#so not a jester not nearly of a high enough class to be a jester

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

It's gonna be my BIRTHDAY soon and I really need to rustle up some CASH so if u feel like this blog has made your life MEASURABLY WORSE (or just weirder) over the past year, perchance consider tipping your town fool? THANK YOU (kofi / paypal)

#i am wiggling the bells on my stupid hat in a suggestive and inappropriate manner #I'm a public jester in the sense that i am constantly in the town square singing bawdy songs & hitting myself in the face w/ garden rakes #despite the fact that literally nobody requested my presence #so not a jester not nearly of a high enough class to be a jester #a rodeo clown perhaps #...quick someone make a alignment chart of tumblr funnymen the categories are #first axis ranges from Court Jester to Town Fool #second axis is just clowns. Mimes. Rodeo Clowns. Circus Towns. Villainous Clowns #I have no idea how you would organize that spectrum but surely it must exist. the Spectrum of Clowns

[writer-in-theory]

you're my king, baby — harringrove

18+ ONLY, warning for slight feminization (steve calls billy 'princess'), kinda sub!billy, some under-negotiated kink but both boys are happy with the situation

Billy is starting to think this King Steve he keeps hearing so much about is fake.

He was a story concocted by the entirety of Hawkins High to scare the new guy. Because how could the guy who never fights back and who spends his Friday nights hosting sleepovers for middle schoolers ever be the ruthless, badass King Steve? How could Harrington—the guy who was soft around every edge and who wore fucking polos—ever be the same person as King Steve, the guy who apparently once held the keg stand record and who used to punch out anyone who made a stray comment about him?

Carol and Tommy said King Steve disappeared when he started dating Wheeler, said that she'd 'sucked the fun right out of him' until there was nothing left but a bitch. But even that didn't sit right in Billy's stomach. Wheeler was a stubborn priss, for sure, but if King Steve was all he was cracked up to be there was no way he could've been broken in within a few months. Maybe Hawkins just needed a story to tell, maybe they needed someone to uplift because who the fuck else was going to rule the school? Maybe he was chosen because he had the biggest house, the best liquor, the best everything. Maybe there had never really been a king on the throne in the first place, but rather a town jester meant to entertain a depressed crowd of kids.

Well, if Hawkins High is so insistent that they used to have a ruler, then Billy is determined to meet him.

It starts in the hallway. Though the sea of people parts when Billy walks by, he makes sure to press close to Harrington, smacking the guy's shoulder with his own and giving him a smirk as if to say, 'what are you gonna do about it, King Steve?'

Harrington does nothing, simply scoffs and shuts his locker a little harsher than the average person. It's not nearly enough, not even a whisper of a crown.

So Billy does what he does best—he pushes, with the intent to break.

He gets rough in basketball, pressing close and saying every word that should've set off a guy like him, a guy like King fucking Steve. But all he does is tell him to play the game, completely shrugs Billy off like he never cared for his title in the first place. So Billy tries another tactic—corners him in the showers and tells him that he'll save a few bitches for him if he ever wants to get over Wheeler.

Billy tries everything. He teases him in the hallways, throws paper at the back of that perfect hair in the few classes they shared, winks and licks his lips and calls him Pretty Boy, a far cry from the royal moniker the rest of the school has bestowed upon the guy. And Harrington takes it all, like Billy's just a fly pestering him.

Everything cracks the night of the Snow Ball. It's some dance the middle school is putting on so the kids can pretend they're adults for a night, with high schoolers getting in their community service hours by watching the punch and making sure the kids don't start thinking they can dance like adults. Billy's just there to drop off Max, but then he saw smoke curling around from the back of the building and something in him told him this is Harrington.

So he tells Max not to be late, goes to park his car, then makes the walk to the back of the building where sure enough Harrington is leaning against the brick wall, head tilted back as he blew smoke from those fucking perfect lips. "Is that you, Harrington?" Billy asked, smirking at the way Harrington's eyebrows dipped and his jaw clenched as those doe eyes narrowed in on him.

"Yeah, don't cream your pants," Harrington huffed out, and for once Billy could see the spark of something that might resemble a king's sharp sword in those brown eyes. And he knows with cool certainty that this is the night that will settle this once and for all. "You just gonna stand there, Hargrove? I'm not in the mood to deal with you tonight."

"Seems you got some fire in you after all," Billy laughed, all sharp edges and bared teeth. He steps closer, willing Harrington to don the crown Billy had snatched when he moved, willing that spark to become a flame, burning brighter than a town like Hawkins deserved. "I've been waiting to meet this King Steve everyone keeps telling me about."

"Fuck off, Hargrove," Harrington hissed, but Billy knew the signs of a fight better than anyone else. The other guy had clenched fists, shoulders back and eyes never once leaving Billy's face. He nearly grinned when he saw the way Harrington's pristine white sneakers dug into the ground, planting his feet. The gun was loaded, the safety was off and both of their fingers were wrapped around the trigger.

"Why don't you make me?"

Then Harrington's hands were grabbing the front of Billy's blue collared shirt, pulling him and shoving him back into the brick wall Harrington had been leaning against moments before. His back hit with a sting that nearly left Billy breathless but he laughed through it all because there he was, King Steve Harrington in all his glory.

Those doe eyes had gone hard, flames licking up within them and threatening to burn through Billy. His hands still held onto Billy's shirt, keeping him pinned between the wall and Steve's body. Billy could see the crown resting on that perfect hair now, could see the sword glinting off his hip and the air of royalty in every slight movement. "Welcome back, King Steve," Billy grinned.

And then, and then Steve fucking kissed him.

It was bruising, this kiss between kings. Steve's lips might've looked soft but they hurt as they pressed to Billy's, taking and taking and taking until Billy's head swam. He wondered briefly how he was ever meant to kiss anyone else after this, if he could ever expect to feel this fire burning between their chests from anyone else.

"That's what you wanted, right?" Steve spat out when he broke the kiss, one hand reaching up to dig into the blond curls on the back of Billy's neck. "You act so tough but all you really are is a princess begging for her king's attention, huh?"

Billy should have decked him for it. No one could talk to him like that without igniting that uncontrollable anger that had nestled in his heart years ago. Except, instead of anger, Steve's words pulled the fire lower, made it burn low in his stomach and made him fight off a moan.

"Now you're quiet, Princess?" Steve laughed, hand tugging on Billy's hair just enough that it tilted his head back, baring his neck and forcing eye contact. That smirk made Billy's skin burn, made him gasp just loud enough that the smirk widened in victory. "You've been running that mouth since you came to town. So I'll ask again," another tug on the fistful of hair, another moan coming out a little more like a forced out grunt, "why are you here?"

For once, the answer was easy. The admission fell from Billy's lips before he could even consider another, words tense through his bared throat. "I want you, King Steve."

"You've got me, princess." Steve's mouth was on him in an instant, pressing kisses to the corner of his lips, to his jaw, sucking marks in the crook of his neck that Billy knew he'd have to hide in the morning with a well placed shirt. One hand stayed fisted in his hair, keeping Billy held in place, but the other roamed, running down his abdomen and pulling gasping noises from Billy because no one had touched him quite like this before. That hand was tugging at the bottom of his shirt now, yanking it out from where it was tucked into jeans. When Billy thought he might finally feel Steve's hand around him, that hand roamed back up and up and up until fingerpads slightly chilled from the winter air brushed over one nipple and pulling a choked out groan from Billy.

"Sensitive, Princess?" Steve grinned at him, eyes flashing with something dangerous as those fingers just kept rubbing, taking in every hitched breath Billy took as electricity jolted through his body.

"I'm not your fuckin' princess," Billy managed to get out, wondering if the burning on his face was a redness that would give away his secret, would give Steve a glimpse at the fire in his lower abdomen that was stoked every time that word was used.

"Oh, I think you are," Steve cooed instead, fingers curling to pinch hard enough to pull a yelp from Billy that quickly melted into shaky whimpers as Steve's fingers just kept pulling and pinching at the sensitive flesh. Steve's thigh had slotted itself between his legs now, just resting, reminding. "I think you put up a big tough guy attitude just hoping I'd remind you of where you belong."

"And where do I belong?" Billy asked, nearly breathless with the pleasure he'd hoped for but never quite expected to get. Steve grinned, leaning so close their lips barely brushed as he answered.

"On your knees for your king."

It was like those words sucked out every ounce of strength Billy's body had. His knees buckled as he gasped, Steve's hands the only thing that turned kept his knees from smacking harshly onto the pavement. Those hands that burned on Billy's skin, the one that was still held tightly in the curls Billy had never let anyone touch before and the one that brushed gentle fingers over his cheek, creating opposing touches that sent Billy's head spinning.

Billy knew what to do, knew what he wanted to do the second Steve had kissed him. Experienced hands reached for Steve's belt, shaking only a little from the adrenaline as he worked the button of those jeans. And when Billy took him in his mouth, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that Steve was right. This was where he belonged—on his knees staring up at King Steve with slightly teary eyes, lips curled around the biggest fucking cock he'd ever seen and pulling the most gorgeous noises from Steve's lips.

Steve even had to clap one hand over his own mouth, choking the words back in while Billy choked on him, the other hand still wrapped up firmly in curls not to push but simply to hold. "Fuck, Billy," he tried to whisper, knowing they were still outside for fucks sake. "You're perfect. It's like you were made for this. Were you made to be my princess, baby?"

The moan Billy let out around him was what did it, was what sent Steve flying over the edge of the best release he'd ever had. His hips stuttered, trying to pull away but then Billy's hands gripped him, pulled forward so Steve could fucking cum down his throat. Billy seemed to recover quicker than he did, standing and stepping forward enough to press Steve against the wall he'd once held the other boy against. Then Billy's lips were on his and, fuck, he could taste himself on those sinful fucking lips. It was better than any dream Steve might have had about a moment like this, made Steve realize with complete certainty that he was hooked on this boy.

And all Billy could do was grin, seeing that realization fall over still soft features and slightly hazy doe eyes. "You can be my king if you want, Pretty Boy."

Billy supposed some stories were true, after all.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #lemon #adultsonly #friends i have no idea where this came from #it simply demanded to exist #didnt proofread i have no idea if its even good lmao #harringrove ficlet

[creepyalienghost]

🎭the Jester🎭

He was the fool of the city. No really he was jester and played his part very well. Dyo Polonoi had spent his first 15 years trying to do well in his studies. He knew his history and writing by his mother. His father, who was a knight and taught him to always respect king, queen and the lords. He and his friends would often play jokes on each other and sing songs. One particular, a peasant named Simon would tell him about the weird practice his father, the was thing however dyo didn’t listen much and wasn’t allowed to interact with the lower class. Sometimes his mother would take him to places like the town show or the theater. He loved going to the theater most of all. The roles of the characters would intrigue him and fascinate him. At 6 years old he auditioned for his first play and got into theater. At 10, he was getting leads, and at 15 his friend told him he should be a court jester.

“Why not?” she had said. “The court jester would be the perfect fit for you. You’re smart, talented, funny and it’s a high role. Besides, it’s time to start thinking about how we’re going to live in the next few years.” She had paused a minute before speaking again. “Maybe if your lucky, you would stand by the king and queen one day.”

Dyo wasn’t foolish enough to believe he would ever be noticed by the king and queen but he did take some time to think over it. She was right about many things. Without his knight father he would be nothing but a poor peasant begging in the streets. And though his father wanted him to follow in his footsteps as a knight he didn’t want the same. He loved to perform and sing. Learned and play music and making people laugh. The audience was what makes him happy.

The very next day he started his journey. He learned more instruments to play as well wrote down lyrics. He started going to other jesters and watched them to do it better. He also closely watched politics and started to write down his jokes. After a couple of months he started to perform for the people. Telling jokes, singing and dancing. Once his father found out, he was against him being a jester at first. He wanted his only child to follow in his footsteps but came to accept it after a while but warned him it wasn’t an easy role. Dyo had no idea how right he would be.

For nearly six years he performed music, plays, tricks and told jokes to the locals. He even made his family laugh when his poor mother passed away, though his father didn’t like it then and didn’t all respect him. Most of his friends left him and others didn’t think of him as an official jester and tried to fight him. All the pain and hard work payed off though when Dyo got a visit from two of the king’s lords after his show. He stood up and bowed to them in respect. “My lords what can I help you with.”

“The king wishes to speak to you.” One of them had commanded.

“Yes, my lords.” he nodded and replied. “Let me just get my bag-“

“No time.” The other command and both grabbed his arms, nearly dragging him. They people around watched as the jester was taken away. Some had worried faced hoping for best for him. Others has smirks hoping to never see him again. Dyo even has his mind races and trying to think of where he fucked up so he could beg for mercy.

Once they were in the king and queen’s presence they force him on his knees even though there was no need. He immediately bowed to his king and queen. “My king, queen I apologize for my actions and words. I will pay for them with what you wish.” He lowered his head, hands shaking.

“At ease my Jester.” The king spoke, raising his hand in a stopping motion. Dyo looked up at them, wanting a response. “We heard of your performance and talent. And we wish to give you an opportunity to become a court jester. Our court jester.”

Dyo was beyond shock by the offer. So shocked he forgot how to speak for a good minute. “Y-yes!” He clears his throat. “Yes my king! I will honor this ofer and make you proud!”

The king and queen both smiled. “I sure hope so to.” The king spoke. “Wouldn’t want to fail like the last one did.” Dyo got a lump in his throat, hearing that but he only nodded. “For the time, you may stay in our sleeping quarters.” The king signaled to a servant to show him there so he could start preparations.

His room at his family’s home was nice one but this was 10 times as beautiful. It was grand and line in gold like lining. They had provided him a real bed, which he never had before. They also gave him his own desk to write is plays and such and a bookshelf filled with books of all range. Dyo was very much grateful for everything the king and queen has given him and really hope he would succeed in his offer of impressing them.

For the two weeks leading up to the party he mostly sat at his desk jotting down ideas of jokes or parts to a song. Writing, crossing out and writing a new idea. He did this for hours trying to create something the royal lords, queen and king would enjoy. This was the next level for him, he needed to make sure this was golden. He needed to make his king and queen proud as well as enjoy the upcoming night. Now only for his own life but because he was taught to respect them. They were the rulers of the land and their people. They take care of them. The only time he spent learning his favorite subjects and mapping out the castle. One night however, a few days before the party he was fetched by one of the kings, servants and brought to the throne room and only saw the king. “My king, you wish to speak to me?” Dyo asked as he stepped up a bit and bowed on his knees.

The king nodded. “I did.” He replied then sent the servant away. “I wanted to ask how you are adjusting to the castle, Dyo?”

“I am adjusting just fine, my king. Quite well in fact!” He replied to the king.

“That is wonderful to hear.” The king nodded and stood up and grabbed a good size box. His movements were gentle when doing so. Dyo stayed on his knees as the king approached him. “As you know the party is in a few days. You are required a uniform.” He stood directly in front of Dyo now. Dyo himself made sure to kneeling properly in position and payed close attention. “My servant will bring you that by tomorrow, however I wanted to gift you this by hand.” He lowered the box down to dyo, giving him permission to open it.

Dyo did so, opening the top of the box with both hands and found a beautiful white porcelain comedy mask inside. He’s eyes widen at it’s stunning beauty. “My king i-its beautiful!” He whispers is shock.

The king smiles. “It is. I agree.” He replied and took it out of the box. “I want you to wear it at all the gatherings and parties, that’s an order, dyo”

Dyo nodded. “Yes my king. I will do so.”

“Good.” The king smiled and placed the mask over Dyo’s face, gently tying the ribbon behind his head. He was careful not to get his hair caught in between the knot as he tied it well. Dyo was careful not to move for the king as he did so. “There we go.” The king spoke and handed Dyo a mirror to show what the king sees. The mask went well with the shape of his face and flow of his hair. He didn’t want to take his eyes away from the mask. He was never an ugly guy but the mask made him more… mysterious. All he could see was his green color eyes.

“If you do great at the party then you can keep it.” The king says from behind. Dyo can see his warm smile though the reflection.

Dyo nodded. “I won’t let you down, my king.”

He kept true to his word. When is was time for his main act he did something he hadn’t done yet. He told a story. His story but from the perspective of a fox. On the sad parts he sang songs to let the people listen to and perform little tricks to keep it interesting. The people in the court laughed at his jokes and clapped along the beat of his music and even got some to get up and dance. What was more important was he made the queen and king happy as well. Many times Dyo looked over and saw them joining the crowd clapping or laughing, even dancing in their thrones. Safe to say, this was a success.

He was right! The next day the king allowed him to be the official court jester. Dyo was excited. After all that hard work and dedication, he has made it. Even his father was proud of him. It seems that things were going smooth now and for a few years it was. Dyo would perform at parties and gatherings for the king and queen, he spent time spend by his kings side when discussing war on other kingdoms or on there travels on important events. He became the loyal jester to the king. The king’s favorite. However the good things certainly stop when the queen grew ill.

When dyo heard the news that day he went straight to the kings and queens side. In there room the king was beside his queen in bed. The poor queen looked to be suffering and Dyo wished she could take the sickness away from her and the pain away from his king. “My king…is there anything I can do to help? …where’s a doctor?” He ask approaching the kings side.

The king shook his head. “Hopefully there be here soon, my jester. However there’s nothing you can do.” He looks at his queen in tears.

Dyo never seen the king cry before. He was usually happy and relaxed, even around the peasants. This wasn’t fair for both of them, especially the queen. She was such a beautiful soul and kind to all, both humans and animals. She would often enter the forest to feed the dear and squirrels. She would teach children how to care for them and she would sing to the birds. A beautiful life could end real soon.

After some time the carriage arrived at the entrance to the castle and out stepped the doctor with his bag of tools. Dyo glances at the man from his window and recognized that face. That peasant, Simon had become a successful doctor. So successful that the king trusted and contacting him for the queen. Dyo hoped the doctor could help he watched the doctor met with one of the lords and followed them inside.

Later that night Dyo sat beside the fire place in the library. He was trying to distract his worried mind though art of fiction but he just couldn’t lose himself in the book like he usually can. Worried his queen, he sat the book down and, pitched the bridge of his nose, thinking. After a while there was the sounds of footsteps approaching, barely noticeable though the cracking of the fire. He looked up to see the doctor standing there.

“Good evening.” He gives a little bow tours the jester. “Pardon me but Arnt you Dyo Polonoi .“ he ask, curiously

“Yes, I am.” Dyo nodded. “Simon, right?”

The doctor nodded, sitting across from him. “Correct…. It’s good to see you…it’s just unfortunate that it’s under these circumstances.”

Dyo nodded in agreement. “Yea…I hope she’ll make it.

The doctor sat up and got a bit closer to the jester. “I understand you worry, I am worried for our queen as well…but I promise you Dyo, i will do my best to save her.”

“Thank you, Simon.” Dyo replied. “I just only hope it could be enough…I-it’s not that I don’t believe your work doctor, it’s just you never know with these things.”

“Do not worry, I understand.” The doctor said. “These practices are still vary new and all. B-but! I had cured many others before and I’m confident that I will cure our queen.”

“I Believe you, doctor” Dyo replied. “The king wouldn’t just get any doctor. He had research done on you and you were the best choice.” he added and stood up. “However If you excuse me. It’s getting quite late. I should be off to bed.” He said then headed to his room.

Over the course of the week, the citizens prayed for her Heath, Dyo hoped as he tried to keep the king happy and the doctor tried but in the end it was all for nothing. The poor queen passed though out the night. The king was crushed and the doctor considered himself a failure. Dyo was there for the king so he’ll have a shoulder to cry on and even tried to make the doctor feel better but nothing would work in this situation, making him feel like a failure. Keeping people happy was his job after all

The funeral was elegant. Her casket was a beautiful smooth wooden that only THR wealthy could afford. Her father flowers laid on top of the lid and around the casket. All of the citizens we’re there to honor her and cherish their memories of her life though their eyes. It was going well. The orchestra played her favorite song, the lords saluted her body and the king told a few of his favorite stories, though he couldn’t really finish one with out breaking down, which he he lead the king off to the side at once. Dyo watched as they lowered her casket in the ground, and a group of citizens began to burry her there as the rest of them stood in silence in respect. That’s when the mystery person arrived.

“Your majesty.” Said a voice from the back, making everyone look that way. The person was tall and was wrap in a sink like ribbon. It’s voice sounded safe and trustworthy. “I can help you.” It spoke as it approaches the king. “I can teach you to bring your queen back.”

“But how kind stranger?” The king replied, holding back. Tears. “She is gone.”

The stranger knelt down to the king in a bow. “Your highness, if you allow me to stay in your kingdom, I can teach you things you wouldn’t even believe. You can become a god and have your queen back.” He said. “All you have to do is trust me.”

The stranger sounded so sweet and kind that dyo wasn’t surprised when the king agreed. He even smiled and couldn’t wait to see his queen again. Though he didn’t believe in magic before now but the stranger was confident and made it hard not to believe in it. Dyo watched as the king and this kind stranger went off to talk and everyone else went home in high hopes. After all what could go wrong.

#scp fandom #scp foundation #alagadda scp #scp 049 #scp 035 #scp hanged king #scp ambassador of alagadda #scp ambassador #scp 2264

[crappy-homestuck-confessions]

Some Headcanons I have for trolls and various troll castes. Part 1 by Vrasik

On Altarnia and Beforus there are areas populated by trolls of specific blood colors, this leads to each caste having their own various subcultures, traditions, etc., Which may or may not have some overlap with blood caste adjacent to them, like Jades, Olives and supposedly limes as an outcome of some areas being populated by trolls of adjacent blood castes, if not exclusively one blood caste.

Additionally there are areas of trolls from all over the hemospectrum live together in harmony more or less. Depending on circumstances they may be quite removed from their associated blood caste's culture or still very close to it, like in real life.

There are other "nursery" planets like Altarnia and Beforus that exist for the purpose of raising trolls. Some of these are whom the adult trolls go to war with, as they fight back and try to claim independence. Not all have the same cultural norms, or even the same blood colors, or lusus species, but there ARE commonly overlaps in these areas.

There are additional colony planets with nearly exclusively an entire blood caste as its primary "race", these are the planets that tend to be in contact with other planets and be aware of planets, as they are usually populated by adult trolls that just want enough space as they tend to be VERY tall in comparison to even earth adults, not just their own young. It's not uncommon at all for jade colony planets to be converted into nursery planets due to the commonplace job of Jades, but planets with jades that aren't nursery planets exist.

Gender isn't important, while the race is generally a matriarchy, at the end of the day if a troll desires to transition they won't get much flack for it so long as they fill buckets and fulfill the occupational expectations of their blood caste, and if they are a frushia blood, still met the other qualifications. This overall leads to gender not gendering how it genders on earth, as it's common place to experiment with ones gender and gender expression so long as it doesn't interfere with duties.

Because teals are the class to deal with the justice system, it's commonplace for them to also have debates of morality and philosophies, however usually if the moral and philosophy would go against her , it is usually done so in a mocking tone and suggests that they look down on it, even if they actually don't. In secret, some will debate the same beliefs in favor of them rather than against them. But again, it's in secret away from prying eyes.

The culture around purple bloods and the culture that surrounds them resembles a fusion of the cultures of traveling circuses, jugglos, earth clowns (look it up, clown culture is serious shit, jesters are actually noblemen and clowns will copyright their face paint designs) and the cult of Dionysus, with an overall heavy emphasis on theater, partying, madness, and ones role in a narrative, those outsiders looking in may rather commonly grossly simplify it as "druggie clown hipster hippie cult".

Additionally note about purple bloods, they like earth clowns also copyright their face paint, within the culture it functions as like a second sign to them. The only troll that may use a copyrighted face paint design is a troll that shares the same sign, making each copyright face paint unique to a sign. To try and steal a copyrighted design is seen as blasphemy, especially if it's from a troll held in high regard amongst their peers or significant to troll history. Overall, it's very personal and a big deal with a secret ceremony and everything.

Usually in cases of cosplaying a troll, instead of wearing a different face paint design they wear a mask bearing the design instead. This is done as a sign of respect as you're not wearing the design as facepaint.

.

#homestuck confession #mod anu #I love all of these snd would love to see them put into practice in fanfictions #especially the clown ones!

[tiny-buzz]

Fun and excitement at the “Casino Regis.”

*** Before you: a great dark yawning. The carpet is the color of a tongue and the stretched entrance marked by lemon glowing lights, incisors, barn doors half shuttered to create mini spots, flooding guests for a moment as they step through each and past. Most attendees are dressed as you are: as formal as casual gets, but a few are spotted in theatrical black tie, even white tie, awkward but lovingly simulating class, with an event they’ll never forget. Some are with family, some alone, bachelor parties in sports jerseys, the punctuated thud of heels on carpet, like throwing a bar eraser at a couch, some are with spouses, some are with flames, some with lovers, secret or open, and you can tell by their gaits, the familiarity of passion, hands held or clasped, upper arms clenched, feeling muscle, curve, fabrics. Is this new to them? Is this a rehearsal? Is this an approximation? Is this an anticipation? They move in a spilling algebra, filling in the spaces as the open as they crowd through. All are giddy.

“The show will begin in 5, so let’s get our rumps in those seats, folks, we’re cleared for takeoff and we’re burning daylight,” like he’s only talking to you. As you move through, elbowing as needed, the theater opens upward, a deep well, a skylight. You find your seat, CC17 in Orchestra 2, great line of sight, close enough to smell the quail on the performer’s breaths. The lighting dims, and the curtains part.

To rising, horn-heavy music, we see the first ring of the three ring entertainment for the evening. Very Muscular Delta Airlines Pilot juggles plates. Very nice. The Secret Real President Of Earth appears via live-feed on a floating monitor to sing a funny little song.

Onto the second ring: the goofballs. A parade of extremely tall pirates emerge from backstage, laughing, pantomiming, tripping and falling for extremely long periods of time, due to their height and the velocity of falling objects. Amongst them are a few Spider-mens. Some are dressed as doctors, in the courageous battle against Goat and Bone Disease. But really, we’re just biding time.

The third ring: the favorites. Tyre goblyne blocks the stairs to the roar of the crowd. Jerry Garcia and Shaq play a scorching duet. A few of the stars of My Dinner With Motocross Madness (endless auto-generated low-polygon dirt landscape, Wally) make a brief appearance to wave to the crowd.

And then, the house lights. Is this it? Is this all? Where’s the closer? There was a rumor about a certain dog. Some people start to dust off their pants, lurch to their feet. But then . . . darkness. The entire auditorium. And then, after a beat, a single light, upward, as upward as you can crane your neck.

From the ceiling, higher than the rafters, like it has been falling forever, a perfect cumulus kinetic, drops a circle, lowering on nearly invisible high-tension cords, planar and parallel to the great silent rising wall of audience.

It is more than a circle.

“Who ever heard of a four-ring circus?” and he’s laughing, and you’re laughing too. There, in the flesh, leaning rakishly, one arm out against the side of the ring, is Regis himself, dressed equal parts statesman and jester. The fourth ring finishes its descent, balances perfectly in the center of the third ring, standing up, opening a new dimensionality.

Regis steps off the ring, and opens to the audience. “Folks, you look great. But, I hate to say it, we’ve got some uninvited guests tonight, don’t we?”

A shrill battle cry from the audience. Like a conference of horns. Partisans. The Summer of Jeep. A fleet of new and pre-owned vehicles portends a massacre. How did Regis know? Could he smell the deals?

Regis, unmoved, steps from the 4th ring. He reaches into his coat and pulls out a tiny sword. And he turns, directly, to you.

“Friends . . . enemies . . . before the real show can begin . . . a fight to the death with my extremely small sword . . . we have to say a goodbye.” Your ear bones vibrate, even though he is speaking directly. Regis winks at you with both eyes. And suddenly, a pull, like a stage hook, and you are tugged into the air. The crowd gasps at the street magic, but you know it to be real. You know it to be his power. But you want to stay, you gasp, and Regis, ever smiling, shakes his head no.

You are floating, you are flying. Over heads, over cheaper seats. You are conveyor belt sushi. You are a capsule in a pneumatic tube designed to make banking deposits easier by car. You are a crying child on a zipline above crowds of loosened adults in a vacation destination somewhere in the West. Death is the end of a river. Systems resurge after periods of dormancy. The cutting attachment is a 19.99 value, provided free for a limited time.

Use the color chart hourly. Professional adjusters often resort to manual application. Liability can differ. Check local and state laws. Lasting damage to the wheel well. Influencer roles begin with credibility. Share relevant articles. We won’t serve guests undercooked meats, and that’s a promise. She met the Managing Director at the bar after the event. The man, nude, cried. You’ve been eating bananas completely wrong (remember this one? Or two?). Your menu login is not the same as your account login. Most millionaires sleep on their backs. Your account cannot be disabled at this time. Lasting water damage is probably unavoidable. Photos, games, surfing, and more. Isn’t it time you had a wireless carrier that listened to you? All devices, all platforms, all access. We’re teaming up with the ten biggest influencers on the platform. Sorry, your voice just sounds really metallic. Tungsten’s many ores are plentiful in mainland China. A long flight with no wifi. We taped the conference. Those small charges add up. Who authorized the power cable purchase? She’s not here and I know she’s not sick. Try calling the hotel. For fun, you can play around with the viscosity settings. The stone quarry never received our fax. The whole team enjoyed a working weekend in the Poconos. And now, he’s returning to the role that made him famous. I need to catch up on some emails. Search the FAQ before starting a new thread. Please don’t tell her I told you. I can’t believe she pulled the trigger. I don’t have my return ticket yet. Ping me late next week? Please confirm that this will be a good use of time. Odd reason for an Italian wedding . . . Friends and family are welcome too. Please see Chevy’s feedback in red. I like that you took ownership, but this needs refinement. From the poor house . . . to the White House. He’s really respected by the team.

200 years ago, you wouldn’t recognize a carrot. This is what she looks like now. We each need to take ownership of bathroom cleanliness. It’s super convenient. We have a lot more time. And adults love it too. Everyone needs to understand data. Some warping is natural and desired. Benjamin Franklin said it best. Five years ago, no one was eating these fish. It’s a neighborhood you might not have considered. It’s grown from its simple industrial roots to a high-powered marketplace of ideas. That’s a beautiful Cheesecake Factory. Bluetooth connectivity is disabled while the car is in motion. Industrial, technology, healthcare, communications – all working for you. Table cloth tips for a bride on a budget. You’re doing it wrong, and we’ll show you why. There are plenty of ways to make your application stand out. You can always ask for more compensation. It’s the perfect television . . . but it’ll cost you. I’ve always been tempted to go back to academics. A fitting new name for the city’s historic core. Please join me in thanking Ben for his ten years of leadership. These changes are effective immediately. Always hated that guy. Team: our job has always been to create value through relevant targeting. Kind Regards, Susan The smart appliance market has stalled. What does this look like in a world where everything’s connected? The nature of compromise. Previously, she was a senior leader in the beverage vertical. Near the bottom in trustworthiness. Thank you for your many contributions! An industry-wide slowdown. Perfectly al dente – not a moment too late. The frescos depict fears of the industrial age. I am excited to share the new process below. Nice one! The dolphin is depicted in tilework across the estate. It’s taller than most buildings in the neighborhood, and the price reflects that. Ice delivered weekly. To better serve you we’ve updated our password requirements. The traditional office may become a thing of the past. Value waiting to be liberated. There continues to be a large opportunity in smart services. It’s an arcade cabinet collector’s dream find. It’s the “Holy Grail” of collectible sheet metals. Maritime law is silent on the ramifications. This pitfall sinks most small businesses. Over seven hundred replies from the community. They’re not just engaging the brand – they’re creating history. Nearly 100% of traffic was found to be fraudulent. The dashboard’s down. An incorrect configuration caused the CMS to delete itself. We’re a new type of food delivery. On March 10th, an incorrect configuration caused trillions of unintentional trades. You get everything else online. Why not pets? Mobile apps, mobile web, and desktop web. The chairman outlined a new policy in a rambling blog post. The yarn was a fire hazard. We had to shut it down. His thoughts seemed disconnected at times. The water table abatement lawsuit entered its tenth year with minimal fanfare. Twenty years of service. That decision opened the door to interstate trade. She suspects there are deep underlying problems. Can you follow up? Pants that fit your personality. On demand. The sitting area is closed indefinitely. Content consumers know what they want. Decades of gross negligence. A largely unchanged culture. 2,300 pounds of rebar. You might feel less enthusiastic about it when the weather gets cold. Better than expected word of mouth. Not just views – engagement. Construction was never completed. The vessel’s materials changed the flavor profile. We’re targeting women in their late twenties to their early thirties … when they change from thinkers to doers. We believe it will shift from industrial applications to the home. We’re all out of the purple mediums. If we’re right, we’ll be there first. It’s an old idea – and that’s why it works. Water. The most ancient fluid. We underestimated its weight by a factor of 100. Geo-targeted welcome messages were a tremendous marketing notion. What if consumers could save relevant messages to their devices?

***

Out the theater. Out the main floor. Out the structure. You are pulled backward through the main entrance, and you continue upward, on an invisible rail. You hear the ringing of the bells and the cheering from a craps table and beeping from cars in the taxi line. Upward, upward, upward. You are floating above the structure. You notice, obliquely, that it is a clear night, but there is no moon, but you can see with clarity you have not experienced in years. Regis Weekend has been extended through September 1st, a Friday. But, for now, for you, the doors of the Casino Regis close. 

#regis weekend #honor the man #goat and bone disease #casino regis

[omniscientwreck]

Some of the best things to come out of me and my roommate's high school AU conversation:

- Caleb is a quiet nerd who spends most of high school denying party invitations to study, he's taking AP classes and doing university prep constantly

- Beau skipped from grade 4 to 6, she's the student who's involved in so many things nobody has any idea when she sleeps

- Veth is the single meanest person in the school except for to Caleb and this nerd Yeza who she met because they were lab partners in AP chemistry

- Mollymauk has been at the school for forever, he's failed every single class not because he isn't smart but just because he can't be in the right place at the right time. When he has English he's hanging out in the band room but when he has art he's in History class.

- Essek Thelyss plays clarinet and oboe. He listens to Baroque music and is incredibly pretentious about the superiority of both JS and CPE Bach to any Romantic era composer. He also likes New Wave. He does have a secret playlist on Spotify full of Carly Rae Jepsen, Lady Gaga, and Brittney Spears.

- Fjord is on the football team and nobody knows why, least of all him. He tries out for the school musical as a joke in the 11th grade and finds out he's actually really good at singing and enjoys it.

- Caduceus Clay graduated a few years ago but he comes back to visit teachers and the Nein who he made friends with often. If an adult is ever needed the Nein call him and he's always there within 5 minutes

- Yasha had a rough time with puberty and went through a phase where she was very angry and reclusive and alienated herself from her previous friends. Now that she's found the Nein she's more outgoing and the sweetest person you'll ever meet. She walks absolutely everywhere and somehow always arrives before everyone else.

- Jester Lavorre is everyone's friend it doesn't matter who you are she probably knows your name and at least one thing about you. She's the stereotypical art student who seems to be friends with the art teacher but it's not at all inappropriate. She's a master of bathroom graffiti and even though everyone knows it's her she's never been caught.

- When they talk about the dangers of weed in health class the teacher is going through slang terms for it, one of which is Uk'otoa which becomes a meme with the class.

- Nobody has ever seen Mollymauk Tealeaf arrive to a party. When the energy shifts from 'nobody is drunk and everyone's a little awkward' to 'we've had a couple drinks and everyone is having a great time' you'll know he's there. You just turn around and he'll wave at you from another conversation he's having.

- When Caleb finally does start going to parties you can almost always find him arguing with Yussa over some matter of academia. It ends with them in the backyard doing dangerous magical stunts and getting hurt. Essek sometimes tries to referee but often gets sucked into the showboating.

- Whenever there's a bake sale Yasha and Jester collaborate on dozens of different desserts and they always sell out immediately.

- Beauregard plays auxillary percussion in band because playing only one instrument isn't enough for her brain.

- Mollymauk can technically drive and he does frequently, his car is always inches from a breakdown and he frequently gets distracted. Fjord is a great driver and owns a truck for no discernable reason. If Caleb ends up driving he usually dissociates into the middle distance, not dangerous just not as fun.

- Pumat Sol is the shops teacher that everybody loves. Kids will take shops specifically to hang out with him and make cool shit.

- Beauregard frequently gets in trouble for calling teachers fascists in class and Essek always agrees with her.

- If Beau and Essek are in an English class together they will often overtake the class with an argument. Essek reading into gay subtext, Beau reading into capitalism critique subtext, and Caleb trying to explain why they're both right. The Great Gatsby was a nightmare.

- Beau and Yasha spend ages flirting before finally making out at a party at which neither are drunk. They then go on to found the queer students club and are elected prom queens.

- One time Caleb expresses mild interest in learning a woodwind instruments and joining band. Essek adjusts his schedule to be five minutes late leaving class in case Caleb ever takes him up on his offer to teach him.

- Fjord and Veth are ruthlessly cruel to each other and anyone who doesn't know them would think they hated each other. However, there's a theatre kid named Marius Lepual who they both despise and frequently team up against.

- Molly and Essek run the school's rumor mill. They do a good job of telling Jester or Beth exactly the right tidbit of information to have things blown wildly out of proportion. By the end of any given week there are 5 different versions of the same rumor spreading and nobody knows what's true.

- Jester decides the group chat names.

- One time Yussa and Caleb end up making out at a party when Essek isn't there. He gets jealous and doesn't speak with either of them for two weeks.

- Jester's parents are the ones who will buy the alcohol as long as they promise to drink at home or call them if anything goes wrong.

- Astrid and Eadwulf have been Caleb's friends from middle school. They abruptly transfer to a different school across the city during grade 11 and Caleb is eventually adopted by Jester and Veth and inducted to the Nein after Jester dances with him at a school dance because he's sitting all by himself.

- Molly's catchphrase is 'i have a guy' and he can get anything. Your car ran out of gas at 3am and no stations are open? He'll be there in 15 minutes with a jerry can. You need a paper for 12th grade English on Catcher in the Rye? Give him a day.

- Mario Kart tournaments always devolve into Veth and one other member. Controllers have been thrown and friendships nearly ruined over blue shells.

- The year the Nein graduate the staff are so worried about their senior prank that they nearly cancel class. The prank doesn't happen and they're lulled into a false sense of security until the next fall when they retroactively pull off the most elaborate prank in the schools history.

- When the rest of the Nein are in the 11th grade Molly just fucks off for a year. None of them know where he went, they keep receiving oddly nondescript postcards telling them he's fine and having a blast. When he returns the next summer all he says when they ask where he was is "don't worry about it"

#critical role #the mighty nein #high school au #i have more but these are some of my favourites

[just-shipgirl-thoughts]

Planet A886CP (Part 1)

The planet A886CP-GWP,  (Alpha 886 CP GWP , meaning it is part of the generation Alpha planets, CP standing for cargo planet, as in a planet used for cargo facilities. 886 means its the 886th planet on the registered planet list, GWP stands for Glacial Water Planet),  Is a huge glacier water planet with sparse yet huge islands, 3 times bigger than earth and home to hundreds  of privately owned storage facilities, along with a few notable colonies.

The most famous facility being the Dead Sun Resource Depot, owned by Dead Sun Shipping INC, a Shipping/Ship building company based in Bristol, England. 

The other depots sit on abandoned islands, long since opened and emptied. Only a few actually have anything inside them. These complexes are much smaller than the Dead sun complex, holding pathetic amounts of cargo compared to the ones on Point Man O War. That being said, the dead sun complex holds enough cargo at any given time to run the entire planet for a full 30 years without support, so the other depots still carry insane amounts of supplies, just not nearly as much as the Dead Sun.

The Complex sits on Point Man o’ war, a massive island sitting high above the water because of the gigantic rock cliffs, around the size of the white cliffs of dover. The Island is roughly twice the size of Russia in length and width, with 4 different distinct zones. The only ways onto the island is during the rain season, when the ice around the glacier zone shores soften, making it much easier to scale the icy cliffs, or aboard a cargo ship when it makes port at the Dead sun depot, where you are blindfolded and dragged through the complex to the Alpha city.

Point Man O’ War is incredibly cold, as is the rest of the planet. Everything is always either coated head to toe in snow, or frozen over solid. It gets even worse when winter hits, and the weather ramps up to an extreme. Massive blizzards, twice the size of the great white hurricane, are fairly common during the winter years. The only thing that keeps the cold at bay is the fossil fuel mines in the beta zone, powering the massive heaters spread throughout the sprawling cities.

The 1st zone, the Dead sun Point, is the only one settled by humans. It has 3 colonies, which are: the Alpha zone, Beta zone, and the Glacier zone.

The seasons on the planet can be boiled down to “Cold”, “Colder”, “Fuck, It’s cold again” and “Why the hell is it raining now”. The Planet is pretty much just locked in an eternal winter. Most of the time everything is iced over or snowed under. However, when it hits the rainy season, it goes from Bone chilling to “Oof, it’s a little chilly out” coupled with some small showers in the first few days, to Hurricanes and massive swirling rainstorms. During the rain season, most of the ice outside the island melts, leaving the waters open for cargo trade. This is when all the cargo ships make landfall on the planet, full to the brim with precious resources. The ice is incredibly thick, almost thicker than most armor on Battleships, Making traditional icebreakers useless against it, so it's better to just wait till winter ends.

The Other islands on the planet are completely deserted apart from two. 

They sit almost on the complete opposite side of the planet, where most of the ships make landing due to the soft ice. These two islands are mostly populated by stranded sailors and pirates, smugglers and thieves, castaways and the like. These islands are where the infamous Harpy gang of pirates reside, a medium sized fleet of very fast and heavily armed skiffs made to skim across choppy water. 

The most infamous skiff would be the USS Jester, which only comes out during the Rain season. She can usually be spotted around the “Devil's Spine”, a semi shallow stretch of water that only she can sail due to her low profile. The spine is incredibly long, reaching around almost the entire planet, a huge ring of sharp rock outcroppings that jut out of the water at cruel angles, just begging for a ship to run aground on. The spine has many wrecks impaled upon its rocks, cargo freighters too big to maneuver through the sharp rocks that were impaled by the sharp cobalt. The jester hovers around the only way through the spine, a canal with near identical length and width to the Suez canal on earth. Although, this way is currently blocked by a Mammoth class cargo freighter, the USS Artemis, when it got blown into the rocks and got stuck horizontally. The Jester uses the rocks as cover, darting in and out behind them in order to get close to passing cargo freighters and blast their engines and rudders out, forcing them into a turn and leaving them stranded on the rocks. When the ship is incapacitated, She laser designates it for the other skiffs and scampers off into another part of the spine.

Her bounty is currently 90,000,000 IPC (InterPlanetary Credits). (1 credit is equivalent to 5 USD).

_______

I made a custom planet

Sorry if there was some contradictions between this post and my other post: “USS Jester”.

Constructive criticism is appreciated.

#humans are crazy #humans are space orcs #humans need to take a fucken chill pill #Dear god #Space #Galaxy #I made a custom planet #tagging is hard #humans are insane #humans are space oddities #humans are pirates #humans are aliens #humans are space australians #The brits are gonna have a new colonization streak #The sun never sets on the british empire 2: Electric Boogaloo

[yandere-daydreams]

Yandere royal x court magician? Maybe the royal finds them on the streets after everything, from their familiar to their closest friend, have turned on them and they have no where to run, they seem to have hit a snag of good luck, getting hired by the crown prince/princess but still haven’t quite learned their lesson yet

tw - financial abuse, themes of poverty, implied sexual harassment, dehumanization, entrapment, abuse of power.

I think I just have a weak spot for yanderes forcing their magical darlings into any kind of cage, even if it’s more mental than physical. I mean, how could they resist the temptation? You’re just so beautiful, so talented, so rare... It’s only natural that they’d want to safe-guard their new-found treasure.

It doesn’t help that their reasoning is so plausible, when they first invite you back to their palace. They’re not royalty, but they’re nobility, high-ranking enough to have their own estate and their own social affairs and a constant stream of new, rich guests to entertain. They must’ve thought you were endearing when they found you on that corner, turning snowflakes into falling stars and flames into creatures for a few spare coins from a thankless audience. You’ve explained that you’re an illusionist, that your power is less power and more of a trained skill, but they don’t seem deterred. They need an entertainer, not a soldier, and the upper-class is just so charmed by these kinds of things, you can easily prove your worth the first time they call you out to give a crowd of far-from sober courtiers something to gawk at. You’re a luxury, but one that’s worth the investment. You’re just glad you can give them a reason to keep you around.

You think they’re fond of your magic, too. Even when they’re guests begin to dwindle, when the weather grows cold and the city grows quiet and you have nothing better to do than make the statues in the garden sing for the servants’ children, they’ll call you to their chambers and ask you to perform. They never make specific requests, letting you chose whether or not you want to turn the wine in their over-full glass to water or bring a lion to life out of the embers of their hearth, but they always watch you so intently, it’s hard not to feel the slightest bit of pressure to choose something new, something exciting, something that might divert their attention but never seems to. Sometimes, if they’re feeling conversational, they might ask you where you learned your trade, what you think of their home, and you’ll try your best not to answer. If they’re feeling affectionate, they might ask you to step closer, to let them cup your hands in theirs while you work, and if they want to be playful, if the hour’s gotten too late or they’ve had too much to drink (which they often have), they might insist on showing you their magic as well, holding you in their lap and laughing as they show you a trick that’s not nearly as pretty as any of yours. Performing is embarrassing, but this is humiliating. It’s dehumanizing. It’s...

It’s the trade you decided to make when you came into their care, they’ll remind you, every time you voice your doubts or ask for a certain degree of professionalism during your late-night meetings. Jesters can be found anywhere, and a dozen decent musicians can be bought for a quarter of your charitable salary. They give you a home, hot meals, a life softer and kinder than any life you could ever live without them. If you want to go back to starving on the streets, they won’t stop you, but if you enjoy having a bed to sleep in and someone to keep that bed warm, you really shouldn’t say such hurtful things to the only person whose ever properly adored your talent.

They’re such a generous patron, after all. It’s the least you could do to swallow your pride and give them a good show.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere prompt #yandere theory #general

[chrysalispen]

#2 - Aberrant

Nero tol Scaeva/G’raha Tia. NSFW. 

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33640546/chapters/83652457 He is not sure what to think of the imperial capital, all told, other than he is embarrassed to admit how small it makes him feel. Many things make Nero Scaeva feel small, in all fairness: he is a rail-thin twelve-year-old boy, freshly arrived in the city from one of the poorest rural provinces in the Garlean Empire (and his family is poorer still). He is far more aware than most of his dull-witted peers of the world beyond his tiny village, a world that is vast and open and waiting for him to make his mark upon it. It does not take him long to decide - although he has enough of a survival instinct to keep it to himself - that he does not care much for his Emperor's city. It is uniform in its stark grey ugliness, and it sprawls for malms south of the high mountain pass that leads into the upper reaches of the Ilsabardian tundra, as if winter has unhinged its maw to vomit ceruleum, iron, and Solus zos Galvus' manifest destiny onto the rest of the continent.

All that being the case: his first sight of the Imperial Magitek Academy's administrative building is one Nero has dreamed about for the last two years. It is a fresh start and he is determined to make the most of it. A cursory glance is all Nero needs to know he is comfortably the youngest boy here; he can feel surprised stares from the older boys boring into his back as he lunges up the wide steps two at a time, a smugly confident smile spreading his lips and his favorite book clutched across his chest. Part of him worries at the fact that his robe is handmade rather than store-bought, patched in several places, and as ill-fitting as the threadbare jumper and breeches beneath them. The other students at his tiny village school had often derided him for wearing his sisters' hand-me-downs. But he will have to cross that bridge when he comes to it. He is far more likely to be teased for his age than his clothes, or so he hopes.

"Seven hells, there goes another one," he overhears the derisive scoff on his way into the foyer. "I didn't realize the Academy was starting an engineering initiative for nursery school."

Nero knows how to ignore inane remarks like that and simply does not react to it, but once he's passed out of sight of the two upperclassmen he ambles behind a hefty column to eavesdrop. Anyone who happens to glimpse him- if they notice him at all - will assume he is simply reviewing his upcoming class schedule.

"Another one?"

"You didn't hear? Word is Midas nan Garlond's son will be joining us this year. Smarter even than his old man, so they say. The most brilliant prodigy the Empire's ever seen."

Something in him rankles sharply at that. Just as with the state of his clothing, Nero is all too conscious that his village is poor and small and so is the rest of his province, relegated to some of the most inhospitable lands in the Empire save for one thin stretch of arable land: little grows there other than root vegetables and pigs. He would prefer not to be reminded of his fundamental disadvantage, pitted against some privileged highborn boy he has never chanced to meet. 

Most brilliant? Oh, we'll see about that, Garlond. We'll just see about that.

From this moment on, he vows, he refuses to be anything but first. ==

Nero tol Scaeva, former tribunus laticlavius of the XIVth Imperial Legion, now just another nameless imperial deserter (albeit one with a handsome price on his head), is honest enough to acknowledge that he has outfoxed himself. There is one major thorn in his side frequenting the Saint Coinach encampment. This one Nero cannot even blame on Garlond, for he has brought this particular circumstance (and conundrum) down upon his own head thinking to use her as readily as her allies. As amusing as it has been to watch Cid's cheeks turn crimson with suppressed anger every time Nero takes an opportunity to insinuate himself with the Eorzeans, the engineer finds he is often distracted from any given purpose, or scheme, or tomestone study, by the errant toss of honeyed hair and the herbal spiciness of a lavender sachet. One of these days he's going to dig that blasted bag of flower petals out of her bedroll and toss it into the godsdamned lake, to hell with the consequences. "You too, eh?"

He manages, somehow, not to jump. The interloper unfolds his arms and straightens his posture from its leaning position against a nearby wall, long since crumbled beyond recognition. A rueful smile plays upon the Miqo'te's full lips as his tail swishes idly from side to side."

Don't look so surprised, Tribunus," he says. "Nearly every time I see you, you're watching her. Someone was bound to notice eventually."

Like himself, G'raha Tia is an outlier- an outcast and misfit with a knowledge of Allagan history and folklore nearly as comprehensive and encyclopedic as Nero's own. And just as with all those long years ago upon his arrival at the Academy, his competitive nature is instantly irked by a sense that this upstart boy is stepping on his toes. Certain aspects of the man's personality -- his friendliness and his quick japes, his willingness to accept most people at face value -- remind him so much of Garlond that the sight of him sticks in Nero's craw almost as badly as though he were Cid given feline form. And yet every time they share a space, G'raha invariably treats him with the easy familiarity of an old friend. He is often the only one who does so. It is confusing, and Nero does not like to be on the back foot in his dealings with anyone. 

"Not that I begrudge you for it, of course," G'raha continues. "She's absolutely fascinating."

He makes a sound that he hopes is a disinterested grunt but the younger man doesn't appear to have noticed his own dismissal. His eyes, one crimson and one a deep teal blue, seem to sparkle in the feeble light of the afternoon. Nero groans inwardly.

"I wager she presented you and yours quite the puzzle." That smile has never once left his lips. Moreover, it has taken on a sly cast, and unaccountably Nero feels his hackles rise at the sight of it. That this boy would presume to know anything about him-- "A Garlean who can use magic? One they call the Warrior of Light, no less? Your emperor would no doubt take great interest in such an aberration."

Remarks he had made to himself not so very long ago, in truth, but hearing them from another's lips pings the edges of Nero's temper like the sting of tiny pebbles. He grits his teeth.

This is your own fault for teasing her the way you did, a part of him chides. Now you can't let it lie.

"I do not recall asking for your observations, paltry and superficial as they are." He draws his dignity about him like a cloak. "And I would prefer not to trifle with such distractions. There is still much work for us to complete ere Garlond's useful little friend finds her way to the top of the tower."

"Come now, Master Scaeva, it's all right to admit it, you know." 

"Admit what?" His grin, brash and insolent, seems to split his face in twain with his mirth. 

"You like the Warrior of Light."

Nero scoffs, "Lies and vicious slander."

"Is it?"

"I detest her."

The man only laughs, the sound of it light and melodious and infuriating. "No need to dissemble, Nero. I assure you none here would think less of you for your infatuation-"

"Seven hells, I am not infatuated with the woman!" 

"-as from her deeds I personally find her to be a lady more than worthy of your high regard."

Thoroughly annoyed now, Nero retorts: "So then, what brings you to speak to me thus? Have you come to have a jest at my expense?" 

Once again he is on the defensive. His usual humor seems to have deserted him now that there is no Garlond present to visibly and loudly scorn, and it is in that moment Nero realizes just how emotionally taxing it has been to conceal his bitterness. It has festered for years, as he watched lesser men laud the 'young prodigy of magitek' all the more for his desertion and sometimes even misattributing Nero's own accomplishments and inventions to the damnable man. He hadn't really meant to let all those years of suppressed resentment pour out of him at the Praetorium in front of anyone present to listen, but it seems that once let loose there was no stopping his anger. Now it seems to be trying to fly free at every turn despite all attempts to maintain the jester's mask, his pride be damned.

What surprises him, when his eyes meet G'raha's, is the raw sympathy he sees there rather than censure. 

"No," the Miqo'te says. "But I did come to ask if you'd like to join me tonight."

"Why?"

The question is out before he can stifle his surprise. G'raha shrugs. 

"Why not? For one, I'm in the mood for company - your company, specifically. And you seem like you could use the 'distraction,' so-called, for all you insist otherwise."

==

He isn't sure why he agreed to it, even now. Extroverted as he seems, Nero tol Scaeva is both an iconoclast and quite content with his relative solitude.

And yet here he is, folded on his knees across the rough homespun bedroll with his fists curling into the linens and his deep groans vibrating against the lumpen pillow, the corner of which sits clenched between his teeth, and the only sound in the closeness of the tent beyond their heavy breathing is the wet slap of bared flesh. For all his diminutive stature, G'raha Tia is not a small man and even with his preparations the stretch of his girth burns, teetering just on the pleasurable side of uncomfortable with each rolling oil-slicked thrust. It makes Nero think of other nights, cold nights buried beneath blankets with a hot mouth on him and biting down on his knuckles to stifle the noise when-

Fingers dig furrows into one of his lean flanks and break the skin with their scratching. The sharp sting of it is a pleasant counterpoint to this hot and tightening ache, especially when G'raha tilts Nero's hips and adjusts his angle and the wide, flared head inside him grinds against his prostate. 

Nero spits another muffled curse into the pillow.

They are not taking many pains to be discreet, as he is well aware. He is just as aware that Rammbroes or the eikon-slayer could walk in at any time and see him like this: arse up and face pressed into rough hemp and saliva soaking into G'raha Tia's pillow, his face deeply flushed and his hair a sweat-dampened, tousled disaster. It's a distinct possibility and one he doesn't currently give a single damn about whatsoever. He is so hard it hurts and each heartbeat pounding through his temples echoes itself in the heavy, ponderous throbbing between his legs. 

He unclenches one fist from the bedding to squirm beneath his weight, then swipes his fingers hastily over his own leaking head and along his shaft before taking himself in hand. The angle is somewhat awkward and if he stays that way too long his arm will go numb, but Nero is undeterred in the heat of the moment. He rocks his hips back to meet the Miqo'te's powerful and increasingly rapid thrusts while stroking himself as best he can manage. 

It is over in what is probably moments but feels like years of drowning in steadily increasing pressure, the tightness in his balls and heat spearing down his spine and into his cock in the brace of seconds before he spills. Seed spurts over his clenched fingers and drips into the bedroll, and in a matter of moments he hears G'raha moan and his pace stutters and slows before stilling entirely. Neither speaks for long moments as they try to catch their breath. Nero relaxes his grip, then frees his arm just before the pins and needles sensation begins to set into his fingers.

"Let me get you something," G'raha mutters hoarsely. "You're-"

He doesn't need to finish the sentence but it still hangs between them as he sits back on his haunches to rummage in a nearby knapsack. Nero rolls onto his back with his ears still ringing and his heart beating as furiously as if it were the aftermath of a skirmish, and accepts the scrap offered him with a brief nod. Right now they're both too nose-blind to take note of the combined scent of sweat and musk. In a few minutes, he will collect his clothing and go find a likely place for a late-night wash before retiring to his own bedroll as if this had never transpired.

But that will come later. For the moment they lie next to each other, hip to shoulder to knee (as much as their notable height difference will allow), staring at the peaked corners of the tent. Nero is the first to break the silence.

"I don't think my head has been this empty in years," he says, and G'raha chuckles. 

"Your thoughts are your own worst enemy. I understand the feeling." His tail, draped over Nero's knee, beats a soft and lazy tattoo against his calf. "I suspect Aurelia would too if she knew."

"I doubt very much the eikon-slayer would care enough to commiserate."

"Why do you say that?"

Nero drawls, "Attempting to capture her on multiple occasions while using her as a test subject for Project Ultima will not have endeared me to her good graces, I suspect."

"You should give her a chance."

"History would indicate that course of action to be unwise. She despises me."

"Ah, so it's not that you despise her, you think she despises you." G'raha props himself up on one elbow. His brows lift and drop, and that wry half-smile returns. "That shouldn't matter. I took a chance on you tonight," he says, "and I was clearly right to do it."

"So you say," Nero's retort is dismissive on its face, but G'raha seems wholly unaffected by his scorn. 

"You're very unusual. A strange man indeed," he says. "Not at all what I would have expected of a Garlean. Cid isn't either, but you're a cut beyond even him. And as such, I wager you're well familiar with what it means to be alone- but so am I. So is she." Sadness lurks in the depths of his eyes, narrows the corners of his smile. "Everyone needs friends, Nero. Even you. And Aurelia... well, let's just say I don't believe the two of you are so very different." 

He almost objects but something stays his tongue. Entertaining tumble or not, easygoing demeanor or not, G'raha does not know him nor his history. He does not know what it is to live off the Empire's dregs, to scrape one's way to the top while leaving parts of oneself behind. Carving away the bits that don't quite fit into the gears, and even the rough shape made acceptable enough to fit can still never run as smoothly as the rest of the machine. 

Nero tol Scaeva has done perfectly well these last thirty-four years by himself. His scraping and cutting and striving earned him a career and relative renown. He doesn't need to complicate matters with friends. He doesn't need friends at all, not to get what he wants.

And watching as G'raha Tia's features relax and he drifts off into a contented doze, Nero almost wishes that were untrue.

#ffxivwrite2021 #2: aberrant #g'raha tia/nero tol scaeva #i said i'd write it and i did LMAO #chrysalispen writes #please mind the warning above this one is spicy #firm lemony business

[thevalleyisjolly]

These are just early thoughts on the episode and I’m fully prepared for Matt to prove me wrong, but I don’t think Lucien necessarily intended for Caleb and Beau to receive the eyes.  I don’t think he even really wanted to let them look at the book in the first place, he’s just a very convincing liar.  The main reason he caved is because of his desperate need to maintain an image of control (both for himself and for his travelling companions).  He knows the Mighty Nein are powerful, has seen them cast powerful magic, and what have the Mighty Nein been doing all along?  Challenging him, asking uncomfortable questions, doubting his control of the situation, and all in front of the Tomb Takers.  And yes, he could play up the mysterious “I don’t trust you” line to avoid giving them answers, but it’s a difficult play to maintain long-term because what does a supposedly omniscient leader have to worry about?  If he were really all-knowing, really in control, there should be no problem with letting the Mighty Nein see the book.  After all, if he really is the one and only chosen Nonagon, the Somnovum surely aren’t going to let this lot threaten that, are they?  Even though they’re clearly powerful and have already had some communication with the city and figured out about the threshold crests-

No, he’s in control, he’s in control of the situation, and so of course the Mighty Nein can glance through the book, if they can get anything out of it, that is.  The way he hands it over, certain that they won’t be able to understand it.  Undercommon isn’t exactly a common language outside the Dynasty.  How long did it take Lucien to decipher the book himself?  I can’t imagine Undercommon is often heard around Shady Creek Run, or easily learned outside of the Dynasty.  How nervous do you think it made him when Caleb and Beau started flipping through the pages, skimming through them as quickly and easily as if they were in Common?  And then they reach the page of scratches and patterns, and they just stare.  Look at it in such a familiar way, and suddenly there’s doubt.  Perhaps- no, but it can’t be.  He’s the Somnovum’s chosen one, not them.  Still.  Better not let them get any further.  Just in case.

Because he doesn’t know, not really.  Hence his need to appear in control, because he’s really, really not.  He wholeheartedly believes that he’s special to the Somnovum because he needs to believe it or what else is he?  But that’s the danger of being chosen - someone or something has to do the choosing, and you can never be sure that you’re their only choice. 

(Uk’otoa (Uk’otoaaaaa) chose multiple servants and turned them on each other when they failed.  Trent casts his net wide, chooses multiple protégés and pits them against each other to isolate them and weed each other out.  More benevolently, but still in the line of choosing, Caduceus’ whole family trickled out of the Grove, following the Wildmother’s destiny, and each of them failing until it comes to Caduceus’ turn.)

Forces with the power and the inclination to choose champions also like to have contingencies.  And whether or not Lucien recognizes that (or is prepared to recognize that), he has no desire to share power with or cede control to anyone else.  Why willingly allow Beau and Caleb to potentially walk down the same path he did, to potentially become Nonagons as well? 

I don’t think it was exactly willing.  Beneath the swagger and the general smug prick-ness, Lucien is a deeply insecure person.  Letting Beau and Caleb read the book was a desperate attempt to maintain his image of control, to convince himself that he's still in control, and I think at least one factor in that decision was that the Magnificent Mansion incident unsettled him.  Deeper than he really let on.

Bearing in mind that NPCs don’t have to function the same way as PCs, Dispel Magic is a 3rd level spell, and the highest spell slot a full bloodhunter can have is 4th level at Levels 19 and 20.  Which no matter how you homebrew it, is not anywhere near 7th level spell-casting, and I doubt Lucien is really the equivalent of a Level 19 or 20 character (even a warlock multiclass wouldn’t get him there).  Magnificent Mansion is a 7th level spell.  For a Dispel Magic to cancel it, it’s either a DC 17 check, or Dispel Magic must be cast at a 7th level spell slot or higher.  For Lucien to Dispel the Mansion immediately, he either rolled very lucky or he had to cast it at a higher level. 

(Let’s say that he did make a roll.  We don’t know Lucien’s stats, but let’s assume that he doesn’t have legendary creature stats in the 20+ range.  As a bloodhunter, his highest stat should be Strength or Dexterity, and it’s probably a safe bet to assume that that would be at least a 20.  Either Intelligence or Charisma (but most likely intelligence) is his next highest stat, but I assume Matt is not going to give even a BBEG two 20s in a stat block.  Assuming a decent base Intelligence (or whatever ability he’s using for spell-casting), this gives us a range from about 13-19, which goes from +1 to +4 modifier.   To hit a DC 17, he has to roll at least a 13 (assuming a +4 modifier) if not higher.  Certainly not impossible by any means...but a bit chance-y for someone as controlling as Lucien)

There are two possibilities.  Evidently, the Somnovum have given him extra powers.  The first possibility is that these powers include potentially 7th level or higher magic.  Again, that’s not really his own power, but a gift from the Somnovum.  How confident is he in it really?  It’s good enough to control the Tomb Takers, who are already under his thumb, but the Mighty Nein?  In one day, he’s had to use it against them thrice - with the two Polymorphs (4th level) on Yasha and Jester, and then with the Mansion (7th level).  And this last episode, how many times did he attempt to Scry on them?  Scrying is a 5th level spell, and he had to cast it multiple times (although Matt never asked them to make Wisdom saving throws so who knows what it really is?).  Even a lich only has 3 5th level slots before they have to up-cast.  The Mighty Nein are really making him burn through his high level magic/abilities on a regular basis, and it’s very likely not his regular magic (which is limited in the bloodhunter class) but the extra powers from the Somnovum.  (What is he without the Somnovum’s gifts?  I don’t think he likes to think about that, or weigh those odds).  Then there’s the second possibility (less likely because I don’t think we saw Matt roll), which is that he just got lucky on the DC 17, in which case, he has to be even more nervous, because that was more luck and sheer chance than anything.

The morning after he Dispels the Mansion, he, presenting all smiles and charm despite Jester’s uncanny tarot reading the night before, decides to show them the book.

(Insert whole other meta here about how Jester’s reading also deeply unnerved Lucien and probably was another contributing factor in his decision to share the book)

He needs to be in control.  Desperately needs to.  He doesn’t have anything to fear from these people.  He doesn’t!  Look at what he can do to them!  He has nothing to fear, the Somnovum have chosen him, he has their power, and nothing, nothing is going to happen if he lets (he is the one who lets) these people read the book.  Let them try!  See how far they get.  What’s the worse that could happen?  They find a footnote that he missed or something, but that’s nothing compared to what he knows, what he’s seen.  It’s as much a show of power for the Mighty Nein and the Tomb Takers as it is for himself.  Deep down, he’s not nearly as confident in himself and his relationship with the Somnovum as he acts, and his way of hiding that is to play up the devil-may-care swagger, prove to everyone and to himself that he’s really in control.  He has nothing, nothing to be worried about.  The Mighty Nein are convenient travel companions, capable enough, but he doesn’t need them and the Somnovum certainly don’t need them, so what’s the harm?  He is fully in control of the situation.

The mark of a good lie - when the liar can convince themselves that it’s true.

TL;DR - Lucien did deliberately let Caleb and Beau read the book, not because he really needs anything from them, but because he needs to show everyone (especially himself) that he’s in control at all times, he’s the chosen Nonagon of the Somnovum, and he can handle any challenge the Mighty Nein throw at him.

#critical role #critical role spoilers #critical role meta #lucien #long post #i'm not sure if i'm articulating all my thoughts clearly but here are some preliminary thoughts #lucien actually has a middle name and it's called 'insecurity' #part of me would love to see lucien find out about caleb and beau's eyes because i think he'd very silently lose his shit #another part of me thinks that they need to leave and get to essek as soon as possible because lucien may lose his shit in a very bad way #and fighting a party is very different from fighting a creature #remember the ripley fight on glintshore island? vox machina very nearly lost that one and percy died #either they need to fight him in the tower where they have the home ground advantage or they need to get to essek #because fighting lucien in the place where the somnovum came from is potentially much more dangerous

[writing-the-end]

LoL Chapter 42- Crossfire

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

When the Forest has control of lightning magic, someone is bound to be struck.

Warning: mentions of abuse, invasive thoughts

_________________________

The deeper they got into the forest, the worse the illusions got. No one was safe, no matter how many talismans, potions, and mental exercises they run through. Sometimes the hermits have no choice but to stop and console a team member who’s being affected by the Forest. Warm hugs bring Cleo back from the long locked away memory of her death, how she became who she is now. It wasn’t until three potions and the welcoming press of his zweihander resting in his hand that Wels is able to ignore the illusions. And Grian nearly flies away as the Forest reminds him of how many times he’s been thrown out of every orphanage and guild he entered. If it weren’t for the hermits, he’d be alone, lost. And at the will of the Hangman’s Playground. 

Scar feels the sting of torn skin, right along where he got his namesake, before the rest of the illusion appears. Such a peaceful, normal forest. He tries to focus on the trees, the creek he passes by, with gentle animals of all kinds drinking from the fresh spring water. Of the perfect placement of rocks, ferns, even the way the dirt curls over roots. 

“No merchant’s son will be seen playing in dirt!” The hot sting of blood, of torn skin marred by rich jewels and gilded rings. His father’s voice growls through the extravagant manor. 

“And he tracked mud onto the entrance carpet! There’s no possible way we can get that stain out!”

“I wasn’t playing in dirt.” Scar whispers, daring to defy his parents. To speak out without being told to speak. His voice is young, pitching up and down across his words, tinged with anger and contempt. “I was practicing my magic. I was creating something ahmazin’.”

“I forbid you from ever using your magic! It’s a disgrace that my son’s magic is so...is so messy!” Scar’s feet were no longer on the ground, though he can faintly feel the soft compress of dirt in the forest, the illusion tells him otherwise. His father’s opulent outfit, matched with the bloody rings he wears on each and every finger, his hand balled in a fist in Scar’s collar. “You will let your worthless magic die, and do exactly as you are told.”

But Scar’s own thoughts rebuke the forest, without need of a single potion or talisman. Because he remembers what happened next. He spent his youth practicing in secret, and as soon as he knew he could make it on his own, he set off. From that moment forward, he defied his father by nurturing his magic, rather than letting it die. From that moment forward, he never did what he was told. 

And that led him to the hermits, his best friends, his family. He remembers the fateful day he met BDubs, pure happenstance and Scar’s own proclivity for disaster. He was in a tree, trying to better understand how trees form and grow to mimic in his magic- he wanted to make it as perfect as nature itself- when he fell backwards and ended up crushing the hermit just walking through the woods. 

If it wasn’t for his act of defiance that night, he wouldn’t have found his true family. If it wasn’t for that night, he wouldn’t have become the S-Class mage he is now. He wouldn’t have won in the Chimaera’s Championship. The night the Forest of Memories chose was one of the worst nights of his life, but it was also the beginning of the best thing ever to happen to him. The beginning of his new life, with his true family. 

The illusion shatters, like glass, fractals dissolving and lost in the wind. Scar smiles, looking around at his friends. Those who welcomed his magic, let him nurture it. “Have I told you how much I love you guys?” 

“Look, I think we’re getting close to whatever is hidden in here.” Doc points out, his hand on his friend’s shoulder. In the distance, red light bounces and is absorbed by the warm brown bark of the trees. Another leyline, just as large and pulsing with stolen lifeforce. They’re so close, they’ve come so far. Certainly there’s no way they can lose themselves now, they’ve been fighting it off successfully for who knows how long. 

But not everyone is successful in fighting off memories. At the back of the group, Mumbo wipes away the tears in his eyes. He doesn’t warn the others about the memories playing around him. He doesn’t want to disappoint the hermits. 

Not like he disappointed his dad. The Forest of Memories, the Hangman’s Playground, has dug up his worst fears, and replays every time he’s failed his father. Every time he returned from one failed guild exam after another. The sidelong glances and long tirades of how much of a disappointment Mumbo was.  Every single one, from his first exam when he turned thirteen, to the last exam before he was disowned.

It was that one that hurt the most. And it was that one that the Forest replays not just in Mumbo’s mind, but all around him. The trees turn to pillars, and Mumbo is standing on the expansive steps of his family’s manor. His father’s stern face looks down at him, clean shaven and hair slicked back harshly. The tight pull of the starched white collar of Mumbo’s shirt is even harsher, but nothing compares to the dense silence between father and son. 

He was a disgrace to the family. Dozens of guilds, laughing at the family line for creating such a worthless progeny. Dozens of guilds, turning him away after he failed their gauntlets, exams, and prerequisites. No matter what Mumbo tried, no matter what he did, he could never be good enough for his father. Not the way he was. 

“Miriam.” Mumbo tips his head up to meet his father’s stern, cold eyes. “Come back a guildmember, or don’t bother coming back at all.” 

He failed his family. He’s failed so many. He’s failed his family, he’s failed to help Gildara, or Danes. Fight after fight, battle after battle, he’s always the weakest link. He’s always been failing the hermits. And he’s failing them now. 

He’s the weakest link, and the Forest knows it. It knows he will fail, just like always. Mumbo wipes away tears, and discovers he’s in total darkness. The memory is gone, but the illusion kept it’s grasp on Mumbo. 

“Why would we want to be your friends?” A sneering voice echoes through the darkness, an accent all too familiar, the words all the more painful to be held by Iskall’s voice. 

“You can’t even use your own magic. All that power, wasted on a weakling.” A shadow passes in the emptiness, and Mumbo barely catches a glimpse of the brown, furry dog tail. 

A high pitched laughter, followed by the scrape of metal against stone. “You can’t fight, you can’t defend, you can’t even heal. At this point, you’re just dragging us down. We should have cut you down long ago.” 

The swing of a saber appears in the night, and Mumbo staggers backward as Cleo’s saber nearly cuts his chest open. In the foggy darkness, he can just make out her eyes. Or where there should be Cleo’s sea blue eyes. Instead, all he saw was oozing, black goo, pouring like viscous tears down her seafoam green skin. She’s gone, disappearing back into the darkness, a shark cutting through the waves. 

Mumbo attempts escape, but no matter where he crawls, the ebony darkness has him trapped. Laughter, voices rise from the void, whispers and shouts. Voices he knows, like those of his friends. Scar, Jevin, Hypno, even TFC. Berating him for being a useless member of the guild, that he’s just the jester, the pet. Of his father, yelling about the shame, that he wishes Mumbo was better, stronger, worthwhile. And voices he doesn’t know apart from the words they spit out. Bullies in school, taunting him in magic class for not even being able to call on his magic. Bullies in guilds, casting him out and laughing with every mistake he made. The guild leaders, sneering and jeering before, during, and after his failed tests. 

There was no escape from these dark thoughts, not when the Hangman’s Playground plays them out before his very eyes. Memories of reality, and memories of the fears and ‘what ifs’ he’s played a thousand times over in his head. He hears the voices he knows, just knows the other hermits say behind his back. He feels the stinging betrayal as they kick him out, the very words dozens of other guilds have told him before. He watches Grian leave him for better, stronger friends. 

Mumbo reaches out for Grian, his best friend, shaking fingers just barely able to grip onto the tarlike wings of the agnel. Like a bird trapped in oil, each feather dripping with the black goo. “G-Grian, please, I promise I’ll work har-”

Grian turns around, hand slapping away Mumbo’s own, and the empty black goo of Grian’s eyes stare into Mumbo. Pinning him down, too afraid to fight back. To weak to fight back. “Forget it, Mumbo. You’re useless, you can’t even draw your own magic circle. I don’t know why I bothered to ever save you, that day so long ago.” 

Beside Grian, Iskall’s laughter pierces through Mumbo’s heart. It feels so cold, so abrasive, even though nothing has changed about that tittering laugh of his friend. Mumbo shrinks awake, wiping the tears that cascade like a waterfall down his face. “I-I can be better, I can do better! Please don’t leave me!” 

“Oh yeah? Prove it.” The hiss from Iskall, slicing across his beard, catching the sludge and twisting in his facial hair. “Prove that you’re this mega awesome multi-mage of doom, and not some puny mega weakling that we know you are.” 

Mumbo’s panicking. He has to do it. Just this once, he has to unleash his power. So he can keep his friends. Closing his eyes, he digs deep. He tries to ignore the jeers and laughter around him, focusing in on his magic. His hands shake, but he tears down the walls he’s set up to protect himself, protect everyone from the surges he’s prone to. Mumbo can’t hold back on his powers, not unless he wants to hold onto his friends. He feels the power rushing through his body, but he doesn’t stop. He will prove it- he’s not worthless. 

Grian turns around, noticing that there’s one less person in the group. They’re so close, he can feel a change in the atmosphere around him. It reminds him of when they were in Gildara, but stronger. Like the entire world is pressing on his shoulders. “Mumby?”

Mumbo’s on the ground,  kneeling with fingers clutched in the forest floor. His shoulders rise and fall, and Grian realizes that the Forest of Memories was playing with Mumbo. Grian walks away from the group, keeping his spirits high and fighting off the tendrils of dark thoughts that tickle his mind. He reaches Mumbo’s side, kneeling on the red illuminated leyline. 

“Oh gods…” Grian whispers, seeing Mumbo’s eyes as he tips the mage’s face up. Veiled by mist, Mumbo’s sight has swirls of grey blinding him to reality. He’s trapped, deep inside the illusion that the Hangman’s Playground. And he’s losing control of his magic, sparks snapping free from fisted fingers, redstone saturating the ground around him. Grian reaches his hand out. 

Hands rest on Mumbo’s shoulder, holding him down. The voices are louder, angrier, filled with spite and hatred. Drowning out any sense of Mumbo’s rationale, he lets go of his magic. He unleashes it all onto the world. 

Mumbo grabs his father’s hand resting on his shoulder, and lets loose as much of his lightning that he can muster. 

The darkness shatters, and Mumbo sees that it wasn’t his father, or any guildmaster, bully, or even Dolios himself holding Mumbo down. But it’s too late to stop the bolts of energy as it crawls through his hands and runs up Grian’s ruddy skin. One more time, the Hangman’s Playground toys with him once more, letting him see the truth. Letting him watch as the uncontrolled magic surges through Grian, sending the young angel crashing to the ground. 

“Grian!” Xisuma cries out, abandoning the track of red, skidding to the ground at Grian’s side. Mumbo scrambles to his feet, stepping forward. But then he sees the ricocheting of lightning, jolts of lightning still searching for escape from Grian’s body, and the writhing pain that his friend is in. Charred black wings, just like the ones he saw in his illusion. Mumbo’s not in control of himself- was he ever?- and the power of uncontrolled magic fills his body, blinds his thoughts. From one extreme to another. 

He hurt Grian. He could hurt any one of the others. He’s horrified by his actions, the thoughts that led him here. He’s all or nothing- too weak or too strong, and either way it destroys those he loves most. 

The ground moves beneath his feet, the shouts and calls little more than white noise as the Forest of Memories replays that second over and over again in Mumbo’s mind. Hurting his best friend, hurting a fellow hermit. The hermits could be calling for him, calling for Grian, calling for the goddess of the dead for all he cared about. 

Mumbo just runs. Far away from the hermits, deep into the branching teeth, into the belly of the Forest of Memories.

#hermitcraft #abuse cw #invasive thoughts cw #light of lairyon #lol #wizard hermits #wizard au #hermitcraft fanfic #hermitcraft au #wizard mumbo #wizard scar #wizard grian #mumbo jumbo #gtwscar #grian #grianmc

[pixieposts]

Dice Prompt

Today I was rudely woken up at 4am so I decided to use the extra time to write.

I rolled a 10!  Our prompt is: “Can we please stop running?  I think I am dying”  Enjoy!

AO3  

Fjord sighed as he watched the bartender walk back over with his beer, muttering a quiet thank you as he took it.  He hated being the first one to arrive when the Nine met up, especially when it involved a bar that he had never been to.  But it had been another week from hell at school, with mid-terms coming up and extra holiday shifts at the garage... he was wiped out.  A night out with friends was exactly what he needed.  

“Fjord!  Fuckin’ bus was late again”  

He smiled as he heard Beau’s voice ring out behind him, only to have the smile disappear immediately when he heard another join her

“Fjord?”  

He turned on his barstool, disbelief filling his mind as he caught sight of not only Beau, but the person who had walked in with her.  Slim, with long ginger hair tied loosely back, dressed in worn-out jeans and a dark grey cardigan... It couldn’t be him.  

“Fjord Stone?”  

It was definitely him.  

Fjord had never heard anyone else say his name the way he did.    

“Caleb Widogast” he breathed, trying to change his shocked expression for a smile and failing miserably.

Big blue eyes stared at him, blinking in matching disbelief before turning to Beau with a pointed look.  

“This is why you wanted me to come out so badly?  You could have just said--”  

“It’s more fun if it’s a surprise dude!”

“More fun for you maybe”

Fjord watched them argue until his heartrate had slowed back to normal, then cleared his throat.  They both looked over sheepishly, seeming to realize that they had all but forgotten he was there.  Honestly, it was kind of cute.  

“You mad?” Beau asked, going for her usual nonchalance but giving herself away with a nervous frown “I thought it would be fun”  

“I just don’t understand how... what?” he turned to Caleb “I thought you were still in Xhorhas training with that Essek guy?”

“I... I decided I wanted to branch out a bit”  

Beau tugged Caleb over, all but shoving him onto one of the stools next to Fjord before taking one herself.  She waved down the bartender and ordered two beers before turning back to them.

“I can explain this one” she thanked the bartender, handing a beer to Caleb with a nod “Cay here is in a couple of my classes, we’ve been hanging out and working together since last year” she took a sip “he starts telling me about this guy, this old friend that he hadn’t been able to get in touch with right?  And I’m like thinkin’, y’know, the city is huge so that makes sense”  

Fjord nodded along, despite having no idea where this was going.  

“And then like... two months-ish ago you” she pointed at Fjord with her beer bottle “mentioned the same thing.  Old friend, couldn’t find him online, hadn’t seen him in years yadda-yadda" she waved a hand dismissively “so I start doing a little poking around right?  Looking at old year books and talking to my connections at the Xhorhas Soul... and what do I find?”  

She reached into her jackets inner pocket and whipped out a piece of paper that looked like it had been torn directly out of a book.  Caleb glared at her, grumbling under his breath about damaging books that weren’t your own.  She shushed him, laying the paper out and smiling brightly when they both leaned in.  Fjord felt warmth bloom in his chest when he realized what he was looking at, it wasn’t just some scrap of paper, it was a photo (albeit a photo she had definitely ripped out of a yearbook).  In it were young Caleb and Fjord, dressed in outdated clothes with Fjord’s arm wrapped around Caleb’s skinny shoulders.  Fjord was beaming at the photographer while Caleb looked up at him, a fond smile on his face that sent Fjord’s stomach into summersaults.  Caleb looked nearly the same, but without the scruff and with his hair cut to just above his shoulders.  Fjord could just barely see the tips of his still blunted tusks poking out in the smile... so they had to be nearly graduated.  He hadn’t stopped filing them until around then.  Caleb had convinced him to stop, now that he thought about it...

“So, I find this, and it just confirmed what I was already pretty sure about” she tapped the photo triumphantly “you’re welcome, assholes”  

Fjord tore his eyes from the old photo, looking up just in time to see Caleb do the same.  For all the other ways that age had changed them... his eyes were just the same.  Deep ocean blue and far too clever for his own good, and Fjord couldn’t help but smile.  

“Thank you, Beauregard” Caleb said quietly, without looking away “this was very kind of you”

“Yeah, thanks Beau”  

In his peripheral he could see Beau looking between them with her eyes narrowed in the way that he knew meant she was making note of something.  The growing sense of joy in his chest distracted him enough that he really didn’t care at the moment.  

“Are you two about to get all gross and sappy?”  

“I cannot make any promises to the contrary” Caleb shrugged, still smiling as he took a sip of his beer

“Nope” Fjord said with an exaggerated pop “I can’t either.  We got a lot of years to catch up on”  

“Ugh, this was a mistake”

“Are you sure?  I have many stories about high school Fjord that I know you would enjoy”  

Fjord shot him a glare without any real menace behind it.

“Two can play at that game, should I tell her about the time you blew up the chem lab?”

“Only if you want her to know about the time you flooded the entire gym”  

Beau was smirking now, looking from one to the other mischievously.

“Okay, I take it back, this was a great idea and I’m a fucking genius”  

They spent the next thirty minutes going back and forth with stories of their high school years, and all the ridiculous teenage stuff they had gotten up to.  By then the others had arrived, and Fjord was shocked to see that none of them were confused by Caleb’s presence.  Somehow, through the last two years, Caleb had managed to make friends with all of Fjords friends... and they had never run into each other.  He supposed it wasn't THAT strange, Caleb had never been one for parties and had always put more of his focus into school than socializing... but still.  Once the whole group was here, the conversations shifted to more general topics, like mid-terms and work and petty grievances (those were mostly Molly, admittedly).  Caleb and Beau swapped seats at one point, so the Beau could flirt more directly with Yasha and Jester, and Caleb turned to him with a small smile.  His cheeks had started to colour from the beers, giving him an endearing blush.  

“Hallo again”

“Hey” Fjord smiled back, fondness softening his expression

“You have grown out your tusks” Caleb mused; head tilted slightly “they suit you”  

“Same with your hair” Fjord reached out, tugging lightly on a loose strand before tucking it behind Caleb’s ear “you look good Cay, happy”

“I am” he laid a hand over Fjord’s on the bar “I am happy, things have been good I just...” he paused, and the tips of his ears went pink too “I have missed you.  Very much.”

“You’re not an easy man to find” Fjord turned his hand over, pressing the scars of their long-ago pact together “but I’ve missed you too, the city’s felt weird without you around”

“I have been around”

“Apparently, still can’t believe we haven't run into each other before this”  

“It certainly seems strange does it not?”  

They sat that way for the rest of the night, catching up at first, talking about what they had done in the 5 years since they had graduated high school.  Caleb told him about Xhorhas, how fascinating the country was, how strange it felt to be one of the very few humans on the school's campus there.  He had learned Undercommon out of necessity but ended up loving the language itself very quickly.  In return Fjord told him about the garage where he had met Yasha, and her convincing him to apply for school.  About meeting Caduceus not long after and his shift into following the Wildmother.  Caleb had never been religious, but he beamed and gave Fjords hand a squeeze when he talked about the peace she had brought into his life.  

Eventually, they were pulled back into conversation with the others, but Fjord's heart swelled when he realized that Caleb wasn’t pulling his hand away.  They stayed that way the rest of the night, Caleb interlocking their fingers when they all got up to stumble towards the bus stop.  Caleb leaned heavily on him as they waited, the others were trying to decide who’s place to head to for the rest of the night.  Fjord tugged him in close, leaning his head on Caleb's when it landed against his shoulder as the others settled on Molly and Yasha’s place.  The ground started to walk, since the little rental house was off campus and the weather was still reasonable.  

There was something so wonderful about how easily they had slipped back into physical touch.  It had taken Fjord years to break down Caleb’s walls enough the first time, and part of him had worried (however briefly) that it would be like starting over.  

Instead, it felt like nothing had changed between them, like the last five years hadn’t happened at all.  

“Last one there has to clean the dishes tomorrow!” Jester shrieked, starting to sprint off in the direction of the house.

“Fuck that!” “No fucking way!”  

Fjord smirked down at Caleb, tightening his grip on the other man's hand before he gave chase along with the others.  Beau had taken an obvious lead but had slowed down slightly to stay close to Jester and Yasha.  Molly and Jester were cheering and swearing and laughing interchangeably into the night as they ran, and Fjord found himself laughing along.  After a few blocks, when his heart had really started to pound and he was beginning to regret that last beer, Caleb tugged his hand.

“Can we please stop running?” he panted as Fjord slowed “I think I am dying”  

Fjord chuckled as he slowed more to a walk, then stopped completely, watching Caleb press a hand to his chest.

“I am dying, definitely”

“No, you’re not” Fjord chuckled, joy and adrenaline making him brave as the sounds of the others faded into the night “c’mere, look”  

He moved in close, pressing the tips of his fingers to Caleb’s neck and feeling the thundering pulse under his skin.

“See?  Perfectly fine, very much alive”  

Caleb looked up at him now, cheeks flushed dark with exertion and hair a wild mess... Fjord wondered when the tie had come loose.  

“Are you sure?” Caleb's free hand came up to rest on top of his “I am not convinced”  

Fjord's cheeks heated up past the point of the run as Caleb slid their hands down from his neck to rest on his chest instead.  Fjord could feel his heart pounding in time with Caleb’s as his voice dropped nearly to a whisper.

“I missed you very much Fjord” his tongue darted across his bottom lip and Fjord’s eye followed the motion “I always... There were so many things I never managed to tell you; I have regretted it ever since”

“Tell me now then Cay, it’s just us”

“It has always been us Fjord” he took a deep breath “It has always been you for me, all this time away I—it was always you”  

“Caleb--” Fjord's heart leapt “Fuck, all these years and we’re just now...” he trailed off with a smile, bringing his hand from Caleb's chest up to cup his jaw lightly “Can I kiss you?”

“Gods yes”  

“Finally.” Fjord teased, leaning down to lock their lips together.  

Caleb sighed happily into the kiss, tilting his head to get a better angle as Fjord walked them off the sidewalk and pressed Caleb’s back to a large tree.  How long they stayed that way, trading kisses and whispered words of endearment, he couldn’t say but eventually (far too soon) the sounds of their friends had completely faded and they knew they ought to continue on their way.  If they didn’t someone was sure to come looking, and they would never hear the end of it.  The others wore knowing looks when they finally got back to the house, hands locked and faces flushed.  Beau handed Caleb a new hair tie and a drink, but nothing was said about it for the moment, and Fjord was grateful.  The evening wore on, with more drinks and stories and games, and with Caleb curled up against Fjord’s side.  

Come morning, tired but content, they stood shoulder to shoulder at the sink, and Fjord couldn’t help but feel like the evening had definitely been worth the wait... and doing the dishes.  

#2.2k of fluff? on my dash? its more likely than you think #widofjord #critical role fanfiction #prompt fill #dice prompt #fluff

[19tozier]

polaroid boy (richie tozier)

request:if/when requests are open (if this is okay bc idk your request rules) could you write an angst fic for reddie based on the song polaroid boy by nicole zefanya, it can be from either persons pov i think that decision is more of a personal one based on who you think fits the song better

warnings: angst, swearing, allusions to sexual things, i tried out some stuff w tense so hopefully it still makes sense lol

[losers + reader are college aged (20/21)]

there is an exquisite beauty in falling in love. in feeling your heart quicken at the sight of their smile, or feeling your cheeks blush at the sound of their laugh. in letting yourself tumble off the edge of the cliff because you are certain they will be there to catch you.

there is an exquisite pain in hitting the ground after they fail to do so.

you want to curse yourself for having stepped off the edge. you aren’t sure you’d have been able to stop yourself from falling anyways, but you did it with no hesitation. you didn’t just trip over the cliff, you leapt off of it. no parachute, no net, no caution. and now you’re the one paying the price for it.

it started, innocently enough, in your first lecture fall semester of your sophomore year. you were still drudging through your gen eds, doing your best to stay motivated through endless classes that weren’t at all related to your major. the lectures made your eyes glaze and your head pound, but you were getting through them. nothing exciting ever happened in them but that was fine with you.

until, of course, richie tozier sat next to you in the middle of a half-empty history lecture, fashionably late and a devil’s smirk on his pretty face.

you’d done your best to ignore him at first, furiously writing down anything and everything the professor said. just because a beautiful boy had sat beside you didn’t mean you would compromise your education. class first, dick later, you thought.

but richie, still wearing that gorgeous smirk, had leaned into your side and murmured, “you look a little tense there, doll. want some help with that?” and his left eye had dropped in a wink that sent prickles down your spine.

fuck, had you wanted to slap him for such a suggestive comment. did he always go around propositioning random girls? you were certain the answer was yes, and yet... part of you loved the attention, and another part of you wanted to keep those blue eyes on you at all times.

you’d scowled, glaring at him, refusing to rise to his bait and give him the response he so obviously wanted. you’d pointedly turned back to your professor, ignoring richie for the remainder of the class.

you’d expected him to give up the chase, maybe find another girl who’d take kindly to his attempts at seduction, but he’d stayed by your side while you packed up your bag and walked out beside you, body in a long loose sprawl as he asked—no, begged—you to let him take you to lunch. and were you really going to turn down a free meal? he may be irritating, but you weren’t stupid.

and oh, had he irritated you. it felt like he had been drawn straight from your own personal hell to drive you crazy, but there was something charming about him. something that drew you in despite your earlier reluctance.

he’d leaned across the table at lunch, smirk softened into something sweeter, and brushed his thumb along your cheek. “you’ve got somethin’ here, love,” he’d murmured, his eyes smoky.

“thanks,” you'd rasped, subtly crossing your legs and praying he didn’t notice your blush.

you’d caved and given him your number at the end of your maybe-date. you were still operating under the idea that he wouldn’t want to see you again, so hey, you’d figured, what the hell?

but he had. he’d texted you that night, a simple hey there sugar ;), and against your will your heart had started pounding. your hands shook as you carefully typed out we’ve known each other for a day and you’ve called me how many nicknames?

you’d laughed, irritation be damned, when he had responded almost immediately: i can add on a few more. put it on my tab, toots.

you found, slowly but surely, that richie was charming and funny and obnoxious in a way that made you want more. he was crass, yes, and sometimes he made you want to gouge your own eyes out, but he was softer and sweeter than you’d ever have thought to give him credit for. and it was horrible for you, really, because there was nothing to stop you from developing feelings.

but there were nights where you curled up with richie in your dorm room, squished together on your too-small bed, your roommate blessedly gone for the night, watching shitty movies on your laptop with takeout scattered around you. nights where you were certain that everything you felt for him was reciprocated.

he had pressed his lips into your hair, his glasses digging into the top of your head. “this movie is something else, doll,” he’d murmured to you, tilting his chin towards where you were forcing him to watch the room with you. “not sure i know what’s going on anymore.”

you’d laughed, twisting your head to kiss his jaw. “that’s the point,” you had grinned. “this movie is so bad that it’s fantastic.”

he’d snorted, the tips of his fingers sliding under your t-shirt and tracing circles into the bare skin of your back. “not quite the word i’d use but sure, toots. i’ve definitely lost the plot though.”

you’d frowned, reaching to pause it to look up at him. “i can rewind it if you want?”

he’d smirked, reaching gentle fingers to cradle the curve of your jaw, turning your face towards him. “i can think of something better to do,” he’d purred, and his lips and his body had silenced any objection you could’ve had. not that you did, really.

he’d had that effect on you. time and time again, he had turned you into a bumbling idiot, a lovesick fool, a damned clown. you were the court jester in his kingly eyes, the puppet beneath his talented hand, the doll to sit high on his shelf. people thought it was he that was the bozo, but no; he played you like it was his job and you were too stupid to ever realize how masterful he was.

you’d giggled to him, stretched out in the quad with your head in his lap. he’d been leaning against a tree, one hand absently stroking through your hair, the other holding up a book for class. you had been fucking around with the polaroid camera your friend had bought you for your birthday, taking pictures of the trees and the students around you but mostly of richie himself.

“what’s up, sugar?” he’d murmured, glancing down from his book. his glasses had nearly slid off of his nose.

you’d reached up to correct them, smiling at him. “nothing, nothing. you just look cute. very photogenic.”

he’d rolled his eyes, bookmarking the page he was on and setting the book aside to fully give you his attention. “cute? me? damn baby, maybe you need these glasses more than i do.”

you’d scowled at him, as annoyed as ever that he never seemed to understand how gorgeous he was. “you take that back right now, asshole.”

he had laughed, grinning down at you. his palm had slid along your stomach, warm and secure against your skin, and his eyes had shone in the sunlight. “you always say the sweetest things, doll,” he’d teased.

he’d ducked to kiss you before you could respond, slow and deep and searching, and you had melted back against the grass. it was rare for him to initiate something like this in public, enough that you had kissed him back and not had a single other thought. when he walked you to class, he didn’t reach for your hand; when you met him for lunch, he didn’t kiss you hello or goodbye; when you studied together in the library, he never sat close enough to touch. at the time, you had simply thought he was reserved with his affections.

those polaroids you had taken were the first of many, proudly hung up on the wall of your dorm next to your bed. they weren’t all of richie: some of you and your roommate, some of your friends from your classes, some of the friends of richie’s you had met only once. but most of them had been of richie, because you were smitten and you couldn’t do anything about it.

every time he came over, every time he saw them, his face had done something complicated that you had never understood—a frown to a grimace to a smile that he forced on.

looking back, you wonder about every sign that you had missed. could you have saved yourself the heartbreak if you had simply paid attention? could you have gotten yourself out with your dignity?

it had never even occurred to you to define what you and richie were. you were stupid and young and content to just be able to love him, even if you hadn’t known him long. you never thought to ask him if you were dating, or if he was your boyfriend or not. you really fucking wish you had.

it came to a head not long after. richie had come over like usual, a spring to his step and a bite to his words that had been there for weeks now. he’d been a ghost of himself, eyes flickering around to see who was watching whenever you saw him on campus, not responding to your messages for hours, jumping whenever he saw you. you had just wanted him to relax for a bit.

you’d curled into his chest, laughing along with him to the stupid horror movie you were watching. “it doesn’t even look real,” you’d giggled, pointing to the spray of blood from on-screen.

richie had snorted. “‘cause it’s not real, it’s probably chocolate syrup.”

you had rolled your eyes, poking at his chest. “i know that, smartass. i’m talking about the effects.”

“i’m talking about the effects,” he had mimicked you, pitching his voice higher and sticking his tongue out at you.

you’d scowled, pinching his side. “you’re annoying and one of these days i’ll murder you.”

“oh, is that a promise?” he’d grinned, lopsided and too damn sexy for his own good. “not one of my kinks, i’ll admit, but damn, what a way to go.”

“oh, for the love of—” you’d lunged forward, knocking him onto his back and almost pitching the two of you off the side of the bed. he’d grabbed onto your waist to hold you steady. “i want to strangle you! with my bare hands!”

“that’s hot.” and he’d laughed, the motherfucker, like the sound of it didn't live inside of your ribcage and swim through your bloodstream. every inch of him was something specially designed to get under your skin and make a home there.

it still has a home there.

you’d growled, whaling on him with gentle fists that he did absolutely nothing to combat. he’d just kept laughing, holding your wrists in his big hands, glasses skewed. “you’re awful and i really fucking wish i didn’t love you.”

all at once, it had gone silent and he had gone tense. the expression on his face had not been the elation you had been hoping for; it was horror, plain and simple, and the shock of it had pitched you sideways off of his lap.

“you love me?” he’d asked through trembling lips, looking anywhere but you.

slowly, you had nodded. your voice had disappeared. and he’d nodded back, one short frantic movement, and then vaulted himself off of the bed.

“richie—”

“i didn’t think we were that serious,” he’d said, yanking his shoes on. “i thought we were just having fun.” like it was nothing. like you were nothing.

tears had welled in your eyes and your chest had ached with the force of it. your heart, which you had thought was safe in richie’s hands, was being crushed and ripped to shreds and you could do nothing but watch.

“richie, wait—”

but he had shrugged you off, forceful in the way he had pushed you back. the look in his eyes was wild and terrified and you didn’t recognize him anymore.

he hadn’t looked back at you, in the end. he had just shouldered his backpack and grabbed his phone and disappeared out the door. he hadn’t paused when you sobbed out his name one more time. he hadn’t even faltered.

foolishly, oh so foolishly, you’d held on to hope that that wasn’t the end. that you’d simply overwhelmed him and he just needed time. but as the days stretched into weeks and your texts and calls had remained unanswered, your hope had died the same way your heart had.

you had taken that fatal plunge; the ground was hard when you’d hit it.

you still have the polaroids. you’d taken them down after a few weeks, too hurt to see yours and richie’s smiling faces when he had disappeared from your life. but you still have them, in the shoebox you keep under your bed. and there are nights like tonight where you pull them out to stare at them.

your chest aches, the tears in your throat choking you. you should be all cried out by now but you aren’t that lucky. it seems every reminder of him is destined to detonate something inside of you.

you can still feel his smile on your lips. you can still taste his laughter. you can still hear the stupid voices he’d do to make you giggle. you can still feel him in your heart.

richie hurt you. god, had he hurt you. he’d hurt you so badly you don’t know if you’ll ever be able to smile again. but you’re still in love with him and you don’t think it’ll ever go away.

he’ll forever be the boy in your polaroids, the one that made you feel on top of the world and the one that made you feel like you were six feet under. you won’t ever be able to hear his favorite song without hearing it in his voice. you won’t ever be able to love again without feeling his imprint in your heart.

there’s something magical about falling in love. you won’t take that back. but on nights like this, you wish you never fell.

#also sorry omg just realized u said reddie n not richie buuuuut i hope u like it anyways #i can write a reddie version of this if u want tho! #sorry this took me so long #pls accept my love as compensation #richie tozier #richie tozier imagine #richie tozier x reader #richie tozier x you #the losers club x reader #the losers club imagine #the losers club #it (2017) #it (2019) #it (movie) #it movie #eddie kaspbrak #stan uris #ben hanscom #mike hanlon #beverly marsh #bill denbrough #my writing

[francoiserenaldt]

then comes the touch (then comes the rush)

or five times desirée thinks about giving the boy with the stars in his eyes her heart and the one time she realizes that he’s had it the whole time. Takes place during the second semester of senior year. Inspired by @/yoonsgiggle’s ways to show affection. for day 3 of @it-lives-week.

word count: 2.4k

warnings: a pinch of angst toward the end because it was getting a bit sweet for my liking, too much pining for an established relationship, they’re both idiots but in different ways, toxic amount of fluff

1.

Snow litters the school grounds as she trudges through it. The school’s obsession with having no less than 5 pep rallies a quarter has her out of her bed and at school at 7 in the morning to oversee the preparations.

Luckily, she wouldn’t need to endure the torture alone. Everyone in cheer, band, swim, wrestling, and basketball all had to be there for a completely unnecessary rehearsal that only served to tire the performers and wear on everyone else’s patience.

There was one benefit to today’s assembly: Andy would be there this time.

This would be his first day back since homecoming. The first day they’d be back in school since they’d kissed in the gymnasium and the first day they’d get a chance to be together since everything went wrong. 

It had felt so weird to go from seeing him every day and getting close to him being holed up in a sterile room for most of the day. The days seemed to get emptier without him; even texts couldn’t fill the void his presence left.

Misattribution of arousal, her therapist had called it. 

While the implication that Desirée had confused herself was...offensive to say the least, it had at least made some sense. No way could she have been feeling low just because of some boy that she was talking to, right?

There was only one way to find out.

“Desirée!”

“Hey stranger. I’d ask how life’s treating you but…”

He barks out a laugh, gesturing to his crutches. “Yeah, I’ve been better. And you? How have things been?”

“You know, I…” She trails off.

Before she can even think about finishing her sentence, his hand is on her arm. The touch sends a rush of warmth through her body and she thanks the Lord that she opted for multiple layers today.

He’s been back all of two hours, which means she should chill, right?

Her heart doesn’t seem to get the memo. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks for asking.” 

It’s a complete lie, of course, and definitely not what he asked. She couldn’t be further from okay when his totally normal and platonic comforting gesture is awakening things she thought she’d buried and telling her that it’s very likely that she hadn’t misattributed a damn thing, which would be great except for the fact that she’s not sure if he can say the same.

(And despite the rational part of her brain yelling at her, she wants him to say the same.)

(She’s so screwed.)

2.

A few weeks pass after the encounter in the hallway and they find themselves back in the town square after school. They walk, or rather she walks and he limps, into the town park and find a park bench.

She quickly learns that practice had been a complete disaster; apparently being benched and injured still didn’t save Andy from microaggressions. It was interesting that they chose to focus on him when their attitudes weren’t saving them from an abysmal win-loss record, even after the strong start of the season. 

In any case, he was unhappy and that couldn’t stand. 

When they finally located a park bench, Andy raised an eyebrow when she didn’t sit next to him. “What are you doing?”

“Lean back.”

There’s an unmistakable déjà vu that overcomes her when her hands find their way to his shoulders.

(“Your…very toned shoulders look tense.”)

(“My very toned shoulders would love a shoulder rub.”)

His head tilts back after a minute or so–she must be doing it right this time–and...now they’re looking at each other.

A sharp chill crawls up her spine and she nearly shudders under the intensity of it. It shouldn’t be this hard to look away

There’s no telling how long it’s been or if her hands are even moving anymore.

Right. Shoulder rub.

She tears her gaze from his and puts her all into obliterating the tension in his shoulders. She vaguely notes his head going back to its original position.

“Hey.”

She nearly swallows her tongue with the force she uses to gulp any nervousness down. “Hey.”

“You good?”

“That’s my line,” she smiles gently. This is much better, the banter and the mutual flirting she’s used to. She doesn’t bother lingering on the concern in his voice. “I’m supposed to be helping you right now.”

“We can help each other,” he counters smoothly. “And you were going a little hard there.”

“Oh, sorry–”

“Don’t be. Felt good.” He tilts his head back again and grins when he finds her eyes again. “Just wanted to see where your head’s at.”

“My head is doing great, thanks. Spectacularly, in fact.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“So are you all good or…”

He clears his throat. “Yeah, I’m set. Thanks.”

Her heartbeat still thunders a mile a minute in her ears as she breathes out, “Any time.”

She reluctantly slides her hands off of his shoulders and moves –a little too quickly– to sit next to him. His arm finds its way onto her shoulders and she relaxes instantly, resting her cheek on top of his head, and she briefly imagines being able to fall asleep like this: with his arms around her shoulders, or even her waist, and his warm cheek resting on the column of her neck.

She erases the thought immediately and glances at him, finding him deep in thought as well. 

A light nudge brings him back to her and she pops the question: “Where did you go?”

He chuckles, his warm breath hitting her neck and rendering her breathless yet again. This getting flustered business is the worst. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“How about the beginning?”

The comment only yields her a huff. “You’re so mean to me, you know that?”

“Yeah, right. Unfortunately for you, there’s no pool nearby to push me into this time.”

“Fountain’s gotta be close enough, right?” His arms move faster than lightning, sliding under her knees and around her waist before she could catch her breath.

“Andy Kang, don’t you dare!” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The good news, she finds, is that she did not get soaked in gross fountain water and there’s no way he’s not into her. A net win, you would think.

The tradeoff for that -she can never just have nice things- is that she was into him in September. Knew she liked him in October. Now that it’s February, she maybe even l-

Oh no.

3.

It’s not a big deal when it happens.

She’s just left a student council meeting and, if memory serves, she has a two minute window to leave the premises before one of her teachers needs help or Lucas suggests another membership drive proposal for next month’s meeting.

She’s flying down the second set of stairs –she’s down to a minute now– when she sees him.

He’s freshly showered –practice must have ran late again– and changed, his damp black hair pushed back from his face. He’s hauling ass too for some reason, barely even looking up from his phone. Maybe he won’t even see her if she runs fast enough and she can text him later–

Sure enough, he glances up and grins brilliantly when he sees her. It’s only natural that she returns it. 

She closes the few feet separating them and he’s still got that sappy grin on his face when she stands next to him.

“How was practice?”

“Boring as always. Student council?”

She gives him a look. Why they even bother with words anymore is beyond her.

“Heh, heard ya loud and clear. Wanna get out of here?” He extends his hand in her direction. She feels the tip of his middle finger brush against her knuckles and her heart starts beating ridiculously fast.

She takes it in hers, a little too eagerly in hindsight, and threads her manicured fingers into his. “Gladly.”

She’ll overthink it for hours after the fact, but in the moment she just enjoys walking out of school with the boy she really, really likes. 

(If she more than likes him, then he doesn’t need to know that.)

4.

The school is weirdly energized today; students rush about, talking about weekend plans and that ridiculously hard test and other things that should not be repeated. (High school boys are gross.) Deadlines, extracurriculars, and the general dumpster fire that is life had all but killed the fight of the senior class, but not today.

Today, of course, is the first day of spring break. 

The sky seems to know it’s spring break too; the near constant drizzle of rain has let up for the day and the sun tentatively peeks its head out from a slowly widening gap of clouds, adding some long overdue warmth to the afternoon air.

It doesn’t compare to the smile on his face when their eyes meet.

“Desirée!” He calls out, jogging to envelope her in a hug.

Hugging definitely isn’t a new thing for them–hell, she’s easily hugged everyone in the group at least three times by now–but the way his head makes a home in the space between her neck and shoulder feels…intimate. Cozy, even. It’s far too comforting considering that she just saw him yesterday and they’re in the middle of the hallway (she’s definitely going to hear about this later) but she can’t bring herself to pull away. Not yet. 

He ends up being the one to break it, pulling away just enough to look up at her. “Hi.”

“Hi. Good day so far?”

“Better now.” He loops an arm in hers. “Wanna get lunch?”

“As long as you’re paying.”

5.

“Take a break.”

They’re in her living room -her parents decided to come home for once and no amount of brownie points gets you ‘boys in the bedroom’ privileges- on the couch. She’s supposed to be studying for her government test, a task that Andy seems adamant on impeding her from. 

“And why would I do that?”

“Because I asked you to.” The statement only produces a snort from her, and he nudges her lightly on the shoulder. “Pleeeeease? I’m bored.”

“Apologies, your Majesty King Kang, but I’m afraid I’ve misplaced my jester hat today.” She pouts in mock guilt before scoffing. “In the meantime, my government test isn’t going to ace itself.”

“Please, you could probably do this in your sleep.”

“And until I can definitely do this in my sleep, I have to keep going.”

She turns her body fully away from him for a few minutes and she finds her rhythm fairly quickly. As her brush pen draws the title of the next card, she allows herself a peek and Jesus Christ, is he pouting?

It’s childish. 

It’s completely immature. 

It’s...working?

Ughhhhhhhhhhh.

She shoves her flashcards into their corresponding case and slides them under the coffee table, huffing. “You are a terrible influence.”

“Yeah, but I’m a terrible influence that has your full and undivided attention.” He pecks her on the nose and grins at her unamused glare, “Now, what do you say we do something fun?”

+1

It’s the final day of high school.

Today should be a happy day; after all, staying goodbye to early morning classes and popularity contests is what she’s been dreaming of since the day she got there. 

There was just one problem: Andy wouldn’t be coming with her.

Despite the numerous hours of studying and makeup tests, there wasn’t enough time left in the school year to make up for his absences due to the medical leave he’d taken. Unless he somehow managed to pay the school for the amount of money he’d lost, he would have to sit for senior year all over again. 

He’d assured her that it wouldn’t be all bad; repeating the year gives him a chance to go out for basketball captain and Tom would be there with him, but there was no amount of silver linings that could change the fact that she’d been accepted into Cornell University and would be attending in the fall. 

Without him.

It’s not lost on her that she sounds absolutely pathetic. Most people could only dream of getting into an Ivy League university, let alone Cornell, and she’s considering giving all six years of relentless hard work and sleepless nights away for some boy just because she thinks she loves him. 

(They both know she won’t do it. She’s lost too much and has come too far.)

They’d put this off for too long as it is. 

“We’ve been apart before, right? We can do it again.”

“I just got you back, Andy. How am I supposed to be okay with losing you?”

“You won’t lose me.”

“How do you know that?”

“You won’t lose me because I love you, Desirée,” he reaches up to take her face into his hands, “That’s how.” 

Her eyebrows furrow, as if she’s confused. The idea breaks his heart. “You love me?”

“Of course I do.”

“I’m such an idiot.” She pulls away, shutting her eyes and shaking her head. “This whole time I’ve been trying to pace myself and…I really screwed things up, didn’t I?” 

“What are you talking about?”

“I love you, too. I didn’t want you to know until I knew you felt the same.”

“Why?”

“I’ve lost too many people as it is. If I lost you, I…” She purses her lips and looks away. “I couldn’t handle it.”

There’s no escaping the way that his lips feel on hers or the shiver that travels up her spine and honestly? She doesn’t want to. 

When he speaks again, their foreheads are pressed together–she’s practically bent over at this point and can’t bring herself to care–and his hands are still holding her face as if he thinks she’ll slip away. “You will never lose me, you hear me? There is nothing that you could do that’ll change that.”

She wants to believe him, wants to believe that he’s not making a promise that he can’t keep, so she does.

She knows she’ll kick herself for waiting this long when she gets home, but at that moment she enjoys walking out of her high school for the last time with the boy she loves.

(If he knows it too, that’s even better.)

#day 3 #ship: desiree x andy #ILAweek #ilitw #mc: desiree ashton #li: andy kang #andy x mc #i hope you have a better time reading this than i had writing it jwshdbj #oh and for more angst this is in the something gained universe jdfhbrjn #also someone PLEASE take dashes and parentheses away from me #i feel like i should mention that devon isn't mentioned in this bc he's **** jndk

[pepperdee]

Word Find + Heads Up

Tagged by @zmlorenz! A lot! And I’m putting them all in one post because :}

My words are: clock, draw, leg, air, sun, settle, name, smile, space, flex, late, gentle, eye, sharp, tie, and two. Honestly at this point I think this also counts as a Heads Up 7 Up

Clock

However, Momma then glanced at the clock. Dinner would be starting in only a few minutes. “I can only imagine you picked that up in one of the tourist traps in town. Why didn’t you pack any of the dresses I bought you? Are they not up to your…standards?”

Terror seized Rosie’s throat. “I-I did pack one of them. It’s just…Bea got this for me…”

“Well, she misled you,” said Momma, popping her shoulder.

Draw

There was barely enough space to walk around. Metal cabinets stretched from floor to ceiling, lights blinking in little windows. Little pieces of tape had dates written on them. Rose reached for the light switch, but he stopped her. “We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves,” he said. The door whooshed shut, plunging them into darkness. Dedrick could feel Rose’s glare on him. “Use your phone flashlight,” he said, shoulders slumping.

The spotlight shone on the first cabinet. Rose began walking, turning to look at all the cabinets. “Where do we even start?”

Leg

Dedrick jumped back, the spot where he was standing becoming quicksand. Jester stomped his foot, and Dedrick jumped away again. His right ankle didn’t quite make it onto solid land. The ground swallowed Dedrick’s leg. Earth-type.

Suddenly, Dedrick was sideways, scrabbling at the dust desperately. Dedrick’s certain future flashed before him: falling victim to the quicksand, dying. “HELP!” Dedrick shouted futilely. He fought to keep his head above ground, going so far as to letting his other leg fall in. The ground pressed his body, making movements nearly impossible.

Air

Footsteps appeared in the dirt. They pointed at Dedrick. Reaper’s hand pet the air blindly until it came to rest on something solid. Reaper motioned Dedrick over. “C’mon, Sparks,” he encouraged. “Just a little fight.”

Dedrick’s shaky hand raised in the air. He felt Ghost’s hand take his. Cadote, this is weird. “Three steps back,” Reaper ordered. The opponents obeyed. Dedrick tried to form a plan. How could he beat an opponent he couldn’t see?

Reaper climbed out of the pool. “Fight!”

Sun

Sun filtered through the cloudy window, dancing on the dust. Dedrick shook uncontrollably as he pushed himself to his feet. His mind swam. Squinting, he noticed a dark spot on the carpet. Red. Dark red.

Nose red and cold, he got to his feet, crashing into the walls as he barged into the empty bathroom. Ladine wasn’t in her cot, either. The screen door was cracked, just barely. He shivered, hugging his arms, kicking the door open. He took one step and slipped down immediately. His head cracked against the ground.

The sun was in a different position when he finally willed himself to move. Ladine. Have to find Ladine.

Settle

“I hope I get to see you again, Rose.”

Rose’s heart leaped. She smiled at him. “My grandma owns a bakery not far from here. If I’m not on the train, I’m there.”

Henry nodded. “I’ll come looking for you.” With that, he walked off toward the man.

Watching them go, the butterflies in her stomach didn’t settle. Henry. What are the odds he’s going to end up at Taeleon High? Pretty high, if he’s getting picked up from here, she thought, assuming his uncle lived nearby. Maybe they’d be seeing each other sooner than she’d thought.

Name (there were 47 instances of this)

Dedrick took a broad path so he came up behind her, her friends too involved in the conversation to see the world around them. “—mean, who has the nerve to mess with me?” Red Leather questioned to her friends, holding up the card. “Dedrick Warflash. What kind of a name is that?”

Dedrick snatched the card from over her head. “Derivative of Dedrick Warjack, the guy that let you have an Empire in the first place, bitch,” he snapped, securing the card in his back pocket.

Smile

Dedrick folded his arms. He smiled a bittersweet smile. “The last thing she told me is that I have your spirit,” Dedrick said.

“Nah, you’re a stubborn sonofabitch,” said Alav. Dedrick sat down on the other couch, watching the fire. Smelling his burning flesh. “You need a haircut.”

“You need to get off your ass,” Dedrick snarked.

Alav’s gray eyes flickered. He downed half the bottle of vodka, seething at the taste.

Space

Maybe Ashor is getting angry.

She carried that comforting thought straight to an empty booth in the bakery. Ms. Little’s Little Bakery was her original safe space: its pastel pink walls and pictures of flowers somehow had a calming effect. That and the fact that the one thing keeping her away from home, her mother, was banned from the premises.

Flex

Flexing his bleeding fingers, Dedrick shook his head. “My hands are fine.”

Late

Dedrick scoffed and read the schedule. He’d also began adjusting to a schedule, in that he now had to focus on hours and days instead of where the sun is in the sky. Luckily, a cheap digital watch is part of the bakery’s uniform, so he shouldn’t be late to any classes in this hellhole.

Gentle

“What’s gotten into you?” Alav interrogated. His tone wasn’t angry, but gentle and concerned.

Eye oh lord 337 mentions with eye LITERALLY IN EVERY CHAPTER EXCEPT 1

He only had one eye.

Not in a cyclops way, thank Cadote, but he wore an eyepatch. A long scar trailed through his left eye. His face was a bit scruffy, even though he couldn’t be older than Rose—sixteen. He wore a mean looking scowl. No, not mean—tired. Maybe that was because of the pinker skin under his other eye.

Sharp

Another idea popped into his head. He glanced over his shoulder. Hearing nothing except distant traffic, Dedrick placed his fingers on two of the nails, shutting his eyes. Hopefully nobody hears this. He sent lightning through his fingers with a sharp zzzap! The nails rattled. Vision spotty, he pulled on the plank once again this time managing to wrench the other nails out of the wall.

Tie

A shadow fell over her. Surprisingly, Dedrick stood over her. He wore a mildly oversized blue shirt, khaki pants, and a black tie. Basically, he was a bigger mess than Rose. He crouched at the corner of the wall. “S’you okay?” he asked softly.

“F-fine,” she stuttered. A few tears dribbled off her cheek as she finished her text.

Two

One vick, however, stopped outside the bakery. Two shapes stepped out and jogged to the bakery. Rose kept her head down, pulling out her tablet and turning it on, though she didn’t read anything on the screen. Covertly, she watched the two mildly soaked people stumble into the bakery.

I tag @zmlorenz, @absolute-nonsense-scribblings, @henrike-does-writing-sometimes and @seven-days-was-all-she-wrote! Your words are: cat, bag, mug, sky, and flower. No pressure my dudes!

#tag game #tag game: word find #word find #tcoh #tcoh excerpts #tag game: heads up 7 up

[ryosei-hime]

Sex and Therapy: The Assessment

Concord brings in a mechanic to assess Fizzaroli’s damage. Cog belongs to @tiny-security-mech​ who let me borrow her for this story. Available on AO3.

First thing in the morning, Concord put in a call to a mechanic he knew of through a patient. She had a good reputation and he liked to use other imp businesses when he could. When she heard what he had, she cleared her morning schedule to come see it. Not that Concord hadn’t tried to convince her not to go through such trouble. But she seemed excited. 

He’d barely finished his morning coffee and fending off attempts at early morning fun from Fizzarolli (he really didn’t feel concerned about the validity of his consent now) when she knocked at the door. 

He opened it to reveal the reputed mechanical genius. Her black hair looked disheveled and she already had grease spots on her cheek. Wasn’t he her first customer? A pair of goggles hung around her neck and she wore dingy coveralls and big boots. He started to put a hand out for her to shake but thought better of it with one glance at her dirty gloves. 

“Concord.”

“Cog,” she responded, moving right by him, toolbox in hand as she made for Fizzarolli. He bowed to her as she circled him. “Oh, man, where did you get this thing?” 

“The pawnshop down the street.”

“I pass that place all the time. I never noticed it before. You’d think they’d put something this nice out front. I know he’s probably not fully functional but he can’t be that bad off. And this is a higher quality model, too. Custom-ordered.” 

“Really? How can you tell?”

Fizzarolli aimed a wink at Concord as Cog turned to face him, holding one of Fizzarolli’s hands out and gesturing. 

“Look at him. This isn’t mass-produced stuff. It’s quality material.” 

Fizzarolli seemed to be enjoying all this praise and attention. He spun Cog, using the hand holding his, into a tight embrace. 

“Th-thanks, toots. You know, for a pr-pr-price, I bet he’d rent me out to you.” 

Cog turned red enough it stood out even against her skin and her eyes darted from Fizzarolli to Concord.

“Fizzarolli, no! I….will not rent you out.” 

“Aw, I’m ssssorry sweetheart-eart, looks like my master’s possessive.” 

He spun her away and used his good arm to grab Concord and pull him in to replace her.

“Please, don’t call me master. That’s not...how I...meant...”

While Concord was distracted by Fizzarolli’s lusty gaze, leaning in for a kiss, the jester’s good arm looped around and behind them to find the hem of Cog’s shirt, lifting it slowly. Until a hand smacked it away. He looked over his shoulder in surprise to find the formerly flustered imp laser focused on his innards. He tried coming at her from another angle but she slapped his hand again without looking away. 

“Looks like she likes work more than she likes you,” Concord teased.

Fizzarolli grinned, giving Concord his full attention now. He lifted him and drew him in closer, tongue flicking over his neck as he went in for a love bite. Concord leaned away as best he could.

“Uh uh.” 

“You’re no-no-no fun when other people are arooound.” 

“The more cooperative you are, the faster she leaves.” 

Fizzarolli’s grin returned in full force. 

“And then?” 

Concord wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled himself close to whisper. He was interrupted in his bribery when Cog spoke out.

“Sssh! I’m working and that’s...very distracting.” 

“Apologies.” 

Concord felt a little giddy at being so playful with Fizzarolli in front of someone. Fizzarolli set him down and sat still as half of Cog practically disappeared into his back. Well, mostly still. He kept himself entertained making lewd faces at Concord the whole time.

When Cog finally returned from her deep dive, Concord let out a laugh he’d been holding in and she looked confused. Until Fizzarolli turned and stuck a wriggling tongue out between two fingers at her. She went flush again and backed up. 

“Sorry. I’m really sorry. That’s...very inappropriate.” 

Concord cleared his throat as he tried to regain his professional demeanor but he just kept laughing. 

“He’s like six feet of inappropriate,” she responded, writing on a clipboard rapidly. “All right, here's the itemized list. I hope you didn’t spend too much on this thing because with all he has wrong, you might as well have bought a mass produced one.” 

Concord took the list and looked over it. It was nearly a page long and many of the repairs had very large numbers next to them. 

“I suggest you start with the voice box. That’s a wiring issue. It’s the cheapest thing on the list and I can do that today if you want.” 

“Yeah, let’s get that done, please. And when I have the money we should fix his arm next.” 

“Are you sure? The next cheapest repair is-” 

He shook his head as she started to point it out. 

“I’m not prioritizing by cost. I want it done in order of most improvement to quality of life. Can you figure that out for me?” 

“Sure, but there are a few of these you’ll have to ask him about. It depends on how essential he thinks certain components and features are whether or not you even want them restored. That tentacle mode is all messed up, for example. It’s the most expensive repair. Someone did a real number on it. Whole parts were just ripped out and that damaged the structure around it. You shouldn’t let him take too many hits to the chest, and I wouldn’t let him go through the washing machine. Otherwise he should be fine for now. I can either restore it which is this much or simply stabilize the frame which is much less.”

She indicated each price as she spoke. Concord couldn’t really pay attention to numbers right now. His vision had gone blurry at the thought of such violence against something that couldn’t defend itself. Something that depended on you. Even here in Hell there had to be a line. Or at least that’s what he tried to tell himself. 

“Cog, thank you for working with me on the prices. I know you have to make a living too.” 

“It’s no problem, Doc. Just don’t forget to send my cousin that pass on her anger management classes. And please do not actually try to talk to her.” 

Concord cleared his throat and tapped the papers she’d given him against the table.

“I had no intention of doing so.”

“Mm hm. But, honestly, I just don’t want anyone else working on him. I don’t get to work on something this high quality often. Thanks for the chance. Although I am gonna have to go outside my normal means to find some of these parts.” 

“If that costs extra, I’ll pay it. You don’t have to check with me. I trust you to get it done for the best price.” 

Cog gave him a shy smile before returning to Fizzarolli. She had been right about how simple the repair to his voice box was or she was so good she made it look simple. In only a few minutes she had the faulty wiring replaced and stood back.

“There you go. Try it out for me.” 

Fizzarolli put a hand to his chest and made a sound as if clearing his throat before letting out a low moan. 

“Ohh Concord. You’re sooo good. Harder!”

Both imps' eyes went wide as he started trying out different moans. Concord shoved Cog’s toolbox and a fistful of money at her. 

“Okay, thanks for coming. We’ll see you again soon. Bye.” 

Concord pushed her out the door to the sound of Fizzarolli’s untarnished laughter. As embarrassing as that was, that laughter made Concord smile from ear to ear. He’d taken the first step in improving Fizzarolli’s life. It felt good. It felt like he could make the world a little better for at least one person. It felt like...like hands on his horns. He tilted his head up to find Fizzarolli looming over him with a salacious grin. 

“I suppose you want your reward for sitting still.”

#Helluva Boss #Robo Fizz #RoboFizz #Robo Fizz Helluva Boss #RoboFizz Helluva Boss #Robo FizzxOC #RoboFizzxOC #stuffididmyself #my fanfic stuff