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garlic-the-gnome · 1 year

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After Pain

‘’I’m broken, aren’t I?”

“It’s foolproof, why did it have to be me? You said it would work, what’s wrong with me? Why do I have to be in the 1%?”

Arwen had been visiting the doctor’s office for three weeks, but what was meant to be a medical appointment was beginning to feel more like a psychologist visit. She had recently received the treatment that was meant to revolutionise the medical world. They called it the ALGAE; a minute bead inserted inside the brain that remedied your pain before you even felt it. ‘A miracle sweeping the world’ ‘Permanent pain relief’ the headlines proclaimed. But for some reason it didn’t work for Arwen.

On her way out of the clinic she picked up a newspaper.

“Oh, it’s available for babies now, of course it is,” Arwen scoffed, flicking through the pages. “Another athlete died, who cares. They’re dropping like flies nowadays,” she told the lady at the bus stop, who wasn’t really listening.

The bus trundled along to the stop, its paint peeling and oil dripping onto the road. Arwen cautiously sat down on the threadbare seat, eyeing the other passengers who all seemed to be content in this vessel of squalor.

“No one is bothered to fix anything around here anymore, they just aren’t worried about getting hurt,” Arwen thought.

When she got home, she flicked on the TV and of course, look who was there.

“That Oliver will do anything to please those producers,” she mumbled before switching it off.

***

Every district had one. There was no use for pharmacies anymore, there was no need to feel better because they always did. The crowded shelves had been cleared and removed in favour of sleek surgical suites. ‘A simple operation, and pain was a thing of the past,’ at least that was what they promised.

***

Oliver had just sat down as the teleprompter began to roll. He took a deep breath and began the announcements.

“Today the nation mourns the loss of yet another mountaineer, 42-year-old Emma ‘The U’ Underhill’s frozen body was found this morning at K2. The cause of her death has not yet been released to the public; conspiracy theorists believe it could be linked to ALGAE. The authorities have discounted these theories.”

He had been called in to fill the segment as the regular presenter was off at her scheduled appointment and the station was running short on staff. There seemed to be less of them each day.

Lunchtime came around and Oliver was still milling around as he had nowhere else to be. The vending machine was broken. THUMP, nothing, THUMP, still nothing, THUMP, nothing again. Oliver was kicking it with great force by now, the ALGAE pulsating in his brain keeping the pain at bay.

It had been one month since his operation and life had been sweet ever since. He had been one of the first in the area, being a local celebrity had its perks. The first few days after had been sensationless, he couldn’t feel anything. The doctors had told him that this was perfectly standard reaction, and he would be back to normal soon.

***

The numbers were now in the thousands, people dying without realising they were sick, athletes pushing their bodies to the limit in the name of sport. The tabloids were flooded with rumours and theories penned by conspirators playing scientists. Yet people still went under, the promise of a painless world tantalising to the masses.

***

Amelia had just had a pain free childbirth and now it was time for The Decision. The ALGAE was nestled in a tray beside her. A surgeon lurked in a corner ready to whisk her child away to theatre. A clipboard laid out in front of her clipped onto it a single page.

Amelia’s life had turned around drastically since The ALGAE came into her life. She was now fitter than she’d ever been before, running every day for hours on end, painless despite her pregnancy. She could sleep better without her back pain.

Her running partner was a different story. Amelia couldn’t of predicted what would happen to Olive. The two would run together each morning before things changed. They set goals together, pushed each other, until Olive got The ALGAE.

She began running without Amelia for fifteen hours a day. Skipping mealtimes in favour of fitness. Working out instead of sleeping. This continued for weeks till one day Olive was found collapsed on a path, body cold. Amelia vowed to never let herself live like that and leave her baby alone in the world.

Though the doctors always knew what was best.

“Why on earth would I want my precious baby to be in pain?” she winced as she signed the form.

#a garlic original #I wrote this in 2021 #my writings #im going through my folders to see if there is anything worth posting #all aboard the queue queue train #scifi #short story

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bigolialragu · 2 months

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dungeon meshi as my favorite new girl scenes (and i change drawing process halfway through sshhh dont be scared its normal i swear)

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astersatdawn · 1 year

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Gifts of the Garden

Relationships: Akechi Goro & Kurusu Akira & Ann Takamaki

Rating: T

Post canon

Oneshot | 861 words

“We were carrying them in one of the baskets,” Akira says from his left. He’s sorting through some flowers: red ones with infinite petals, pink ones with only five, and white ones that are familiar—daisies—he’s seen them many times in the bouquets shoved onto him during his Detective Prince days. “We bought them while Ann was getting you dressed up.”

Goro scowls. “I still don’t appreciate the fact I’m the dress-up doll of the day.”

Ann flicks his ponytail, briefly examining the side-braid’s integrity as she leans away. “You’re not,” she says as if she hadn’t just checked on the work she did to his hair. “But we did not want you walking around in a sweater vest.”

[Or, the Phantom Thieves make flower crowns.]

ao3 link: here

This was written for the Vague Akechi Fashion Zine on twitter.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do with all of these?”

Ann laughs at Goro’s bewildered expression. “Make a flower crown!”

Goro grimaces as he stares down at the flowers she had dumped into his hands seconds ago. Some have fallen onto the blanket beneath them, one of the many they have spread in this section of Inokashira park for the Phantom Thieves picnic that he had been forced into joining.

“Is it even possible to make one with these?” Goro says as he starts to separate them by color. Some of them are rather small, others engulf his entire palm. “Where did you even get these?”

Goro scowls. “I still don’t appreciate the fact I’m the dress-up doll of the day.”

“Is this really any better?” Goro tugs at the pastel pink sleeve of the loose cardigan, the light fabric bundled at his fingers opaque, only to turn translucent when he lets it go. He wonders if this had been sitting unused in Ann’s closet beforehand, considering the color and the few soft flowers scattered across it are more to her tastes, or if she had bought it exclusively as a gift for him. Knowing Ann, he supposes it was the latter.

At least beneath it he’s wearing a white v-neck, the only thing from his closet, paired with some beige shorts and pink tennis shoes, which he only wore in lieu of his own shoes because Ann had somehow managed to hide his shoes around his apartment when he wasn’t looking. His brief search before they left only led to one pair of mismatched shoes. He knew hiding them that way was Akira’s idea without even needing to ask.

“Yes! And you look good!” Ann says and Akira nods in agreement. “Now get to making your crown, it’ll complete the look!”

“You never answered my first question.” Goro sighs.

“It’s… probably possible.” Akira studies the flower spread that sits between the three of them. “Just difficult. Have you ever made a flower crown before?”

Goro doesn’t respond, and it’s an answer enough. Ann picks up a couple of the flowers from the bunch and starts to weave the stems together. “Well, we can work together and make one.”

“...We could,” Goro agrees, though he hesitates. “Aren’t you supposed to work on yours?”

Around them, on the other blankets, the others make their own crowns. They clearly have a bit of an easier time, with only three or four flowers to work with instead of what appears to be the extras from their selections.

“Yeah, but it’ll only take me a couple minutes.” Ann picks another flower up from the pile. “We did kind of give you a lot of them.”

“I believe you mean the leftovers.”

“No,” Akira says as he picks up a couple of Goro’s flowers after setting his own barely started crown aside. “Gifts.”

“Gifts?” Goro scoffs.

Akira is silent, focusing a bit as he attempts to tie the two flowers together. They snap. Akira finds a new pair and starts again. “A while ago we—” He tilts his head towards the distant Haru “—were talking about what flowers would fit everyone. Everyone’s making their crowns with their flowers and yours.” He grabs another flower. “And everyone gave you some of theirs. So you can have a bit of all of us.”

Goro stares at the pile. “I see…” He picks up a couple of the flowers and sets them on his lap. Combined, the collection of flowers is a mess, and he doubts they’ll be able to weave most of them together like they’re hoping.

He looks at Ann and Akira’s fingers, studying the movements they make, then looks back down at his first selections: a rose and one like the red flower he saw Akira with earlier. He supposes he can try to weave together these fragile stems and hope that somehow they’ll stick together despite the pressure.

Later, the group chat will be filled with pictures from the afternoon, including shots of the trio making his crown, of Ann setting the finished product on his head and adjusting his hair, and some from the posed pictures Ann took of each of them. He saves one photo of each thief, and sets them as their contact photos, and saves three more, two group photos and one of himself, to print out.

Scrapbooking is still new to him, but seeing his time with the group, carefully immortalized alongside some dried flowers, is nice, even if he’ll never admit it.

#persona 5 #written for a zine #this is so old #i wrote this in 2021 #and i'm posting it basically a year late oops #astersatdawnfics

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duu-kiwi · 8 months

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I bet aziraphale wrote about the day the universe was made, about the angel whose voice recited the words that created the stars, about how bright they shone, and still shine, in those angel eyes✨🪐

Here you have some detailss and a cropped version with just!! them!!!

edit: prints link !

#Good Omens #good omens fanart #good omens season 2 #there is something something abt the diary(?) that aziraphale writes #that theyve might wrote abt that time too #and i also thought abt the possibility that crowley will found and read them someday #i had like three separate pieces that make this concept a bit more linear? im really excited because i had a really fun time making this #it was challenging but oh so regarding to make a full piece since 2021 #anyways i really love them and they have inspired me to push myself a little further so im really grateful for that #also FOR THIS SECOND SEASON THAT NO ONE HAD THE RIGHT TO MAJE IT THST GUTGRENCHING AND FUNNY AND GOOD?!?!#aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #fanart #art #aziracrow #angel crowley my beloved #i hope i nailed the love at first sight eyes on aziraphale bc that was what happened there right?#artists on tumblr #good omens 2 #angel crowley #myart

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notquitecanon · 6 months

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Tell 'em bout the Twinkie // Dr. Egon Spengler x extroverted!Reader

Summary: Egon takes care of you after a long night on the town with the other Ghostbusters. While somethings are always the same, you surprise him yet again.

I found this hand written in a notebook from two years ago while I was cleaning so I figured id type it up and post it since there wasn't much new stuff in the tag. Dinner is served.

Warnings: alcohol use, drunk reader, sober Egon (obvi), descriptions of scraped knees and cut hands, blood mention, and first aid. Lots and lots and lots of fluff. Possible cringe. shameless use of Twinkie as an emotional allegory

Dr. Egon Spengler was enjoying a rare night of quiet in the firehouse. Janine had scheduled the whole week around the entire group being free tonight. Peter had insisted a little R&R was due in spades. And for Egon that meant spending a quiet night in, lackadaisically charting his mold and fungus, and catching up on relevant literature at his leisure.

But for the rest of the Ghostbusters staff, it meant going out to a nearby bar for drinks and music. That included you, the Ghostbusters resident research analyst (as you were listed on their payroll).

You had been hesitant to leave Egon alone, especially on one of the few nights you wren’t working to the wee hours of the morning or having dinner interrupted by what Winston had dubbed the "bust alarm". Still, the scientist encouraged you to join the others, knowing deep down you wanted to go.

One of the many reasons he admired you was your easy and outgoing nature, your desire to be out in the world. Due to his introverted and nose in his book habits (even worse when he was in college), your extroverted demeanor was probably the only reason you had managed to befriend him. And because he admired it and profoundly enjoyed your company, he never Egon ever wanted to be the reason you didn’t do the things you wanted to.

However, that didn’t mean he had the slightest inclination to join you in a Friday night crowded bar: packed with sweaty people he didn’t want to touch, drinks he didn’t want to drink, loud music he didn’t want to hear, smoky air he didn’t want to breath, and sticky countertops he didn’t want to sit at. And that’s just the reasons he got out before Peter gave up trying to convince him.

So, he was content to gently push you towards the door with the assured promise he’d be happily waiting with for your return with leftover takeout- both of your favorite ways to end a late night since meeting each other as Grad Students. Nothing better than cold noodles after coming home little drunker than you meant to- and well, Egon didn’t drink but did enjoy an excuse for a late night snack (and an excuse to be close to you).

And with the firehouse still and quiet, Egon was enthused, seeing how ectoplasm interacted and affected the growth of his molds, making mental notes to show you.

Aspergillums wouldn’t grow at all, actively decaying at ectoplasmic contact. Cladosporium both grew and decayed erratically with Ecto contact, creating a cascading starburst affect. Alternaria first grew at unprecedented rates but wouldn’t produce spores. Penicillin frew at normal rates but produced an odd smell. Fusarium grew rapidly and abundantly at first but died off just as rapidly.

"Spengie!" A recklessly loud shout, Peter no doubt, echoed from the main entrance, "You gotta marry this girl!”

And thus his quiet night was suddenly over- con. But it meant you were home- pro! Venkman's shout was accompanied by the sound of quick footwork stomping and scuffing above him, and Egon could imagine him doing a little spin around the fire pole. It was Winston’s voice that following in scolding.

"Peter if you don’t shut the hell up, I will leave you at the bottom of the stairs for the night. We both know you won’t make it up by yourself.” His voice was a warning, but Venkman’s voice was cheeky.

"After all we’ve been through, Zeddemore?”

"Especially after all we’ve been through.”

Egon smirked at his friend’s antics, shaking his head as he removed the Trichoderma slide from the microscope, encapsulated it, labeled it, and sorted it into his hobby file base. A well practiced move as a set of footsteps clunked down the stairs to him. His eyebrows twitched.

Those weren’t your footsteps.

And while he loved his friends dearly, they had gotten your company and attention all night. Despite his insistence on your outing, he was feeling uncharacteristically territorial about his night time traditions with you.

"I’d knock but I don’t have a hand." Ray’s voice called out, sounding three quarters of the way down, chipper tone underplayed by a touch of strain. His steps were unaccompanied and you hadn’t called out to him yet- not even a good night. Had you decided to skip takeout all together in favore of crashing on the upstairs couch? If anything, the couch he had in the basement would be better for your REM cycle. Not to mention Egon was also in the basement.

Nonetheless, Egon answered, inviting him into the lab as he rose from his work stool. Finally, Ray turned the corner, silently answering all the scientist’s questions. Because there you were, wrapped around Ray’s back like a proton pack, your own jacket hanging behind the both of you like a cape, your purse on Ray’s shoulder, and shamefully useless shoes in his hand. Rays arms looped under your lax knees, and your arms were loosely around his neck like the worlds drunkest scarf. Meanwhile, your face had tucked into Ray’s neck, between your arm and his collar, now smudged with your lipstick.

There was a momentary flash of jealousy until it was squashed by Egon’s sudden attention to your knees. He tensed, seeing a patch of blood on both knees, staining ripped tights and dripping to your ankles. There was a more subtle smudge of injury on both of your palms.

"What happened?" Egon’s voice was clipped, zeroing in on your wounds as he crossed the lab, suddenly much more worried that you hadn’t even twitched. You were breathing deeply, but hand’t made a sound…

Ray had been expecting this reaction and kept a calm face, "Just took a little tumble, Spengler, see?”

With that, he shook one of the arms holding your legs, jostling you enough to rouse you a little. Without looking up, one of your bloody hands weakly formed a thumbs up before going limp again. Egon looked between your hand and Ray’s face in a mix of disbelief, worry, and irritation. Stantz swallowed thickly, shifting from foot to foot under his friend’s discerning gaze.

"That didn’t answer my question, Raymond.”

It only took one more cold look for Ray to start rambling the truth.

"Awww, don’t Raymond me, Spengs, it was all Peter’s fault, honest! It was like graduation weekend all over again. Venkman wanted a rematch, and, you know, (Y/N) had just enough to drink that she was feeling competitive. They agreed to the same stakes as last time and since you weren’t there (Y/N) placed a bet on your behalf." Ray explained quickly, not managing to hide his happy smile as he moved to gingerly deposit you on the couch. Egon was following like a shadow, taking great care to keep your head from falling back uncomfortably. Graduation Weekend had been the last time you had been carried home like this, only Egon had done the carrying that weekend, after going shot-for-shot with Venkman. After that and the subsequent hangover, you had vowed to 'grow up' and never get too drunk to walk for yourself. Until tonight apparently, Egon mused, brushing some hair out of the dried sweat on your forehead and noting your breathing, heavy but shallow. Not unusual after alcohol consumption. As Ray unlatched your knee from his hip, he perked up, "On the bright side, Peter’s cleaning the soot out of the Proton packs’ exhaust vents for a month! Lost on a technicality.”

"Hmmm." Egon hummed, adjusting you into a more comfortable sitting position as you slowly started to wake up, "Get the first aid kit for me?”

"Sure thing."

Egon watched your slow, scrunched blinks and how you slowly lifted your head to look at him, squinting before deadpanning until the blurry shape came into focus. It was hard to be irritated with you when your flushed face broke out into an unabated, silly grin, half lidded eyes brightening as you called in sleepy excitement, "Egon!"

Spengler took the opportunity to analyze the dilation of your pupils- glassy and dilated, but responsive. Good. He offered you a dry smile to appease you as Ray put the first aid kit beside you. In his other hand were three bottle- another college tradition. A non-FDA approved electrolyte and mineral enriched drink, formulated by Egon when he lived with Peter who was insufferable when hungover. Venkman called it "Liquid Rewind" and begged Egon to patent and copy right it, only after convincing him to add flavoring to mask the terribly bitter taste.

Spengler nodded a thank you as he plucked the red one from Ray’s hand, giving it to you. Ray watched you pressed the chilled bottle against your warm cheek. This left the already opened grape to Ray who sported a purple ring around his mouth and orange for Peter.

"Egon, red is Pete’s favorite." Ray pointed out as Egon started unpacking the first aid kit.

"I know."

"He hates orange." Ray reminded him.

"I know."

Ray nodded slowly, he knew how petty Egon could be when he was irritated, and he didn’t plan to attract the scientist’s wrath. Instead, he cheerfully patted Egon’s shoulder and moved towards the staircase, "Alrighty then, she’s all yours now. G’nite, Spengs."

"Goodnight, Ray. Thanks for getting her home.”

"Well, she sure didn’t make it easy. For a research analyst, she’s pretty slippery." Ray laughed, mostly to himself as he shuffled up the stairs most likely to the bunk room while Spengler pulled on a pair of medical rubber gloves. Egon also knew this from experience- Graduation Weekend he had also done the chasing when you pulled honestly impressive feats of escapism. Now, alone in the lab, Egon was kneeling in front of you in record time.

He took the first aid scissor and made quick work of ripping off your already shredding tights with such an efficiency that if you were in your right mind you probably would have been too flustered to think straight.

Egon ignored your little noise of protest, attractive scientist or not, those had been your good tights. The scientists offered you a cocked eyebrow as he rolled the tights down your legs. You simply sighed as he started gentle strokes to clean the blood off you now bare skin.

"Did you have to give Ray such a hard time?”

The scolding was playful even though delivered with his usual level of directness, still, even drunk you knew him well enough that it made you smile.

"Well, I was actually giving Peter a rough time, Ray just happened to be collateral damage." Sleep was starting to wear off, leaving your words only a little slurred, as if you were taking great efforts to make sure they were clear.

"And what did Peter do to deserve your ire this time?" Egon dousing some gauze with antiseptic. He didn’t flinch at the acrid scent, and usually you wouldn’t either, but this time your nose scrunched as Egon moved in even closer. However, you didn’t flinch in the slightest when he started dabbing at the shredding parts of your knees. Instead, you took the chance to appreciate the view of the good doctor kneeling in front of you, overhead lights casting a halo on his dark curls. It would be the perfect distance to lazily run gentle fingers through those curls. You seriously contemplated, but decided not to. You didn’t want to get blood in his pretty, soft hair. Wait- you were supposed to be answering his question…

"Made an uncouth comment." You sniffed as Egon moved to the next knee to clean the scrape. He hummed again noticing your non answer but not commenting- one problem at a time.

"Most of his comments are uncouth." He pointed out, pausing to smirk up at you, sighing in relief when you giggled. The was a comfortable pause as Egon focussed in on the deepest gash, but not for long.

"How is the ectoplasm variant going?" You asked after going quiet long enough that Egon wondered if you had fallen back asleep.

"I’ll have to show you tomorrow. I want your thoughts." Egon informed, a slight smile and point of pride that you had inquired after his work even in your current state as he dabbed antibiotic cream on your knees, "The Cladosporium is behaving particularly erratic."

"Ugh, my bet was on the Asparagus." You sighed, prodding at the edge of one of the deeper cuts at the top of your knee. Egon gently, but sternly, nudged your hand away, giving you a warning eyebrow before taping large bandage on over one knee.

"Aspergillus." He correct, almost sounding amused as he moved to the next knee, applying the bandage with just as much care, "Hands."

"Yes, doctor." You teased, offering both your palms. Egon gently took your left in his larger hand, using his other to repeat the same process. These scrapes were much less deep, mainly superficial, a product of catching yourself before your head hit the pavement, your knees had taken the brunt of it, but Egon was nothing if not thorough. It was quick work to clean and bandage both palms.

"There, that should prevent an infection." Spengler informed you, holding both of your treated hands in his after disposing of his gloves, he gave them a quick, tender squeeze before pressing the bottle of red ~liquid rewind~ into your grasp, quickly cracking the lid off for you, "Drink that."

"You know I’m not even that drunk." You scoffed, giving him a playful glare but obeying anyway, taking a long pull of the bottle, only stopping to swallow and breathe before going back in. This time both of his brows were raised as he stood, taking the trash from his impromptu clinic to the nearest bin.

"How much have you had to drink, exactly?"

You thought to yourself for a second, raising your eyes to the ceiling and mouthing numbers before tallying them on your fingers while you mentally replayed the night. Egon waited expectantly as he removed his lab coat, getting increasingly more concerned the longer the tally went on.

"Lets see…. approximately pi cubed divided in half times 1.5, minus six."

Egon didn’t even have to think about the calculation, instead being bewildered by the sheer amount of liquor you had managed to imbibe. His voice raised just a bit, mostly in disbelief and concern, "17 drinks?! (Y/N)."

His disbelief sounded more like frustration to you, and your lip wobbled a bit as you lurched forward, regretting the sudden move but powering through as your eyebrows knitted up, looking up to the scientist pleading, voice a whine, "Don’t be mad."

Egon shook his head with a deep sigh, catching your hand as you reached for him.

"I’m not mad. Surprised you’re coherent? Yes. Impressed at your current equational prowess? Definitely." He listed as you weakly pulled him back towards you. Egon nudged the forgotten red stained bottle, "C’mon, a little more."

After a long swallow, you nodded, "Well, after I slipped the boys, I made it pretty far uptown before they found me-"

You had started almost sheepishly, this time expecting Egon’s crinkled eyebrows and interruption.

"They lost you?" He repeated lowly, but you just shrugged, squeezing his hand as you continued your tale.

"Only for an hour, but it was a long walk back home. Well, it was for Ray at least. So I had plenty of time to workshop my math, Ray doublechecked it for me. And I still had time for a nap." You seemed pretty proud of yourself. Egon opened his mouth, eyebrows raising then falling as his mouth closed.

"I see. Is there a particular reason you needed to escape?"

"Noooo…."You dragged out, using his hand to pull yourself out of you slouched sitting, using him to keep yourself steady. Egon didn’t budge, allowing the contact. His head cocked ever so slightly to the side, looking at you over the rim of his glasses. You crumbled instantly, "Yes."

With an innocent smile, you fished into your jacket pockets, patting yourself down with increasing franticness, "I kept going until I could find a 24 hour bodega."

"You ran off inebriated by yourself in the middle of the night to a late night convenience store in New York City? This neighborhood is basically a demilitarized zone. We’re definitely going to have to discuss that." He muttered, checking you over for any injuries he or Ray might have missed. You were undeterred by his scolding because you had found whatever you had been searching for.

"Well, where else was I gonna find these at this hour?" You asked earnestly, revealing two only slightly squished Twinkie's. It was your turn to quirk an eyebrow, "What? Did you think I would forget about our late night snack?”

You were interrupted by a overpowering yawn, eyes suddenly drooping, "Gonna be honest though, don’t think cold Thai food is a great move for me at the moment.

Egon took the slightly squished confection out of your hand, giving it an appraising gaze, before breaking into that signature sideways smile as you leaned into his chest. With all the secrets of the night in the open, you didn’t have much else fighting to keep you awake. Egon his arms around your back, using one hand to rub soothing circles on your back. The good doctor allowed you to stay like that, his cheek pressed against the top of your head. As your breathing slowed, more and more of your weight slumped against him.

Egon didn’t mind, finally getting that close contact he’d been waiting all night for. Instead, he stared down at the twinkie in his hand. The cream was squeezing out of the sponge cake and smearing onto the crinkled plastic wrapper, but you had ventured countless blocks out of your way, escaping three of New York’s ghostbusters, just to pick up something you knew he’d like. Even with 17 drinks actively shrinking your neurons, you were always so thoughtful.

Egon was well aware of how much his friends loved him, and he would always be grateful for finding each of them. But there was always just something different about your love. If Egon possessed a more artistic disposition, he might describe it as a warm ocean wave washing over a beach. Gentle, yet unstoppable. All encompassing. He wasn’t quite sure what he had done to deserve someone like you to love him like you did, but whatever it was he’d do it a thousand times over- even if it meant cleaning you up after a long night out on the town.

"Did you have a good time tonight?" He asked quietly, feeling you nod into his chest . His sweater was soft against your cheek and he smelled as wonderful as always: earthy yet clean and the slightest hint of something smoky like a full trap or lab experiment gone wrong. After a deep inhale you nodded again through another yawn.

"Mmmhm. ‘missed you though." Your voice had slowed back down to its sleepy, slow tone that Egon would never admit to loving as much as he did, the warmth of him and quiet lulling you. You were fighting to stay afloat, but Egon’s thumbs working slow circles into your back were winning as he answered.

"I missed your company as well."

And it was later, when you had fallen into a deep unbothered sleep on the lab’s couch after stealing one of Egon’s t-shirts- the ones he would wear under his jumpsuit-, and using his lab coat as a blanket, that Egon thought about all this, taking a slow bite of his slightly squished gift.

Peter was right. One day, he needed to marry you.

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so I tried two somethings new. 1.) tried writing this more from his perspective, which isn't something I really do with any character. 2.) Paired him with a more extroverted out going reader, because I feel like we usually see him paired with more introverted types

anyways I typed this up at 3 am after crying for five hours so please excuse any typos.

#egon spengler x reader #dr. spengler x reader #dr. egon Spengler x reader #ghostbusters x reader #can't believe im writing ghostbusters fanfic in the year of our lord 2021 #using that tag bc TECHNICALLY I wrote this in 2021... I just reread and typed and posted it in 2023

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the-kaedageist · 1 year

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The inn is small and plain, the tables worn from years of patrons and the weight of beer steins. Essek touches his fingertips to the wood and thinks about how far his life has come. “Why are we here?” he asks after a long moment. Caleb looks up from where he had been spacing out, presumably lost in old memories as he glances around the room.

“Oh, ja,” he says, catching himself. “This is where we first met. The Mighty Nein, I mean.”

Essek’s eyes widen. The room takes on new hues, a history he hasn’t been able to read from the furniture and the beer spilt in the corner. He can see the ghosts of younger versions of his friends, set lightly upon this space like a memory - Jester laughing and carving a dick into one of the tables, Beau and Fjord drinking from steins and ribbing one another. Caleb sitting with Veth, who presumably would have been Nott then. Yasha by the bar, perhaps, with the infamous Mollymauk. They had started off with only seven, not having any idea that someday they would be the nine of their strange moniker.

“Ah,” says Essek, not sure how to put all of these impressions into words, especially not in Common. “An auspicious beginning, I see.”

Caleb shares a small grin with him. Essek knows that smile; it usually forecasts some statement that Caleb knows will horrify Essek’s delicate sensibilities, looking forward to how Essek will react.

“Yes, what is it, Caleb Widogast?” Essek asks, trying to keep the answering smile from his own lips and already planning to act as affronted as possible.

“I was covered in mud and shit, you know,” Caleb says conversationally, a gleam in his eye. “When we first met. You would not have come within five feet of me.”

Essek has heard tales of dirty Caleb, and privately been amused at the thought. “I would have Prestidigitated you clean long before you came close enough to be a problem,” he says confidently.

Caleb laughs openly; it’s good to see him comfortable and safe enough to do so. “Perhaps I should fall in the mud and see how cool you would act around me now,” he says with a straight face. His eyes gleam with mischief.

“We shall see then, who is faster on the draw,” says Essek smugly. “My Prestidigitation, or your determination to get dirt upon me first.”

Caleb laughs again and moves to the bar to order them trosts, while Essek sits at the table and waits for the others to arrive. It seems fitting, that Caleb chose this place for their first monthly reunion since Uk’otoa had been vanquished. A new beginning, in a place where a beginning had been forged once before.

Caleb returns, carrying two trosts and wearing a thoughtful smile. “Wishing you had been here to join us from the start?”

Essek is rarely surprised at how well Caleb knows him, these days. This comment still throws him, putting words to a yearning that Essek hadn’t even begun to understand himself. “Had I been here from the start,” Essek says, “the story would have turned out very different.”

Caleb hums and clinks their glasses together, sipping from his trost with a hum. “True,” he acknowledges. “And in the end, you found us assholes anyway.”

The door flies open. Beauregard and Yasha make their way inside, Fjord and Jester hot on their heels. “What did we miss?” Beau demands.

“Hey Trostenwald,” Jester shouts. “We’re back!” She proceeds to cast Thaumaturgy and blow out all the windows in the inn. The innkeeper glares at her in a way that implies she’s not at all surprised by this occurrence.

As the room fills with the shouts and laughter of the Mighty Nein, Essek sits back with a smile.

Yes, indeed. In the end, Essek found them all anyway.

#critical role #campaign 2 #shadowgast #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #the mighty nein #cr fics #cr ficlets #found a prompt in my notes from 6/2021 that was just 'they take essek to trostenwald'#turns out I never wrote it #so here it is!!!#not sure where this came from but ah #enjoy #there are nine of them #my fics #oh also essek is in disguise in this fic lol totally did NOT even mention that detail #it’s fine! presumably most of you assumed so

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un-pearable · 1 year

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as true as the jokes about “everyone wants to rewrite ninjago” are i feel like smthn people forget when complaining about the inconsistencies of the show is that…. it wasn’t planned? it’s not like most other animated shows lately - it didn’t start with a deeply fleshed out world or a meticulously designed pitch bible with grandiose plans for a long-term story or character arcs. the ninja don’t originally get their powers from heredity because they weren’t hereditary powers yet. the magic system doesn’t make sense bc they literally just made it up as they went! they go back and forth on stuff like whether non-elementals can learn spinjitzu bc it’s a collaborative piece of media made by people with vastly different levels of control over the story, the animation, the sets, etc. that varied over the course of the series. it’s totally understandable and exciting to see so many people reworking the early stuff with the lore and logic later seasons introduced but i personally feel that… if you’re doing that. you need to understand why the show is like that instead of writing it off as being bad and shitty. it was working with what it had. it’s only what it is now because of that awkward troubleshooting phase, not in spite of it

#ninjago #text✨#you’re 100% allowed to criticize the show but i keep seeing people complain about the inconsistencies about like. their parents giving them #their powers especially. like yeah cool that wasn’t a thing yet? they have different origins than the non-core elementals #because in the real world that idea hadn’t even crossed their minds yet! the original story was a more traditional fantasy narrative of #normal people rising to the occasion and *gaining* powers through their own feats. the fact that they changed it later doesn’t mean #it was necessarily bad to begin with or that it’s something that should be mocked #idk just. there’s a lot of hostility in some circles about this stuff and it makes me kinda sad. enjoy the complexity of production and how #series adapt over time. it’s part of why the show is so interesting to me #that essay i wrote had a whole bit juxtaposing the attitudes about technology in rebooted and prime empire and how they reflect greater #cultural trends between 2013 and 2021. it’s SUPER interesting and yet a lot of people only talk about it to make fun of how ‘bad’ it was :(#this isnt to say i don’t enjoy some of the retcons. the changes to their meetings with wu in s8 are genuinely really interesting! i love the #changes to cole’s backstory. i think his mom makes him in the early seasons even better! i’m just saying.. be respectful? nobody *tries* to #make a bad show. ages and ages of time and dedication were put into what ends up on your screens. it’s all human love and creation.#as goofy as it is #okay sry got all anthropology there but hm. been thinking about this for a while. apologies for being the local annoying early seasons fan

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plutodile · 1 year

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gammermon

#digimon #digimon ghost game #ghost game #gammamon #wawa art #2023 #jesus christ i wrote 2020 and then corrected it to 2021 and then corrected it to 2022 and then corrected it to 2023 #apologies for minimal art posts i have been sad

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thehoax · 2 months

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#poetry #poems #poetblr #poetscreed #poets on tumblr #from the drafts #this is from my first poetry collection and i wrote it in like 2021 but i wanted to post anyways!!#you can see how much better i’ve gotten comparatively #poetry*

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ato-dato · 2 years

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That’s nice sweety :)

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angel-derangement · 3 days

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#hey here’s a thing I just found in my camera roll from 2021 #drew this and wrote this poem in a very hard adhd time #hard hard adhd times since then but I have grown a lot and know more about my own patterns now. so it’s not this bad again #but I was proud of this poem and I think I still am. it’s fun. hope u like.#my art #adhd

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acesydneysage · 5 months

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Reasons why The Indigo Spell is my favorite Bloodlines book:

Witchcraft! So much cool witchy stuff!

Sydney and Adrian aren't together yet, and there's resisting and pining and oh, but they give in and make out every 50 pages or so

HOPPER THE TINY DEMON DRAGON

How much of a goner Sydney is from page one, she thinks about Adrian constantly and misses him the second they're apart, while telling herself that the idea that she's "already halfway in love with him" is crazy

How insanely bad Adrian is at "loving from afar"

Adrian making heart eyes at Sydney while she throws fire balls

Sydney watching Adrian paint and going MINE

Crossword in the airplane scene, just how well Adrian knows her

Sydney actively going against the Alchemists, questioning what they tell her and being resentful of how they used her

"His face was the picture of perfect politeness and restraint, meaning something disastrous was probably about to happen."

THE DANCE

Oh no, I'm completely horrified at the idea of having to touch and dance with a vampire, I'm not thinking about when he kissed me at all

Sydney and Ms. Terwilliger actually developing a mentorship, Ms. T driving herself to the ground to protect Sydney and Sydney saving her

Talking about Ms. T: "He looks like he would do anything for you" She met him once! Captain of the ship! Well, Jill's first mate, anyway

Sydney and Adrian playing supernatural detectives!!!

The kiss at the college party

Adrian looks at Sydney's aura and almost explicitly states that she's demisexual

"I'm a quick study"

Alicia is a cool villain

Malachi Wolf is back and has a squirrel cookie jar, and Sydney can't wait to tell Adrian about it, momentarily forgetting she's supposedly leaving for Mexico

The whole melodramatic set up for their kiss and first date in the end is so, so Adrian, and he found a place Sydney would adore

If anyone wants to explain what their favorite book in the series is and why, please tag me :)

#I'm pretty sure I wrote this in 2021 and just never posted it #sydney sage #sydrian #Rapha's Bloodlines tag #bloodlines series #richelle mead #tis #the indigo spell #adrian ivashkov

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palmofafreezinghand · 5 months

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guilt

Esme and Carlisle fight about discuss his motivations to change Rosalie.

twilight advent calendar day seven: Choose one Twilight couple (or an AU ship) and tell us about an argument they've had. How did they resolve it in the end? (prompts here) content warnings: references to sexual assault & domestic abuse.

June 1933.

Esme sat on the back porch step, keenly aware her freshly styled hair was frizzing in the evening rain but lacking all motivation to go back inside. She would have been thrilled about the project at any other point in her life, a mansion that desperately needed life breathed back into it. She should have been content for years exploring the rooms upon rooms of things to do, planning her restoration, and studying the hundreds of years of history haunting the halls. Yet, the hastiness of the move, and the chaos brought by their new unexpected discontented roommate, meant she loathed what her husband believed was a gift.

The back porch was as far as she could go, the vast wilderness she once spent days hiding in was strictly forbidden. The newest housemate refused to be left alone with anyone but Esme and was too new to their way of life to be left alone completely. Esme should have taken it as a compliment and not the death sentence she had come to regard it as.

She heard the back door creak open — a reminder she still needed to oil that hinge — before she detected her husband, her inhuman senses overpowered by her inhuman imagination.

“Hello,” he said, heavy footsteps walking across the porch, she could hear the oak creak under his boot. The porch would need to be replaced, or removed, which was fine it was a horrific addition, not the only one she had faced in recent months.

“You are home early,” she observed.

“I am an hour later than usual,” he responded, taking a seat next to her, the porch groaned, probably termites.

She blinked, it was awfully dark was it not? “Oh, I must have been in my own mind, I did not realize it was so late.” She moved to stand — begrudgingly preparing herself to mediate whatever conflict had arisen in her mere hours alone — but his hand around her arm stopped her.

“Please don't rush off, I feel I have barely been able to look at you without someone threatening to harm me these past few months,” her husband said in a manner he must have believed to be charming.

She sighed, their home had been… tense, to put it politely. Although it was largely due to his own’s action. He was correct, they had not had a meaningful conversation since April. They had briefly run into each other in hallways, or spent mornings playing chess in the living room but always with an audience, and the understanding they could not speak freely. That moment, although lacking the privacy they typically preferred, was the closest they had gotten to a moment alone in months.

“Edward is simply worried, perhaps a tad mad, but mostly worried,” Esme explained. “You know how he gets.”

“He is not the one I am frightened of," Carlisle laughed, his hand landing on her thigh. "I am afraid she will bite my head off every time I touch you."

She attempted to laugh along but even she thought it sounded wrong.

Frightened. She chewed the word, turning the tone he had used over in her mind, it had flowed so naturally. As if the scared teenager currently listening to every word they said from the second story did not have every right to be terrified.

“She is scared, it is not her fault,” Esme said, wrapping her arm around him.

“She could tone it down a notch,” her husband scoffed, “even Edward was not this aggressive .”

“Edward had the flu,” Esme said before she could think better of it. She knew better than to talk back, especially weaponizing what was a traumatic experience of her son’s. ‘I am sorry, sweetheart. I did not mean it dismissively, I know that was horrific, I was trying to provide him perspective,’ Esme thought to the boy who was undoubtedly eavesdropping. She could hear the muffled first ten seconds of her favorite composition and knew she was forgiven.

“You reacted far better,” Carlisle countered. “You have been through similar," he said quietly enough it would be barely heard by those in the house.

“I had wished for death. I recognized you. I did not have my life ripped away,” Esme said. Why was he refusing to understand?

“Edward had his life ripped away, as did I.”

“Not at the hands of someone you loved.”

“I understand that, love, but—”

“Do you?”

Carlisle recoiled at her tone, but followed it by a tight lipped smile. “Are you alright? This is uncharacteristic for you,” he said in his familiar “doctor” tone, comforting, patronizing, a tone that meant to convey ‘I am an authority.’

“I apologize,” Esme said, squeezing his forearm lovingly, “I have had a long day.”

The words burned as she heard herself say them. How many unnecessary apologies was she destined to give when a husband of hers disagreed with her conduct? No, the two were nothing alike.

He smiled forgivingly, nodding in understanding. His hand, large and cold, wrapped around the back of her head, fingers through her hair. She flinched, he frowned and withdrew.

“I apologize,” Esme said, like one of Edison’s eerie dolls fated to echo the same sentiment until their wax record wore out.

“Does she know about?” He asked, dropping his voice to a whisper, gesturing with his hand rather than say the name they danced around as if it was a curse.

“Charles?” Esme asked, speaking at her regular volume, he winced but nodded. “You can say his name. He is not the Prince of Denmark.”

“Macbeth was attempting to be the King of Scotland. Hamlet is the Prince of Denmark,” Carlisle corrected her attempt at levity.

“Yes, I have told her about Charles. Not every detail but many.”

“Do you think reliving that has caused this?” He asked delicately, once again gesturing, this time to her, referencing her previous tone. Heaven forbid she speak frankly to him.

“It did not seem fair that I knew every detail about the worst night of her life, under no account of her own, and she knew nothing of mine.”

“You did not have to share anything with her. That is your story to tell how, and when you choose.”

“Carlisle, I know far too well how dreadful it is to be alone reliving that pain, feeling completely out of control of your life.”

“You felt alone back then?”

“Of course.”

His only response was a hmmph. She had hinted at this compliant many times over the years but had never said it in so few words.

Esme took the silence as an opportunity to continue speaking about the topic they had silently agreed to dance around. “I have been thinking about Ch- him a lot lately.” She noticed the way his nails dug into his palm, his glare at a puddle forming in the backyard, and yet she persisted, albeit less confidently. “I think… perhaps, I buried a lot of my memories in an attempt to move through it, and to not upset you two, but now it is all bubbling back up.”

“You do not have to discuss anything you do not wish to. No matter how much she pries.”

“She does not pry. I share willingly, I am thinking about him anyways, I figure I might vocalize some of it.”

“I apologize. She should not be forcing you to think of that thing.”

Esme considered her next move carefully. Very rarely did she challenge him blatantly, and never in front of others, but this seemed far more important than anything they had ever disagreed about previously and privacy seemed extinct.

“You brought home a young woman bloody and nude, who had been…” she swallowed the venom that felt like bile rising in her throat at her next word, “raped and beaten by her fiancé and his friends. You decided she should be frozen in that moment for the rest of eternity, and you do not believe I am going to naturally think about my husband and his?”

“His friends?” Carlisle stammered, one hand in a fist, the other gripping his knee.

“Do not act as if I have had complete permission to share freely about what went on in that house. You have torn a hole in your pants in your anger.”

He glanced down at his knee where his nails had shredded the slacks. “Do you expect me to enjoy hearing about him? To revel in...picturing what he did?”

“No,” she said definitively placing her hand softly on his torn pant knee, “but I lived it and sometimes I can not ignore that it happened.”

“His friends?” He asked again, quietly.

“We do not have to discuss it,” she said softly, squeezing his knee comfortingly.

“No, you want to. Please, tell me every gory detail,” he practically spat.

“Carlisle.”

“I apologize my tone was inappropriate” he said, in only a slightly softer tone.

The couple fell into an uncomfortable silence, punctuated by raindrops on brick.

“Why did you change her?” Esme asked minutes later.

“We have been over this before. She was far too young to die, I knew she was beyond the realm of medicine.”

“You see young people die all the time. You see young beautiful women die often, I am not jealous enough to suggest that was the motivator. Why not any of them?”

“This was different.”

“Why?” He did not respond, she pressed further. “Why this young woman who had been through such familiar horrors? Why did you feel compelled to save her? Why not a woman like her forty years ago? Why now?"

Her husband did not respond, but he met her eyes briefly, his mouth turning into a frown, and he abruptly looked away. It was confirmation enough.

“That is what I was afraid of,” Esme muttered. It felt as if someone had punched her in the gut. She had suspected this was at least partly his motivation from the moment she pieced together what had happened to the girl. His needless guilt had been a topic of discussion on a number of occasions, had made him act irrationally more than once, but this… was too far.

They fell back into silence, her hand on his knee drawing mindless shapes but it felt more like a rehearsed gesture than a sign of affection.

He moved one arm as if to wrap it around her shoulders but pulled it back to his body before ever touching her.

“You could not save me,” Esme said quietly. It was truth they had never acknowledged but both knew. “You believe you could not save me because you left, correct?”

“It is the truth.”

“But I was not a victim," Esme said plainly.

“Es-”

“No,” she said, moving the hand on his knee to his jaw, pulling his face to look at her. She shifted on the stair to face him directly. “Listen to me, please. I married him. I stayed with him for years. I chose not to knock him over the head with a frying pan and feed him to my father’s pigs. I chose to stay in our home when he was gone for a year. I chose him. A thousand times over.”

“I do not understand what you are trying to say.”

“Even if you were there, even if you had known what he did, you could not have done anything.” The hand on his face moved to his upper arm.

“But I cou—”

“No. If you had given me a choice, I would not have chosen you. I believed that was the life I was supposed to live. I would have chosen him, every single time. Do you understand me?”

“Do you… love him?” Carlisle asked, frowning as if the words burned.

“Don't be foolish, you know I do not," she scoffed, “I never did. But I was not brave, I would not have chosen to escape even if for some reason you were there and offered. The only reason I left was because I had too. You did not fail to save me.”

“You do not know that. If I coul—”

“Carlisle, no. What happened in my life, is no one’s fault but Charles’ and mine. You are not to blame.”

“But if I had—”

“This is not about you!” Esme exclaimed harshly.

He gulped.

"What I went through had nothing to do with you. What happened to her had nothing to do with you. The only way you are involved is because you changed someone because you felt guilty over what you could not prevent me from going through?” She finally asked.

He looked away from her, eyes focused on their feet.

“I do not believe I thought of it that rationally in the moment,” he said slowly, “But logically, yes, that was probably a motivating factor.”

“Do you understand the position that puts me in?”

“I do now, yes.”

“Do you understand the position she is in?”

“I never intended -”

“I know,” she said earnestly, leaning forward so she could look him in the eye. “You never intend. I do not say this to hurt you, love. I do not say this to make you feel guilty, but I need you to understand the consequences this has had, for all of us.”

He bit his bottom lip, a jerky little nod. “I do,” he muttered. He turned, she thought to avert her gaze, but instead his head dropped on her shoulder.

She wrapped her arms around him as she felt his frame shake, “I do,” he trembled, no louder than a breeze.

#carlisle cullen #esme cullen #rosalie hale #twilightadvent23 #my stories #i have had a draft sitting of this fight since 2021 last night i scrapped all but two lines and wrote this in a few hours last night #something is missing so i want to revisit before i post it on ao3 but happy this finally got a full draft #queue

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