#pandemonium: task

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

I’m BEGGING You 🙏🏼

Write de Delete Pressure ending

'I've got him now..I can put an end to this.'

That was all you could think about as you stared down at the monster, the fishman you once bartered with, seeing how utterly pathetic he looked.

Finally.

Finally.

You've caught him in his latest hideout, and this time there was no escape for him.

It's quite ironic considering you were the one who's been running away from monsters for so long, never having the means to fight back. All you could do was hide and pray that they wouldn't find you.

After having lost count how many times you've perished to the anglers, Pandemonium, and all the others...you figured Sebastian, your "only friend", would be your safe haven from those savage creatures.

But after someone in a previous team accidentally triggered their recently-purchased flash beacon in his shop....you realized he wasn't any different from them.

Not after he nearly choked them out, breaking the tool with a spiteful warning to never try that again--as though convinced they did it on purpose--before throwing them to the ground.

They died instantly, blood pooling all around their head, and the only thing Sebastian was concerned about was needing to move his shop to a new hideout.

Oh, and of course, the items they left behind after their corpse was retrieved.

Then the next time you met him, somebody else tried to do the same thing with intentions to annoy him....and he shot them point blank in the chest. No warnings. No mercy.

That's right.

He had a shotgun hidden beneath his coat. Something that Urbanshade wouldn't dare allow you to possess lest they detonated your gear for even looking at one.

But now that they've given you clearance to eliminate him by whatever means necessary--so long as it was only used to target him and not to escape or damage any property--you were currently holding that same weapon in your hands.

It had one shell left in the chamber, as Sebastian used up the rest during his pursuit of you.

He must have caught wind of the orders the overseers gave out, as he closed his shop and became completely fed up with your attempts to reach the crystal.

Now that Painter was no longer able to stall your progress after you destroyed him for good, he was next on the hit list.

Eyefestation was on it, too, but she would be...difficult to contain. She was the least of your worries.

He, on the other hand, could be easily cornered if you were persistent enough.

The bastard tried playing dirty, at first--sending anglers after you, getting Eyefestation outraged enough to fry your brains, and even distracting you so a Wall Dweller could feast on your body. All before you could even reach Door 50.

You were more than angry.

You were livid at these cheap tricks of his, constantly yelling his name and daring him to come face you himself....and indeed he did at some points, armed with nothing but his gun, claws, and teeth.

True to his document, he was surprisingly fast for his size, able to crush you in a vice grip with his tail, leave deep gashes in your flesh, shoot you point-blank, and even throw you into the dark pits of the ruined facility.

As expected, you came back again and again, finding new ways to outsmart him.

This time, you had the crystal in your possession and repaired the cables in the ocean floor, but your mission wasn't over yet.

Sebastian refused to let you leave, and HQ demanded one final task from you: kill him, lest he sabotaged the submarine that was your only ticket out of here. They refused to send it until the deed was done.

While it became difficult to leave even a scratch on him at first, you managed to wound him more and more every time with makeshift weapons like planks with nails or anything you had at your disposal.

Now it was all finally coming to a head, as you've got him cornered, seeing his clothes shredded and his flesh bloodied from all the fighting.

And while you weren't in any better shape yourself, with your uniform a bit tattered and the crystal's container bearing scratches from his claws..he was in a far worse state.

He wasn't even trying to fight you anymore.

He just curled up in the corner of the room, hand pressed to his chest--his white shirt bleeding red--and the bandage on his third arm having become undone, revealing a reopened wound.

"You've lost, Sebastian." You huffed. "This ends here."

"....gh...ngh...."

You removed your scuba mask so he could see the fury in your eyes, and how they also stung with betrayal. It consumed your heart, leaving an ache greater than the physical ones you felt in your legs.

Once, you liked him, his company, and his attempts to make jokes and light out of grim circumstances.

Once, you considered him a friend and a humble shopkeeper who was just trying to help those who used to be like him: prisoners wrongfully incarcerated such as yourself.

Once, you could never imagine Urbanshade giving you the orders to kill him AND be willing to follow through with them.

That's all changed, however.

"They were right..you're nothing but a goddamn animal." You spat, watching the way he shuddered and gnashed his teeth. "You're just like the rest of them. You're all killing machines."

"...no.." Sebastian managed to choke out, looking up at you through his matted black hair, wheezing. "D-Don't..say that..I'm nothing like them.."

"Maybe you aren't a complete savage, but at least they didn't steal from me. At least they didn't act like they were my friend."

"......"

"Even Painter was honest with me about his intentions. He knew you weren't gonna come back for him..so I did him a favor. And he thanked me, Sebastian. If only I could've put you out of your misery just as easily."

"Go..to...to hell.." He clutched his torso, his jacket slipping off his shoulders as he coughed. "Go to hell.."

"I'm afraid that's where we're both heading." Frowning, you could feel your finger sliding towards the shotgun's trigger. "It's waiting for all of us. No matter how innocent or guilty we are. But unfortunately for you...I'll be a little late to the party."

He said nothing to that, but when you were about to speak again, he mumbled something. You tilted your head, wondering why he was suddenly looking off into space. "What did you say?"

Blinking several times, you grew alarmed as he suddenly raised his hands up to his face. Then you heard the sniffles, and a drawled-out whine that sounded like something from a wounded animal, and it was all coming from the utterly broken and defeated sea creature before you.

"...m...mom..?"

"Huh?"

"Are you there? I...I-I don't wanna die.."

Was this another trick of his? To feign weakness so you could let your guard down?

That's what you wanted to believe, and yet...as he began to cry and curl in on himself, you started having doubts that he could be this manipulative when he was so, so weak and near death.

"M-Mom..everything hurts..I-I need you...please..please, please, please..help.." His voice broke, tears dripping onto the concrete floor as he tugged on his hair and lure. "Ayudame..ayudame.."

Now he's lost it.

His sobs were the only sounds that filled the room, aside from the humming lights and sounds of the sea's pressure constricting the hulls of the blacksite.

You hesitated, suddenly feeling an overwhelming sense of guilt.

How could you have forgotten?

He's mentioned a family several lifetimes ago, back when you were a naive expendable eager to have somebody to chat with who recalled their humanity. At one point, after obtaining his document, he began opening up to you a bit more about his past. Before Urbanshade and their cruel experiments.

He had a mother and siblings...his father figure was likely absent, but you knew it was rude to question that. So you let him talk about them and what he remembered. He'd never know for sure if they moved on from his "execution", or even if they were still alive at all today...

Either way, the worst feeling for him was that they'd never know he was found innocent of those crimes that got him on death row. And even if he was somehow freed...what would they think of him?

Probably as a monster, no doubt.

Yet despite it all, he cried out for his mom anyways, wanting nothing more than to be in her arms again. He had given up on attacking you and spewing vile threats in your face.

What was the point? You would just come back over and over again, and he'd run out of ideas eventually.

He was just so tired of fighting.

He wanted it all to stop.

Watching how quickly he fell apart in front of you constrained your heart, and for a moment you wondered if there was another way out of this situation--a way that didn't require one having to kill the other...

Until your diving gear began to beep.

'Shit..' Suddenly you were snapped back to the cold hard reality, as your eyes shifted to the broken experimental scrambler on the ground. It was still sparking, showing signs of irreversible damage.

Now that it no longer blocked out any communications from Urbanshade, the cameras could see you and their target in the same room together, with you hesitating to complete the mission and take the shot.

And to them, hesitance showed disobedience...and they've told you that was cause for immediate execution.

You were still an expendable. Someone they can replace in a heartbeat.

The noises seemed to snap Sebastian out of his own trance, as he looked up at you with tears staining his scaled face, blood leaking from his mouth.

He could only stare at you with resignation.

"I'm so..tired.."

Regrettably, you nodded and raised the shotgun, forcing your hands to be steady. You couldn't afford to waste anymore time, not when the beeping had gradually slowed down, allowing you to focus.

Without needing to exchange further words, you two knew the true enemy here..the one who put you both into these horrible, horrible situations in the first place..

But unless you act now, they were just going to find someone else to finish the job.

No.

"I'm sorry, Sebastian. I'll make this quick."

It had to be you, as much as you wish it wasn't you.

If only you met him under better circumstances.

He just nodded and closed his eyes.

And you fired.

You looked away as soon as his body slumped to the floor, already growing nauseous over what you've done. The shotgun fell out of your hands, landing with a loud clatter, but it was finally over

He was gone. Silenced forever.

The beeping stopped completely, before you heard HQ come back online with one last message:

"Z-13 has been eliminated. Good work. Now leave the weapon on the floor and head through the marked doors that will lead you straight to the submarine dock."

Somehow, your weary legs managed to move towards the green-lit doors on their own, and during your long walk to the dock, the crystal's container thumped against your pant leg.

Even when you finally got to rest inside the submarine as it took you away from the blacksite, you felt as though....you didn't even deserve to rest after what you did. You felt like you've committed a crime worse than the one that put you here in the first place.

They made you take a life to earn your freedom.

But why did it have to be his life?

Was there truly no other way?

[bitchface24-7]

THE REALM’S DELIGHT - JAYVIK X READER

synopsis: as the only surviving daughter of Viserys and Aemma Targaryen, you've been cherished and adored throughout the seven kingdoms. The small people and high-borns dubbing you “The Realms Delight” There is a catch though, you have finally reached your majority of eight and ten moons. You're expected to find a king-consort to further legitimize your status as heir to the iron throne. There's only two men you want; your cousins Viktor and Jayce Talis. The dragon has three heads after all…

warnings: house of the dragon x arcane, incest (cmon y'all it's house of the dragon), age gap (the reader is 18, Viktor and Jayce are 22 and 23 respectively), period-typical sexism, expectations of having heirs, ableist comments, Grammarly is my beta

genre: m/m/f

p.s. Don't like, don't read. The topics in this story may upset some of you. Discretion is advised; hate is not welcome.

Being heir is both rewarding and exhausting. You're expected to be perfect at all hours of the day, even as you sleep. Yet, you would take this life over being a peasant. You know you'll never know hunger, or the frigid cold. You'll always be clean, and healthy. When you become queen, you'll ensure your small folk are properly taken care of.

But at this moment, you'd rather be anywhere else.

“The princess must find a match. It is her duty as heir to lead the seven kingdoms with strength and honour. Having a king-consort ensures not only that. But that heirs will be born.”

“You should reconsider this Your Grace, having a female as heir… the people will riot.”

At that, your father King Viserys slams his hands onto the table, “I had a son who died three days after he left my wife’s womb. I'm blessed my dear Aemma survived. The seven kingdoms needs a healthy, strong, resilient heir. Who cares if she doesn't have a cock between her legs. The small folk love her and you as my advisors and all the high-borns swore to her as your heir to the iron throne. Do not assume I made my decision on a whim.”

The advisors quiet down at that. You sit there primly and smugly.

“But you are right.” Viserys adds, his anger leaving him as he sits back down, “You, my dear daughter, need to find a husband. A tour shall be made so you can travel all of Runeterra to find you a match.”

Your spine stiffens and you purse your lips. There's only two men you've ever wanted, Viktor and Jayce Talis. A cousin line from the Targaryens. They both hold undeniable beauty and valaryian features. Their high noses and cheekbones, delicate features, plump lips, and snow white hair.

They've been your best friends for as long as you can remember. You're not giving up this chance to get what you've always wanted.

“I already have a match in mind, Father.” You state. Your voice poised and face serene. The advisors all look to each other in a mixture of shock and confusion. Your father just raises his eyebrows and smiles lovingly at you. Otto Hightower looks like he's swallowed a lemon.

“Who do have in mind, sweet girl?”

You sniff lightly, trying to gain confidence to admit who you've been desiring since you were a small girl. This would've been so much easier if it was just you and your father. But it’s not, and as the future queen; you need to get used to doing hard tasks.

“I want my cousins, Viktor and Jayce Talis.”

Pandemonium. Advisors start arguing, Otto tries to spill poison in your fathers ear, and your father just looks contemplative.

“The brothers?! Why on earth would you want those two?! A minor house of House Targaryen is not suitable for the future queen.”

“The scholars? How would they make strong king consorts? Besides, two husbands. That's unheard of!”

You sneer, “The seven kingdoms was founded by a throuple. King Aegon, and the Queens Visenya and Rhaenys. Or have you forgotton about that detail?”

Your fathers advisors can't help but to agree with you on that. You're right. One advisor is still stubborn on your choice; and makes a fatal mistake.

“At least the bigger one is a skilled swordsman. The cripple is useless; he will pass on his deformities onto future children.”

At that comment you snap, “Say another word against Viktor and I’ll have my sworn guard slit your throat due to treasonous claims.”

Your guard, Sevika, looks more than ready to spill some blood. The advisor blanched and kept his mouth shut after that.

The only comment that matters is your fathers.

“I thought the young Jayce was matched to be with the young Heiress Medarda?”

You fiddle with the rings on your fingers, he was, until the match fell through. You mention as much to your father; who contemplates a bit more.

“Why those two? You could have anyone in all the seven kingdoms.”

This answer comes to you as easy as breathing, “I only want them. I've known them all my life and I know they'd treat me well. They're intelligent, understand politics, have ties to our culture, and would do anything to protect me.”

Your father nods at that, and you feel hope surge up in your chest. Until Otto Hightower opens his mouth.

“Your Grace, if I may add—”

You cut him off before he can spew anymore lies with the final blow to ensure you'll get what you want, “I’d be happy with them, father.”

With that, your father King Viserys smiles; and you've got your dream match secured.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Viktor and Jayce are researching in their lab when a guard comes in, unannounced.

“What have we said about not knocking—” Viktor is cut off his tirade when the guard holds up a letter.

“It’s for the two of you. It was sent from the King.”

The two scholars stop in their tracks. The King? What would be write a letter to the two of them about? It takes a few moments before it hits them.

You.

Jayce rushes over to grab the letter and thanks the guard, he quickly shuts the door and assures it’s locked. Sitting beside Viktor, he breaks the wax seal and quietly reads allowed.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

To Viktor and Jayce of the Vassal House of Talis

You have been formally chosen by the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms, your cousin, to become her King Consorts. Reply to this letter by the eve of tomorrow, confirming you have read and understand this matter.

P.s. My daughter has told me she only ever wanted you two. Do not mess this up, continue to treat her as you have over the years, and your rule shall be prosperous and full of love and joy.

King Viserys of House Targaryen. King of the Andalls and the Roynar, and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Jayce and Viktor sit there in stunned silence. You did it. You actually did it!

You've made it so they officially become your husbands! No more late night rendezvous. No more potential matches. No more sneakily finding empty rooms to fuck. No more moon tea.

They get to proudly be yours.

The two men throw themselves into their work table and try to find some parchment and an inkwell with a feather.

They've read the letter and fully understand what's to come. You've made them and your dreams come true.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You can't help but sigh happily as you brush your long silver locks. You've been filled with a euphoria you're unsure you'll ever feel again. Its like you're living in a dream.

Everything that's expected of you no longer feels crushing, overbearing, or impossible to accomplish. As long as you have Viktor and Jayce by your side, you can do anything.

Your maid helps you put on an elaborate red gown, which is bejewelled and full of pearls. It has some small black detailing that when looked at closely, resembles dragons. Your hair for today is done in an elaborate braid, with half of your hair left down to frame your face. You can't forget your rings and valaryian steel necklace that your boys gifted you on your sixteenth name day.

They're coming to Kingslanding. They're venturing out of Piltover from Highgarden and are coming to the heart of the seven kingdoms. You're so excited you can barely stand still. When you hear the guard announce their arrival, you try your best to not run to them.

You manage a brisk walk instead.

You grab them and pull them into a desperate hug, one they fiercely return. They're here, they're yours. You still can't believe it.

Jayce cups one of your cheeks and Viktor has a hand on your waist. The three of you couldn't look anymore in love.

Your father recognizes that look on your faces. It’s how he and Aemma look to one another. In that moment, Viserys knew he made the right choice.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The three of you are in the solar, appreciating each others company before Viktor smirks.

“One last taboo dalliance before we wed?”

Jayce chokes on a sugared orange slice as you laugh.

“My dear Viktor, I was about to suggest the exact same thing.”

Jayce just looks to the two of you in loving disbelief, “Where shall we go?”

You stand up and brush your skirt, “There's a secret passageway to my room from here. Don't tell me you forgot about it Jayce.”

Jayce quirks a smile and Viktor laughs, “How could we forget, we memorized the guard's shift change, and when the best time to use the passageways was when we were sixteen. Just so we could hide away together.”

“Now you're going to us it to fuck me.”

The three of you rush out of the solar like horny teenagers. Well, close enough.

Hopefully, you can secretly get one last moon tea before you wed in a week. Then whatever you three do in the bedroom afterwards has no consequences.

This may be one of my shortest fics but I desperatly just wanted to get this idea out into the universe. To all the anti-Jayvik shippers who insist they're brothers. Now they're brothers and still fuck one another. Happy now?

[pretzel-box]

Hello!! I dont know if your requests are still open but if they are can you do one where sebastian realizes his feelings for reader? If your requests are close you can ignore this i love your writing

Mesmerised

words: 1k

tags: love at first sight, sebastian crushes on you

authors note: I kinda made it into a first meeting scenario, where Sebastian falls in love with reader without knowing them

if you want a friends to lovers type of thing just send another ask❤️

One thing that Sebastian had quickly figured out in the Hadal Blackside was that resources were rare and had immense value. The best source for them? His own customers—unfortunate souls who met their end at the hands of nearly every danger the abyss had to offer.

He didn't need to worry about Pandemonium or Wall Dwellers; most visitors sent by Urbanshade died to mundane things like a brightly burning door or a gas leak in a pipe. To Sebastian, they were nothing more than loot bags, ripe for the picking. He never even had to stress about them getting their hands on the silly crystal. At this rate, they’d all be dead long before they got close.

Tonight, he was out on a routine scavenging run, roaming the dark hallways after spotting an angler rush by. His eyes, perfectly attuned to the darkness, quickly picked out a lifeless corpse lying on the wet ground. Poor guy, Sebastian mused with a smirk, must be embarrassing to die to something so simple. 

He didn’t waste time, immediately crouching down to collect the scattered belongings. Among the items, he found a blacklight in good condition. That would fetch a decent price. He was so absorbed in his task, so confident and sly about securing new items for his store, that he failed to notice a pair of curious eyes watching him from the shadows.

“It’s not healthy to look at things in a dark light,” a voice said, startling him. You turned on your flashlight, aiming it just low enough so as not to blind anyone. You'd learned that lesson the hard way with your now-deceased teammate.

Sebastian’s heart skipped a beat as you stepped into the dim glow, unbothered by his monstrous appearance. You were a striking contrast to the grim surroundings—calm, almost serene, as if this hellish place had nothing left that could surprise you. You offered him the flashlight, your expression unreadable.

“No need,” Sebastian muttered in his usual grumpy tone, not expecting to be caught in the act, especially not by someone like you. He raised one of his three arms, switching on his anglerfish lure to get a better look at you.

The soft, eerie glow illuminated your face, and for the first time in a long while, Sebastian felt something strange stir in his chest. You didn’t flinch, didn’t recoil in disgust or fear as most others did. Instead, you met his gaze with steady, almost curious eyes.

In that brief moment, Sebastian found himself captivated. There was something about the way you stood there, unfazed by the corpse, by him, by everything that should have sent you running. Your calm demeanor, your willingness to hand over your flashlight without a second thought, it all left him feeling... something. Was this what they called love at first sight?

He’d always thought it was nonsense, a ridiculous human sentiment that had no place in a world as brutal as this. But now, with you standing there, looking at him with an unreadable expression, he wasn’t so sure.

He cleared his throat, trying to shake off the unfamiliar feeling. “You’re awfully brave, aren’t you?” he said, his voice gruff but lacking the usual edge. “Walking around here alone. Don’t you know this place is dangerous?”

You shrugged, your gaze never wavering from his. “Dangerous, sure, but I’ve seen worse. Besides, I’m not alone, am I?”

That simple statement caught him off guard. Not alone. Did you really mean him? The idea of someone seeing him as anything other than a monster, let alone company, was new. Unsettling, even. But it wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

Sebastian straightened up, awkwardly holding onto the blacklight he’d just looted. “Well, you should still be careful,” he grumbled, trying to mask his flustered state. “Not everyone’s as... understanding as me.”

A small, almost playful smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “Noted. But I think I can manage.”

Sebastian couldn’t help but admire your confidence. There was something magnetic about it, something that drew him in despite himself. He found himself wanting to know more about you, to understand what made you so different from the others who came through his shop.

“So, what brings you out here?” he asked, trying to keep the conversation going, though his usual gruffness couldn’t completely mask the curiosity in his voice. “You don’t exactly look like the looting type.”

You glanced down at the corpse, then back at Sebastian. “Just exploring for something. This place has a lot of... mysteries. Thought I might find something interesting.”

“Mysteries, huh?” He couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound deep and rumbling in his chest. “You’ve definitely found something. Not sure if I’d call it interesting, though.”

Your smile widened just a fraction, and Sebastian felt his heart skip again. Damn it, what was wrong with him? He was a shopkeeper, a scavenger, not some lovesick fool. But there was no denying it—he was drawn to you, and he had no idea what to do about it.

“Maybe I’ll find something even more interesting next time,” you said, your tone light, almost teasing. “Who knows?”

Sebastian found himself nodding before he could think better of it. “Yeah... maybe.”

As you turned to leave, he couldn’t stop himself from calling out, “Be careful out there. And if you ever need... supplies or anything, my shop’s just down the hall.”

You paused, glancing back at him with that same unreadable expression. “I’ll keep that in mind,” you said, your voice soft but clear.

And with that, you disappeared into the darkness, leaving Sebastian standing there, holding a looted blacklight and wondering what the hell had just happened. 

“I should have asked for the name…”

For the first time in what felt like forever, Sebastian felt a strange flutter of hope. Maybe, just maybe, there was something worth more than all the loot in the Hadal Blackside. And with such a cute prisoner in the hallways, he might feel generous enough to leave you the one or other discount. 

[analyticalstarz]

In honor of autism awareness month, here's a full comprehensible list as to why I think Rui is autistic, or at the very least, neurodivergent !!!! - 1, For starters, he was ostracized by his classmates for presumably almost a decade (2nd grade - 1st yr of high school), all because he was "different" and nobody around him could properly understand him. This has resulted in him struggling to form and maintain relationships. As stated in his second focus event, Revival My Dream, when he was a kid, Rui had a hard time conversering with his classmates because he felt as if he couldn't connect with them.

He's interested in more niche things, like robotics,

and he was also interested in things that people normally regard as "scary", such as moths;

After he became fond of shows and theater as well and attempted to include his classmates in one he thought of in an attempt to grow closer to them, his idea ultimately backfired since his classmates thought his way of directing was "dangerous", and this is where the ostracization seemed to start.

(translation by Arvon Oven) Being ostracized and shunned is unfortunately a common thing with people who have autism, and as I mentioned previously, Rui was alone for presumably seven years straight, all because he was regarded as "different". - 2, He has "restricted, obsessive interests" that can be seen as hyperfixations/special interests. Ever since he was a child, Rui's been heavily interested in both robotics/inventing and shows. A hyperfixation is described as, "A complete obsession with or absorption into a particular task. The task can be a hobby, a TV show, a subject of interest, or something else. People who hyperfixate may tune out the world around them and ignore important responsibilities, such as eating or sleeping." Rui's interest in shows specifically can be seen as a hyperfixation, as in the first side story of his Unforeseen Keynotes (or Unexpected Happenings according to the English translation) card, Rui was so engrossed in thinking about the next show they'd be doing, he had completely forgotten that Robo-Nene was due for maintenance, and Nene mentions that this wouldn't be the first time he's forgotten to eat or sleep because of how engrossed he gets in his thoughts while thinking about shows.

Nene also mentions in Wonderlands x Showtime's main story that Rui becomes so absorbed in his shows that he "loses sight of everything else", (In the original Japanese version, she says "When it comes to shows, he isn't able to look at his surroundings, so things never work out".)

and also in KAMIKOU FESTIVAL!, where he mentions that his tendency to put shows "at the center of everything" might be a flaw of his;

(translation by Ren) It's also mentioned in A Once-In-A-Lifetime Pandemonium!? that he'll get so absorbed in his thoughts while thinking of shows, he'll completely forget about his surroundings.

(translation by tsukasa’s #3 fan) - 3, He has texture issues, which is also common with people who have autism. It's been mentioned multiple times throughout the course of the game that he detests vegetables, but more specifically cucumbers and things in the cucurbitaceae family (such as watermelon & pumpkin), because they all share the same texture.

He mentions in an area conversation with Nene that he usually only eats at restaurants he's familiar with (he sticks to routine; another thing common with people who have autism), so eating out has never been an issue to him, and he even refused to eat vegetables when they were quite literally stranded on a deserted island and in a life-threatening situation.

- 4, He info-dumps. A lot.

This one is pretty self-explanatory, I think. - 5, He's overly logical and struggles with his emotions. He's had trouble on multiple occasions understanding his emotions, such as in Full Power! Wonder Halloween! where he unconsciously holds himself back after inadvertently injuring Tsukasa with one of his inventions, but he didn't realize that he was even holding himself back until somebody pointed it out, and he didn't realize that he was holding himself back because he was worried, either. Something similar happens in Heat Up! Kamikou High Cheering Squad! where he unconsciously holds himself back because he feared being shunned again, but once again, he didn't realize the reason for him holding himself back until somebody pointed it out for him. In the first side story of his I Can't Afford to Lose *4 card, Rui comes to the Sekai, hoping to talk to somebody to put his mind at ease. As he runs into Meiko and Luka and they ask him what's wrong because he seemed down, Rui says that "I just wanted to think about production, but my feelings got in the way of thinking". He then says "Feelings really are troublesome. / Sometimes, you have to hold them back with all of your might... It'd be nice if someone other than me could manage these troublesome feelings". (In the English translation, he says "Emotions are so complicated and can be so troublesome at times. / There are even times when one becomes completely overwhelmed by them... If only someone else were able to help put a lid on them.") Lastly, I'd like to mention that in Revival My Dream, after Rui asks his mom if he's different from the people around him, she responds by saying that, yes, he is different, but she also says that she was "just like him" as a child, and seeing how autism is caused mainly by genetics, his mom can very well be autistic too.

Okay, that is all!!! Thank you for listening to me yap :3

[sketchp-aiges]

PRESSURE OC MEGA POST

TW: Slight body horror

Heya!! I wanted to do a big post dump of my Pressure OC! I've drawn (She/her) a bunch but only really shared her with my friends and since my Pressure are gets received fairly well on Tumblr I thought I'd post

-DESIGN-

Firstly here are some references for her. Her name is Leah Kaiwi (Z-471) and she was also experimented on in the program to alter humans to grow gills. Her experiments were specifically to help humans survive in intense-pressure climates. I designed her in mind to have been injected with Peacock Mantis Shrimp, Snail Fish, Spider Crab, and Dinoflagellates DNA. In her mutation Leah lost her arms, leading her to rely on the use of her very powerful Mantis Shrimp arms to hunt for food and sate her instincts.

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She is written to have fully mutated after the events of the containment breach and she was assigned by Urbanshade to retrieve the crystal from the inside during the lockdown. Throughout her mission she eventually felt the full side effects of the experiments and transformed into her monster form, undergoing irreversible amounts of brain damage, and gaining monstrous instincts before abandoning her original task. This transformation led Urbanshade to deem Leah as useless to the mission, marking her for death.

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I like to think that game mechanics-wise, Z-471 (or Mantis), acts similar to a node entity with a unique ability like Pandemonium. Expendables can hide in lockers to avoid her but she would use her powerful dactyls to damage the locker. Players can escape from the locker but it would be deemed as unusable for future usage.

AFFILIATIONS

I'm guilty of having a soft spot for Sebastian but this is NOT a self ship! Leah's relationship with Sebastian is a begrudgingly accepted mutual alliance and slight friendship. She's more of an idiot dog than a friend to Sebastian. Leah isn't very smart due to the disfiguring of her body from Urbanshade's experimentations so her job is to wander the Blacksite and help Sebastian find items to trade to expendables for data.

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Sebastian promised to her that she and pAInter will be able to escape with him if they help but he isn't even 100% sure if it'll be possible for them to join in the long run. Sebastian views Leah as extremely stupid and gullible which helps him convince her to aid in his escape. He often times makes fun of her and insults her but sometimes he is reminded of how strong Leah is so Sebastian makes sure not to be TOO mean. Above is some interaction doodles that I have done between the two of them and an unfinished GIF of Sebastian realizing that he shouldn't mess with Leah too much.

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Various doodles of Leah having 2 brain cells featuring my friend @lynn-katt 's Squiddle OC

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Illustration

An illustration I did featuring Leah that I snuck in for a class assignment!

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Okay that's all BYE! ❤️

[trippinsorrows]

trials of love + two

authors note: friendly, gentle reminder that while drunk hookups are popular in today's culture, inebriation prohibits consent as someone cannot legally consent when intoxicated.

also.....this shit about to be messy as hell.

one

warnings: angst, inebriation, slight spice, and intoxication impairing judgment/consent

words: 3.7k

****gif credit goes to my chica @dejameflorecer

song inspo: evermore by josh groban

“She’s missing.” 

It’s the first thing Roman hears when he walks into the sanctuary. Nervous, frantic, rapid voices exchanging dialogue in hushed tones, some not so hushed. And because he’s him, it’s not difficult for Roman to catch onto what has everyone so worked up, his mother looking irritated and his father pissed. 

Not that he gives a shit about that.

He partially, however, gives a shit that she is, in fact, missing.

Solana.

His wife-to-be.

Apparently, she’s nowhere to be found on the property, an unfortunate and stressful thing for almost everyone it seems, sans one person.

She sits calmly in one of the pews, a crossword puzzle across her lap, the most relaxed expression on her face. It’s a stark contrast to the pandemonium surrounding them, which also includes Jey and Nicki on the other side of the church arguing, and Jimmy trying to get the caterers to let him “sample” the food. 

Roman shakes his head. 

Some things never change.

Strolling over to the older woman, Roman moves to sit in front of her, angling her body so he’s facing her, forearm across the top of the pew. 

She looks up, and it’s only then he realizes Solana inherited her eyes from her grandmother. 

“Roman,” she says it so formally, so casually, an introduction of sorts that’s followed by her refocusing back on the task at hand.

He chuckles. She reminds him a lot of Fetu.

They’ll either get along great, or it’s going to be clash of the fucking titans. 

“You know where she is, don’t you?” It’s not a question. Just a statement he’s waiting for her to confirm or deny.

Light brown eyes briefly dart up only to return back down under. “I know my granddaughter has always loved the ocean and often goes to the beach when she needs to think or clear her head.”

Roman offers a small smile. 

Yeah, a lot like Fetu.

“Thank you,” he says with a small nod.

She lifts her brow and shrugs once more. “I didn’t say anything.”

Roman doesn’t say anything either and manages to walk out of the chaos without anyone stopping him, not that he really cares. 

He just needs to find his bride, or rather, he’d prefer to be the one to find her for reasons he can’t quite explain or provide.

Just knows that it would make him feel better, or something, to bring her back.

Whatever that means.

He locates her exactly where her grandma “told” him she would be. On the beach, standing close enough to the tide where the water brushes against her bare feet. Her back toward him, arms crossed over her body, Roman approaches her, only inches away when she finally notices him.

Gasping, she jumps back a bit, eyes focused on him. It’s only then Roman can see it. See that she’s crying.

He frowns.

There’s something….something off about that that he doesn’t like. 

That doesn’t sit well with him.

“Roman….” Her voice is so soft and soothing, but there’s a sadness about it that also bothers him. “I’m—I’m sorry.” She wipes at her eyes and shakes her head. “I just—I wasn’t leaving. I just—”

“Solana,” he interrupts in an uncharacteristically gentle voice. “It’s fine.” Because if he wasn’t in a foreign country, he’d have probably done the same. Her…..dissatisfaction with this union is a mutually shared thing. “I know you weren’t.”

She nods, something like appreciation flashing across her pretty face. He’s briefly taken back. While marriage is the last thing Roman wants, to be married to someone like Solana isn’t a hard sell. Not only does she have the kind of body he could spend an eternity studying and worshipping, she’s absolutely breathtaking in every sense of the word.

Has a kind, caring spirit about her that's unlike anything he's used to.

But, it's something he feels like he could most definitely get used to.

Feeling himself staring, Roman motions to the ocean. He needs a distraction. “It’s beautiful.”

She follows his line of vision, smile growing. “It is.” Solana sighs, obviously taking it all in. “I’m—I’m gonna miss it.”

Roman’s expression shifts into something almost regretful.

Like, he regrets even putting her in this situation.

"Solana...." He strokes his beard, navigating how to explain himself. “For you to return back home so soon after the wedding would…..it wouldn’t be a good look.” He’s careful in the way he approaches this, a caution that’s a bit unfamiliar. Roman has never been one to choose his words carefully, unless in life or death situations. “But, after a few months pass, you can visit whenever you want.”

She turns toward him, eyes wide and hopeful. “R—really?”

Roman nods. “Yes.” 

Because while Roman can count on one hand how many family members he’d miss if separated from them for some reason, he can see that’s not the case for her. Solana seems deeply attached and close with all of her family, especially her sisters, Isabella and Zuri, connected with her home. 

And it’s that separation that she’s clearly struggling with the most, so the least he can do is provide her some assurance that being apart isn’t a forever thing.

He’d probably prefer for her to come visit more often than not. Gives him some much needed alone time. Roman has never lived with another person before as an adult. Let alone a woman. Let alone a woman who’s his wife, so that might take….an adjustment, to say the least.

He'd bet the watering of her eyes is for an entirely different reason now. “Thank you.” She sounds so grateful, so appreciative, so relieved. 

It’s hard for him to not be moved by it, even if it is completely unlike him to be move.

To feel. 

It’s uncomfortable as shit too, prompting him to clear his throat and gesture toward the opposite side of the ocean. “You ready?”

She nods, taking one last look at the water before turning to walk, clearly tripping over something in the sand. One minute, she’s about to fall, the next, Roman is in front of her, shielding said fall.

They stare at each other, her head lifted, gaze on him, hands on his chest, his on her waist, holding her up.

“S–sorry,” she apologizes in that same small voice, but for some reason, he can only focus on the aroma of her sweet perfume, the feel of her body so close to his, the alluring hue of her pretty brown eyes.

“It’s fine,” he says, distractedly. He’s still staring at her the same way she’s staring at him. One of them, he doesn't know who, finally breaks it, moving so that they can walk off.  He’s also unsure just who reaches for whose hand. Just knows that their hands are interlocked as they walk away from the present and prepare to head into the future.

Their future. 

-----------

Solana has always been a dreamer. Always lived with her “head in the clouds.” Something told to her from practically every family member, starting with her abuela, all the way to her adorable five year-old niece, Sophia. 

It’s something she’s never really denied, either. She knows she’s always been one to hope and aspire for the most, the best, even when told it might never happen. But, it’s never bothered her. Not really. Not when her life has always been filled with so much love, happiness, and fulfillment.

A wonderful family. Great friends. The honor of taking over her abuela’s bakery. An establishment that’s been in her family for generations.

The only thing missing has been love. 

Not familial. Not platonic. Romantic.

She’s dated, had relationships, and all of the above. And nothing ever moved her, ever left her feel the beautiful love she’s always witnessed with her parents. And her oldest sister, Zuri, has always advised her that her expectations are too high, too aligned with “Disney shit." Isabella has always told her to never settle. Her parents have always said she’ll know when she’s found the one. And Solana has always taken a bit of all of their advice, never once giving up her dream of finding “true love.” Of finding the man who would, maybe even literally, swipe her off her feet. 

The dreamlike courting, romantic proposal, perfect wedding, intimate wedding night where she’d finally lose her virginity to the man who’d one day be the father of her children. The perfect ending to a wonderful life.

A fucking lie.

Solana stares at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, a reflection she once appreciated, maybe not always loved, but liked well enough. Now though, now, she doesn’t even recognize what she sees. Who she sees.

She’s always been happy and joyful, but there’s nothing happy about the puffiness and redness around her eyes. The way her lips are in a permanent frown that’s been present for the past few days. She looks every bit as sad and miserable as she feels.

And, it’s all because of one man. 

Roman Reigns.

Her husband.

The man she hates more than she’s ever hated anyone before in her life.

She’d never heard anything nice about him, heard that he was a heartless bastard. But, in meeting him shortly before their wedding, in interacting with him on a few occasions, he’d been…..okay. Not overtly nice but nothing like the asshole he’s been since….since that night.

The night…..

Solana sniffles, feeling and seeing the watering of her eyes. That’s got her more fucked up than anything else. She always dreamed her wedding night, her first time, would be a beautiful thing. And, it was. Roman was…...he was kind to her, gentle with her, good to her.

And, then she woke up.

Because everything since that night has been nothing short of a nightmare.

Roman isn’t her knight in shining armor. 

He’s the demon in her dreams.

A demon she can’t escape.

Dulce’s quiet snoring in her room, a random room she’s commandeered and made her own, moving all of her stuff into it from Roman’s the second day of his MIA episode. Solana smiles. Seeing and having her sweet dog with her was definitely something she could have never guessed happening.

Could have never anticipated waking up and finding her baby girl in a crate being held by Roman's Wise Man, Dulce nearly losing her shit, same with Solana, in seeing her mother for the first time in too long.

Solana can still recall the physical pain she felt when she was informed Roman doesn't like pets, and that she had to leave Dulce home in Mexico with her family. It practically killed her. Made this whole thing so much worse. 

Dulce, a tiny little thing, is hands down Solana’s best friend. They’ve been connected since the moment Solana held the Pomeranian four years prior. She’s been there for her during the best and worst of times, so not having her for, inarguably, the worst thing she’s ever been through in life has been torture. 

Truth be told, Solana hasn’t the slightest clue why Roman changed his mind, what made him make arrangements to have Dulce brought to her, and while she’s beyond grateful to have at least someone in that house, she couldn’t bring herself to thank him.

For what?

What has he done to deserve thanks? Letting her have her pet is only a common decency. The latter word being something foreign to him, clearly.

Because Roman is every bit the bastard she heard about. She only wishes she wasn’t stupid enough before to believe he could be anything different. 

But, she’s learned her lesson.

Learned to heed to his words.

This isn’t a real marriage. It doesn't mean anything to him. She doesn’t mean anything to him. 

So, he doesn't mean anything to her.

And, he never will. 

He isn’t home, but that’s not surprising. He’s never home. Her now preference.

As much space away from him that she can manage is for the best. 

Not to mention, it allows her to prepare for her night without his intrusions or thoughts of how he’d respond or even feel. A stupid thing, really. Especially considering he made it painfully clear that he doesn’t care what or who she does. 

Bet.

Solana takes the red lipstick, applying it to her lips, the last and final step of a makeup routine that took much longer than what was probably necessary. But, the end product seems worth it. Dark, sultry eyes, highlighted and blushed cheeks, with blood red lipstick to match her red dress that shows more of her breast than most of her bikini tops. Her ass is only one bend away from being exposed, the body of it nice and tight, hugging all her generous curves.. It’s a look she’d not even wear in her dreams, far too risque and revealing, but it’s exactly what she’s wearing tonight. 

Because she just doesn’t care anymore. 

If Roman can do whatever he wants, then so can she. 

Spraying perfume on her pulse points and on her dress, Solana takes a final look at herself in the mirror before hitting the lights and grabbing her small Gucci bag off the counter. 

Walking in heels has always been a bit difficult for her, but the heels complete the look, so it’s one of many sacrifices she’s willing to make tonight. 

Solana cuddles with Dulce for a few minutes, making sure she’s straight and instructing the security that patrol the house to check on her baby every so often.

She’s not certain she’ll make it home tonight.

And speaking of home, Solana turns the hall and meets Dre’s always watchful gaze. She doesn’t miss the way he gives her a double take. The same way she gives him one.

Her head of security isn’t ugly by any means. Tall with a nice, lean but muscular build, pretty light eyes and almost model-like facial features. He looks more like the type to be in Vogue versus being assigned the head of her security detail. On the quiet side, too, only having only said a few words to her.

But, the way he’s looking at her now suggests she might be able to evoke a couple more words out of him. At least, for tonight.

“I want to go out,” she informs, crossing her arms over her body.  “A nightclub. Whatever is most popular in this town.”

Dre lifts a brow. “Mrs. Reigns—”

“Solana,” she corrects. “My name is Solana.” 

“Solana.” There’s almost something suggestive about the way he says it. A way she both likes and dislikes. “I’m not sure if that’s a good idea.” Solana scowls, already knowing she’s not going to like what he says. “With The Tribal Chief being out of town—”

“I said—” Solana steps forward, head tilted, again not missing how Dre’s eyes drop to her chest. “I want to go out.” Mustering a small smile and batted eyelashes, she tilts her head and innocently places her hands on his chest. “Now, let’s go.”

—--------

It’s all so loud and borderline suffocating. The music booms, the people move and grind together with a familiarity that contrasts the fact that most of them only met just this night. A situation she too, ironically, finds herself in, because Solana hasn’t the slightest clue who she’s dancing with. Just knows that he’s only a couple inches taller than her, even in her heels, and he can’t seem to keep his hands off her ass.

And if not for the liquor coursing through her body, it’s something she’d be uncomfortable with. She partially is but not enough to stop, to tell him to leave her alone. This is what she needs. To let loose, to not give a fuck. 

To be less like herself and more like him.

Because being Solana, being kind and sweet and understanding, got her nowhere but broken heart city, and she’s tired of feeling so hurt and broken. She needs to feel something, anything else, and this is the perfect way. 

The song comes to an end, random man whispering something in her ear about being right back. She jumps when he squeezes her ass and slithers away. Solana feels a bit silly just standing there, so she makes her way back over to the bar.

A small, inebriated smile on her face, she’s pleased to see the same bartender. 

“Another shot, p–please.”

The woman, tall and dark in every aspect outside of her almost pale complexion, with tattoos covering her body gives her an almost hesitant look. “You sure about that, babe? You’ve had quite a bit to drink already.”

Solana rolls her eyes. “I’m not a child." Gesturing to her outfit, her nipples milliseconds from popping out, prompting her to adjust her top, she repeats her request. “A shot, please.”

Striking blue eyes gleam with continued reticence as the tall woman turns away to fulfil the order. 

Solana leans back against the bar, closing her eyes and taking in the environment. She feels so free, so liberated from the shackles of hurt, pain, and betrayal that have consumed her since she was ripped away from her home and life and everything she loves only to be dumped into this shitshow of a storm.

It’s unfair. All of it, but she’s done letting it drown her.

She can’t.

“Well damn.” Her head snaps up to the sound of the voice that’s much closer than what’s necessary. “You sure look like you know how to have a good time.”

Solana studies the man before her, his complexion a few shades darker than her own. His brown eyes are warm but intense and contrast his short, onyx hair and thick brows that have cutouts on the end. His build is more on the stocky side but still muscular.

A small smile falls on her face. “Something like that.” Taking him in one time, she offers her name. “I’m Solana.”

“Zilla,” he answers with a confident smirk. “You not from around here.”

She nods, recognizing it’s more of a statement than anything. “I’m….new to town.”

Unfortunately.

He makes a sound, eyes focusing on her breast. “Lucky us, huh?”

Giggling, she teases, largely fueled by the liquor, “maybe.”

“Zilla.” Another voice sounds, not as deep, but still smooth. Accented. Solana turns to see another man with a similar complexion, lithe yet muscular build and almost angular features. He's older than the shorter man, clearly. Not that that really matters to her.

His gaze quickly settles on her, revealing a gleam of lust. “Who is this?”

“S–solana,” she answers matter-of-factly. “W–who are you?”

He smirks. “Tama.”

Solana snorts and rolls her eyes. “I—interesting.” It’s not missed on her how the both of them continue to focus on everything but her face, namely her chest. “Let’s just s–skip to the good part boys, why don’t we?” They both look curious as she asks with batted eyelashes. “Let’s get out of here.”

It’s a statement that, in actuality, surprises all three of them. Solana knows what she’s saying, knows what she’s asking, but there’s still something about it that feels….non-autonomous. Like she’s in control, but she’s not actually in control. 

Something she should probably think more about, but thinking and feeling have done her no good these past few weeks, so fuck it.

“Which one of us?” Zilla is the one to ask, licking his lips, hand reaching out and brushing his fingers over her forearm. Tama remains watchful and attentive but keeping his hands to himself.

For now.

And with a wry smile, glazed eyes, and fiery, drunken determination, she answers boldly, “both.”

—--------

Solana moans at the set of lips that suck on her neck and the set of hands—she’s not sure whose—that squeeze at her breast.

Lips parted, eyes closed, she’s fully immersed in this moment, solely focused on the hands that touch and grab all over her body.

“Shit,” she hisses when someone moves their hand in between her thighs, nudging them open and feeling at her thong.

Zilla smirks and teases his finger in a circle against the inside of her thigh. “That pussy nice and wet for us already, man.”

Tama makes a sound, moving his hand to Solana’s hair, yanking her head back and forcing her eyes open. “You’re a good,submissive little bitch, aren’t you?”

There’s something both erotic and disrespectful about it, about his statement, about his delivery, about the way he tightens his grip in her hair. But, she doesn’t care, she’s too caught in the moment, too consumed by the alcohol. 

“Take that shit off her,” Zilla directs Tama, the older man easily guiding her onto her knees on the bed. His hands go to the bottom of her dress, pulling it up and off her, leaving her in just a thong.

Something strange washes over her, Solana naturally moving her hands across her chest, suddenly feeling a sense of unease and discomfort. Like something is…..off. 

Like she shouldn’t have told Dre to mind his business and wait outside in the SUV as she prepares to engage in the unthinkable. 

“Wait…..” She murmurs, maybe to them, maybe to herself. She’s not entirely sure. 

Tama, however, ushers her arms down and guides her to lay down. Solana readies to protest again when he latches his mouth onto her nipple, evoking a moan from her, the pleasure easily overpowering the logic. 

Her hand moves to the back of his short hair, her body writhing underneath him as he slides his hand down her belly and slips it into her thong. She whimpers when he teases his fingers against her wet, velvety opening.

“Goddamn, you got some big ass titties,” Zilla makes a sound from where he stands at the foot of the bed, Solana briefly opening her eyes to see he’s messing with something, something she can’t seem to make out, just that he’s situating it on the dresser in front of the bed. A perfect view of what’s about to transpire. 

For a second, the slightest second, she’s reluctant.

“What—what are you doing?” Furrowed brows as Tama sits up and also goes to remove his shirt, Solana leaning up on her elbows. 

“Nothing, baby,” Zilla answers, standing directly in front of her. He goes to undo his belt when he pauses to look at her, asking, “you sure you wanna do this?”

Solana stills, noticing how Tama is also looking at her with an expectant expression.

No. She’s not sure, but yet she is. She wants to, but she’s also nervous. She’s only had sex once, but it’s that one time, albeit amazing and wonderful, that led to this emotional spiral she’s been on. It’s what led her to stepping away from the good, innocent path she’s always been on and entered her onto whatever this is. 

So, not, she’s absolutely not sure.

But, what she is sure of is that she’s tired of crying all the time, tired of thinking of Roman, of trying to figure out how he went from being almost kind to her to basically telling her she means nothing to him. That the night they spent together, her first time, him taking her virginity, something she always imagined giving to the one, meant nothing. 

Roman can’t be her one and only anymore. 

Especially when she was never and will never be his. 

Solana moves her fingers to her thong, sliding them down and off her body, laying on the bed and giggling while throwing them toward the two men.

“Let’s do it.”

[tonyspank]

"CHEF'S HERE..."

Summary: "Chefs here..." a voice murmurs as you burst through the kitchen doors

Warnings: nothing really, chef y/n is giving gordon ramsay a bit

Words: 800+

A/N: hi everyone! been a while eh

"Chefs here..." a voice murmurs as you burst through the kitchen doors.

You cast a quick peek around. A dozen cooks and servers are preparing for the evening rush, and the air is humid and damp from the hot burners.

"Where's Evan?" You inquire, scouring the room for a sight of his familiar face among the pandemonium. The other cooks trade looks, displaying a mix of perplexity and fear.

Ava gestures at Evan, who is frozen in his trackers, as if he has just seen a ghost. His eyes widen, and he stares at you with his mouth open. You can watch the color drain from Evan's face as he cautiously approaches you, stuttering over his words.

Everyone in the room goes silent as they watch this unexpected meeting occur.

You rush over to him and take him by the elbow, forcing him to look at his plate, which had been returned due to the lobster being undercooked.

"What is this?" you question, pointing at the lobster. Evan moves his focus from you to the plate, his face shifting from panic to perplexity.

Everyone in the room is waiting for an explanation while he stammers, attempting to find the appropriate words to explain the situation.

"Uhhhh," Evan says, searching the kitchen for help.

"It's lobster, idiot," you snarl. "How long have you been here?" "Why do I have to deal with your messes all the time?"

Evan's face flushes with shame. "I... uh..."

"Don't say anything!" You cut him off with a snap.

He looks at you, perplexed.

"I break my fucking foot working my ass off in this restaurant, and the one day I need you to be on your A-game, of course you disappoint." Evan averts his gaze, his shoulders hunching.

Holding the lobster tail in front of his face, you seize it. "Apologize."

Evan's lips move in and out of uncertainty over how to reply. You snarl, "I said, apologize."

He glances at the lobster for a moment, then back at you, his expression bewildered.

"I'm... sorry?"

You turn to face the rest of the kitchen and aggressively toss the lobster in the garbage. "Someone, get me a fucking apron... now!"

You swiftly tie an apron around your waist after a server approaches you with one. Realizing that the other employees have seen your outburst, you observe them exchanging anxious glances as you make ready to return to work.

Taking a deep breath, you attempt to gather yourself and concentrate on the task at hand.

"Alright, everyone, listen up! It's time to turn this day around!" You say this, clapping your hands together.

The kitchen is silent, and the staff stands still, looking between you and Evan.

"Now," you point at the food on the stove, "someone give me a lobster; I'll prepare it myself."

No one moves.

"Well?" You demand, "We don't have all night! The dining room is packed, and we have tables that are waiting!"

At this point, the staff jumps into action, and the kitchen comes alive.

"Yes, Chef," someone mutters and hands you a plate with a lobster tail.

Within a couple of minutes, you're walking back out of the kitchen, your hair tied up and an apron wrapped around your waist, walking in the direction of the table that had originally ordered the lobster.

"Hi there, I'm so sorry about the delay. Can I offer you something on the house to compensate?" You ask, approaching the table, smiling apologetically, trying to mask the anger that is still coursing through you.

The brunette finally looks up, meeting your gaze. You immediately recognize those brown eyes.

"Y/N?" She asks, her eyes widening in surprise.

"Hey, Jenna." You say, letting out a small laugh. "What— what are you doing here? I thought you were in New York."

"Well, I wanted to surprise you." She laughs, shaking her head. "And what about you? I thought I told you to rest your foot."

You run a hand through your hair and mutter, "Baise-moi... (Fuck me...) Uh... it's a long story,"

With a lighthearted smile pulling at the corner of her lips, Jenna raises an eyebrow. Oh, gosh. She leans in closer and adds, "Well, I have all the time in the world to hear it."

You give your girlfriend a sidelong glance while sulking. "It's not that serious, baby. The boot helps a lot."

She sighs slightly and rolls her eyes. "You should be at home, resting."

"I'm fine." You sigh and cross your arms.

Jenna tilts her head, purses her lips, and raises her eyebrows.

"I swear, baby."

"Well, as much as I like the fact that you're here, I don't like the idea of you hurting yourself. Especially after how hard you worked."

You grin and nod slightly. "In any case, try the lobster. "Made by yours truly."

"Of course. Thank you, darling."

You nod and walk back to the kitchen, smiling at the sight of Jenna digging into the food you cooked.

"How'd it go?" Evan asks.

"It's my girlfriend," you tell him, untying the apron and setting it aside.

"What? The blonde one?"

"No, not the blonde one."

"The brunette one? Jenna Ortega?!"

You roll your eyes, grab your jacket and slip it on.

"Yeah, Evan, the brunette one," you say, pushing open the doors and making your way towards the exit.

"Oh."

[albondiguilla007]

Drarry fics that’ve made me giggle like crazy

✨ All Our Secrets Laid Bare / 149k / Over the six years Draco Malfoy has been an Auror, four of his partners have turned up dead. Harry Potter is assigned as his newest partner to investigate just what is going on.

✨ Mental / 186k / Harry has had quite enough of sharing his mind with someone else, thankyouverymuch. A miscast Legilimecy spell says otherwise.

✨ The Illusion that One Can Get Things Right / 119k / Blindsided by Ginny's sudden departure from his life, Harry struggles to care for his family—replete with a new baby. The situation plummets from disarray to pandemonium just as Draco Malfoy arrives to drop Scorpius off for a visit, because of course it does.

✨ Rookie Moves / 75k / Aurors Potter and Malfoy crack the case.

✨ Never Mind The Bollocks / 118k / If someone told Harry six months ago that by autumn he would be single, living on whisky and toast, and dancing the night away with Draco Malfoy, he would have told them to get their head checked.

And yet, here he was.

✨ The Lion’s Scales / 110k / When Harry Potter gets resorted into Slytherin in the middle of his fifth year, all doubts vanish: the Ministry is corrupt, and Voldemort is pulling the strings. Between unfriendly roommates, Umbridge's sadistic detentions and disturbing Occlumency lessons, Harry's life gradually becomes a nightmare in which loneliness seems to be his only companion.

Meanwhile, Draco unexpectedly finds himself caught up in a task he did not ask for, forcing him to face strenuous choices between love and hate—between life and death.

(non-con element only in one chapter, and not between Draco and Harry)

✨ Two to shore / 204k / Harry and Draco meet in Madam Malkin’s and instantly take a liking to each other.

Just kidding. They don’t, but Harry does get sorted into Slytherin, and they do become extremely good friends.

[hoodedboy79]

Hey. I just saw your post of the idea to write about Assassins Creed. It’s lovely to see someone who would write about the Assasins, like Bayek (he doesn’t get enough love). I don’t have anything particular in mind but I’d love to see some/or reactions of some kind of Bayek, Arno and/or any you feel comfortable with. Have a nice day :))

Being Best Friends With Them: Bayek, Arno & Jacob.

Just to start off with I'm sorry this took so long for me to do but I've got major writers block atm so these might be ass but I tried. Also Arno might be extra ooc cuz I only brought Unity a few days ago when it went on sale and haven't done more than the beginning yet so apologies in advance 😅

================

Bayek

• The most loyal, lifelong friend you're ever going to get right here.

• Even if you two don't see each other as often anymore after Bayek became a Medjay and started a family.

• Talking about him starting a family, you were one of the first people he told when he found out Aya was expecting.

• Invites you over regularly to eat dinner with him and his family, along with Hepzefa and Rabiah if they are free.

• He loves that his closest people get on so well.

• You accompanying him, Khemu and Chenzira on their hunting trips.

• As much as he wants to confide in you after Khemu's death and Aya's departure, he can't bring himself to. Not only because he doesn't want to speak about it when the wound is so fresh but he doesn't want to burden you with his feelings.

• So he doesn't say much to you before leaving to track down the Heron.

• When he eventually returns, and is in a slightly better headspace than before he left, he was happy to see you, and Hepzefa, waiting for him.

• You two have a lot to catch up on.

Arno

• Will silently judge every stupid decision you make, his face tells you exactly what he wants to say though to the point it doesn't feel as 'silent' anymore.

• He will help you clean up and or defend you from the consequences of said stupid decision though.

• The type to have clothes made for you, regardless of your social status.

• Depending on your personality, there's going to be a LOT of disagreements between you two due to Arno's stubbornness (and yours, potentially) but he's willing to come to a compromise with you after enough back and forth, he probably won't admit if he was wrong though.

• Arno never truly gets over Élise and has times where his grief rears it's head, sometimes he'll allow you to comfort him even if it's just by sitting in the same room in silence while you both get on with your own things or other times he'll avoid everyone completely and try to keep himself busy with random tasks till he feels ready to see people again.

• Would like to visit the theatre with you occasionally or just relax for once and have a discussion about art or the newest plays.

• Gossip duo 💅🏻

Jacob

• Sheer pandemonium.

• You two together brings the fear of God into people.

• Spending hours with him in the pub, whether it be indulging in drinking games, playing Whist (don't worry he won't drown you in the river if you beat him) or just chatting with the Rooks, Jacob will make sure you enjoy yourself and hopefully get you to stay just another hour (and buy another round).

• Tells Maxwell about you and eventually invites you to accompany them on one of their random outings.

• We all know how that eventually ends.

• Both of you teasing Evie about Henry. Jacob will definitely turn on you though if he finds out you are courting someone/being courted, it isn't just Evie he's willing to tease.

• He would find out as much as he could about the person that you're interested in, especially if their the one trying to court you. He's been betrayed by people close to him before and doesn't want you to go through the same thing if he can help it.

• He'll make almost everything a (friendly) competition with you; Who can climb this building faster? Who can kill the most Blighters in this random street fight? Who can escape the police quicker?, things like that. Evie will even sometimes join in, which usually ends with the twins bickering after she wins.

• You and Jacob really do share the same braincell at times fr.

==============

I haven't done any hc's in a hot minute and I can see why lol. Maybe I'll rewrite these one day or add to it I dunno.

[circuitsfantasies]

Filth. (A Sebastian Solace fict.)

Managing to actually push Sebastian was an achievement itself but not a good one. He had a lot of DNA in him that probably could put someone on a shirt for being the stupidest person in existence here you go getting that shirt.

Managing to trigger a Sebastian as the first clue was a low growl that rumbled your very soul to the bone. The next step was the fact you had to hurriedly rush out of the eel's shop and hope to whatever god that the card reader would be fast. The final knock in the teeth that you actually fucked up was the fact.

He was coming out of his shop after you.

You had to sprint for dear life considering he came out of the vent at full speed at you once he gave you a slight headstart. At that moment you could feel the very soul leave your flesh as the sweat ran down your forehead.

It was a quick awakening how you realized how the eel had caused this lockdown when he ripped doors off their frames as well as smashing in lockers with his bare hands to find you. He made encounters with eye infestation even harder as well, he made it hard for you to try to not look at the shark and having to dodge or at least hope to god he missed you.

What's worse is if he makes his way into the ridge, you think that place is already hell because you have to listen to every little noise ever? Oh well, this is your new grave. Sebastian raises the stakes to a new high with the fact he steals the crystal from you and escaping into the ridge where you have to multi-task trying to not die to the 5th pandemonium encounter while trying to find and steal back the crystal from the eel.

You honestly wish he had just punched you into the hole outside of his shop.

(CIRCUITS NOTE WOOOO!! Sebastian fict number two!! I was given the idea by a friend o mine to write how I thought our lovely eel would react to being pissed off by an expendable)

[intothegenshinworld]

Fate’s Destiny ~ Chapter 13 || The heavens and us

You somehow, not being able to explain it, had fallen into the Genshin world you know oh-so-well. You were no new player and had explored most of the nooks and crannies of the world. When you first had woken up in Windrise you wondered; it might be a dream, after all, you were behind your screen usually, and now- here? It made no sense, and the world was keen on keeping it that way.

Warnings: Spoilers for main story.

Word count: 3k+

Auteurs note: We ballin!!

↺ PREVIOUS CHAPTER || ↻ NEXT CHAPTER || MASTERLIST

The people on the street are in a state of panic, and rightfully so. 

In the not-so-far distance, it’s becoming more obvious that whatever went on between the Jade Chamber and the rising waves had affected Liyue Harbor in its entirety. 

In between the mountains, the Jade Chamber lays in ruin. Even before hitting the ground, it has been fragmented into multiple chunks. And with no walls to keep all of its previous furniture inside, its contents litters throughout the paths in the surrounding area.

For a while longer, smoke surges from the wreckage—as the initial fall had set fire to the cloths and paper inside. Candles had been tossed over and caught whatever they could during the fall, burning all of the silk tapestries with the Creator’s face and history until it leaves nothing but dust in its wake.

The harbour doesn’t fare better under the destruction. 

The people in the area have had enough time to evacuate, but the docking boats and multiple shops are flooded, destroyed by the large waves that came crashing down not too long ago.

ㅤ

Often when reaching this point, you’d find out that the Adepti and the Qixing assisted the newly reborn geo Archon with his task of protecting his city. 

However, you will never find out why they are bound to fail.

Going south from Wangshu Inn, leads you through the Guili Plains once more. Your previous journey through this area had been relaxed, with little to none interactions from anyone aside from Lumine, Paimon, and Dainsleif. But with pandemonium reigning the nation ever since the Jade Chamber fell, you aren’t surprised to see the crowds grow thicker. 

Around you, people are both leaving and heading towards Liyue Harbor. You aren’t certain why anyone would be going towards the city in its current state, but you assume it has to do with people believing in the geo Archon and seeking shelter in times of uncertainty.

Of course, you are part of the same group, but your reasons for heading towards Liyue Harbor are quite different. 

Earlier, you had remembered an interaction with a certain someone who could give you clarity on the current situation. 

"Call my name." 

A hand holds yours in a gentle but firm hold.  The workers in Wangshu Inn had been occupied well before sunrise, but the morning remained fresh. Rays of sunlight hit the side of Xiao’s face, bringing forward the teal streaks in his hair and a golden shimmer in his eyes. 

His expression holds concern for something. You don’t ask him about it.

Xiao speaks again. His voice sounds clearer this time. 

"Call my name if you need me."

You’ve spent more than enough time with Xiao to know that he would help you if you needed it. Like when he suspected the Fatui to be a danger, or when he teleported you away when the Jade Chamber fell down—he'd always been there for you.

Another reason for you to remember him was the fact that the Adeptus would be at the geo Archon’s side. If you called out his name, he could tell you what was going on in Liyue Harbor.

However, when you call out his name, he doesn’t answer.

“Xiao?” You say it again, this time a bit louder.

You’re unsure if you should be concerned about the silence that follows. He’s proven to be capable of handling many difficult situations but something within makes you feel uneasy at the lack of response. 

The white haired pixie floats over to your side.

“Maybe he is busy? Whatever lights we saw flash out from the Jade Chamber during the fight, it had to have been elemental energy. Paimon thinks the Adepti might’ve helped during the battle.” Paimon turns away to face Lumine, who’s busy trying to keep the chaos at a distance from the three of you. 

And as you follow your eyes in the outlander’s direction, a strangely familiar carriage flies by. 

For a moment, your attention is captured. Instead of Lumine, your eyes are glued to the vehicle.  

At first glance, it doesn’t look extraordinary. It has a simple wooden base with a white frame, made out of cloth, perched atop it, keeping the contents inside hidden. And as you look at it, you realise that instead of the carriage looking familiar to you, it’s the man with fiery red hair that chimes familiarity. 

With a stern and concentrated look, he rides the horse that pulls the carriage along. The stranger’s red eyes are always focused in front of him to make sure no accidents were caused by the chaos on the roads. 

And then his eyes move to you. 

Your cloak should’ve been concealing you, but with the mass panic, you had assumed no one would be concerned about your resemblance to the creator. Everyone would’ve been distracted and no one should’ve noticed you. Unless they felt your aura. 

So, did he?

The moment passes as quickly as it came, for the carriage nor the red haired man stops to confirm your suspicions. Instead, a small hand settles on your shoulder, pulling you out of your thoughts once more.

With a smile, Paimon gently tugs the cloak down for you, and once she finishes, you return your mind to the current situation: Xiao being unresponsive as Liyue Harbor remains in shambles. 

You frown, an expression that remains hidden since no one can see your face with the fabric casting a shadow over it. At last, you respond to Paimon. “Xiao might be busy, but that doesn’t help our current situation.”

Lumine looks at Paimon and then turns to you. She seems hesitant and takes a second to speak up. “Is the gnosis still working?”

Your eyes fall upon the orange rays escaping the fingers that encase the object. A soft hum of recognition is sent in response. “I think so. It’s been pulling me along towards Liyue Harbor.”

The outlander is silent for a second. Once she makes sure the crowds are safe, Lumine walks over to you. “Is there a chance that the geo Archon still has power over it?”

Confusion makes you stumble over your first words. “No. If he could, he would’ve told me or helped me with regaining my memories.” 

Then, she explains her questions. “I think Paimon was right. It might be worth it to follow the gnosis’s pull for now.” Lumine looks at the gnosis before her eyes trail back to you. She continues to talk,

“Perhaps you did resonate with it. Your aura has been growing weaker ever since we left camp in the morning, so the gnosis might’ve been absorbing your aura so it can communicate.”

Indifferently, you nod. “Maybe. Either way, we should continue. The crowds don’t seem to calm down and we’ll never know the reasoning behind the gnosis’ activation if we stop now.”

A while back, when Paimon had expressed her theory about the gnosis needing to recognise your aura, you felt like you were one step closer to figuring out what you needed to do. 

Somehow, that feeling of excitement and relief was now gone.

If you were honest with yourself, you’ve forgotten why your lost memories were supposed to be troublesome in the first place. If the geo Archon recognised you, wasn’t that enough? You are the Creator, after all. 

But then again,

if you are Teyvat’s Creator, 

where did you come from?

As you approach Liyue Harbor,  an eerie absence invades the landscape that surrounds you. Not a single soul or creature is in sight—a stark contrast to the bustling roads you previously experienced. You halt to look at Lumine after you’ve observed the roads. 

“Where did you think they went?” You ask.

She stops in her tracks. “The people?”

You nod. 

“The people…” Lumine scans the empty streets. The treelines separating you from the wilderness of the Guili Plains are completely abandoned. No birds are flying in the sky and there are no tracks of anyone else having passed this area. 

It is just you, her, and Paimon. 

“I’m not sure,” she admits.

“Paimon knows!” Your white haired eagerly interjects. “The geo Archon must’ve evacuated them.”

Your grip tightens on the gnosis, its weight a reminder of the journey ahead. 

A despondent expression settles onto your face as you caress the metal outlines separating you from the contained geo energy within. The godly object whines at your standstill, urging you to continue now that your destination is within reach. 

Despite Paimon's optimism, a nagging doubt gnaws at your resolve. It might’ve been the pull from the gnosis, or the fact that you had no idea what just occurred, but you needed to move forward.

You hear soft footsteps move in your direction until Lumine stands next to you on the hill. Her eyes follow your gaze to Liyue Harbor.

From here, everything looks still. The smoke from between the mountains has calmed down and the waters are quiet. But however still it might look, destruction is evident the longer you look at the view in front of you. 

Somehow, with Lumine by your side, you feel more confident. And despite her own destiny, time and time again, she has chosen to stand with you. It’s something you can’t properly appreciate because it means too much to you. 

Your mind drifts to Dainsleif and your last interactions with him. 

You feel bothered about his departure. Sure, there was something peculiar about him, something you couldn’t figure out, but he made you feel at home. Despite the time spent with him being sparse, it felt like you should’ve known him—as if you had met before. 

His entire appearance and disappearance felt like a puzzle you can’t quite solve. 

Why did he leave?

But with a more urgent mystery ahead, and things appearing to be more complicated as time passes, you decide to push him and your doubts aside to focus on the problem in front of you.

“Do you have any idea why those waves emerged?” You ask Lumine. 

“No.” she moves her head sideways to look at you. Her blonde hair flies over her shoulders when a soft breeze passes you. She furrows her eyebrows slightly before they relax again. Her golden eyes shine in the golden hour. “I'm not sure. Do you think that the gnosis activating is connected to all of this?”

Without looking at it, you brush your finger over the object. Its gleam has turned into a beautiful golden colour, mirroring the sun and Lumine’s radiance, growing brighter the closer you get to Liyue Harbor. The small thing continues to be a mystery to seemingly everyone around you—even the geo Archon. Aside from saving Liyue Harbor, going back with the knowledge of knowing that you’ve potentially resonated with it…

Somehow everything seemed to be falling into place.

After a moment, you remove the cloak from your head. With ease, Lumine’s eyes find yours. “I’m not sure why, but the gnosis becomes intenser the closer we get. It must mean something , at the very least.” You respond.

Paimon chimes in from Lumine’s other side with an encouraging tone. “I’m sure we can uncover what happened in the city if we work together!”

The pixie’s smile is bright and infectious, a stark contrast to your doubt, and yet it never fails to make you feel more at ease. 

Facing away from the view, you respond.

“Let’s continue. The journey won’t be long anymore.”

Somewhere between your last stop and the waypoint that’s on the hill before Liyue Harbor, the gnosis starts to freak out. The pulsations that it produces becomes less controlled— frenzied. 

If you hadn’t felt its usually softer vibrations prior to this moment, you would’ve thought the shakes were coming from an earthquake. Unfortunately, you are familiar with this feeling and know something is about to go terribly wrong.

“Wait, we need to stop.” You stand with shaking legs upon the stone and dirt below your feet. These convulsions are not coming from the city, but your hand. 

A second after you feel it, Lumine’s hands extend to her sides as she tries to balance herself. Her eyes are wide, before they dart around, trying to make sense of what’s happening. 

You call out to her. “The gnosis, something is wrong!”

“What?” Her voice fades as the geo energy energy becomes louder. A buzzing sound gives you a headache. You watch Paimon lift her hands to her ears as she shakes in the air. 

Again, you try to call out. “The gnosis!”

Lumine tries to reach her hand out towards you. While you were travelling, you and Paimon walked behind her. Conversing while she kept her eyes open for danger. Now, you regretted the distance between you and her. 

You reach your free hand out to her, but then a deep rumble erupts followed by the ground shaking. Perhaps due to its suddenness, or the sheer power behind it, you stumble forward and then down. Your knees hit the ground first, and you brace yourself with your palms forward when the earth convulses again. 

The air from your lungs forcefully escapes your lips when Paimon lands on your back right after. She is much smaller than you are, so it doesn’t damage you any further, but it gives you discomfort and more disorientation. 

After a second of recovery, you pull your head up from the dirt. 

A short distance separated from you, you see the gnosis lying between small pebbles and rocks on the ground. Its golden glow shines brighter than the twilight sky, and then it dims again to a soft orange glow, before it radiates the same liquid gold as before. 

Something is wrong. Something is really really wrong.

Paimon is still recovering from her fall when you gather your arms below your chin. While the ground continues to shake with vigour, you’re able to get yourself up halfway with a push to your limbs, making the pixie on your back roll to the side and fall next to you.

From the corner of your eyes, you see Lumine down on the ground as well. She sits a few meters away from you with her hands stabilising her body at her sides. The outlander seems to have taken less of a fall than either you or Paimon did, so her agility must have aided her somehow. 

Be that as it may, something is wrong with her too . Her eyes are fixated on the skies and she seems to be caught in a stupor.  

Without the weight of a child on your back, you have free reign to move and grab the gnosis. You refocus your mind and you crawl over. 

While the ground shaking below makes it harder to reach, it’s only a few arm-lengths away. Surprisingly, the object itself doesn’t seem affected by the vibrations. But perhaps that shouldn’t have been surprising at all, considering it was made out of pure geo energy.

You stretch your arm forward and fingers curl around the gnosis. Soft flesh touches the metal, and right as you’re about to close your hold, it dissipates. 

Soft dust escapes your fingers and your eyes widen as your mouth falls open in disbelief. 

It doesn't make sense. How can a gnosis suddenly disappear in front of you? 

Your fingers grasp at the ground below, desperately trying to catch the pixels of what remains before the gnosis is fully gone. 

A flicker of vulnerability flashes through your eyes. The gnosis was your only current lead but it’s now lost, leaving you with an empty feeling. Then, your eyebrows furrow together, trying with all your power to cling to your composure and fight the storm of frustration and disconsolation raging within. 

You bite your lip when the corners of your mouth begin to tremble. With each passing moment, tension rises in your body, and then before you can break, Lumine grabs your arm and yanks you up. 

“We need to run!” Lumine looks over her shoulder, and when you follow her gaze—you see it.

An elongated structure was descending from the heavens to the ground below. With it came a palpable tension that suffused the air, thickening it with each passing second. The massive silhouette of the nail-like stone loomed ominously against the twilight sky, casting a shadow that seemed to swallow Liyue Harbor whole. 

As it continues to plummet, the ground below quivers beneath its impending impact, shaking in fear and anticipation of the cataclysm to come. 

Lumine's grip tightens on your arm. Her urgency acts as a silent plea for swift action. With every step forward, the weight of what is to come presses down upon you, urging you to hasten your escape despite the burn on your knees. 

Paimon too, is at your side. She flutters anxiously, her voice lost amidst the chaos as the world seems to hold its breath. 

Then, a deafening roar that could shake the very foundations of Teyvat itself echoes through the area as the object strikes the ground with an unfathomable force. The impact reverberates through the air, sending shockwaves in all directions. Dust and debris rise up from the area of impact, obscuring the horizon in a shroud of darkness as the ground trembles beneath your feet.  

Amid the chaos, time stands still. Flames writhe and twist amidst the smoke, painting the once blue and purple sky in hues of orange and red. Blow, the city succumbs to destruction. What once was a thriving and fortunate city, would be covered by dust before the end of the night. 

In this moment, a dreadful realisation settles in. 

Even if you had arrived in Liyue Harbor before this cataclysm, you never would've been able to protect its people— yourself . 

Reality itself seems to shatter under the weight of the unfolding tragedy. The sky unravels before your eyes as black streaks shatter the world. With a desperate cry, Lumine's grip on your arm falters, her strength wavering against the soundwave that hits you.

As the world blurs into darkness, a sense of helplessness grips at your very being, forcing you to face whatever may come next even as the world breaks apart around you. And despite the destruction cradling your very being, a single voice stands out—,

ㅤ

“[Y/N].”

If you liked this chapter and think I deserve a comment, please leave one behind! I appreciate it a lot and it'll make me more motivated to write in the future ♡

© intothegenshinworld. Do not copy, repost, translate or take heavy inspiration from my content. Thanks for reading.

[whisperofsong]

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Female Reader

Summary: Bob takes care of you after a long day.

Word Count: Approx. 3,082 words

Warnings: Language and explicit sexual content

Note: This piece was written for @attapullman ‘s International Bob Floyd Fucks Month celebration and intentionally posted on Lewis Pullman’s birthday. I adore our collective boyfriend and loved writing this to honor one of my favorite characters of his💛

____________________________________________

The rain patters against your windshield as the windshield wipers rhythmically glide back and forth, almost putting you in a trance. Your shoulders are slumped as you stare ahead and count the minutes until your car is once again in the driveway.

Work had been more stressful than usual. The incessant alerts signaling the arrival of new emails flooding your inbox. Additional things being asked of you despite your already taxing workload. Interruptions from your coworkers as you attempted to focus on completing the various tasks on your to-do list. Despite these challenges, you managed to accomplish a few things, but it wasn’t enough. And you feared that the week may only get worse.

When your tires meet the smooth pavement of your driveway and you pull the key out of the ignition, you remain in the car. The stillness and silence is a welcome respite from the pandemonium in the office. Your energy is almost nonexistent and you find yourself wincing when you look at the distance from your car to the front door. You eventually muster enough energy to grab your things and head inside.

Faint music and a pleasant aroma greet you and the man responsible for them is Bob Floyd. But Bob Floyd isn’t just any man. He’s your boyfriend. Your boyfriend of a little over a year to be exact.

“Boyfriend” is almost an inadequate label for what Bob Floyd is to you. He’s the man who memorized your coffee order just so he can get it for you every Saturday morning. He indulges in your favorite TV shows alongside you and makes remarks that he’s confident will make you laugh. When you inevitably fall asleep in the middle of watching them, he doesn’t disturb you, but instead covers you in the coziest blanket you own because he knows you sleep more soundly on the couch. He’s the man who embraces you at the end of each day and whispers the most tender words while kissing you between each sentiment.

But as you stand in the tiny entryway of your home, your heart deflates because not even Bob’s presence can buoy you right now. Your chest is tight, your shoulders are throbbing, and your whole body feels heavy. When you enter the kitchen, Bob’s back faces you as he busies himself with stirring something on the stove while the comforting melody of “Silly Love Songs” surrounds you.

“Hey,” you say softly. Even your voice is strained.

He immediately turns around to face you, his eyes twinkling. “Hey, honey. I didn’t even hear you come in,” he says as he happily makes his way toward you. His strong arms engulf you and you sink into his warmth, his scent calming you in ways you can’t even describe. It’s one of his specialties. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, wishing you could permanently reside there.

“Hey.” He slightly pulls away while putting his hands on your shoulders in an attempt to get you to look at him. “Talk to me, honey.”

You slowly lift your head, reluctant to meet his gaze. There’s no use lying to him. He can read you well and therefore detect anything that seems amiss. “I had a bad day.” Your eyes travel downward, refusing to maintain eye contact. You’d prefer not to make this a big deal. Ideally, you’d prefer to curl up in bed, hibernate under the covers, and drift into a deep slumber where work can’t get to you.

Concern decorates Bob’s features as he furrows his eyebrows and cocks his head, preparing to prompt you further.

“Will you tell me what happened?”

You release a long and labored sigh. “Eventually. But right now…I just…” You shake your head and peer down at your shoes.

He gently nudges your chin with his fingertips. “What do you need?”

Hesitantly, you lift your head once more, two sets of pleading eyes meeting each other. You chew on your lip, contemplating your response, before saying, “I need to not think. To turn my mind off.”

Bob’s quiet for a few beats as he mulls over your admission. “That’s what you really want?”

You’re momentarily stunned by the lower octave and rougher edge to his voice. You almost forget that he’s waiting for your confirmation, so you lightly nod in response, eyes locked with his own.

Wordlessly, Bob catches your jaw in his hands, his thumb slowly moving back and forth across your bottom lip in a tantalizing motion. After several sweeps of his thumb, he presses it firmly against you, silently requesting that you part your lips. You oblige him and as soon as you do, his thumb enters your mouth. Your tongue darts out to wet it and your lips wrap around him, closing your eyes to savor the way he pushes it farther into your mouth.

“Good girl. Just like that, honey.”

This elicits a whimper from you because he knows the effect his compliments have on you. When his thumb pulls out of your welcoming mouth, you find yourself thrumming with anticipation. Your heart is hammering against your chest and your toes are curling inside your shoes as you await his next move. It’s almost torturous.

He crouches down and carefully removes your shoes, one at a time, his eyes refusing to leave yours. He caresses your calves and his touch alone has you weak in the knees. Without warning, his hands grab the back of your thighs and he wraps your legs around his waist as he ascends the stairs with you in tow. Your hands play with the tufts of hair positioned at his nape as your chest fits comfortably against his.

Once you reach the bedroom, he gingerly lays you down on the bed, a hungry and determined look evident in his eyes.

Your hands begin to lift the hem of his t-shirt, but he stops you.

“No,” he objects in a low voice. “This isn’t about me. It’s about you. I wanna make you feel good, baby. No thinking. Just feeling.”

You shiver at his words. You’ve never been more eager to be intimate with him than you are at this moment.

“Okay,” you whisper.

His lips descend on your neck and a soft moan leaves your lips as he litters your neck with kisses, licks, and marks that are proof of his love for you. Although you try to remain still, you can’t help yourself from lifting your chest toward him, silently imploring for more of his touch. Needing more, more, more.

He chuckles against you, understanding your plea. “So needy for me, baby. Such a greedy thing.”

“Bob. Please.” You’re growing impatient and have no right to feel this way. He’s just getting started, after all.

He leans up on his knees and stares down at you laid out beneath him, sporting a smirk that seems to imply he’s got you exactly where he wants you. His hand expertly dives under your dress, gradually climbing until he’s reached your stomach. When his hand finds the cups of your bra, he squeezes each one, but the fabric prevents you from enjoying the full sensation.

“You know better than to hide them from me,” he chides.

“I-I have to wear a bra or my nipples will show through my dress.”

“Mmmm.” He nods in agreement. “Because no one deserves to see them. These are for me only, aren’t they?”

“Yes. Only for you, Bob.”

“Sit up for me,” he orders gently, guiding you so that he’s able to support you in this position. As he pulls down your zipper, he plants several kisses on the side of your forehead, his sweetness almost overwhelming after the day you endured. His touch grounding you when you need it most.

Bob peels the fabric from your body, helping you remove your arms from the confining sleeves. He pulls it down your body and you use your feet to kick off the now rumpled dress on the bedroom floor. Before you can resume your position beneath him, he deftly unclasps your sleek black bra and flicks his skillful tongue against your exposed, peaked nipple, causing you to fall back against the mattress.

Your unabashed moans fill the room as your fingernails dig into the thick comforter. You’ve imagined moments like these on nights when you were alone and Bob was deployed miles and miles away with email being your sole form of contact. But knowing that you have him here, that this is real, is enough to send you careening over the edge.

His tongue is strategically rolling your pointed nipple back and forth and you find yourself fighting the urge to touch yourself because his touch is worth the wait. When he moves to your other nipple, your hands card through his hair and your legs wrap around his waist because you need to be as close to him as possible. This closeness allows you to feel his bottom half and his erection is prominent, reminding you that he’s as turned on as you are right now.

His mouth travels down your stomach as it leaves wet and somewhat sloppy kisses in its wake. Your nipples are now exposed to the cool air and missing the heat of his mouth, but its current destination is enough to dull your disappointment.

His nose nudges the lacy edge of your black panties, but he doesn’t rush. His sincere eyes meet yours questioningly.

“Can I eat you out, sweetheart?”

“Please, Bobby. Take care of me.”

“Always.” He presses a soft kiss to your clothed center before tugging the fabric to the side and dipping his tongue between your soaked folds. “You’re so fucking wet.”

You try to cross your legs, a little self-conscious about your body’s response to his minimal touch, but he protests.

“Don’t hide from me. Please. Don’t ever hide from me.”

Your legs fall to the side and he tugs your panties down and flings them over his shoulder. The sight of him positioned between your legs with his slightly askew glasses, perfectly styled hair, and enthusiastic gaze is something to behold. His strong hands grasp your thighs and his tongue laps at you fervently. Within seconds, you’re bucking against him and he holds you down, wanting to take his time in tasting you. His tongue enters you and you yelp in surprise as pleasure surges throughout your body.

His tongue moves upwards and swirls around your clit before sucking on it as if it’s the greatest flavor of candy he’s ever tasted. You can’t imagine it ever being any better than this, yet he always manages to prove you wrong the next time. You’ve never been so ecstatic to be wrong.

You feel your orgasm approaching and as much as you want to wait until he’s seated inside you, you can’t garner the strength to tell him to stop. Instead, you pray that he doesn’t stop because you want this. You need this. Less than a minute later, your release arrives. “You’re making me come, Bob. I can’t-“ Your words abruptly trail off and you feel wetness pool out of you, but Bob doesn’t change his motions. His tongue accepts everything you’re giving him with enthusiasm.

When Bob pulls away and meets your satiated, dazed face, his glasses are fogged and his mouth is glistening.

“Bobby.” With this singular word, his mouth is on yours in an instant and he’s kissing you passionately, his tongue clashing against your own. You bring him to your level and clutch him to your chest.

“Not done with you yet,” he growls and this intensifies the heat blooming in your chest along with the achiness thundering between your legs.

He swiftly removes his jeans and t-shirt, but before he strips completely, he guides your hand to the massive bulge that’s barely contained by his briefs. “That’s what you do to me. Every day.”

A small gasp leaves your mouth, even though you’re cognizant of how easily you’re able to turn him on. Though somehow, he seems bigger this time, if that’s even possible.

“Need you inside of me,” you whine impatiently, growing frustrated without his closeness, without his body claiming your own.

“Can’t be premature, honey,” he reminds you. He leans over your exposed body to fetch the vial of lube in the drawer of his nightstand. Although it’s no longer painful, there’s still a burning stretch that accompanies the first few minutes of him entering you. The lube reduces your discomfort and even though you prefer not to prolong the timeframe when Bob’s not inside of you, you know you’re always grateful for it once he’s where he belongs.

He strokes his length with a generous handful of the sticky substance and you watch him, mesmerized at the sight of his mouth-watering, glistening cock. He’s a delicious eight inches with a plush head that always hits the right spots.

“Spread your legs for me, honey,” he instructs sweetly and you notice the blush that colors his cheeks when you heed his command. Even after all this time.

Bob languidly strokes his cock against your soaking clit and through your drenched folds. “Fuck,” he mutters, his eyes scrunching shut. “You feel so good like this. Can’t get over how wet you are.”

“I-I’m sorry. Can’t help it,” you admit as you find yourself barely holding on.

“Don’t apologize. I love it. Love that you’re so needy for me.” He continues sliding his dick up and down your clit and your hands grasp his forearms as you try to steel yourself. You glance at his dick, now covered in a combination of lube and your arousal, and the way it moves against you in a frenzied manner while his glasses are perched on the bridge of his nose. The sight is so erotic that your body begins to shake. It’s already happening again.

“B…Bob.”

“Come for me. Give it to me and don’t hold back,” he says breathlessly.

A sharp cry pierces the otherwise silent room as a deluge of pleasure consumes you. You relish every second of it, riding the heady wave of euphoria until it’s gone and you’re nothing but mush.

Your chest rises and falls dramatically just as Bob moves so that he hovers above you. “You’re definitely ready for me now,” he shares with a shy smile despite the events that just took place. He lines himself up and fleeting eyes meet yours to confirm he can proceed. Your fingertips graze his cheek with a feather-light touch and the two of you exchange earnest smiles.

Bob slowly pushes himself inside of you and the burning stretch that’s accompanied the other times is almost absent. Once he’s fully seated inside of you, he exhales deeply and shuts his eyes in concentration. You know he’s trying to focus in an effort to make this last as long as possible.

You brush the stray tendrils of hair that fall in his face aside and he looks up at your touch. “It’s okay, Bob. You can move. Just wanna feel you.”

He wordlessly shifts forward and this singular action practically steals the breath from your lungs. He’s so deep and it wasn’t until he reached that spot that you realized how much you yearned for this. This intimacy, this contact, this unparalleled devotion.

Bob inches out only to enter you again and you’re clawing at and clutching at the expanse of his broad shoulders.

“You have the sweetest little pussy. Being inside you feels like home.”

All you can do is make incoherent noises because his sinful movements are robbing you of your voice. Of your ability to do much of anything besides bask in this glorious session of lovemaking. He directs your chin downward. “Look at that. The way you respond to me.”

Watching him disappear and reappear over and over again causes your head to spin. You’re so wet that a prominent squelching noise seems to echo off the walls. Bob notices it, too, because he’s biting his lip and hastening his movements.

“You trust me?” he asks in a serious tone.

“Always,” you reply.

He takes your legs and places each one on his opposite shoulder. He then resumes his movements, but picks up the pace, and this angle causes your vision to blur, colors fading in and out.

“Beautiful,” he punctuates with a particularly emphatic thrust. “You’re so beautiful,” he gushes.

“Honey…honey,” you moan, a victim of his tender words in tandem with every thrust and twist of his hips. You clench around him and Bob shouts, unable to contain himself.

“Close, honey. So. Close.” His voice is huskier, tired, and indicative that he’s in need of a release.

You clench around him again and this time, he freezes above you before a final thrust of his hips that ends with his seed spilling into and dripping out of you. He’s spent and already gave you two orgasms, but this doesn’t stop him from getting you to the finish line a third time.

“You don’t…you d-“

“I made a promise to take care of you, baby. I never break my promises, especially when I’ve made them to you.” He bends down and kisses you, communicating with each stroke of his tongue. You’re important to me. I’ll always take care of you. I love you.

In the middle of your kisses, your third orgasm overtakes you and your release soaks his cock, the two of you a complete mess from your activities. When you come down from your high, Bob rolls over and pulls you to his chest that is now covered in a sheen of sweat, peppering your forehead with kisses.

“Thank you for that,” you whisper bashfully against his chest. “That was amazing.”

He tips your chin so that you’re face to face now. His eyes are soft again and he’s looking at you with such reverence that you think you might cry. “You’re amazing,” he tells you. He tangles his fingers in your hair as his eyes search your face. “Was that what you needed?”

“It was better,” you correct with a kiss on his nose.

A broad grin stretches across his handsome face. “Anything for my best girl.”

Several minutes pass before you speak against, the afterglow of your lovemaking too precious to interrupt.

“Um…Bob?”

“Yeah, honey?”

“Did you ever turn the stove off?”

“Oops,” he says sheepishly, causing both of you to erupt into laughter as your naked bodies intertwine and hearts beat in unison.

@bradshawsbaby @luminousnotmatter @rhettabbotts @lewmagoo @sebsxphia @bobgasm @delopsia @up-thereinthesky @floydsmuse @roosterforme @ryebecca

[therapycat21]

His One 7:00 AM

Ultimate Masterlist KOFI Ask a question

Word Count: 722

"The Crush"

The ER was a war zone. Blood, chaos, and the sharp scent of antiseptic filled the air. Eliana Marcus moved through the pandemonium with practiced ease, her hands swift and sure as she sutured a deep gash on a patient's arm. A fresh wave of trauma cases had just arrived, and adrenaline surged through her veins like a second heartbeat.

Across the room, Dr. Robby Robinavitch barked orders, his deep voice cutting through the noise like a scalpel. He was a force—commanding, relentless, and, despite the exhaustion darkening his sharp features, still devastatingly attractive.

Eliana clenched her jaw, focusing on the task at hand. She had no time for stupid crushes, especially not on the head attending doctor. A man like Robby didn't have the luxury of distractions. He belonged to the hospital, to his patients. Not to her.

"Marcus!" Robby's voice snapped her out of her thoughts. He strode toward her, "need you in Trauma One, now."

She secured the last suture and stripped off her gloves. "On it."

She followed him into the trauma bay, where a patient lay pale and trembling on the gurney. Gunshot wound to the abdomen. Pulse weak. The monitors beeped erratically, warning of impending disaster.

"Eliana, I need you to keep pressure while I insert the chest tube," Robby ordered, his gloved hands already moving with precision.

She pressed her hands firmly against the wound, feeling the warmth of the man's blood seeping through the gauze. "You're lucky you're good at this," she muttered under her breath.

Robby's lips twitched, the closest thing to a smile he allowed himself during shifts. "Don't sound so surprised, Marcus."

Before she could fire back, the monitors wailed—flatline. The patient crashed.

"Damn it! Start compressions!" Robby barked.

Eliana launched into action, pushing down hard on the man's chest, her arms burning with the effort. "Come on, don't do this," she gritted out between compressions. She felt Robby move beside her, his presence commanding, electric.

"Epinephrine, now!" he ordered another nurse, his voice like steel.

The tension was suffocating, the room holding its collective breath as they fought against death itself. Seconds stretched into eternity. Then—

A heartbeat. Weak but steady.

The entire room exhaled.

Robby pulled off his gloves, running a hand through his dark hair, and met Eliana's eyes. For a moment, it was just the two of them in the storm of the ER, their breathing heavy, their adrenaline high.

"You did good, Marcus," he said, his voice lower now.

Eliana smirked, wiping sweat from her brow. "I always do, Robinavitch."

A shadow of something flickered in his expression—something she couldn't quite name. But before she could analyze it, he turned away, already moving to the next crisis.

Eliana sighed, watching him go.

As Eliana stepped out of the trauma room, she spotted a group of fresh-faced interns gathered around Robby near the nurses' station. Victoria Javadi, the daughter of renowned surgeon Eileen Shamsi, stood rigid, her face pale as she listened intently. Next to her, Dennis Whitaker shifted uncomfortably, his nervous hands gripping a penlight as if it were a lifeline. Trinity Santos, in contrast, stood with arms crossed, exuding confidence, while Mel King, the socially awkward but undeniably skilled resident, tried her best to blend into the background. Shadowing Langdon, Mel's expression was one of quiet observation.

"Eliana, this is where you come in," Robby said, his sharp gaze locking onto her. "Show them how things actually work around here."

She arched a brow. "Oh, so now I'm the welcome committee?"

Before Robby could respond, a strangled gasp broke the moment. Victoria's eyes rolled back, and she crumpled to the floor.

Eliana swore under her breath. "Are you kidding me? She fainted already?"

Trinity smirked. "Looks like degloved feet aren't her thing."

Meanwhile, Dennis yelped as he mishandled a patient transfer, jamming his finger between the rails of the gurney. "Oh god, I think I broke it," he whined.

Eliana shot a look at Robby, who sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This is going to be a long shift," he muttered.

Eliana chuckled, shaking her head as she knelt beside Victoria. "Welcome to The Pitt, kids. Hope you survive the night."

[nodus--tollens]

Press F to Harvest Apples Pt. II

Sorry it took a while to write a second part, life is a pain sometimes. In case you're interested, Part I can be found here. Enjoy!

The next day was a whirlwind of chaos, tripping over its own inception before it could even properly begin. They slept through their alarm, jolting awake in a panic that led to a stubbed toe, a rushed morning, and a forgotten notebook—the very one brimming with the indispensable briefings for the team. Breakfast was nothing more than a distant memory by the time they stepped into the agency, its absence betrayed only by the insistent gnawing of an empty stomach and a headache that crescendoed with each passing moment. The noise in their head was relentless, almost as if it were trying to drown out everything else, and all they could do was push forward, grabbing whatever food they could from the coffee shop across the street, their stomach gnawing at them as they tried to stave off the day’s assault.

When lunch finally arrived, the agency’s habitual pandemonium subsided into an uncanny stillness—a lull that felt almost sinister. The morning’s meeting had not been a catastrophe, but it had fallen far short of its potential—particularly in light of the forgotten notebook, leaving most of their notes behind and their mind still foggy from lack of sleep and the headache that refused to let up. Yet, it was not merely tiredness that clouded their mind. There was also him—a presence that flickered in and out of focus, demanding more attention than they cared to admit.

They ate in silence at their desk, something they had grown used to. It had become a habit—one they’d perfected over time—always avoiding the hassle of going out and opting instead to having meals delivered directly to the agency’s reception. The place was usually a bastion of quiet during lunch hours, save for a handful of overzealous interns toiling away, their desperation palpable, hoping to prove themselves for a shot at the future. They understood that desperation too well. Once, they too had been one of them, clawing for any semblance of recognition...

The afternoon was an unmitigated descent into purgatory. If the morning had been bad, then the afternoon felt like straight-up hell—demands coming from every direction, tasks with implausible deadlines wedged between interminable meetings. Their shoulders ached under the weight of it all, as if the world itself was pressing down on them. Their head throbbed, a storm pounding relentlessly against a window, and the caffeine, their usual ally, had turned traitor, leaving them jittery and disoriented, their hands trembling with every motion.

The staccato of keyboards, the rustle of papers—it all reverberated in their skull. The wan yellow light above, meant to soothe, felt oppressive, its pallid glow suffocating. Even the agency, usually a second home, felt alien. It was too loud, too bright, too relentless. And still, they had thirty interminable minutes before they could extricate themselves.

For a fleeting moment, their gaze drifted to the clock, its hands moving impossibly slow like a cruel mockery. Everything else seemed to move around them in a blur, but time... Time itself seemed to stretch, a constant reminder of how long it would be before they could finally escape this suffocating day.

Ah, home. How good it felt to be back after what had unequivocally been one of the most harrowing days in recent memory. The quiet hum of the refrigerator was a soothing contrast to the noise of the world outside. The door clicked shut behind them, marking the transition. The weight of the day’s demands lifted just enough as they kicked off their shoes by the door. Stepping into the apartment, the sudden quiet felt almost jarring after the constant noise of the office, the city. It was all still there—beyond the walls—but here, in this small sanctuary, it was just them and the calm.

The warm, golden light of the apartment bathed the space in a soft glow, shadows dancing across the plants that dotted the room, casting their delicate outlines on the walls. The chaos of the day melted into the background, replaced by the gentle presence of this familiar space. They set their belongings down on the couch and moved through the motions—slipping into a warm shower, changing into comfortable clothes, and ordering dinner—taking their time with each small, quiet action. With each movement, the tension that had built up throughout the day seemed to dissolve, piece by piece.

Finally, they settled before their computer. Eyes fixed on the luminous screen, they reached for their headset, allowing the world of work and chaos to recede as they prepared for a few precious moments of reprieve

They took a deep breath, adjusting their headset once again, as if it might slip from existence itself. The soft hum of the computer filled the room, muffled by the soft fabric pressed against their ears. With a few quick clicks, the messaging app they had used for so long appeared on the screen, its familiar icons like old friends waiting to be acknowledged. They hesitated, their gaze lingering on the voice call window. Was it worth it? The noise, the incessant buzz of voices while they remained detached, a passive observer in the tumult?

Yet, despite their trepidation, they clicked to join. And just like that, the world beyond their apartment—no matter how distant it had seemed—came rushing back.

The air was filled with the sound of rapid-fire jokes, ceaseless chatter, and uncontrolled laughter that almost sounded like the manic cackle of a hyena. The furious clacking of keyboards echoed through the room, as if someone were frantically typing an essay due in two minutes, while the occasional curse slipped out whenever someone got fragged. The noise blended together, a cacophony thrumming in their ears and mingling with the rapid cadence of their heart as they immersed themselves in the whirlwind.

Five of them were playing, their voices rising and falling in a chaotic symphony of excitement, rage, and playful teasing. Two more were watching, chiming in with their own comments, laughing at the foolishness unfolding on screen. It all blended into a sea of sound, a vortex of energy and noise.

But through it all, one voice stood out—Caleb’s. Familiar. Steady. Somehow grounding—like a lifeline. They hadn’t said a word yet, but he had already noticed. His voice cut through the noise like a calm in the storm.

— Look who decided to appear.

— Should I go then? — they teased, though their voice was quieter than usual, edged with a tiredness they had tried so hard to keep hidden. Yet, despite their best efforts, exhaustion slipped through the cracks, barely noticeable beneath the weight of the ongoing chaos.

Of course, Caleb noticed. Why wouldn’t he?

— Long day?

— Something like that. — they muttered, shifting in their chair as the noise in the call spiked again—someone shouting about a missed shot, laughter following in its wake.

— Yeah, sounds about right. — Caleb huffed a quiet laugh, the sound warm, easy. His focus had already begun to split—half on them, half on the game—but there was something in the way he spoke, something that lingered, that held just enough space for them to breathe.

The games sprawled into eternity, rounds piling up like a deranged Jenga tower—each click, each flicker of the screen dissolving into the next. Voices frayed into static; the shared audio blurred into white noise, dragging them deeper into a woolen silence where the world existed only as a smudged impression. Time slipped away, unnoticed. Their gaze clung to the monitor, glassy and unseeing, the pixels burning into retinas that no longer processed them. They didn’t even hear the others leaving the voice call, their minds too submerged in the quiet fog. Not even Caleb’s voice reached them—at least not until the fourth time he called their name, sharp as a blade through gauze.

— Hm? — they murmured, eyelids fluttering like moth wings against a lamp, the static in their mind slowly fading, like radio interference clearing just enough to let the signal through.

— There you are. — Caleb’s voice carried a quiet amusement, a laugh threading through his words, soft and warm—like the unexpected touch of summer air in the dead of winter. — I was asking if you wanted to play. Noticed you weren’t talking much when everyone was still around and, well... — He paused, and the silence hissed. — Funny how nobody asked you to join, even with an open slot.

There was something sharp beneath the ease of his tone, something restrained, it was like a dull blade: not deep enough to draw blood, but enough to bruise. The frustration was there, just beneath the surface, simmering—though he made an effort to smooth it over. But they caught it anyway. The slight tension in his voice, the way his words pressed a little too hard at the edges as if the phrase tasted bitter on his tongue, like peach blossom tea that steeped for too long.

And yet, instead of addressing it, they let out a small laugh—sincere, amused even, brittle as ice snapping underfoot. Caleb’s frustration nearly boiled over at the sound, but he bit it back, swallowing whatever he had been about to say, the unsaid words clotting in his throat.

— I guess we can play for a while. Please don't bother about them. It's been this way since I joined. Really, it's not a big deal. — Their voice flickered like a failing bulb—light, but dimming at the edges. They opened the game, the screen bursting into color as Caleb wasted no time in sending an invite and queuing up.

— It should be. — Caleb’s breath shuddered, tea-steeped anger threatening to spill over. — I just… I don’t get why they’d rather play with some random instead of you when you’re right here.

The queue popped—27 seconds. Exactly long enough for the words to hang between them, heavy and bitter.

— They always do that. I… I don’t get why.

— Because in their eyes, I don’t play well enough. — Their voice, unlike Caleb’s, held no bitterness, only the simple weight of truth. — I bring the team down. I’m the last option for when there’s literally nothing better to do. Last resort. Placeholder.

They said it like reciting a grocery list. Milk, eggs, my own expendability. Something they had accepted a long time ago without even realizing. And maybe they had.

But Caleb hadn’t.

The worst part wasn’t the truth—it was how easily they wore it.

They slid into position like a well-worn blade into its sheath—bot lane, their domain, their grave. This was where they always played, where things felt the most natural—predictable in a way that was almost comforting—the team’s sacrificial support, the designated scapegoat.—at least this is what they’ve been told. What they hadn’t expected, however, was Caleb sharing the lane with them. They said nothing. Instead, their fingers moved on instinct, locking in their usual pick, the one they had played so many times before that it felt more like an extension of themselves than just a character on the screen, something as familiar as their own pulse.

The game unfolded quietly, eerily so. No immediate chaos. A few kills spread across the map, occasional pings flashing here and there, but it all felt muted. The voice call had settled into something subdued. Caleb, whose voice had been constant, steady, grounding—was silent.

He was still there. That much they knew. They could hear the occasional sound of his keyboard, the way his champion moved, responding with the same sharp precision as always. But he wasn’t speaking.

And it wasn’t the comfortable kind of silence, the one they had grown used to over time, the kind that settled between words like a soft pause rather than an absence. This was different. This was viscous. It stretched between them, heavy and unspoken, pressed against their ribs, filled their lungs like wet cement. Their fingers felt stiff against the keyboard, their breathing shallow, a quiet, creeping unease coiling in their chest.

It was suffocating. The kind of silence that tasted like something was wrong, like cyanide on the tongue—bitter, sharp, and impossible to ignore.

— You probably didn’t hear earlier when they were talking — Caleb’s voice sliced through the static like a blade through fog, — But they planned to go out this Saturday—everyone in the group. I know they probably didn’t invite you. Actually, they mentioned they wouldn’t because, well, you hate going out. But that’s beside the point. They invited me. So now I’m inviting you.

They froze at his words. There was something in his tone—something quieter, heavier—that settled in their chest like a weight. The way his voice dipped when he admitted he knew they hadn’t invited them… it lingered, laced with something close to hurt. And that was the part that caught them off guard. Caleb barely knew them.

Why did he care?

On the screen, Caleb’s champion lashed out, cutting through the minion wave with surgical precision. Then, without hesitation—an enemy champion blinked out of existence, erased in the same sharp, deliberate motion.

— You’re going.

— Where will it be? What time? — The words escaped tentatively, as if silently surrendering to the inevitability of the invitation The victory screen erupted, its glacial blue light washing over their exhausted face as the announcer's triumphant declaration boomed through their headset. The game client stuttered to life, pixels rearranging themselves like restless ghosts.

— Grand Arbor Mall, this Saturday at 3PM. Everyone’s meeting at the first-floor food court, and from there, they’ll figure it out.

Caleb’s smile seemed to infuse his voice, a warmth spreading through his words like sunshine breaking through storm clouds. The weight had lifted, and the change in his tone was unmistakable—like summer chasing away the cold of winter, like a cold shower after a hot summer day, like the first cool sip of water when you didn't realize you were parched, the anger that had lingered replaced with something much lighter, almost cheerful.

Hope.

— Ok…— The word stretched thin as they stared at their dimmed monitor — Now I just have to figure out how to explain to them that I’m—

Caleb didn't let them finish.

— Don’t stress about that, I’ll tell them. Leave it to me. — His voice was all steady hands and sure cuts—the kind of tone that left no room for debate.

— You’re sure? — They asked, still not fully convinced.

— Yes, I’m sure. — Caleb’s tone was firm, a hint of finality in it.

— Ok. — They swallowed the word like a bitter pill. The agreement tasted strange on their tongue—equal parts relief and something sharper. Like maybe they'd just signed something in blood without reading the fine print.

The silence stretched between them, not awkward but a pause that seemed to carry weight. The only sound in the room was the soft click of their mouse as they closed the game and the creaking noise as they leaned back in their chair, releasing a long, tired sigh. Their hand instinctively rose to their face, rubbing at their eyes in an attempt to alleviate the fatigue that had settled deep into their bones and burned into their retina.

— I think I’m going to sleep, s’late. — Their words were slurred slightly, interrupted by a yawn that escaped before they could finish.

— Yeah, I think I’ll go too. — Caleb’s response was immediate, his voice still light, though it carried a warmth. — Good night, sleep well. I’ll see you Saturday.

— G’night, Caleb.

With that, the voice call ended, the quiet click of the app closing marking the end of the conversation. As their PC powered down, the RGB glow bled from the room, fading into nothingness as the soft yellow glow of the room filled the space once again, signaling the end of the night.

Their headset was left abandoned on the desk, forgotten in the wake of the night’s events, its cord coiled like a sleeping serpent. The bed creaked as they collapsed into it, their body sinking into the mattress—a surrender to gravity, to exhaustion, to the weight of a day that had stretched into something infinite. They turned onto their side, gaze lingering on the ceiling, eyelids fluttering with a slow, almost mechanical rhythm. Their vision blurred, as though submerged in water, each blink a futile attempt to clear the fog clouding their mind. It felt as though the world was slipping out of focus, a watery distortion.

Saturday, once a day they approached with indifference or even mild anticipation, now hung over them like an oppressive storm, brewing on the horizon. The thought of it stirred an unsettling dread, curling in their chest like a cold knot. There was no way to outrun it, no place to hide. The impulse to escape was overwhelming—like a bee seeking shelter from a torrential downpour beneath a fragile leaf, knowing it wouldn’t be enough to shield them from what was coming.

They had never seen Caleb before—not once. None of the group had, to be exact. No pictures, no videos, not even a passing glimpse. He was simply a voice—a baritone woven in the cacophony of laughter, chatter, and game-related banter that filled the voice calls of their close-knit circle. He was just another name in the ever-growing list of personalities they shared their time with, yet never truly knew. A presence so vivid yet so intangible, it might as well have been a ghost.

Perhaps this had been the entire point of the meet-up—to finally put a face to that voice, to step out from behind the digital barrier and meet the person who seemed to dominate every game, who carried the weight of each match effortlessly, his presence a constant.

As sleep slowly began to claim them, their eyes growing heavy, an unfamiliar feeling nestled deep in their stomach, sinking and fluttering like a swarm of butterflies in nervous flight. Their chest tightened with the weight of it, a subtle pressure that grew more pronounced with every passing second. Their lungs seemed to burn, as though branches of peach blossoms had sprouted inside them, their sweet fragrance tinged with a sharp edge of unease. Too sweet. Too sharp.

Oh, the sweet taste of anxiety.

It clung to their thoughts like a shadow, wrapping them in a confusion they couldn’t shake.

The last thought that crossed their mind, lingering on the edge of their consciousness as they drifted toward sleep, was simple, almost painfully so, like a bruise. A question that refused to be left unanswered.

Why was he so kind?

[spacemilkies]

fractured confections, bittersweet absence (1/?)

pairing: Earth—42!Miles Morales x Spider!Reader wc: 3k+ rating: teen a/n: don't look at me. i'm just writing as it comes to me. we'll see there all these different fic ideas take me. for this in particular, i have everything up to the movie start outlined. i took a few liberties with the timeline. i just have to push myself to write it :(

synopsis: Miguel relies on you to discover a potential anomaly  and somehow you become it

Or the one where world 42 never had a Spider-Man but then they do

In a world where alternative universes were nothing more than clichés confined to the pages of fantasy novels, your concerns as a teenager barely in your teens extended far beyond such fantastical notions. The recent addition of supernatural abilities, acquired through a fateful encounter with a dubious arachne during a field trip at a lab conglomerate, had consumed your thoughts. However, all of these preoccupations suddenly lost their significance as the very fabric of your existence crumbled before your eyes.

Echoes of terror-laden screams still reverberated in your mind, mingling with the chaotic symphony of pedestrian and automotive traffic desperately attempting to outrun an impending fate. In the midst of the pandemonium, you struggled to harness your newfound abilities, desperately weaving through the fragmented bodies of disrupted individuals, ephemeral apparitions on the brink of annihilation.

Yet, amidst the turmoil, one memory remained etched in your consciousness with unwavering clarity. It was the image of your best friend's father, seizing you mid-swing, his shattered gaze suddenly focused with newfound purpose. Together, you both tumbled headlong into a blinding burst of radiant light, a tumultuous journey to an uncertain destination.

As you gazed down at the device that had never left your wrist since that pivotal day nearly a year ago, your contemplations shifted from the intricacies of alternate realities to a more fundamental question—what would become of your existence without a tangible world to call your own?

Miguel, whom you swiftly discerned to be a distinct entity from the Mr. O'Hara who once chauffeured you and his daughter to softball practice every Thursday evening, had failed to provide a concrete understanding of the complexity surrounding your being. The only undeniable truth was that as long as the watch remained securely fastened to your wrist, you would be spared the agonizing disintegration that awaited Earth-702, the last vestige of a fading existence.

Earth-702.

The only life you had known reduced to a number.

This enigmatic state of being mirrored the ambiguity that plagued your emotions—a blend of forgiveness and gratitude, still unquantified and unresolved. How could you appreciate and resent the man who had saved you, yet inadvertently led to the destruction of everything you once knew?

For now, you exist as an anomaly entrusted with the task of investigating other anomalies, akin to yourself. A spider-being devoid of a world to safeguard was destined to remain just that—a solitary guardian without a realm to protect.

As you attempted to open the door, your progress came to a halt as LYLA materialized before you. In this constant state of existence, where alternate spider beings surrounded you, the presence of an artificial intelligence like LYLA was a welcome divergence from the norm. If you could practically call it that.

"You just missed Miguel," LYLA chimed, breaking the silence.

A tinge of disappointment washed over you. Miguel was supposed to provide you with an assignment today, and you had eagerly anticipated the opportunity.

“How convenient of him.”

The vague shrug from LYLA hinted at the lack of intention behind the promise from the beginning. With a restrained sigh, you pressed forward, traversing the brief hallway that led to Miguel's office—a space that also doubled as your own.

In the spider-verse association, you held the esteemed position of being its first official member. In simpler terms, you possessed the most comprehensive understanding of the intricate web of activities that kept the organization afloat. You were present when the second spider-being entered the headquarters, and you witnessed firsthand as the building teemed with more individuals from myriad Earths than you could have ever imagined.

With the proliferation of these spider-beings, it became increasingly challenging to distribute the workload. Each spider-being had their own set of responsibilities, both in their home realms and in dealing with one another. Amidst this sea of spider-beings, you were supposed to shine—a silent guardian with untapped potential.

Instead, you found yourself assigned to a desk, monitoring the overall progress of the operation. Miguel preferred to dress it up as a trusted role, acknowledging that not everyone possessed the capacity to grapple with the harsh realities at hand. It was amusing how he believed a teenager trapped within their formative years could shoulder the weight of these adult concerns.

Nonetheless, as an anomaly yourself, you held the title of subject expert in identifying and executing operations to resolve other unfortunate anomalies. Recently, you had grown restless and began to pester Miguel for more opportunities to explore other Earths. It wasn't to say that you hadn't ventured into different realms before. In the beginning, Miguel had no choice but to rely on your abilities in every capacity. However, a persistent fear loomed over both of you—the potential consequences if your device were to be disrupted for even a fleeting moment.

Indeed, that fear coursed through your veins, but you refused to allow it to dictate your life. That was precisely why you had all but demanded to be sent on the next assignment—an insistence that Miguel had skillfully evaded, leaving you feeling slightly defeated.

As you slumped into your seat, a heavy sigh escaped your lips. "What Earth is he even on?" you muttered, the weight of annoyance settling upon you. Almost as if in response to your presence, the displays surrounding your desk hummed to life, illuminating the space with a soft glow.

LYLA materialized by your side, her voice offering a prompt update. "Villain captured on Earth-343. They should be wrapping up soon."

The task at hand hardly posed a challenge beyond your capabilities. There were younger spider-beings grappling with far more daunting situations. You ceased dwelling on what your life would have been like as the Spider-Man of your Earth. You had been too young to even envision your future, let alone prepare for the colossal role thrust upon you in the wake of your transformation.

Amidst your operations, you had heard murmurs of other heroes around your age. 

Gwen Stacy from Earth-65.

 Pavitr Prabhakar from Earth-50101.

And Margo Kess from 22191. 

Their presence evoked a feeling in your chest that you wouldn't readily label as jealousy, but rather a simmering ember that burned hotter than mere contentment.

Occasionally, you engaged in conversations with them, often through the watch devices that connected your disparate realities, providing updates and exchanging information. But there were rare instances when you met face to face. Miguel had often categorized you and Gwen as the "troublesome" stage in your teenage years, a time when you grappled with the complexities of your individual realities. And while he wasn't entirely mistaken, the weight of those challenges felt more pressing in your lives.

Gwen, unlike some of her counterparts, preferred the sanctuary of the headquarters over returning to her home Earth. She seemed perpetually ready for missions, always on the edge of her seat. Upon meeting her, she shared the details of her eventful exposure to the multiverse, beginning with the collision event on Earth-1610B. She had crossed paths with that other Spider-Man... what was his name?

Rising from your slouched position, your fingers danced across the keys, retrieving the name from the recesses of your memory. You settled back into your seat, watching as the screen filled with the image of Miles Morales. 

He was certainly... something.

Admittedly clumsy at times, yet he possessed a reasonable level of control over his abilities. Enough, at least, to keep him off Miguel's list of reprimands. Out of curiosity, you toggled his biometrics, allowing the spider DNA coursing through his veins to reveal his Earth designation. But it was within the uniqueness of his profile that you discovered a divergence—his DNA did not match the status of his home Earth.

Earth-42.

You have come across reports mentioning it. According to Miguel, without a Spider-Man to inhabit it, there were no canonical events to monitor. From an operational standpoint, he was correct. However, as you pondered the situation now, you couldn't help but wonder what a world without a Spider-Man truly looked like.

With a few keystrokes, you accessed the live feed, ready to uncover the truth of that reality for yourself.

What you saw, ripped away the lingering shred of sense you had in that moment.

˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚

"This is a very bad idea," the voice persisted, echoing through your wrist. However, your dimension device possessed its own isolated network, impervious to interference or removal without Miguel's biometrics. It was a safety measure designed to keep out unwanted disruptions, but it inadvertently granted you a sense of freedom.

Clinging to the shadows, you effortlessly scaled the side of a building, preparing yourself for the leap to the next rooftop. The act of calculating the jump served as a convenient distraction from the persistent voice reverberating from your wrist.

"Like a very bad idea. Miguel is not going to be happy," LYLA warned, its concern palpable.

You let out a snort that held no trace of humor, grunting upon landing and quickly scrambling up the higher section of the architecture. "When is he ever happy?" you muttered. Miguel seemed to perpetually wear a mask of displeasure, never quite content.

Your response sparked yet another stream of concern from LYLA, but at this point, you had effectively tuned her out. The image feed from Earth-42, displayed on your device, paled in comparison to the chaotic reality that enveloped the city. From open flames licking at structures to blaring sirens piercing the air, there was not a single sign of peace to be found.

From your vantage point, you had always recognized the significance of a spider-hero. Yet, in the absence of one, you had simply assumed that matters would resolve themselves. After all, society was an ever-adapting complexity that spanned countless universes. Surely, there were individuals capable of managing the daily operations without the presence of a superbeing.

As you swung through the air, your mind wandered, delving into the intricacies of divergent paths taken by each reality. You contemplated the weight of the missing Spider-Man in Earth-42 and what it meant for the inhabitants of this dimension.

Lost in contemplation, you find yourself perched upon a lofty rooftop, gazing out at the sprawling city below. The bustling metropolis pulsates with life, its energy reverberating through the very fabric of existence. Yet, amidst the towering structures and bustling streets, your attention is drawn to a nearby building adorned with a larger-than-life mural.

The mural, a masterpiece in its own right, pays homage to a fallen police officer—an embodiment of courage, sacrifice, and unwavering dedication. It is a work of art that transcends the limitations of paint and brush, capturing the essence of the hero's spirit. Vibrant hues dance across the surface, blending seamlessly to form intricate details that breathe life into the mural. Each brushstroke tells a story, whispering of the hero's indomitable spirit and the impact he had on those he protected.

As your eyes wander over the mural, a bittersweet mix of emotions washes over you. You are intimately familiar with the displaced canon event depicted within the artwork, having witnessed its replay countless times. However, the absence of the defining factor—the presence of a Spider-Man—leaves a void, an inexplicable emptiness that permeates the scene. It raises profound questions about the nature of fate and the purpose of heroes. Who, or what, would subject people to a twisted reality without the counterbalance of justice and redemption?

But even in the absence of a Spider-Man, you know that humanity possesses an innate resilience. It is a resilience that gives rise to captains of justice, individuals willing to step forward and fill the void, even at the cost of their own lives. The mural becomes a symbol of that resilience, a testament to the indomitable spirit of the human heart.

Lost in your thoughts, a faint sound interrupts the silence, drawing your attention downward. The scuffling of feet resonates against the pavement, and your senses come alive, attuned to the presence nearby. Your head swivels, and your gaze lands upon the source of the sound.

Beneath the grand mural, the atmosphere hangs heavy with a mix of sadness and reverence. The vibrant colors seem to cast a somber aura, amplifying the weight of the fallen hero's sacrifice. It is there, in the fading sunlight, that you spot a solitary figure—a teenager whose face bears a defiant expression, despite the trails of tears glistening in the soft, golden rays. There is an air of vulnerability about him, and his presence captivates your attention.

With nimble and cautious steps, you descend the side of the building, blending seamlessly into the shadows. Your spider-like agility allows you to approach unnoticed, maintaining a respectful distance. The teen remains oblivious to your presence, engrossed in his own world of emotions.

In the pool of fading sunlight, his tear-stained face reflects a myriad of conflicting emotions. It speaks of loss and grief, yet his expression hints at determination and resilience. You are drawn to his vulnerability, unable to resist the urge to understand his connection to the fallen hero immortalized on the mural. It is evident that the departed officer held a special place in the hearts of many, leaving behind an irreplaceable void in the lives of those he protected.

As you observe the teenager's reaction, a sudden crash and the shattering of glass reverberate through the air, snapping your focus away from the impending danger nearby. The symphony of chaos begins to unravel, growing louder with each passing second. Instinctively, your senses heighten, urging you to intervene and prevent the imminent turmoil. Yet, you understand the delicate balance of interfering in the affairs of other realities, knowing that it may have unforeseen consequences.

Choosing to prioritize the safety of the vulnerable individual, you turn your attention toward him, hoping to offer guidance and solace. It is a decision that carries its own weight, for the unknown intricacies of interdimensional travel have taught you that nothing is ever certain or predictable. With a calm yet concerned voice, you address him, your words laced with empathy and caution.

"Hey, it's dangerous for you to be out here," you gently express, aware of the unexpectedness of your presence. However, before you can fully comprehend the impact of your presence, the teen’s demeanor shifts into something decidedly defensive—an oddly quick but reasonable response, given his environment. In that moment, you realize the jarring sight you must present—a being that embodies the traits of both human and spider, suspended in an upside-down stance before him.

As the boy's awe and curiosity leak through his initial defiance, you notice the hard lines of determination softening under the weight of change. There is a sense of similarity there, lost teenage years consumed by destruction.

His bewildered voice breaks the silence. Despite the perplexment, its gruffness cannot mask his genuine curiosity. "What are you?"

A playful smirk dances across your face, defying the gravity of the situation. The opportunity slips from your lips before you can fully understand the weight of your words.

"I am your friendly neighborhood spider," you reply, the words dripping with both sincerity and light-heartedness. Those wide, capable eyes, tinted with distrust, rove over the intricate design of your costume, searching for answers in the fabric that binds you.

His response is swift, his youthful candor cutting through the tension. "That's a dumb superhero name," he remarks, not comprehending the magnitude of the reality he has stumbled upon. You merely shrug, understanding that you are not the Spider-Man he knows, nor are you bound by the conventions of his familiar world. Here, in this fractured reality on the brink of collapse, your mission transcends trivial matters such as superhero aliases.

"Well, stupid or not, I can't leave you hear," you declare with resolute determination. Before he can fully grasp the gravity of your words, you swiftly encase him in a web cocoon, launching him skyward along the building's side. He puts up a surprisingly capable fight, thin braids swinging to and fro within his captivity.

"Aye, loco! Lemme me go!" he protests, his voice carrying a hint of frustration.

 Huh, Spanish. Miguel would be proud.

 Together, you ascend to the pinnacle, where the world seems both smaller and more expansive all at once.

From this vantage point, a distant commotion clamors through the night, a discordant symphony of chaos that taints the air with unease. You can sense the imminent danger lurking down the dimly lit streets, threatening the fragile remnants of this crumbling reality. 

The boy's now angered gaze fixated upon you, “I can take care of myself.”

You resist the strong urge to volley him, if only to jerk the too-adult pinch from his brow with the promise of fear and your strength. Instead, you guide him to to an adjacent block away from the disruption and drop him to his feet carefully, save for a brief stumble.

The pointed glare focused on you is not the impression you would have imagined from a rescued individual, but you were new to this so maybe not all went to script.

You were feeling a little less confident as you approached.

"I'm going to release you now."

The teen only jerked his chin in response.

Hooking a finger under the webbing, you use the trick Miguel taught you to loosen the bindings. The warning came a split second after he worked an arm free, giving you a brief opportunity to pull out of reach as he swung back.

He was definitely a product of his environment, whether for the good or better was not disclosed. 

There was a notable fire in his gaze as he challenged you.

“Next time, keep your freaky abilities to yourself. I don’t need no hero.”

Suspending yourself from the light fixture above, you test your impact on the Earth a length more. You think about all the other Earth’s whose spider-beings who press forward despite the backlash, determined to save what they hold dear. 

They might say those words, deflect the help offered to say they didn't need a hero because they were one.

But this teen didn’t give you that impression. His presence vaguely tipped the compass in a different direction.

“Maybe not, but you’re only one person.”

Scoffing, the teen ripped away the rest of the webbing. “No hero has a place here. Everyone agrees on that.”

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he turns his heel at that as he descends down the street away from you. 

Earth 42 was indeed a reality without a spider-being. 

But what proliferated in its absence, was something you felt, would test the universe in its own way. 

[pretzel-box]

Here are a few things I noted down for a potential sebastian enemies to lover fanfic I'm writing!

-Reader has a respected position at Urbanshade and works there for a small while. They only got the job because their father is one of the sponsors for Urbanshade.

-Reader only works there because they want to pay for a friends surgery, needing the money to cover the costs for all the things including the operation and recovery.

-Urbanshade suddenly recognises Readers talents and offers them a promotion.

-Reader wants to accept but before they get promoted, they accidentally leaked some files.

(plothole)

-Instead of kicking them out, Urbanshade gives Reader a second chance to get promoted ONLY if they go on a special mission to the Hadal Blackside

-They give Reader the task to locate Z-13, deactivate the scrambler and leak his position to Urbanshade, next to finding the crystal in the Ridge.

-Reader accepts, not getting any important details because Urbanshade leaves them in the dark about the dangers of the mission. They only convince Reader that Z-13 is a highly dangerous monster that should be eliminated. Also known as Saboteur. They lie about Sebastian to Reader, gaslighting them about him.

-Reader gets transported to the Hadal Blackside with clear instructions, undercover as an prisoner from the expendable protocol.

-They equip Reader with a diving gear, a flashlight, a small communicator, sedatives to put down Z-13 in case of resistance and also a usb stick with the data to overwrite some parts of the system if there should be any technical problems due the lockout. (Will later be used to shut off Z-779 for a period of time and limiting his access)

-Reader meets Sebastian because of an meeting with pandemonium, leaving them injured near Sebastians shop.

-Reader tries to trick Sebastian, trying to befriend him and pretending to be an regular prisoner that roams the area for the crystal. Sebastian knows something is off and plays along to find more about Readers goal.

-Reader will try to drug Sebastian with the Sedative in a state of panic, exposing a small bit of their plan. But Sebastian has a resistace to sedative like liquids due the experiments in his past, leaving him awake and enraged.

-He will keep Reader as a way to Blackmail Urbanshade, knowing they are not as expendable as the rest of the prisoners.