#though a good tragedy comes from the pain of what could have been

[thewriterwithnoplan]

Ferrari's Fairytale (1/3)

Summary: World Championships are the most important part of any Formula One team's history. Except perhaps, Ferrari's. Known for their rabid fans, filthy-rich investors, and pretty boy drivers it shouldn't be a surprise that the team has brought together Soulmates from across the globe. And fate, it seems, is working awfully hard to put all the pieces into place for Ferrari's perfect fairytale - one that's been in the works for decades now.

[Part 1 of Pretty Girls and Ferrari Boys]

Soulmate AU: Soulmates share injuries and pain.

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader (Eventual)

Word Count: 1650

Warnings: Swearing, no Charles in this first part sorry it's his epic love story and those take time ;)

Masterlist

There was something wrong with your soulmate.

Really there had been something wrong with them since you were eight years old. But right now, there was something particularly wrong with them.

“Just some bruising over the ribcage, but no actual damage internally.” The medic presses a latex covered hand gently against your ribs.

“They feel broken.” You suck in a pained breath and glare over her shoulder, at the little framed picture of her cat, Terror, on her desk. “You’re sure I’m not about to sneeze and puncture a lung?”

“Funny.” Though the look she gives you as she pulls off her gloves is less than amused. “Which one of us went to medical school again?”

“My best friend. You might know her. She’s stunning, generous, gives me free check-ups, did I say stunning? Goes by Sunny.”

“It’s Doctor Sunny to you.” She slingshots one of the gloves at you. “But it’s good to know you only keep me around for the free check-ups.”

“My soulmate would bankrupt me without you.”

Sunny taps at her computer, “The fee isn’t that high.”

“Sure,” You shrug. “If you aren’t in here every other week.”

“Have we ruled out hitman as their profession?”

“Since we were eight?”

“I don’t know much about hitmen, maybe they start them young.”

You lower yourself carefully from the observation table and move stiffly toward her desk. “Give it to me straight Doc. How much longer have I got?”

“I’m afraid you’ll live, ma’am.” Sunny doesn’t even look up. “A tragedy for all, I know. I can give you a moment if you need time to process– Ow! Bitch.”

She rubs at her shoulder and huffs.

“I’m going to have to log that in the database, you know.” She says.

“Good, maybe we can both find our soulmates and be done with it all.”

“Real romantic, dude.”

“Your soulmate hasn’t been terrorising you since you were a kid.”

“I had my fair share of scraped knees,” Sunny wrinkles her nose when you stick your tongue out. “You do know it won’t stop after the two of you meet, right? That’s a schoolyard myth.”

“After the talking to I’m going to give him, you bet your perky ass it’s going to stop.”

“That’s the second instance of workplace harassment I’ve coped from you in the last minute.”

“Fine. Your ass is not perky.”

“Mature.” She hums, “What time did you say the pain started?”

“Ten-thirty-ish?”

“All good then.” Sunny makes a few more clicks before powering down her computer. “Your chest and my arm, all nice and logged.”

“You know, sometimes I think you became a Match Medic specifically so you could put every little thing into the database to make it easier to find your soulmate.”

“Perks of the job.” She scoops up her handbag. “Come on, let’s bounce before the front desk starts scheduling over my lunch break.”

“You remember how I said you were stunning and generous and stunning?”

“I’m not buying you lunch.”

“Could this week get any worse?” You throw your head back dramatically.

Sunny cracks a smile at your antics, “Only a few more hours and we’re free for the weekend.”

“Are we still on for pamper-night tonight?”

“Always. Mine or yours?”

You end up spending the night in Sunny’s apartment, covered in different rejuvenating oils and masks until you look like low-budget horror movie villains. In your fluffy robes with The Princess Bride on in the background Sunny tries to teach you how to make Hainanese Chicken the way her mother did. Terror cries at your feet when you tell him he can’t have raw chicken. Sunny pops a bottle of cheap champagne that makes you both grimace and promise one another that you would find an excuse to get a nicer bottle soon. You take turns washing the excess from the face, foot, and hair masks off. Then curl up together on the couch, sipping broth, digging into rice and slathering chicken in Sunny’s family’s super-secret chilli sauce. You both fall asleep at a very respectable eleven o’clock.

So, it’s fucking strange when you wake up feeling like you had spent the night inside a paint mixer.

“Are you okay?” Sunny frowns as she stands over a pan of eggs. “You look ill.”

You squint over your coffee cup, “Soulmate is playing up.”

She plates the eggs next to a small stack of bacon before turning to put a hand to your forehead. “They shouldn’t be making you feel sick, illness doesn’t transfer like that. Are you sure it’s coming from them? Could you just be hung over?”

“It’s definitely him, third weekend in a row, like clockwork.” You take your plate gratefully, “It’s like I always tell you. It’s not nausea. It’s more like…”

“Impossible to explain for you and every medical practitioner you’ve ever seen?”

You groan, “It’s like my brain spent the night trying to escape my skull and the muscles in my neck were in on it.”

“It’s not unheard of for soulmates to feel the repercussions of an intense work out. There was this study from four years ago on high performance athletes and their partners that–”

You groan again, “Oh god and now there’s a nerd in my ear!”  

She tosses a gelatinous bit of egg onto your plate. It lands with a splat that makes you fake gag. “Oh, grow up.”

“You should be nice to me,” You lament, “I’m wounded!”

“Your soulmate is wounded.”

“And I’m sure their best friend is taking very good care of them!”

She pulls a face at you but still takes your plate to the dishwasher for you. As she’s rinsing them, she asks, “What’s on for the rest of your weekend?”

“I got a call from my parents on Thursday and guess what?” You sipped at the cold dregs of your coffee, “The dentist finally figured out which one of them the toothache is coming from!”

“That’s great,” Sunny’s smile was genuine. “They’re going in to get it fixed?”

“Tomorrow morning, both going under local anaesthesia.”

You hip checked her lightly out of the way to rinse both your cups. “You want another coffee?”

Sunny propped herself up on the counter, “My caffeine addiction is rubbing off on you I fear.”

“Listen, we have to get through the day somehow.” You coaxed the machine back to life before leaning against the counter to look at Sunny. “Anyway, my parents were supposed to go to this race tomorrow. Dad is particularly devastated and has practically ordered me to represent the family ‘at our home race.’ It’s been tradition for him and mum since they got married. It’s kind of a big deal for him. The man is obsessive.”

“My parents had something similar to say about our family legacy and studying medicine.”

“Speaking of… You remember all the times I sat up with you studying, or brought you food when you forgot to eat, or ran errands for you, or made sure you took breaks, or–”

“Fine, I get it, I’ll go to the stupid race.”

“Oh, how kind of you to offer.” You passed her one of the cups. “It won’t be that bad. Motorsports are supposed to be fun live, right?”

Sunny snorted, “Thank God. Motorsports? I thought you meant like a horse race or a marathon. I was getting war-flashbacks to track-and-field.”

You put a hand to your heart, “You were willing to relive cross country for me?”

“I was willing to ogle fit, sweaty men for you, definitely.”

“Alright, first of all – fuck you. But also same,” You clinked mugs and nodded solemnly at one another, “Maybe we can find some fit, sweaty drivers to ogle instead.”

Sunny hummed, “What do I wear? Is it like sprint cars or more like V8s – ooh is it an illegal drag race?”

“Girl, no.” You swatted at her thigh, “It’s Formula 1, which is perfectly legal and safe and much faster than any of those options.”

“Alright, Miss Daddy’s-Girl, go off.”

“Shut up, I’ve had to hear him go on and on about it my whole life.” You pulled a face at your coffee. “The man has had a hard-on for Ferrari since before he met my mother, and then he met her in the Ferrari hospitality at an F1 race, and he’s fucking worshipped them ever since.”

“Oh my god, why am I only just hearing about this?” She grabbed your face, squishing your cheeks and cooing. “You’re a little Ferrari baby.”

You blew a rather unladylike raspberry at her and knocked her hand away, “Because it’s embarrassing! Dad was only there because he and his friend won tickets. So, when Ferrari marketing caught wind that soulmates had met in their pavilion, they practically fell over themselves.”

“Holy shit!” Sunny practically howled in delight, “Is that where all those baby pictures of you in little Ferrari onesies came from?”

“Ferrari’s own little fairytale, Mr-won-his-way-in and Miss-heir-to-a-real-estate-monopoly. It's like Romeo and Juliet; if Romeo and Juliet survived, had a kid and decided to make it the poster child of their love story.”

“Don’t sound so disgusted, that’s cute as fuck.” Sunny snatches up your empty cup and stacks it next to hers in the dishwasher.

You frown, “Not everything has to be a love story.”

“I don’t know, girl, I’m pretty sure you just asked me to play out your parents first meeting with you tomorrow.” She winks at you over her shoulder as she heads toward her room.

“Oh, fuck off, Sunny.”

“I think this calls for new outfits!” She emerges from her room, towel over one shoulder. “What was your Mum wearing when she met your dad?”

“We are not reenacting my parents meet-cute.”

“Who knows, maybe you’ll have your own meet-cute with a certain pain-prone soulmate, hm?” In the moment it takes you to reorientate yourself after her comment, she’s breezing past you with a bright, “I’m having first shower!”

You squark in indignation. Like hell, you’ll let either of those things happen to you this weekend.

(Part 2 : Ferrari's Prince - 03.04.24)

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 #formula one #f1 #formula 1 x reader #formula one fanfiction

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

So, I'm curious: What's your take on Aylin's experience after/if she kills Lorroakan?

Allegedly, there's some information floating around somewhere that said Aylin was angry with Selune after she killed Lorroakan, but I can't find where this info is.

If you saw posts about that here on tumblr it was probably posted by @justanotherignot! I've actually been meaning to gather up all the devnote tidbits about Selûne from Aylin and Isobel for a while now, so thank you for the excuse to do so and ramble a bit.

Player: I was just wondering what it was like in that cage of Balthazar's. Aylin: Let us not dwell on those dark days. Their memory is a vortex within my heart that leads directly to the Hells.

What is happening is, well, it's the century of unthinkable horror catching up to her. It's the Trauma(TM) - in one of the conversation options she's literally triggered by the mention of someone being run through repeatedly! It's the growing awareness that although she's been freed (and possibly reunited with her love), the secret is out and there are always going to be assholes gunning for her, aiming to use her as an "artefact" and power source to fuel their ambitions, without any regard for her, you know... basic personhood and well-being. Also, Lorroakan was blatantly lying. He didn't find any super special way to siphon her immortality with "no harm, no pain of any kind", he was just replicating Balthazar's soul cage (you can even find a letter from Ketheric to him, showing Lorroakan was pestering them).

On to the stuff from the game files! First, the conversation with Aylin directly after the Lorroakan fight in the tower. I'm going to be putting the context notes in square brackets next to the lines they apply to. I also plucked some audio out from the files for some of these because I love the delivery.

Aylin: The fire-haired fool is dead. Yet as I stare upon his corpse, I feel… sadness. Why? [Slow and curious, angry and confused by all that has happened.] Player: What kind of sadness is it? / I know something of sadness - or at least the ballads do. What does it feel like? Aylin: A gripping in the chest. As though I'd lost someone, something. [Lost in thought for a moment; confused.] Aylin: A paladin's fatigue, no doubt. You were excellent in battle, as is your way. And I am proud to fight at your side. [Remembering herself. She is Dame Aylin.] Aylin: I will catch my breath, then to camp I will bring my bones. Moonmaiden be with you. Player: Smiting is a weighty duty - sometimes it can be tiring. / Perhaps smiting has lost its pleasures. Aylin: Say it can't be so. For I am Selûne's sword. And ever must be. [She means it, but on the periphery of her consciousness is a tiny crack. Wondering about her fate.]

The above never fails to get me - she is Dame Aylin! Sword of the Moonmaiden! Glorious immortal paladin, champion of a righteous cause! She smites evil-doers for breakfast, that's, like, her whole thing! What do you mean she can't just pick up where she left off and go about her merry smitey way? What do you mean the thing that is supposed to be the literal core of her entire being (forever) doesn't feel good and glorious anymore, but just makes her feel sad and empty? No, no, no, we can't have that.

Player: One of the greatest tragedies of revenge is that it can only be taken once. / Because you won't get to kill him again? Aylin: Perhaps. Yet if I could run him through a thousand times, I wonder-- [Lost in thought, she's been triggered to remember her own fate being run through over and over.] Aylin: Battle has tired my mind, made me susceptible to flights of fancy. You were excellent in battle, as is your way. And I am proud to fight at your side.

Aylin: I will return to camp shortly. I just need a moment to… to… [Lost in thought.]

She so very desperately needs some rest and a chance to come to terms with everything that happened and that was done to her. And it's clear it's going to be hard because she is defaulting to trying to deny anything is wrong, is clearly trying (and failing) to just be her old self immediately, has blatantly internalised a lot of that classic I Am A Sword stuff on top of everything (even though her mother is huge on free will and choice!), and is just really not well-equipped to handle any of this at all.

Next, this is the post-Lorroakan convo you get if you have both Aylin and Isobel in camp.

Aylin: Ah. Ally mine. We are reunited once more. [Warm, but drained. She's not feeling like herself.] Aylin: I was just regaling sweet Isobel with tales of our prowess. Isobel: Very impressive. Thank you for helping Aylin - that wizard sounded absolutely dastardly. [Good humored. Soft in tone. A little uncertain - she's not sure why Aylin isn't herself.] Player: My pleasure. He had it coming. Aylin: He did, and it came. Now, my friend: bask in your victory. I will do the same. Aylin: But fear not: when the time comes for you to face the foe of foes, Isobel and I will stand by your side. [Rallying her soldierly spirit, but still a little drained.] Isobel: We wouldn't miss it. Not for anything. Aylin: Go well, friend. We will see you soon. And with our great powers combined, this city will be saved. Player: Hopefully he'll be the last. Aylin: There are always more bastards behind bastards. But we will run through them all, each by each.

Player: I hope you can rest easy now, Dame Aylin. Aylin: I always do, with darling Isobel by my side. Aylin: Enjoy the spoils of your victory. Spin memories of Lorroakan's death in your mind like silkfloss.

If Isobel isn't there (meaning she died in Act 2), you get this version:

Aylin: Ah. Ally mine. We are reunited once more. [Warm, but drained. She's not feeling like herself.] Aylin: I was just reviewing our fight against foul Lorroakan; your moves and mine. The victory was soundly won. Aylin: Don't you think? [Uncharacteristically, Aylin is seeking input. She's usually so confident about everything, but killing Lorroakan has not had the intended effect on her.] Player: Indeed I do. Let his demise serve as a warning to anyone else who'd seek you out. Aylin: Let him be the last. If my dear mother has any mercy, she will ensure it. [Trying to stay her usual self, but her mask is cracking a tiny bit here. Privately, Aylin is dealing with a great deal of anger toward her mother, the goddess Selûne, But she's not yet willing to face it. How could her powerful mother let all this happen to her?]

Player: We fought well - though I was a little worried about you afterward, in truth. Aylin: Set your mind at ease, my friend. Dame Aylin is more well now than she has been this past century. [Good humored. Soft in tone. A little uncertain - it's true she's better now than she has been, but why does she feel so shitty, then? (She's in the beginning of reckoning with the trauma of what happened to her).]

Player: I hope you can rest easy now, Dame Aylin. Aylin: Yes. I wish for the very same. Aylin: Enjoy the spoils of your victory. Spin memories of our prowess in your mind like silkfloss.

So, a few things pop out for me here. First, you get the more explicit anger at Selûne if Isobel isn't there, as opposed to the "hahah, I will smite all the bastards who dare come after me, no matter how many there are" line. "How could her powerful mother let all this happen to her?" just... damn, hits hard, even if you subscribe to the theory that Selûne simply could not intervene in the Shadowfell imprisonment beyond sending those poor people whose graves you find in front of the mausoleum.

And here Aylin really lays it on thick with the denial that there's anything wrong at all. Combined with the letter you get from her in the epilogue if Isobel is dead, it just paints such a bleak, sad picture. I can just see her going all out on the Sword of Selûne duty-bound paladin side of things, no rest, no healing, no stopping even for a moment, no dealing with anything at all, from the trauma to the bitterness towards mum. Until whatever horrible breaking point comes, a year or a century from now. The need for Isobel's humanising influence is so clear. I've touched on Isobel's side of things here.

Speaking of having a bone to pick with Selûne, if you're playing as a cleric/paladin of Selûne, you can get some extra very honest dialogue with Isobel in Last Light:

Player: Why has the Moonmaiden waited until now to take an interest in this curse? Isobel: Maybe she was waiting for one of us to find this place ourselves. Free will, and all that.

Isobel: Though if it were my place to ask why she let Ketheric turn; why she allowed this village to rot at his hands - believe me, I would. [A cold edge in her voice]

Player: Are you faring all right? It can't be easy holding a lone candle in such darkness. Isobel: All things with her strength. You know the litany. [A little sarcastically. She's got a bone to pick with Selûne but isn't being too overt.]

Side note: the amount of devnotes for Isobel's lines that say she's delivering them "with swagger" and being "cheeky" makes me smile every time. Love her. Love her snark.

Also, to get it out of the way: no, I'm fairly sure Aylin did not break her oath. I see this brought up a ton and I just see no way for it to be the case. There is nothing to suggest this outside of a wording similarity and it just makes no sense. Girl is clearly some flavour of Oath of Vengeance (she uses Abjure Enemy, so this is the case even mechanically, even though she's obviously an NPC and not a standard player-build paladin) and she killed a very shitty guy who was also explicitly after her in godawful ways. You can do far worse things in the game than her dramatic speech and backbreaker and not break you OoV.

#sorry this took so long! #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #dame aylin #isobel thorm #lorroakan #datamine #voice lines #audio #i'm stopping myself here but i could go on about this FOREVER #time for the comfort part of the hurt/comfort let's goooooooooo #oathkeeper replies to things

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

I love Jiang Cheng and I hope you agree. The most tragic thing about yunmeng siblings is that JC and WWX really love each other the whole time… I like to think they can fix it someday

Someday perhaps....in the meantime, I bet he's loving having dogs run around lotus pier. As a WWX deterrent of course. No therapeutic reasons at all.

#Poorly Drawn MDZS #MDZS #Jiang Cheng #As much as I put him on blast #I do like JC quite a bit. #Man....I'm sad you're on anon cause I'd love to talk more about the yunmeng sibiling tragedy #Part of me so badly wishes that they do reconcile after some time #though a good tragedy comes from the pain of what could have been #JC is definitely in my top 5 mdzs characters and its absolutely due to how messy he is #ngl I can kinda relate to where his hurt comes from and it makes it very interesting to analyze. #Favourism and antagonism of parents messes up sibling dynamics so much #The grief and trauma ended up causing a rift not a shared moment of solidarity #JC is a counter-representation and a foil to how LWJ deals with his grief #as heartbroken as LWJ is he...keeps his life going. The grief settles and he doesn't forget but he *moves forwards* #JC doesn't! He can't! He has so much guilt and regret and the grief stagnates him! Love and grief can become so terribly consuming! #He's so human for it! This is a story where no-one is morally black or white! *People* aren't black and white!

[wishful-seeker]

Tips on how to avoid being unintentionally ableist

1. When a disabled person says they cannot do something, and you wish to offer solutions, do not make a solution that involves them powering through pain, or something thats not accessible to the disabled.

Example:

Disabled person: "washing dishes hurts too much and i cannot do it."

Abled person: "what if you did one dish at a time throughout the day?"

This statement is not respecting that this disabled person just said they "can't". Always respect that. No matter how simple the task would be for you.

Disabled person:" i think ill use plastic silverware so i don't make dishes."

Abled person: "plastic is bad for the environment!"

This statement shuts down the most accessible and disabled friendly option that this disabled person can actually do because of the abled persons personal beliefs. This is not helpful, and ableist.

Better yet, instead of offering solutions, ask them directly "is there anything you need that you do not have that would help you do this?" This allows the disabled person to think about what would work, and they will always have a better idea of what would work than you do.

To add on to this, when we say we have no more energy to solve a problem or do a task, or change our lifestyle, we mean it.

2. If you feel discomfort when a disabled person is talking about their health, good and bad, that is ableist. Your discomfort is coming from a place that deams disabled peoples very existence as a bad thing and you need to fix that.

For example:

Disabled person:" this week has been rough pain wise, ive been through a lot, felt like my body was on fire. Lucky i got new meds though and i think they're helping!"

Abled person: "can we talk about something else, this is a bummer."

Disabled people should be able to exist freely without worrying about your personal comfort. Do you really think its appropriate to tell someone in constant pain that their life is making YOU uncomfortable?

3. Do not treat disabled people as tragedies, do not romanticize their old life or put their current one down.

For example:

Disabled person: "yeah my life is pretty difficult sometimes, ive lost a lot but i still have happy moments."

Abled person: "it makes me so sad to see what disabled people go through :(. You used to love rock climbing and running, i would love to see you move around more again."

This statement is putting more value on the disabled persons abled past, and ignoring their life as a whole.

4. Do not avoid speaking to disabled people because it hurts to see your loved one disabled.

For example: my grandmother avoids conversations with me because it hurts her to see me in pain. While she has good intentions it leaves me being unable to be close to her. This is very isolating to the disabled.

5. Do not stop inviting your disabled friend/loved one out even if they are never well enough to attend. Unless we specifically ask you to stop asking if we can go out, good chances are we want to know you still care because again, disability is very isolating.

6. When a disabled person says certain things in their health have gotten better or worse, do not challenge this because you don't see a difference.

For example:

Disabled person: "yeah things are getting a little better"

Abled person sees disabled person using their wheelchair like usual: "i thought you said you were getting better?"

Better and worse are usually small changes only the disabled experience, its not like abled people healing from a broken arm. Better to a disabled person could mean they can stand for 10 more minutes.

7. Do not expect disabled people to ever be abled again, and again, do not put more value on an abled life.

For example:

Disabled person:"I have been using a wheelchair for 2 years."

Abled person: "oh you're young, im sure you'll be walking around in no time!"

This statement invalidates and ignores the disabled persons current life by hoping they get a more abled bodied life. Its fine to hope disabled people get better, but you don't get to decide what better looks like.

Hope this helps, stay punk.

#cripple punk #ablism #physical disability #disability

[fandxmslxt69]

Terrible Liar

Avenger!Loki x Avenger!f!reader

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of injury (reader has a nasty ass wound), mentions of blood and medical supplies, Loki and reader are both assholes to each other but its FUNNY. Rushed plot bc this came to me in a fever dream. Maybe some bad grammar, run on sentences etc. Ignore those ahaha. this is NOT edited or reviewed AT ALL. she's as raw as they come.

A/N: This came to be in a fever dream. Btw. Like God sent it to me. I'm sorry if it feels rushed I was so desperate to get it all down I blacked out. IT'S 5K OKAY MY BAD AHAHAH i'm kind of a slut for this kind of trope so MY BAD. anyway this is for THE @sarahscribbles 's Christmas Celebration!! Sorry I'm a little late, these two wouldn't shut the fuck up so I got carried away. ANYWAY I HOPE YOU ENJOY SARAH I LOVE YOU <3

Synopsis: What could possibly go wrong with spending a night sharing a room with Loki? (aka: enemies to lovers + one bed trope)

Word count: 5K

Oh man. You watched Loki bang the hood of the car in anger. That can’t be good. 

You rested your head against the window of the stolen car, taking deep breaths. You could feel your whole body shaking from the adrenaline. You hadn’t calmed down a single bit since the ride out here. How long has it been? Probably less than an hour. You had no idea how far out you were from the nearest town and it absolutely was not the right time for this car to stop. Your entire body hurt from getting kicked in the ass repeatedly during the fight, and your head spun. Your left side throbbed and your shoulder screamed in agony. Not to mention, you are completely separated from the rest of the group, and you have no means of communication. Somewhere along the way, you had lost your comm, and your spare was of no use. Loki said the lines were down anyway, so it wasn’t much help to begin with. 

Speaking of the devil, he threw the door of the car open, letting in the chill winter air, and huffed as he got back in, slamming the door behind him. “Stupid, useless vehicle. What is the point of transportation if it fails so easily?” He grumbled.

“It’s out of gas, genius,” “Well it’s not making for a very efficient getaway car,” He ran a hand through his hair. “Well?” You looked at him expectantly, but he only looked back with an expression of confusion. You sat up straighter to face him, but your vision blurred and your head swam. It took you a minute to collect yourself. “We can;t just sit here, we’ll freeze to death,” Loki scoffed. “No I won’t,” You clenched your jaw. “Okay, I’ll freeze to death,” “Tragedy,” His tone was dead as he pulled out his phone to mess with. “I’ll let them know it was a heroic death,” “You’re such an asshole,” “How original,” You nearly growled. “Laufeyson,” “Agent,” He replied smoothly, looking up at you with one of those disarming grins. You were not falling for it. You may be delirious and crashing soon, but you were not falling for Loki’s charms. 

“We need to figure something out,” “You mean I need to figure it out,” “Oh my fucking god. I’m not gonna sit here like some passenger princess-” “Agent, you are trembling so hard you couldn’t even walk a foot much less help out in this little dilemma,” Loki interrupted. “I have no desire to starve out here, and horrifyingly, I can’t find it in my heart to let you die out here either. I’ll figure it out,” 

You grumbled under your breath, and you were certain he heard you because he grinned wider and went back to messing with his phone. 

He was right though, you were shaking really hard- both from the adrenaline and now, the cold. Whenever you exhaled, a puff of white air formed in front of you, and the tip of your nose was starting to go numb. The idea of leaving your fate at the moment in the hands of Loki was an absolutely horrifying idea, since you knew how reckless this guy tended to be. But you didn’t have much of a choice, and as much as it physically pained you to sit quietly and wait, you did just that. It was made another fifteen minutes before Loki peeled his eyes away from the phone pad. He opened the door to the car, and stepped out. 

“Hey!” You yelled. “Where the hell are you going? Close the goddamn door!” But of course, he didn’t bother answering or listening. He looked around, staring at his phone occasionally before surveying the area again. And just when you thought he couldn’;t get more insane, he started walking away from the car. Your heart squeezed in your chest. Was he going to leave you here? Like hell he was. You kicked open your door, shakingly getting out of the car. You were vaguely aware of the stab of pain at your side that nearly had you doubled over as black spots danced in your vision, but you willed yourself to push it aside. You slammed the door shut as you walked out after Loki. 

“Hey!” You yelled out to him. You had no idea if he could even hear you with the way the wind howled and snow whipped at your face. It was freezing cold, snow biting your cheeks and your teeth chattering after being out here for less than a few minutes. “Laufeyson!” You yelled louder, arm clutching your side and limping in the direction he walked in. No answer. You were positive a storm was kicking up. 

“Loki!” You screamed this time, as loud as your voice let you. Your chest heaved, your throat hurt, and the air you gulped stung so bad you were so close to never breathing it again. 

“Loki! God help me, Loki, when I find you!” You looked around slowly, yet all you saw was the outline of your stolen car in the winds, and white. So much white. “I’ll haunt you, you know!” You shouted into the wind. “If I die here, I’ll haunt you forever!” You had to shield your eyes from the harsh snow as you yelled. You knew he couldn’t hear you, but you also knew that he couldn’t have gotten too far. How long could he even last out here? Damn it, he could probably last a while. 

Stupid, horrible, arrogant Loki. You contemplated going back to the car, but decided that if you were going to imagine a million and one ways to kill and haunt Loki for eternity, you might as well do it while freezing out here. You were only at number fifteen of your haunting possibilities when you heard his stupidly smooth voice. “What in the Nine Realms do you think you’re doing out here?”

You whirled around to find him standing there, absolutely unaffected by the weather or your situation. His cheeks were rosy and his pretty hair was up in a bun (that was more falling apart than anything) and pretty snowflakes hung in the curls. 

He looked….well. He looked heavenly, to say the least. 

“I was out here looking for you,” You shot back as harshly as you could, but with the way your teeth chattered and the small smirk that tugged at his lips, it didn’t seem to be working. “You should have stayed in the car,” He sounded almost…angry. Why the hell would he be angry when he left you behind? Although, the frown and furrowed brows were a little cute. “You shouldn’t have wandered off and left me behind,” “I was coming to get you,” “Like hell you were,” “I was,” He stepped closer to you, and you had to hold back everything to not huddle up closer to him like a goddamn penguin. He snapped his fingers and you felt something warm and heavy fall on your shoulders. “Put that on. We’re leaving,” 

“Leaving?! Where the hell are we leaving?! Do I need to remind you that we are stranded in the middle of a storm?!” 

Loki grumbled as he forcefully got you into the jacket he conjured. You didn’t bother saying thank you, which was fine because he only kept glaring at you before marching ahead. 

“Where are you going?!” He didn’t bother answering. “Loki!” Assshit. You grumbled and huffed the entire time as you hurried after him, trying to block off the tingling ache at your side. You knew you didn’t get stabbed. Maybe it’s a big cut. You were certain you’d know if a knife had lodged itself into your side. 

You had no idea where Loki was taking you but you kept your mouth shut in hopes that it was someplace warm and safe. 

“Your hair looks like shit,” You blurted out. Okay, maybe not always keeping your mouth shut.

He looked at you from the corner of his eye. “You don’t look much better,” “Yeah but I said it first,” “Maybe I should have left you in the car,” “I would’ve still found you,” “Yes, haunting me forever,” “You heard that?!” He shrugged. “I was heading back to the car. You weren’t exactly quiet,” You stared at him with wide eyes. “And you didn’t even say anything,” “I found it too amusing to interrupt,” You frowned, shoving him with your shoulder. Wrong move apparently, because your vision started spinning and your knees nearly buckled. Loki wrapped an arm around you ever so gently, as if scared you’d shatter otherwise. “Stop talking,” He snapped. “And stop being so damn aggressive. I would like to make this journey without you collapsing on me,” “I’m not going to collapse,” You mumbled. “You always were a terrible liar,” He muttered under his breath, and more or less carried you to your destination. At first, you didn’t let him, but he won eventually, like he always did, and you leaned the rest of your weight onto him. 

You had no idea where you were until you reached the smack middle of a small town. A picture perfect fantasy, almost. Little houses and small shops lined with lights and trees and covered in snow. It was like stepping into a Hallmark movie. Each house was so full of light, and even through the howling wind, you could hear the sounds of laughter and shrieking children. 

How the hell did Loki find this place? “There’s a motel here. We’ll book rooms, spend the night. I’m sure there’s Wi-Fi too,” Loki sounded like he was talking more to himself than you. 

“Freaking out?” You asked. 

“Yes. I’m thinking of which way Stark will kill me if you die,” “Pfft. Tony wouldn’t kill you,” Loki raised his eyebrows but stayed quiet as he walked you both through the town. The storm was clearly picking up, and you were thankful that he had all those genes to keep him alive in this weather, and that he was able to find this place. 

When you reached the motel- which appeared to be the only one in town- you couldn’t help smiling (even if you couldn’t feel your face at all anymore). It was a cute little building, rustic and heartwarming. Little snowmen lined the front, and a bed jingled as you and Loki entered. The inside was even better, with burgundy and gold designs and wallpaper that looked like it came straight out of a Victorian novel. It was cozy, and more importantly, warm. 

You almost sobbed in relief as you practically collapsed onto an armchair by the counter. Your body sank into it, your nerves singing in joy as you slowly felt your fingertips again. 

“Are you alright?” Loki asked. 

You nodded. “Yup,” He made a sound of disapproval. “You need to lie better,” “Go shove your head through the wall,” You muttered back. He only grinned. Loki didn’t even appear fazed or relieved at the warmth, and simply marched up to the counter. There was no one there, and he rang the bell at least five times. 

“Would you stop that?” You snapped after the sixth time.

“It’s a bell. It’s meant to be used,” “Not like that,” “It’s how you call for attention,” “Well I’m sure whoever runs this place will be here shortly,” He lasted a whole two minutes before he hit the bell again. 

“Loki,” You hissed. 

“Just a minute!” You heard a cheery voice call from the back, and a short old lady appeared, seemingly out of breath. “Sorry about that, all those damn stairs,” She chuckled to herself.

Loki flashed her a smile. “It’s not a problem at all,” “Oh my,” The old woman smiled back but this time you swore up and down she blushed a little. 

Loki and his stupid, disarming smile. 

“My…friend and I are a little caught in this storm,” He started, gesturing to you. You waved weakly at the lady and mustered up a smile. She probably thought you were crazy. You had no idea how you looked, but you knew it wasn’t how a normal person should. 

“We were wondering if you had any available rooms for the night. Just two is fine,” He turned back to the lady with an even bigger smile. 

“Well,” She smiled wider at Loki. “I’ll see what I can do,” He nodded, “Thank you…” he squinted at her name tag. “Lucy. Thank you very much, Lucy,” And there Lucy went, blushing and grinning at him again. 

Horrible, absolutely tragic. The poor woman had no idea how insufferable Loki was. 

Lucy rummaged through her desk, seemingly looking for keys to the rooms. She pulled out one, placing it on the counter, before going back to look for the other. You waited, tagging your foot on the wood floor, staring at the cute fireplace. Your whole body hummed in gratitude, and your feet tingle, feeling back in them. 

“Oh dear,” Lucy muttered to herself. 

“Everything alright Lucy?” Loki asked. 

“It seems that I only have a single room available. This storm has the place booked fully,” She explained. 

Hell no. 

Loki sighed. “Very well-” “Are you sure?” You interrupted him. “Can you check again?” You probably sounded desperate, but you couldn’t stop yourself. 

You can’t share a room with Loki. You’d go crazy. You’d do something disastrous- like give in to the urge to cuddle into his chest! Or God forbid, tangle your hand in his hair. 

“I did, hon. I’m afraid this is all I’ve got,” She said apologetically. 

Fuuuuck. 

“It’s quite alright, Lucy. There’s two beds in the room, correct? I’m sure we can manage to share a room for a night,” Loki said hastily before you could interrupt again. 

Lucy opened her mouth, as if to say something else, before she stopped. “Alright,” “How much is it for the night, darling?” Oh okay, he was really laying it on thick then. 

“Oh- oh um…” Lucy chuckled nervously. “This room….it’s 150$ for the night. You can pay in the morning, if you prefer,” “Nonsense,” Loki smiled, pulling out cash from the pocket in his top armour, counting the bills. “Here you go, Lucy,” He handed her the money. “Thank you so very much for your help,” She nodded wordlessly as she handed him the key. Loki took it and turned back to you, arms on his hips. “Are you coming, or must I carry you?” “I wouldn’t mind being carried…” You started jokingly. Apparently, Loki couldn’t read the room, because he frowned, shrugged and then walked over, picking you up effortlessly. 

“Hey-!” You started to protest, but a sudden wave of pain shot through you, shutting you up. “I was joking,” You muttered.

“Mhm,” He said, shooting Lucy another smile before heading upstairs to your room. The stairs were cute too, you noticed, lined with a soft matt and cute lamps lined the walls. And Loki’s chest was really warm, and- that had nothing to do with the motel. 

Before your thoughts could get any more dangerous, Loki stopped in front of a room, hand rummaging through his back pocket to get the key. “You can put me down now,” “I’ll put you down when I feel like it,” Shithead. 

He unlocked the door and stepped in, closing it behind him with his foot. All businesslike, he walked over to the big bed and placed you down on it. It was comfy, and you had to control yourself from not falling back and getting it dirty in all your blood and gore. Loki looked you over. “Fine?” You nodded. “Fine,” He smiled and you were certain he was going to call you a liar but you stopped him. “Laufeyson?” “What?” “Where’s the other bed?” Loki froze, looking around the room slowly. “Oh,” “Oh?” He looked back at you. “It seems, darling, that there is no other bed,” “No fucking shit! You’re sleeping on the floor,” He looked at you in disbelief. “Absolutely not. We can share the bed like civilised people,” “Everyone always says that! And then it never works out!” You threw your hands up. You winced, immediately dropping your hands to hold your side. “Everyone? Who the hell is everyone?” “The movies, duh,” He stared at you. “You’re serious,” “Dead,” He ran a hand down his face. “Alright. We’ll split the bed or something. I truly don’t care enough. I simply want to sleep,” You shrugged. “Fine. Go shower first, then I’ll go in,” “I don’t have clothes to change out of, genius,” “You’re a god genius,” You replied mockingly. “I’m pretty sure you can snap your fingers and get us some clothes,” He stared at you, like he hadn’t had that thought at all. “Right.” And indeed, with a snap of his fingers, a pile of clothes appeared on the bed, and one in his hands. “Try not to get yourself killed,” “I hope you drown in the shower,” He smiled at you before heading into the washroom. You were finally alone, even for a few minutes. You breathed a sigh of relief. Being around Loki always ended with one of you flustered. Tragically, it tended to be you. You looked through the pile of clothes Loki summoned- a plain shirt that appeared way too large, and some plaid pants. They weren’t outrageous. You just had to make sure you hadn’t lost any limbs. 

You slowly peeled off the layers of your top- the jacket, weapons, cash, your useless comms and phone- and then unzipped your equally-useless-in-the-cold vest. You laid all your things on the floor, not wanting to get the bed dirty. Then, slowly, you lifted your top just under your chest, sucking in a deep breath.

Fuck. 

There was a nasty looking cut, starting from right under your ribs and nearly crossing the other side. You didn’t think it looked terrible, but you are almost certain it needed stitches. It wasn’t bleeding too much, but that might have to do with being out in the cold for too long than anything else- even your top was more or less soaked in blood. 

You didn’t even have a first aid kit. You traced around the cut slowly, wincing when it hurt. You prayed it wasn’t infected. 

“Alright, hm?” Your head snapped up to see Loki freshly showered and changed, his now useless mission suit nowhere in sight. “Um, yeah, I’m fine,” His jaw ticked. “You’re hurt,” “Yeah but I’m fine,” “You are bleeding,” He sounded ...angry. Was he mad at you? “It’s not like I did it on purpose,” You snapped. 

He clenched and unclenched his fists. He opened his mouth to say something, before he shook his head and stormed out of the room. 

“What the fuck? You called out after him. He didn’t answer as the door slammed behind him. 

You had no clue why he had to be so mad. It’s not like you chose to get hurt, and you certainly weren’t going to ask him for anything, so why’d he get so pissy? You grumbled to yourself as you grabbed the clothes, heading into the bathroom to scrub off the day. 

It took you a solid twenty minutes to wash everything out. You were very careful to not open your cut further, taking warm water to wash off the dried blood around it. 

You tugged on the plain shirt as you stepped out of the bathroom. You winced when you reached up to tie your hair, deciding to just leave it down to dry. You had thrown your old clothes on the pile of Loki’s in the bathroom, and used a spare towel to press against your wound. 

“Welcome back,” You said sarcastically when you found Loki sitting on the bed. 

“Come here,” He said curtly. 

“You can’t just order me around after you walk out you know? And you can’t get bitchy with me for no fucking reason-” “Will you please come sit down so you can look at your wound,” Loki snapped, but it didn’t sound harsh. It was almost…pleading. You froze in your spot, blinking slowly at him. His voice sounded devastated and in your daze, you nodded, slowly walking over to sit on the bed beside him. 

“May I?” He gestured to your shirt and you nodded again. He lifted it over your head, and suddenly you were thankful for putting on the sports bra Loki brought with your clothes.. “You didn’t say anything,” He whispered. 

You swallowed. This was too freaky. You never got this close with Loki. “We-...we had other things to worry about,” You swore his hands trembled as he reached into the first aid kit beside him. Where did he get that? Did he run out to buy one? Damn it. You and Loki didn’t do fluffy shit. The one day you needed him to be an asshole….

He took his time cleaning the wound, and you tried your best to keep your yelps of pain down. 

“Do you want stitches?” Loki asked in a soft tone. He looked ...frightened. And why too pale. Did he get squirm-ish at this stuff?

“Are you a medical professional?” You asked. 

“Farthest thing from it,” You hummed. “Just wrap it up,”

He nodded, grabbing some cotton pads and the gauze. He carefully placed the pads onto the wound, and began wrapping the gauze around your waist. His fingers brushed against your skin, and you shivered at the touch. 

“There,” He exhaled, pulling his hands away. “You can put your shirt back on,” “Yeah,” You nodded. You should definitely grab it now. You should probably put it on. But you didn’t move a muscle, not with the way Loki stared at you, and the way his eyes dipped lower occasionally. He looked away, appearing flustered, his fists clenched on his thighs. “Loki?” “What?” He snapped. 

“Why are you so angry?” “You could have died,” His voice died down to nothing but a desperate whisper. “You could have died,” You opened your mouth to protest, to say that you had it under control and that everything was fine, but he shook his head. 

“Don’t you dare say everything was ‘fine’. You’re still such a terrible liar,” You weren’t. He just had that freaky ability to tell when you lied every damn time. 

“You could have died. Human life is so horribly fragile, you could have died at any second. What was I to do then, hm? Stare at your lifeless body?” “I thought you’d rejoice at my death,” You joked, trying to break the tension. His eyes snapped to look at yours, his jaw clenched and his eyes wide with fear. You thought he’d say something, but instead he just leaned in, crushing his lips harshly against yours. Before you could even react, he pulled away, breathing heavily. 

“I would have died too. In the simplest terms, my heart would have stopped working the minute yours did too,” You froze in shock, staring at him with wide eyes. What just happened? Your lips tingled from the kiss. You wanted him to do it again. “What the hell are you saying, Loki?” “I’m saying that you are incredibly stupid and idiotic and completely selfish. And that I would rather die than live a life without you in it,” He started, his tone angry and desperate. Your head was spinning. Maybe there was drugs in the linen of this bed. Or maybe Loki hit his head. 

“Say something,” Loki pleaded now, the fight gone from him. “I’m sorry if I offended you. I’m sorry I’ve been such an ass. I can’t help myself. I go crazy every time you’re around. I can’t think straight and I….I don’t know what to do with myself. I’ve never done this before. I thought perhaps if I annoyed you enough, I’d get you out of my head. But Norns, every time you shot some clever remark back, it only egged me on more,” He was rambling at this point. 

You felt confused, but at the same time a sense of relief washed over you. It wasn’t like you were in love with Loki- but you definitely didi entertain the idea of occasionally making out with him or spending the day shopping together. 

So maybe it was a little crush. 

And fuck, it was a relief to hear him blurt out how helpless he was with you. 

“Did you black out?” Loki asked. He cursed under his breath, getting up to give you some space. “I apologise, I shouldn’t have said anything. I came off too strong,” He fumbled as he stood up, running a hand through his hair. “I just…I panicked. I apologise-” “Loki,” You stopped him from spiralling further, even if it was cute to see his usually composed self dissolve. You shuffled over to him on your knees. Even while on the bed, he was still fucking giant. You cupped his face and pulled him down, pressing a kiss to his lips. 

You pulled away after a second, dizzy from the feel of his lips on yours. It was better than you could have ever imagined. He stared at you in shock, lifting his fingers up to press them to his lips. You nearly died right there. 

“What was that for?” he asked, shocked. 

You laughed, kissing him again. He leaned into it this time, wrapping his arms carefully around your waist, his lips pressing against yours. 

You kissed him again and again and again, until you were both breathless and his lips were swollen and you were sure yours were too. 

“You’re really fucking insufferable, by the way,” You muttered against his lips. He hummed, chasing after yours as you pulled away. “You drive me insane. You’re in my head all the damn time, I can’t get rid of you,” “Don’t get rid of me, then,” He captured your lips in another bruising kiss. “I don’t plan to,” You sighed happily as you shuffled back onto the bed, pushing aside bandages and gauze wrap and wipes. Loki was a lot neater, taking his time to put them away onto the night table. He crawled into bed with you, his body hovering over yours, hands on either side of your head, caging you in. He leaned down, pressing another kiss to your lips. One kiss turned into two, into three, and then you were making out lazily, your lips crushed together, heavy pants and heated breaths for god knows how long. Tragically, Loki rolled off of you, laying down beside you. You took deep breaths, trying to calm your racing heart. 

Loki shifted, laying now on his side to look at you. You did the same, smiling softly. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?” 

“If you couldn’t tell, I’m not quite a people person,” You chuckled. “No, I guess not,” He could be your person though.

Maybe that’s too early to say. You kept your mouth shut. 

“Did I come off too strong?” “Nah,” You shook your head, reaching out to wrap your finger around a lock of his hair. “It was a Hallmark-worthy confession,” “What in the Norns is this Hallmark?” You laughed. “It’s a company. It makes lots of cheesy rom coms, all of which have some sort of frustratingly handsome male lead and big confessions,” “So you’re saying I’m handsome,” He grinned devilishly.  

“Can’t deny it,” 

He leaned in and kissed you again. You kissed him back but then pushed him off. “Stop it. I’ll become addicted,” He leaned back in. “Not a problem. I have no plans to go anywhere,” You ducked away from him, laughing. “If you keep making out with me Loki Laufeyson, we will be having sex,” His brows furrowed. “Absolutely not. Not while you’re injured,” Damn. 

“Fine, then stop kissing me,” “Well that’s unfair. I just got started!” You shrugged. “It’s not my call,” He huffed, pulling you closer, your back flat against his chest. His arm wrapped carefully around your waist, the hand coming to rest just under your wound. “Go to bed then. Before I do something crazy,” “I like crazy. I’m quite fond of crazy,” “Yes, crazy seems to follow you everywhere. It might be your whole identity, really,” “Is that an insult?” A pause. “I don’t think so,” 

You fell silent for a minute. “I think Lucy has a crush on you,” Loki laughed. “What makes you say that?” “Um, the way she blushed when you smiled at her? You laid it on so thick,” You could hear the shiteating grin as he spoke. “I have no idea what you mean, darling. I spoke to her like a normal person,” “Hm,” You wiggled closer to him. “Nah, you definitely were charming her,” His hand squeezed your hip. 

“Stop that,” “What?” You feigned innocence. 

“Stop moving,” You wiggled your ass again, just for a bit of emphasis. “What? This?” 

You swore the sound he made then was some growl. “You find new ways to annoy me every day,” “It’s my talent,” “And you excel at it,” You truly did. No one ever got under his skin like you did. And now with this new layer of your relationship, you have an infinite number of possibilities. 

You knew you guys should probably talk. Figure out where you stand. A plan for tomorrow morning. Try to communicate with the team. You couldn’t find it in yourself to care right now though. Loki was warm, and as he peppered kisses across your shoulder, you felt like maybe tomorrow would be a good day too. 

“I still think you’re an ass,” You mumbled, your eyes half closed. 

He laughed, the sound vibrating in his chest. “Truly a terrible liar,” He pressed a kiss under your ear. “I still think you are the bane of my existence,” “The only one?” “The only one,” You hummed, content with the answer. You could figure things out tomorrow. Tonight, you just wanted to lay in this haze of sunshine. To sleep and wake up to get drunk on Loki again.

Tags: I'm gonna tag a few people because I think I'm silly and this is my second little christmas-y fic so what the hell i dont care LMAO. DONT FEEL OBLIGED TO READ <3 @sarahscribbles @divine-knight-hand @holdmytesseract @joyful-enchantress @saturn-rings-writes

#loki laufeyson #loki #loki x reader #loki laufeyson fluff #loki x f!reader #loki fanfiction #loki fic

[sugoi-and-spice]

Konbini Crush

Like my work? Please consider commissioning me or contributing to my Ko-Fi!

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing: Yuta Okkotsu x Reader

Rating: G - Minors still DNI though

CW: Nothin. Just pure sickeningly sweet fluff. :)

She was pretty sure that the cute guy she often ran into at the convenience store had a girlfriend. 

Maybe it was the kind, committal energy he gave off, or the fact that he often seemed to be talking to someone named Rika on what she assumed was his bluetooth, or maybe it was even just her own pessimism. Enough years in the throes of capitalism and the dating scene having brought the truth to her eyes that that no guy this sweet could ever be single. 

Whatever the reason was, it was a tragedy of course. He was cute as a button and absolutely her type. But maybe in retrospect, it had been a blessing in disguise. After all, the fact that he “had a girlfriend” meant that she had no chance with him. And that gave her no inhibitions from talking to him.

He was a gloomy-seeming guy at first, but when she finally worked up the courage to speak to him — asking him if the salted cabbage bento he always bought was any good — he instantly lit up.

“Oh yeah! Really good.”

She learned that same day that his name was Yuta Okkotsu. 

The next time she saw him, she learned that he was on his school’s kendo team. Although, it was a little weird the way he reacted when she asked about it.

“That’s why you carry that practice sword, right?” she asked, “You’re just coming off from practice?”

“O-Of course!” he answered with a nervous laugh, “It’s a practice sword…”

Yes, the awkward almost-surprise he gave her was a little odd, but also he was just a little odd. Everything about him held a sort of bashful energy, and yet strangely enough, not an anxious one. He held himself with a lot of confidence, a comfort in himself and his skin that was really rare these days. But not in a boastful way by any means. He seemed like a former wallflower that had truly bloomed.

Ugh, she knew that she shouldn’t have been hyperfixating on him this way. He had a girlfriend afterall. And yet still, when 6pm rolled around, she found herself taking a little extra time at the onigiri shelf, waiting to hear that gentle lilt that always made her heart skip a beat, waiting for—

“Good evening.”

She turned to Yuta with a tired, yet giddy smile, “Good evening.”

He took his spot next to her, looking through the refrigerated bentos and natto just next to the onigiri.

“How was practice?” she asked.

“Oh you know, same old, same old,” he answered, pausing his browsing so he could look her right in the eye, “How about you? How was work?”

“Nothing special, burnt my hand a little on the grill,” she answered, showing off her bandaged palm, “Boss yelled at me for doing it in front of customers. Same old, same old.”

Yuta was instantly concerned, “Oh no, are you alright?”

“Meh,” she shrugged, “It hurts a bit still, but I’ll live.”

He reached for her hand and then paused, looking at her for permission, “May I?”

She blushed a little at that, “Oh! Uh, s-sure…”

Yuta proceeded, taking her hand into his own. He ran his thumbs along the length of her bandages, applying just the slightest pressure. He was gentle with her, just like he seemed to be with everything. She found herself getting lost in that touch, in the idea of what it would be like to feel that sort of gentleness everywhere else…

“Alright, how’s that feel?”

She blinked out of her thoughts and looked back down to her hand, processing just how it felt. And to her shock, the stinging had actually gone away.

“W-Woah!” she said, holding her hand up to her face, “It feels great! What are you, a sorcerer or something?!”

Yuta laughed, waving her off, “No, no, nothing like that. It’s just a circulatory massage. Helps with the pain.”

“I’ll say,” she said in disbelief, waving her hand back and forth freely.

“You should still keep the bandage on for a couple of days though, to let it heal.”

“Will do, will do. Thank you,” she smiled, still completely engrossed in the painlessness of her hand, “This birthday isn’t totally shit after all.”

“Today’s your birthday?”

She froze. Shit, did she say that out loud? Her face turned bright red at the realization. God, she must’ve felt like she was totally fishing for a compliment or “happy birthday” or something now! She couldn’t be more embarrassed.

“Yeah, ‘fraid so,” she finally answered, trying to play it cool as the picked up a spicy tuna onigiri, looking over the ingredients on the back.

“And you’re spending it buying food from the konbini?!”

Okay, he seemed genuinely shocked and a little upset by that (what a sweetheart), so maybe he didn’t think she was totally weird for bringing this up out of nowhere.

“Living the dream, I know,” she chuckled.

Yuta shook his head and tutted, “No, no — I don’t think so.” He grabbed the onigiri out of her hand and placed it back on the shelf.

“Hey— My dinner!” she whined.

“We can do better than this. What do you say to some sushi?”

She blinked, genuinely surprised, “S… Sushi?”

Yuta rubbed the back of his head, an embarrassed little blush spreading on his cheeks, “Well, it’ll be conveyor belt, but I know a really good place if that’s okay with you.”

He clocked her awestruck expression and immediately panicked a little.

“Oh no, that was way too forward wasn’t it?” he looked down, a nervous muttering she’d never seen from him taking over, but maybe one that he’d lived with for a long time before, “Of course you don’t wanna spend your birthday with a total stranger…”

She finally was able to catch up to all this and realize just what he was saying.

“N-No, it’s not that!” she insisted, “I’d love to get dinner with you. It’s just…”

He tilted his head curiously.

“What about Rika?”

Yuta’s eyes widened a little, “Rika?”

“She’s your girlfriend right? I hear you talking about her or to her on the phone a lot,” she paused, alarming as she realized just how that sounded, “N-Not that I’m eavesdropping on you or anything!! I-I just overheard and well, ah crap…”

Yuta’s expression steadily softened through her babbling as he realized just what she was talking about, what she did and didn’t know about Rika. He smiled as he processed just how worried she’d been, and what exactly she’d been worried about.

God, was she cute.

“Don’t worry about the eavesdropping thing, I didn’t take it that way.”

She sighed, relieved.

“And don’t worry about Rika, either. She’s not my girlfriend.”

“No?” she lit up.

Yuta shook his head, “No. We’re close but she’s… Well she’s my sister, basically.”

She cocked a brow at him, “Basically?”

He laughed a little awkwardly, “It’s uh, it’s a little complicated. But really, you have nothing to worry about. I’m perfectly and pathetically single.”

If she were being honest with herself, that sounded totally like a red flag. A girl that was like a sister to him? That had cheater, cheater pumpkin eater written all over it. And yet, there was something about his demeanor, the look in his eyes and the way he said it, that felt genuine. That made her inclined to believe him.

And for a sushi dinner with the cute konbini guy she’d been pining over for weeks, that was good enough for her.

She grinned in a way that had Yuta’s blush returning full force.

“Lucky me.”

#yuta okkotsu #okkotsu yuuta #yuta okkotsu x reader #yuta okkotsu x you #yuta okkotsu x y/n #yuuta okkotsu #yuuta okkotsu x reader #yuuta okkotsu x you #jjk okkotsu #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk yuta #jjk yuuta

[theemporium]

i saw this friends to lovers prompt that reminded me of nico:

“cuddling for comfort in a Very Platonic manner”

like they’re pretending it’s totally platonic and doesn’t mean anything, no, but also, like, come closer

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

.

It felt like an inside joke whenever you and Nico would insist you were just friends—a joke that everyone except the two of you were in on.

Because you weren’t dating. And you totally didn’t have feelings for each other. And Nico definitely didn’t look at you like you had hung the damn moon. And you definitely didn’t become the personification of the heart eyes emoji the second he was in your vicinity. 

You were just friends—very close friends. And colleagues too. 

There was absolutely and positively nothing remotely romantic going on between you, the Devils’ social media manager, and Nico Hischier.

Not in a million years. 

Except there was, it was just a goddamn tragedy—and painful watch for the team—that neither you nor the captain had the balls to do something about it. Truthfully, it had just never crossed your mind that Nico would even look at you in that way. 

Hockey had been a constant in your life. At every major event in your life, every single milestone, you could remember a hockey game being played in the background. You could remember watching games with your family, you could remember the way your parents cheered when your family’s favourite team won, you could remember the first time you attended a playoff game. 

It had always been a part of your life, and you knew you wanted it to be a part of your future too. 

Your father had been the one to send you the application form. You were fresh out of university, a degree in hand you weren’t totally sure what to do with and a resume that most people turned down due to a lack of experience. When he had sent you the intern application form for the New Jersey Devils, you laughed and joked that it would at least be a good story to tell years down the line. 

You hadn’t expected to actually get the position. 

And you definitely hadn’t expected to befriend the newly appointed captain of the team but the universe worked in funny ways. 

And despite your best attempts to remind yourself these boys were your colleagues—that you were just a part of the social media team, just a part of the bigger Devils team that they bantered with—you found your friendship with Nico bubbling into something akin to a crush. 

You thought you hid it well, but the teasing remarks from Jack said otherwise.

What you failed to realise—or believe when Jack started talking your ear off about acting upon your crush—was that Nico felt the exact same way. 

But even if a small part of you yearned to believe as much, you knew you would never risk your friendship with Nico. Never in a million years. Not even if your friendship was hardly a friendship these days, now something far more. 

“And oh! That looks like a broken stick from Hischier who doesn’t look happy at the final score.” 

You winced as you watched him hit his stick across the goal post, as it snapped in half before he skated towards the tunnel without even a second glance. His head was down, but you could see the frown and furrow in his brows in your head clear enough. 

You knew he would be beating himself up for the loss. You knew he would be blaming himself for the last goal slipping through. But unfortunately for you, you wouldn’t be able to see him until long after the post-game interviews and debriefs were over. 

You didn’t get the chance to actually see the boy until the team found themselves huddled in the bar fifteen minutes from the stadium, each player eager to drink away the memory and pain of their freshest loss in what seemed to be a streak of losses. 

It was almost like your body was pulled towards him the second he stepped into the bar, looking as though he had a heavy weight on his shoulders. His eyes found yours in an instant and he was moving through the bar before anyone could even greet him. 

It was like an unspoken language shared between you when you saw the look in his eyes, when you opened your arms and let him just fall into your embrace and hide his face in your neck. 

“You played the best you could,” you whispered to him, your fingers threading through his hair before you felt him sink further into you. 

“But it wasn’t enough,” he muttered, and you could hear the self-loathing in his voice. “Nothing seems to be enough these days.”

“You’ll break the streak soon,” you assured him, nothing but confidence in your voice because maybe that was just what he needed to hear. To know that someone still believed in him and the team when he didn’t. 

“I’m just sick of being asked the same question, of being asked what I can do to help the team win,” Nico whispered, a hint of vulnerability and doubt in his voice that he would never let the boys hear. “I feel like I’m disappointing them.”

“You’re not,” you said to him, your voice a little stern as you clung onto him tighter. “Nobody blames you, Nico, except maybe yourself.”

He huffed out a laugh, though it felt a bit self-deprecating and bitter.

“You’re in no mood to drink,” you murmured as you tugged his head back, letting his red-rimmed eyes meet yours. “Do you wanna go?”

He nodded. 

You paused for a moment before continuing. “Do…do you want me to come with?”

“Please,” he whispered softly, his voice cracking a little when he did. 

You gave him a shy smile, and something in his chest eased a little at the sight. “Let’s go then.”

His hand fell down to take yours, intertwining your fingers together without a second thought—almost like it was a bodily instinct more than a choice. He pulled you behind him as he made his way towards the exit, pushing through the crowd and glancing over his shoulder to make sure you were okay. And just before you reached the door, your eyes found Jack’s from across the bar, that knowing look in his eyes. 

But tonight wasn’t the night to test his theory or let your feelings take over, so you pushed them down like you always did and followed Nico out of the bar.

.

#nico hischier #nhl #new jersey devils #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier x you #nico hischier x y/n #nico hischier fic #nico hischier one shot #nhl x reader #nhl x you #nhl x y/n #nhl fic #nhl one shot

[arwenadreamer]

Why I love the SPN finale so much

There are exactly 4 possible ways the show could have ended for our boys.

a) Both Sam and Dean live

b) Both Winchesters die together

c) Sam dies

d) Dean dies

So why do I think d) was the best possible outcome? Lets have a look at the different scenarios.

a) Both Sam and Dean live

While it would have been nice, I dont think it would have really concluded the show. "There will be peace when you are done." Well, on earth they would never have been truly done. There would always have been another horror lurking just around the corner, even if it was just a Monster of the Week. To find true peace, I think the boys had to enter heaven. And we actually had a bit of the they were done and lived happily on earth scenario in that domestic life openening of the finale. For the boys to live would just have meant more of the same, seasoned with hurts and horrors and a sprinkle of pain on top.

b) Both Winchesters die together

I wouldn't have minded that. It sure would have made for a tragic ending. In fact, that was what I kind of was hoping for, at least I imagined that this would be how the finale would go. Both boys going down swinging, blaze of glory style, preferably dying hand in hand, saying something like "Good night Sammy" or "See you on the other side, Dean". But in retrospect I see that this would have robbed us of their 7 Minute good bye scene. Of all the things Dean needed to say to Sam because he was saying good bye for quite a while. Of Sam being devastated and breaking down with his dead brother in his arms. There would have been no need for love confessions and "I must have stood outside your dorm for hours" and "When it came down to it it has always been you ... and me". Because they just could have picked up their normal conversation on the other side.

c) Sam dies

Dean would have comitted suicide right after burning Sams corpse. Jensen said so, and regarding Deans feelings and intentions, Jensens words are as good as canon to me.

I wouldnt have minded the tragedy of that, but in that case it really would have had an undertone of suicide ideation, which enough people scream about Dean's death as it is. (And which it really, really wasnt!)

c) Dean dies

Did I cry my eyes out? Yes. But the show I love is a drama show. Otherwise I`d choose a feelgood comedy show.

I wouldnt have minded for Sam to follow Dean soon after, to be honest. Maybe by being extra careless on hunts. But in keeping fighting, living through the grieve and pain day by day and coming out strong enough on the other side to actually have a kid and give him a stable, loving home, the message of the finale was actually so powerful. Opposite of glorifying suicide, it said "hold on, stay strong, there is a light at the end of all this trauma and horror and darkness you currently walk through".

The best part about the finale is, though, that it did not end there. Supernatural DID. NOT. END. WITH. DEAN'S. DEATH!!!

SUPERNATURAL ENDED ON A BRIDGE!!!!

I would have hated it, if the end of the show would have been the brothers seperated. But they weren`t. The show literally ended with the boys arm in arm, looking out over a peaceful valley in a heaven better than the one they knew from before.

There was peace and they were done. Together.

#supernatural #supernatural meta #supernatural finale #my thoughts #Sam and Dean

[enderwoah]

im so unwell about q!pac no its not even funny anymore i need to put him in a terrarium up on a shelf and keep him safe up there. he doesn't deserve any bad thing, ever. i don't even care about "having a good story" or "giving your character a conflict" anymore, nah, no, if ONE (1) MORE BAD THING HAPPENS TO HIM IM GONNA LOSE IT!! IM GONNA START BREAKING THINGS!!!

he's so. sad. hes such a sad character. his insecurities about being useless to everyone are so real and so painful because he's not, all of us know that he's not, but we also completely understand why he feels that way because he's had everyone he loves ripped away from him and he hasn't been able to lift a finger to stop any of it. he's just left to sit in the ruins without any help. he's collateral to all the tragedy surrounding him and the favela 5 in general and he's. tired. not in the way that cellbit is tired (though that works, too). he's exhausted of feeling sad all the time. of crying all the time. of feeling that loneliness that gnaws holes into his bones and settles in the marrow and never leaves, not when richas' bed is empty, not when mike's bedroom has started to collect dust, not when he can't see a real, tangible presence in forever's dilated eyes. the only person he has is cellbit, and he could never ask cellbit to give up what he still has when pac has nothing to lose (and god, how selfless, how kind is that?), so when he figures the only way to get an antidote to the drug is to have the drug itself, why wouldn't he offer himself up? and if that wasn't the only reason he tried to get his hands on it, who could blame him?

maybe he took it first to just feel the effects and understand the angle it took in affecting his mind. maybe he just took it for research. do you think he had slipped by the second time? do you think he took it once and, for a short thirty minutes, found that he could forget about all the sorrow lining his lungs and breathe? do you think reality crashed back onto him after that first try? do you think he was scrambling to take it again, to go back to that...maybe it wasn't blissful ignorance, per se, but willful disregard? do you think he couldn't wait to be submerged so deep that he couldn't think one more time? do you think he was hesitant? do you think he kept promising himself, one more, one more, one more...

god he is so. so sad. i was watching phil's pov, so everything was like a neat little movie for me, and just. cellbit and forever arguing while pac was just sobbing in the background was AWFUL. just. awful. it hurt. (cc!pac was damn good at acting, too, and that DID NOT HELP.) the moment he stepped on the trap i felt like i was hit with a brick. like no, of COURSE we should NOT be putting PAC in a CONFINED JAIL CELL. ALONE. and i know it was for his own good but i still felt so so so sick. the way he immediately curled up in the corner. the way he was crying to himself. the way he instantly answered richas' birthday the moment bad asked for it. the way he got visibly more upset and terrified when cellbit started shouting at forever. what the hell. no seriously what the HELL.

and, like, oh my god, making him the one to solve the antidote? proving that even though he may have fallen to the drug (the drug which was basically created by GODS, by the way, lets be real, the federation is nawt normal), he's still so useful. he's still such an asset. he's smart and he's kind and he's charismatic and he's trusting and he's so so selfless and so so brave and so strong. tubbo put it perfectly. the fact that he's gone through all the horrible awful stuff he's gone through and he's still standing just proves how capable he is. how tough he is. cellbit calling him "my dear." pointing out the fact that he sacrificed himself without knowing he was going to come back. "i'm only afraid of being sad again." "you will be sad again. but you won't be alone." he's so. he's just. he's. im frothing at the mouth. he gave himself up to save the rest of the island from this plague that took one of his best friends and might've taken the entire island if he didn't do anything. under that stress. experiencing that level of loss.

pac is one of the toughest goddamn people on the island and if anyone on that server even dares try to imply otherwise i will do heinous heinous things, mark my WORDS.

#writing a post about q!pac isn't enough i need to inject his character directly into my bloodstream (risus-core) #pactw #pac tazercraft #qsmp #qsmp spoilers #cellbit #qsmp richarlyson #forever #mikethelink #mike tazercraft #god he makes me insane #myyyy baby myy baby #you're my baby say it to me #myyyyy baby mmyyyy baaaaabyyy #tell your baby that iiiim youuur baaaabyyy #iiiiii bet on looosinggg doggsss <- going insane #its him he's the losing dog #drug abuse

[smorespatch]

to tread the path angels fear (p1)

-

characters: sunday x reader

genre: slight angst to fluff

warnings: im not good with sticking to the storyline

other: you guys speak french at some point but dw theres a translation (i just used google translate but shhh), p2 is posted

it came as a surprise to be invited to the charmony festival, considering *he* was the one who organised it. out of all people.

he and you were not on the best of terms. you used to be innocent lovers who believed their days of serene affection would be endless, back in the distant past, when you were just younglings enjoying the springtime of your youth. and of course, that would never come to pass. in fact, you loathed the idea of getting anywhere close to him, as your breakup was everything but cordial.

what made him invite you, then? that part was a mystery. but, even then, you decided to accept the invitation because he was merely the family's spokesman. it wasn't as though it was a private festivity just for you. and since penacony was both your and his homeland, you had every right to take part in the celebrations and pay a visit to your mother planet.

you were lost in thought as you bathed in the familiar water of your room at the reverie, memories of the past clouding your mind. you shook your head and closed your eyes, trying to push sunday’s memories from your consciousness. you wanted nothing more than to stop thinking about him right now, but the weight of his invitation was wearing you down.

just as you were about to fall into a troubled, but nonetheless comfortable slumber, a hand had forcefully pulled you from the water, and hard. the firm grip on your arm was painful. you opened your eyes wide in horror, trying to see just who had the nerve to storm into your private hotel room and jerk you out of your reverie. you’re greeted with the sight of the man you’re conflicted with the most, and you think to yourself; why did it have to be him, of all people?

“(name), cease your haste. do not enter the dreamscape," sunday warned, his tone carrying the same familiar dullness, but a hint of franticness lied under his infuriatingly composed exterior. despite your rage, you felt compelled to listen, if only for the fact this had been the most panic you'd ever seen him in, even if it was barely discernible. you hated to admit, but you knew him well enough to pick up on the smaller details. "i have lost my dear robin to this nightmare. i do not wish for you to be another loss."

“… what?” you couldn’t believe your ears. you have just returned home and you already ask yourself thousands of questions. first of all, what happened to robin? did she get hurt? is she.. gone? why can't I enter the dreamscape? and...why does he care all of a sudden? you pull yourself out of your thoughts, and focus on the bigger picture. in other words, find out what happened to your best friend. “robin.. what happened to her? what do you mean?”

he sighs, his expression remaining as stoic as ever, although now there was pity in his eyes for you.

"robin passed away as she was exploring the dreamscape last week," sunday says. "she went missing and then turned up dead. they ruled it as an accident, but i saw her body." his tone was steady, but you could see the edges of his lips twitch downward slightly. “i suspect the dreamscape has some sort of malicious entity lurking within it. i will not risk you falling prey to it as well."

your face falls. *robin is dead?* no, you won’t accept this. she was your best friend, the one who supported you and your decision to leave penacony after your predicament with sunday. your heart drops, and you feel devastated. you look up at him, your eyes glossy with tears. he understands what you’re feeling though, and he nods slowly, a somber expression settled over his face. despite the tragedy that had befallen another in the family, he was not letting his emotions overcome him. he was simply stating the facts as is.

"i will not allow the same to happen to you," he declares. "i will not lose another person dear to me." he pauses, his gaze settling on you now. there was such raw emotion in his voice that you could not recall hearing from him before — it was almost as if his facade was crumbling.

you pause. your heart and mind are riddled in confusion as you listen to his last sentence, taking time to reflect on the last three words. “… dear to you?” you ask, tone laced in equal parts uncertainty and hope, and though you want to believe otherwise, you can’t deny that you want those words to be true.

and for the briefest of moments, sunday's gaze falters as if he was contemplating something — whether or not to say something to you, to divulge a secret that he had never shared before. "... yes." he replies finally, with a solemnity you almost can't believe to be coming from his mouth.

"you are dear to me."

you wonder if your ears are deceiving you. you almost can’t believe the sheer sincerity in his words, the slight crumbling of the facade he always has up, and the declaration of how you are, in his eyes. “… really?” you whisper out. he doesn’t answer immediately, and you take a moment to breathe. you look at the floor and squirm under his gaze, unable to speak anything more.

for a moment, he just stares at you, his face unreadable — only pity and sadness can be discerned upon his features. “look at me," he demands. he's not used to asking, used to being ignored, but you had never seen sunday like this — vulnerable, anxious— a different person entirely. so you obey his order, raising your head and staring back at him. a beat of silence passes between the two of you, both of your expressions devoid of outward emotion.

sunday's lips twitch slightly. they twitch again. *he seems to be thinking something over,* you think. finally, he speaks, staring deeply into your eyes as if trying to read your soul, "... i have something to share with you."

you blink, a little caught off guard, but nonetheless opt to hear him out. “what is it?” you ask, looking at everything except him. sundays voice trembles slightly as he speaks. "when you... left. i..." he takes a deep breath before he continues, struggling to find his words, "i was a fool to take it as easily as i did. your departure — from penacony, from..." he takes a moment to collect his thoughts, trying to find the right words, "i was distraught," he suddenly blurts out, his hands tightly clenched together. his hands are shaking now. "... when you left, i was... *lost.*"

you stare at him, shocked, but your shock quickly turns into skepticism at his sudden confession. “why are you telling me this?” you question. he meets your gaze, his stare unwavering, his expression unchanging, and for the first time, you see his facade fall away entirely. for the first time — the real sunday finally shows his face to you.

"... because its the only way i know how," he says simply, not realizing the deepness of his words. "its the only way i know to tell you that..." he swallows. "that i need you."

after what feels like forever, you bring a hand up to hover hesitantly over his cheek, “i’ve never seen you this.. sincere. jespere que vous savez a quel point cela compte pour moi.” (translation: i hope you know how much this means to me.)

his breath catches in his throat as your gentle palm caresses his cheek. it's a tender and almost loving gesture — which he hadn't received from you in years. his eyes widen slightly in surprise, a slight flush creeping onto his cheeks. he looks... touched by this gesture. touched and vulnerable. something you rarely, if ever, see on his face. the old sunday was usually all business and stoicism and politeness. this new sunday... he seems — different. *softer.*

but youre still suspicious. your expression changes, and you pull your hand back, “ but i still feel like i don’t know *you* anymore. are you really serious, or are you toying with me? please be honest, je ne veux plus avoir le coeur brise.” (translation: i don't want to be heartbroken again.)

the question makes him tremble for the briefest moment, but he quickly regains his composure. he takes your hand in his own gently, his fingers interlacing with yours. "you have my word — i am being entirely sincere." his tone is firm and steadfast, no longer carrying the faint trace of uncertainty it had before. "i was foolish to let you walk out of my life so easily, i... i regret it deeply. i..." his fingers tighten around yours. "i would be devastated if anything happened to you. please... dont go to the dreamscape."

his words touch your heart, and though the you from a few hours ago would detest the you of now, your gaze softens, feeling like the love in your heart that has been kept under wraps will start overflowing again. “daccord. je te ferai confiance et je taimerai a nouveau. mais sil vous plait, ne faites pas la meme erreur que vous avez faite il y a toutes ces annees. and don’t worry, i won’t enter the dreamscape anymore.” (translation: all right. i will trust you and love you again. but please don't make the same mistake you made all those years ago.) you declare, and move ever so slightly closer to him.

he feels the heat of your breath as you get closer to him — he had forgotten how close the two of you would be when you were young, lovers, partners in life. the familiarity of your closeness to him takes him back to those days. he takes your other hand in his, tightening his grip around it, almost as if it was a lifeline, a guide, to keep your proximity to him. "i know better now," he replies, his eyes never faltering from yours. "back then, i did not know the depths of my love for you until you left."

you forget everything that made you loathe seeing him again, all your rage, all your hatred. as your heart overflows with genuine joy, you are reminded of just how much you used to love each other back then, and you will do anything to get it back in your grasp. you gently squeeze his hand, and lean in close enough that the tips of your noses are barely brushing against each other, “… may i?”

his heart skips a beat. for a quick moment, he doesn't respond — only stares into your eyes, watching you closely. when your noses are only a millimeter apart from one another, when you can smell the subtle scent of his cologne, when the tension and the passion that had built up between the two of you for so long burst at last, he finally gives his answer: *"oui."*

you smile, the joy and love in your heart pouring out of you and into your next course of action as you put a hand on his shoulder and the other on his cheek, pulling him closer and kissing him softly. sundays heart thumps as you pull him closer to you, his lips locking with yours, the passion, the desire, the years of longing for this moment finally spilling over. he responds with the same ferocity you do, his hands gripping your sides as he pulls you as close to him as he possibly can. the kiss lasts long, almost like a lifetime, and when you finally pull away and breathe, the two of you are panting, trying to slow down the beating of your hearts.

you smile so softly at him, and you feel so at home. “jai attendu ca toute ma vie. je je taime, sunday.”

(translation: i’ve been waiting for this all my life. i love you, sunday.)

sunday, for the first time in a long while, is speechless, the events of the past hour still lingering in his mind. you had shared a kiss — it was as though all that time and distance had never existed, as though the two of you were those two young, naive lovers still exploring the wonders of life. his voice cracks slightly as he replies. "je.. je taime aussi." (translation: i.. i love you too.) you move to embrace him in a warm hug, stroking his head and sighing in satisfaction.

he meets your embrace, wrapping his arms around you firmly, the way he had always done back when you were younger. despite your years spent apart, it feels completely natural to the both of you. as if you were still those same loving partners you used to be. "i will never, ever make the same mistake again," sundays murmurs as he clutches you tightly, a smile slowly forming on his lips. for the first time, he truly lets himself believe — this time, you are here to stay.

"never again," he says with an affirmative nod. "i realize now, that our time together... is fragile."

p2 is posted yay!!

this is the first time ive written something like this so maybe hes ooc and it's kinda bad but whatever. i love u sunday my wife ❤️❤️❤️‼️‼️

#sunday x reader #sunday x you #sunday x y/n #sunday hsr #sunday honkai star rail #honkai star rail #hsr sunday #hsr sunday x reader #sunday fluff #hsr fluff

[crooked-wasteland]

There is much to be said about the latest episode of Helluva Boss, and it is a bit of a tragedy that the animatic release felt like a more complete version of the episode than the actual finished product. From losing out on the visual intensity of Fizzarolli's injuries to the complete erasure of Barbie in the background of the disaster, it feels like these small changes removed the visceral intensity of the scene and its repercussions. Especially as Barbie is now the obvious point of conflict in Blitz's storyline, it feels like the impact of that part of the story is now devalued by her absence.

But that is hardly the end of the issues at play.

Medrano and her team rushed this story arc.

There are clear parallels to Bojack's two major story beats of Bojack abandoning Herb and the Sugarman Summer Home season arc. It is obvious that Blitz and Fizzarolli have a relationship paralleling that of Herb and Bojack in season one. However, Medrano pulls back in a multitude of ways and fails to commit the plot to a natural conclusion. While Herb rejects Bojack due to the fact that the latter never came to check up on him following his public disgrace and outing, Blitz is absolved of even that.

In the Bojack episode, Herb makes it clear that he doesn't blame his old friend for not standing with him when he was removed from Horsing Around. While he may have been upset at one time, he had cooled off and recognized that if the studio had let them both go, that would have been terrible for both of them.

Rather, it was Bojack assuming Herb's desires and thus avoiding his best friend for years under the belief that he had betrayed Herb so completely that the other wouldn't want to see him anyway. Bojack's insecurity was his own undoing in that relationship, even though it showed that both Herb and Bojack were still very compatible friends. Bojack's background of conditional relationships from his own parents set the groundwork for his hyperavoidant personality and how allowing generational trauma to dictate your relationships in life is a good way to lose everyone you ever hope to keep.

Here, Blitz didn't abandon Fizzarolli. Skipping to the end, Blitz was kept from seeing Fizz in the hospital by a currently unknown third party. Which removes his flaws on a fundamental level. While one could argue ripping off the storyline wholesale would have been just as bad, at least it wouldn't feel like a fanfiction retelling of that Bojack episode. It feels like Medrano had a very negative opinion of Herb and how he rejected Bojack and that this reiteration with her own characters is her way of "fixing" that relationship. At the same time, what Blitz ended up doing is far and above worse than Bojack simply not risking his career.

The episode takes the sequence as dark as they'd dare, Fizzarolli crawling out of the explosion as his body burns and disintegrates. The show really does want to bank itself on the emotional impact this sequence should have, picturing how afraid Fizz must be. The amount of pain he would be in as his mangled body turns to ash as he forces himself from the fire. His flesh melted, his horns seared red and glowing like it would if they were made of real keratin, his bones themselves falling apart as he forced his body to escape the disaster. And he calls out to the one person he held such admiration for, his best friend since they were kids, who turns his back on him and runs.

And somehow, that is not the reason the relationship has become so bitter and vile. Not because Fizzarolli, most likely believing he was going to die, watched his best friend run away and "save himself" (from Fizz's perspective), leaving him to die alone in this calamity. It's because Blitz never came to talk to him. And even then, it wasn't Blitz's fault.

While that reveal worked for Bojack and Herb, it doesn't actually work for when a character almost actually loses their life. The figurative end of the world that comes with losing a job you love and a creative passion project stolen and bastardized can not begin to amount to the physical act of dying. That is actually the entire point of Herb's story as well, why Bojack's initial betrayal is forgivable, but his avoidance was not. It's because what felt like the end of life in the moment didn't actually end anything substantial for Herb. He still lived a full and complete life, minus his best friend who left him to rebuild on his own. And you can not, in fact, make up for lost time.

Speaking of comparisons, the dialogue of this sequence in particular feels quite off-putting. Blitz's line of "You have e no idea what I lost in that fire" is accusatory and draws up a direct comparison to what each character lost. Fizzarolli is physically scarred by the events as well as mentally and emotionally. Horns are shown to be a source of social pride for imps, adding self-esteem and identity to the list of things Fizz lost in the disaster. But because it is implied that Blitz's mother actually did die in the fire, that is a tragedy somehow beyond belief for someone like Fizzarolli. It would be safe to assume that Tilla's death would have been felt by everyone who survived the circus, or at the least for the kids. The dialogue sets up a divide that somehow Blitz watching how his careless moodiness almost killed his crush is not at the top of the list of traumas Blitz has to sort through from this sequence is hard to believe.

Speaking of crush.

And that gets to why this episode as a whole fails to work on a fundamental level. For what it is, what it wants to be, and what it is trying to set up, this episode consistently drops the ball. It is confounding to think that Medrano believed that the relationship for Stolas and Blitz was for more necessary to show than this.

This episode should have been a flashback.

The entire episode should have been the lead up to the disaster. Show us the relationship of Blitz and Barbie and Fizzarolli. Show us the way Blitz is treated by others at the circus even as he ages.

Show us Tilla for five minutes for the love of everything meaningful. It's so hard to believe this should be important to the characters or story when we are given nothing concrete about who Tilla was as a person or mother. We lived the flashbacks of Bojack, no matter how short a snippet they were. We experienced Beatrice's callous nature or his father's self-centered abuse. For as important as she is implied to be, Tilla is not so important as to be an active participant in the story.

At the end of all this, I believe that the greatest issues boil down to a set list

- Characters do not have any lasting responsibility to the situation, their actions or the outcome.

- Somehow a character like Tilla who has never been seen and lacks any personality outside of early Steven Universe Rose Quartz perfection is a loss that is elevated over the trauma we are allowed to very distantly experience in Fizzarolli's monologue.

- The fact that we still have no idea about who any of these characters were to appreciate the sense of loss that this episode was supposed to supply.

- Fizzarolli and Blitz make up completely by the end of a single episode.

- The lack of buildup to the disaster causes confusion as to why it ever happens. Blitz throwing the confession letter on the ground and walking away has no rhyme or reason to it.

This episode is a literal laundry list of bad choices and poor structuring. When a school teacher writes in the margin, "Show, don't tell," this is what they are talking about.

#helluva boss critical #helluva boss criticism #helluva boss critique #vivienne medrano #vivziepop #helluva boss #vivziepop critical #vivziepop criticism #vivziepop critique #spindlehorse criticism #spindlehorse critical #here is the real one #pacing who she #i accidentally posted my rough draft

[moonlight-prose]

#10 "why are you doing this?" "because I love you" with Joel from the prompt list? The angst potential is limitless but also the fluff ♥️🤌

THE WASTELAND OF A BLEEDING HEART

a/n: i took a small writing break for a few days, but i finally managed to churn out the end of this fic. it's not my best thing i've written. to be entirely honest i don't really like how it turned out, but we live and die by the pen right. i hope you like it babes.

summary: joel's fears began to interfere.

word count: 1.2k+

pairing: joel miller x reader

warnings: not explicit, angsty ass joel, stubborn joel + stubborn reader dynamic, miscommunication (cause...*gestures to joel* yeah), fluff.

You had every right to be mad at him. After what you two had gone through, the way he had been treating you, gave you enough reason. You should be mad at him. But then he looked at you, his lips pulling up into a barely there grin, brown eyes pulling you in, and you knew…the anger would never last.

Until now it seemed.

“Miller!” you called out, jogging to catch up with Tommy, his quick pace a little too fast for even you. “Where’s the fire?”

“No fire,” he smiled, his hands shoved in his pockets to stave off the cold.

“Good.” You should have grabbed your thicker jacket off the back of the chair. Although it never even occurred to you at the time. Not when your mind was going in a million different directions at once. “I’m looking for Joel—”

You stopped at the sight of his expression shifting, quickly being masked by another carefree smile. Yet you could see beneath his facade; caught the glimpse of worry in his eyes that darted away from you. That was the problem with Tommy Miller. He was too easy to fucking read. Which left you in a predicament such as this.

“What happened?” you asked, noticing how he barely even looked at you.

“Joel uh…”

Your brow creased. “Joel what?”

“Listen it wasn’t my idea and if somethin’ is happening between you two—”

“Tommy.”

He sighed, glancing up at the sunlight that seemed to be the only warmth in Jackson. “He told me to take you off the outdoor patrol shift.”

“He—” You felt your chest tighten painfully, that familiar feeling of loneliness settling back in your bones. “Did you…take me off?”

Tommy nodded reluctantly, his eyes never once meeting yours. “Said he didn’t want you to get hurt, and I…well shit I kind of agree with him.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” You felt the burn in your chest begin to spread—an uncomfortable sensation you always hated. “You can’t just take me off patrol when everyone is supposed to—”

Tommy’s eyes finally snapped to you, his lips forming a thin line. “I know you’re pissed, but think about it honey. If Joel loses you…there’s no coming back for him.” He sighed, dipping his head to glance at the icy covered ground. “I’d rather not bring back that version of my brother.”

Pain erupted throughout you, clogging every part of your body until you could feel your heart screaming. Though Tommy wore the face of a sorrowful man, you knew that he had simply taken away your initiative. He made the choice for you just as Joel did without bothering to let you in on any of it. Anger simmered beneath the surface of your pain; the mask you were wearing—clear and free of any emotions.

Somehow that made Tommy’s expression even worse. He would never truly know how hurt you were, because you wouldn’t tell him.

How could you?

“Have a good day Tommy,” you said, your voice void of any emotion.

“Wait—”

You didn’t give him a chance to say anything more, too focused on the fact that Joel had once again made a choice for you. Simply because he believed it was the best option. Part of you wondered where it stemmed from; why he was so adamant on keeping you in the town limits, unwilling to let you go. Except then you began to count. Each person Joel lost, each tragedy he had to endure, all added up to something in the end.

Hours later you found yourself still thinking about it as you attempted to engross yourself in a novel. One you read over and over again, too stubborn to let it go. Maybe that’s where you and Joel were the same. Two people who couldn’t find it in themself to allow change in a world that had already taken away so much.

The familiar creak of the front door brought you back for a brief moment, your anger flickering to life in your chest. Joel simply grinned at the sight of you curled up in a chair, one of his shirts adorning your body. A blanket so old he was worried it was unhealthy to be around, was spread out across your legs. 

Except that’s not what stopped him in his tracks. The glare he felt burn through his chest, plummeting straight down to his stomach, caused him to freeze. His eyes tried to search your steeled expression for an explanation.

“What’s wrong?”

“Tommy let me know today that you told him to take me off the patrol shift.” The ire in your voice surprised you.

His eyes fell shut, a breathy shit leaving his mouth. “I was gonna tell you—”

“He said you didn’t want me to get hurt.”

“That’s true,” he replied, shrugging out of his jacket and draping it over the back of his chair. “Can I explain please honey?”

You stood, letting the book and blanket fall to the floor. “No. You don’t get to make those decisions for me Joel. I’m more than capable of handling myself out there and you more than anyone knows that.”

The step he took forward coupled with the look on his face nearly bent your resolve, but you stood your ground. You were upset with him for a reason.

“I told Tommy to let me tell you first before doing anything rash. Apparently he still doesn’t listen very well.” He sighed, his hands falling to rest at his hips as he saw your guarded demeanor. “I just don’t want anything happenin’ to you.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to make that choice for me,” you said. “I just want to know why. Why are you doing this?”

“Because I love you.” The words were blurted out before he even comprehended them himself. His eyes widened slightly, mouth snapping shut as he waited for your response.

You let out a shaky breath, your hands falling to your sides limply. “What?” you breathed.

Two months ago you had said those exact words to him in the safety of your bedroom. The fear of setting them free continued to linger in the back of your mind. Yet there he was. Finally telling you the one thing he was most scared of—loving you completely…only to one day lose you. That alone broke off a piece of your heart.

“I can’t lose you like I lost her,” he said softly. “I won’t.”

“Joel,” you whispered, finally moving towards him until you were close enough for his hands to reach for you. “You won’t lose me.”

“You don’t know—”

Grasping his face, you pulled him close, his breath washing across your chin. “You won’t lose me. Okay?” He nodded, his lips brushing against yours. “But you have to let me choose for myself.”

“I will,” he replied, giving into your touch, allowing himself to be loved wholeheartedly for the first time since Sarah. “Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

“You got it cowboy.” You smiled, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips as his laughter washed over you, settling deep in your chest and keeping you warm.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller angst #the last of us #the last of us fic #my writing

[barbiiecams]

Can you write about Drew with his little family visiting him for his days off from filming? 🩷

Also I love that you write about black oc readers!! It’s rare in this fandom to find that.

vacay

dad!drew starkey x mom!reader, not proof read, & yes more black representation for the obx fandom pls! also this is kinda long soo enjoy 😖

drew had been gone filming for about a month now.

for you, it was easy not to get so hung up over the fact he was gone for such a long time.

when you first started dating, it was definitely a tragedy. and it pained you everytime that you couldn’t just go with him.

and even now, of course you missed him like crazy. but after all these years of being together, you’ve learned how to deal with it and it got easier.

but for his baby aaliyah who’s never been separated from her daddy? oh this was hell.

she couldn’t even stand the sight of him walking out the door for 10 minutes, so now that he’s walked out the door, and hasn’t come back for weeks?

she definitely was not having it.

you knew how she was going to react as well, so for weeks you prepared yourself for the endless tears and tantrums.

“you know she’s going to be a pain when i’m gone, right?” drew reminds you while you guys get ready for bed.

“trust me, i know. im getting myself ready for it as we speak.” you reply as you start to wrap your hair up for bed.

he chuckles. “you guys can always come with, though. that’d be a good idea especially for her.”

“maybe like a visit for a few days, but i don’t think her being out of the country for that long is a good idea.” you said as you laid down in the bed. drew agreed with that statement and you both moved on to the next topic.

that was weeks ago. but now? you were starting to consider whether or not you should’ve just taken drew’s idea.

you tried so many resolutions with liyah, and nothing seemed to work.

the girl never seemed to tire herself out either. she just recently turned one, yet you were already seeing the tunnel to the terrible 2’s somehow.

to be fair, she was an angel. but once she got started, you didn’t know if and when she was going to stop.

currently you were trying to feed her. you had ms rachel on your phone in front of her because that seemed to calm her down in the tiniest bit when she would get upset.

it was going good, until drew had started to call you.

and as soon as she saw the picture of you and him pop on the screen, waterworks flooded all over again.

“i just calmed this baby down and now he wanna call me.” you mutter to yourself, partially annoyed even though he couldn’t control it.

facetimes never seemed to make her feel better and it actually quite made her even more upset, but maybe hearing his voice at the very beginning of a breakdown could ease her, so you went ahead and picked up.

“hello?” you propped the phone up on the table then picked her up and tried shushing her.

he didn’t even need to ask ‘how are my girls?’ because he could clearly tell.

“awe, i miss my baby too.” he pouts.

you picked up the phone and put it in her face so she could see him. “talk to her, your voice might help.”

“hi my love. shh, it’s okay daddy’s right here.” he says through the phone.

she stops wailing, but she’s still making whining and crying noises.

“she’s taking this even worse than i thought,” you say. “i knew it was going to be bad, but not this terrible.”

“she’s just a true daddy’s girl. what can i say?” drew smirks through the phone.

“you might find this funny but i have real life headaches from her, joseph.” he laughs at the use of his real name.

“i bet you do, im sorry baby.” he says, “why don’t you guys come and visit for a little bit?”

this time, you were quick to actually be on board.

“i think that’s a good idea too.” you started bouncing aaliyah up and down and gave her kisses. she wasn’t as loud with her whining, but she was still continuing. “i think it’s time we go see daddy.”

drew smiles, “i can’t wait. i’m gonna take some time off and buy your tickets. when do you wanna come out?”

“shit, tomorrow.” you sigh.

he laughs again at your comments but knows you’re being completely serious at the same time. “get to packing then baby.”

that’s all he had to say for you to pick the phone up and make your way upstairs with liyah.

first you started in liyah’s room. drew was still on the phone with you, talking way more than you were because she seemed to be getting quieter and quieter. it bothered her that she couldn’t feel him, but right now she’s was taking whatever she could take.

you showed him outfits, he decided whatever or not he liked him. you made sure to pack a whole separate bag for all of her baby necessities as well.

because you were connecting with drew in some way, it felt like an easy task you were able to accomplish. you knew for a fact if he wasn’t on the phone it would’ve taken you the rest of the day with her wailing and screaming.

when you were done packing her bag, you tried putting her to sleep. of course it took about an hour, but eventually she was soundly asleep. all you could do was thank heavens.

placing her in her crib, you had to really tiptoe out the door. if she woke up while you were in the middle of trying to walk out and leave, that would be another meltdown waiting to happen.

you and drew stayed on the phone even after she was liyah was put to sleep, but you made sure to keep the volume of the phone down so that his voice didn’t travel to her. now it was time to pack your clothes. he helped you pick out your outfits, and you did a mini fashion show for him with your outfits.

he loved them all, and occasionally gave a ‘do a little spin for me.’

every moment with him, or even just talking to him was great. no matter if you were actually next to him, or through the phone.

but unfortunately, you guys couldn’t stay on the phone forever. it was soon time for him to start filming again.

“i gotta go baby, but i love you so much, and i’ll see you two soon.” he said while walking back to his set. “kiss my baby for me.”

“i will. i love you too.” you smile then hang up the phone. you sighed and rubbed your face, thinking about how quick this was happening, but how ready you were at the same time. if it was going to get her to stop crying so much and was also going to get you to see your man again, a win is a win!

after everything, it was about 5 pm. this was a late nap for liyah and she would be up end up being bouncing up off the walls, but maybe that was good cus then she would sleep on the plane ride tomorrow.

heading back downstairs, you made dinner for yourself & made sure to leave a little for liyah cus she’ll get hungry out of nowhere.

you also made it a chore to clean the entire downstairs of your house, because coming back to a clean house after a few days on vacay is always a nice thing.

surprisingly, liyah didn’t wake up once. you weren’t too loud, but loud enough for her to start yelling, waiting for mommy or daddy to pick her up.

you love that girl to death, but her tantrums are for the birds.

after you were done, you went to check on her. she was still soundly asleep, most likely for once tired herself out with all the noises. soon, you were going to have to wake her up so she could take a bath. but you weren’t worried about that at the moment. you were finally able to pamper yourself for the evening, then deal with her later.

your phone dinged, and knowing what the message was you opened it right away.

2 attachments from drew, and they were your tickets to morocco for 10 days at 6 am.

hearting both of the attachments, you started to get excited.

one month wasn’t too much of a long period of time, but it was always enough for you and your baby to miss him more and more each day.

you could finally see him again, and you’d be reunited as a family.

—

the night went smoothly. she only woke up once, and that was to bathe and eat a bit of what you had made. she was easy to put back to sleep, and that’s what matter the most. you could’ve had more sleep for yourself, but the hours were efficient enough.

sooner than later your alarm rang for 4:30. you weren’t a morning person whatsoever, but you definitely did not have a problem waking up right now since you knew what was to come in only a matter of time.

it was going to be a real long ride of 11 hours, but the outcome would be worth it.

getting up out of bed, you brushed your teeth and washed your face with your products, then put those into your suitcase.

you let liyah sleep for a few more minutes, then woke her up knowing you were just going to put her in her mini uggs and throw a coat over her pajamas.

and as for you, you were keeping your hair the way it was and throwing on a hoodie and sweatpants.

you took this time to order the uber to the airport, and bring both of your suitcases and her baby bag downstairs.

walking back up to her room, you picked her up from the crib and started to pat her back while bouncing her. the movement would keep her asleep and peaceful instead of awake and cranky.

“we’ll see daddy sooner than you know it, mama.” you whispered to her.

not even bothering to make breakfast since it was too early for the both of you to be eating, you turned off everything in the house and waited for the car. it was now 5:15 and the car was going to pull up any minute.

liyah woke up for just two seconds, “mama?”

“yes baby?”

“where dada?”

“we’re gonna see him in a few hours, don’t worry.” you softly laid her head back down so she could close her eyes again. as she was falling asleep, the car pulled up and it was time to go.

stepping outside with a baby and one hand and dragging suitcases in the other, the driver stepped out to help you load up, and you placed aaliyah in the car seat you had requested the driver to have.

he closed the trunk and hopped right back into the car. he pulled out from your driveway and made small talk with you. you tried your best to keep up, but it was just too damn early.

after a 10 minute ride to the airport, he unloaded your things for you and helped you bring them inside while you carried liyah. you thanked him, then did all the stuff you needed to do before waiting to board the plane.

aaliyah was still asleep, clearly all the tantrums finally caught up with her.

you texted drew a few times, even though he was most likely resting.

but about 30 minutes later, it was time to board the plane. you had all your luggage ready, and you guys were finally able to start the real travel.

—

the plane ride was long, but it wasn’t bad.

you kept liyah busy with movies, coloring, and eating a few things.

she didn’t eat everything since plane food isn’t the greatest, but she ate some and so did you.

you had boarded the plane around 6 in the morning, well now it was 4:30 and you had just landed.

aaliyah had a burst of energy, and you knew she was ready to just play and be carefree again.

thankfully, the passengers were nice enough to help you walk off the plane and help with your luggage when they saw you with a baby, so the plane experience overall was definitely a 10/10.

you had called drew on the plane, and he let you know he’d been waiting with open arms. you were overjoyed, practically jumping with excitement on the inside and out.

but if you think you were over the top happy, seeing the look on aaliyah’s face while you walked to find drew waiting at the morocco airport had you all the way beat.

“DADDY!!!” she screamed in your arms once you started to make it towards him.

you giggled at her her volume, and was also just happy enough yourself to laugh at anything knowing you were finally with drew again.

he walked towards the two of you and met you halfway, “is that my baby girl?” he smiled and took her from you. their bond was something so special to you, and you were so grateful for how strong their relationship was.

he gave her many kisses and tickles, which made her laugh. this was the first time you saw her so excited in a while.

“and my other baby girl.” he turned to you, pulling you in and giving you a passionate kiss. you weren’t holding back either, you hadn’t seen your man for far too long now. because of this, you covered liyah’s eyes which made drew laugh.

finally pulling away, he kisses your forehead. “i got our whole week planned out.”

this made you smile. “and what will we be doing?”

“there’s restaurants i want you guys to try, there’s a really nice beach, and i got us a really nice hotel. i promise you these 10 days are gonna make up for the month i left you with this little drama queen,” he started liyah a bit at the last part which made her laugh again. her laughs were always so contagious and it made the two of you laugh as well.

“i know they will, you never disappoint.” you kissed his cheek.

he gets close to your ear and whispers so liyah doesn’t hear, “and i promise once we wrap filming, i’ll make you finish everynight, baby.”

this gets your cheeks hot. you can’t lie at all, you really did miss being tossed and turned by him once she was asleep at night.

“be careful with what you say,” you point a finger at him, “i’ll make you a daddy for the second time.”

he laughs, “please do.”

you roll your eyes at him, then start walking out to where his car is.

drew spent the wholeeee time talking to liyah, even though she mostly still speaks in her baby language.

he was having so much fun too, constantly giving an occasional ‘oh really’ and ‘what happened after that?’

it kept him entertained and so did you. you stayed recording the entire thing and could barely hold in your laughter.

you made finally made it to the hotel (not before stopping for some real food though of course.) and he was definitely not lying when he said it was really nice.

nice wasn’t even a good word, it was gorgeous.

“wow,” the three of you walked in. your hands dealing with the cart of luggage while his carried aaliyah. “this really is beautiful.”

“i know,” he looks like he’s in awe himself while he takes in the hotel. “only the best for my girls.”

you smile at him and he wraps an arm around you, the three of you making your way to the hotel room.

you were very happy you took this vacation.

#drew starkey #barbiiecams #outer banks #drew starkey blurb #drew starkey drabble #drew starkey fic #drew starkey headcannon #drew starkey fluff #drew starkey angst #so long sorry lol

[randomgods]

--downpour spoilers for anyone reading! i know you have a tag but just to be safe :3!! but you mentioned in your favs post that the only thing you'd change about saint's campaign was the ascension dialogue between moon and pebbles at the end and i think i do agree with you but i can't quite put my finger on what bothered me about it. i'd be curious to hear what fell flat for you and how you would change it if you had ideas? ps. ily and so good to rain rot concurrently with you

I have much to say about this!! Big spoilers for the ending of The Saint Campaign!!

Ok this may come off as a bit harsh but it’s only because I’m so passionate about these two and their story.

I think the reason why the dialogue in rubicon between Pebbles and Moon fell so flat is that it is so impersonal! I recognize that this is the moment that Pebbles and Moon both realize the solution to their entire purpose has been found, and thus it makes sense that they would be focused on it. But JEEZ! Are they not shocked to see each other in the same physical space for the first time? Are they not relieved that they’ve both been freed from the immense amount of physical and mental pain they’ve been in for millennia, eons even? Due to both of their states they haven’t even been able to contact each other in who knows how long. Where’s the EMOTION!

So much time and so much strife has passed through their lives that at this point in the story they’ve moved on from simply being computing machines. The iterators have full, human emotions. The tragedy of Rain World comes from how individual and human every iterator is. They are sentient beings trapped and tormented by their physical limits and their great task burdened to them by a society who abandoned them long ago. In this hardship they grew to know and love each other like real family. How could you not display that in the final moments of their existence? I find it so reductive of their characters to just make them soullessly monologue about the solution of ascension. It would mean so much more for their characters if they thought of each other first rather than focusing on the task their apathetic creators forced upon them. All their character development and agency is just gone in this scene.

There is also no distinction between Moon and Pebbles. We get none of their character. They’re just waxing poetic about the solution of ascension and the state of The Saint’s fate. It reads as if one monologue was written with no voice in mind and it was just broken up between the two.

I would have to think a while on how I would rewrite this part, maybe one day I will! Of course I would have them address that the solution to ascension has been found, but only after they actually emote over what’s happening to them. I would have them reconnect, celebrate, and grieve over all they’ve been through together.

Lol thats a lot, I am just so passionate about this story. The rest of Saint’s campaign really hit hard for me though. Especially finding Pebbles in the state he’s in.

#asks #rgtext #rain world downpour #downpour spoilers

[storiesbyrhi]

Witch!Reader x Bat/Vampire!Eddie Munson Series Masterlist The Grimoire The Timeline

Warnings: canon typical violence, horror genre typical violence/some infrequent gore, swearing, animal death, no beta, death in childbirth (mentioned, not described), abusive parents, suicide, spiders/bugs, grief/mourning; warnings updated each chapter.

Synopsis: No witch has stepped foot in Hawkins since 1845, but when Vecna opens the ground and poisons the town, a voice begins to call to you. Have you been brought back to this cursed place to heal the townspeople’s wounds, to save a hexed bat that always finds its way to you, or to redefine your history with a reunion 150 years in the making?

Chapter Summary: Magic for magic. 2552 words.

1986

Aeschylus, often considered the father of Greek tragedy, once said that, “He who learns must suffer.” In your experience, learning was a good and pure thing. Though, since coming to Hawkins, all you had learned only served to cause you pain. Aeschylus continued, “And even in our sleep, pain that cannot forgot falls drop by drop upon the heart, and in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom to us by the awful grace of God.”

So, sleep you did.

Once the grieving teens had left the trailer, you were left alone with your thoughts. Eddie hadn’t come out of the bedroom, and you suspected he wouldn’t until he was invited to. You curled up on the couch, felt the warmth left in the wake of Steve Harrington’s ghost dissipate, and napped.

From the bedroom, Eddie listened to your breathing even out. He smiled at the small snores and sounds of your sleep; those, he remembered, he knew well. He remembered how you slept and how you woke. How you walked and talked. Thought and felt. He remembered falling in love with you then, and now. He’d stay in that bedroom for as long as you needed him to.

An hour later, you woke hungry and sad. Sleep, though, did as Aeschylus had said. It allowed what you had learned and all your pain to be distilled into a strange sort of wisdom. There was only one question that mattered in the moment. Did you want Eddie to tell the story of your history, or did you want to recover your memories first through magic?

With your plate piled with fruit and cheese, you made your way down the hall and into the bedroom. It was still equipped to block out the sun. Dark as dark could be.

“I’m turning the light on.”

Eddie was sitting on the floor next to the bed, on the opposite side to you. He’d picked up your copy of The Lord of the Rings and was making good progress. He stood up.

“Didn’t know vampires like to read,”

“I don’t know about the others. But I do. It slows time down. I can’t read any faster than a human can.”

He was different. He held himself different now that he knew who he was.

You sat cross-legged on the bed and began to eat.

“It was the blood from your lip,” he told. You still tasted how you did then, on the banks of the stream.

You nodded. “I figured. I didn’t think it would be that easy though,”

“I would not call any of this easy.” There was an innocence or naivety that came with having no memories, and it had often manifested in Eddie’s tone and speech pattern. It was gone now.

“Were we right? All our guesses about what happened?”

Eddie sat on the bed, his back to the wall and legs stretched out in front of him. He clasped his hands together and blinked slowly. When he looked at you, you were overwhelmed by the expression. You crumpled, lost under the weight of Eddie’s gaze.

“My love,” he murmured, reaching out to move your plate and pull you into his lap.

You curled your arms between your body and his, letting him hold you, enclosing you entirely. When you cried, it wasn’t just out of frustration at Eddie keeping the truth from you. It was a release of all the tension. It was grief for Steve and the teenage soldiers. It was anger on behalf of Hawkins, the decades it had spent suffering with the plagues unleashed by the lab. The horror of knowing your memories had been tinkered with by the people who were meant to protect you. The loneliness in that. And, the pain of betrayal.

The shame of being a bad witch and wrong on some deep subatomic level. The longing for love. The fear of everything to come.

Your emotions were making you feel claustrophobic. Paranoid. Disorientated.

“My little witch. My love…” Eddie struggled with what to say, for he knew that whatever picture you were painting in your mind, the truth was worse. Although he didn’t know what happened to you after he sunk to the bottom of the stream, transformed into the bat, it did not take much thought to finish your story. Sally, Gillian, and Penelope, stripping you of your memories.

Eddie held you tighter, let you sob until you ran dry. Dehydrated and with a pounding headache, you sat up with a blurry expression.

“My apple’s gone brown,” you pouted.

Eddie laughed, feeling himself come alive with love.

“You keep looking at me like that,” you said, rubbing your face with your hands.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m… a little mewling kitten… or… I don’t know…”

He knew what you meant. He was looking at you like he knew you and was devastatingly in love with you and could watch you pout about apples forever.

“Sorry,” Eddie replied.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You’re not sorry,”

“No,” he agreed. “But I will try not to think of you as a mewling kitten. Would you prefer to be an ally cat or-” He was cut off when you threw a piece of brie at him. Eddie laughed again.

You shuffled around to sit cross-legged again. Breathing in deeply, you let it out and decided. “I don’t want you to tell me everything. I don’t want to feel like it’s all just… theory… You know? I’m real. I’m here. But I was there and that was real, and I need to feel it. I need to remember it for myself.”

Eddie nodded. “I understand,”

“Do you know anything specific about how the memories were taken? Like, the spell?”

“No. Just that… I believe they were taken against your will,”

“Yeah. They were. A witch would never give up a part of herself like that…”

It was a solemn conclusion, but the conversation had a glimmer of hope. You were a spell away from your memories, so close to that pain falling drop by drop into your heart until it turned to wisdom.

…

“You can send me away,” Eddie offered from where he sat on the kitchen bench, his legs swinging. “I won’t be offended,”

“Mmm. Because not offending you is at the top of my list of concerns right now.”

He held in a smirk. Even without your memories and with a new name, you were still his little witch.

“I was simply offering privacy,”

“I’d prefer if you’d offer to go and pick some chicory flowers. They’re the blue-”

“Blue flowers on long stems. I know. Not native to this area but grow where it is hot and dry.”

You blinked at him, taken aback by his knowledge of wildflowers.

He liked the surprised look on your face. “Shall I continue? The plant can be used for a variety of magic purposes. European folklore claims it can open locked doors. This belief has also been traced to Ancient Egypt. Chicory root can be used as an amplifier, while the rest of the plant has its uses in spells relating to time, curses, and invisibility.”

Eddie watched your lips part as you breathed out. The craft was your love language, and your blown pupils were evidence that he was fluent enough.  

“Forgive me for revealing this, but you used to teach me things. Not everything. Nothing that could be dangerous for a vampire to know. But when you did teach, I listened.” He slid from the bench and moved towards the door. “Chicory awaits.”

You stood for a moment, unsure how to disentangle all the emotions, waiting for one of them to dominate and guide your mood. Grief. It was always grief. And the knowledge that memories like teaching Eddie about the natural world had been taken from you was sharpening that grief into a blade.

Eddie had left just as the sun had set, returning within the hour. You had expected him to be back in the blink of an eye, but he’d moved slowly, giving you some time in private, regardless of what you’d said about needing it.

As he came to sit at the alter opposite you, he frowned. The bowl of syrupy black liquid looked evil. You ignored his expression and took the chicory from him.

“What are you to do with that?” he asked when you didn’t volunteer the information.

You quirked an eyebrow. “I’m to drink it.”

He nodded. “As I feared.”

Laughing at his intensity, you shook your head and began to weave a crown from the chicory. “This spell will put me to sleep. Not long. I don’t think,”

“You don’t think?!”

“Magic is not an exact science,”

“Yes, but still… Can you not find a way to be more sure?” He just got you back; he could not fathom losing you again.

“No. Now if you don’t mind-”

“What’s in it?” Eddie interrupted.

While you agreed the potion did not look safe, let alone appetising, it was the only way forward. You had consulted the grimoires and had done your best work. Maybe the coven would have a better spell, but you were on your own.

“Rosemary,” you answered.

“Black… sludge… rosemary?”

“Do you really want one of your special lessons right now?”

“I want you to remember the special lessons,”

“Okay, then stop-” You waved your hand around. “-all this and be quiet. Please.”

Eddie put his hands up in surrender and moved away from the altar. You looked from him back to the chicory crown you were making.

“In our memories,

Our magic is stored.

And of mine,

An act abhorred.

Petals blue.

Night new.

Remember me,

As I remember you.”

Shaking hands held the completed crown but you mustered as much bravery as possible and put it on your head. You took the potion bowl and held it to your lips.

“In our memories,

Our self is forged.

And of mine,

Let them be restored.

Rosemary green.

Witch blood clean.

What has come to pass,

Let it now be seen.”

The blackness tasted of nothing. It coated your mouth the nothingness. It pulled you into a void by the teeth and within seconds, you’d fallen into a magically induced sleep, Eddie moving to catch your head from hitting the floor. He placed a pillow in his lap, then rested your head on top. By what alchemy your memories were taken, Eddie didn’t know, but he hoped it had been as peaceful a process as this.

…

The apple almost sparkled as it flew through the air. You watched mesmerised by the red as it spun and hit its peak. It followed the laws of gravity down, down, and into the hands of a man.

“I do not agree to that.”

Your voice had changed since 1836. Small tweaks in accent and enunciation. Just enough to continue to blend in with an ever-changing society. You wondered if you still had that righteous tone.

“Then name your price.”

Eddie. Eddie, remarkable from the very first moment you met him.

From across the stream, you saw Eddie watching you. You looked so small, hunched by the water, cleansing crystals like it was of epic importance. He emerged from the darkness and spoke in a lowered voice. Then, milkweed silk and doe with soft fur and long lashes. Building a forest gate.

You witnessed it all as if you were a fly on the wall, a ghost in the memory.

“This comes with warning, Amabel. What you have done is beyond comprehension and reason. You are escaping due punishment. This is mercy at best. Nepotism at worst. The creature will be taken now and you will not see it again.”

The claustrophobia of Penelope’s hut made you ache and itch. It all played out before your eyes, a replication of 1836. It was agony. First, the horror of what happened. Then, having to bear witness. Finally, the recollection firing in your brain, all your emotions and muscles searing with re-traumatisation.

There was doubt written on Sally’s face that you could not see then but could now. She poured the potion into your mouth, believing that regardless of whether cursing the vampire was the right thing to do or not, taking your heartache away was as much mercy as a mother could show.

As your recovered memories aligned with what you remembered, you saw yourself sitting by Penelope’s fire, an emptiness opening up inside you. You would try to fill it with the bloody and sacred duty of protecting humans from vampires. You’d try to fill it with magic and music and everything the twentieth century had to offer. It never went away. It was a dark thing that hibernated until destiny saw Henry Creel. Saw the potential in a hexed creature sitting in the treetops of Hawkins. Saw the love in your heart sealed over by what you’d forgotten.

Destiny saw you, and you… you saw it all.

…

In the Catskills, the cold had claws. Gillian had pulled on her thickest pair of socks that morning, before brewing a fresh pot of tea. She could feel it coming, though she wasn’t quite ready to admit that she didn’t know what exactly ‘it’ was.

Sally emerged from her bedroom not long after her sister. She wore the same sad expression she had ever since you packed up and left for Hawkins. Gillian tracked her slow movements to the tea, and then the small round kitchen table they shared.

“I haven’t seen Kelsey around in a little while. Do you think she’s avoiding us?”

Sally sighed and looked at her sister with weary. “I would think after this many lifetimes, you would just state your business.”

Gillian smiled. It wasn’t just you and Kelsey who were changed in 1836. Sally never fully recovered from what had happened. She was more inclined to being blunt, and often it walked over the line into the realm of callousness. Gillian though, forgave her sister. She owed her at least that.

“Fine. She is avoiding us. She is the only one in contact with-”

“I know,” Sally interrupted on cue – she hated hearing your name out loud. “So?”

“So… They are up to something. Or, at least, one of them is… And we know which one.”

Sally considered her sister’s theory. She’d grown tired of her sister’s theories though. Really, she’d grown tired of a lot of things. When they left Hawkins, she wouldn’t bother with another lustrating ritual and didn’t argue when Gillian kept her own name too. Sally hardly got involved with the coven’s comings and goings. She simply set up her cabin in the mountains and let everyone buzz around her like happy little bees.

“Let them be up to something,” Sally finally said.

Gillian had known the reply would be worth waiting for. She smiled at her sister again and nodded.

They would go about their day as usual. They would tend to their garden and the patches of magical herbs and flowers they had planted all around the forest. They would brew potions and read books. Talk to bobcats and watch the sun set. They would go about their day as usual, but both sisters felt it coming.

The day of judgment was upon them.  

End Note: This one is for @chestylarouxx, who helped me find a home for the coven.

Aeschylus lived in fear of a prophecy that foretold his death would come at the hands of a falling object. He figured something heavy falling from a shelf or a roof caving in. So, he spent much time outdoors in the countryside. Legend goes, he died when an eagle mistook his bald head for a rock, and dropped a turtle on him from a great height. Can you fucking imagine if this is true? That the father of the Greek tragedy died like this? I hope it is.

As always, super keen to hear your thoughts and feelings!

Fic Taglist:  @paranoidmunson  @idkidknemore @paprikaquinn @stardustworlds @loz-brooke @wyverntatty @vintagehellfire @dark-academia-slut @scarletwitchwhore @becks1002 @mrsdollardog @heyndrix @luceneraium @rosaline-black @devilinthepalemoonlite @goldencherriess @iamwhisperingstars @wiltedwonderland @blueywrites @breezybeesposts @jadehowlettthewolf @spikesvamp79 @foreveranexpatsposts @tortoiseshellspells @wingedpeachjudgegiant @stardustmunson @live-love-be-unique @fangirling-4-ever @reanimated-alice @b-irock @gh0stlybunnie @myown-worstenemy-2003 @woozzz @cyberxlust @hiscrimsonangel @buckysbarne @m00nlight101 @word-wytch @spicysix @briasnow-blog @goth-cowgirl-03

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#Eddie Munson #Vampire!Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson x You #Eddie Munson x Reader #Eddie Munson/You #Eddie Munson/Reader

[baldurs-gape]

Just Another Day

Holding the camp at arm's length was just an Astarion thing. While he was better at letting the others closer, had helped them understand his quirks, it was still painful when he receded back into the shadows of harsh quips and well aimed barbs. When he got like that the rest of the camp quickly learned to leave him alone. Whatever it was that got him in a spiral usually cleared up after a day or two. The only one who didn't pay much heed to Astarion's moods was Gale. Whether it was metaphorical rain or shine in that tent, he strode in there with utmost confidence. Usually, his presence seemed to work wonders on Astarion's moods so nobody discouraged him from continuing.

Another such mood swing was coming. The sneering got worse, Astarion scoffed at the smallest of things and advocated for more murder than usual.

"All I'm say is, we leave the wretches to their own fate. After all, if we die helping them, who is going to destroy Baldur's Gate's ruling class? We need to save ourselves for that."

As usual, he went ignored. But that didn't stop the near enough litany of complaints.

"Couldn't you have moved a bit faster? I thought githyanki were meant to be warriors. I shouldn't have to clean up the mess you make."

"No, I was absolutely aware of the adept casting the spell from behind me. You singed my favourite clothes and my hair! Do you know how inconvenient that is?"

"Your brain matter was probably the material converted to give you horns. I don't see how else you could have been so stupid."

It got worse and worse. Everyone got a tongue lashing, even if it was for something trivial like washing at an inconvenient time. They let Astarion just get on with things, avoided him and his ire. Things only came to a head when, after Astarion refused to leave his tent, Gale wandered in. Though tents weren't the most private of places, usually conversations within were respectfully ignored. But the whole camp heard Astarion's outburst.

"If you're so damn hungry, just go and eat Wyll's shoes! And maybe floss with the laces because you have bullshit getting stuck between your teeth!"

Storming out of the tent, Gale had half a mind to throw a boot back at Astarion. However, he was better than that. He had more control.

"Oh blow me," he growled under his breath.

"Blow your orb yourself, you coward!" Astarion's words rang sharp and clear through the camp and everyone froze. The only sound was the rustle of fabric as he tied the flaps of his tent shut.

At least he was quiet after that. Mumbles of "murder is wrong, staking your boyfriend is rude" from Gale were met with huffs of laughter. They all knew Astarion could be a little too dramatic at times, this was just a bit more excessive than usual.

In the morning the tent flap stayed shut. It was a small bit of relief even if the odd guilty glance was shot in its direction. Something was amiss but getting through to Astarion was nigh on impossible. The following day a small party was heading out and Astarion's help would have been much appreciated.

"Not today," his voice replied through the still shut tent. "I don't wish to become another 'accidental' death. Your hand might slip or you might just not be fast enough. What a tragedy, only the good die young, he'll be sorely missed. Then I'll be nothing but a distant memory that's best left forgotten. So no, thank you, I think I'll pass."

Adventuring without him went absolutely fine, not a single fight was had. Returning to camp, the group had a merry time. It was only next morning that Karlach cast Astarion's tent a sad glance.

"He hasn't been out since your argmuent. Not even to bask in the rising sun's glow."

Gale sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Why he had to go falling in love with someone as impossible as Astarion was beyond him. But there he was. He eyed Karlach who offered a smile and half a shrug.

"Maybe he's just hangry. I know I would be, if I went so long without eating."

"I'll take him something."

Despite Gale's best intentions, Wyll had beaten him to it. He dragged the deer back to camp before hanging it up with Halsin's help to drain the blood into a bucket. Scooping some into a goblet, he approached the tent.

"We thought you might like something to drink," he said. There was no reply. "Seriously, Astarion, whatever it is that's got you like this, we can help. But you have to let us."

"Maybe the goblet is laced with garlic? Or dead man's blood? That's the only kind of help you seem capable of."

"Say what you like, but at least we're trying. Which is more than can be said about you," Wyll grumbled. He set the blood down in front of the tent flap and walked away.

It was still there the next morning, cold, congealed and drying. Gale frowned as he moved it out of his way. This whole thing was just getting ridiculous. Close to a week, Astarion had been in a funk. Leaving him alone hadn't seemed to solve the matter so it was time to get some answers.

"May I come in?"

Bitter resignation laced Astarion's voice. "Does my reply have any influence on your actions?" Before Gale could reply, Astarion let out a sad laugh. "You might as well come on in, I'll play along with your charade."

An invitation was an invitation and Gale decided to accept it. He undid the ties of the tent and stepped into the darkness. Eyes taking a moment to adjust, Gale peered around. The whole tent was a mess. Or, rather, at first glance it was a mess. But as he looked, a pattern of sorts began to emerge. The piles weren't random, clothes weren't strewn around. If Gale wasn't careful, he would trip over something. Either end of the tent held a bundle and he had no idea which one was Astarion. Squinting between the two, Gale opted not to move in case he started in the wrong direction and had to backtrack over the obstacle course.

"Astarion?" Nothing. Neither pile moved. Gale bit his tongue to hold back his frustration. "What's going on?" Still nothing. If Gale hadn't know Astarion was in there, he would have assumed the tent was empty. Patience wearing thin, he tried again. "Is this some stupid game you're playing? Because I'm not going to go along with that. So either behave like the adult you are, or I am leaving."

Finally one of the piles moved and Astarion's head popped up. Even in the half-light his eyes looked large, face drawn and exhausted as though he'd been on high alert for days on end without reprieve.

"Are you here to hurt me?"

"What kind of asinine-?! No! Absolutely not!" Aghast, Gale wasn't certain whether he wanted to get closer to Astarion or further away. "Light of my night, why would you ask that?"

No answer was forthcoming. No quip, no denial, no clarification. Instead, Astarion stared at him with about as much trust as a deer that had caught the scent of a predator.

"I just want you to drink."

"But you know your blood hurts."

"I never said to drink from me! You impossible man. I'm coming over and feel free to laugh when I topple over one of your traps." Because that's what they were. Traps and distractions. Picking his way over there, Gale plopped down and opened up his arms in invitation. The hesitation Astarion showed was hurtful, that was no lie. "I'm not here to hurt you. I just want to understand."

Under the bulk of clothes, armour and throws, it was almost like Astarion deflated. But he still didn't seek comfort in Gale's arms. They sat, in silence for a while.

"Today's my turning day," Astarion finally bit out.

"Shit. Is that like a birthday? I didn't think you'd celebrate such a day. But if I'd known, we'd have thrown you a party like we did for Wyll's birthday."

"I don't know when my birthday is." The words were quiet, hesitant. Almost like Astarion was talking about some forbidden topic that he was terrified of being overheard. "But Cazador wouldn't let me forget the day he claimed me."

Wouldn't let him forget...what Gale knew of Cazador, it was highly unlikely that he threw a party. Slowly the pieces of the puzzle were beginning to slot together but the picture wasn't quite clear just yet.

"Would you have rather it was forgotten?"

A soft 'mhm' was the only reply. Silence stretched between them and Gale itched to know more. Thankfully, he was a stubborn bastard and for once he held out longer than Astarion.

"I'd get sent out with specific instructions on what he wanted me to bring home. I always failed, got punished." As he spoke, Astarion's eyes stared off into the distance, mentally miles away. "Then came the poisoned rats. The chalices of burning blood. Said it was all to soften me up for the day he most regretted in his life. Turning me."

Unable to help himself, Gale reached out, desperate to touch and reassure. A dam was broken and Astarion crumpled into the hand, near enough falling against Gale's chest as he sought comfort and reassurance that he'd denied himself for so long.

"On the day, he'd- he'd-" the words weren't coming and Gale gently shushed him.

"It's okay. He isn't here. He can't hurt you. Nobody's going to hurt you. Not today, not any day."

"Said it was my fault." Astarion didn't have tears to shed anymore, those had dried up a century ago. Crying wasn't a luxury he could afford himself but his breath still hitched on a sob. "I brought it on myself."

Ever so gently, Gale began running a hand through Astarion's hair. It was flat, dusty and greasy. He didn't care though. Everything was making sense at last. Refusals to join, to drink, to even leave his tent, Gale didn't have to be the genius he was to figure it all out. Leaning down, he buried his nose in Astarion's hair and breathed deeply.

"You didn't deserve it. Any of it." Mind made up, he pressed a kiss to Astarion's head. "You've must be exhausted after all this worry. Trust me to keep you safe?"

"But I told you to blow yourself sky high."

"You're not the first, nor will you be the last. Let me love you and protect you. Rest. Tomorrow we can think about getting you a drink that you're comfortable with. Okay?"

There was a little too much obedient pacifying in Astarion's placid "okay" but Gale couldn't do much about it. Maybe Karlach was right, after a fuller stomach the world might not look so ready to end for Astarion. But until then, Gale would sit with him, cast a ward of protection and stay awake for the whole night if it meant Astarion could have a bit of rest. Waving a hand and murmuring the spell, Gale let a soft shimmering blue of protection settle around the tent. He'd keep it there though until Astarion was ready to face the world again.

And maybe, while he waited, Gale was plotting to find a day for Astarion's birthday. They would make new memories and celebrate his existence. It wouldn't overwrite the memories of suffering, but Gale hoped it would give him new ones to remember and enjoy.

#bloodweave #astarion/gale #astarion x gale #astarion #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #bg3 #bg3 astarion #bg3 gale #baldur's gate 3