#i'm determined to get out of this mental health slump

[indouloureux]

when you have time, could you do one about the reader having a tough mental health day (maybe she’s an actress and super overwhelmed) and he’s being all sweet to them and trying to help take their mind off things? You’re amazing!!! 🥹

this won't be an actress!reader bc i stopped taking requests for it but i'll still do this <3

he frowns when you greet him by a simple kiss to the cheek — no tight hug, no kiss on the lips. only a forced, tight-lipped smile, and a limp arm bringing him to a side hug before you're removing your shoes and placing them aside.

"hey," his hand splays in front of you, waiting for the leather of your coat to his palm. again, you simply smile, giving him what he's waiting for and watch him hang your coat on the racket. "how's your day?"

"it was alright," joseph takes note of the torpor woven to your voice, follows you with the gentle footsteps of his socked feet to the bedroom, but stays by the doorframe as you sit down on the edge of the bed, back slumped as you unbutton your shirt. "long. boring. but it was alright."

he admires that you're a hardworking person, consummating your work with such determination, and never complain as you do so; he admires your vitality in your disposition, admires your intelligence, the excitement to do something new and come home with a bright smile on your face from your achievement.

so to witness you come back in his arms with a sunken face and a tired frame, he worries what might have happened and isn't convinced with the words that came out of your mouth.

you discard your shirt behind you, unbothered to fold it or throw it in the dirty laundry as you sigh deeply. joseph takes this as a sign to kick himself off the doorway and carefully kneel in front of you, cottoned knees on the hardwood floor, hands gradually taking yours into his to radiate some comfort.

"honey," he murmurs. "talk to me, please? wanna know what's wrong with that pretty head of yours, yeah?"

it's been going on for a couple days now, too. and joseph knows it's not just work related — he notices how you hug him back during sleep but never as tight as it used to be, or how your laughs had hindered down into a simple smile or a huff from your nose, or how your storytelling was replaced by a simple "it was alright" like earlier. but now he's got the courage to ask what's wrong after letting himself quietly observe.

"i'm just..." you run your thumb on his fingers, looking at the opalescent skin decorated by tendrils veins of the lightest color of grey. "i'm just tired. i guess. i don't know if it's work or just i'm just tired in general. i'm sorry."

like the sun in you has been hidden behind dark clouds. joseph tuts, shaking his head as he lifts your knuckles to his lips, kissing each slope. "nothing to be sorry for, love. we all get tired sometimes. we just need some rest, yeah?"

he waits for your nod. and when you do, he takes your face into his hands, letting his thumbs massage your haggard cheeks. joseph kisses your nose, light like a petals touch, and you find yourself smiling as you clasp your hands around his wrists.

"you're doing an amazing job," he smiles, trailing his lips up to your forehead and kisses the creases away. "so proud of you, baby. the best person out there doing all the hardwork. wanna shower with me and get your mind off things, hm?"

you nod. joseph smiles at your confirmation, even at the small grin that sets on your frowning lips.

in a blur, you let him remove your clothes. unbuttoning your jeans and urging you to step out of them, helping you unclasp your bra and while you removed the rest, he's fast in making himself bare. the disposal of clothing does nothing to make it a ribald moment, watching as he steps in the small shower, disappearing behind the gaussian glass.

he opens the water, adjusts its temperature before he's holding his hand out to let you step in with him. you see the shower head douse his hair, darkened into an ebony color, curls dampened into a straight mop. joseph lets you step beneath the shower, feeling everything in you soused, your hair slowly becoming heavy.

the water patters on your backs, letting your forehead rest on his shoulder as he brings you into a tight hug, pushing you against his chest and letting his hands run through your slick hair. "i got you."

joseph has his hands on your face again, his thumbs wiping away the rivulets of water that sting your eyes before he's leaning down to kiss you. and in this simple moment, showering all sorrows away, you're encased by his warmth and devotion, the dark clouds leaving and once again allows you to brighten.

he murmurs the words i love you against your mouth, and you always, like a muscle memory, find it in yourself to say it back.

reblogs and feedback are appreciated <3

#joseph quinn blurb #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn x y/n #joseph quinn fluff #josepu quinn fic #joseph quinn fanfiction #joseph quinn #blurb #eddie munson #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction

[phyllisthefirst]

[This fic is entirely about the fictionalized representations of the men of Easy Company that we see on the show. I mean no disrespect to the real men by writing this.]

Summary: Don is determined to do no more than the bare minimum in his new assignment as "Technical Advisor" for an Airborne exhibition. He'll leave the actual work to the historian in charge while he tries to deal with the memories that keep coming up, of D-Day and everyone he lost after it. If only Miss Mowbray weren't so damn determined to make him actually give a damn.

Warnings: Flashbacks to war, undiagnosed/untreated PTSD, period-typical attitudes towards PTSD and mental health.

Tagging @next-autopsy - I'm finally inspired to write again, and I even wrote a bit for my other fic as well.

Babe, there's something tragic about you, something so magic about you - Part 4

[Part 3]

Determined to start being helpful right away, Don insists on supplying some more of his memories, no matter how much he dreads it. They don't immediately have a phone interview with another Easy Company man scheduled, because while Luz was willing enough to talk, the others need some more convincing. So, once Miss Mowbray is done going over her notes, they sit down and Don talks.

At first, the words flow freely and with a smile, buoyed by fond memories of his brothers in arms and - if he's honest - egged on by the comparison with Luz's fearless candor. He's not going to let one of his friends show him up in front of Miss Mowbray.

Still, at some point, even his determination isn’t enough to keep him going. He can't even pinpoint which echo of violence is the one that turns into one too many, but from one moment to the next he's struggling to talk, then to breathe, his chest getting tighter with each desperate gasp for air.

Suddenly, he's not in their cramped little office anymore but running across a dike in Holland, crouching in a foxhole in Bastogne, trying not to breathe in the stench of death hanging over a forest just outside Landsberg.

When her hand ghosts over his back, cool and gentle, he nearly snarls at her to get away, leave him to the grief and the ugly memories - memories of things he's seen and suffered, yes, but also things he's done with his own hands. Things he's seen people do to other people that are too horrendous to comprehend, let alone communicate. But he can't speak and so she doesn't leave, only continues rubbing soothing circles on his back and murmuring things he can't decipher. It doesn't really matter what she's saying, but her voice sounds like a safe haven, bringing back echoes not of war and violence but of a long-ago time filled with things like the taste of fresh-baked cookies, the smell of a girl’s perfume at a dance, the sound of his parents talking quietly in the kitchen.

Slowly, the fog begins to lift. When he begins being aware of more than her hand and her voice, he notices that he's slumped forward in his chair, nearly tipping over. His hands are gripping his knees so tight that they're beginning to hurt, and when he tries to straighten back up, his muscles are so cramped they flare up in agony at suddenly being told to move again.

He can't meet her eyes. He wanted to be strong for her attempt to honor the men who used to fight at his side and aren't anymore, but now he's… this.

“Come on,” she says. Her voice suggests pity he would balk at, if he wasn't so goddamn tired all of a sudden. “Let's get some fresh air.”

Her hand appears in his field of vision, giving his still blurry eyes something to focus on. It takes him another moment to figure out that she means for him to take said hand and stand up. When he does, experimentally, he finds that it's possible, his aching limbs only putting up a momentary protest.

They walk out into the quiet neighborhood, a suburban area mostly shaped by small industrial units, workshops and warehouses, entirely lacking the glamour of his hotel's much more central surroundings. He hasn't seen more than the streets he passes on the way from the métro to the hangar, but he usually enjoys his daily walk. Something about the banal nature of the area has a grounding effect on him, reminding him a little of the similarly utilitarian streets around the port back home in Astoria.

“Would you like me to talk about something?”, her voice cuts through his disoriented musings.

He nods his head, and she begins talking about her family back home - a little sister, sweet but rambunctious and likely to get into fights on the schoolyard, a mother who moved right from her parents' home into her husband’s to become a homemaker and who cried when she sent her daughter off to college, a father who taught history and literature at the local high school and who watched her academic career with equal parts jealousy and pride. She doesn't outright say all of these things, but they shine through in her words and he jumps at the chance to dissect them, a welcome distraction from a past overshadowed by war and a welcome chance to puzzle her out a little further.

By the time she has to think longer about new stories to tell, the fog in his head has cleared, and they've reached a little park.

“This used to be a hunting lodge,” she explains as they pass through an ornate wrought-iron gate. “It was turned into a field hospital at some point during the war, but now the park has been returned to the population. It's quite popular.”

He can see that: Everyone who hasn't left Paris and isn't currently at work seems to have congregated in this very spot. There are old men playing Boule on a stretch of gravel near the entrance, women pushing prams along the walkways, children chasing each other across the lawn.

Everywhere around him are signs of life, life outside the battlefield that has persisted through all the recent years’ hardships and is growing back now, stronger than ever - almost as if the city itself was addressing him. “This is what you fought for”, it says. “This is why it was worth it.”

When they finally turn back, breathing comes easy again.

***

They slip into a new routine: First, they call someone from Easy or one of the other companies - Luz has spread word of their project and persuaded a few other men to contribute. Afterwards, they sort through her notes, neatly transcribing them by typewriter, and then going through which parts of the report are new and could be used for the exhibition.

The days are longer now and more often than not, Don declines invitations from the other men to go out, ignoring their confused looks as he rushes back to their little office.

There’s a sense of peace here, even though they’re surrounded by stories of war. It must have something to do with what they’re trying to achieve, as if by writing down and sorting through all those stories, they’re applying order to something that for so long has just been chaos and noise in his head.

Or maybe it’s her, he thinks, then quickly pushes the idea aside. Startled by his own thoughts, he gets to his feet abruptly, only to freeze in place when she looks up at him with a quizzical expression.

“I’m starving,” he blurts out. “Do you wanna get out of here, get something to eat?”

He doesn’t notice that he’s said anything unusual but she keeps staring at him, eyes as wide as saucers.

“Are you talking to me?”

He looks around pointedly, drawing her attention to the fact that there’s no one else around.

“Don’t you eat?”

“I usually have a sandwich at my desk.”

“Well, I don’t have a sandwich with me, and we’ve been sitting here for hours. I could use a change of scenery.”

“You’ve never asked me to get lunch with you,” she points out, and he cringes - another thing his mother would have a lot to say about.

“Well, I’m asking now. And it’s closer to dinner, really.”

She seems surprised by this, but one glance at her watch confirms it - it’s half past six, and outside the sun is starting to set.

“Come on,” he nudges, and she slowly sets down her pencil. She seems almost mistrustful, and he wonders for a moment if he should be offended. Then again, even though they’ve spent much more time together recently, it was always in the context of work. Their only private conversations were the ones about his experiences in the war, and even those were technically for their project.

Maybe it’s time to change that.

“So,” he begins once they’re seated at an outside table at the nearest bistro, “how did you get into military history?”

Again that look of surprise, which Don is quickly getting sick of. Has he behaved so badly that every instance of civil behavior from him is going to elicit the same reaction?

“Well, I’ve always been interested in history, reading every history book and biography I could get my hands on. I wasn’t planning on going to university, my family couldn’t afford it. But then a distant aunt left me a large sum of money in her will, on the condition that it be used to send me to college. So, off I went, leaving behind my little hometown for the first time in my life to head straight to Harvard.” She smiles a little, almost to herself. “I trained myself to speak without an accent, just so people wouldn’t immediately hear that I was a clueless country bumpkin.”

Don is a little stunned at her story - it contradicts the entire picture he’s painted of her in his head, an image apparently made up entirely of baseless assumptions. She’s neither rich nor well-traveled then, just a girl who liked history books and had a generous sponsor.

“The military history happened sort of by accident - just a matter of which professors were willing to give a thesis assignment or a researcher job to a woman. At least it got my father interested in finally having a conversation with me.”

She lets out a short, dry laugh, then seems to remember who she’s talking to. With a shy glance at him, she says apologetically:

“Please ignore that. It’s been a long week.”

“Only because you don’t know when to stop working.” A wry smile curls her lips, and he continues before she can say what’s obviously on the tip of her tongue: “And I don’t mean compared to me. I mean in general.”

She sighs but doesn’t reply, and it occurs to him that this is the perfect opening for something he’s been meaning to say.

“I wanted to apologize, for the way I’ve been acting when I first got here. I wasn’t very helpful.”

“I’m sure you had your reasons.”

“No better ones than any other man.” Because that’s what it comes down to: When he got here, he was worn down from months of war and loss, unable to imagine ever not feeling this way again. But he wasn’t the only one who made it through this war, so why should he get to use it as an excuse? “I’m going to do better from now on.”

She turns her head to smile at him fully, and with the way the evening sunlight hits her face, the sight takes his breath away for a moment. She’s never looked at him like this before, open and soft, and now that he has, he could kick himself for needlessly denying them moments like this.

“What about you, Sergeant Malarkey? What led you here?”

He isn’t sure how honest he should be in his answer, but luckily, something else occurs to him first.

“You know, I think we should drop the formalities, don’t you? Just call me Don, if you’d like to.”

Another smile, one that triggers a burst of relief inside him - despite their recent truce, he still half-expected to be rebuffed.

“I’d like to.” She holds out her hand over the table for him to shake. “Then you must call me Beatrice.”

The waiter comes for their orders just then, and afterwards, she returns to her question about his journey to Paris. He’s a little apprehensive at first, not quite sure how far back the war has tainted his memories. But it turns out to be easy to talk about Astoria, about his family and friends and his short foray into academic life. He shortens the way from Toccoa to Paris into two short sentences - she's already heard about his time on the front, and there's not much more to say about the last stretch of his trip other than he was sent here to assist. He doesn't get into why he of all people was chosen for the task, but considering how she saw him lose control the other day, she can probably guess at the truth. He chooses not to dwell on it.

“Look at me, yammering on. You should have stopped me!”

“Why? I liked listening to you.”

And damn if that isn’t a powerful thing to hear.

The thing is, Don isn’t usually prone to brooding or questioning himself, didn’t use to be at least. But lately, with the war appearing to slowly come to an end, he’s found himself wondering: If you take away the things he’s done in battle, the Bronze Star and the Purple Heart and whatnot, what does he actually have to show for the last three years of his life?

The way Miss M…- Beatrice listens to him, head tilted slighty to the side and eyes alert and serious, makes him think that maybe he does have more to offer than the fact that he happened to survive a war so many others did not, even if he isn’t sure himself what that might be.

“You're a good listener,” he blurts because the silence is threatening to get too long but also because he means it, more than his tone perhaps manages to convey: Just by listening to his ramblings, she's made him feel more human than anything else in the last months.

She lowers her eyes, apparently a little unsure how to handle the compliment.

“Thank you. It's a valuable skill in my line of work.”

Her work. Of course.

He's been so focused on the way he's been distancing himself from her his first weeks here he hasn't stopped to consider that maybe she preferred it that way. Maybe she was glad to be left alone, and had no interest at all in the attention of someone like him. Maybe even now, she's gathering intel for her project, background information about one of its subjects.

A wave of bitterness threatens to rise inside him at the thought. But then he looks up, at her open, genuinely interested expression, and it ebbs away again. Her interest can't have been all academic, he thinks, and chooses not to question why that suddenly seems so important.

He's relieved when the arrival of their drinks cuts into the conversation. By the time they've tasted the wine and conversed politely about its quality (not that he knows jack all about the quality of French wine), he feels stable enough again to bring the conversation back to her.

It's interesting to hear about her studies, even more so because she’s clearly passionate about them, about academic life in general. She'd have to be, he assumes, to make it all the way through Harvard. Don's reasoning for going to college was always more utilitarian, just a way to get a better job afterwards. Nonetheless, as he listens to her now he recalls enjoying himself, enjoying learning about new things and questioning his own beliefs. There wasn't much room for any of that these past three years, unless you count learning about ways to kill and not be killed. It’s downright refreshing to just spend an evening filling his mind with things that don't translate into immediate action, just for the sake of exercising his brain.

By the time they're done with their simple but tasty meal, he feels more rested and alert than he has since he got here.

When they get back to the hangar, they expect to find it deserted - but instead, all the lights are on, loud music is blaring from the radio the mechanics usually carry around with them, and upon entering the building, they find all the men inside in various stages of drunkenness.

“What's going on here?”, Beatrice asks.

A serviceman, staggering by with a bottle of wine in hand, hears her even over the noise. Before either of them can see it coming, he throws an arm around both their shoulders and pulls them close.

“War’s over!”, he shouts. “Victory in Japan, they just announced it on the radio!”

With that, he squeezes Don’s shoulder and presses a quick kiss to Beatrice's cheek before stumbling on towards his comrades. Looking over at her, he gets momentarily distracted by the blush spreading across her cheek. For a heartbeat, he wishes he was as bold as that mechanic. Then the full meaning of the man's words finally hits him: The war is over. That voracious beast that stole so much from him is slain.

Before he can question it, he's pulled her close and followed the mechanic's example in planting an enthusiastic kiss to her cheek. To his great satisfaction, she blushes even harder. Taking her hand, he pulls her over to where the mechanics have set up their wine bottles and radio.

“Come on, let's celebrate!”

And celebrate they do. Beatrice seems a little shy initially, but the wine does its part to bridge the gulf between her and the men, at least for tonight, and Don makes sure no one makes her feel unwelcome. On the contrary, it doesn't take long before she's sitting amongst them, looking prim and proper even while swigging Merlot from the bottle. With the men's laughter all around and the taste of wine and cigarettes on his tongue and a jubilant swing number on the radio, he can't help but feel impossibly light all of a sudden. Before he knows what he's doing, Don is on his feet.

“You know how to dance, Mowbray?”, he asks Beatrice, then doesn't give her time to answer before he's pulled her to her feet. “Because I think this calls for dancing!”

He starts off swinging her clumsily across the empty middle of the hangar, his head buzzing with wine and excitement and his limbs no longer used to this kind of exercise.

By the time the song shifts into a slower one and he has to reel in his wild moves for more sedate ones, she looks a little relieved.

“I'm sorry, I guess I'm a little rusty.”

She shrugs.

“And I'm a little drunk. Not the best conditions for dancing. But hey, the war's over.”

“I can't really believe it,” he admits and, perhaps because she's admitted to being drunk, an uncharacteristic moment of vulnerability on her part, says some more of what's going through his head. “Some part of me was afraid it would never end.”

She doesn't reply, but he can feel her eyes on him, can imagine all too well that look she gets when she listens intently.

“I've been on the line for 172 days, but I'm still those last few points short of going home. When Major Winters sent me here, he told me he didn't expect to see me again anytime soon. But some part of me was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. When I left, the others were waiting to get their orders for the Pacific. I could never quite decide if I'd want to go with them when the call came, or be far away.” And leave them to fend for themselves in the hell over there, that guilt-darkened part of him adds silently.

He can feel the darkness creeping in again, the breathlessness, when her hand moves from his shoulder to the back of his neck to cup it softly, her thumb on his pulse reminding it to slow down.

“Now you don't have to decide. You're not going over there, and neither are your friends. You're safe. All of you.”

He looks at her now, because the words are too good to be true - everything he longed to hear for over a year now. Her expression confirms the truth, the warm, encouraging smile as well as the underlying grief in her eyes.

“The war is over, Don.”

“The war is over,” he repeats. He doesn't know what that means for him, exactly, but for now it means exactly what she said: He's safe, and so are his friends.

For a moment, he thinks of the ones who didn't make it to safety. This time, before the wave can roll over him, he smiles and pulls her closer, and when he looks down, she's still smiling softly.

#band of brothers #donald malarkey #band of brothers fic #donald malarkey/oc #donald malarkey x oc #band of brothers fanfic #yes Don ist still being very hard on himself. that won't change for a while.

[dallonwrites]

04, 08, 10, & 34 on the tarot asks please!! I normally try to not ask more than three for courtesy's sake, so you don't have to answer all of these but I'm curious about all of them. also soooo true about mentally writing environments you're in; if I ever stop doing that I'll die, I suspect.

literally you get me....my internal monologue must be a pretentious writer describing the trees at all times....

04. THE EMPEROR: STRUCTURE (How do you plot your novels?) 

long answer: i wish i could be a plotter sometimes but it's just not how my brain works. outlines are not creative to me at all and i have to be deep into a story to know what needs to happen and how everything needs to look besides a few scenes and ideas that float in my head beforehand. i only outline if i brainstorm enough ideas that i need them organised somehow but i don't force myself to fill in the gaps. to me outlines are a like a birds eye view which isn't enough for me to figure out all the little things that need to happen

short answer:

08. STRENGTH: COURAGE (What has been the hardest part of being a writer?) 

i think trying to make it work with just, everything else that goes on in life lol. especially health stuff. lately it feels like i'm either too brain foggy or too physically tired to write consistently and it's 🧍🧍 not to mention trying to balance writing with all the other life responsibilities that come first

i also think one of the most important skills in writing - but also the hardest - is trust in yourself. after a bad writing session you have to trust yourself that it was just one session and that the good writing will come back. you have to trust yourself that you're going to see the end of a writing slump. you have to trust yourself that this is the best plot point, character arc, ending etc. for the story at this moment. you have to trust in your ability to fix or a story, or trust in your ability to let go if it truly isn't working. you have to trust that you'll come up with new and exciting ideas. overcoming self doubt is so difficult but also so important because at the end of the day validation/love/advice from others is great, but it's never guaranteed so that love for your work and your trust in yourself to create something you love is the most important part of being a writer imo....

10. WHEEL OF FORTUNE: A TURNING POINT (What was the turning point in your writing career?) 

for my personal writing journey i think it was nanowrimo 2020 when i just wrote the self indulgent novel that teenage me would have loved. it reminded me that having fun is the most important part and that the goodness of my writing doesn't need to be determined by other people reading it (and also that "writing bad" is not the end of the world. it's actually fun LOL)

for professional stuff probably getting an acceptance for the first time because well, it was the first and i realised that publishing work is something i can actually do. but also that magazine was an illustrated one so the acceptance came with the art they'd commissioned for my piece. sometimes i still flick to my page in the issue because the fact that i have art based off my writing is SO wild to me

34. QUEEN OF CUPS: EMOTIONALLY IN-TOUCH (Do you express yourself emotionally through your writing? Do you find yourself putting your feelings upon your characters?)

i do lol! writing is one of my only ways of processing things that happen to me! so many experiences and feelings i've had are in my writing, it's just the actual details i leave out. i love it because that makes my writing distant enough so it's not difficult for me to write, but i'm still able to access all the depth that comes with writing about your own feelings

tarot writing asks

#thank you i love rambling <3

[teyvat-imagines]

hello! i hope your day is going well, make sure you’re hydrated! go drink some water rn >:(

is it ok to request an extremely sleep deprived s/o and how the characters react to it? w/ childe, zhongli, kaeya and both travellers, if possible? thank you!

Hey there! :D My day's going good thanks! ^w^ I promise I'm hydrating ;w; I'll gulp down some more water!

Of course! :D I only do up to 3 characters per request, so I've done Lumine, Childe and Zhongli for this one! ^w^ Hope that's okay!

Sleep Deprivded S/O:

Lumine:

○ Congrats, you've activated big sister mode! Genuinely though, when Lumine finds you like that, dark circles under your eyes, barely able to keep yourself up and clinging to caffeine like it was a lifeline, she immediately started to fuss over you.

○ She'd compare you to Jean for staying up all night like this, questioning if you were aware just how bad for your health this was. It's probably best not to answer that one unless you want this lecture to go on longer...

○ As much as Lumine wants to drag you away to go and get some rest right now, she's also aware it could mess with your sleep cycle entirely if she did that. So, she spends the day keeping a close eye on you, making sure you stay out of trouble.

○ It does mean you can't really get anything done today. Want to do your commissions? Nope, you are far too unalert to be trusted getting into fights right now, she'll do them for you! What about some cooking? Nope, she doesn't trust that you won't doze off briefly and burn the place down, let her do it.

○ It's a little overbearing, but it is coming from a place of love, and she just wants to see you safe and well rested. She'll definitely apologise for it the next day, when you've actually had sleep again.

○ That night, she'll do everything she can to make sure your bed is as comfortable as possible. The pillows are fluffed, the blankets warm, the room just the right temperature as you curl up to her. Expect her hand running through your hair until you doze off, Lumine staying awake until she's certain you've fallen asleep.

"Mm, are you asleep (Y/N)? ... Good, sweet dreams now. I love you~"

Childe:

○ I can kind of see him turning it into a competition almost... He sees you, barely awake and still trying to get by and insists he could do just as well with no sleep, if not better! He makes a mental note to stay awake that night and prove just how well he could function without any rest!

○ His attitude towards that idea shifts at the day goes on, watching with a worried expression as you're constantly getting thrown about in training, not really awake or alert enough to carry yourself as you normally would.

○ It's when you nearly get hit by a mitachurl that he makes the decision, you're sleeping tonight whether you want to or not! The mitachurl is taken care of and Childe just scoops you up in his arms, telling you to take a nap while he gets you back home.

○ It doesn't matter how much you try and protest this, he's determined. You will be taking a nap. And if you do keep trying to insist against it, he may be ever so slightly inclined to try just knocking you unconscious. You're pretty sure he's just joking, but decide to at least try and nap just in case.

○ When it gets to the evening, he decides to employ a tactic that always worked on his siblings back home. Childe whips up the most delicious mug of hot chocolate you've had in your life, sitting with you on the bed and just talking about anything that comes to mind.

○ Between the hot chocolate and his tales of his homeland, you can't help but feel your eyelids grow heavy, a yawn escaping you. You're just about able to put your mug down in time before you slump against him, falling into a deep slumber.

"And then- Oh~! Heh, looks like you're asleep comrade. Good, rest up~"

Zhongli:

○ The man frets over you a fair amount when he sees how tired you are. He's asking you plenty of questions, trying to figure out if it was a bad dream or stress, what exactly was it that had kept you awake like this.

○ He insists on letting you take a nap with him, just for an hour to give you some energy back. You try to protest, but honestly, a nap sounds good right about now, so you relent in the end.

○ Zhongli stays awake the whole time, his arm around you holding you close, and he'll just lay in the silence, listening to the soft sounds of your breathing and watching the rise and fall of your chest.

○ He lets you sleep in a little bit longer than originally promised but does wake you up in the end. He's normally not one to break an agreement, but he uses the very weak loophole that a contract hadn't technically been agreed, so it was fine.

○ Zhongli keeps an eye on you throughout the rest of the day, wanting to just make sure you weren't getting into trouble while you weren't exactly the most alert right now.

○ That evening, expect him to tuck you in, sitting beside you this time, ready to tell you as many stories as it takes to help you doze off. Spoiler alert: you aren't even able to get through one, his voice just so soothing and the way he weaves his tales so wonderful to hear that you couldn't help it.

"Good~ Now please rest up my dear. I'll watch over you tonight and ensure your dreams are sweet."

#genshin impact #genshin x you #genshin x reader #lumine #lumine x reader #genshin impact lumine #childe #childe x reader #genshin impact childe #tartaglia #tartaglia x reader #genshin impact tartaglia #zhongli #zhongli x reader #genshin impact zhongli #genshin imagines #genshin headcanons

[seance]

your rectangular gifs with the white outline really changed the game on here thank you for always coming up with inspiring bangers queen ❤️

🥺 this is just too sweet of you anon! i honestly didn't think it would catch on like it did? i used it on the first time on my videogames sideblog for an edit that couldn't possibly reach that many people, i still liked it so i thought why not reuse it on my main too and i'm glad i did! it's something really simple but useful to keep the gifs balanced. i'm also pretty sure someone else must have had the same idea before me so i don't want to take full credit for the concept in general, i must say i'm pretty shocked to see how many people wanted to replicate the exact layout i used tho! ♡ seeing those insp links redirected to my blog is so surreal but SO appreciated!

#replies #anonymous #text #i hope i can come back to giffing soon <3 #i'm determined to get out of this mental health slump