#in case there is something on this one and i haven't stumble upon that

[fuck-you-too-world]

How come I couldn't find anything on Red Haired Danny?!

Okay, maybe I'm just bad at searching but really. IS THERE ANY RED HAIRED DANNY?!

I mean, we all have that Jazz having Jack's built and Danny got Maddie's HC and even the one that is opposite or that when it comes to gene you know? Danny being the bulky one like Jack or other HC.

So how come there's not much fics about Danny 'I'm half alive half ghost and short king twig' Fenton being Red head having either blue eyes or purple eyes like Maddie along side all other quality that make him the exact copy of Maddie but opposide gender.

Imagine what would Vlad do? How much his obsession would go crazier than it is in canon! But we all know canon is a nonexistence to this Phandom, so not important.

NOT TO MENTION! Jazz more like Jack except for her coloration, now imagine her having the exact same coloration as Jack and as reckless and having bad aim as Jack. These children are exactly the revert of their parents as far as I'm concerned.

So please answer me, WHERE IS RED HAIRED DANNY??!!??!?!?! I NEED TO SEE HIM AND I NEED A FANART!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!

*sobbing in the corner* I blame my brain for even coming up wit the idea of DPxNaruto crossover where Danny given mission to help the chosen one of this world and also take it as a vacation when the shinigami saw the newborn and the misery awaits him and told the court of the Realm. Now I want a Red haired Danny aaaaaaaaaaaa QnQ

I'm rambling and I don't even know why and what I'm talking about :') Do help me tho, please...

[mcmansionhell]

the motel room, or: on datedness

I.

Often I find myself nostalgic for things that haven't disappeared yet. This feeling is enhanced by the strange conviction that once I stop looking at these things, I will never see them again, that I am living in the last moment of looking. This is sense is strongest for me in the interiors of buildings perhaps because, like items of clothing, they are of a fashionable nature, in other words, more impermanent than they probably should be.

As I get older, to stumble on something truly dated, once a drag, is now a gift. After over a decade of real estate aggregation and the havoc it's wreaked on how we as a society perceive and decorate houses, if you're going to Zillow to search for the dated (which used to be like shooting fish in a barrel), you'll be searching aimlessly, for hours, to increasingly no avail, even with all the filters engaged. (The only way to get around this is locational knowledge of datedness gleaned from the real world.) If you try to find images of the dated elsewhere on the internet, you will find that the search is not intuitive. In this day and age, you cannot simply Google "80s hotel room" anymore, what with the disintegration of the search engine ecosystem and the AI generated nonsense and the algorithmic preference for something popular (the same specific images collected over and over again on social media), recent, and usually a derivative of the original search query (in this case, finding material along the lines of r/nostalgia or the Backrooms.)

To find what one is looking for online, one must game the search engine with filters that only show content predating 2021, or, even better, use existing resources (or those previously discovered) both online and in print. In the physical world of interiors, to find what one is looking for one must also now lurk around obscure places, and often outside the realm of the domestic which is so beholden to and cursed by the churn of fashion and the logic of speculation. Our open world is rapidly closing, while, paradoxically, remaining ostensibly open. It's true, I can open Zillow. I can still search. In the curated, aggregated realm, it is becoming harder and harder to find, and ultimately, to look.

But what if, despite all these changes, datedness was never really searchable? This is a strange symmetry, one could say an obscurity, between interiors and online. It is perhaps unintentional, and it lurks in the places where searching doesn't work, one because no one is searching there, or two, because an aesthetic, for all our cataloguing, curation, aggregation, hoarding, is not inherently indexable and even if it was, there are vasts swaths of the internet and the world that are not categorized via certain - or any - parameters. The internet curator's job is to find them and aggregate them, but it becomes harder and harder to do. They can only be stumbled upon or known in an outside, offline, historical or situational way. If to index, to aggregate, is, or at least was for the last 30 years, to profit (whether monetarily or in likes), then to be dated, in many respects, is the aesthetic manifestation of barely breaking even. Of not starting, preserving, or reinventing but just doing a job.

We see this online as well. While the old-web Geocities look and later Blingee MySpace-era swag have become aestheticized and fetishized, a kind of naive art for a naive time, a great many old websites have not received the same treatment. These are no less naive but they are harder to repackage or commodify because they are simple and boring. They are not "core" enough.

As with interiors, web datedness can be found in part or as a whole. For example, sites like Imgur or Reddit are not in and of themselves dated but they are full of remnants, of 15-year old posts and their "you, sir, have won the internet" vernacular that certainly are. Other websites are dated because they were made a long time ago by and for a clientele that doesn't have a need or the skill to update (we see this often with Web 2.0 e-commerce sites that figured out how to do a basic mobile page and reckoned it was enough). The next language of datedness, like the all-white landlord-special interior, is the default, clean Squarespace restaurant page, a landing space that's the digital equivalent of a flyer, rarely gleaned unless someone needs a menu, has a food allergy or if information about the place is not available immediately from Google Maps. I say this only to maintain that there is a continuity in practices between the on- and off-line world beyond what we would immediately assume, and that we cannot blame everything on algorithms.

But now you may ask, what is, exactly, datedness? Having spent two days in a distinctly dated hotel room, I've decided to sit in utter boredom with the numinous past and try and pin it down.

II.

I am in an obscure place. I am in Saint-Georges, Quebec, Canada, on assignment. I am staying at a specific motel, the Voyageur. By my estimation the hotel was originally built in the late seventies and I'd be shocked if it was older than 1989. The hotel exterior was remodeled sometime in the 2000s with EIFS cladding and beige paint. Above is a picture of my room, which, forgive me, is in the process of being inhabited. American (and to a lesser extent Canadian) hotel rooms are some of the most churned through, renovated spaces in the world, and it's pretty rare, unless you're staying in either very small towns or are forced by economic necessity to stay at real holes in the wall, to find ones from this era. The last real hitter for me was a 90s Day's Inn in the meme-famous Breezewood, PA during the pandemic.

At first my reaction to seeing the room was cautionary. It was the last room in town, and certainly compared to other options, probably not the world's first choice. However, after staying in real, genuine European shitholes covering professional cycling I've become a class-A connoisseur of bad rooms. This one was definitively three stars. A mutter of "okay time to do a quick look through." But upon further inspection (post-bedbug paranoia) I came to the realization that maybe the always-new brainrot I'd been so critical of had seeped a teeny bit into my own subconscious and here I was snubbing my nose at a blessing in disguise. The room is not a bad room, nor is it unclean. It's just old. It's dated. We are sentimental about interiors like this now because they are disappearing, but they are for my parents what 2005 beige-core is for me and what 2010s greige will become for the generation after. When I'm writing about datedness, I'm writing in general using a previous era's examples because datedness, by its very nature, is a transitional status. Its end state is the mixed emotion of seeing things for what they are yet still appreciating them, expressed here.

Datedness is the period between vintage and contemporary. It is the sentiment between quotidian and subpar. It is uncurated and preserved only by way of inertia, not initiative. It gives us a specific feeling we don't necessarily like, one that is deliberately evoked in the media subcultures surrounding so-called "liminal" spaces: the fuguelike feeling of being spatially trapped in a time while our real time is passing. Datedness in the real world is not a curated experience, it is only what was. It is different from nostalgia because it is not deliberately remembered, yearned for or attached to sweetness. Instead, it is somehow annoying. It is like stumbling into the world of adults as a child, but now you're the adult and the child in you is disappointed. (The real child-you forgot a dull hotel room the moment something more interesting came along.) An image of my father puts his car keys on the table, looks around and says, "It'll do." We have an intolerance for datedness because it is the realization of what sufficed. Sufficiency in many ways implies lack.

However, for all its datedness, many, if not all, of the things in this room will never be seen again if the room is renovated. They will become unpurchaseable and extinct. Things like the bizarrely-patterned linoleum tile in the shower, the hose connecting to the specific faucet of the once-luxurious (or at least middling) jacuzzi tub whose jets haven't been exercised since the fall of the Berlin Wall. The wide berth of the tank on the toilet. There is nothing, really, worth saving about these things. Even the most sentimental among us wouldn't dare argue that the items and finishes in this room are particularly important from a design or historical standpoint. Not everything old has a patina. They're too cheaply made to salvage. Plastic tile. Bowed plywood. The image-artifacts of these rooms, gussied up for Booking dot com, will also, inevitably disappear, relegated to the dustheap of web caches and comments that say "it was ok kinda expensive but close to twon (sic)." You wouldn't be able to find them anyway unless you were looking for a room.

One does, of course, recognize a little bit of design in what's here. Signifiers of an era. The wood-veneer of the late 70s giving way to the pastel overtones of the 80s. Perhaps even a slow 90s. The all-in-one vanity floating above the floor, a modernist basement bathroom hallmark. White walls as a sign of cleanliness. Gestures, in the curved lines of the nightstands, towards postmodernity. Metallic lamp bases with wide-brimmed shades, a whisper of glamor. A kind of scalloped aura to the club chairs. The color teal mediated through hundreds if not thousands of shoes. Yellowing plastic, including the strips of "molding" that visually tie floor to wall. These are remnants (or are they intuitions?) of so many movements and micromovements, none of them definite enough to point to the influence of a single designer, hell, even of a single decade, just strands of past-ness accumulated into one thread, which is cheapness. Continuity exists in the materials only because everything was purchased as a set from a wholesale catalog.

In some way a hotel is supposed to be placeless. Anonymous. Everything tries to be that way now, even houses. Perhaps because we don't like the way we spy on ourselves and lease our images out to the world so we crave the specificity of hotel anonymity, of someplace we move through on our way to bigger, better or at least different things. The hotel was designed to be frictionless but because it is in a little town, it sees little use and because it sees little use, there are elements that can last far longer than they were intended and which inadvertently cause friction. (The janky door unlocks with a key. The shower hose keeps coming out of the faucet. It's deeply annoying.)

Lack of wear and lack of funds only keep them that way. Not even the paper goods of the eighties have been exhausted yet. Datedness is not a choice but an inevitability. Because it is not a choice, it is not advertised except in a utilitarian sense. It is kept subtle on the hotel websites, out of shame. Because it does not subscribe to an advertiser's economy of the now, of the curated type rather than the "here is my service" type, it disappears into the folds of the earth and cannot be searched for in the way "design" can. It can only be discovered by accident.

When I look at all of these objects and things, I do so knowing I will never see them again, at least not all here together like this, as a cohesive whole assembled for a specific purpose. I don't think I'll ever have reason to come back to this town or this place, which has given me an unexpected experience of being peevish in my father's time. Whenever I end up in a place like this, where all is as it was, I get the sense that it will take a very long time for others to experience this sensation again with the things my generation has made. The machinations of fashion work rapaciously to make sure that nothing is ever old, not people, not rooms, not items, not furniture, not fabrics, not even design, that old matron who loves to wax poetic about futurity and timelessness. The plastic-veneered particleboard used here is now the bedrock of countless landfills. Eventually it will become the chemical-laced soil upon which we build our condos. It is possible that we are standing now at the very last frontier of our prior datedness. The next one has not yet elided. It's a special place. Spend a night. Take pictures.

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[cheriladycl01]

Could you do one for Checo with wife reader? He's not getting enough love. Just something fluff and romantic. You decide how it goes. Thanks!!

No es suficiente! Sergio Perez x ActressWife! Reader

Plot: Sergio having just married you wanted to show you of in the Red Bull Garage, but you feel so happy to be back after being so busy in your own career that everyone is dying to talk to you and someone gets a little jealous.

It was your first time back in the paddock for around a year. You'd been away for a large period of time, between filming for an up and coming blockbuster and being in an ongoing TV show you had a tight schedule and only was able to see your husband when he had breaks.

He helped you scan your paddock pass and then placed a gentle hand on the small of your back.

"Are you excited?" he asks you as he looked over to you, the media noticed the pair of you walk through and were quick to snap pictures of your return to the paddock.

"Yes, I cannot wait to see everyone! I haven't seen Lance or Max in ages!" You admit, knowing you hadn’t really seen his friends in a while.

“Good!”

Before you know it you’ve been thrusted back into the world of F1, all the cameras and the people wanting to talk, the smells coming from the hospitalities and the cars. It was an introverts nightmare.

However, Sergio always knew you were a people person despite your social battery draining quicker than most people’s. You loved the hustle and bustle life that came with being on track and with Sergio.

Whether you were off chatting to Will Buxton about his latest Drive to Survive meme, or hunting down Crofty timo interrupt his grid walk, or chatting to the mechanics in the garage about the car, to finalise it all up speaking with Christian about Max and Sergio.

Today was a little different, you were feeling anxious where it was your first day back in a while. However the minute you and your husband walked into the garage he’d been whisked away along with Max by their race engineers towards the big bosses office.

You and Kelly not having seen each other in so long decided it would be nice considering it was media day and there was no actual racing if you guys rounded up some of the other wags and did a little shopping.

You guys ventured from Red Bull to some of the other paddocks on the hunt for the other girlies. You stumbled upon Lily, Alexandra, Rebecca and Kika who all decided they were down for some shopping to save the boredom that was media day.

You guys hit Milan central getting a train down from Monza. There were some fans around who excitedly asked for pictures. You guys all obliged before getting on with the day and going into the different high end stores.

By the end, you guys had taken the phrase ‘shop till you drop’ far to literally. You all travelled back to the hotel that you were staying in courtesy of the team in which their partner drove for. The bags were placed on the coffee table and sofa in the living area of the room.

Kelly had a separate room for her and P because she was doing a fashion show in Milan on the Monday and Tuesday after the races, so she had a lot of cases with her because of the clothes and shoes and just general space she would need. So when she invited you back for a girlie sleepover with her and P you couldn’t decline.

Sending a quick text to your husband who was still at the racetrack you left the room straight to Kelly’s which was only a few doors down. P answered the door which to Kelly’s dismay who was currently in the bathroom taking her makeup off before she could even get to the door.

“We don’t answer the door, it could have been a stranger Penelope!” She lightly scolds, the younger girl not caring to much and pulling you into a hug.

“Awwww hello P” you sigh hugging her back beofre picking her up and placing her on your hip.

“Are you going to let me do your hair tonight while we watch a Disney movie!” You ask and Ps eyes light up with excitement.

“Let me guess, the little mermaid?” You ask her and she nods furiously going towards the controller in the room to pull up what you assumed would be Disney +.

You spent the rest of the night with the daughter mother duo, doing facials, watching films and ordering an obscene amount of desserts from room service.

The next day you woke up and went to your room to see if Sergio would join you for breakfast but the room was empty, bed all screwed up and unmade showing you your husband had in fact come home last night.

You sit alone for breakfast which was nice, just to be able to think on your own thoughts for some time. Most of them being about your new movie, or the TV show and how to develop your character.

You took and Uber to the race track not wanting to be rudely late for FP1, wanting to support your husband. As you got there, running through the paddocks gates and mumbling profanities at the electronic gate which wouldn’t let you in after 4 attempts on your pass, you spotted Sergio.

“Hola, good night with Kelly?” He smiles at you, kissing your cheek lightly. You nod and open your mouth about to say something but his race engineer calls out for him pointing towards the garage entrance.

“Go, don’t want to be late on the job now!” You home and he just laughs lightly shaking his head before turning away and running out the the garage where his car was.

You stood with Kelly watching your boys drive. It felt like forever that Sergio was in the car, but again the minute he got out he was whisked away to a debrief with what went wrong with the car.

That was how the rest of the weekend went, whenever you had free time it felt like he was being taken away for important meeting, interviews and various media commitments and when he was free you were either on the phone with work or had organised to do something with the girls because you thought he was busy at that time but due to scheduling mixups he was actually free and refused to let you cancel on the girls.

It got to Sunday night after the race. Sergio had come in P2 behind Max and with Carlos just behind him. He’d had a great drive and you couldn’t have been prouder to celebrate his podium with him.

You were in the hotel room together, you’d just gotten out the shower and into night wear, he was laying on the bed, in his pijama pants and shirtless like normal.

You jumped onto the bed curling up into his side pulling him so as much as your skin was touching his.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you for ages mi amor” you voice before tilting your head that was laying in his chest to look up up him.

“Mmmmm No es suficiente!” He mumbles looking down at you. (It’s not sufficient!)

“What isn’t?” You ask perplexed.

“The time I had with you this weekend, not enough of it. I brought you here to spend more time with you and everyone didn’t want to see us together” he sighs pulling you closer with a pout on his face. On camera your husband didn’t seem like the clingy type but boy of boy was he.

“Argh you big baby, I’m not filming for another 5 weeks so your stuck with me all this time. This week was just unfortunate” you smile pulling him into a soft kiss which he quickly returns.

“God I missed this, just you” he smiles softly before pulling you into another kiss.

“Is this making up for it?” You offer smirking slightly knowing now that you were giving him the attention he was craving he was happy.

“Mmm im considering kidnapping you, so you have to spend all your time with me!” He groans pulling you over so your straddling him and laying in his chest on top of him.

“But who will be the lead in your current favourite TV show?” You gasp playfully.

“No way! Ellen Pompeo is leaving Greys?” He teases, knowing it would tule you up. You slap his shoulder lightly looking down at him.

“Mmmm im sure they could find someone to replace you if I kept you all for myself!” He teases again and you laugh this time.

“Mmmm and I’m sure if I kidnapped you Red Bull would too!” You tease back and he gasps in mock shock hand to his chest.

“Well seeing as we both seem to be staying respectively in our professions… I suggest we order room service!” You smile again, pulling him in for a kiss. He nods, rolling you off and getting up towards where the phone is on the desk. You watch as he used his hands to motion around as he talks to the receptionist on the phone.

You were so completely and utterly in love.

A/N: short and sweet! Hope you enjoy!

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @stupidandunnecessary @clayra-g @daemyratwst @honey-belden @moonypixel @lauralarsen @vader-is-hot @ironcowboycopnickel @itsjustkhaos @the-untamed-soul @beebo86 @happylittlereader @ziejustme @lou-larcher5 @thewulf @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @chillyleclerc @chanthereader @annoyingmoonballoon @summissss @evieepepi08 @havaneseoger08 @celesteblack08 @gulphulp @fandom1ruined2me @celebstories @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhh @georgeparisole @dakotatankbig @youcannotcancelquidditch @zzonsbeek @tallbrownhairsarcastic @mellowarcadefun @ourteenagetragedy @otako5811 @countingstacksandpanicattacks @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @hopexcroc @mirrorball-6 @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @lilypadlover @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @the-fem1n1ne-urge @21stcenturytaegi @dark-night-sky-99 @spideybv28 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @kapsylia @laneyspaulding19 @lazybot @malynn @cassielikereading @viennakarma @teamnovalak @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @jlb20416 @yourbane

[selencgraphy]

— 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐒

prompt drabble series - nonverbal ways to say ‘i love you’

5 - remembering a trivial fact about them

prompts from promptingyou

PAIRING: logan howlett x gn!reader

TAGS: they/them pronouns for reader, fluff, actions speak louder than words is logan’s strong suit, tall!logan bc i love hugh jackman :)

A/N: deadpool and wolverine revived my love for logan so this is just self-indulgent bc i love him so so much. the x-men movies were my gateway into marvel so i just have to show my man some love yk? happy reading <3

WORD COUNT: 597

masterlist || request box <3

You and Logan weren’t that close. Aside from having rooms right next to each other and being co-workers, you didn’t know much about him. Rarely were you ever in a room with him when it was just you two. 

Heading over to the kitchen for a midnight snack, you stumble upon him smoking by the window. “Can't sleep either?" you asked as you quietly padded across the wood. 

Logan merely grunted in response, taking a drag of his cigar. Grabbing the tub of your favorite ice cream from the freezer, you took a seat at the counter. The tub was practically almost empty so you resorted to eating straight out of it. "Are those really any better than regular cigarettes?" you carefully asked in hopes of breaking the awkward silence—well, at least to you it was awkward. At your question, he turned over his shoulder and leaned to sit down against the window sill, his eyebrows furrowed a little deeper than they normally were.

"Haven't tried anything but these," he replied, glancing down at it before looking back at you, a hint of confusion in his eyes.

"What?"

"You're the first person who's caught me smoking inside that didn’t immediately remind me of Chuck's stupid rule."

"I mean… it is a good rule considering this whole place is built of wood," you joked, taking another bite of ice cream before speaking again. "I'm not one for rules either anyways. It'd be a bit hypocritical of me to get on your case, don't you think?"

He hummed, the tiniest smirk on his face at your nonchalance. He'd been living and teaching (begrudgingly) at the mansion for a while now, but a lot of the kids and other X-Men were still intimidated by him. His tough guy façade certainly didn’t help much but that’s just how he was used to living after being alive for almost 200 years. But that never seemed to deter you. Putting out his cigar, he started to head back to his room. "Don't stay up too late, bub," he muttered as he passed you.

"Night, Logan,” you called over your shoulder, scraping the sides of the tub as you finished it out. Throwing it away, you made a mental note to grab more whenever you went back out to get groceries.

A couple days later…

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath as you made your way down to the kitchen. It was pretty early in the day, but you weren’t one to let the time of day deter you from snacking on a few scoops of ice cream. Then you remembered. You had eaten the last bit the other night when you ran into Logan and had yet to restock. Damn.

So it came as a surprise to see yet another full tub in the freezer when you went to rummage through it to find something else to satiate your sweet tooth. A post-it was taped to the top of it, big black letters scrawled across it.

For Y/N. If you’re not them, do not touch this. - Logan

Your face brightened as you read it. Sure, it wasn’t that sweet of a message, but you’d take what you could get. Pulling it out, you realized it was the same exact flavor—your favorite flavor—and brand you loved. You’d barely spent five minutes with each other the other night, but he remembered.

“I gotta thank him later,” you thought to yourself as you sat down, your day made by the gesture. Maybe your efforts to befriend him weren’t a lost cause after all.

[undyslady]

Behind The Wall

Undertaker (Black Butler) x reader

It was the calmest it had been for weeks, since the case of Jack the Ripper was solved by the child Earl, less "guests" had entered the doors of the parlour owned by your beloved.

Over the last couple of days, where you had more free time than you wished, you had noticed the state of the parlour. Spider webs, dust on every single surface and you could swear you saw a cockroach speed across the room once.

After a very long scolding to your beloved about the hygiene of the place to which you got a laugh in return.

"Oh my dearie~, you certainly were hilarious with your expression just now!" he had stated, a manicured index finger resting in between your furrowed eyebrows, presing on them signaling you to relax them.

You had scoffed and rolled your eyes, calling him a "bastard.." which you knew he heard by his small snicker and went to gather cleaning supplies.

"If he will do nothing then I will..." not that you expected him to do anything, no man would lift a finger to do such "women assigned jobs" like cleaning.

For the next 3 days, you spent your day cleaning, still finding the energy to throw insults at Undertaker about his lack of care about the place while huffing and puffing due to exhaustion.

You left no place untouched, nothing unturned and you got a pat on your shoulder for each room cleaned, it wasn't you patting yourself in the back, it was your lover.

He'd bother you in the middle of the cleaning, of course he would. To stupid questions :

"Do you think this little guest of ours looks better in red or green, my dear ?"

And to lingering touches:

"Well we haven't spend too much time together lately~~ " he'd chuckle , "I'm only a man, I need my lover's affections!!"

All of which, were ignored by you ,of course.

Cleaning had revealed spaces in the parlour you never knew existed, that might be the explanation why you found yourself pushing against a wall.

You had noticed a crack, one that seemed perfectly sculptured.

Your curiosity growing, you had been pushing at it, convinced your eccentric lover had a secret room, probably full of dead bodies, you had thought in joke.

As a joke, of course!

Yet when you gave it one final push, the wall moved and you almost fell to your knees.

Entering the dark place, desperately trying to find a lamp to light, you brushed past a coffin , accidentally making it fall over, causing a noise you were sure, your beloved would hear.

Cursing , you reached further to find a lamp and light it. Once the room was in view you squinted your eyes and looked around.

A small gasp left your mouth and somewhat dissapointed you looked at multiple closed coffins , alongside the one you knocked over.

"Well, not so entertaining now, are we?" you chuckled, expecting something more eye catching from your lover.

You strolled around the room, looking over the coffins, they all seemed the same aside from the one you dropped.

That specific one was blue, with black tape around it, which proved useless since it ripped by the fall, you made a note to tell Undertaker later.

While examining the coffins in front of you, you heard noises behind you which you ignored and called out

"I didn't know you'd hide this from me, what else could you be hiding, love ?"

However, when you didn't receive a reply you turned around to find a small child, rising from the coffin, teal hair and a rather rich outfit.

Upon turning around to face you, you could clearly make out the great resemblance he had to the Phantomhive child.

"My Lord-" you were cut off as he lunged at you, ripping a scream out of your chest as you stumbled back, falling on your bum.

Waiting for an attack, only silence engulfed your trembling figure, until it was broken by a familiar snicker.

"Hehehe~, your screams are ever so pleasant to hear, I do find myself glad at your clumsiness, if not for the coffin dropping, you'd be done for!! " and in all of his glory, there stood Undertaker, looking down at you, his hand gripping the Earls head with too much force, you'd deducted.

"You becoming one of my dolls...." he paused to think " I cant say that will please me, I do adore you as you are, even with your temper, dearie"

"What are you-....what is this??" You took a deep breath "What is the Earl doing, is that even him? This is not normal human behaviour??" Your voice rose with each question.

" Ah my dear, this is just a hobby of mine, and this.." he pushed the "Earl" towards you " is the Earl....oh! But not the Earl you know , my dear, I'm sure he's being the same temperamental child he is as we speak." a manic smile in his face. Not that you minded those, they were quite...pleasant to you usually but the situation did not encourage such feelings at the moment.

"Undertaker.....what is this ? Why is he like this and what is he doing here ?" You exhaled shakily, unable to process anything.

"Ahhh, as I said, a little hobby of mine, let me introduce you two" he grinned, dragging the boy by his hair and stuffing him in the coffin and closing it.

" You see, my dear...this is the Earls twin. The one that died years ago, but as you probably are thinking, he doesnt seem quite dead, does he ?" He approached you, in return you moved away. An action so simple, but you needed not see his eyes to know that he was frowning.

He cleared his throat and continued " I simply...experimented on him! I could not bear to loose another Phantomhive" he giggled, crossing his arms.

Making his way towards you, he grabbed your chin and looked at you "I do doubt, however that I would have started this hobby of mine if I had met you earlier" he tilted his head, grabbing you by the arm and hoisting you up.

His arm snaked around your waist as he held you tightly against him, his other hand grabbed your face, squishing your cheeks and turning your head to the other coffins.

" In all of these coffins, there is a dead body that you, my dear have probably seen come in as one of our guests" he stated, "it was quite helpful that most of these people were not cared for enough to have funeral, it made my job easier" he chuckled lightly, his thumb caressing your cheek.

"A man must have hobbies, right ?" He brought your face up as he glanced at you, his emerald eyes piercing through your soul.

"You're sick..." you whispered at him, tears swelling in your eyes.

He was a lie. The idea of him was a lie. Everything you loved about this man was a lie.

How could he ?

"Oh my dearest love, I knew you'd act this way, but fret not, I'm sure you'll come around." He said quietly "you love me too much dont you ? You must accept me the way I am , just as I have accepted you despite your mortality"

Mortality? What sick shit is he thinking ?

"Wha-" your cheeks were squished together harder.

"AH ah! No more questions until your mind opens to my little...hobby! " he exclaimed, giggling at your face.

You did not want this.

You wished this was a dream

No.

A nightmare.

Wake up, you told yourself.

Please...wake up.

If only you didn't let your curiousty win. If you had just cleaned what you could and went on about your day, you would've been content loving a liar.

"Curiosity killed the cat, dearie~" he snickered " and this time, satisfaction did not bring it back~"

You could not think straight, everything you felt for, believed and lived for, shattered by the mere revelation of the activities that happened in the same roof you lived and worked. You did not know the man you shared your home with, the one you shared the last couple of years with yet you knew him enough, you knew the part of him that was calculating , he would have never let the crack on the wall be that visible.

No.

He was too good for that, he intended for you to find this room and he let you find it with a sick grin.

He knew he'd shatter you, and he decided to shatter you despite the smiles you gave him this morning, but fret not, he'll be there to bring those smiles back again, he'll make sure of it.

[harrystylesfan2686]

Disappearing Bodies

Pairing: PolyFeysand x Reader

Summary: girls from several war camps have been disappearing, no one know how. So you, your high lord and lady try to investigate the case.

Warnings: dead bodies, murder.

A/N: heyy everyone! I know I haven't posted in forever, thats because I've had my biggest writers block ever. I tried to make this as interesting as possible; please consider leaving a comment and telling me your thoughts on this. Hope you like it!!!

And yes, I will be posting the part 2 in a few days.💕

Thanks for the request @shorttstackk.

Masterlist

○●○●○●○

Your eyes scan over your desk again, trying to find anything that can help you with this case. This new case has you working non stop, racking your brain to think of anything that can help solve this problem.

There have been reports coming in from almost every illyrian camp, complaints of females and young girls going missing without a foot print left behind. Nobody knows what's happening to those girls because none of them have been found yet.

Cassian has had his men search the entire Illyria, along with himself, Nesta and Morrigan to try and find some type of clue or location, but they have all come back with no avail. You and Azriel have been looked in his office, trying to find something in the files but that, too, doesn't help you at all.

Files are sprawled all over your desk. Some stating the names of the victims and some reporting thier last seen location. It's been eight days and twenty six victims, and that's all you know.

You sigh and close your eyes, head hung down as you go over the information you have, again, to just find something, anything that can help you find those innocent girls.

"Here." A thug filles the silence and your eyes open to see Azriel putting down a cup of tea. You straighten up from where you were standing with your arms rested on the edges of your desk.

Whispering a small thank you, you pick up the cup with one hand and stir the spoon with the other. Your eyes again looking at the names scribbled on the paper.

Calantheria

Lyriana

Cirys

"Did you find anything new?" Azriel asks, sipping his from his own cup.

"No. You?" Your eyes look at his.

"None of my spies have picked on anything." His voice is calm, a contrast to the storm swirling in his eyes.

"How can this be possible?" Your eyebrows narrow in anger and frustration. "How can a someone be so clean in abduction that they don't leave a single thread behind?"

He hums, eyes analyzing the files. "Whoever it is, they are too good at covering thier tracks."

Silence fills the room again as the two of you fall quite, drinking the tae and thinking about the same thing again.

You were Azriel's second before finding your mates, the High Lord and Lady of Night Court. It was a surprise to everyone when you found out, considering how rare it is to find one mate, and finding two at that.

Three mates are extremely rare cases, only one out of a thousand pairs can you find a tripple pair. You were invited into the inner circle right away, everyone was kind hearted towards you.

But even though you were practically Azriels equal, you would never admit that. He taught you everything you know about spying and assassin ship. For you he will always be your senior.

The quiet between you was suddenly intrupted when Rhysands voice fills your head and the two of you leave everything and rush out of there as fast as possible.

Come to my office. Cassian found something.

-☆-

The eight of you stand surrounding a table, on which lies a map of the Illyrian Forest.

"A few of my men stumbled upon an underground tunnel. While patrolling, one fell in, not knowing about the cave because it was covered up with branches and leaves." Cassian circles an area with ink. "This is where the cave is. We went in just to make sure it isn't some small hole or anything, and it isn't. The hole stretches out into a gaint cave after entering, big enough for all of us to fit in."

He glances at everyone before continuing, "There were bloody footsteps at the starting of the tunnel. A pair of them, one can be identified as a male and other a female."

The air thickens around the room, all of you worrid and a little relieved to find at least something relating this case.

"I'm not sure what is in it, but I didn't have my men search it, if this isn't the seriel criminal we want, but some entirely different creature , I'm not losing my men for nothing." He finishes and Rhysand hums, silently agreeing.

"Alright then, we will go to see what this is." Rhysand looks up at you all, waiting for you to nod and continues, "Amren will stay at Valaris, guarding while we're gone. Nesta can watch over the War camps, so that if any other kidnapping happens, she can inform us right away."

The both of them nod and even though Nesta looks like she wants to say something, she doesn't dare go against Rhys' orders. Cassian interlaces his fingers with hers, as if to say not to worry.

"I will enter the cave first, Feyre, Y/N, Azriel, Cassian, and Mor will follow after. Cassians soldiers will stay at the cave entrance in case we encounter the very criminal we are looking for." Everyone nods.

"Any questions?" Rhys looks at everyone with raised eyebrow.

When no one comments he stands up straight and extends his arms to you and feyre at each side of him, ready to winnow you out. Azriel mimics him and grabs hold of Cassian. Mor takes Nestas hand to drop her off at the camps first and follow us after.

"Let us go." Rhysands voice echos out as you all fade into darkness.

-☆-

You walk through the woods with the others. Cassian leading your group and the rest of you follow close behind.

The entrance Cass found is surrounded with trees and grass, making it impossible to notice except the way it was found.

You reach there and Cass nods to one of his gaurds stationed near it. He turns to your group as you all stop with him, he points the hole, big only enough for one person to fit through.

Rhysand jumps in first and you all follow one by one. You go after Feyre and step up, looking around. It looks just like a normal Cave. Alighted with fire by cassian's comrades.

"Alright, I did not expect the cave to be this big." Mor's eyes scan over the walls with interest, before she looks at Cassian. "Sure you said it'd be big but I didn't expect this big. I mean you could fit an entire house in here."

Rhysand forms a small flame in his hand and steps forward taking the lead, "Everyone be on your gaurd." He doesn't need to remind you.

You walk between Rhysand and Feyre, her hand held yours in a tight grip, the only sign of her anxiousness. You walk further and further into the dark, the walls only illuminated by Rhys purple fire.

Suddenly you see a flicker of orange ahead, all of you noticing it at the same time as your steps falter for a second before continuing without making a sound. You step closer and finally see the scene ahead of you.

Your breath catches as you realized just what is happening. Candles surround a body of a girl, creating a circle in which the body is kept. She lies there as still as stone, eyes closed and not even breathing. The light from the candles shine against her skin that is now as pale as snow and lips that was probably soft and pink now cracked and blue.

Your hand slips from Feyre's as you step forward enough to see the face clearly. This is one of the girls you were looking for. Her name is Lyriana.

No. Was.

Now she's gone. Dead just as you expected. You still remember how her parents had begged you to find her when she got lost. How they begged you to find her and bring her back alive, offering you anything you wanted in return.

She was one of the firsts that was lost, it had been a week yet her parents never lost hope, knowing that their high lord and spymaster will find her. Well, you guess they did do that part.

"Is that-" Azriel starts but you speak before he could, knowing what he will say.

"Lyriana. Age 16. Single child. 7 days missing. A Valkerie in training. One of the first victims." Your voice sounds bland, void of any emotion and your mates pick up on the ill feelings starting to swirl inside you immediately.

"This isn't good." Mor comments under her breath.

"Oh yeah? What gave it away? The fire or the dead body?" Cassian replies just as slowly, his tone a mixture of sarcasm and anger.

You take another step closer to the body and just as Rhysand is about to warn you not to get too close, a sudden snap sounds and a hand wraps around you foot, the fingers clutching on tight enough to break bones;

And pulls.

You gasp out in pain, not expecting the attack and fall on your back. Your head hitting the hard ground but paying no mind to it, you take out a knife sheathed at your waist and thrust it on the hand with force.

At the same time a blast of purple fire hits the arm holding your foot. The force of your attacks together results in the arm cutting and blasting off into a mush of blood and muscle. An extremely unsettling site.

The blood flies to your body, small droplets smearing onto your leathers as you quickly brush off the remains of the fingers around your ankle and stand up. Soft hands hold you as Feyre forces you to step back with her and Rhysand stands before you, ready for another attack.

Now that out of danger, you see the arm that tried to hold you captive belongs to the very girl you declared dead. She now kneels and stands on her hands and knees, arching her back in an unnatural way. The eyes that were closed and peaceful, now are wide open and frowning at the lot of you with anger. You take in a sharp breath when you realize that her eyes doesn't have irises, they are entirely white white red nerves siding at the edges.

The hand that was blasted off, still driping tons of blood but it is as though she doesn't feel anything because she lets out a low growl before standing and streaking out her next attack.

Everyone is ready this time though, before Rhysand even lifts a finger, shadows cover Lyriana's entire body, slithering around like ropes and contract their hold. Thightly binding her limbs to her body and enabling her to do anything except squirm around on the ground, trying to fight.

Everyone stays silent for a while, only her growling and hissing echoing through the space, widened eyes staring shocked at Lyriana's state. She behaves as though she doesn't know anything but  attacking.

Rhysand turns to you and pulls you into his arms, "Are you alright?" His soft voice breaks the dark fog starting in your mind. You nod silently and rest your head against his shoulder. Feyre kneels at your side and gently touches the ankle that now covers a ring of dark red bruises in shape of a hand.

You step back a little to see the wound for yourself, half cresents form where the tip of the fingers were, stretching out into small sharp straches, oozing out little blood that was already starting to heal.

You sigh and step around them as they straighten up, "I'm fine. Let's keep going."

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Hello! I have a small request, if you have time I was wondering if you can do Nel, Alear and Yunaka with a S/O who often spaces out and wanders off and next thing you know their like trapped in a hole or something with little to no idea how they got there?

It’s just a silly scenario my brain made up. I hope you have a great day/evening/night!

(FE: Engage) Nel, Alear, and Yunaka's S/O constantly getting stuck

This request was from December 1st of 2023, WHOOPS

Nel simply sighs upon seeing S/O in another pitfall, her red eyes glancing down.

This was not something that should be a normal sight, yet here she was.

(S/O) "...H-Hi, Nel-"

(Nel) "S/O. We have spoken about this."

(S/O) "I-I know we have! Sorry, just...can you get me out of here first?"

Nel reaches down to grab their arm and yanks them out without any effort, watching as they stumbled.

(S/O) "Thanks...Um-"

(Nel) "Perhaps it would be better for you to stay near me on the Somniel?"

(S/O) "I don't want to add any unnecessary stress, Nel!"

Too late for that.

The next best thing would be for these holes to keep showing up. Then again, S/O might fall off the edge if they weren't caught in it.

...Now that she thought about it, who keeps digging these holes anyway?

(Nel) "It is fine, S/O. As long as I know that you are safe, it will not add any additional stress."

(S/O) "So I don't stress you out?"

(Nel) "I did not say that."

(S/O) "Ha...R-Right."

Why can no one in this army ever be normal? Is the thought echoing through Alear's mind as she sees S/O on top of a tree.

(Alear) "S/O?"

(S/O) "...Oh, Alear! Do you need something?"

(Alear) "How on earth did you get up?"

(S/O) "...T-That's a good question, I'm not sure."

(Alear) "I'm starting to think your spacing out might get yourself hurt one day."

(S/O) "Don't worry, I haven't gotten hurt in a couple months whenever I do this!"

(Alear) "That...doesn't make me feel better, S/O."

She has Vander, Framme, and Clanne keep an eye on S/O, much to her embarassment.

But it'd give her some peace of mind knowing that the three of them were on the case making sure nothing serious would happen.

...Goddess, she hoped it did.

Yunaka's eyes narrow as she realizes there's a abnormal shadow hanging above her.

Immediately spinning around with dagger in hand, she's about to throw it-

Before seeing S/O casually laying on top a rather high boulder, making her drop the dagger.

Effortlessly catching the hilt and sheathing it in her belt with a single motion, one hand goes to her chest in relief.

(Yunaka) "Holy CRAP you scared the heck outta me, S/O! How did you even?!-"

(S/O) "Yunaka? Is something wrong?"

(Yunaka) "Uh, yeah? You're just chilling up there like a total weirdo! How did you even climb that, it's completely smooth!"

(S/O) "...I don-"

(Yunaka) "-Don't know, right. Shoulda known the answer to that, hah..."

Everytime S/O does this, she swears her lifespan shortens.

[pitinthelanepages]

Interwined Fates

summary: oscar and you, two best friends, stumble upon a future you never anticipated, leading you to discover something. that something involving little ones that eerily resembles the two of you.

pairing: oscar piastri x reader

word count: 5.5k

genre: time travel!, fluff, romance

gif credit to @acrosstobear. do make sure to like, reblog the gif!

As you sat together in Oscar's cozy living room, the two of you found yourselves engrossed in a conversation about the plot of a book.

Oscar rested his head on your lap, finding comfort in your presence as you gently caressed his hair, your fingers gliding through the strands with a soothing touch.

"Can you believe the protagonist fell into the same trap for the third time?" you chuckled, your voice filled with amusement. "I mean, come on, haven't they learned anything from the previous encounters?"

Oscar let out a soft laugh, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "I guess they have a knack for making questionable life choices," he replied, his voice carrying a playful tone. "But hey, it wouldn't be much of a story if they suddenly became the poster child for common sense, right?"

You grinned. "True, true. But seriously, who walks alone into a dark, creepy forest at midnight? That's just asking for trouble."

Oscar tilted his head slightly, looking up at you with a glint in his eyes. "Well, maybe they have an adventurous spirit that we can't fully understand," he suggested with a smirk. "Or maybe they just have a severe case of bad decision-making skills."

You swatted his arm, your laughter filling the air. "Oh please, I think they're just in desperate need of a good friend who can talk some sense into them."

He chuckled, his head still resting comfortably on your lap. A soft silence settled between you, the only sound being the gentle rustle of pages as you turned the book over, examining the cover.

Oscar's curious eyes soon landed on the pendant dangling from your neck. It glimmered softly in the warm glow of the lamp, catching his attention. He reached out, his fingertips lightly grazing the pendant, his brow furrowed in curiosity.

"What's this?" Oscar asked, his voice filled with genuine intrigue. "I don't remember seeing this pendant before. Is it new?"

You smiled, the pendant's weight resting comfortably against your chest. "Oh, this?" you replied, gently holding the pendant between your fingers. "No, it's not exactly new. I've had it for a while, but I don't always wear it."

Oscar's eyes widened with curiosity. "Is there a story behind it? You know I'm a sucker for stories," he said, his voice laced with a growing enthusiasm.

You chuckled, feeling a twinge of nostalgia. "Well, I do have a story to tell i guess," you began, your voice taking on a storytelling tone. "This pendant belonged to my grandmother. She was a woman of incredible strength and resilience. Whenever I wear it, I feel a connection to her, as if her spirit is still with me."

Oscar leaned in, captivated by your words. "That's beautiful," he murmured, his gaze fixed on the pendant. "It's amazing how objects can hold so much meaning, isn't it?"

You nodded, a soft smile gracing your lips. "Absolutely. It's like a reminder of the love and wisdom passed down through generations. And you know what? It's said that this pendant brings good luck to its wearer."

Oscar raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. "Good luck, huh?" he teased. "Well, I hope some of that luck rubs off on me. Lord knows I could use it."

You laughed, playfully rolling your eyes. "Oh, come on, Oscar. You're doing just fine."

He chuckled, leaning his head back onto your lap, his eyes twinkling with fondness. "I suppose you're right," he admitted, his voice filled with warmth. "But still, that pendant is something special. It's like a piece of your history that I never knew about until now."

The air around you grew quiet, a comfortable silence settling between you until Oscar's mischievous nature sparked an idea in his mind, and a playful glint danced in his eyes as he proposed, "What if this pendant is actually magical?"

You chuckled, shaking your head at his ridiculous suggestion. "Seriously, Oscar. Magic? Don't be ridiculous," you replied, a hint of amusement in your voice. "It's just a sentimental piece of jewellery."

He grinned, undeterred by your skepticism. "But think about it. What harm is there in giving it a try? We could have a little fun, see if anything magical happens," Oscar persisted, his voice laced with harmless insistence.

You found yourself unable to resist his contagious enthusiasm, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Alright, alright. Just for the sake of curiosity," you gave in, your voice filled with playful surrender. "What do you have in mind?"

Oscar's eyes gleamed with excitement as he sat up, his gaze fixed on the pendant. "Let's make a wish," he suggested, his voice barely containing his excitement. "Hold the pendant tight and think of something you'd like to happen. Who knows? Maybe the pendant will surprise us."

You couldn't help but giggle at his childlike enthusiasm, a spark of curiosity ignited within you. "Alright, fine," you agreed, humor lacing your voice. "But don't get upset if nothing magical happens."

You clasped the pendant in your palm, your fingers curling around it, and closed your eyes, allowing yourself to get caught up in the whimsical moment. Thoughts flickered through your mind as you pondered what you should wish for. And then, with a flicker of mischief, you settled on your wish, something that seemed too far-fetched to come true.

"Okay, I'm done," you announced, opening your eyes and sharing a playful glance with Oscar. "Now, what about you?"

Oscar's grin widened, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. "Well, since we're being ridiculous anyways, let's wish for an extraordinary adventure. Something that takes us to places we've never been before, filled with wonder and excitement."

The air crackled with a sense of possibility as you both sat there, wishing for the improbable, hoping for a hint of magic. Whether it was the pendant or simply the power of imagination, a thrilling energy filled the room, ready to propel you both into the unknown.

A brilliant flash of light erupted behind your closed eyes, momentarily blinding you both. As you cautiously opened your eyes, expecting to see the familiar surroundings of Oscar's living room, you were met with a surprising sight. Instead of the cozy confines of the living room, you found yourselves standing in the midst of a vibrant and bustling children's playground.

Confusion painted your features as you took in the realistic setting around you. The playground was alive with the sounds of laughter and playful chatter, a symphony of youthful energy. A colorful array of swings, slides, and climbing frames adorned the area, each piece of equipment carefully designed for the amusement and delight of children.

Children of various ages scampered about, their excited squeals filling the air. Some played tag, their giggles echoing, while others engaged in imaginative games, their animated expressions painting their faces with joy. Parents sat on benches, watching over their little ones with tender smiles and occasional words of encouragement.

You and Oscar exchanged bewildered glances, attempting to make sense of this inexplicable shift in reality. The atmosphere was anything but fantastical or otherworldly. Instead, it felt grounded and familiar, as if you had been transported to a vivid snapshot of everyday life.

"What just happened?" you questioned, your voice laced with both awe and confusion. "How did we end up here?"

Oscar's brows furrowed, his eyes scanning the surroundings. "I have no idea," he replied, his voice filled with genuine bewilderment. "But one thing's for sure, we're definitely not in my living room anymore."

A mixture of curiosity and trepidation swirled within you both. The unexpected turn of events had brought you to this lively playground, and the possibilities that lay ahead were both intriguing and uncertain.

Before you realize, Oscar dashed off somewhere behind you. Peering out from behind a bush, Oscar's eyes widened in surprise as he noticed a young girl, no older than five, making her way towards you. Her innocent gaze held a hint of familiarity, and it was as if she carried a secret that only you were meant to discover. Oscar urged you to interact with her, his voice barely audible as he whispered from his hiding spot.

Meanwhile, the little girl, with her petite frame and rosy cheeks, exuded an undeniable charm. She wore a simple, pastel-colored dress adorned with tiny floral patterns, the fabric swaying gently with each step. Her dark curls cascaded down in bouncy ringlets, framing her sweet little face. The innocence in her wide, doe-like eyes was paired with a mischievous spark, as if she knew more than she let on.

As she approached you, her tiny hand reaching out, she uttered a single word that pierced the air and left you momentarily stunned. "Mommy."

You gasped, taken aback by her words, and instinctively replied, "You're mistaken, little buddy. I'm not your mommy." But the little girl shook her head, her curls bouncing with the motion. Her voice, sweet and unwavering, insisted, "Yes, you are. You're my mommy."

Confusion swept over you, mingling with a mix of emotions that were difficult to untangle. Before you could gather your thoughts, another woman approached, her features mirroring a sense of familiarity. She wore a warm smile on her face, tinged with a touch of relief.

"Angele's mommy, you're back?" the woman exclaimed, her voice filled with both surprise and joy. You found yourself at a loss for words, your mind struggling to make sense of this inexplicable situation. "I... I guess?" you stammered, your response betraying your confusion.

The woman's eyes lingered on you, taking in your appearance, and she couldn't help but make a remark. "You look different, Angele's mommy," she commented, her tone a mix of astonishment and admiration. "You seem like you aged ten years backward, despite your hectic job."

A jolt of realization coursed through you at her words, an unsettling truth dawning upon you. You couldn't help but ask, your voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and curiosity, "My job...?" The question hung in the air, awaiting the woman's response.

She met your gaze, her eyes filled with understanding. "Yes, aren't you a journalist?" she replied, her voice gentle yet certain. "You travel almost all the time, leaving this sweet angel behind."

Your mind grappled with the realization that you had somehow traveled through time. The innocence and conviction in the little girl's eyes, coupled with the woman's recognition, painted a picture that defied all logic.

"Oh, I see. I should probably take her home," you responded, your voice filled with a mix of uncertainty and responsibility. The woman nodded in agreement. She then posed a question that struck a chord of confusion within you.

"Is he back?" she inquired, her voice carrying a hopeful tone. You hesitated, caught off guard by the mention of a husband whose identity remained a mystery to you. "Is he...? Erm..." you mumbled, your thoughts trailing off into a perplexing haze.

The woman's assumption about the busy nature of your relationship triggered a twinge of annoyance deep within you. How could she make such presumptions without knowing the intricacies of your life? Yet, before you could voice your frustration, you reminded yourself of the bigger puzzle at hand.

"Aww, you both are such a busy couple, barely have time for each other, let alone your child. I'm assuming he is abroad," the woman continued, her words rubbing against your raw nerves. An involuntary twitch of annoyance danced in your eye, momentarily distracting you from the enigma surrounding your husband's whereabouts.

Bidding the woman a hasty farewell, you turned to leave the playground with the child holding your hand, determined to sort out the mess you found yourself in. Oscar, who had been observing the interaction from a distance, swiftly caught up to you, his footsteps echoing your own.

As you walked away, a joyful squeal filled the air, capturing your attention. The little girl had noticed Oscar's presence and excitement erupted within her. "Daddy? You're back?" she exclaimed, her voice brimming with delight and hope.

You paused, a mix of emotions swirling within you. The puzzle pieces were falling into place, revealing a glimpse of the relationships that had been lost in this peculiar time-shift.

Oscar's bewildered gaze met yours, both of you frozen in a state of shock and disbelief. You shared a silent exchange of wide-eyed bewilderment, your jaws hanging open in unison. Oscar mustered a whisper, his voice filled with astonishment, "What...?"

As your attention shifted back to the little girl, you couldn't help but notice the striking resemblance she bore to both you and Oscar. Her plump lips mirrored yours, while her sharp brows and the combination of Oscar's nose and eyes adorned her face. She was a living proof of your shared features.

In a burst of excitement, the little girl leaped towards Oscar, her tiny arms outstretched, gesturing for him to pick her up. Oscar obliged, his heart swelling with warmth as he cradled the child in his arms. The surge of fatherly affection overwhelmed him, mirroring the surge of motherly emotions that welled up within you.

The little girl wrapped her arms around Oscar's neck, her embrace a proof to the depth of their connection. Her voice, filled with longing, reached your ears as she whispered, "Daddy, I missed you so much." Oscar's gaze flickered towards you, a mix of surprise and uncertainty in his eyes, before he composed himself with a fake cough.

"Oh, did you? Have I been really busy?" he inquired, a hint of anticipation in his voice. The little girl nodded emphatically, confirming the void his absence had left in her life. Despite his curiosity about his own occupation and the reasons for his busyness, he refrained from asking the child, instead focusing on their relationship.

"Have I not been giving you enough time? Are you upset with Daddy for that?" he whispered into her ear, his hand gently patting her small back. The little girl's voice, filled with a childlike innocence, responded, "Mommy says you always try your best to make time for us when you can, so it's okay." Oscar's gaze turned to you, his expression unreadable, as if the weight of this unexpected bond settled between you.

Feeling slightly out of place, you cleared your throat to regain their attention. As the little girl shifted her focus towards you, a newfound maternal instinct took hold, guiding your words. "My angel, can you show us where our house is? Do you know where it is?" you cooed, your voice instinctively morphing into that of a mother.

Thankfully, the child nodded, her eyes brimming with confidence. "Yes, it's near," she replied, her small finger pointing in a direction that beckoned you to follow.

As you walked alongside Oscar, the weight of uncertainty still hung in the air, yet the undeniable connection between him, the little girl, and yourself brought a sense of purpose.

When you and Oscar reached the grand house, an air of opulence surrounded its exterior, betraying a life of wealth and prosperity. As your eyes scanned the impressive structure, Oscar couldn't help but whisper, "We must be making banks to own this." Your agreement came in a playful tone, responding with, "We surely have to be..."

Stepping into the house, the sight that greeted you was unexpected. The floor was scattered with small toy cars and an array of other toys, indicating the presence of a child. As you took in the scene, a young woman in her twenties approached you, her eyes filled with relief.

"Mrs. Piastri, you're back. Thank God. Aaron was crying for you," she expressed, her voice tinged with gratitude. Confusion etched itself onto both yours and Oscar's faces until a toddler-like boy, approximately three years old, darted toward you. This time, the child's resemblance to Oscar was striking, a reflection of his features.

For a fleeting moment, the weight of your unexpected journey and the realization that you had time-traveled from a time when your relationship with Oscar was solely platonic faded away. In its place, a touch of annoyance crossed your face, and you turned to Oscar, wearing an expression of playful annoyance.

"You only gave me a year to rest before another one...?" you teased, your tone holding a mix of incredulity and humour. The humour in your remark served as a reminder of the shared history you and Oscar had, even if the circumstances had taken an unforeseen turn.

As Aaron, the young boy who bore an uncanny resemblance to Oscar, stood before you, a genuine smile spread across your face. Crouching down, you extended your arms and scooped up the young boy into a warm embrace. His little frame nestled against your chest, and you marvelled at the familiarity of his features, the reflection of Oscar's unmistakable traits. The connection between you and this child felt surprisingly natural, as if it were meant to be.

As you held him close, you turned your attention to the young woman who had greeted you. With a gentle smile, you deduced that she must be his nanny, entrusted with caring for him during your absence. Gratitude swelled within you for the love and attention she had provided in your stead.

"Thank you for taking care of him," you expressed sincerely, your voice laced with appreciation. "I can see how much he means to you. It's reassuring to know he's been in good hands." The young woman's eyes softened, a mixture of relief and fondness evident in her gaze.

"He's an incredible little boy," she replied warmly. "Full of energy and curiosity. But he's missed having his mommy around. It's good to have you back."

You nodded, a mixture of emotions swirling within you. The pull of this new life, this altered reality, was undeniably strong. The warmth of Aaron's presence and the genuine affection that radiated between you and Oscar tugged at your heartstrings, enticing you to fully immerse yourself in the role of a mother and wife.

As Oscar inquired about his daughter's hunger, the young girl, Angele, nodded eagerly. Her eyes sparkled with anticipation, mirroring the excitement that danced within Oscar's own gaze. It was a beautiful sight to witness, the unspoken bond between father and daughter.

Taking a moment to reflect, you realized that Aaron, too, must be in need of food. After all, it was late in the afternoon. Concerned about his well-being, you turned to the young woman who had been caring for him in your absence. With a gentle smile, you inquired, "Has Aaron had his meal?"

The woman nodded, her face glowing with a sense of reassurance. "Yes, he had his food a little while ago. He's been well taken care of." Her words offered solace, allowing you to focus on the immediate task at hand: feeding your daughter.

With a nurturing instinct taking over, you turned your attention to preparing a meal for your daughter. The kitchen became a haven of comforting aromas as you skillfully concocted a dish that would satiate her hunger. The sound of sizzling pans and the tantalizing scent of home-cooked food filled the air.

Oscar, in the meantime, kept her entertained with stories and playful banter, his infectious laughter ringing through the room. It was heartwarming to witness their bond, a testament to the love and care they had shared in your absence.

As the meal came together, you plated the food, arranging it with care and attention. Angele's eyes widened with anticipation as you presented her with the delicious feast. She dug into the food, her little hands grasping the utensils, a joyful messiness enveloping her.

As the evening progressed, the passing of time brought forth a gentle reminder that bedtime was drawing near. The warmth of the day began to mellow into a tranquil evening, and the soft whispers of fatigue whispered through the air.

Angele, her belly satisfied and eyelids growing heavy, leaned against Oscar, her little body nestled comfortably in his embrace. The playful energy that had filled the room gradually waned, replaced by a soothing calmness as the hour for slumber approached. Oscar gently guided his daughter towards the routine of preparing for bed.

Watching the scene unfold, a sense of tranquility washed over you. It was a testament to the bond you shared, a testament to the loving environment you had created. The roles you now found yourself immersed in, that of a mother and a wife, brought a deep sense of fulfillment. The love that radiated within the walls of this home, built on the foundation of shared experiences and cherished moments, resonated within your soul.

As the time came to settle Aaron into his crib, you cradled him in your arms, allowing the serenity of the moment to envelop you both. The rhythmic rise and fall of his tiny chest mirrored the peace that settled within your own being. Gently, you placed him down, his soft breaths filling the room.

With the children tucked in, sleep beckoning them to dreamland, you found yourself pausing at the threshold of the door. In this moment of stillness, with the soft glow of night casting its gentle embrace, you couldn't help but feel a mixture of emotions.

On one hand, the joy and contentment of this newfound life tugged at your heartstrings, whispering of the love and connection that enveloped you. The familiarity and the profound bond you shared with Oscar and the children sparked a profound sense of belonging.

As you stood at the threshold of the children's room, a flicker of movement caught your eye, drawing your attention to the wall adorned with a series of framed photographs. A gasp escaped your lips, like a breath catching in your throat, as your gaze fixated on the images captured within those frames.

Oscar, sensing your surprise, turned to you with concern etched on his face. "What happened?" he inquired, his voice laced with a mixture of curiosity and worry. You couldn't bring yourself to articulate the profound realization that had swept over you, so instead, you simply tilted your head, gesturing for him to direct his gaze towards the wall.

Together, your eyes traced the lines and contours of the photographs, each frame capturing a milestone in Oscar's journey as an accomplished Formula 1 driver. The vibrant colors and frozen moments of triumph adorned the wall, each image depicting him on the podium, a testament to his skill, determination, and hard-earned victories.

As the weight of the revelation settled upon you both, the realization blossomed in your minds: both of you had achieved your dreams. The photographs were a tangible reminder of the aspirations you had pursued and conquered, the paths that had led you to this very moment.

In the midst of this profound realization, Oscar's hand gently landed upon your shoulder, a comforting touch that spoke volumes without the need for words. It was a gesture that conveyed his support, his pride in your own accomplishments as a journalist, and the shared journey that had brought you to this point.

Silent understanding passed between you, a connection forged not only through friendship but also through the intertwining of dreams fulfilled. At that moment, you knew that despite the lingering mysteries of your past, the present held its own magic: a symphony of love, success, and shared aspirations.

"What do we do now?" you turn to ask Oscar, your voice filled with a mixture of uncertainty and determination. Before he can respond, a subtle noise interrupts the air, sending both of you into a state of alertness. It's the sound of the main door being unlocked.

Wide-eyed, you exchange a quick glance with Oscar, silently agreeing on the need to hide yourselves. In unison, you move swiftly, finding refuge in a concealed spot within the living room. Your breaths become shallow, heartbeats pounding in your ears as the door opens with deliberate caution.

There they are: the older versions of yourselves, stepping into the space you once called home. Their features etched with the weight of experiences yet to come, they move with a sense of purpose. You stole a glance at Oscar beside you, and he whispered urgently, "We must go back to our time."

As the future versions of you and Oscar move through the house, checking on the children's bedrooms and eventually reaching their own, you nodded in agreement with Oscar's suggestion. "I know," you replied, your voice carrying a hint of determination. "Let's do what we did before and see if we can return."

Closing your eyes, you clasped the pendant tightly in your hands, willing the familiar flash of light to transport you back to where you belong. But the first attempt proved unsuccessful, followed by the second and third. Frustration and fatigue started to gnaw at your resolve, casting doubt upon the possibility of going back to your own timeline.

Yet, as you closed your eyes for the fourth time, holding the pendant with a renewed sense of hope, something shifted. Behind your closed eyes, a brilliant burst of light illuminates the darkness, engulfing your senses in a swirling vortex. Time and space converge, carrying you and Oscar along a torrent of energy.

When you finally opened your eyes, you found yourselves back in the familiar living room—the same room where you once mocked the plot of a book, where Oscar rested his head upon your lap as you caressed his hair. Relief coursed through your veins, mingling with a lingering curiosity about the future versions of yourselves you encountered.

"Oh my god, I can't believe this," you gasped, your voice trembling with a mix of astonishment and disbelief. The familiar surroundings of the living room suddenly took on a whole new significance, and your heart races with the weight of the realisation.

Oscar, his eyes searching yours, sensed the depth of your emotions. A flicker of concern crossed his face, but there's also a hint of something else: something vulnerable. He took a step closer and responded, "Is marrying me really that unbelievable?" His voice carried a touch of mild offence, but his eyes betrayed the hope that you understood what he was trying to convey.

Caught off guard by his reaction, you paused, your mind racing to make sense of it all. The pieces started to fall into place, and you realised that his response held a deeper meaning. The unspoken tension between you suddenly became palpable, and you found yourself drawn to his gaze, searching for the truth hidden within.

A surge of realisation flooded through you, mingling with your own suppressed feelings. Memories of shared moments, stolen glances, and unspoken desires rush to the forefront of your mind. It's as if you've been dancing around the truth for years, and now, finally, everything became clear.

Breathlessly, you managed to utter, "Oscar, I... I didn't realise." Your voice wavered, filled with a mixture of surprise and realisation, as you confronted the truth that has been waiting to be acknowledged.

Oscar's expression softened, his eyes brimming with vulnerability and affection. He took another step closer, closing the distance between you, and reached out to gently touch your arm. "I've liked you, more than just a friend, for so long," he admitted, his voice filled with sincerity. "Seeing you here, in this moment, has only made those feelings stronger. I never thought I'd have the chance to tell you."

Your heart raced, the weight of unspoken emotions now laid bare before you. You found the courage to meet his gaze, and you confessed, "Oscar, I... I've liked you too. More than I've ever admitted. I've been pining over you all these years, and I never thought you felt the same way."

A mixture of relief and joy spread across Oscar's face, mirroring the emotions that surge within you. "We've been fools, hiding our feelings for fear of losing what we had," he confessed, his voice filled with regret. "But now, with this glimpse of our potential future, I can't hold back any longer."

As the weight of your shared emotions filled the room, you found yourself irresistibly drawn to Oscar. Step by step, you closed the distance between you until you were standing mere inches apart. The air crackled with anticipation, the atmosphere thick with the unspoken desires that have lingered for far too long.

Without a word, you reached out and gently cupped Oscar's face in your hands, your fingers trembling with a mix of nerves and excitement. His eyes locked onto yours, their depths reflecting the intensity of the moment. And in that fleeting second, the world around you faded into insignificance, leaving only the two of you suspended in time.

A tender smile played at the corners of your lips as you leaned in, closing the final gap between you. Your heart raced with anticipation, every fibre of your being yearning for the connection that has eluded you for so long. And then, finally, your lips met in a soft, passionate kiss.

In that single moment, the world around you ceased to exist. Time stood still as you lost yourselves in the depth of your kiss, the electricity between you intensifying with each passing second.

Wrapped in each other's arms, you experienced an intense sense of belonging. The doubts and uncertainties that once plagued your minds melted away, replaced by a certainty that you've found your soulmate. The taste of this stolen moment lingered on your lips, a promise of a future filled with passion, love, and fulfilled dreams.

When you finally pulled away, a soft glow illuminated both your faces. With a smile that spoke volumes, Oscar brushed a strand of hair behind your ear and whispered, "I've dreamt of this moment for so long, and now it's finally real." His voice was filled with a mixture of tenderness and awe.

With a mischievous glimmer in your eyes, you playfully nudged Oscar's side. "You know what, let's not get all mushy right now. I still want to be able to beat you up and bully you. Best friend privileges are too good to let go."

Oscar grinned, his confusion fading into a knowing smile. "You're right. But how about we add a little extra something to our friendship?"

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued by his suggestion. "Oh really? And what might that be?"

He leaned in, his voice laced with playful intent. "How about we stay best friends, but with the added benefits of making out and cuddling whenever we want? Taking it slow, you know?"

"Sounds like a plan. Count me in."

And just like that, the weight of romantic expectations lifted, and you both fell back into the comfort of your deep friendship.

Oscar grinned and nudged you playfully. "Hey, how about we hit the gym together? Future formula 1 champions should stay fit, you know."

You rolled your eyes. "Oh, come on. Don't drag me into this, I have studying to do."

Oscar shook his head, a determined smile on his face. "Nuh uh. No more excuses. I'm not taking no for an answer. Time to get those endorphins flowing."

Before you could protest further, Oscar swiftly scooped you up into his arms, effortlessly carrying you. You let out a surprised yelp, your protests drowned out by laughter.

"Oscar, put me down!" you exclaimed, playfully swatting at him.

He chuckled and kept walking towards the gym. "No way. I'm going to the gym, and you're coming with me."

You resigned yourself to the inevitable, knowing there's no escaping Oscar's determination. Besides, a part of you secretly enjoyed his antics. With a playful sigh, you settled into his arms, enjoying the closeness.

Oscar gently set you down, a triumphant grin on his face. "See? That wasn't so bad, was it?"

You playfully pouted and crossed your arms. "Fine, you win. But only this once. Don't expect me to become a gym enthusiast overnight."

Oscar chuckled. "Oh, I won't push you too hard."

As you and Oscar caught your breath after a particularly intense workout, a comfortable silence settled between you. The air was filled with a mix of contentment and unspoken words, and you could feel the shift in the atmosphere.

Oscar's eyes met yours, a glimmer of affection shining through. Without warning, he leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against your lips. The unexpected gesture left you momentarily breathless, a blush spreading across your cheeks.

"Oscar," you whispered, your cheeks tinged red. "What was that for?"

He grinned, his gaze filled with warmth. "Well, we have babies in the future, remember?"

You playfully tugged at a strand of his hair, a familiar spark of mischief in your eyes. "Oh, is that how you're going to convince me? Using our future children against me?"

Oscar laughed, the sound that filled the air around you. "Hey, whatever works, right?"

You let out a mock sigh, shaking your head. "Fine, I guess I'll let you off the hook this time. But don't make a habit out of it."

He chuckled and pulled you into a warm embrace, his arms enveloping you. "No promises, sorry baby."

You scrunched your brows, turning to face him in his embrace. "Didn't we literally promise to take it slow like an hour ago?"

"Oops." There wasn't a hint of guilt in his eyes.

You narrowed your eyes. "Oscar… aren't you having too much fun?"

He shrugged. "Can't blame me."

[inkblot22]

(PS I don’t actually know the source material for idia I just stumbled upon one of your fics while looking at FFXIV Yandere fics so sorry if this sounds OOC)

I’m not super creative but what do you think might actually be Idia’ routine with his darling? Does he fall into any routine, does it change a lot?

Have a wonderful day (and happy late bunny day!) 🫶

I actually am of the opinion that this is a very creative thought! You should give yourself more credit. I like to idealize the day to day life, but it never occurred to me that writing it down might be a good idea. On that sentiment, I think maybe Vil or even Leona would have a better day to day routine. Dividers by @/cafekitsune

Also, wow, what a pipeline, FFXIV to twst?? You've got good taste lmao welcome to my blog.

I'll put this under the cut, and I'm also not promising that this will be very good. I use the 24 hour clock. I am constantly getting told irl that American people don't do that, but I'm evil, so I'm putting the times in 24 hour clock format.

TW for mentions of noncon, coercion, captivity, someone keeping someone else awake, a hint of Idia being an asshole

+ Idia doesn't really seem like he has much of a set schedule, but Ortho absolutely does and Ortho is lowkey kind of bossy, so...

+ Yeah uh, Idia's partner is absolutely out of luck. Idia likes night gaming a lot, and he gets loud, so good luck sleeping. Idia himself goes to bed late and wakes up whenever the heck he wakes up. He could go to bed at 0300 in the morning and wake up again at 0700.

+ As his kept partner, the schedule is a little more normal, like I said. Ortho doesn't really need to sleep from what I understand, (I haven't read all of book 6, no spoilers or else I WILL temporarily block you) but it's silly to imagine that he doesn't wake up or attempt to wake up everyone else around him as early as 0600.

+ After waking up, Idia will eat breakfast. I think it'd be delivered usually since Idia and his partner are basement dwellers, one by nature and the other by force. After breakfast begins work...

+ Or procrastination. Idia flip flops between extreme focus on what he should be doing and what he should not be doing. He manages to get his schoolwork done, but more often than not, he's asking his partner to cuddle up and watch a movie, drama, or his fingers flying across the keyboard. Idia will not ask them to cuddle if he is doing schoolwork or virtually attending classes.

+ I like to think that he smells smoky, on account of the flaming hair, and he runs hot, so prepare to SWEAT. In the case his partner doesn't really want to hang out with him, he will usually sulk and only occasionally get upset to the point of doing something about it.

+ I don't think he showers every day. I think he's an every other day type of showerer, based solely on him not being particularly active. This means that his partner doesn't have to run on his showering schedule and gets extra hot water on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.

+ By the way, in the case that Idia's darling ever gets peckish, Idia has a snack stash that he proudly pulled out and showed them as soon as they were allowed to wander a bit. I figure they get hungry some time around 1400, especially if Idia is also eating at that time.

+ I think his metabolism is fast, but also a bit odd. He is a young person, and therefore he strikes me as the type to get randomly hungry. If asked very nicely (and with the promise of physical affection in some form) he'd be incredibly willing to make his partner something to munch on when he makes his own.

+ Despite Idia's partner being literally held captive in his room, with all his suspicious items and, worst of all, himself, Idia is about as respectful as a kidnapper can be about demanding sex. He doesn't like to be physically forceful about it, and he often will just jerk off in the bathroom.

+ The reason for this is very simple: If Ortho ever saw Idia having sex with ANYONE, Idia would spontaneously combust. Well, obviously he doesn't know that for certain, but it's a theory that he is not willing to test. He won't even talk about his preferences around his little brother.

+ As far as I'm aware, most people in captive situations do not tend to ask their kidnapper to fuck them unless they're being threatened in some way, but Idia's partner isn't typically being threatened (ignore the shock collar,) so they never ask Idia to have sex.

+ This does not stop Idia from being a whiny bitch about not having sex enough as soon as Ortho is gone for a few hours. The close quarters and sudden advent of a human being who he doesn't mind touching him is a big thing for Idia.

+ Ortho goes on "walks" in a sort of unusual schedule. That is to say that he doesn't have a schedule. If something needs to be picked up, he's tired of Idia not listening to him, he has his own stuff to do, or he just feels like it, Ortho will go out, sharing his location with Idia. From there, Idia will typically calculate how long it'd take Ortho to get back paired with whatever Ortho said he was going to do before he left, and see if he can squeeze in some coerced touching.

+ So. Good luck, Idia's partner. Idia will make a big stink until he gets bored or his partner gives in. His partner usually gives in, based on fear of what he might do alone.

+ Bedtime is somewhat randomized. If Ortho was out, when he comes back and it's any time after 2000, he will very subtly try to get Idia and his partner to start winding down. If both or one ignores him, he'll start getting upset.

+ Like I said, Ortho is kinda bossy. He will nag someone, and the worst part is that he's usually got their best interest in mind.

+On the off chance that Idia decides to go to bed at a decent time, he curls up behind his partner. He runs hot and smells smoky, and at some times it's not the worst thing. Some times.

+ By the way, a lot of this flies out the window in the event that Idia decides to attend classes in person. This is rare, so don't expect it to happen often, but it's not as good as it could be. Ortho goes with him and he locks up any way to reach the outside world, so all his partner has to entertain themselves is his manga collection, or the fun pastime of destruction of property. (This is a very bad idea, and I can expand on punishments later.)

+ In Idia's partner's case, every day is much of the same but just a little different, which makes it hard to keep track of time. The fact that Idia prefers low lighting and no natural light doesn't help this whatsoever.

[alicent-vi-britannia]

Lelouch's relentless search for purpose in life

I've previously talked to you about Lelouch's trauma through the enneagram to explain why Lelouch refuses to open up and trust others and insists on doing everything alone to feel self-sufficient and strong. I've also used the enneagram to explain that Lelouch has locked himself into a protective shell and is uncomfortable feeling vulnerable because of his trauma and his upbringing in Darwinian values ​​in Britannia. However, I haven't talked to you directly about one thing that is very important and perhaps because it is so obvious I have overlooked it until I stumbled upon a small thread on Twitter.

In the last conversation Lelouch has with his father, Charles nullifies the meaning and value of his existence by telling him: "But you're dead. You've always been dead, from the moment you were born. Who gave you the fine clothes you wear, a comfortable home, the food you eat, and your own life? I gave you all of that. You are nothing to me because you have never existed." At that moment, Charles kills Lelouch in symbolic terms, causing him enormous psychological and emotional damage from which he never recovers.

We have this flashback in episode 7 of the first season and later Lelouch threatens CC with suicide if she does not let him go to face his sister, Cornelia: "Until I met you, I was dead. A corpse that existed behind a false appearance of life, a life in which I did nothing real. I experienced the emotions of living day to day as if I were a zombie, with the feeling that I was dying little by little. And if I have to go back to that, then I prefer… [And he places his finger on the trigger of the gun]." The series connects those two scenes through a Dutch shot focused on Lelouch's gaze. The Dutch shot is a steep horizontal tilt shot that is used to indicate instability or danger or that something is not right. In this case, it warns us, on a superficial level, that Lelouch has felt dead since his last meeting with his father and that he has been fighting against that (unfounded) belief and these negative feelings and, on a deeper level, that this is a wrong and harmful belief of Lelouch's that has been poisoning his mental health ever since.

(It's sad to compare the two shots. Little Lelouch's eyes show deep pain. As the Bart and Lisa Simpson meme says: it's the exact frame in which his heart broke. Teenage Lelouch's eyes, on the other hand, are empty. A dead look.)

There are several moments in the story that give us an idea of ​​the young prince's struggle. For example, in the first Audio Drama, "The Uninvited Prince," a young Suzaku rescues Lelouch from some children who are beating him and reproaches him for not standing up for himself and disregarding the hospitality his home provides him and his sister, to which the child Lelouch replies, "I am here and I will live. If I live by my own strength, then I will never be dead again." Little Suzaku, of course, finds Lelouch's statement absurd and just thinks he is a strange child. But this response reflects the boy's insane desire to be self-sufficient (to the point of rejecting the help of others) in order to feel that he is alive (remember that Charles told him that he is alive because he has given him everything he has).

We also have a Picture Drama (I'm sorry I don't remember or have the exact number of the PD, but if it's part of the alternate universe, we can ignore it because they are different universes that shouldn't be mixed) with a monologue by a teenage Lelouch: "I've made a vow to use the strength I have to save Nunnally. That will be the proof that I exist in this world."

These words evoke in me a part of Lelouch's song "Back to Zero" (for the fantastic Code Black album in Ashford) in which our hero sings: "Oh! Can you hear me? This fight is how I know I'm alive."

That is, Lelouch tries to prove his father wrong by looking for a purpose to live that reaffirms his existence and, in principle, Lelouch finds it in Zero and the rebellion since they are the means he has to destroy Britannia and create a kind world for Nunnally. And that's why later on he abandons Ashford Academy, the Zero mask and his friends and gives in to depression (in the future, I'll talk about this moment in more depth in another analysis). Then his goals change and his motivations are reconsidered for a series of reasons and events that I won't stop to explain here, but I will point out that I find it interesting and moving how Lelouch goes from clinging to a purpose in life to giving up on it and dying, in order to fulfill his new goals, obtain results and atone for his sins (the magic of a powerful script and a narrative arc, Larry).

Also, all of this explains why Lelouch lost his temper in the season 1 finale when Suzaku yelled at him that his existence was a mistake and that he needed to be wiped off the face of the Earth. Not only did it bring back memories of Vietnam for Lelouch, it was another important person to him who was denying his existence. Suzaku's words hurt him because, as President Snow said in the Hunger Games trilogy, "the people we love the most are the ones who destroy us." I'm not sure if Suzaku knew what Charles told his friend since Lelouch never reveals his secrets to anyone (people around him, including his loved ones, find out on their own), but Suzaku certainly hit a sensitive button that mentally unsettled Lelouch.

Poor Lelouch. He just wanted his existence validated.

[mydearneteyam]

WITH LOVE, GAIA ;; ATWOW

"who survived? somebody new? anyone else but you?"

summary ;; waking up had never felt so good. although now, there is a lot of work.

warnings/notes (for the series) ;; fem!reader ;; mentions of war, death ;; illegal activities ;; reader is a criminal, an enemy of humanity, traitor to the race, etc ;; avatar!reader ;; death of loved ones ;; late grief ;; etc.

word count ;; 0.3k

word of the series ;; Eywa [ˈɛj.wa] prop.n. world spirit, Gaia

prologue (you're here)

"One day…" your hands crawled across the glass of that tent, gazing intently at the images. Your gaze, fixed on the drone recordings that were being made over the trees of a moon, light years away from you.

Pandora.

...

Checking your watch every now and then was a common thing, a habit, if it should be called something like that. You checked the time, attentive to what the big computer was displaying in front of your eyes. It was only thirty seconds before the page would reload by itself, giving you the answers you had been looking for a long time.

At least a year ago you had already planned everything. It was a challenge you were willing to face and overcome, after all, the planet would go to shit sooner or later.

"Come on…" anxiety loomed in your stomach as the page loaded and there you were at the first image. Your name, your date of birth, your position within the mission and a couple of other details that would be sent home. You had made it.

You would be away from the fake, plastic planet that was called 'Earth'.

...

Your eyes slowly got used to the image above you, the door slowly opened and you couldn't help but frown, trying to get used to the atmosphere.

"I'm going to throw up…" you covered your mouth with one hand, sitting down on the cryosleep gurney. As you turned around, you could tell that unlike how you had stipulated with your companions, there was no one there to greet you. Instead, you stumbled upon an empty place that already seemed to be falling apart, the last thing you caught a glimpse of hidden a couple of meters away from you were the eyes of a prolemuris, you could assume it was a young one. No sane adult would have gone into that place out of self-interest.

"Hopefully you woke me up in times of peace… or where my friends are still alive" you muttered giving the animal a smile before standing up and feeling your legs falter. Off to the side, your watch rested being surrounded by many plants, some of them growing over the capsule where your avatar rested.

"Well, I'll be damned."

next

a/n ;; well, this is the prologue of the first series I'll bring to my profile, honestly I still haven't planned a character to pair the mc, so if you have ideas….. please give them to me…… besides that, the age is also ambiguous for now. I have the story ready for any character, so I'll try to match it in case the idea is to your liking.

[4dkellysworld]

The state of self-communion

Hellooooo, haven't been here for a while. Hope everyone's doing well :) I've just been doing my own thing away from Tumblr and haven't felt like there was much to post. I do enjoy reading Reddit posts though across a variety of spiritual subreddits and sometimes I come across some gems of wisdom. It also supports my belief that all paths can lead to Home (Self) because the same truths pop up in so many different subs from people doing different things (some with barely any actual spiritual study or sadhana).

Anyway, I found this part of a Reddit post (from the Neville Goddard subreddit actually) to be really beautiful (highlighted my fave parts) because it emphasizes Oneness (which isn't something I actually see much when it comes to manifesting-centric content) and shows what it looks like in practice to treat others as if they were yourself, as if there is no separation between you and everyone/everything else, as if the world is just a projection of your mind. I like how he calls it Self-communion when he talks of communicating with another person too and treating it as if he is talking to another aspect of himself.

The first most apparent proof I have received during my early era of this understanding, was still when I was in a shitty state of consciousness, so I was met with my own creation. It was a man that stumbled upon me and a cousin out in the street, it was a hostile interaction, I won't specify what. I had no other choice but to apply what I believed in, that if all is myself, and he is only my expression of my own state of consciousness, if the attitude I undertake towards him was as if he was a pleasant gentleman (despite him clearly coming to harm me outta no where), if I dare to live FROM MYSELF from my perception and attitude towards the stranger that approached as if he was a lovely gentleman, he would be so. So I was forced to apply it, and to completely put aside all my physical reactions and all that nonsense that the physical man invented and called instincts, and I was willing unto death, to believe that I was communing with a pleasant gentleman, I do not even remember what words came out of me, but I wore the state of love, of self communion, I knew I was talking to myself in another garment called Another Man, and he was pacified immediately. He broke down and we hugged and parted ways without further speech. I knew what I did, my cousin was clueless. In another case history as well, when a family relative I have neglected to frame his ideal image in my imagination, and it came surfacing (as everything neglected eventually does), I made the bold decision to carry an attitude towards him that he would be the coolest gent there is, and despite physical evidence from the first time, I applied my new standard good attitude towards this person, him being the way he still was, it did not take long for him to change in his attitude so quickly, because my attitude defined his reality and attitude in this physical world. So he was changed, and also pacified on the spot when aggressive speech took place. All my states created the vile and created the perfection.

Here is the original Reddit post though beware the formatting, spelling and sentence structure makes it quite difficult to read lol, I just skimmed it until I found this case studies which I thought were worth reading and sharing.

Anyway, hope that inspired/sparked some love within :)

[fandomfluffandfuck]

I may have been reading a bit too much omegaverse but I stumbled upon your stuff on ao3 and uh now it’s not getting out of my head so I’m here

may I request omega!Steve + alpha!Bucky having a sparring session that escalates beautifully?

For reference, my ask box is no longer open for requests, but this is from before I closed it, so I will be writing for this ask.

Also, before we get into it, I semi-recently wrote another lil thing here on Tumblr about Steve and Bucky sparring that you might want to check out, although that prompt fill is much, much angsty-er and not omegaverse specific.

And, lmao, that's fair. I haven't been thinking a lot about omegaverse recently, but every time I am on my omegaverse bullshit I am on it and into it.

And I was really thinking about what I could do with sparring and omegaverse and smut, reading your prompt, but then... I had a thought: omegaverse, fighting not sparring, and something similar to this iconic scene from Captain American: The Winter Soldier.

Then, things got angsty. I'm sorry, lmao. I didn't mean for it to happen! It just did.

So, consider the idea that Steve and Bucky were bonded mates before Bucky fell and "died" during the war. Bucky is Steve's alpha; Steve is Bucky's omega. Yet, when Steve wakes up in the modern world, not only has history been rewritten to say that Captain America was an alpha but, also, his relationship with Bucky has been erased. It had to be because if it weren't, that would mean that either (a) they would have to claim that Steve and Bucky were an alpha-alpha couple which they don't want to do because that'd make them queer and that's not a good propaganda pawn or (b) they would have to claim that Bucky was the omega, swapping Steve and Bucky's designations which is... plausible... but, that would mean admitting that omegas went to war and, that, again, is unpopular and not good propaganda. So, they just destroyed their relationship entirely and reassigned Steve's designation.

Steve isn't sure how to feel about his life being eroded like that. His relationship; his very, very strong feelings about what society tells omegas, especially omega men, they can or can't do; his history; his understanding. But, as fucking confused as he is about all that, warring with himself and trying to figure out where he stands, it is easier to let it be. Without his bonded mate--really, with having just lost his bonded mate according to his body, that doesn't know it's been seventy years, it thinks it's been just a handful of weeks since Bucky "died", his mating cycles haven't started to try and re-calibrate, triggering themselves to get back on tracks. Bucky was the one his heats were synced to. His grief puts a halt to his regular cycles for now anyway. Besides, the suppressants that exist nowadays are so much better than those from Steve's time.

So, yeah, it's much easier to let the world think he is an alpha, using scent-blocking deodorant and body wash and all that, letting people believe that it's just the chivalrous thing Captain America would, of course, do because his alpha scent is so fucking strong, if he didn't, he'd have a multiple-block line of omegas trailing after him throughout New York City.

They don't know the truth.

No one really does. There are just one or two high-security clearance people at S.H.I.E.L.D. in medical that know because they're synthesizing an extra strong heat suppressant for when Steve's body does decide it will try to realign itself without his mate. The secret needs to be kept.

However.

That all fucking changes in the blink of an eye when, finally, fucking finally Sam, Nat, and Steve track down the Winter Soldier, or rather, the soldier tracks them down to a rundown metropolitan area, all empty warehouses, junk cars, and beat up loading docks. They're running (or flying, in Sam's case) through cracked concrete and warped metal, swearing they see the soldier around every corner and hearing him, too. Their coms are haunted by whispers of each of them believing to have heard his footsteps just ahead, the sound of his arm recalibrating just over their shoulder, his weapon cocking behind them, or the eerie, all-around them sound of his breath through his mask, filtered and almost Darth-Vader-esque (Steve knows that reference, thank you, Sam).

It's hours of a wild chase, running in circles.

A death spiral.

Until...

Steve chokes on his own spit, sweating through his stolen museum uniform, as he's rushed from behind.

He's hit.

There's a nanosecond of stunned shock before he registers what's happening--it's the muzzle of a gun shoved into his back unforgivingly and trying to throw him to the ground with the impact. Steve bends under the weight but throws his own mass to the side, not letting himself get pinned to the ground and effectively evading the heavy gun pressed against him. He's lucky that the soldier doesn't just shoot a hole through him.

As he rolls away from the impact. His back stings with hot, vicious pain. He slams his shield to the side and CLANG! rings the dinner bell. Metal on metal. The large, bulky machine gun the soldier is carrying clashing with his vibranium shield. The vibration of the hit rattles Steve's teeth in his jaw. He won't let himself be stunned again, though.

So, he throws more of his mass behind his shield when he gets both feet on the ground and strips the soldier of his biggest gun. But not before he fires off a handful of shots against his shield at point-blank range. The POP, POP, POP of the gun is so loud Steve is momentarily deafened, his ears ringing so badly that there's no sound at all. The heat of the gunpowder combusting radiates through Steve's shield back into his body--he can feel it in his arms. His heart races. The combustion is all he can smell. He doesn't need hearing or smell, though. Not when he's so close. He doesn't mind being burned alive, either. Not in his frantic state of mind. He's right fucking here. This is the closest they've come. They need to make this happen. And they need it now. So, he can take it.

He has to.

Another shove and the soldier loses his grip entirely. The big, heavy gun skids across the ground, scraped up and scratched on the concrete before finally slowing to stillness impressively far away from them. Already, though, the soldier is moving to grab another.

Steve needs to beat him to the punch. Brute force.

And so, he has no choice but to swing the shield away, leaving himself open to be hit, but sacrificing safety to hold onto the muzzle of the next much smaller handgun the soldier rips out of its holster.

Steve can't let him have it.

They struggle in the overcast, humid weather.

Strength-to-strength.

Hand-to-hand.

Breath-for-breath.

They're shockingly on par with each other, even as the soldier's arm recalibrates with a mechanical war cry, whining sharply through the ringing in Steve's ears. But ultimately, the handgun goes flying, too. Landing on the magazine, jostling it, and making it pop off in a random direction. It doesn't hit either of them. Steve doesn't hear Sam or Natasha close by either, so they're safe for now. He focuses on the fight he has in front of him, trusting they'll keep themselves out of harms way as best they can.

The gun just goes off once and then slides across the ground just as the other one had. The dragging sound of it is sickening like nails on a chalkboard. Steve wants to wince but can't risk it. His eyes have never been more goddamn open.

The soldier has a knife next. Not another gun.

Steve, through his exerted panting, lets out something of a sigh of relief, at least that shit can't make as much terrible, sharp fucking noise. It's also, y'know, good that the threat of having holes shot through him isn't as pressing. A knife is still bad, but he can work with a knife. He can.

He will.

Steve backs up, giving himself room to play. Both side-stepping for real and faux rushing in, Steve blocks every stab, cut, and swing the soldier throws his way, forcing him to make moves he wouldn't if he weren't brawling with Steve.

With more and more missed hits, Steve can see he's getting frustrated. He isn't tiring out because Steve isn't tired out. Not yet. He can do this all day. But the soldier is getting angry--it's the only flash of emotion he's seen on his face. Granted, he's never seen this much of his face before with his goggles gone. His mask is still firmly in place, though. Only his eyes are exposed--especially his eyebrows are exposed, 'cause they're so dark and expressive, furrowing in aggravation with what must be a vicious snarl.

The next thrown stabs are reckless. He's leaving himself open. Steve takes the window he's giving, exploiting it and using it to his advantage. Punching in.

Steve manages to get the knife away from him, too, but not before the soldier strips him of his shield entirely. It rattles against the ground like a coin dropped, rolling around its rim with an obnoxious clang!-groooooiinng-roooooiing-ooooooiinnnng-rnnnnng-rrrrrnnnng.

They're fists to fists then.

It could only be more vulnerable if they were bare knuckles to bare knuckes. That'd suck worse. The soldiers metal arm could surely best his flesh and bone to a bloody pulp easier than Steve could fuck over his metal architecture.

It's a rushing, messy blur of body-weight-thrown-behind-them punches and knee-sweeping kicks, getting knocked down and getting up, rolling and turning and tucking. At some fucking point, Steve's face down on the floor, fist thrown out into nothing but concrete, and he's gasping through his gritted teeth. His ribs hurt. He sees fucking red but it washes out, running pink and then clear like a bloody wound rinsed clean behind a faucet, as soon as he feels the soldier's organic arm wrap around his throat like a boa constrictor.

Shit.

Steve opens his mouth, gasping, not through his teeth this time. He fights that much harder. Motherfucker.

He twists like an alligator in a death roll, except he's not holding onto prey. He is the prey, and he desperately needs not to be. In the soldier's grasp, he lifts his leg and kicks it back hard. The soldier barely grunts, and instead of being deterred by his thrashing and kicking, he hauls Steve's body back as if he weighs nothing at all.

Steve twists harder and harder and harder and ends up with his nose in the soldier's armpit, his neck twisted and strained harshly to the side, tendons screaming at him. His vision is just starting to go fuzzy at the edges without oxygen, getting choked by the soldier so intensely, when--

Steve's choppy, barely successful inhale that fights to happen under the instinctive need for air, his lungs spasming and chest heaving even while his brain knows he won't find any oxygen--that inhale, it brings in the barest hint of a devastingly familiar scent.

Bucky.

The scent that's wafting off of the soldier's underarms is undeniably alpha, and it's choked with the acrid scent of distress and exhaustion. But, deeper, beneath that unpleasant, unwashed scent, it's just... that's... it's-! That's the smell of his alpha. Seventy years long dead. His alpha.

His alpha smells like sweet tobacco and fragrant cigarettes and summer sweat and well-loved leather and deep, old woods. His alpha smells like home. His alpha smells like himself. Bucky. His alpha used to smell, most of the time, like Steve. They were always all over each other, of course.

Steve can't tell if the soldier smells like him. For one, he's always slathered in scent blockers, so he's not even sure what he smells like without them anymore. And for another, the moment is there and then gone, so he doesn't get more than a single, earth-shattering whiff.

It's a faint whiff, even though the soldier's smell is so strong, but Steve knows what he fucking smelled.

He knows the truth.

His body knows the truth, dropping limp beneath Bucky, reacting so viscerally to his alpha. All the fight drops out of him.

Alpha.

His body screams for his alpha.

Steve doesn't even fucking do anything, he can't. His hindbrain works a million times faster than his conscious, logical brain. He folds to his alpha because that's what his innermost omega demands. That's what it wants. That's what it needs.

Bucky.

He needs Bucky.

He needs his alpha.

He misses his alpha so fucking much.

Steve whimpers, the call of his mate's designation right there on his lips, "a-alpha," but it dies before he can get it out. He doesn't have the air for it.

And in a fucking flash, before he's even processed what's happening in his logical brain, he's hard. His body and hindbrain are working overtime to push him. Hitting hyperdrive. He's wet. He's gutted with the sudden onslaught of heat rushing into him.

Heat.

Steve is on the cusp of spilling over like a little Dixie cup beneath a pouring, rushing faucet.

Pheromones. Fever. Slick. Cramps.

Heat.

He's tripping.

He is.

He is spilling over.

Steve is unraveling. Every constructed asset of Captain America peeling away beneath the terror and celebration he exists undeather, knowing that his bondmate is alive. Terror for what's become of him--what's been done to him--and celebration for knowing he's still alive, even if alive may be a stretch. He is a shell.

He is a shell because Steve's Bucky wouldn't choke him intent to kill. But the soldier does.

The soldier is.

The soldier is going to do him in.

The soldier would--the soldier will choke him out. The soldier will kill him. He will because he's been giving the opportunity on a silver platter, Steve's body limp. His instincts can't be overriden. The pure relieve and horror he feels. The rushing, rising tide of his stunted heat suddenly overcoming him. The soldier would murder Steve if not for Sam, who does a flying kick to Bucky's shoulder and knocks him away from Steve.

Bucky growls roughly, even more frustrated than before. But, something in him has changed. His eyes dart between Steve and Sam uncomprehending what's happening. There's the darkness of primal instinct behind those eyes. Steve desperately wishes he knew if it was his natural alpha instincts or whatever perverted, twisted instincts whoever did this to him placed in his broken mind.

This is Bucky, but this isn't Bucky.

Steve watches, heart throbbing in his crushed, hurting throat, as Bucky scrambles to his feet. Body lifting and moving with deadly precision, his metal hand clutches at his flesh and blood shoulder. It's sitting at an awkward angle compared to the rest of his body. Sam's kick must've dislocated it. Steve can't shove down his own growl, territorial over his alpha who's been abruptly dangled in front of his face, just out of reach.

Although Steve's possessive, mate mate mate protective instincts turn into a whine quickly. One of his hands lifts without his conscious input and stretches out toward Bucky. His fingers tremble, aching to soothe the hurt he's masking and aching to be soothed himself. Moments from every heat he's spent with his alpha over their life together flash before his eyes as his alpha's eyes bore into him, confusion plain as day, then realization, then horrified fear, and then he's scurrying away.

Bucky doesn't bother to grab a gun, knife, steal his shield, or anything. He's just high-tailing it out of there--there one moment and then gone the next and leaving Steve to deal with the aftermath.

Alone.

With no mate.

Entirely devastated.

Steve is choking and sputtering after being choked, feeling wet and sticky between his legs as the fever of heat really starts to sink its teeth into him. Jesus Christ. One smell of his alpha and his grieving, out-of-wack body has locked itself into a tailspin. Jesus Christ. He's so fucked. So not fucked. He remembers what his heats were like after the serum. They're unstoppable. Worse than they ever were when he was just a runt omega. He needs his alpha.

How's he going to survive one without him?

What is he supposed to do?

Steve has just begun to comprehend some of what unfolded, and he already feels helpless. He's crushed. There's nothing he can do.

Steve swallows a pathetic cry, stuffing it down his throat.

A cramp roils through Steve's shivering body. He ends up collapsing forward into a ball, his cowl-covered forehead hitting the concrete ground with a desperate, defeated clunk.

His ears are still ringing. His heart is still, of course, pounding. His nose tells him he can still smell his alpha, his perfect, familiar scent crowded by the scent of so much fucking pain. And his eyes squeeze shut that much tighter. So, he can't hear what Sam is saying. He can't see Natasha rush over. He can't parse out the questions they're asking him or the way they're touching him gently, trying to figure out where he's hurt, how badly he's hurt. Steve can do nothing but try and fail to grapple with the impending doom of knowing he's in for a week of agony without his alpha.

His alpha who is alive.

He has to find him.

He needs him.

P.S. if you enjoyed this pain™️ you'll like this orphaned fic, "it's gotta get easier somehow ('coz, i'm falling, i'm falling)"

I forgot about it until I finished this little drabble, but I've had it bookmarked forever, so, it probably inspired this subconsciously!

[moodcrab]

Fixing Skyrim's Daedric Quests

Introduction

Unlike my Oblivion character - a mere mortal who stumbled upon a shrine while lost in the wilderness, becomes somewhat obsessed with gaining the level requirement and collecting an offering, then undertakes the quest feeling like a dark god is testing their worthiness to be their champion - The Last Dragonborn has Daedric Princes falling over themselves to make them their champion straight out the gate. Level one? Who cares! No offering? No problem! Not my Summoning Day? We haven't cared about that since Morrowind! Literally told me to go fuck myself? Take the prize anyway Champ you've earned it!

Basically, much like factions, Skyrim shoves nearly all of the Daedric Quests in the player's face as soon as possible because they're widely considered to be the best and most rewarding by fans of the previous games. But the older games had them, to varying degrees, hidden away or locked behind mechanics, and Bethesda didn't want newer, more casual fans to miss them. In doing so the Princes and their cults lose that air of mystery and danger they once had.

On the other hand, it was nice to be doing something else entirely then have a surprise Daedric Quests blind side me, and it's not like the old Oblivion way was perfect. Find shrine, give offering, get quest for EVERY Prince? And just one quest and I'm the champion, dedicated my soul to your afterlife and all that jazz?

This series is going to try to maximise the good parts of Skyrim Daedric Quests, while bringing back some of the classic elements that it left out, starting with...

Part I - Namria

Quest A) A Taste of Death.

If you visit the Treasury House in Markarth you might overhear an argument between Brother Verulus and Thongvor Silver-Blood. This location change means you are unlikely to just run into this quest immediately as in vanilla, but also gives you a high chance of encountering it during The Forsworn Conspiracy, in which case it has the double benefit of acting as a kind of red herring in that quest and linking this quest with Markarth's corruption and secret society vibes.

Brother Verulus wants the city guard to stop their lockdown of the Halls of the Dead and to actually go in and deal with the draugr head on (in my alternative "Fixed" Skyrim the increased draugr population is connected with Alduin's return, who is raising his Dragon Priests to serve him, even within cities). Why doesn't he go pester the Jarl or the Captain about this, asks Thongvor, dismissively. Oh come on, don't act coy, we all know who really controls the guard in Markarth, why not let them do their job, replies Verulus. Thongvor counters that that would be a desecration of the Nordic dead, that guards putting them down like a pest would be dishonourable. What's more, perhaps if the glorious Nordic dead of the city weren't being tended to by a poncy Imperial Priest of Arkay instead of a proper old fashioned Orkey Shaman, maybe none of this would have happened. Verulus starts to lose his temper at this, and in anger implies that he knows that the draugr problem that plagues the other cities isn't the real issue here, that most of the ancient dead here are Reachfolk not Nord, and begins to demand a true explanation for being locked out but stops himself, he has said too much and leaves.

The quest begins by talking to Verulus who will ask you to investigate what's really going on in The Halls of the Dead. How you get in is up to you. If you're a sneaky type or a smooth talker you'll get in that way. You can also commit a crime to lure the guard away maybe. You could go find Thongvor who can be convinced to give you an alternative - take care of Verulus, but more on that later.

However you get into the Halls, on entering you start finding evidence of cannibalism, butchered bodies, cooking stations and so on. As you delve deeper you hear Eola, a Reachman Namira Devotee, goading and teasing you; "Not many would walk blindly into a crypt, smelling of steel and blood, but not fear... Don't you see what I am about down here in the dark? Is that disgust? Revulsion?... Or curiosity? Why don't you come deeper, and scratch that itch?" You can question her about who she is, what is her purpose here, why is Thongvor protecting her etc. but it will come down to convincing her to leave, killing her, or accepting her invitation to eat human flesh.

Now, IF you sided with Thongvor, the plan is to lie to Verulus to get him to follow you into the Halls of the Dead, this time you'll be confronted directly by Eola and Thongvor together. They intend to kill and eat you both and blame your deaths on Draugr. You can fight your way out and try to save Verulus, or you can prove yourself by killing Verulus yourself and tasting him by way of a test.

If you partake in cannibalism you will get a monologue from Eola about Namira, waxing poetic about the oldest god, The Black Fly, being the Daedric Prince of decay and squalor and all things ugly and repulsive... But also her significance to the Reachmen. To them she is the Spirit Queen who is the true god of death, not Arkay, the primal darkness that gives and takes life. You will gain the power to feast on a corps once a night or when underground, and unlock the second quest.

Quest B - A Guest for Dinner

The second quest will be even less obvious to the player and will hopefully take most people completely by surprise the first time it happens. The quest will only begin after the following criteria are met: You have used the lesser power to consume 10 or more corpses. You own a fully furnished player home. You spend the night there with either your spouse or a follower. When you sleep, a slow, loud, ominous knocking at the door awakens you.

At your door is a stranger in rags and a hideous face asking to come in. You can refuse or invite them to stay. Once inside they will take a seat at your table and ask what is being served for dinner. At this point your follower/spouse will be freaking out a little. You can offer food, like regular food, which will disappoint him and he'll leave. You can offer your spouse or follower as the meal and you'll have to attack them, the screen will darken for an gruesome audible muckbang. Or you can tell the Stranger he is on the menu, which will please him greatly and he will warn you against choking on him, depending on the disposition of your specific follower or spouse they will either join in or abandon you forever.

The Stranger, if he survives the night, will give you the Ring of Namira as thanks. If you ate him Eola, who incidentally will now double as a replacement spouse/follower, will arrive and give you the Ring. The Ring is a powerful reflect damage/magic ring, a unique enchantment in Skyrim.

[hsvh-hp]

what drarry fics would you recommend that are very in character?

Before I get into it, I’d just like to say that I started working on a fic rec sideblog last month. The posting schedule doesn’t kick in until April, so it’s blank at the moment. But, it’s there, if you’re interested in giving it a follow!

Anyway, two caveats about this: one, I read a lot of drarry fic and have a bit of a poor memory, and two, I'm not certain that what I consider in-character to be the majority consensus of the drarry fandom (for example, I don't like down and out Draco, soft Draco, Draco hating either of his parents, or Harry being overly judgmental or unforgiving (though that's not to say I haven't read those tropes and enjoyed them)).

In general, any fics from my ao3 bookmarks will meet my bar on being in-character, since I tend to hit the back button if I start asking myself, 'who are these people?'. I took a cruise through my bookmarks in spirit of the ask though, and I'll post a list below the cut of fics that stick out in my memory as having some of my favourite characterizations:

Twelve Months by dysonrules (14,840 words)

Hermione buys Harry a journal and he ends up using it to record his DEEP THOUGHTS. Not surprisingly, those tend to mostly involve Draco Malfoy.

This one cracked me up. Since it's written in journal form, we get Harry's running internal monologue about his life. And a lot of Draco, because of course we do. I also always enjoy a Draco who actually is up to something, but it’s for a good cause.

The Gentlewizard Club by Sophie_French (28,129 words)

Draco wants what Draco wants. And if he has to snuggle up to Harry to get it, well, surely, Draco can handle that. Problem is, not sure Harry can.

This fic starts with Draco and Harry as both friends and Auror partners. As friends, the high point of every day for Draco is when he gets to read (oft-times aloud, and dramatically so) Harry's fan mail as it's delivered to their office. As Auror partners, Draco is barred in writing their field reports because he sucks at it. He's very happy to put that work onto Harry, and Harry is happy to do it (because he's pining hard, okay?).

That Draco and Harry are Auror partners isn't actually important in this fic (although the sequel has a case that they tackle). Harry gets a letter about having been admitted into a club that Draco really, really, really wants to join, and he begs Harry to sponsor his admittance. Harry can't say no to him, therefore, commence operation fake relationship for a weekend getaway. I love the balance in Harry trying to give Draco what he wants while fearing that what he wants will only hurt him.

Martyred by dothechachaslide (82,004 words)

Harry Potter only wants one thing: to take care of the people he loves. After Teddy’s abrupt departure from his role as Andromeda’s caretaker, Harry decides it’s finally time to step up and handle the job himself. Castoff Manor, an old Black family estate, has never seemed as sinister as the stories make it sound, but it’s there that Harry stumbles upon ghosts, haunting family secrets, and a familiar, snarky blond gardener hell-bent on chasing him out. Maybe if Harry sticks around long enough, he’ll finally learn why all of Andromeda’s previous caretakers have fled without looking back.

Harry and Draco are in their fifties, in this fic. The summary about sums up Harry's characterization: he takes care of the people he loves, and a mystery at hand draws him obsessively in. As for Draco, I would consider him post-redemption. He took the consequences handed down to him after the war seriously, and has grown so used to the Muggle world that he lives there as comfortably as the magical world. He tends the garden at Castoff Manor to prevent anyone else being harmed in the role (part of the fic's mystery), and tutors Squibs in the nearby village.

One small detail that I love about Draco is how every time he gets uncomfortable, he hops on his bike and runs away. It's one of those things that, despite the rather far-flung future from the canon years, it's so absolutely in-character across time and space for him. He's changed so much, but there's still this degree of pettiness and cowardice deep down inside. It's just expressed in a less harmful way than it used to be.

Lethe by QueenieJinny (70,885 words)

A new form of vanishing sickness is sweeping across Britain. Healers Harry Potter and Hermione Granger are on the case. When Draco Malfoy is admitted to the isolation ward, Harry never imagines falling in love with him will be the easiest thing he’s ever done – and watching him fade away to nothing will be the hardest.

Like above, Harry again takes care of the people he loves and cannot resist a mystery to solve. He's a Healer in this fic, a line of work that suits him well for his compassion, and Draco ends up his patient. Draco is on the difficult end of the spectrum as far as patients go (are you surprised?). Watching their Healer-patient power dynamic swing toward equilibrium is wonderful. They fall in love, Draco comes to terms with his (temporary) mortality, and Harry goes as far as he possibly can for Draco after he's gone: finding a way to rescue him from where the vanishing sickness took him.

Draco Malfoy, Bloodsucking Fiend by Kbrick (23,198 words)

There are two things that Draco’s Auror partner, Harry Potter, must never know about him. One is that he’s a vampire. The other is that he’s been completely, pathetically, head-over-heels in love with Harry for years. But when the duo is trapped inside an old shop on Diagon Alley with no means of escape, Draco finds himself fiending for blood and unable to put even a modicum of distance between himself and the man he can’t stop lusting after.

There are 3 of Kbrick's fics on this list, and I could have honestly added more. All of her fics that I haven't gotten to yet are on my to-read list. I just love the way she writes Draco and Harry, okay?? I'm a big baby when it comes to angst and hurt/comfort (more on that further down), but I absolutely trust her to put the boys in a blender on the highest setting that I can personally handle.

Anyway, this fic in particular, I'm all about that pining and the feeling of a countdown being on. Draco is resisting on two fronts: his feelings for Harry and his need as a vampire to feed. Harry is perfectly balanced in his obliviousness and perception.

You See Through My Disguise by aibidil (9,666 words)

Bellatrix's knife flew across the room, but Harry leaped, pushing Dobby and Griphook to safety but stranding himself at Malfoy Manor. Now he and Draco are locked in the cellar with Wormtail's corpse and a rat, waiting for Voldemort to return and decide their fate.

The premise is on the tin. As for their characterizations, Harry and Draco are on a countdown to sort themselves out enough to make an escape from the dungeon at Malfoy Manor during the war. They can't help but poke at each other, so the fic is a compelling balance of ego and necessity.

Criminal by The_Sinking_Ship (83,497 words)

Things were going just fine for Draco Malfoy. He successfully conned and counted cards across Europe and America, amassing a small fortune, along with a lengthy rap sheet. That was until he made the grave mistake of returning to England for a high stakes card game and got himself caught – by Harry Potter no less. Now, Draco is stuck in England under Auror Potter’s guard with no friends, no distractions, and no escape. How the hell will he pass the time? And since when did Potter get so bloody fit?

I'd had this fic on my to-read list for ages before seeing it on a rec list for morally grey Draco. That's my favourite kind of Draco, so I decided to jump this one to the top. Also, like I said about Kbrick above, The_Sinking_Ship is another writer with whom I've either enjoyed everything I've read (recs within recs: Never Mind the Bullocks, Dwelling on Dreams, and Chasing Dragons) or I've simply yet to get to the rest of their work.

For this fic specifically, Draco's done the best he can with the shit situation his life was in post-war, and he's a lion in a cage when he gets legally stuck in England. He and Harry meet for check-ins, and the chemistry goes from there. Draco has some self-harm tendencies, and his want for Harry ends up (temporarily) going that way for him. Harry's in a rut in his life as an Auror. I love fics where he goes into the force and then becomes disillusioned with it. That feels very in-character for Harry, to me.

AITA for being "obsessed" with my childhood nemesis? by RainstormRadish (4,289 words)

Alrakis I [24M] attended a small boarding school in the UK. There was a boy in my year, a couple of months younger than me, and he became my nemesis after we developed an intense rivalry. My friend [25F] told me recently that our dynamic was "weird back then" and that "it’s even weirder" that I still think about him today. She argued that I talk about him all the time, but I believe the amount I talk about him is reasonable. AITA? prongymcprongface i completely get what you mean. i had a nemesis (like a school one, separate to my other nemesis) and we had a dynamic super similar to what you are describing. having a nemesis is a very cool and normal thing dw about it. NTA In which Draco asks the internet if he's being reasonable. Only one commenter is sympathetic. They start talking.

Draco and Harry cross paths on Reddit. Everyone else in the AITA thread thinks Draco (the OP) is absolutely nuts for his 'nemesis' situation. Except one, because of course that one person had a similar situation and it was totally normal, don't worry about it. I'm aware I basically just repeated the summary, but it says it all, really!

Rookie Moves by peu_a_peu (75,328 words)

Aurors Potter and Malfoy crack the case.

More Auror partners with a Draco that is unhinged. Tbh, I am very fussy on Auror Draco fics. I don't see Draco as someone to subject himself to much pain and suffering (like in fics where it's emphasized that he was subject to much bullying/pranks/etc during training, and he persevered regardless). He's too hedonistic, and I don't particularly think that the war would have warmed him to the Ministry or the means it possesses of authoritarian force. Fool me once, and all that.

In this fic, each chapter covers a job or case that Draco and Harry embark upon. It's meant to be funny, and holy shit is it ever. These two are such dumb cops. Even with the genre shift from serious to goofy, they get the work done. It's been long enough now since I read it that I can't remember specifically, but I feel that sometimes Draco and Harry being disasters helped them solve their cases. The other fics in the series Rookie Moves belongs to are 100% reading through as well. I cried happy tears in the end.

Timeshare by astolat (14,156 words)

“It’s not for long,” Hermione said. “By the time we get back to Hogwarts, the Unfettering Brew will be ready.” “Listen to you!” Ron said. “He’s got to get through a month with the Dursleys and a month at Malfoy Manor. With Draco Malfoy.” “Yeah, thanks,” Harry said, because he hadn’t just spent the last week contemplating just how much more horrible his summer holidays were about to be than they’d ever been before.

This fic has wonderful fuck/fight dynamics between the boys. I also like fics where the writer isn't afraid to let Draco be flawed with bigotry. Things like that he cannot fathom 'Potter's Muggles' talking to him and that he whinges the entire month he's at the Dursleys' house that it's too small, and the food isn't up to par, etc. As for Harry, he wants Draco despite all this, as well as despite how uncomfortable his month at the manor with Lucius and Narcissa is. I love when Harry is allowed to be flawed in that way.

Hey, Potter by SunseticMonster (16,024 words)

Harry returns to Hogwarts for his 8th year, determined not to let Malfoy get to him. But when the snarky teasing starts up again, Harry finds that returning the jibes with compliments has a far more interesting outcome.

This fic explores something that I've always headcanoned about how Draco and Harry got along throughout the canon books. We never see them have a single good or even neutral interaction (rather than Draco's part in their Madam Malkin's meet). They're always going at each other with their claws and teeth out, taking everything the other does in the most bad-faith interpretation. So, what happens when Harry starts killing Draco with kindness? I personally believe that if Harry did as such in the canon books, he would have very easily won Draco over.

Lumos by birdsofshore (41,476 words)

Harry never expected to spend eighth year listening to Draco Malfoy wanking.

I love eighth-year fics where Draco doesn't return to Hogwarts with his chin down and shoulders hunched. It doesn't feel in-character to me; he'd feel just as free as anyone else post-war, and I can't see him even hiding his relief and happiness for it to be over for the sensibilities of the other survivors. On top of that, Draco coming back to Hogwarts and immediately pushing Harry's buttons? 100% him. Harry playing into it every time? Also 100%.

A Convenient Impracticality by firethesound (38,540 words)

Somehow Harry ends up agreeing to a fake relationship with his ex-nemesis-turned-friendly-acquaintance-with-benefits, except for some reason it involves an awful lot of actual dating and, sadly, not much sex. Confused? Harry is too, but when has anything with Draco Malfoy ever been as straightforward as it seems?

More fake relationships! Harry and Draco fucking but not being sure what they are or what the other feels in return is so my jam. I can see both of them being attracted enough to each other to land in bed together, but the intimacy is more hard-earned because of their history. It's all the more satisfying once they figure it out.

Who we are in the shadows by Quicksilvermaid (99,714 words)

What happens when you’re forced to become the very thing you despise? Ex-Auror Harry Potter, tossed out of the Ministry for something he had no control over, has been looking for a way back to his former life. When he comes across Draco Malfoy in the criminal underbelly of Wizarding London and in need of protection, Harry figures bringing him in to face the Ministry's justice is his ticket back to everything he's lost. But nothing is exactly as it seems. Not even Harry himself. And as he gets drawn further and further into Malfoy's world of honour and deception he finds himself questioning everything he thought he knew—about his childhood nemesis, the Ministry job he misses so much, and most of all, about himself. What happens when you’re forced to see that you were wrong?

I wrote up above about loving a Draco who's up to something, and it's for a good cause. This fic takes that notion and turns it up to like, 15 at minimum. Draco's an investigative journalist, and he's going after some very dangerous people. He needs muscle, enter security agent Harry who's still adjusting to life as a werewolf. Harry tags along out of (hired) necessity on Draco's job, and they are a team not to be reckoned with. On top of their chemistry, this fic left me gasping for breath. Folks who've read it before will know what I mean when I say my heart was pounding out of my chest during the tunnel scene.

Star Quality by who_la_hoop (118,607 words)

Two years after the war, and Harry’s content with his life. OK, so it’s a little annoying that he keeps winning Witch Weekly’s Most Eligible Bachelor award, and he’s really not looking forward to the unveiling of an enormous gold statue of himself, but he loves his friends, and he loves being an Auror. And if he yearns for something more, something he can barely bring himself to think about, well, he’ll probably get over it. No one’s happy all the time, are they? But then everything changes, and Harry’s thrown into a new and dazzling world he’s not sure he can actually escape from. And as time goes on, he starts to wonder: does he actually want to?

Draco and Harry end up in such a wonderfully ridiculous situation in this fic. Harry wakes up in an alternate (Muggle) universe where Draco is a pop star. The Draco of his universe has come along with him, and he's a total shit about helping Harry get them back home. Harry's grumpy, Draco's having a blast. It's fun. It's them.

The Day Before the Wedding by Kbrick (39,419 words)

Harry's getting married to Ginny tomorrow. The problem is that he can't seem to get beyond today.

Time loops and Kbrick, my beloved (Turning Leaves is another excellent fic of hers with this trope). The summary says it all for the premise. Like Star Quality above, Draco is 'in the know' with Harry (though he doesn't tell Harry right away lmao). Harry makes some Realizations in the time loop. Seeing as it's a Drarry fic and Harry was meant to get married to Ginny, I'm sure it's quite plain as to what that might be.

Bad Habits by No_One_Special_01289 (70,509 words)

Circles can be tiring. They have no end. But sometimes, the path is set for a reason, as anything outside the circle is even worse than what's within. Harry is running in circles with Draco Malfoy, and no matter how hard he tries, he can't escape.

Another fuck/fight kind of Drarry fic. This one takes place through OOTP, HBP, and DH canon, as if Draco and Harry had a secret sexual relationship throughout. I love how they come together like two accelerated particles, only to scatter to lick their wounds or attempt to process just what the hell is going on. It has the explosiveness that I love to see in Hogwarts-era Drarry fics when the war is on and they remain on opposing sides through to the end of it.

Dwelling by aideomai (83,382 words)

Curses, James and Lily Potter ride again, several Ministry balls, a teenage Summer of Love, a grim young adult dystopian winter, a few different Draco Malfoys, secrets and the problems re: not having any, alternate lives, impossible lives, real lives, allusions to Dirty Dancing, and just because it's not called the Mirror of Erised doesn't mean you shouldn't know better.

Listen: I bawled. I'm going to try to say this without spoiling the big twist. The fic nails how Harry and Draco tick together twice. Whether it's in a No Voldemort AU or a canon post-war era, these two cannot stay away from each other. I love the solution Harry and Draco reach at the end of the fic - the only way they can fathom any sort of resolution for what happened to them, despite how turbulent their waters remain.

Lovesick by corvuscrowned (7,688 words)

People keep spiking Auror Harry Potter with love potions. Healer Draco Malfoy keeps having to pick up the pieces. But it's getting harder and harder for Draco to watch Harry fall in love with everyone except for him.

corvuscrowned is another writer I put in the same category as Kbrick and The_Sinking_Ship. I've either read their fics and loved them, or just haven't got to the rest yet. What can I say? I love a slow burn. For more excellent fics from corvuscrowned, I will also humbly offer Loverboys (their first fic I read, which blew me away) and Seeker's High for your future reading consideration.

For this fic, the premise is on the tin, and crow executes it perfectly for characterization. I love their Harry in general, how he has his own complexes and the Harry POV isn't just Harry witnessing Draco's character. This fic is Draco POV, and Harry under a love potion is great. So is Draco's pining. They're perfect.

The Matchmaker's Spell by Kbrick (20,859 words)

Thanks to a spell cast over all of wizarding Britain, Draco is forced to marry Harry Potter, who still hates him. But Draco refuses to live a cold, sexless existence, choosing to fill the emptiness in his life and his bed with a parade of lovers. And while Harry may not be able to stand Draco, he despises seeing him with anyone else.

Remember earlier when I said that I trust Kbrick to put the boys in a blender at the exact intensity I could personally handle? This fic is right on the precipice of that. It's so angsty and dark. Draco and Harry are forced to marry, and their journey is so turbulent. Draco cuckolds Harry to push his buttons, and at one point their marriage goes well for a little while before shit happens and they're back on the rocks. They almost had it! We saw a glimpse of their potential!! Also, Draco's lovers keep mysteriously dying? That's sure weird and coincidental. The last scene in the fic made me gasp out loud.

Salt on the Western Wind by Saras_Girl (60,549 words)

When the war isn’t quite as over as it first appears, a guilt-ridden Harry is sent to a mysterious safe-house. Among sandwiches, insomnia, and Mills & Boon, he discovers something quite unexpected.

This fic starts up right after the Battle of Hogwarts, where Narcissa demands the trio take Draco into forced hiding with them. This leads to Draco and Harry being accidentally bonded. Oops! I don't think I have to make the case for how well Saras_Girl characterizes the boys, but I think this one is my favourite so far of the ones I've read (also, obligatory Turn and All Life is Yours to Miss mentions here).

Recalibrate by Saras_Girl (20,921 words)

Sometimes, you need to step back and think about things from a new perspective. Other times, you’ve just got to open your eyes to what you needed all along.

Yay, more eighth year! I read this one a looong time ago, but I still remember reading this and thinking 'oh, this is so them' at so many points. I am overdue for a reread.

Actually, that's probably true of all of these, lol. I should reread them and give them their own post/shower of love on that rec blog I mentioned.

This list took a couple days to compile. I could never make a wholly comprehensive one, but I believe I answered your question, anon. 🤪

[androgynousblackbox]

This Life We Build. 1 [Appleradio, Radioapple]

Okay, so this is basically an AU of my Arranged Marriage AU. We can call it Fluffy AM AU lol This would take place after the epilogue in "How I Met Your Father", but I really think it would make it easier if you read the first chapter of "How to Lose a Lucifer in 10 Days". Only the first chapter, though! After that the plot starts off. Here, there is no plot or don't plan to. Just pure self indulgent fluff. Also! I reserve the right to make up any prompts I want and jump the timeline because, again, this is just for fun. Not all chapters may contain smut. [Day 1: Pregnancy test + electro stim]

Something was wrong.

Alastor knew it when the third attempted Overlord and their minions of the week came to try to prove themselves in front of the king that Vox had announced on their dumb boxes. He could still take them down without much of an issue, but this time, for the first time ever, he felt lightheaded when returning back to his original size. When he called upon his own minions to take care of the bodies, he stumbled one time on his own foot.

It was all Lucifer needed to appear at his side as soon he came inside the hotel.

"I am fine" said, instinctively, but the tiny angel was already pressing a hand on his forehead, that did felt warmer than usual.

It wasn't a fever, though. It was the heat of after doing exercise. For a few days now, it was taking him more effort than expected to use his magic. The first time he noticed it, he though maybe it was an issue with himself still needing to learn to regulate his own powers after coming back to hell, like how he had to adapt a new muscle to the use he wanted to give it. But even if that was the case, it would happen too with small task and it didn't. It was only when he needed to do something bigger or get into his full demonic form that he could feel the limit. Not to mention how he never had that problem right after falling, when the contract with Lucifer came into full effect. It was only on the past week or so.

"Cut the bullshit" Lucifer sighed, holding his cheek. "We are going to the Sloth Ring."

Alastor protested in principle. He was just hungry despite all the minions and their leader he just ate. He was just tired, freshly woken up from bed. A good breakfast could solve anything, there was no need to worry so much. Lucifer did not want to hear about it.

At the very least they didn't had to wait long. As soon Lucifer texted Belphegor, she went to look for them in the lobby and take them up to her private office. Sitting on her chair, Alastor looked up to the ceiling and then to the eight eyes in the goat face of the Queen of Sloth.

"It's not that serious" added in the end when he finished explaining. As Bel prepared herself to give him a quick exam, he shook his head to Lucifer. His husband haven't stopped looking at him with a slight frown the entire time. "My love, I am fine."

"Just for my sake then, okay?" Lucifer took his hand and squeeze it, his blue thumb rubbing the backside of his palm. For this outing he had changed into his blue shark demon look. Bel didn't have any issue to identify him directly and didn't even question the different form at all. But his voice was the same, the concern on his face was too Lucifer to hide. "I will feel better with this."

Alastor sighed. As if there was any way he could refuse anything now. But at least it had been made clear now that, if it was for him, none of this would be necessary. They barely even had time to tell Emily that they were going out for a bit before they were just gone.

"Get on the bed" said Bel, opening a curtain for him to pass inside. Alastor laid on top as Lucifer kept a hand over his shoulder. Bel's hands started to glow in purple as she passed them over his body, not touching, but still making him tense up a little. The only hands he allowed so close to him were his immediate family. Bel could count as extended one at the most. "How long have you been having this issue?"

"Not long" Alastor frowned, trying to remember. "Mmm, I want to say a week, more or less. 10 days max. That is why I wasn't thinking there was moment to get alarmed" said, sending a side eye to Lucifer. "It never impede me to do what I need to do."

"But it's there when it wasn't before" pointed Bel calmly, going over his legs extended. "That alone is worth checking to see what is going on. Luci did well. This could have escalated eventually and be harder to deal with" Alastor grunted, ignoring the satisfied smirk that Lucifer send him. Bel moved up his torso and continued, passing over both his arms and finally his head. All with the same blank sleepy expression of always, so surely she wasn't detecting anything that serious either. That is what Alastor was assuming until she spoke. "Mmm. I need another test. You can sit up."

She moved to a cabinet on the side, looking on the drawers.

"Any idea what it could be?" asked Lucifer, letting his warm hand on Alastor's back as soon he changed position.

"I have an idea, but I need to confirm it" Bel came back with a wide stick of light grey on her hand. "Put this into your mouth, over your tongue. It won't take much."

As Alastor did, resigned to his fate, that was probably goin to include rest, Bel sat on her chair again.

"How about you, Luci? You didn't feel anything different lately?"

Lucifer shook his head.

"Absolutely nothing. If something was happening with the girls, I think they would have told us already. So at least it's not contagious, right?"

"No, it's not" Bel looked at the clock on her wall and then at the stick of Alastor, slowly blinking as the extreme that wasn't behind Alastor's teeth started colouring on a soft lilac. When the whole things was painted, she extended her hand to grab it. Alastor growled low for a second before forcing himself to relax again, realizing that nobody was taking food out of him. "I see" she said, her eyes going big for a moment. But once that second was gone, they were back to their half lid default. "Luci, you never checked on his magic, right?"

"No" Lucifer frowned, immediately a sense of guilt sinking his eyes. "Should I?"

"It's best if you do" Bel nodded. "I can tell you now, you are not sick" added to Alastor.

Lucifer turned to him, taking the hand that he kept on his lap to ask for permission before. He nodded, bracing himself for he weird feeling of having his being naked in a way that had nothing to do with his clothes. The first time it happened it was such a shock he could only interpretate like an attack, but now it was just something different he couldn't quite prepare himself for even if he knew it was coming. The previously yellow eyes of Lucifer turned into red and looked at him, his gaze instantly landing on his abdomen. He tilted his head to a side.

"What?" asked Alastor, not really liking his silence.

"What is that?" asked Lucifer to Bel instead of answering.

"So you do see it" said Bel. Just when Alastor was about to demand what they were talking about, she looked up to him. "You are pregnant."

Alastor stared at her like she just spoke gibberish.

Lucifer blinked, his red eyes glued to the same spot a second longer before they came back to normal, seeing at Alastor.

"You are" said, breathless. "I can show you" added with urgency, squeezing the hand of Alastor in his again.

In front of Alastor's eyes it was his own silhouette, full with green magic in constant movement. On his stomach there was a glowing white spot that was also moving without losing that essential circular shape.

"That…" said Lucifer and his voice sounded so close to chocking up that Alastor squeezed him back. "That is a baby. Is a baby, right, Bel?"

"Yes" confirmed Bel calmly.

"How?" said Alastor, like it was the only word he was capable of pronnouncing.

"It's a magical pregnancy. Both of your magic must have combined when you both wished for a new child and made it possible. The reason you have been feeling tired so much it was because the fetus needed your energy to keep form. You were using even more magic that you thought at once. If you were a normal sinner it would have dissolved already without more magic from the father. I imagine that in a month or so that would have happened here too. If you want to keep it, it was a good thing you came now."

Alastor blinked and his vision went back to normal. He turned to Lucifer, the expectation on his face so pulled back that he had to reach out, cupping his cheek. The king exhaled sharply, as if it burned.

"What is that if about?" Alastor brought him closer, kissing his forehead. "Of course we are having it. Of course. Aren't we?" he hummed softly as he kissed the tears that started to fall from Lucifer's eyes. His silly king could get so worried over nothing. How could he even imagine for a second he was going to have any other response? "You wanted it too, didn't you? Why are you surprised?" teased lightly, nuzzling his temple.

Lucifer whimpered without words as hold him tight, burying his head on his chest as Alastor squeezed him tight back. A nice melody all around them was the only way he had to express how full and content he was, his body vibrating with radio static coming from his core.

Maybe it wasn't what any of them expected or planned for, but right at that moment that didn't matter at all. They were going to make it work, somehow. Just like they did for Charlie and Emily, they would do as well for the new addition to their family. They had everything they could need.

"Babe" Lucifer kissed his neck and went up until he found Alastor's lip, clinging him him like he wanted to imprint his presence there. "I love you" sighed, keeping his head close to pet his ears. There were streak of tears on his cheeks, but they were drying up and his smile was so much bigger now. "I love you so much."

Alastor laughed, a light and joyious sound that reverberated with radio noises, and kissed him back, his lips and his red dot and his neck as he hugged him again, stronger than before.

Bel stared at her wall, full of pills of every color in the rainbow. Either because she genuinely did not care or for giving them that moment, she didn't say a word until Lucifer adressed her again by wrapping his arms around her and lifting her up. She was like a rag doll, a doll that was bigger and taller than him, but the king did not mind at all.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" said Lucifer, laughing. "You have given us the best news ever, Bel! You are the best! How can I repay you?"

"You are welcome" said Bel calmly, somehow elipping an arm-tentacle from the grip of Lucifer to clumsily pat his head a few times. "I won't charge you, but you need to know a few things. If you let me sit I can tell you."

"Thank you" Lucifer giggled, giving her one final and especial kind of strong squeeze, before letting her come back to her chair.

If she were anything else but a Sin, they would have heard the sound of her ribs crushing already. Instead she just plopped down, fixing up her robe.

"Well?" asked Alastor when she just looked at the bed with a wishful expression.

Bel directed her eyes at him and pronnounced a little oh, suddenly remembering.

"Right. The baby needs the magic of both parents to keep growing. It's a similar process as what you did for Charlie already. Just one minute for week of magical transference should be enough. If you want to add more minutes it's fine, it won't hurt them. The magic will just go to the pregnant father if it's not absorbed by the baby. I can teach you a way to keep track of so you know if you need more."

Bel taught him a little sigil to know the level of magic the baby needed. After drawing it on the air, the color it glowed would be the status. For now the levels were at a dull green, out of danger, but it was best if they could do one as soon they could. It had to be a brighter green. If it was ever in red, that was their sign something was wrong already. Alastor could feel Lucifer tensing up at his side as his grip on his waist became stronger. He draw circles on his back to calm him down as Bel continue. They were never going to let it get anywhere close to red, that was for sure.

Since it was magical, and not entirely biological, Alastor was going to have significant less symptons than usual, but they could still be there. For that, there were pills. If he had trouble sleeping, there were pills. If anything at all was stressing him out, that wouldn't be nice for the baby, so there were pills. He could eat and drink whatever is that he wanted without worrying. Finally, she wanted to keep checking on the baby every month to make sure it was developing normally. It was exactly two weeks since the conception started so they would have to come back in other two.

Lucifer made some questions, to ease his own mind. Bel answered everything as succintly as she could, not minding to repeat it when Lucifer just wanted to double check. When all of their doubts were resolved, Lucifer hugged her again, thanking her for everything, and Alastor shook her hand. Once they were traspassed the portal to go back home, landing in front of the hotel, Lucifer had a bag full of pills hanging from his shoulder and the biggest smile he had in years.

"Oh, Charlie and Emily are going to be so excited!" squealed, opening the door to let Alastor in. "We have to tell everyone!"

As soon the door was closed behind them, Alastor pushed Lucifer behind a curtain with his tentacles. The little king let out a gasp before Alastor reclaimed his mouth, holding his chin up. He didn't know, but he felt possessive, as if needing to leave his mark all over the father of his unborn kid before letting the rest of the world even know that it existed.

"You heard the doctor, love" whispered, taking a hand of Lucifer. He guided his tentacles to open up his shirt from the bottom up, placing the warm palm of his husband above the fur on his stomach. His skin was still flat, as if nothing had happened, but soon that was going to change. He kissed Lucifer hungrily, sucking on his lips. The curtain was a heavy cover that wouldn't let anyone even know what they were doing, as long they weren't too loud, but even that could be handled with an easy spell from his own fingers. "Our baby needs his papa."

"How could I forget" Lucifer sighed, licking his own lips before bringing him down again, turning him around so now Alastor's back was against the wall. The hand that was over on his stomach slipped under his pants, his underwear, rubbing his mound of fur until Lucifer recieved a nod from Alastor. "How do you want it, baby?" asked, opening the pants of Alastor to pull them down. He gripped his ass between his fingers, mouth watering already. "Hand, tongue or cock? Anything for the good daddy."

"Hand" Alastor punctuated his response by taking the wrist of Lucifer and pushing it on his underwear, further ahead until he moaned with the intimate contact.

He looked over to the side of the curtain, controlling that nobody was getting in or out, but it was as deserted as it was when they left in the first place. If any force on the universe were interrupted them now, he was going to destroy them for the rest of eternity until there was nothing left. This was his little moment of celebration and was going to grab it with open claws if he had to.

"So wet already, babe" Lucifer grunted, pushing inside to his knuckles with two fingers. Alastor grabbed to his shoulders, shivering in delights as he rotted his hips, rubbing himself on the palm. Lucifer's chuckles was like the most pleasant grumble from his chest. "Does carrying my baby makes you like that? Are you going to be one slutty daddy for me?"

"Maybe" Alastor panted as the fingers kept moving, relentless. "You will have to make sure our baby keeps growing to find out. "

Lucifer's grunt came out with a bit of fire between his teeth. Alastor extended his legs further to get down on the wall, grabbing Lucifer by the back of his head to steal a smoky kiss, the tip of his tongue getting so warm as he pressed it inside Lucifer's mouth. For a moment both his tongue entangled on each other, one tasting of hell fire and destruction in such a way Alastor wanted to swallowed it whole, let it burn his insides as much as the fingers were driving him insane.

"Here I go" said Lucifer.

Alastor didn't know what was going, but then a warm, tingling sensation that had nothing to do with Lucifer's movement went up from his fingers to inside of him. His vision was changed again to show him his figure, his magic, and traces of golden magic that were taken out by the white spot inside of him. Everytime a new trace of gold appear, a new little shot of electricity made him jolt, vibrating.

It all lasted a couple of blinks and then he was looking again at the yellow eyes of Lucifer, brow furrowed slightly in concentration.

"Does it feel good?" asked Lucifer. "I can make it softer. Or stronger. You tell me."

"Stronger" Alastor braced himself, holding onto him when the big shock came. The sudden stimulation made him moan harder, one large sound that extended in the air. After that shock, Lucifer added a third finger and kissed his jaw.

"You are taking it so well, baby. You are such a good daddy already" Lucifer's voice smiled before he could see it.

Alastor nuzzled against his head and bite on his cheek down at the next shock, breathing sharply. This one went from Lucifer's fingers to his palm, immediately on top of his sensitive nub. He gave a strangled scream, mouth open, before furiously licking on the droplets of golden blood offered up to him. The sudden warmth of the blood, as if swallowing down whiskey during a blizzard, quickly extended to the rest of his body, making him relax again.

When Lucifer shocked him again, Alastor lost all strenght on his legs. As if sensing, or predicting it before then, Lucifer grabbed him from under his ass to keep him up as he finger fucked him through his orgasm. Alastor moaned, his voice rasping with each exhale, until Lucifer slowly pulled out. He bite down his own lip when Lucifer made a show of cleaning himself up with his tongue, sucking on each tip. Then the king reached out to kiss him, his own flavor and smell still over him.

"Do you think that is enough?" asked Lucifer in a whisper, barely moving.

"If not, I would be surprised" Alastor sighed. The bite on the cheek was already completely healed, so he kissed gently the zone and nuzzled him. "Do you want me to do something for you?"

"Later, at night" Lucifer smiled, petting his head, scratching around his ears. Alastor hummed satisfied, feeling his tail wagging at the attention. A little involuntary squeak came out of him. "You are so cute" chuckled Lucifer, kissing his cheek.

"Shut up" grunted Alastor. He took a breath and started to put his hooves on the ground again, when he remembered. "Darling."

"I know" Lucifer snapped his fingers. Alastor squinted his eyes when a quick and sudden surge of magic passed between his legs, cleaning up his underwear. "Better?"

"More decent at least" Alastor straighten up at last, pulling his pants to close them again. Next it was his shirt and last his suit jacket. He looked like always, but soon enough that was going to change. Another visit to the tailor, who would have to keep his mouth shut if he wanted to keep living. "I am going to need bigger clothes when I start showing."

"We won't have to worry about that for a while" assured Lucifer, holding his hand.

"Oh, I am not bothered at all by the idea" said, reaching down to kiss his forehead. "I can't wait" added in a whisper, leaving a caress on his cheek. "For now, we have an announcement to make, don't we?"

Lucifer perked up.

--

Five minutes later, Lucifer had conjured up a megaphone to spread his voice as far as possible through out the whole building.

"Everyone come in to the lobby to receive the best news ever that hell has ever heard about! It's nothing tragic or bad, I promise!"

The good thing of living so long around the king of hell was the ability to completely tuned out his loud shenanigans. Alastor sat down on the couch, patiently waiting for the residents and staff to start appearing.

"Is that fucking thing necessary?" grumbled Husk, covering his ears.

Once everyone was accounted for, Lucifer smiled big and cleaned up his hands on the air.

"Papa, what is happening?" asked Charlie, who despite the warning still looked worried.

"I just wanted to have all of you at once for this!" said Lucifer, enthusiastically moving to get the hand of Alastor on his and stand at his side. "We just came from visiting auntie Bel. I noticed that Alastor wasn't feeling too well this morning, so I got worried and had her test him out. That is how we find that…" Lucifer took a deep breath, like he haven't breath at all during the whole exxplanation. "He is pregnant! We are waiting for a baby!"

Almost everyone in the room instantly looked at Alastor for further confirmation of those words. It only took a simple nod from Alastor for the two princess to make loud noises. For Charlie is was a yell, as Emily squealed, running to hug Alastor.

"Am I am going to have a little sibling?!" Charlie already had tears on her eyes, not knowing what to do with herself.

Lucifer put a hand on her shoulder and nodded.

"Two weeks and counting!" said happily, lifting two fingers. "It's a magical pregnancy that could only happen because we both wanted it at the same time! So if you think about it, it was totally planned!"

Charlie babbled something that almost sounded like how happy she was and she hugged Lucifer, lifting him off the feet on one of the signature bone crushing squeeze she learned from him. The incontrollable sob of her, predictably, started causing a similar effect on Lucifer.

"Aww, sweetie" said first, before his voice was lost on the cries. It was a struggle to understand any of them as they talked over another. "I love your dad so fucking much, duckling, and I know our baby is going to be just as amazing as you are!"

"You are the best papa ever and I love you both so much, I am so happy for you!"

Vaggie sighed, patting the back of her girlfriend as she and Lucifer turned themselves into fountains. Emily looked upon them with a smile and kissed the cheek of Alastor, holding both of his hands as she kneeled

"I don't really have a lot of experience with this side of life. Or afterlife, I guess" commented with a chuckle. "In Heaven I never really saw a pregnancy up close, but I am going to learn as much as I can so I can help you out and be the best big sister I can be" promised, nodding seriously but with a happy smile on her face.

"I am sure you will, dear" Alastor kissed the top of her head. "There is more than enough time. I won't even start showing for a good few weeks."

"Showing what?" Emily tilted her head, confused.

Alastor was taken aback at that. What the fuck did they taught them in Heaven?

"Sweetie" said, gently, "do you know what pregnant means?"

"Of course I do, silly! Lucifer just said it means you are having a baby! That is very exciting."

"Do you know how I am going to have the baby?"

"By…" Emily blinked, thinking it over as a small crease was created between her eyes, "Huh. I guess it appears when it's ready?"

"Not exactly" Alastor took one of her hands and put it over his stomach. "The baby is already here, inside my body, but they are still too small. The more they grow up, this part of me will change to contain them. Then one day they are going to be big enough to get out my body and live here with us."

"Is that how it works?!" Emily's eyes were full of wonder at the new information. She pressed her palm down on Alastor for a second, looking to feel something, and then pulled out, suddenly scared. "Sorry, I shouldn't do that! I don't want to hurt them. Are they okay?"

Alastor chuckled, cupping her cheek.

"They are fine, dear. Like I said, they are too small so it's mostly just my own body now. You didn't hurt any of us."

"Oh" Emily sighed. "Good. I definitely need to read more on it then. How long are they going to be inside your body?"

"If everything goes alright, it should be nine months. That usually is how long it takes."

"Oh, that is really a lot of time. Like almost a year! Is there something I can do to help them come out sooner?"

Alastor smiled, petting her head. Internally damming all of Heaven again because how could let an angel live for so long in ignorance of a big part of human life.

"No, dear. They need that time to develop properly. Your father and I" said, looking at Lucifer, who for some reason had decided to include Vaggie on his hug. Now he and Charlie were sniffling on each side of the fallen angel, doing her best to calm them both "will take care of them to ensure that happens. For now there is nothing else to do but wait."

"I will still do my due research!" promised Emily, standing up to hug him again. "Do you need anything right now? Juice? Water? Something?"

Please, let not this be the start of all of their interactions becoming into this, begged Alastor internally.

"No, dear, thank you. If I want something, I can still get it myself. No need to fret so much" said, feeling relieved when Husk approched him. "Yes?"

"I am going to go ahead and assume that this is real" said, making a pointing gesture to Lucifer finally returning to the floor to recieve the congratulations of everyone else. He looked positively ectatic. "Not even you would be so fucked up to make a joke out of this."

"Why, thank you."

"And you didn't do a terrible job with Charlie either. Although a big portion of that was Lucifer."

"That is usually how parenting with a partner goes, indeed."

Husk took a deep breath and exhaled, as if saying the next part was taking a lot of him.

"I am just saying, when that baby comes out, I am not changing any diapers. Congratulations or whatever" said, turning around to return to the bar.

"Was that a positive interaction or a negative one?" asked Emily in a whisper.

She was still struggling with the nuances of hellish beings.

"Positive. I think" Alastor wasn't entirely sure himself, but he was going to take what he could. After everything that happened, that was probably the most he could get from Husk.

The winged cat didn't had the same reservations about congratulating Lucifer, going so far as to endure one of his hugs. With her eyes finally not leaking. Charlie came running to wrap her arms around him. Alastor patted her back and didn't mind when he could hear another tinu sniffle.

"I am so… so happy for you, dad" said Charlie, kissing his cheek. Her emotions were still on the surface, but at least she was in better control of them. "Are you okay now? Do you need anything?"

"That is what I said!" pointed out Emily.

"Please, don't" Alastor sighed, taking both of her hands. "Dears, I came back from a doctor who said I am fine. I was merely a little tired because the baby was absorbing magic without me knowing it. Now that we do know, we can take care of them adequately. Do no start worrying so much over me when there is no need at all. That is going to be Lucifer's job anyway."

"My job is what now?" said Lucifer, finally joining them.

"That you are going to be the one fretting over me from now on, darling, so the girls don't have to. Isn't that right?"

"Absolutely!" Lucifer perked up, sitting on the couch next to him and hugging him from the side. It seemed that he just had way too many hugs inside he needed to disperse all around. Alastor couldn't say that it bothered him too much. "You two just concentrate on being big sisters and leave everything else to papa! That is what I am here for!"

Charlie pouted, but then Emily grabbed her arm.

"Where is the baby going to sleep?" asked Emily.

Charlie gasped loudly, grabbing her cheeks.

"We can totally decorate one of the rooms of the hotel! And their room at the palace too! It's going to be the cutest room ever!"

As Charlie and Emily got invested on talking about what the room on their baby sibling could include, Lucifer kissed his cheek. Alastor hold onto the arm around his middle. Planned or not planned, he thought, this was okay.