troll and splatter what would become his remains across the land?

John Dory shuddered, suddenly feeling cold. Nobody deserved to go out like that!

“RRWOAW !”

He grimaced upon hearing the cry resound again, and not two seconds after that, again. That's when the Troll had to stop and think. For one, he was still standing there, the bottom hems of his white slacks a little muddied, but otherwise well off. If this creature had wanted to attack him, then surely it would have done so already. Or else, why make the ruckus? Any predator intelligent enough in the order of things in the food chain would know to keep quiet and not scare off their prey with any loud sounds. This creature, whatever it was, was not following that basic protocol. Which got JD thinking… perhaps it wasn't hunting. Perhaps it was…

“RRRRWOOOAW!!”

… distressed.

His head whirled around to his far left, in the direction the call had been coming from, somewhere off the bog's marked trail in the swampy woods. He sucked in a deep breath. There was a certain order to things. Just like in his band, for example. He was BroZone’s leader (a role that he believed his brothers could have shown him much more appreciation for taking). Spruce was the Heartthrob, Clay the Fun Boy, Floyd the Sensitive One, and Branch the Baby, all with their own reasons for being that way. And he was sure that there was a reason to why this trail was marked, why it didn't veer off to the left where the noises were coming from. What dangers were that way? They were dangers he didn't really have to find out about. But for the sake of the creature, he wanted to. There was a soft spot somewhere in JD for critters, even if Grandma had never let him have one of his own. He still loved playing with Pop Village's pets when time between band rehearsals and keeping his brothers in line permitted. Still, John Dory gazed longingly at the patch of green up ahead, where he could rest his aching feet and sore muscles.

He paused to reconsider. Maybe it was better to go there first, rest a second, regain some energy, have a snack or two, or…

“RRWOAW !”

… or not .

Before he could change his mind, John Dory stomped his way through the bog, away from his green and right to the source of the sound. The creature's cries were becoming far more frequent now, baying every couple seconds, perhaps even knowing that it had garnered someone's attention at last. John Dory dutifully followed, pushing aside throngs of bushy leaves and slinking through mossy undergrowth until, at last, he came to what he had been seeking. Just beyond a curtain of leaves he could see something thrashing, and the creature's cries were unbearably loud. JD gulped. He hadn't a clue what lay beyond that curtain. Whatever it was may not like him, trying to bite at him with its fangs or swipe at him with claws that may as well pass for daggers. Or, it could be injured, his sights to be met with a gruesome image of blood and gore from wherever it had been wounded.

Aw, no…

He didn't want to hurl, not when he'd just eaten some super delicious marshmallows not five minutes ago!

Regardless, it was no use turning back now. He bothered to trudge his way through the marsh, and he wasn't going to make it a pointless trip. Slowly, his hand went towards the leaves, and he braced himself as he dramatically thrust it aside with a great big swoosh!

"ACK!"

"RROO!"

Both he and the critter surprised each other with a shout. John Dory hid his face with his hands for a second while they both recovered, in case the creature reacted badly. But he didn't end up feeling any chomping on his fingers. Tentatively, he opened his eyes and put his hands down, coming face-to-face with a…

… Well, he didn't know what it was.

Wide, green eyes blinked back at him, pupils shrank some in fear. Its body was armadillo-like, with a shellish exterior that was pudgy-looking in texture. Four stubby green legs kicked around in midair, and just then did he notice that the creature was suspended, tied up among a whole mess of vines with no way to get out.

"Hey, girlie," John Dory whispered, finding his voice after a moment. "Oof… got yourself tied up pretty good, huh?" The critter whimpered, and he couldn’t help chuckling to himself a little at how cute it sounded. Then a thought occurred to him. "Wait a sec… you are a girl, right? Not a boy?" At the mention of the word "boy" and the suggestion of being one, the critter growled, and JD got his answer. "A'ight, girl it is. Need some help getting out?"

The critter seemed to somewhat understand what he was saying, and she gave a short bark in reply, wagging her small, stumpy tail.

"Alright, okay, we're gonna solve this right now, yeah?" Shifting, John Dory slipped out of his acorn backpack and leaned it against a tree, hurriedly searching for something, anything that could assist. He couldn’t imagine how the poor girl felt.

Wait a second… yes I CAN.

It suddenly hit John Dory that he had undergone this terrible scenario. It wasn’t too long ago that he had been strewn up in front of nearly all of the Troll Village, trussed alongside his brothers in an embarrassing display during what was their first and last show of the Family Harmony tour. He had known the frustration, the humiliation… and he did not want this little critter to endure that any longer.

Not on MY watch!

“HA!” he shouted, finding the switchblade stashed at the very bottom of his bag. He’d rarely used the item, so it was still in pristine condition. And it would prove useful in this scenario. “I gotcha, girlie!” JD assured, approaching her.

The little creature recoiled a little at the sight of the sharp object, and squirmed when he brought it up the closest vine she was entangled in.

“Relax,” JD whispered, “probably best if you don’t move, ‘kay?”

The critter whimpered a little, but seemed to understand, and stilled. He could still sense her trembling, but he worked quickly, sawing the vine and being extremely careful not to let it touch her in the process. As soon as the first knot was free, the rest was a breeze. The vines fell apart with ease, and he managed to pull her free, holding her firmly in his arms before she tumbled to the ground. She was heavier than she looked, and he grunted a little as he attempted to maintain his balance in the already unstable bog.

“There we go… that wasn’t too bad, was it?” he asked with a chuckle, trying for humor to lighten the mood.

Turns out it wasn't necessary. As soon as she was able to wiggle her arms and legs free, the critter trilled loudly, though this time, it was a trill of happiness, not sounding anything like the cry of desperation that she'd emitted before. In a flurry of gratitude, she leaned up and lapped at John Dory’s face in a series of doggy-like kisses.

“Okay, you’re welcome, you’re welcome!” he laughed. Once free of the critter’s tongue, he glanced around, not really wanting to go trudging through the boggy forest again. Luckily, he had another trick up his sleeve. He reached into his green hair and pulled out a grappling hook, shooting it out so it gripped the top of a tall tree above their heads.

“Hang on, tight, girl!”

The critter squeaked in surprise when John Dory swept them up into the air, using his stretchy Troll hair to swing them up and out on the tree limbs like monkey bars. Before he knew it, they were on that patch of grass and away from the swampy place.

The critter celebrated with a chirpy noise, snuggling up next to JD and wagging her tail.

In a fond gesture, JD bent down and patted her head. “Not a problemo, a’ight?” he cooed. “Now, I better scoot. Catch you later, small fry. I got another trail ta hike!”

John Dory began to head off, adjusting his backpack on his back a little better, when he suddenly became aware of the creature’s remaining presence, padding behind him. When he turned to look at her, she wagged her tail and panted.

"You're welcome, girly!" he chuckled, giving a thumbs up and hoping she'd get the message. But when he turned around to head off again, he could still hear her footsteps coming along behind him on the grass. That was when he realized what was going on, and after a couple seconds he called out to her. "Uh, you're kinda coming with me, aren'tcha?"

She barked affirmatively, and he bent down to her level, letting her rub affectionately against the hand that he held out to her. "What's a matter, girl, you don't got a family?" The mention of a family got the critter somber. She looked down, her green eyes giving off sadness in the way that rubbed off on JD.

"I don't either," JD admitted, "not anymore, at least..."

He paused for a second, silent, but then got happy at a new realization. "Say... WE got a family now!"

The critter liked the sound of that, and barked in agreement.

"So, if we're gonna be partners in rhyme, gotta kinda call you something other than 'girl' all the time." John Dory tapped his chin and thought. "Hmm... how are you digging 'Anna'?"

The way the pup almost seemed to scoff told him that she wasn't digging it.

"Err, alright... how about ‘Camila’?”

Another scoff.

"'Amy'?"

She grumbled.

"'Zoey'?"

She flopped to the ground.

JD sighed, then tentatively asked, "'Rhonda'?"

The pup sat up, like it had a nice ring to it, and she wagged her tail.

JD's eyes lit up. "'Rhonda'? Yeah? You like that?"

The pup barked and panted, running a few circles around him.

JD laughed and rubbed her head. "Rhonda it is. Now, let's get crackin'!" He whistled and waved a hand to get her to follow him, though that was not a problem. She trailed behind him obediently, occasionally coming to rub up against his legs and yip excitedly. It'd been only a few minutes meeting him, but she already loved his company!

And he loved hers. A friend was just what he needed, and a pet was what he'd always wanted. To get both at once felt great!

He bent down, scratching her behind the head and then bounding off with a pep in his step, having a feeling that hiking this new trail was going to be a whole lot more fun.

[utilitycaster]

I've been seeing complaints that Spenser was 'trying too hard to kill the cast' this episode, which I have to say I wildly disagree with, but I will admit to be a little confused why the players sometimes took one or even two marks after rolling a six. Or I guess I'm not confused so much as I wonder if the mechanics for injury, success, failure, etc could be too vague atm? Candela doesn't really have anything like CR rating or DC which it doesn't NEED, but I guess could create some grey area?

Good question! Here's the secret: all TTRPGs I'd consider worth my time have a huge swathe of gray area, D&D very much included (indeed, I find a lot of the more baseless criticisms of D&D, especially from Game Based Heavily On D&D But Different fans (derogatory) to come from people mad at that gray area) and as long as the players and GM have agreed on it, it's fine. With that said I admit that paying attention to individual rolls is not what I am inclined, personally, to do, but if this is about Sean rolling a six and taking two body...that is because he was going to take four body off the bat and reduced it with a good roll that the GM permitted him. (It also might be about Marion taking in the rift, which was similarly stated beforehand to cost him a Bleed scar no matter what he rolled, the roll reflecting how successful he was.) Now, we can talk about the implications of taking four body seemingly out of nowhere, but do recall that is coming off an earlier 1 roll in his interaction with Duncan.

CR ratings generally are a poor understanding of difficulty, and the thing about DCs is you can set them arbitrarily high (or for that matter, secretly low). Like...to use D&D, you cannot make a persuasion check for someone who dislikes you to give you all their belongings and run away forever. The DM is going to set the persuasion check at 50 and it is going to be unreachable by any means. Even a nat 20 will give you a result of "they think you're joking and laugh it off instead of run after you with a sword." If you jump off a sufficiently high cliff in D&D and roll a nat 20 to land, you still might take enough damage to die during your three-point landing. And so on.

So: while we don't have all the rules of Candela Obscura, it is valid from my knowledge of the Forged in the Dark engine, which Illuminated Worlds was heavily influenced by, for Spenser to say "this action is unbelievably dangerous and there is no possible way you are escaping unscathed, and a full success means that you live to tell the tale with only a gunshot wound or bleed damage rather than outright death." That's the other thing: completely valid for the GM to come in planning to kill the players. That's the premise of EXU Calamity. I would assume the table discussed that this was going to be a much darker and more dangerous game than Chapter 1 and everyone shares those expectations, and is prepared to possibly lose these characters. Which is, frankly, another thing that comes up specifically in actual play: what the table knows and expects and is prepared to accept is often something much harsher than the audience is prepared to accept. I mentioned being irritated at the presumptive nature of a lot of safety tool discussion (and am feeling very validated by Spenser's tweet about how he handled the letters to Sean) but like...when the CR or D20 or Candela tables prepare for their games, they have talked about expectations of tone and whether the GM will be trying to gently usher new players to victory, flat out gunning for a potential TPK, or somewhere in between.

This was a long, pre-full dose of caffeine way to say that one of the biggest rules of GM-ing is that the GM sets the tone of which the danger and difficulty of the world is part, and also that, based on everything about how this chapter has been presented, if someone accuses Spenser of being very hard on the party my answer is "...yeah, no shit, did you fail to realize that from the tone and text of literally every trailer and interview?"

[starpirateee]

Hi!! Could you write one of the Curtwen prompts I made, yet didn’t cut it? I love your writing style!!

Honestly there was a bit of deliberation here because you put some really good ideas out there on the form, but I did say I'd write em myself, and by all means, I'll still do it! So, I decided to go for this prompt:

Would you take a modern au from me? Can I do that?

I mean, I'm going to anyway, because I have a dire need to call Curt and Owen husbands (and also for wider Starkid lore), but i just thought I'd warn you beforehand!

"Agent Carvour, have you found anything yet?"

Owen leaned back away from his research. He'd been looking at the same page now for a while, trying to make some sense of it. Redacted government files were hard to get hold of, but even harder to make ends of. His system had been trying to translate it, but not even he had the software for that.

"Quite possibly, sir. I have a few sources, at least."

"What have you got?"

With an air of something that was almost excitement and almost elation, Owen pulled up a series of documents and started the walk through them. "Well, sir, the easiest source was from a few years ago. There's a company in Michigan that's been trying to conduct various temporal experiments under their parent company— some kind of analyst company, I think. They're surprisingly ordinary. Anyway, apparently the experiments just… Stopped. They never drew a conclusion on whether or not their research was connected to what was on the other side."

This had all started when Chimera had dug up a series of centuries old reports about people claiming to have looked into the eyes of old gods. None of the people had known each other, but all of the reports showed some form of consistency, and all told of great, unknowable power.

So, they had decided to look into it, to see if there had been anyone else who'd dared to brave the process of trying to find an answer. Owen was one of those lucky enough to find himself with the resources to start a thorough investigation.

"They didn't finish?"

"No, I don't know what happened, but the reports just stopped one day."

"Is there anything else?"

"An american government report, but it's as hard as you can imagine to decipher. Most of it is redacted…"

"Anything worth noting?"

Owen nodded, carefully turning back and switching the tabs. This felt a little like he was giving a presentation that he hadn't prepared for, and he hadn't felt like this in quite some time. He took a breath, trying to slow down the rampage that was going on in his head. "They started in the early noughts. 2005, to be precide. That's the earliest I'd gotten without looking at those old reports from the pioneers. A branch of the military tried to build a gateway to the other side, to investigate what existed outside of our plane. I don't know names, only one. The name of the man who performed the experiment."

"They got this gateway open?"

"Yes, sir. And they sent someone through. I think there's a good reason why his is the only name they disclosed."

"Why?"

"Because he was declared dead, sir."

His screen still displayed the document, and the man's name sat among the black markouts, clear enough to see. Cross, W.D. Apparently, he'd ventured into the portal, and nobody heard from him or saw him after the date of the experiment. They gave up the search after a month, and after that, Colonel Cross was indeed declared dead.

"So, another dead end?"

"Maybe not. I'll do what I can to uncover this with what I've got available, but it was scanned, so…. It might take some time." Owen was normally confident in his abilities, and uncovering government documents was a difficult yet necessary part of the job. There was something almost genuinely enthralling about scraping off the parts that the world's governments wanted to keep secret. It felt like giving people a small yet surprisingly effective slice of justice every time.

"Keep looking, Carvour. We need to know if this is viable, or even worth our time…"

If Owen had any kind of normal life— if he and his husband didn't both do the dirty work for secret operation services— he would have a blast trying to decide how to describe the intricacies of what he'd been researching lately. The throws of domestic life confounded him to no end, which was why it was so funny when he and Curt tried to imitate that.

The otherwise simple question of "how was your day" turned into a battle of who could craft the most believable lie that better concealed what they'd actually done. Neither wanted to jeopardise their jobs, and Curt had always been brilliant at crafting stories, so it was never dull.

He started to think about what today's excuse would be. Something about pioneers, or the Oregon trail, or perhaps he could bring up that old, dead colonel somehow, that would be interesting to add to the pile.

--

"You know what I'm gonna ask already…"

By the time he got home, Curt was already waiting for him, and the mid-spring sun was starting to set. For anyone else, it was a day at the office, but the trails he had begun to uncover had really put all other days at the office to shame.

He laughed softly, having prepared this answer a number of hours before, and took up a position on the couch. "No, love, you first. I insist."

"Fine, okay," Curt answered with a chuckle. "It was nothing really, just your standard… But, the bear returned, and in about a month, I'm gonna get really rich and run off to central Europe, with a really pretty lady and a dollar store box of magic tricks."

"The same bear from last month?"

"Yeah. Bastard won't leave me alone."

"Sounds wild. Are you coming back after your plans to run off with this really pretty lady?"

"Plan is to cut myself off after three weeks, but at this rate, I might not make it two."

"Not good enough?"

"Owen, I'm a bit too gay for that." To sell his point, he flashed his wedding band, and Owen laughed harder. "Besides," he added, covering his own bout of laughter. "Who needs a fake wife when I've got my own right here?"

Owen shot him a faux-offended glance. "How dare you!"

"You might fool the guys at work, O, but you couldn't pretend you don't think about it…"

Or that he hadn't been experimenting in that part of himself in little segments since he was seventeen. Turns out he suited long hair better, and he wouldn't hesitate to admit that he both looked and felt rather good with the occasional flourish.

"You know me well..."

"I should hope so! Anyway, what're you keeping from me? How was your day?"

"Office, just like you. I've had a conversation with a pioneer, and tried to erase marker pen over the body of a dead soldier. Oh, and I tried to teach myself statistical analysis."

"Jeez, that was— that was a whole rollercoaster there, huh?"

"Mhm, I've been busy."

"You can say that again, god… So, a pioneer? Like those guys that travelled to Oregon?"

"Yeah. Quite interesting people, if a little paranoid." Something other than their oxen might be watching them would've been a perfect addition to the statement, but Owen felt that was a little too close to the line to pass, so he decided not to add it.

The important part was, apart from the knowledge that Curt was on an assignment in a month's time, both of them were none the wiser. Curt didn't need to know that he had started the deep dive into a pack of eldritch gods and was even slightly nervous about the outcome.

He didn't sleep well that night. He knew that he had right to believe that this was all one great hoax, that there was something in the water that made the pioneers mass hallucinate this supposed watcher. They all travelled on the same trail, it was entirely plausible that all of them found the same hallucinogenic and envisioned a thousand eyes watching them and their familes. It was less of a coincidence when two subsidaries of larger companies started describing details of experiments that led them to discovering other beings beyond just the watcher, of course, but he still wasn't sure whether he was privy to believing any of it.

There was something about redacted government files, though, that were meant to be believed. There was a reason they hid information from the public, and that was often because they had found something worth disclosing in the first place. That meant huge news, large press cover ups… The whole works… And that was the last thing any self-respecting government with something to hide would want. Owen imagined the size of the initial press conferences for dealings like Roswell, how many people must've shown up to that conference, under the impression that they were going to get answers, only for the press to redact the next day and claim that it was no more than a weather balloon.

He felt like he was dealing with a weather balloon of his own right now. This was something that this branch of the military clearly didn't want people knowing. The only reason they'd had to disclose any information at all was because one of their own had died looking for this information, and they had to provide the closure for whatever family he had left. Part of him wondered what they'd said, how they'd tried to cover up this man's imminent demise at the hands of another dimension. What did his family know? Was he ever given a sendoff?

When Owen tried to sleep that night, plagued with the thoughts of how much his research was worth, and what really happened on the other side, he couldn't get his head in the right place to take a suitable rest for long enough. Flashes of colour— brighter than anything he'd ever seen— danced behind his eyelids, chasing each other in sequence. Blue. Purple. Yellow. Pink. Green. White. Blue…. He didn't have much of the capacity to think, not when those colours started consuming his subconscious thought, but he spared a moment to the hope that he may get answers of his own if he stuck around long enough.

"He thinks he's brave… He thinks we don't know about him…"

Whatever dream he had been having was taken over by blurred edges and violent pangs of pain that he was sure he could feel outside of this existence. Everything faded out, leving only ruin in it's wake. Broken pieces, scrambled signals… Owen didn't even try and make sense of it, he already understood the futility of trying. There was nothing left in his mind but those colours and those voices— for he was sure there was more than one. A sickening chorus, holding perfect time with each other.

"He's foolish, if he thinks he can go further without us finding out."

"Owennnn…"

"We know what you're doing, Owen…. It's not going to last."

He'd thought about meeting his maker before. He'd thought about the possibility of death, the idea that he may not live to see another day eventually. It was hard to deliberate something so serious in his early thirties, but his line of work called for it. He knew that he had a dangerous job, and that there were few who would be able to save him if something happened.

But, he'd never considered the possibility of his own demise to this extent before. In the formless remains of his dream, where he was forced into hearing these voices talk about his death and how soon it would be to coming, he had pause for deliberation. And it wasn't good.

He had to strain to take control of his own voice, in this space that was once his own. Once so sacred, now scarce and left entirely to the whim of whatever was taking residence in his mind. This was a bad idea. All of this research was a bad idea, and he was suddenly more aware of that than he was anything else. Never before had he had such a violent urge to overturn everything he'd worked on for the sake of something this seemingly trivial.

"There's nothing you can do. It's already started. This is bigger than me…"

"We know that. You're not the only one we have heard trying to work your way into what is ours… Choose your next step carefully, Owen. I'm sure we would delight in taking you in the same direction as the others…"

Before he could really ask what that meant, he was left entirely alone. The ruin of his dream still stood strong, which was strange enough given that the voices had left him alone, but he had the strangest feeling that there was more to this landscape than just what he was being shown. He started to wander, to look around in an attempt to find the real end to all of this. His mind was a wasteland, taken over by the lack of colour and the apparently deafening absence of those voices that had only appeared a moment before. He felt empty without them, although he knew nothing more than the sequence of colours that paraded through his vision.

Blue… Purple…. Yellow…

The pattern was familiar, like he'd seen it before somewhere. And while he wasn't resting easy, he couldn't force himself to wake up, either. No matter how hard he tried, he was just left stuck, wandering the expanse until he found what he was apparently looking for.

Pink…. Green…. White… Blue…

The expanses of his mind stretched out into a road, occupied by nothing but empty space. He supposed that was mostly his own fault; he had known for years that his imagination was never one to be put on par with anything else. He couldn't so vividly picture that which others could, and he'd never really had much of a capacity to dream, either.

So, this warning was strange. Seeing such vivid, bright colours in the back of his mind, knowing that he couldn't have conjured them himself…

He started to walk the road, curious enough to want to know where it went.

"Owen?"

That voice wasn't like the ones who had left moments before. That voice had a personality, and a person to go with. It was warm, though scared. Human all the same. And Owen knew the shape of it.

"Owen?"

Owen let his instinct lead him down the road, through it's many curves and winds. Eventually, the road gave way to what could only possibly be a stage. There was a set of stairs to one side, that he let himself climb before he could think to wonder where they led, and then the familiar voice gave way to a man in the wings, staring at him with desperate, fear-lined eyes. Of course he knew the voice, and of course he had never tried to doubt himself on the matter.

He tried to advance towards Curt, but he took a hasty step back, shaking his head.

"Curt?"

"Prove you're Owen."

"I'm sorry?"

Curt hesitated, and then slowly emerged from the wings. Even though he stood on the light of the stage, it still looked like he was carefully enveloped in shadow, like the darkness was a comfort to him. Owen looked around, wondering what had made him so cautious, and whether it was still around. Had Curt seen what he'd seen? What had those things whispered to him?

"I'm not falling for it again. Tell me you're actually Owen…"

Owen frowned, not wanting to dwell too much on why Curt was so afraid to reach out to him and realise that all of this was as real as they could get it. "Curt, love, I don't know what you want me to say…" There was a certain desperation about him too. Improvisation had never been his strong suit, but he wass confident that, given the right prompt, he would be able to convince his husband that he was who he said he was, to quell any discrepancy that it may have been otherwise.

"Don't. Show me… What happened on your 25th birthday."

The pieces fit into place, and Owen nodded dutifully. He had been out in the field that day, a strikingly hot day in the middle of June. The two of them had barely ended up with three hours together by the end of it, and they'd gone out drinking to celebrate what little time was left of his birthday. He'd never been particularly big on celebrating, but Curt had insisted. They were newly married then, and getting used to the idea of sharing a life with someone else. That was one of the first nights following their wedding when Owen truly came to realise that he'd made entirely the right decision, and that there was nobody he'd rather share his life with than Curt Mega.

"My 25th… That was a home ground mission. I was in the state."

"What happened to you?"

Owen smiled, somewhere between fondness and a need to hide the melancholic air that hung about that question. He pushed up the sleeve of his jacket, and huffed a weary breath of laughter. "I was trying to make my exit, but the suit jacket caught on a fence. Here…" With his sleeve rolled to just the right length, Owen held out his arm and pointed out a pale flash just below his elbow— a jagged scratch that had never quite healed right. "That's what happened after the fabric tore. Is that enough?"

Curt had known about the scar. He'd also known about the story. He was pretty sure that nobody else knew, though, so in his head, that had always been his fallback option in the event that he was ever sure Owen needed to prove himself. Those stories lined up perfectly, and while Owen had missed out on some of the details, in the grander scheme of things, he'd gotten it exactly right. He shifted, letting a knowing smile cross his face through the fear that still gripped him.

"It's really you…"

"Of course. Why wouldn't it be?"

Curt's approach was still careful, premeditated. Even though he knew the truth now, there was still something about him that screamed a lack of trust directly into his ear, and it made actually reaching out for Owen so much harder. "You… You were trying to kill me."

"What now?"

"I know what I saw…"

"I don't doubt you, but I would never… I swear it on my life."

"I know, that's why it was strange… I— What the hell's happening?" This stage was the only thing connecting the two of them to reality. There was nothing beyond it but the end of the road that Owen had travelled down, and nothing behind it but black, empty space.

Owen let his instinct take over. If the two of them were going to face the unknown, whatever and wherever this was, then they were going to do it together. They always had, and they always would. That was the way things worked, especially for the two of them, because their lives were built so heavily on the idea of distrust that any semblance of the opposite they could get, they would cling to. Normally that was exclusively each other, and so the world wasn't usually much larger than the two of them.

Their hands connected in the middle of the emptiness. Owen pulled Curt Closer to him, and the two of them stood side, performers to an unknown audience, marionettes for something larger than themselves. They exchanged a glance, and Owen registered the warm, homely spark residing in Curt's eyes.

"I think we're trapped in a nightmare, crazy as it sounds," he tried to respond, but he wasn't entirely sure where this was going to go. "I can't wake up, but I remember falling asleep last night."

"Me too. I fell asleep before you did, you were still reading."

"Right, and now there's this. Whatever this is. did you, by chance, see those colours too?"

Curt nodded. "They came before you did, before the- other you. Blue, and purple, and yellow…"

"…Pink, and green, and white..?"

"And then blue again."

Owen heaved a sigh. "Curt, there's something I have to confess. It's safe to do so now, there's little that could get in the way of what I have to admit, but this is one of those things I wouldn't be able to tell you awake, you understand?"

There was a moment's pause, in which Curt tried to work around Owen's phrasing. Both of them felt the incredibly revealing sense that they were being watched, so Curt understood that Owen had gone into the professional mindset— switching off his senses for the sake of making as much sense of something as possible. It was always how he rationalised his way through situations, and it hadn't failed him yet.

Eventually, Curt nodded again, as the words started to sink in and he started to get a sense of what was being said. "This about what you told me this evening?"

"Yeah, I'm afraid there's a little more to it than what I told you, but I suppose that was rather obvious."

A nervous breath of laughter left Curt, only partially voluntary. "I thought there'd be a bit more to it than erasing marker pen over the body of a dead soldier…. What the hell kinda explanation was that, anyway?"

"One I spent a good hour crafting, thank you very much. I thought it was clever."

"Better than a pretty lady and a box of tricks?"

"And a bear, yes."

"… And the bear. Right. Well, what's that mean? erasing marker pen over the body of a dead soldier, what're you saying there?"

"I've…" This is not going to get you done for. Those documents were already top secret before you saw them. And if it gets you out of this nightmare prison, then surely it has to be worth it. "I've been uncovering sealed military case files that might explain what's happening to us right now."

Curt's eyes went wide. "Fucking what?!"

"It's all part of the job. I can't… I can't elaborate. Know only what everyone else knows: that the only reason any part of this is disclosed at all is because someone died during one of the experiments."

"What's that got to do with what's happening here?"

"That's what they were researching."

That seemed to click to some degree. At least, Curt seemed to understand a few of the larger pieces, perhaps the more obvious ones. "The colours?" In his head, there was an experiment, someone tried to make sense of whatever that was in their shared mindscape. Someone— a soldier, presumably, had died in the middle of these experiments, and now Owen had gotten tangled in this mess through his agency, and the two of them had been dropped into the same nightmare.

Owen nodded. "The colours."

At the moment he said that, a loud rumble disrupted their moment and forced their attention out into the expanse of nothing. Laughter— multiple sources with varying shrieks and gasps that couldn't be placed to a single source— burst from behind the wings, and from in front of them, and from the endless expanse of black that surrounded them. A loud crack followed, and Curt swore as the stage splintered beneath his feet. For a split second, his grip loosensed, and the next time the ground rumbled, they were torn apart by the growing crack in the stage. He staggered back, and the two of them ended on opposite sides of the stage, the crack between them growing and delving deeper into the unknown.

"Owen!" He called, trying to regain his footing but falling back.

"Curt! Hold on!" Owen yelled through the growing laughter, scrambling back to reach out for the pulley system backstage. He needed a foothold on something, a way to sturdy himself so he could regroup and think. It was too loud, he couldn't think in this kind of heat, with this kind of mess, and Curt, and-

Another crack. The stage was starting to fall away from itself, split not quite perfectly in two. Owen's breath ran short. In the swirls of colour and mayhem and possibilities, he saw a way out. One chance to get this right, and to make sure that they both survived the fall while they were still stuck here. He gripped the rope tight, levering himself further towards the crack, and looked to Curt. "You're gonna have to jump it!" He called, desperation winning over any attempts to stay sane. "Don't worry! You know I'll never let you down!"

"Are you crazy?!" Curt managed, staring into the gap. "I can't jump that, it's too far!"

"Curt, before the whole place splits in half, you have to get over here!"

"What if I don't make it?"

"Trust me! Please!"

Curt backed off a few paces. Owen stood ready, one hand gripping the rope wrapped around his wrist, and the other reaching out as far as he could, waiting for a move to be made. After a singular preparatory breath, he sprinted for the gap, and pushed off from the splintered wood at the edge.

He reached out.

Owen reached out.

Their fingertips connected briefly in the space, and then Curt slipped away beneath his grasp.

Owen threw himself forward, feeling the rope worming itself free and burning his wrist in the process. He'd promised. He wasn't going to let Curt fall. And he was nothing if not a man of his word.

Curt's eyes squeezed shut, preparing for an endless fall through the ineviatble. Something laced around his wrist and he felt himself stop moving. Exerting all the caution he knew to exert, he looked up, and caught a familiar whiskey brown staring back at him.

"I've got you!" Owen breathed, and Curt fought to angle himself so that he could get a better chance to grab the broken stage floor. When Owen started hauling backwards, Curt managed to get a hold of the edge of the stage, and made it a joint effort to haul him to his feet. "You're alright… You're okay…"

Curt essentially fell into Owen's arms. Owen held on tight, like he could lose his partner at any second to the swirls and the crevice. He stared out into the emptiness, ignoring the very real pain that he could feel at his wrist but cherishing the very reel feeling of Curt's shirt underneath his hands. The very air seemed to shift. Owen wasn't previously aware that colours could get angry, but this green that flooded the space behind his eyes was pissed. He could feel it.

So was he. Pissed, and way more desperate than a man ought to be.

"Alright," he muttered once, and Curt drew back ever so slightly. He noticed Owen was staring off into the greater expanse, and hoped for all it was worth that he couldn't see something out there.

"Alright!" His voice got louder, and he tried to mask his utter despair in an authorative tone. "I get it. You hear me? I get it!"

Everything fell eerily silent. The only sound that remained was the pounding of Owen's heart in his ears. He took a breath, strangely certain of himself. Glanced at Curt. Spared his attention on the void again.

"That soldier… Wilbur Cross? That was your fault, wasn't it? There's a good reason nobody can get very far into digs like these, and it's because you strive to kill them before they do. Nobody ought to know what's on the other side, and that's why nobody does…"

"Owen, what're you doing?" Curt whispered, but to no response and little avail. Owen was lost in whatever he was about to say.

"… But, I've heard talk of bargains being made here, so how about it?"

"Your desperation speaks for itself."

Owen had to pretend that that— the voice from the middle of nowhere or what it had said to him— didn't bother him in the slightest. He steeled himself, not sure where to direct his attention but knowing he'd probably have it right no matter what he chose. "What do you say, am I allowed to make a deal?"

The air shifted. Owen didn't receive a direct answer, but he knew that he'd been allowed to continue. "If I don't continue— if I go back, and tell my people that it's an impossibility, that it can't be done— would you let him go?" Another quick glance at Curt, as if the green something needed clarification, or as if he knew what he was signing himself up for.

Curt was frozen in place, his eyes wide. He'd heard every word as it echoed in the void, and he hated what it was implying. His gaze was fixed on Owen, fear blazing through his face. "No, Owen—" his voice came out weak. As far as literal interpretations go, that was not a good one. He didn't understand what was happening, but it terrified him to know that Owen was being so calm about this, while he could be selling his life away with nothing more than a few choice words.

Owen frowned, and muttered an apology he was sure only Curt would catch. The green grew angrier, setting a violent fire behind his eyes and forcing him onto his knees as the pain flooded his body.

"You better not be fucking with me."

"No! I— I wouldn't! I'm serious! I'll call it off, I swear on my life, just… He has nothing to do with any of this. It's not his fault."

The thing considered, holding Owen firmly in place while he deliberated. Curt couldn't move— he didn't dare, lest something happen to Owen that put him in more danger than he was already in. All he could do was force himself into keeping his breath steady, and not thinking about what a single wrong move could do to either of them. His eyes landed on the friction burn winding neatly around Owen's wrist, and he decided to focus on that for a while; the only other colour in a void of blackness and green.

"Very well."

That was the last thing Owen heard. Some part of his mind just shut down, and he collapsed to the floor of the stage. He didn't hear the way Curt screamed his name, or the return of the chorus of laughter. His eyes closed, and the next thing he knew, he was waking up with a start, underneath the sheets of his own bed, gasping for breath. He sturdied himself out, and once he was sure that he was real, and definitely in a familiar space, he looked over to Curt, and found him still asleep.

"Curt?" His voice was soft, but his mind was a knife point of tension. If that had gone wrong, then why was he the one to live through it ant not Curt? He tried again, biting his lip. "Curt..?"

Curt groaned. His eyes opened slowly. The relief that Owen felt hit him like a tidal wave.

For some reason, Curt was entirely surprised to see that Owen had made it through to the other side. He managed a weary smile, and tried to get his vision into focus. That was one of those decisions that he immediately came to regret. As soon as he brought himself a little more into the real worls, he noticed that the brown in Owen's eyes was stained with something else, and it made him feel sick to his stomach. Dripping down his irises was a flash of toxic, unsettlingly bright green.