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[kit-is-not-okay]

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[kaddyssammlung]

[kaddyssammlung]

Insane Vessel scream during Infinite Baths

[aquareegia]

[yayxstitch]

[yayxstitch]

Fanfiction writers are y'all ok?

[vulcanette-deactivated20260506]

🎥: @ _hijackheaven

[jawsoffate]

Diabolically Yours | part X (vessel!demon x reader)

Summary: Emma just wanted a simple magical boost to win a writing contest, not a snarky and handsome demon bound to her soul. But after summoning the wrong hellspawn, she ends up stuck with Vessel: a sarcastic, shirtless chaos entity who won’t stop flirting or stealing her snacks. Now they’re magically tethered, emotionally entangled, and dangerously close to something much scarier than a pact gone wrong... feelings.

TW: Contains supernatural shenanigans, mutual pining, steamy tension, and one annoyingly hot demon. Read with care (and maybe holy water on the finals part).

💖 masterlist

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X

Part X: So… Demons Have Sex?

Earlier that week, Emma sat with Isla and Harper at the college cafeteria table, the hum of student chatter and the smell of fresh coffee filling the air. They were finishing lunch when Isla, with a mischievous grin, decided to stir things up.

“So, Emma... how was the date with Oliver?” Isla asked, flipping her hair.

Emma nearly choked on her juice. For a second, she wanted to flee, but her two friends were already watching, waiting for her answer.

“It was... normal,” she said, trying to sound casual while attempting not to recall the grumpy Vessel criticizing her every move at dinner.

“Normal?” Harper raised an eyebrow. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

Emma gave a sheepish smile. Beside her, Vessel twisted midair and crossed his arms.

“Normal? It was a gastronomic disaster,” he muttered disapprovingly.

Emma shot him a quick glance and continued, “He’s nice, you know? Polite, friendly, tried to make conversation and all that. But he eats in this... really loud way. Like, mouth open, chewing like he’s alone in his kitchen at 3 a.m.”

Isla cringed. “Ew! No one deserves that.”

Harper laughed. “Well, at least he was straightforward, right?”

“Straightforward? He was like a chewing machine with a microphone. Worse than trying to ignore a rock band inside your head. Emma, is your friend okay?” — Vessel said.

Emma nodded – to Vessel – and replied to her friends, “Yeah, and he didn’t even notice I was dying of secondhand embarrassment. And every time he talked, all I could think was how nice it’d be if Vessel handled him. But nooo, the demon just kept roasting me in my head, as usual.”

Harper’s eyes widened. “Who’s Vessel?”

Emma hesitated for a moment, biting her lip, trying to come up with a not-too-revealing explanation. “Uh... he’s kind of a voice in my head,” she said, a bit embarrassed. “Like a... I don’t know, a critical inner voice? Always throwing sarcastic commentary.”

“That’s what I’ve become? Your inner critic? I am so much more than that,” Vessel huffed.

Emma shot him another glance and kept going, trying to sound nonchalant, “It’s nothing supernatural, just... a habit I have of overanalyzing everything.”

Isla gave her a knowing smile. “Oh, I get it. Like that little voice that never stops judging?”

“Exactly,” Emma nodded, relieved she didn’t have to go into details. “Sometimes it’s helpful, sometimes it’s just annoying.”

Harper laughed. “Must be hard to date with that voice in your head.”

Emma gave a crooked smile. “It was exactly like that. He tried to be nice, but Vessel wouldn’t shut up about every move he made, and I tried to ignore it. But the conversation just didn’t flow, you know? And the way he ate... well, let’s just say Vessel wasn’t the only one bothered.”

“I told you it’d be a disaster. Torture, really.” Vessel made a dramatic “I told you so” gesture.

Emma shook her head. “Anyway, I think I’ll take a break before going on another date. I need some silence in my head and to finish this book for my final project.”

Isla and Harper chuckled. “We get it,” Isla said. “And if you ever need us, we’re here.”

Emma smiled, grateful she could count on her friends – even if her “inner critic” remained very much present and invisible to everyone but her.

___________________

One week later, Emma had not achieved any sort of spiritual enlightenment, but at least her legs had stopped aching. Sitting on the couch, she stared at the blank document on her laptop like it was a portal to another dimension.

“Okay, here we go: what’s it like being a demon?”

He couldn’t have sighed more dramatically if he tried. “It’s basically like being a government employee in the underworld. Just with fewer vacation days.”

Emma rolled her eyes and started typing. “Right. So you have a boss?”

“I do. But he’s on an infernal retreat at the moment. Inverted meditation, closed-chamber screaming... that kind of thing.”

“Fascinating,” she muttered. “And do you guys have, like... traditions? Infernal Christmas? Dinner with tortured souls?”

“Actually, we do Secret Santa. Last year’s prize was a skull signed by Elvis.”

Emma stopped typing and looked at him. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious. There was a fight over it, too.”

She blinked and sighed. “Okay. Next question: do you really have an HR department? And do angels apply to work in Hell?”

Vessel slowly turned toward her. “Of course we have HR. Officially it’s called Hyperdimensional Relations. It’s a whole floor. Packed with tie-wearing demons and beige-blazered angels. Pure chaos. They do team-building exercises on Mondays and serve terrible coffee.”

“And the angels?”

“Oh, they’re always showing up with resumes, thinking they’re going to be revolutionaries. ‘I want to bring empathy to the emotional torture division,’ you know?” he said, voice dripping with fake sweetness.

“And do you hire them?”

“Of course not. They’re terrible at sarcasm. And they never follow the dress code. One of them tried to wear Crocs into Sector Seven’s volcano. Offensive.”

“Okay, next,” she said, taking a deep breath. “What’s the biggest lie you’ve ever spread on Earth?”

Vessel took a moment, thinking. “That meetings that could be emails are actually necessary. That was us. A modern classic.”

She smacked the keyboard like she’d just had a divine revelation. “That’s just evil.”

“I know,” he replied, shamelessly amused.

“Alright, now we’re getting into more... delicate territory,” she said. “The question is: do demons... have romantic relationships?”

He tilted his head, and she could practically see him raising a brow. “You mean, like, dating? Posting selfies with captions like ‘my literal soulmate’? That kind of thing?”

Emma stifled a laugh. “It’s a valid question! I need this for the book, to develop the character realistically. And that means I need to know about emotional connections, romantic involvement, steamy kisses during the apocalypse... for research.”

“Sure,” he said, clearly unconvinced. “Some demons date. Others have contractual marriages with symbolic sacrifice clauses. And some only hook up with entities who speak ancient Latin and enjoy haunting humans.”

Emma opened a new tab and began furiously taking notes. “Okay, okay... and do you guys kiss? Like... with mouths?”

“No, with elbows. Emma, please.”

“It’s a valid question!”

Vessel sighed, long and dramatic. “Yes, we kiss. But since we deal with multiple physical forms, sometimes a kiss feels more like astral fusion. There was this couple once who blew up half a French cemetery during their first kiss. It was romantic. And mildly radioactive.”

Emma stared into space, equal parts fascinated and horrified. “And... do you fall in love?”

“Some do. Others prefer emotional distance. But passion, for us, is... intense. Could involve spontaneous levitation, accidental possessions, cursed poetry and... other things.”

“That’s... intense. And... do you guys have sex?”

Vessel didn’t answer right away. “Ah, finally the question that’s been itching to come out.”

“Research is research,” she said, lifting her chin with as much dignity as she could manage.

“Yes, we have sex. But not exactly like on your plane. Less about sheets and more about collapsing energy fields. Sometimes there are ritual chants. Sometimes, just a sad harmonica playlist.”

Emma spat out the sip of tea she’d just taken. “A sad harmonica?!”

“It’s a kink for some demons, don’t judge.”

She burst out laughing, forehead hitting the keyboard. “Oh my God.”

“He’s a tough one to explain to,” Vessel added.

“This is genius,” she said.

“I should be getting royalties.”

Emma was still laughing as she went back to typing. The once-blank page now came alive with carefully documented absurdities.

She looked at Vessel, floating nearby with his usual expression. “Hey, if you can touch things... can you make yourself visible to other people? Like, not just me?”

“I can. I just don’t like to. Being visible has consequences, you know? Panic, seizures, maybe some interior design damage.”

Emma paused, thinking. “But can’t you control that? Be visible only when you want? Maybe change your appearance? Can demons shapeshift?”

He gave a crooked smile. “Yes, I can. But being visible means dealing with curious stares, screaming, and people wanting selfies. I prefer the peace of invisibility.”

Emma raised a brow. “Do you think you could appear just once when we go out? So I don’t look like I’m talking to myself like a lunatic?”

Vessel paused, considering. “Hmm... difficult. That would require planning. And energy. And picking an outfit.”

“You don’t wear outfits. You wear a cloak. And weird shoes.”

“Exactly. So imagine the effort of planning a whole look just to follow you to the grocery store?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Just throw on a hoodie.”

She crossed her arms. “One day I will make you show up. Even if it’s just on Halloween.”

Vessel smirked. “There it is. An appropriate date. When people will think I’m just another guy in heavy makeup.”

“Then it’s a deal. On Halloween, you’re coming with me. Dressed as... I don’t know. A vampire?”

“Vampires are so dramatic. Absolutely not. I’ll be a retired soul accountant.”

“Oh, that’s going to be so fun.”

“You and I have very different definitions of ‘fun,’ Emma.”

She smiled and went back to typing. “Lucky for you, I’m the one writing this story.”

“Lucky or cursed, still undecided.”

[kit-is-not-okay]

songs I’ve got on repeat rn

[kaddyssammlung]

I have never seen this (or the angle....not sure). The moment Vessel takes his mask down during the Room Below. I did not know that he did that while the "you saved me" message was being read.

[kaddyssammlung]

Throwback to Donwload 2022

[brainsanalysis-deactivated20210]

Hello please reblog this if you’re okay with people sending you random asks to get to know you better

[volpestarks]

So flood me like Atlantic, weather me to nothing

Wash away the blood on my hands

[jawsoffate]

Diabolically Yours | part IX (vessel!demon x reader)

Summary: Emma just wanted a simple magical boost to win a writing contest, not a snarky and handsome demon bound to her soul. But after summoning the wrong hellspawn, she ends up stuck with Vessel: a sarcastic, shirtless chaos entity who won’t stop flirting or stealing her snacks. Now they’re magically tethered, emotionally entangled, and dangerously close to something much scarier than a pact gone wrong... feelings.

TW: Contains supernatural shenanigans, mutual pining, steamy tension, and one annoyingly hot demon. Read with care (and maybe holy water on the finals part).

💖 masterlist

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX

Part IX: From Date Night to Downward Dog

Emma opened the apartment door with more force than necessary; the heel of her left shoe caught on the entry rug and she nearly fell flat on her face. She managed to steady herself, but not without muttering a quiet curse. With a dramatic sigh, she tossed her bag onto the couch, kicked off her shoes like they were responsible for the downfall of civilization, and marched straight to the kitchen.

Everything about her screamed frustration, from the strands of hair falling into her face to the zipper on her dress that kept poking her every time she bent down to grab the wine opener from the drawer.

"Never again," she said to no one, opening the fridge and pulling out a half-forgotten bottle of white wine from the back. "Never again am I going on a date. If I wanted to watch someone chew like a cow having an existential crisis, I’d put on a nature documentary."

The pop of the cork was almost therapeutic. She poured the glass like she was pouring out the liquid disappointment of the night. She took a long sip, only then realizing she was still in the dress. Rolling her eyes, she headed to the bedroom, swapping it for an old sweatshirt with a cat print and a pair of sleep shorts.

When she returned to the kitchen, a pizza box had magically appeared on the counter.

"I swear to everything that’s holy, if this is a hallucination—" Emma began.

"It’s not," said a familiar, lazy voice.

Vessel was sitting on one of the living room sofas with a crumpled napkin balanced between his fingers. He wore the blasé expression of someone who viewed existence with deep skepticism.

Emma grabbed a slice of pizza, dropped the wine glass on the counter, and looked at him like she was stuck in a prison cell with a chatty bunkmate.

"I don’t know what was worse: him comparing Ursula Le Guin to linguine or the sound of his chewing. I can still hear that cursed rice echoing in my skull."

"You know, there are demons specialized in auditory torture? Open-mouth chewing is top three. Just behind fork scraping on plates and electronic music at seven in the morning."

Emma bit into the pizza with rage, chewing like it was a declaration of war.

"I tried, I swear I tried. Tried to focus on the content of the conversation, the good intentions... But how is anyone supposed to be attracted to someone who pronounces ‘Le Guin’ like it’s pasta?"

"No one is. Not even in hell. And trust me, the bar is way lower down there."

Emma let out a short laugh, despite herself. She sat on the kitchen counter with her legs crossed, holding the pizza in one hand and the wine glass in the other.

"You know what’s worse? Part of me feels guilty for being bothered by all of this. Like... maybe I should be more patient and give people another chance. Be more open. No one’s perfect."

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. Just a little.

"This right here is the peak of my social life. Sitting in the kitchen with pizza and wine, talking to a demon from the underworld that only I can see."

"At least I don’t talk with my mouth full," Vessel said.

"Sad that I can’t argue with that."

Vessel fell silent longer than she expected.

Emma chewed slowly, eyes fixed on the now-almost-cold pizza slice in her hand. The TV was on, but at low volume, playing some ridiculous reality show neither of them was really watching. The light in the room felt softer than usual, like the world had turned itself down so she could breathe.

"You know it’s not your fault, right?" Vessel finally said.

Emma looked up, surprised by the lack of sarcasm.

"What isn’t?"

"The date. Things going wrong. You don’t have some invisible defect that ruins everything. Some people just... don’t vibe with your frequency."

She hesitated, then set the pizza back in the box and leaned into the couch.

"Sometimes I feel like there’s something wrong with me. It’s not a logical thought, just... a feeling. Like, if no one sticks around, there must be a reason. And what if that reason is me?"

"Or you just don’t have the patience for clueless people. Which, honestly, is fair. Have you seen the state of the world lately?"

Emma gave a small smile, but it faded quickly.

"I try so hard to seem normal, to not be weird, to not scare people off... but after a while, it gets exhausting."

She looked at her own hands like they might hold some kind of answer.

"Have you ever considered that maybe the people asking you to change aren’t worth the effort?"

She turned to face him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone.

"That was... kind."

"I know. I regret it already. Don’t expect it again for a while," he said.

Emma raised her glass in a mock toast.

"To pizza, wine, and demonic honesty. Best combo of the night."

She smiled, truly smiled, feeling a weight lift off her chest. Sometimes, all she needed was to hear those words... even if they came from her personal demon.

________________________

The next day, Emma woke up with a somewhat absurd but determined resolution: it was time to try something “normal.” And so, with a mix of courage and desperation, she signed up for a beginner yoga class. After all, if she was going to work on her social life, it might as well come with some stretching and, who knows, that inner peace everyone pretended to have on social media.

Upon arriving at the studio, the smell of incense and the soft sound of flutes already made Emma question whether she was in the right place or had accidentally joined some sort of mystical cult. She stretched awkwardly and sat down on her mat.

“Okay, just breathe, just breathe,” she muttered to herself.

Not too far away, since he didn’t have the luxury of leaving, Vessel appeared, sitting cross-legged on his own yoga mat.

“Breathe? Honestly, I’d go with a strong dose of caffeine or, I don’t know, a heavy metal playlist to liven up this meditation. This place feels like a funeral,” he muttered, his face clearly unimpressed by all the supposed serenity.

Emma shot a glance toward the nothingness.

“If you keep this up, I’m going to think you’re trying to sabotage me.”

“Never! I’m only trying to ensure this experience doesn’t turn into a tragic comedy.”

The instructor began the class, explaining how to “sync breath with body movement.” Emma tried to follow, but her body seemed determined to ignore every cerebral command.

“Inhale,” the instructor said.

“Brilliant. Very zen,” Vessel muttered.

Emma huffed and tried to focus on her breathing while her hands trembled in position. Beside her, Vessel pretended to execute the pose with exaggerated precision, legs crossed like a Zen master.

“I can literally see your foot floating,” Emma murmured, glaring at him.

“And you’re literally shaking like a gelatin in an earthquake,” he shot back with a lazy smile. “Delightful balance.”

The instructor walked among the mats, correcting postures with a gentle touch and words like “fluidity” and “inner connection.” When she neared Emma, the girl winced involuntarily as her thigh muscle tingled.

“Relax your shoulders,” the instructor said in a voice as sweet as chamomile tea. “And leave your ego outside the mat.”

“Already did. The problem is the demon came in with me,” Emma replied automatically, before realizing she’d said it out loud. A few heads turned. She blushed.

Vessel nearly choked with laughter.

“Even I wouldn’t have been that bold. I’m impressed,” he said.

In the middle of warrior pose, Emma tried to focus on her supporting leg, but her mind wandered, to the half-finished coffee, to the email she needed to answer, and of course, to the demon who insisted on commenting on every movement.

“This is ridiculous,” she whispered, sweating. “If regret could kill, I’d already be in hell.”

“Fully agree,” Vessel said, now lying on the floor like he was on a beach.

During savasana, the final part where everyone lies down as if they’re sleeping, Emma tried to relax. Vessel, of course, was already sprawled beside her, hands behind his head, humming an ironic snippet of Highway to Hell.

“I can’t even have peace with you around, can I?” she whispered with her eyes closed.

“And where’s the fun in that?”

Emma sighed. Maybe the yoga class hadn’t brought her spiritual enlightenment, but at least it would make for a good story. Someday, many years from now.

After forty minutes, the longest of her life, Emma rolled up her mat, feeling every muscle in her body silently protest the torture of the past hour. Beside her, naturally, was Vessel, sitting on the floor cross-legged, yawning dramatically.

“You survived,” he said. “For someone who barely knew how to breathe properly, it wasn’t a total disaster.”

“Thank God you’re here to remind me,” Emma replied, wiping sweat from her forehead. “Because I almost thought I’d be kicked out for causing a disturbance.”

“Disturbance? You were the star of the show. If clumsiness were a sport, you’d take home the gold,” Vessel commented, that devilish grin on his face.

Emma gave a tired smile, pulling on her jacket and adjusting the backpack on her shoulders.

“Seriously, I don’t know if my body is begging for mercy or plotting quiet revenge. I can barely bend my back.”

“Well, that’s the price you pay for trying to be zen,” he replied, faking a wise tone. “Or at least trying, in your case.”

They walked toward the studio exit, where the sunlight felt more inviting than ever.

“So you’re saying that the next time I want to feel at peace, yoga’s not the answer?” Emma asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I recommend tormenting some souls or scaring a few humans, works great. We could collect on a demonic pact one of these days, it’d be wonderful.”

“You know what? Why not?” she said, glancing at Vessel. “If yoga didn’t work, maybe chaos is a viable alternative. I’m probably going to hell anyway.”

Vessel grinned wide, satisfied.

[kaddyssammlung]

[jawsoffate]

Diabolically Yours | part VIII (vessel!demon x reader)

Summary: Emma just wanted a simple magical boost to win a writing contest, not a snarky and handsome demon bound to her soul. But after summoning the wrong hellspawn, she ends up stuck with Vessel: a sarcastic, shirtless chaos entity who won’t stop flirting or stealing her snacks. Now they’re magically tethered, emotionally entangled, and dangerously close to something much scarier than a pact gone wrong... feelings.

TW: Contains supernatural shenanigans, mutual pining, steamy tension, and one annoyingly hot demon. Read with care (and maybe holy water on the finals part). This one can be gross for some people and I apologize for that, if anyone wants to skip this, please, feel free to do so, it won't affect the reading of Part IX (you'll only miss vessel being... well, vessel).

💖 masterlist

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII

Part VIII: Manners from Hell

Emma arrived at the restaurant five minutes early, which was a personal victory worthy of applause. But the truth was, she was nervous – even if, technically, it was just dinner.

Oliver was already at the table when she arrived. He smiled when he saw her, standing up with a calm and natural elegance. He wore a blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a discreet wristwatch.

“Emma?” he said, with that slightly enchanted tone of someone who still couldn’t quite believe the match was real.

“Hi, Oliver. Sorry I’m late…” she began, even though she wasn’t, but he was already making a dismissive gesture, as if brushing the apology from the air.

“You’re right on time.”

Emma smiled, sitting across from him. The table was set with gleaming silverware and glasses that looked far too expensive to touch. A candle burned softly in the center.

But before she could say anything, a familiar voice – low, sardonic, and absolutely not human – whispered right in her ear:

“Oh wow. A candle. How original. All that’s missing is a violin soundtrack and an impulsive marriage proposal.”

She didn’t turn her head. Didn’t blink. The last thing she wanted was to look insane. Hearing voices from beyond in a fancy restaurant would definitely land her in the ‘certifiably unhinged’ category.

“Everything okay?” Oliver asked, leaning in slightly.

“Great,” she said, a little too quickly. “Just thinking this place is really beautiful.”

“I heard the mushroom risotto here is amazing. But only if you like mushrooms, of course. I don’t want to be that person who pushes their food preferences right off the bat.”

“How sweet. Adorable,” Vessel muttered acidly. “A real gentleman. Any sweeter and he’ll turn into a muffin.”

Emma tried to ignore him. She really did. But it was like trying to ignore a sarcastic leaky faucet dripping inside your skull.

“You look stunning tonight, by the way. Blue really suits you.”

“Oh, my demons,” Vessel groaned theatrically. “What a cliché of a compliment. Two points for effort, that was terrible.”

Feeling her face heat up and biting her tongue to avoid responding to Vessel, she said:

“Thank you. You look very handsome too.”

Just then, the waiter appeared beside the table with a notepad and a slim pen.

“Good evening! May I take your order?” he asked with a professional smile.

“Yes,” Oliver replied. “I’ll have the mushroom risotto you recommended.”

“Excellent choice. And for you, miss?” the waiter asked, looking at Emma with a slight smile.

Emma glanced at the menu, still feeling Vessel’s eyes on her.

“I think I’ll have the same,” she said, trying to sound confident.

Vessel huffed.

“Classic coward’s choice. Where’s the boldness, Emma? A little fire on the plate, please.”

“Great pick,” the waiter said, jotting it down. “Anything else?”

“Maybe dessert afterward,” Emma answered.

“Of course. I’ll bring the dessert menu later.”

The waiter walked off, and Emma leaned back in her chair, letting out a small breath.

“So…” Oliver leaned forward a little. “Tell me more about yourself. What are you studying?”

She was about to answer, she had the response ready, but before she could open her mouth, Vessel stretched, and she felt it like a shift in the air temperature.

“Careful with this one. ‘I’m studying literature and writing about a human who summons a demon and becomes co-author of her own downfall’ might be a bit much for a first date.”

Emma closed her eyes for half a second. Took a deep breath. And decided to stick to the safe version.

“Literature. I like writing sometimes, longer pieces. I enjoy playing with fantasy, metaphors… that kind of thing.”

“Interesting. I used to love reading as a kid, but with work and school, I kind of fell off. Now I’m trying to get back into the habit.”

“Well, look at that, Emma,” Vessel commented, voice dripping with sarcasm. “A man who admits he stopped reading but wants to try again. A solid five. Redemption nearly secured. You can give him a peck as a reward.”

She took a sip of water, pretending to savor the coolness just to hide how close she was to losing her patience.

“And you?” Emma asked. “What are you studying?”

“I’m in my last year of Environmental Engineering,” Oliver replied with a calm smile, looking her in the eyes. “I think it’s all about taking care of the planet and figuring out how to use science to make things better.”

“That’s amazing,” Emma said, genuinely interested. “Kind of like a modern-day superhero.”

“Exactly.” He laughed. “I don’t wear a cape, but sometimes I think I should.”

Vessel muttered lowly, just for her:

“So far, I’ve seen a barista trying to win someone over with food. Three and a half points. Could improve.”

Emma tried to hold back her laughter. It wasn’t easy to have a conversation while ignoring a demon only she could hear.

“I used to watch you at the café sometimes,” he said, a little more serious now, with a shy smile. “But I never had the guts to ask you out. Always thought you were too busy and would say no.”

“Well, I’m glad you did. I’m really enjoying tonight,” she said, smiling.

The waiter returned with their plates, carefully placing the risotto in front of them. The scent of fresh mushrooms and parmesan cheese was inviting, and Emma’s stomach gave a quiet rumble. Oliver picked up his fork and, without ceremony, stuffed a large bite of risotto into his mouth.

“So, tell me,” Oliver began, speaking with his mouth half full, the chewing loud and nearly exaggerated, “How was your day?”

Emma looked away, trying to focus on her own risotto and not on what she was seeing. But with every noisy chew – mouth open, chewing and swallowing sounds – the attraction she’d felt toward Oliver started circling the drain.

“He eats like he’s alone in the kitchen at 3 a.m.,” Vessel grumbled, his voice so disgusted Emma instinctively recoiled.

“Jeez, no need to be so rude,” she muttered without thinking, shaking her head and forgetting only she could hear him.

“Rude? I’m being polite. This is grounds for eternal torture in the underworld,” Vessel shot back, snorting.

Oliver kept talking between bites, completely oblivious to his mortifying behavior.

“So… have you ever written a horror story?” he asked, scooping up another bite and nearly talking with his mouth full again.

“Um, I’ve tried,” Emma replied with a tight smile. “But messy and gross stuff isn’t really my thing.”

Oliver chuckled with his mouth partly open, a few grains of rice visible on his tongue, and leaned forward enthusiastically.

“This risotto is amazing,” he said, voice muffled by the food.

Emma smiled again, a bit more strained this time, and stirred her risotto as if looking for a mushroom that would save her from the situation.

“Amazingly revolting,” Vessel muttered, sounding genuinely offended. “He’s drooling so much he’s gonna found a swamp on that napkin.”

Emma coughed to hide a laugh that nearly escaped. She ran a hand through her hair, trying to look casual, but her eyes were already scanning for the exit.

“And you…” Oliver continued, chewing as he spoke, “do you have a favorite author? Someone who really inspires you?”

Emma opened her mouth to answer, but Vessel was quicker:

“You could just say: ‘Anyone who knows how to chew with their mouth closed.’ Do it for me. Please.”

She had to turn her head for a second, disguising it with another sip of water.

“I like Shirley Jackson…” she said, dragging her voice a little. “And Ursula K. Le Guin. But it depends on my mood. Sometimes I like more introspective stuff…”

Oliver nodded, still chewing.

“Oh, cool. Really cool. I don’t know either of them, but the second one’s name reminded me of pasta.” He gave a little laugh, still chewing. “Le Guin… Linguine… get it?”

Emma blinked. Vessel, on the other hand, sighed like a thousand souls gave up all at once.

“I’m done. Get me out of here, Emma. I swear I’ll go back to the circle of liars, take double shifts – just don’t make me sit through ten more minutes of this.”

Emma gripped her napkin tightly and tried not to laugh or groan in despair.

“Want dessert afterward?” Oliver asked, wiping his mouth with the napkin carelessly, leaving a streak of sauce at the corner of his lips.

She stared at his face for a second. The dirty corner. The risotto-covered teeth. The sound of chewing echoing like a demonic drum.

“Sorry, I just remembered I have to wake up really early tomorrow for a class,” she said, still with a polite smile.

Vessel whispered, satisfied:

“Praise common sense.”

[elkkiel]

the exact flavour of aggressive allyship we love to see 😌✌️✨

via twitter:

[renmoss]

thought the swords in that photoshoot didn't fit at all, and that I'd draw some fitting swords. but over the many hours of drawing these i wondered if the swords not fitting was the point? i mean, vessel's outfit is trimmed with gold, ornate and rich... and he wields rather plain swords of bronze and silver? we know the man has both taste, and an admirable yet insufferable commitment to the bit... so maybe this means something? is this old news i've just missed? maybe i've just been microwaving sleep token in my brain too much.