#shuttle loop

[psyke-underground]

Photos from walibi's facebook showing how Psyke's train gets removed for maintenence.

(from 2022)

[prinzunderground]

Psyké underground- Walibi Belgium

(First image by me, Second is from the Walibi Belgium website)

Psyké Underground is a Schwarzkopf shuttle loop that opened at Walibi Belgium in 1982 under the name Sirocco. In 1999 it was renamed Turbine and had its loop and launch area enclosed leaving just the spikes. After being SBNO for 4 years the ride reopened in 2013 as Psyké Underground, now fully indoors.

I’m so normal about this coaster lmao, no one on here really talks about it but it’s got such an interesting history

[jonathanbyersphd]

I’ve been listening to a lot of 2010s music lately and was wondering if you could write a Jancy au that takes place in 2016 and is based off of the song Closer by the Chainsmokers. I wouldn’t be against it having smut

Anon this has me so torn bc on the one hand I am admittedly terrible at writing smut but on the other I have ALSO imagined a Jancy scenario while listening to the Chainsmokers 2016 hit closer 😭

[battleaxeproficiency]

feeling very frustrated about the ways people are talking about hurricane Milton. lots of needless, borderline fear mongering language with very little actual helpful information.

information about Milton that might ACTUALLY be helpful:

Hurricane Milton is shaping up to be the third strongest hurricane ever recorded.

Make sure you have an evacuation plan if the order is given or if you've already been told to leave.

there is also a code for free Ubers to evacuate effected counties, as well as shuttles from evacuating counties to nearby storm shelters

Prepare/secure your home

Find your nearest shelter and be prepared to leave

If you want to stay in the loop about the hurricane, WESH 2 News has ongoing coverage ad-free on YouTube.

General resources/information:

Please for the love of God stop preying on people's fears and causing panic. Know what resources are available to you and how to access them. If you approach this hurricane carefully YOU WILL BE OKAY!!!!! YOUR LIFE DOES NOT HAVE TO BE RUINED!!!

Please link other resources you find or think other people might find useful!

[ca-highway49]

Hetch Hetchy is like if the Galapagos people of the Galápagos Islands loved cereal so their land was called Ssyral and also Darwin was like describing the mountains as senuous. I've come to find out. Oh and also? They on purpose sank the islands, the setttlers not the Galapagos. You know the Galapagos tortoise? Ssyral

[batbetbitbotbut]

My first time doing clasped weft technique! It's slow but so so striking! It has unsquared my overshot but I'm treating that as a feature this time.

You throw the shuttle in from one side, loop it round your second yarn and throw it back through the same shed to pull the second yarn into the cloth....

.... And then you beat very very slowly and carefully while pulling on each yarn to get the colour change exactly where you want it, and then you carry on and admire/curse your result. It's an absolute bastard to unweave.

For these colours I am making a zigzag between them, but for my next pair of colours (blue and orange) I will do something else.

[madsxyins]

Lego Date gone Rouge

pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

word count: 829

warnings: none

synopsis: Paige plans a Lego night, but things quickly turn into a long make-out session instead, not that you’re complaining

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You don’t even have to ask what Paige’s plans are the second you open her front door and see the floor covered in plastic baggies, color-coded bowls, and one very serious instruction booklet.

“You started without me?” you ask, eyebrows raised as you step over a pile of tiny grey bricks.

She’s already cross-legged on the rug, hoodie sleeves shoved up, hair in a lazy bun, and fully in the zone.

“You were twenty minutes late.”

You glance at the microwave clock. “Five.”

“Same thing.”

You drop your bag on the couch and settle down next to her, scanning the madness. “You’ve been hyped about this build all week.”

“Because it’s iconic,” she says without hesitation. “Millennium Falcon. Ultimate Collector’s. I’ve wanted this one forever.”

You watch her fit two small pieces together with precision, fingers moving like she’s done this a thousand times. And she has—Paige Bueckers may be known for breaking ankles on the court, but off of it? She’s just as intense about her Lego collection. Hogwarts, the Home Alone house, even the Eiffel Tower last summer—she built them all like her life depended on it.

You pick up a labeled bowl. “You seriously sorted by color and size again?”

She finally looks at you, smug. “System works.”

You shake your head, grinning. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You say that like you didn’t offer to help me finish the NASA shuttle at 2 a.m.”

“Okay, fair.”

You reach for a chunk of the base she’s already built, careful not to knock anything over. “Where are we at?”

“Page twenty-three. We’re building out the left wing. Hand me the dark grey four-by-eight.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Bossy.”

Paige smirks, grabbing the piece herself. “You’re slow.”

You lean over to bump her shoulder. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

She just hums in response, lips curving as her leg presses against yours. “Good.”

You work in comfortable silence for a while, fingers brushing occasionally as you both snap pieces into place. The low hum of music drifts through the apartment, mixing with the sound of plastic clicks and soft sighs of focus.

Then Paige leans across you to grab something, and her hair falls into your face. She doesn’t notice, too busy squinting at the instructions, but you don’t move either.

You just watch her.

Watch the furrow in her brow, the gentle crease in her nose when she’s thinking. The way her hands move. The way she’s fully here, even when it’s just Legos on a Saturday.

She turns back to you with a piece in her hand. “Hold this—wait. Stop looking at me like that” She says jokingly

You blink. “Like what?”

Paige tilts her head slightly, suspicious. “You’ve got that look.”

You smirk, tugging gently at her sleeve. “Just thinking.

She raises a brow. “Dangerous.”

But she leans in anyway.

Close enough that your knees touch. Close enough that you can smell her shampoo, feel her breath on your cheek.

“You gonna kiss me or keep pretending to look for pieces?” she murmurs, voice barely above the music.

You glance down at the Lego brick in her hand, then back at her lips. “You really wanna start something now?”

Her smile turns lazy, eyes half-lidded. “What, you think I can’t multitask?”

You don’t answer.

You just kiss her.

The first kiss is soft. Familiar. The kind you both know too well—the kind that feels like pressing pause on the world.

But then her hand slips under your sweatshirt, warm against your back, and the pause turns into a slow, deep inhale. You shift, sliding into her lap without even thinking, your arms looping around her neck like it’s second nature.

She groans into your mouth, voice rough. “Been thinkin’ about this all week.”

You tilt your forehead to hers, breath shallow. “And you still chose Legos?”

“I tried to behave,” she says, kissing along your jaw. “You showed up late and pretty.”

You laugh softly, your hands tangling in her hair. “So now it’s my fault?”

“Always,” she whispers, before pulling you back in.

Time slips away like sand through your fingers.

You end up flat on the rug, half-covered by a fleece blanket she grabbed at some point. Her hoodie is somewhere on the couch. You’re a tangle of limbs, flushed cheeks, and swollen lips, her hands steady on your hips as if anchoring you to the moment.

She murmurs things in between kisses, half-teasing, half-serious.

“Should’ve made this the date plan in the first place.”

“Could kiss you forever, baby.”

“D’you think Han and Leia ever got interrupted by this much heat?”

You roll your eyes at that last one and pull back, breathless, with a half-laugh. “You are such a nerd.”

Paige grins up at you, hair wild, skin warm. “Yeah, but I’m your nerd.”

You shake your head, letting your forehead fall against hers.

The Lego set is untouched, sitting there halfway built in the corner.

Neither of you even glances at it.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶

author’s note: short but sweet:) hope u guys liked it! lmk what else u guys want me to write!!

[sashketter]

Too bad Tech wasn’t around when Rampart was screaming Like That while jumping from the shuttle. He would’ve recorded it and put it on a loop, showed it to Omega on the ride back to Pabu, just constantly played it as a treat to all the clones the rat bastard wronged 😌💅🏽

[dizzydennis]

Sonic x Tails - Cover Story

(Translator Note: This was an older translation that seemed to get lost to time, but I found a half finished file I made and decided to punch it up a bit. I am not coming back to tumblr, but wanted to fix this and the Knuckles story just for archiving the Cover Story translations)

“Let’s get moving, Tails!”

Sonic was in a rush, which was nothing new for him.

This time, it was because of a rumor that a bright, rainbow meteor landed in the grassy fields of Green Hill on the other side of the mountain. There didn’t need to waste time thinking about it, so Sonic brought Tails in a hectic dash to see what was going on.

“Whoa! Wait a minute, Sonic…!”

Sonic ran faster than anybody could possibly process as he went through the rising and falling landscape of Green Hill. As well as the towering shuttle loops that they saw before them.

Tails flew behind Sonic with his two tails acting as a helicopter. He flew over cliffs and rivers and managed to keep up with Sonic thanks to using shortcuts.

Two colorful trails, one blue and the other yellow, blasted through the mountain. They were neck-and-neck as they raced towards the other side of the colorful hills.

The two heroes had arrived at a forest outing where the metero supposively crash-landed. But there wasn’t any sort of a crater. As they looked around, Tails pulled out a device and started to scan the area.

“This is my energy detector. If my hypothesis is correct, then we should—“

Suddenly, an alarm in his machine starting beeping. It reacted to a gem that was right under Tails’ feet.

“This is—Sonic!! It’s a Chaos Emerald! But it’s gray right now…”

“What? Why is it back here?”

The Chaos Emeralds are seven miraculous gems that contain unlimited power. They can respond to the wishes of whoever use them and bring about miraculous results.

Once all seven are gathered, there would be an unimaginable level of power, but after their powers have been used, the Chaos Emeralds would warp to different parts of the world.

After they landed with no rhyme or reason somewhere, their cores would slowly build up power again.

Sonic and his friends had used the energy of the Chaos Emeralds just a few days ago to stop the dastardly plans of the mad scientist, Dr. Eggman.

“This is one of the Emeralds! It probably looked like a rainbow because it was refracting sunlight as it fell.”

Sonic listened as Tails as he gave his explanation all at once. Though Tails felt a little embarrassed afterwards, Sonic’s gaze held nothing but the utmost trust in him.

Sonic listened to Tails as he explained everything. Realizing this, Tails felt a little embarrassed, but Sonic’s gaze showed he absolutely trusted his friend.

“Great! I’m with ya! I probably would’ve missed it, myself. Glad you’re here with me!”

“Oh, it’s nothing! Hehehe.”

As the two shared a smile, a large beeping sound came from Tails’ device. Sonic noticed almost instantly.

“Hey! Did it find another Chaos Emerald? It must be that way, right? Let’s do it to it, Tails!”

“T-this is just an energy detector. It doesn’t mean it’ll necessarily be a Chaos Em—“

There was no point in wasting time wondering about it, so Sonic took Tails by the hand and started running.

There was no point in just debating what was going on. Sonic grabbed Tails by the hand and started running off.

“Up over and gone, Tails!”

“Wow! Hold on, Sonic…!”

And so, two trails—one blue and one yellow—streaked through the mountains once more, neck-and-neck as they raced towards the other side of the verdant hills…!

Once again, two colorful trails, one blue and one yellow, blasted through the mountainsides again. They raced across the green landscape once again.

[psyke-underground]

Ironically, this is not the first time Psyké has had a stint as a horror attraction.

In 2009, when Turbine was SBNO, Walibi used the station as a scaremaze for halloween called Zoo Terror.

It was more of a show than maze, given the limited space.

There is a video pov online, but it’s not great quality

I can’t find many pictures, but maybe give this forum a read? It’s interesting seeing a point when Turbine really did have no planned future- and is soon it hit its fourth theme!

[prinzunderground]

officially been obsessed with Psyké for two years now

[churino]

Design for cosmos and copy cosmos

The blue one is the original, yes shes a girl, no she's not pathfinder, a space shuttle acidentally brought to life during an altercation with the vehicons, when they couldn't have her, they made their own, but the copy was too perfect and turned on them

Cosmos was created during a mission where the throttlebots fought the vehicons over stolen tech at a launch pad in broad daylight, during the fight a cache of energon was spilled and cosmos was acidentally brought to life, turned to the autobot side by their compassion

She goes to show that "minibot" is a relative term

She's smaller than other space shuttles, but she's still huge. She's even taller in alternate mode. Cosmos is very touch starved as she doesn't get out much. People notice when something that big goes missing.

The kids were forced to initiate cosmos on the ways of their little club in secret, so the humans wouldn't find out, her height brought a lot of complications but it all worked out in the end. And they were able to fetch an autobot badge her size, but then,

The night after cosmos was created, the vehicons returned, flexing their exponentially growing skill with cybertronian tech they created a 1 to 1 copy of cosmos except male And convinced the big guy to fight the original

when the copy touched the original a feedback loop from their identical parts caused their minds to briefly scramble, allowing them to see each other's short lives up until that point, copy cosmos then quickly turned on his creators and joined the autobots, the two cosmos consider each other siblings, they can change colors on command so you never know which is which

While one is off having fun the other takes their place so the humans don't notice the missing shuttle, these are lonely and boring existances but its the best they have. The two are happy when the transformers eventually go public, since it means they get to actually do something with their lives.

Due to the feedback loop altering their systems both cosmos have the ability to float, the original Cosmo's spark having developed a mutation where it animates the graviton particles as part of her body the same way it animates metal allowing her to control gravity's effect on her, the same effect copied to her brother when they touch and recreate the feedback loop

With a space shuttle on their side and the number of their enemies growing, optimus prime sends cosmos into space to broadcast a message. Calling all autobots to earth, showing the allspark had been found on the planet. But the decepticons would highjack the broadcast and send their own message, calling for decepticon reinforcements. For years humanity has been sending signals into space in the hopes that someone out there would awnser our call. It's not our message that piqued their attention but now.. we'll be getting some visitors.

[amymon-arachne]

I love direct warping. Maybe I should just direct warp the table loom next time instead of fiddling around with a warping board.

I’m going to try out a wavy shuttle for the first time with this project, though I think I’m going to put the yarn on a normal stick shuttle and just use the wavy shuttle for beating.

Also I had to move all my rugs to warp the loom and discovered I actually did a terrible job vacuuming the other day. Whoops.

Yarn is Loops & Threads Soft Ombré in Dark Blue/Sky Blue/White. I’m interested to see how the gradient will look with the wave pattern.

[fratttymatty]

Broasis

(All characters are 18+)

The moment they stepped off the shuttle bus, something felt... off. The air smelled like Axe body spray and barbecue. The palm trees were shaped like flexing arms. A suspiciously enthusiastic staff member handed them Monster Energy drinks at the check-in kiosk, which had a wrestling match playing on loop behind it.

“Welcome, bro. You’re just in time for Abs & Ammo Night,” the receptionist said, flexing as he stamped their forearms with glowing tribal tattoos. “Mandatory attendance. Transformation’s on the house.”

“Haha, what?” Milo blinked. “Transformation?”

But Jaden had already taken a sip of the energy drink.

Milo woke up to the sound of bass-boosted Pitbull echoing from the bathroom. He groggily shuffled over, only to find a tall, tan, hourglass-figured woman in a neon bikini and wedge heels smacking on gum and applying glittery eyeshadow with militant precision.

“J-Jaden?” Milo squeaked.

“Oh my god, babe, it's Jayda now,” she said in a breathy valley-girl voice, adjusting her push-up top. “You seriously need a tan. You look like an undercooked dumpling.”

“What happened to you?! You were wearing a queer history museum shirt yesterday!”

Jayda just blew a bubble and popped it with a wink. “History is boring, babe. You coming to Booty Brunch or nah?”

Milo, horrified and deeply confused, staggered back — but as he turned, a blinding spotlight hit him.

That night, he made the mistake of wandering too close to the “Bro Generator” — a pulsing, dumbbell-shaped portal behind the protein shake bar. It hummed with masculine menace.

He felt the air thicken. His sandals melted into white sneakers. His tube socks reknitted themselves into calf-high Nike Elites. His glasses cracked and fell apart as his jaw squared, muscles swelled, and a deep voice rumbled from his newly bulked-up chest.

“Bro,” he muttered, blinking. “Yo. Dude.”

The transformation was total. Hair spiked. Eyebrows trimmed. Thoughts reorganized into a hierarchy of gains, sports stats, and inexplicable disdain for soy.

“Milo” was gone. In his place: Chad Tanner, varsity quarterback from nowhere in particular, defender of protein, slayer of carbs, passionate advocate of podcasts about "grindset mentality."

“Yo where’s my girl Jayda?” he barked into the night.

She emerged in slow motion from a smoke machine behind the beach bar, twirling a vape like a baton. “Baaaabe,” she purred. “You look so alpha now.”

They made out against a fireball that exploded behind them for no reason.

By the end of the week, Chad and Jayda had no memory of their old lives. They hosted a poolside podcast called Flex Appeal where they gave hot takes on gym etiquette and yelled about crypto. Chad wore backward visors, crushed beer cans on his forehead, and unironically said things like, “Feelings are for leg day.”

Somewhere deep inside him, a microscopic speck of Milo stirred — a vague sense of discomfort when he saw a chessboard, or the faint desire to wear glasses again — but it was quickly silenced by the crunch of another push-up.

Back home, their families received a single postcard:

“This place is lit. Never coming back. #NoCap #Blessed #ChadLife”

[saturnyo]

Before You Go

Chapter 6- The End Before the Beginning

Masterlist

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

AO3

A/n: This is the last chapter btwwwww

Pairing: dbfJoel x OC(Delilah)

Warnings: Emotional Cheating, Angst, Age Gap, foul language, Suppressed Emotions, Unhealthy Relationship Dynamics, Minor injury, so much tension like an unhealthy amount

Summary: On a day meant to mark a new beginning, Delilah finds herself caught between the life she planned and the truth she can no longer ignore. In a moment of raw clarity, she follows her heart, setting a new path in motion. One year later, she’s no longer running—but standing still, grounded in a love she chose for herself.

Word Count: a lil 1.1k. It's short. We are gonna pretend that Dustin is in the background, still upset. Keep in mind, Delilah never claimed to be a good person, so her decision here....

Song Choice: Right Where You Left Me – Taylor Swift

Goddamn Wedding Dress.

Goddamn Veil.

Goddamn Hair.

Everything feels wrong. Is wrong.

That morning, Aunt Janice yanked me out of bed with her goddamn sing-songy shriek—

“It’s your wedding day!!!”

Most girls smile through nerves, marrying someone they love. Me? I’m dragging dread like a shadow I can’t shake. Flashes of Joel haunt me—his breath in that hallway, his hands on my hips, the way he whispered my name like it meant something. Gone in a blink but branded in memory.

They shuttled me from bed to kitchen to shower, trying to scrub away what won't come off. Each droplet stung like regret, like shame I didn’t consent to feel. The steam climbed the mirrors, fogging truth and consequence, a mirror to my mind—swollen, blurred, uncertain. Makeup caked over tear-stained cheeks; no one asked. They all assumed joy. Pretty little bride crying tears of bliss. But my insides are a car crash on repeat, a cocktail of fuck-ups and buried sins. Maybe the universe is punishing me—maybe I deserve this.

Joel’s touch is everywhere. Still. Like he etched a roadmap on my skin with his lips. He left me pieces of his love, his cowardice, his unfinished apologies, and I never gave them back.

I’m painted up like a prize, drowning in white lace and rosewater, a porcelain doll walking into a lie.

It wasn’t just a kiss.

Never just once.

Never just nothing.

Joel filled the spaces Dustin never even noticed were empty. I carry them both now, like specters. One I touched, the other I promised.

The room whirs around me, voices mixing like static. My breath tugs tighter with every inhale, my grip crushing the muted rose bouquet. The petals quiver like they know. The scent is off—sweet, but rotting, like something beautiful that overstayed its welcome. Like me, the roses show bleeding at their edges. Red blooming from the tips, mirroring the jewels at my throat. Pretty. Poisoned.

A petal slips. Bruised. Falling.

So am I.

Two wide doors stand before me—one final divide between past and future, truth and performance. Between who I want… and who I said yes to.

I feel everyone shifting behind me—chairs creaking, heels scraping against marble, murmurs threading through the air like whispers not meant for me. A couple of kids spiral in dizzy loops, laughter too sharp, like glass clinking just before it shatters. Their parents trail behind, apologizing, snapping at them to behave, to settle down, to not ruin the picture-perfect illusion we’re all choking in.

And then….

my father

He stands beside me as still as a statue, face unmoving with his hands clenched together. out of the corner of my eye, his lips are clenched together in a tight grimace. his jaw tight, lips not moving like if he opens it, he’ll say the wrong thing. maybe he knows. maybe he’s seen it. the way you seem as though you’d break apart at the slightest touch. through all soft satin, his hand brushes mine. not a comfort. a checkpoint. a reminder to move. to smile. to actually step forward into the lie i willingly stepped into.

my legs are wobbly, weak like a newborn baby giraffe taking their first steps. everything is more closed in- the pews, the mosaic windows, the preacher, Dustin….

The velvet-covered aisle felt like knives beneath my heels, slicing through the sole. It rejected me, resented my presence. Each step was wrapped in betrayal, and benediction, and pain disguised as peonies that decorated the aisle.

Bing with Joel in the hallway replayed in my mind like a 24-hour movie.

“Say it.”

Dustin begins to cry.

“That you want me.”

He mouths I love you.

“Tell me this isn’t just guilt.”

I’m finally at the altar.

The preacher begins, voice low and solemn, but it ricochets through my skull like a bell tolling for the dead.

“Dearly beloved…”

Beloved. The word tastes like ash. I glance at Dustin. His eyes are red, rimmed raw, but hopeful—like he's convinced this is redemption. Like I am. His hand wraps around mine, trembling slightly, but he squeezes like we’ve done this a hundred times and always chose each other.

Joel’s voice cracks across my memory, loud enough to drown out the ceremony.

“Say it.”

I almost flinch. I almost speak. But my lips stay shut, stitched tight by obligation and fear and that goddamn look from Janice. The preacher continues, words unraveling into vows. His mouth moves but all I hear is blood rushing in my ears.

Dustin smiles. Like he’s already won.

I want to pull my hand back. I want to run. I want Joel.

But want is not a vow. And the preacher asks me the question. The one that opens the gates, seals the deal, finalizes the facade.

“Do you take this man…”

My mouth opens—dry, trembling, traitorous. I see Dustin. I see the crowd. I see my father’s proud, stiff shoulders. Aunt Janice’s narrowed eyes. The expectant hush draped over the room like a noose.

And I hear Joel.

“Say it.”

So I do.

But not what they want. Not what the lace and peonies and pearls are here to bless. I turn to Dustin, hand still in his, and I say—

“I’m sorry.”

Gasps ripple. A collective shudder, as if I’ve slapped God Himself across the altar. Dustin doesn’t let go right away. He just stares. Like the words don’t compute, like if he doesn’t blink, they’ll disappear.

“I can’t,” I whisper.

My hand slips free. Silence breaks like a bone.

And i run

The aisle erupts into gasps as the air splits into a sob. My heels hit the church wood like gunshots. I hear Dustin call my name- not once but twice, filled with raw hope and half hurt. I don't turn. I can't. My chest feels like it's ripping apart, the exertion of pushing myself away from everyone, to get away from everyone makes it feel like it's ripping down it's seam.

The silk of my dress begins to tear as my legs swish back and forth pushing me forward. Bursting through the doors, the sun is criminally bright. Like a spotlight shining on me saying, “look at her she left her fiance at the altar!” Everything is still spinning as if I didn't just shatter someone's life. I never claimed to be a good person, I mean hell clearly not since I cheated on my fiance the night before.

My breaths are sharp, I didn't know exactly where I was going but I knew who I wanted.

Joel.

I'm away from Dustin’s breaking face and the hollow applause of expectations. Down the church steps. Across the parking lot. Every nerve ending is screaming at me to rest. But I can't.

I need him.

Joel isn't here. I told him after last night not to be there. I thought it was the right thing to do after so many mistakes. I was trying to be dutiful. Trying to bury the ache. To be good. To smile, kiss, and say the vows. But I just can't will away the pull.

I didn't have my phone. But I knew exactly where he would be.

The old shed behind his house. The one he snuck a few beers for me when I was 17. The one my dad half threatened to tear down when he found us laughing and drinking underneath the night stars.

I started running through front yard after front yard, not caring that i looked fucking insane wearing a torn dress and no veil- rip it off my head when i ran out the church

I tore through front yards, my torn dress catching on branches and fences, the hem dragging behind me like a trail of shattered promises. My breath came in ragged bursts, every step pounding the desperation deeper into my bones. The old shed was just ahead—the place where time slowed down, where the world made sense in its quiet, broken way. The one spot I’d always come back to when everything else fell apart. I pushed the creaking gate open and stumbled up to the door. It was cracked, just like I remembered, and I shoved it wider with shaking hands.

Joel sat inside, slouched against the workbench, a half-empty bottle in his lap, eyes shadowed and wary. His gaze snapped to me—surprise, confusion, and something raw flickering beneath.

“You came,” he said quietly.

I swallowed the lump rising in my throat. “I couldn’t stay.”

The words felt small, fragile, but they were the only ones I had. Joel didn’t move, just watched me like he was waiting for something—waiting for me to break or to fight. I sank down beside him, the wood rough beneath my knees, heart still racing but aching to find peace. The silence stretched between us, filled with all the things we hadn’t said.

Finally, Joel reached out, his hand finding mine—steady, warm.

“Don’t run,” he whispered.

And I didn’t.

The quiet between us was thick but not heavy—more like the pause before a storm breaks or a new day dawns. I let my fingers curl around his, feeling the steady warmth, a tether pulling me back from the edge.

“I’m scared,” I admitted, voice barely more than a breath. “Scared I’ll ruin everything. Scared I’m not enough.”

Joel’s eyes softened, his grip tightening just a little. “You’re more than enough, Delilah. You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be here.”

I looked up at him, really looked, seeing the man who had stayed when everything else had slipped away. The man who had seen my mess, my guilt, and hadn’t turned away. Slowly, I leaned in. My head found his shoulder, a silent apology and a promise wrapped into one small movement. Joel wrapped an arm around me, holding me close like we could keep the world out if we tried hard enough. We didn’t say much after that—words felt unnecessary. Just the two of us, bound together by the ache and hope of what could be.

For the first time in a long time, I felt like maybe I was finally home.

One year later

The small house we found together smells like coffee and old books, quiet music drifting from the living room. Sunlight filters through the curtains, painting golden streaks on the wooden floor.

Joel sits across from me at the kitchen table, his fingers wrapped around my hand just like that day in the shed. But now, there’s laughter in his eyes and peace in the way he looks at me.

“I never thought we’d make it here,” I say, tracing lazy circles on his skin.

He shrugs, smiling. “Neither did I. But here we are.”

The past still lingers, like shadows in the corners of a well-loved room. Dustin’s memory isn’t gone, and my own mistakes aren’t forgotten. But Joel and I—we’re a patchwork of those scars and triumphs, weaving something stronger than either of us could carry alone.

I squeeze his hand, feeling the steady beat beneath my palm.

“Together,” I say.

Joel nods, a quiet promise in his smile.

“Always.”

[foundtherightwords]

Fallen Empires - Chapter 10

Pairing: Geta x OFC

Summary: Having done the unthinkable to secure his throne, Emperor Geta rules with ruthlessness and paranoia. Now, after escaping an assassination attempt, a badly injured Geta is saved by Daphne, a young widow, who takes him back to her remote village without knowing his true identity. As Daphne nurses the former emperor back to health, attraction blooms between them, and Geta discovers a soft side he didn't know he possessed. But can their love survive his thirst for revenge and his desire to reclaim power?

Chapter warnings: a bit of violence

Chapter word count: 2.6k

Prologue + Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Geta watched as Daphne's dark figure walked down the street. He waited to see if she would look back, but she kept walking and pulling her donkey along, her feet steady, her back erect, until she vanished amongst the crowd.

He wished he had said something more profound, or perhaps more tender to her. He wished he had taken her hand. He wished he had—

No. It was for the best. After all, she was becoming a distraction. If he'd taken her hand, he wouldn't have had the strength to let go. Yet, as he made his way into the tavern, he found himself reaching for his cheek, remembering her touch there when she was shaving him. Realizing what he was doing, he frowned in annoyance with himself and rubbed a hand roughly across his skin, trying to wipe away the memory, to no avail.

It was odd, not having a beard. It made him feel naked, vulnerable. The last time he had been clean-shaven was when he was gazing at his brother's corpse. He supposed that had been part of the reason why he'd grown a beard, so he wouldn't be reminded of his brother every time he looked into a mirror.

Pushing those thoughts out of his head, he stepped into the tavern. It was cool and dim after the sun-drenched street outside. After his eyes had adjusted, he saw that it was set up pretty much like any Roman tavern, with a counter presided over by a woman in her middle years, her black hair shot through with gray, caught up in untidy loops around a square-jawed, formidable face. This must be the innkeeper, Eukleis, whom Daphne had mentioned. Behind the woman were shelves stacked high with amphorae of wine and a curtained doorway leading to a room in the back, no doubt where the kitchen was.

Although it was between the midday and the evening meals, the tavern was crowded. Customers thronged around the counter and filled simple wooden tables dotted around the small room, some even spilling out onto the street outside. The staff—a pretty, buxom girl who seemed more preoccupied with flirting with the men than working, and a thin, harried-looking man—ran back and forth like shuttles in a loom, carrying trays of drinks and food. The innkeeper barely glanced at Geta as he walked up to the counter and ordered wine and something to eat. What she did look at was the Roman coins he handed to her.

"Not from around here, are ya?" she asked.

"Are these coins not acceptable?" he said, instead of answering.

The woman immediately closed her fist—as big and strong as a man's—around the coins. "No, of course not, all coins are accepted here," she said unctuously. "Welcome to Adala."

Geta decided not to mention his travel plans just yet. He retreated to a table in a corner, where he could watch the comings and goings of the customers. The girl brought him an amphora of wine, a beaker, and some plates, taking her time putting things down on the table.

He drank the wine, which was sour but refreshing, and picked at his food—a bowl of chickpeas, some olives, bread, and grilled mutton on a bed of wilted lettuce. There was a law forbidding taverns from selling meat dishes, but almost no one in Rome abided by it, and it seemed to be similarly disregarded here. The serving girl circled back a few times, making eyes at him. If it had been a few months ago, he probably wouldn't have minded a tumble with her upstairs, but now, all he could think of was Daphne, her eyes blazing in the dark room, her body trembling under his... No. Daphne was gone. He must not think of her. He turned his attention back to the room, and the serving girl, seeing that he paid her no mind, went away pouting.

The mention of Macrinus's name from a nearby table made him prick up his ears. The table was occupied by two men, with the looks of small-time merchants about them. "At least the war is over," one of them was saying, his bald head shining with sweat despite the coolness inside the tavern. "And we can trade with Parthia again."

"Sure, sure." The other nodded over his wine. "But that compensation Macrinus is forced to pay to Artabanus, where'd you think it's coming from? Our own pockets, that's where!"

Baldy wiped a sleeve across his shiny dome. "That's true," he mused ruefully. "200 million sesterces is a lot. Not a great start as Emperor for old Macrinus."

"Can't be worse than the previous one," his friend said.

Geta gripped his cup of wine so tightly he almost shattered it. His mind was reeling. The war with Parthia was lost? Macrinus as Emperor? How could this be?

"Will he stay on the throne for long, d'you reckon?" Baldy was asking. "Or would we have another Year of the Five Emperors?"

Geta still remembered that time, though he had been barely five years old then. One was assassinated, one executed after purchasing the throne, two—including his own father—engaged in civil war, and one was allowed to be co-emperor, only to be killed once his usefulness ran out. His father had emerged the victor from all that chaos. Now here was his son, lost in chaos without a way out.

But he would not stay lost. He was a survivor, and he would survive again. He needed more information though. Picking up his amphora of wine, he went over to the two merchants' table.

"Excuse me," he said in his most polite tone, "I can't help but overhear your conversation. I've been away from these parts for a while and have some trouble catching up with current affairs. You two sound like you have a firm grasp on them. Do you mind if I join you?"

The two men eyed him for a brief moment, then Baldy's friend spoke up. "Not at all," he said, patting the chair next to them. "You're welcome, friend." He flashed a smile, showing off a gap in his mouth and a gold tooth next to it. It sent a jolt through Geta, as he remembered another gold tooth, in another mouth, splattered with blood. Steadying himself, he sat down and poured generously for both men.

"Did I hear you say that Macrinus is now Emperor?" he said, trying to keep his voice calm. "Marcus Opellius Macrinus, the praetorian prefect?"

"The former prefect," corrected Baldy. "The very one. He's been Emperor for a good three months now. Where have you been that you didn't even know that?" He downed his cup and smacked his lips. Geta suspected that the wine had more to do with their ready welcome than his attempt at friendliness, but he didn't care. He refilled Baldy's cup.

"The silver mines of Britannia," said Geta, coming up with the furthest, most remote place he could think of. "I was ill with a fever on the way back, so I haven't heard anything."

He was surprised at how steady his voice was, how his hand didn't even shake as he signaled for the serving girl to bring them more wine, even though his insides were seething, like Mount Vesuvius, with questions and suspicions.

"What happened to—" he began to ask and found his voice stuck in his throat. He couldn't even say his own name. How pathetic. He corrected himself, "What happened to the former—"

Before Geta could finish his question, Gold Tooth held up a hand in caution. "Shhhhh!" he hissed. The air whistled through the gap in his teeth. "It is punishable by death to utter his name now!" Just as he'd done with Caracalla. So they were both condemned emperors now, like Caligula, Nero, Domitian, and Commodus before them. Were his statues being destroyed at this very moment, were coins bearing his face being melted down, was his name being struck from every official record?

Leaning down, Gold Tooth said in a conspiratorial whisper, "They say Macrinus had him offed. I wouldn't be surprised."

A fire started in the pit of Geta's stomach, the low, simmering fire of anger. He took a deep breath, trying to keep that fire in check, and asked, "And what of the Dowager Empress?"

"She's dead too," Gold Tooth said carelessly, and Geta's heart sank. His mother. His one mainstay. The only hope he had left. Dead. Gone. "Some say she killed herself," Gold Tooth continued. "Some say Macrinus had her killed as well. He would certainly be a fool to let her live."

Despite Geta's effort, the fire grew and spread throughout his body, scorching him like little red-hot needles, making it difficult for him to speak. Still, he managed, "The army let Macrinus get away with it?"

The two men glanced at each other with a contemptuous look. Clearly, they thought Geta was some naïve youngster, clueless as to how politics worked.

"What does the army care, as long as it's still getting paid?" Baldy said. "In fact, I know a great many soldiers would thank Macrinus for putting an end to this senseless war with Parthia."

The fire reached Geta's face now. A red haze licked at the edge of his vision.

"It wasn't senseless," he said through clenched teeth. "It would've expanded the Empire and brought such glory and riches—"

"What riches?" Baldy sneered. "All I know is that it halted trade with Parthia for nearly a year and cost me thousands of drachmae."

"Yes, I have to agree with my friend here," said Gold Tooth. "Even back when—the—the other one was on the throne, he did nothing but put money into the army's pocket."

"And he was a tyrant and a murderer to boot," Baldy chimed in.  

"Good riddance," nodded Gold Tooth.

"Fools!" snarled Geta, his caution burning to ashes in the fire of his anger. "You don't know what you're saying! How can provincial bumpkins such as yourselves understand his vision? He would've turned Rome into the greatest empire—"

"Listen to this lad!" exclaimed Baldy with a snigger. "Why such a hard-on for our former Emperor, eh? A pretty face such as yourself, were you the Antinous to his Hadrian, boy?" He let out a snort-laugh, clearly pleased with his joke.

And Geta saw red.

With a roar, he flung his wine away and lunged at Baldy, sending cups and plates to the floor and the other customers to their feet in a panic.

"Shut up, you fat fuck!" he roared, grabbing the older man's saggy throat. "You'll pay for that!"

He reached for the dagger at his belt, but before his fingers could find the handle, Eukleis had jumped out from behind the counter. For a big woman, she could move with impressive speed, and she threw her considerable bulk between Geta and Baldy, holding them apart.

"None of that in my tavern!" she rumbled. "Either drink in peace, or take it outside!"

"He started it!" Baldy protested, pointing a greasy finger at Geta.

"He insulted me!" Geta spat, writhing and squirming to escape Eukleis's hold, but the strength of her grip was as impressive as her speed.

His hand found the dagger. Eukleis saw it and let go of Baldy to grab Geta's wrist with her other hand. "Oh no you don't, laddie," she said. She squeezed his wrist until Geta's fingers went numb and the dagger fell to the floor with a clang. Eukleis then hauled him across the tavern by the scruff of his neck, like a mother cat dragging her kitten, and tossed him through the door. "Out! And don't come back, or I bring the Vigiles down on ya!" she shouted.

Geta scrambled up from the dust, intending to barrel his way back in, only for the dagger to come flying out the doorway, almost catching him in the eye. He ducked, slipped on a pile of horse dung, and collided with a large earthenware vat at the corner of the street, placed there by the night soil men to collect urine for laundry and tanning. The vat wobbled and shattered, its odiferous content spilling across the ground, coming in a stinking wave over Geta's feet and even splashing the hem of his tunic. A disgusted groan rose from the crowd mingling outside the tavern, mixed with a few derisive laughs.

His face burning, now with shame rather than anger, Geta picked up the dagger and stumbled down the lane.

He walked for what seemed like a long time through the labyrinthine alleyways of Adala, not knowing where he was going. In truth, he didn't care. He was still so dazed after everything he'd learned that he hardly took notice of his surroundings, not even the stench of piss and shit coming from himself. The fire of rage and betrayal was back, burning up his insides, only this time, finally, he knew at whom to direct it.

Macrinus.

Geta berated himself for how blind he'd been. Macrinus had been behind it all from the start. He'd suggested the trip to Carrhae; no doubt he'd whispered some poison in Martialis's ear and convinced Martialis to act as the assassin.

And, as Geta thought further back, the wrathful fire inside him cooling momentarily in the chill of fear, he realized Macrinus had been there during Caracalla's demise as well, not in person but in spirit, hovering in the shadows and the spilled blood, like a lemure. Of course. Geta had always wondered where his feeble-minded, weak-willed brother had found the strength to act against him. It must have been Macrinus all along. Macrinus must have convinced Caracalla to murder Geta for him, seeing Geta as the greater threat, so it would leave Caracalla as the easier target to be taken out later. Only Geta had upset that plan by killing Caracalla first, so Macrinus had wormed his way into Geta's inner circle, waiting for the right moment to strike, and like a fool, Geta had let him...

Knowing who his enemy was did little to help him. Geta had thought he only had to get back to Edessa, to show his enemy that he was still alive, and they would all fall to their knees before him. But now, he was no longer so certain. Macrinus had been not one, but several steps ahead of him. Macrinus had declared himself Emperor, and if he had ended the war with Parthia, that meant he had the Senate and the army behind him.

A strange bitterness colored his rage. Geta had always known the Senate had no love for him, but the army? He had increased their pay, marched with them, fought with them, had done everything in his power to improve life for them, and the moment he fell, they had pledged their allegiance to another. Macrinus's treason enraged him, but the army's disloyalty hurt, more than he wished to admit.

A stitch in his side forced Geta to stop. He slammed his fist into a mud-brick wall, furious at his own helplessness. This was no time to be whining about how the army had deserted him! He needed a plan, something firm and clear to act on. But try as he might, wrack his brain as hard as he could, he came up with nothing. Only the fire of rage kept burning higher.

A scream from somewhere to his right jolted him out of his seething and brooding.

"Help! Somebody, help me!"

A woman's scream. There was panic in that voice, distorting it, but he recognized it anyway. Daphne's.

Without stopping to think, Geta ran.

Chapter 11

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