#<- tagging that just for. well the tags basically

[astonmartinii]

day nine: christmas on screen | carlos sainz social media au

pairing: carlos sainz x fem musician reader

what's better than being a super famous singer that's dating a formula one driver? being a super famous singer that's dating a formula one driver that is willing to dress up in silly outfits for your chirstmas special

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris and 4,231,893 others

tagged: chappellroan & netflix

yourusername: yoohoo! i'm excited to announce my christmas special is coming to you via netflix on december sixth!

view all comments

user1: i have never been more sat, my parents are telling me it's not out yet but i am SO sat on our couch

user2: this is about to be my entire personality for the next two months

user3: TWO MONTHS? weak.

oscarpiastri: CHAPPELL???

yourusername: i know right !!!

carlossainz55: why are you here?

oscarpiastri: i may not like YOU but i like y/n and i LOVE chappell

yourusername: so true of you

carlossainz55: no. not true of you

oscarpiastri: you have a problem with me streaming your girlfriend's music? supporting her career?

yourusername: i appreciate it oscar

carlossainz55: YES.

carlossainz55: you're only doing it to bother ME

oscarpiastri: listen here buddy i've been here since the disney days just because you're an OLD MAN doesn't mean i am

yourusername: i think you guys should maybe settle this on track and not in my comments lol

carlossainz55: i'm on it

oscarpiastri: if you can get close enough next season :P

user4: carcar beef even in the offseason we're being FED

user5: can't deal with oscar reminding me that carlos will be in the williams next year

user6: but oscar is also real as fuck for being a disney girl

charles_leclerc: do you need a piano man at all?

carlossainz55: if there's going to be a ferrari driver in this special it would be ME not YOU

charles_leclerc: well you're not really a ferrari driver anymore so.... it's still open?

yourusername: charlie... it's already been filmed... how did you think we made the trailer?

charles_leclerc: oh - BORING!

user7: so that's basically confirmation that carlos will be in the special right?

user8: i mean although his only talents outside of an f1 car seem to be golf, football and liking shady tweets - he does have a face card that demands to be on tv

user9: i wouldn't put it past y/n and carlos to somehow shoehorn smooth operator in there somewhere

carlossainz55

liked by landonorris, fernandoalo_oficial and 652,494 others

tagged: yourusername

carlossainz55: making my netflix debut with my love this winter - check it out december sixth!

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user13: CONFIRMATION !!!!

user14: tbf as soon as this project was announced there was no way he wouldn't be in it in some shape or form

yourusername: it took a LOT of pleading... had to use the netflix card in the end

user15: thank you for your service

yourusername: seeing your face on a big screen? do tell me more

carlossainz55: i'm just happy you let me on the same screen as you

yourusername: but we're always on the same screen together?

landonorris: not this gatekeeping...

yourusername: i don't think you'd want to see it lando

landonorris: why wouldn't i want to see my two best friends ???

carlossainz55: IT'S NOT SUITABLE FOR YOUR EYES STOP ASKING

landonorris: IS IT YALL FUCKING???

yourusername: my lawyer said i shouldn't answer that question

user16: netflix debut? bro said drive to survive? i don't know her

user17: i mean that show is a complete farce

user18: can't wait for the three episode run all about stake and no mention of max vs george

fernandoalo_oficial: wowee chilli you have outdone yourself this time!

carlossainz55: thank you nando :) i hope you will be watching

fernandoalo_oficial: i will be sitting pretty on the sixth no worries, but only if you and y/n come to my new years bash ...

yourusername: WE WILL BE THERE

fernandoalo_oficial: loving the enthusiasm!

carlossainz55: it's because she has a huge crush on you :(

yourusername: welp can you blame me?

carlossainz55: that's a surrogate father to me i will not be agreeing with you

yourusername: snooze

user19: y/n crush on fernando? she's even more relatable

user20: this makes the whole fernando x taylor swift thing even funnier

yourusername: i won't say it was me whole told taylor about that.... buttttt

user21: queen

netflix

liked by carlossainz55, landonorris and 2,893,099 others

tagged: yourusername, obx & f1

netflix: what will you be watching this christmas break?

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user22: me and my girls will be streaming drive to survive and then will be using a nonsense christmas as a palate cleanser

user23: REAL

user24: @netflix please do better with the next season xxx

carlossainz55: a nonsense christmas. over and over again. until it's all that is in my brain and tattooed on the inside of my eyelids

yourusername: omg you do that too???

yourusername: no living soul should ever see my 'baby' folder on tiktok LOL

carlossainz55: well SNAP

user25: really yall save the tiktok edits of each other?

yourusername: ummm yeah? some of you are VERY talented

carlossainz55: also we're apart more than we're together so something must tide us over

charles_leclerc: is that why you keep looking for cameras, smizing and pouring water on yourself

yourusername: don't forget the backwards cap!

carlossainz55: i gotta give them the material to keep my girl happy

carlossainz55: also who do you think suggested the juno position...

user25: thank you for your service

landonorris: wait so that cute fanservice moment was actually just the y/nlos KARMA SUTRA ???

user26: i need a significant other who does this much just for tiktok edits

user27: is this the 21st century romance we were promised?

user28: it's the best we're getting, poetry is dead i fear

yourusername: so i wrote juno for nothing?

maxverstappen1: i will be conducting a full dexter rewatch

carlossainz55: excuse you?

maxverstappen1: well why would i watch drive to survive? i lived it and i already watched a nonsense christmas - amazing work @yourusername

yourusername: thanks max!

carlossainz55: how have yOU watched it? i haven't even watched it yet?

maxverstappen1: i wouldn't have that if i were you y/n, that guy is meant to be your biggest fan?

carlossainz55: i AM

maxverstappen1: oh and i just bribed netflix lol - they had to make up with me at some point ;)

yourusername

liked by taylorswift, landonorris and 3,834,033 others

tagged: carlossainz55

yourusername: christmas was on screen for me this year, but i get to live my hallmark romance everyday

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user30: chat do we wanna put bets on how long it takes for them to get their own btec hallmark christmas movie like taylor and travis?

user31: next christmas for sure if they're still together

user32: 'if they're still together' kill yourself

liked by carlossainz55

user33: i will be sat for their awful attempt to film the racing scenes

carlossainz55: you're my fairytale ending princess

yourusername: as if you're not the biggest prize of all

carlossainz55: nope that would be you :P

yourusername: whatever you say beautiful

carlossainz55: no i'm being so serious, you being mine is the best gift of all and one i intend to keep for life

yourusername: well it's your lucky day, i want to be yours forever too

yourusername: but the y/ln name will live on

carlossainz55: i'm ready to take yours

charles_leclerc: it's true i caught him practising a new signature with carlos y/ln

yourusername: that's so fucking hot

user34: so that ended abruptly ...

user35: do we think?

user36: yep. it's defo what we think

user37: i mean i'd also climb my boyf like a tree if he said he wanted to be my life partner and take MY last name

taylorswift: we loved your special !!! see you soon xx

yourusername: thank you mama

carlossainz55: so are we all going to the super bowl orrrrrr

yourusername: let's get through christmas first babe

carlossainz55: ACTUALLY who do i talk to about getting you the super bowl halftime show

user38: boyfriend or agent? why not both!

carlossainz55

liked by fernandoalo_oficial, landonorris and 782,309 others

tagged: yourusername

carlossainz55: thank you netflix for allowing to broadcast how hot and amazing my girlfriend is and how absolutely off limits she is

view all comments

user39: bro used a NETFLIX special to tell people to back off his girl

user40: i need a boyf like this

user41: i think i speak for most men that we don't have the budget for this

user42: i mean y/n and netflix mostly paid for the special

user41: did or did carlos not ride in on his 'sleigh' that was a WHOLE FERRARI F1 CAR ???

yourusername: i want everyone to know your mine too

yourusername: why do you think i wear so much red?

lewishamilton: right, this is my seat now you people do know this right?

yourusername: RED CAN BE FOR SPAIN TOO

yourusername: DUMBASSES PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE TO THIRST OVER MY BOYF AND WEAR HIS COLOURS

carlossainz55: you do look otherworldly in red 🫶

yourusername: why thank you xx

yourusername: @williamsf1 any chance we can do a one off red livery - perhaps in spain pretty please

williamsf1: i don't think the social media admin has control over it

yourusername: okay i'll just dm james personally

carlossainz55: babe ???

yourusername: you look almost as good as me in red babe i'm doing it for the greater good

yourusername: @alexalbon you'd look okay too i guess?

alexalbon: i'll take it (and i'll take some tickets as well please)

user43: i love how y/n has just become the ticket plug

user44: and for both sides like why was she the one to get travis in touch with alpine but also giving charles the tickets to taylor in italy

landonorris: ugh we get it you're happy

carlossainz55: you doing okay buddy

landonorris: it's a lonely time of year and you guys aren't helping

yourusername: i have a song about this!

landonorris: what do you think has been on blast the last couple of days?

yourusername: i'll take the streams thanks buddy

f1

liked by danielricciardo, oscarpiastri and 1,209,483 others

tagged: carlossainz55, charles_leclerc, yourusername & landonorris

f1: so how do we get y/n on OUR netflix show?

view all comments

user45: i ask myself this everyday

user46: i'll deal with all the fake drive to survive drama if we get a whole episode of y/n and carlos just existing

user47: i need a y/n hot lap while we're at it as well

carlossainz55: why are you posting such sexy photos of my girlfriend ����

f1: ummmmmmm... all photos of her are?

carlossainz55: WRONG ANSWER

carlossainz55: ONLY I'M ALLOWED TO SAY THAT ABOUT HER

f1: i didn't even say the word ???

francocolapinto: take me to jail then

carlossainz55: ugh i don't have the time to fight all of you

francocolapinto: weak

carlossainz55: i have a tight schedule which includes driving in the car you thought you would get and loving the girl YOU WISH YOU COULD BE WITH

francocolapinto: oop

user48: bro is crazy

user49: crazy in LOVE

liked by carlossainz55

yourusername: i guess you'll just have to ask nicely

f1: carlos won't fight us if we do right?

carlossainz55: no... for now

f1: COOL PLEASE COME TO A RACE

yourusername: i can't say much, but i do look just as cute in red as i do i blue :P

user50: YES QUEEN!!!!

user51: and when we get a y/n performance at a race and then we get a juno position at a grand prix weekend...

carlossainz55: that will be my onstage debut

carlossainz55: i know how outrageously horny all you lonely f1 guys are

user52: spill

yourusername: so not just as much as you babe?

carlossainz55: well i actually get to have you sooooooo

yourusername: true :P

user53: LEAVE US ALONE

fin.

note: woah this is like the first time i've written for carlos in like a year. oh and even though this is nice to him... the guilty as sin finale will come in the new year xx

[thehmn]

Just going to vent a little because I just had a conversation with a rescue worker that made me sad.

She said chihuahuas and bulldogs are the most difficult breeds to rehouse because they have bad reputations, but chihuahuas more so because they also have the added stink of being girly dogs.

And let me begin by saying that if you start shitting on chihuahuas in the tags or comments I’ll block you immediately. Especially if you praise bulldogs in the same breath because it’s so bizarre how many bulldog owners feel the only way to defend their favorite breed is by shitting on another breed.

But after having two chihuahuas I see why they have a reputation because they are for sure spicy and you can absolutely not be an inexperienced dog owner if you want one but also they are literally just acting like all other terrier breeds (and dachshunds) so it’s unfair that they got a reputation for being especially bad. Have you even been around a highland terrier?

We all know by now that it’s because they are basically terriers that were treated like toys instead of dogs which messed them up, yadda yadda, but for real I can see why people who expect dogs to always be happy pushovers who will love you unconditionally would be offended by chihuahuas like an immature man who can’t handle rejection and turn into an incel. Because chihuahuas are a lot like cats in that they won’t love or even trust you unconditionally and they’ll show it. They’ll cower and shake, run away and hide, and yes, bite if you don’t back off. They are tiny so the only reason why the breed still exists despite living as wild dogs in Chihuahua Mexico is because they keep their distance. You have to earn their trust and love but once you’ve got it they’re ride or die. But if you don’t care to earn it? Well don’t expect them to come around automatically. Then you might at best expect indifference.

And all dogs have different personalities. My first chihuahua had a tendency to group people together for example. She didn’t hate anyone on sight at first but when a child hit her she didn’t trust any children after that. When a man deliberately scared her she didn’t trust men after that. My current chihuahua is nothing like that. If you scare her she won’t trust you specifically. And you can definitely tell she has some Jack Russel in her bloodline because she’s exceptionally hyper and will bite onto toys and never let go even if you lift her from the ground. Yet people never blame any of her behavior on her Jack Russel DNA. I mean look at her. People keep thinking she’s a young terrier of some kind only to completely change their minds about her when they learn she’s mostly chihuahua like that makes a huge difference besides energy level.

You know me, I can go on and on about this and I don’t expect people who don’t want a chihuahua to suddenly go out and adopt one so all I ask is that you don’t contribute to the chihuahua hate. Just remind people that they are basically terriers so if a terrier is not for them don’t get a chihuahua. They are no better or worse than any other small breed of dog so if you don’t like small breeds that’s okay. I don’t like big breeds but that doesn’t mean I think there’s something inherently wrong with them. I just prefer a small travel companion and cuddle buddy that doesn’t cost an arm and a leg in food and medicine or take up a ton of space in my already small home. I don’t need a dog for protection either so a small breed is just perfect for me and I love how expressive chihuahuas are.

So please don’t shit on chihuahuas. Look into what breed is perfect for your own lifestyle instead and consider all bad dog behavior, be they chihuahuas or bulldogs, either abuse, bad breeding or a skill issue in the owner.

[bloodandthebreakingofmyheart]

I have an addition to your theory- Krosis was likely not his priest name.

"Krosis" means "sorrow" or "apologies" in dovahzul. It's possible (and indeed likely) that his name was changed at some point because of something bad that happened... like the dragon he served rebelling. Think of all the other priests- they have names like Morokei, or Otar. Most aren't names immediately translatable from dovahzul, and those with dovahzul names make more sense in their meaning ("Nahkriin" meaning "revenge" or "Miraak" being one letter removed from "miiraak" meaning "portal", for example).

So why is the only dragon priest without a temple named "sorrow"? Going with your theory, it would make sense that the dragon Krosis served was marked as a traitor, and after that, Krosis had his name changed and his temple taken.

Whether it was changed by him, though, is unclear (or maybe it's not and I just don't care enough about the timeline to know when he would've died in relation to Parth's rebellion). Personally, I like the idea that he had his crypt removed and name changed AFTER his death- kind of like how the ancient Egyptians would scratch the names off the tombs of traitors.

listen i know bethesda never stated this but just by the clues it’s 99% possible that krosis was the priest of bleak falls barrow, and it was once paarthurnax’s temple. after paarthurnax’s betrayal and overthrowing the cults power, krosis’ crypt was dumped at shearpoint. dragon priests were hailed as kings and buried in the temples, you don’t dump a figure of that power on top of a mountain for no reason. this also explains why bleak falls barrow is without a named dragon priest despite it being one of the larger ruins in skyrim. 

and i like things that add up. bleak falls barrow is a fairly large ruin, like labyrinthian and skuldafn. so why would there be no named dragon priest? and of course there’s no confirmation that it was paarth’s temple or not, but he was second in command to alduin and that kind of power doesn’t amount to a tiny temple.

[fairyhaos]

❖ marshmallow smile // joshua hong

joshua x gn!reader, 1.8k+ words

tags: non-idol au, fluff, food mention, yn is a Mess, shua blushes very easily, absolutely cheesy romcom-style trope in this fic, basically shua pretends someone bought yn a drink but surprise!! it was him!!

warnings: 1 swear word

notes: silly soft flustered joshua who rarely consciously flirts but makes an exception for you :((( my beloved. happy shua day <3

“Here, this is a hot chocolate for you from the guy across the cafe.”

It's been a particularly horrible day, that day. Not because of anything specific, but just because sometimes days are like that. Days where the weather is terrible, your mood is terrible, work is terrible, and overall everything is just kind of… shit. 

Seven o'clock in the evening finds you in a cafe: the same cafe you've been in for four hours, clocking in some unwanted overtime because some idiot on your team managed to permanently delete half the spreadsheet you've been updating for weeks and now you have to scramble to fix it in two days before the annual overview meeting is conducted to all of your bosses. 

You’re exhausted, on the verge of a meltdown, and almost about to burst into tears when the gentle, male voice had spoken, and you look up just as a hand slides a steaming mug onto your table.

This man—he’s absolutely gorgeous, actually, but you don’t get to register it fully because the moment you look up, he suddenly dashes away to the other end of the cafe, bumping into empty tables before sitting down nonchalantly in one of the booths all the way on the other side, crossing his legs and waving, like nothing had happened.

“Hi,” he says, all cool and suave, even as he’s still waving. “I’m the guy from across the cafe.”

You blink, and then the pieces of his charade fall into place and you laugh, flattered. 

“Well, thank you very much,” you say, and then close your laptop, looking down at the hot chocolate on your table. The whipped cream is piled high, and the mini marshmallows are the pink kind. It’s very cute. “That’s very kind of you.” You smile, taking a sip. “I’ll also be sure to thank the handsome server who brought me my drink.”

The man’s smile widens, pleased. “I hope you don’t think the server was more handsome than me, though.”

You hum, tilting your head. “I’m not sure. Maybe if you come over here, I’ll be able to see you properly and make a real judgement.”

The man’s eyes light up, and he makes his way over to you, and—it’s like the whole world stops spinning. You’d already known he was handsome, and he’s been sitting on the other side of the cafe while talking to you, but it’s a whole other thing to be seeing him up close.

You’re now face-to-face with the prettiest person you’ve ever seen, with pretty brown eyes and a pretty lips that are pulled into a devastatingly pretty smile, and you have to fight a blush as he claims the seat opposite you at the table.

“Hi,” he says again, and laughs softly when you can’t quite meet his gaze, shy. 

“Hello,” you say, looking up briefly and feeling your face instantly heat up. What earlier confidence you’d had when calling him over has mysteriously disappeared, flustered in the face of this man’s handsomeness.

He laughs again, obviously finding you endearing as you look away, avoiding his gaze. And then he ducks his head down until he finds your eyes again before slowly straightening up, smiling when your gaze stays on him. “There we go,” he says softly. “Your eyes are so pretty. Please don’t look away.”

You blink rapidly, still very pink in the face. “Thank you.”

The man smiles. “My name’s Joshua,” he says, inclining his head in greeting. “May I have your name?”

Somehow, the oddly formal nature of Joshua’s question helps you shake some of your shyness, and you smile back at him, taking a sip from your hot chocolate. It’s sweet.

“I suppose you may,” you say, lightly teasing. “It’s Y/N.”

And then you hold out your hand for him to shake, playing up the formal greeting, and Joshua laughs, taking it in his own, his touch warm and grounding. You kind of want to hold his hand forever.

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N,” Joshua says. Disappointingly, his fingers fall away from your own almost instantly, and he gestures to the mug in front of you. “I hope you like the hot chocolate. I was actually, um, watching you from across the cafe, and you looked quite stressed, and so I wanted to give you the drink.”

“Oh.” His words have you melting a little, and he looks so adorable with his shining eyes and that shy smile on his face, as if nervous about this whole exchange. “Thank you. I was having a bit of a bad day, so this really helps.” You look down at the hot chocolate in mild wonder. “I thought this kind of thing only happened to main characters in rom coms.”

Joshua rubs the back of his neck, looking a little embarrassed even as he laughs slightly, eyes crinkling. 

“I don’t really do things like this, normally,” he admits. “I’m kind of out of my depth here with this whole… flirting thing. But I thought you were cute, and you were working so hard, and I wanted to just give you something sweet to cheer you on.”

He thought you were cute. Despite his admission that he’s “out of his depth” here, you think he’s actually doing very well in this flirting. Devastatingly so.

Things like this just don’t happen to you. You’re not the type to have handsome men giving you hot chocolate at seven in the evening because they think you’re cute, but here you are, and Joshua’s smiling shyly even as his eyes glow, and he’s so pretty and this entire thing feels like something out of a dream.

“Your presence is sweeter than any drink could be,” you blurt out, and then promptly turn the shade of a beetroot, burying your face onto the top of your laptop lid. 

You can practically hear Joshua’s stunned silence, and then he laughs.

“Oh, please look up,” he says, when you still keep your face firmly buried in the laptop. “That’s the most adorable compliment I’ve ever gotten, seriously. You’re really—you’re really lovely, Y/N.”

“I’m also really embarrassed,” you say, muffled. “That was—I’m so sorry. I’m really bad at flirting. That was so weird.”

Joshua laughs again, and then there’s a light tap on the top of your head, and you lift your head slightly. Joshua takes the opportunity to reach over and lift your chin up with the tips of his fingers, smiling when you finally make eye contact with him again.

He’s blushing, you realise faintly. His fingers are warm on your face, and his cheeks are dusted pink. You did that to him.

“It wasn’t weird,” he assures. “I told you, I’m really bad at this whole thing too. But I came over here because I liked you, so it would be strange for me to dislike the idea of you liking me too.”

Your eyes widen. “You like me?”

Joshua scrunches his nose slightly, looking embarrassed again. He retracts his hand, and again, you miss the warmth of his touch. “This isn’t my first time seeing you,” he confesses. “You come here every Wednesday after work, don’t you? I’m always here around that time as well, and you’re always so bright and bubbly with your friends, and I just—well, like I said, I found you really cute.”

“Oh.” Joshua really is so, so sweet. “I’m sorry I haven’t ever talked to you before, then. Wow.” And then you smile. “But if it’s any consolation, I really do think you’re cute, too.”

Joshua’s whole face seems to glow as his eyes crinkle into crescents and he smiles widely. He’s still blushing prettily, and that makes you smile too, mesmerised by how someone who looks like him actually exists.

“Okay, lovebirds, wrap it up,” a voice suddenly says, and you jump, tearing your gaze away from Joshua, flustered. At the front of the cafe, there’s a barista wiping down the coffee machines. He stops what he's doing, leaning against the counter, watching you both amusedly. His name tag, Yoon Jeonghan, glints in the lights. “We’re closing up soon. You guys have to go.”

“Oh, right. Sorry,” you call back, and quickly drink the last of the hot chocolate that Joshua gave you, before beginning to put your things back in your back. The spreadsheet isn’t fully finished, but oh well. You can get someone else to do it.

“Sorry, I probably distracted you,” Joshua says apologetically, as you put on your coat and shoulder your bag. He picks up your empty mug for you, ready to walk to the counter and give it back to the barista. “Did you manage to finish your work?”

You shake your head, and the two of you make your way out of the cafe. “No, but it’s okay,” you assure him. “I’ve been working on it for hours. I’ll get someone else to finish it off.”

Joshua nods and hands the mug back to the barista, who accepts it with a mischievous grin.

“Have a nice night, lovebugs,” the barista, Jeonghan, says, eyes twinkling. It makes Joshua roll his eyes, exasperated and benevolent at the same time, like he was used to such teasing. He bids Jeonghan goodnight and then leads you out of the cafe, opening the door for you and then following you out afterwards, until you’re both standing out on the empty street.

“A friend of mine, unfortunately,” Joshua says, as a way of explaining Jeonghan’s familiarity. “I may have, um, mentioned you to him, before. Once or twice.”

He’s being bashful again, awkward and shy in revealing his liking for you, and goodness, you’re finding him more and more endearing with each passing second you spend in his presence.

“Cute,” you say, the word slipping out before you can stop it. Joshua’s eyes widen, surprised, but like hell are you taking it back, because it’s true. “You’re really cute,” you laugh. “I… wow. Yeah. I think you’re really cute and just. Thank you, for spending time with me. This was really nice.”

Joshua’s eyes are still wide, and he swallows. 

“Okay,” he says, “I really, really don’t normally do this, but could I have your number? You’re just so nice and so pretty and I want to get to know you more, if that’s okay. You can say no, of course, and that’s totally fine, but if you’d like to, then—”

“Yes,” you cut off his rambling with a smile, and hold out a hand for his phone. “I’d like to. Of course I’ll give you my number.”

Your day did not start well at all. It’s been miserable, and exhausting, and frankly the worst day you’ve had in a while—but then a mug of hot chocolate had slid onto your table in a coffee shop, and you’d started to make conversation with the prettiest guy in the world, and now, now, now…

Now, Joshua beams at you, soft as marshmallow and sweet as chocolate, and well. You have to admit that your day has ended in the best possible way.

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @doublasting @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @jeonride @kellesvt @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @starshuas @raevyng @isabellah29 @hrts4hanniehae @mcu-incorrect @dokyeomkyeom @suraandsugar @tulsa24 @melodicrabbit

[miyakiwiii]

RUN MY HANDS THROUGH HIS SHORT BLACK HAIR..。o○

-KANG DAE HO X GN!READER☆ミ

Woah! First time writing squid game chat! This is going to be probably buns but uh... hope you enjoy!1!1

TAGS

Comfort fic, reader and dae ho arent requited in squid game... for now, sleepy dae ho? Idk but theres sokting bad

WORD COUNT:602

The sound of raindrop's pierce through your ears as it hits the window.

The bed isnt too comfortable,but that should do it for the both of you. It was comforting enough that he was beside you.

You look at the window, the rain pours loudly yet again, he shuffles in the bed as sign's of discomfort showed on his face.

You noticed the moving, and went to look at him, he was gripping you tightly, Startled by the action of dae ho.

"Dae ho?" You say, facing him. He grunts more as he held you more closer to him, his body warmth mixing with your warmness.

"Dont.... go." He grumbles silently, he snuggles his head in your chest.

"Im not going anywhere, y'know? As if.. i can go somewhere.." i say as i whispered the last five words and one letter that came out of my mouth.

Well, debt's debt i guess.

You ran your hands through his hair, you untied the hairtie that was about to fall off as you put it on your hand, he probably wont notice it was gone.

His face eases up, now his face is not snuggled up your chest.

You smiled slightly, relieved since now he didnt show any discomfort.

"So soft.." You ran through his hair again as he was sound asleep now.

Feeling tired and hazy, you closed your eyes and let out a sigh.

Waking up, the sun haze's into your features as your eyes slowly rose to open, feeling tired just a little bit, you rubbed your eyes so it could stay open.

'Who- who even is that dae ho guy?!?' 'Mom wait no- please.. dont-'

'IM GETTING YOU OUT OF THIS PLACE.'

I sighed, rubbing the temples of my head, '...these strange memories keep coming back... i guess.'

'Even if i risked it all just for love, its worth it.' I said in my mind as i looked into dae ho, he opens his eyes slowly as he looked at mine, opening and closing his lips slightly then, yawning.

"[Name]?" He replies hazyly.

"Good morning... or whatever, dae ho." I replied.

I sit up as he went to sit up too, the sheets in the bed turning messy, the blanket shuffling as you leaned your head into the head board.

"Y'know... you should touch my hair more often, its... nice." He says, swinging a hand in your shoulders as he leaned you to his shoulder, the feeling of the wooden headboard gone from the back of your head.

"Oh, you felt that?" You asked, it was like a murmur.

"Uhuh, yeah." He replies softly, like a whisper that gazed your ears.

You giggled as he followed, he pressed a kiss in your forehead and smiled. It made the feeling inside the room too comforting, it all felt too.. loving.

Even if he was kinda arrogant at times, he still knew how to respect, he was a gentleman, basically.

Being in a family filled with girls, and him being the only boy? He could definately be a gentleman.

Comforting silence fills the room as it eases, you smiled but the smile falters as you broke the silence.

"Hey dae ho.." you say.

He raises a brow and asks "Yeah?" Turning and positioning his head to look at you.

"I hope we can have the chance to be finally free from this situation." You say, closing your eyes slowly, and opening it back once again.

"Dont hope, say 'we can' instead yanno'?" He smiles.

After all, he was lighting up the worsest days for the both of you.

THIS IS SO BUNS. IM SOREY CHAT.

[sasheemo]

Friday Thoughts

Chapter 5

Chapter Summary: Sunday morning’s spicy haze gives way to a heartfelt conversation about your future together. But with Agatha’s signature flair, it’s anything but ordinary.

Chapter Tags: Jealous Reader, Domestic Bliss, Nicky is Basically a Tiny Wingman, Happy Ending, Fluff Ending, Slow(ish) Burn Payoff, Smut

Word Count: 8.9k

A/N: Chapter 4 dropped on Christmas Eve, and now Chapter 5 is here New Year's Eve—what can I say, I aim for festive timing! 😬

I know I’m not the fastest writer, and I’m sooo sorry about that, but this final chapter had me second-guessing everything right up until the very end.

It was supposed to be short and sweet. No smut. No Rio cameos. Just a heartfelt conversation to wrap everything up neatly. But… well, apparently I can’t resist a little extra spice and some fluff. So instead of “short and sweet,” you’re getting “long and indulgent.” You’re welcome.

Oh, and fair warning—this chapter has a lot of dialogue. But I promise I did my best to make it… engaging wink wink 😏

This is my first-ever completed multi-chapter fic, and honestly? I’m a mix of proud and devastated to be saying goodbye to it. These two have been living rent-free in my head for a while now, and I really hope this ending does them justice.

Thank you to everyone who’s been along for this wild ride—it’s been a joy writing this story, and your support has meant everything. As always, I can’t wait to hear what you think! Here’s to the happy ending these two (and you, let’s be real) deserve. Enjoy and Happy New Year! 💜🥳

Chapter Index

Read on AO3

All you can hear is the relentless pounding of your own heartbeat, each thud drowning out your thoughts as you search for the words.

Agatha’s watching you, her gaze sharp but not unkind. Her hand rests lightly on your arm—a simple, grounding touch—but it might as well be a flame branding your skin, its warmth sending waves of tension rippling through you.

The weight of her presence, the intensity of her eyes, the way her touch seems to anchor you in place, it all builds to a point where you feel like you might snap. You take a step back, breaking the connection, though the movement is hesitant, almost reluctant.

Agatha lets her hand fall without protest, her brow lifting slightly in curiosity as she watches you retreat.

Your feet begin to move instinctively, pacing back and forth across the room as you try to untangle the storm of thoughts in your head. The soft sounds of your bare feet against the hardwood floor create a rhythm, something tangible to focus on as you walk a short line, turn, and walk it again.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Agatha shifting her stance. She takes a couple of steps back and leans casually against the dresser, crossing her arms over her chest with an ease that contrasts maddeningly with your spiraling. 

Her hair falls loosely over her shoulders, the soft light catching on its dark waves. Her expression is calm, almost amused, the faintest smirk tugging at her lips as she tracks your movements.

After a couple of minutes of incessant pacing, you don’t even need to look at her to know she’s probably fighting the urge to laugh. She sighs, low and exasperated, though there’s no real annoyance in it.

“Come here, hon.” her voice cuts through the fog in your mind like a blade, steady and commanding. 

You freeze mid-step, glancing toward her, your pulse quickening at the simple authority in her tone.

Slowly, you approach, hesitant but unable to resist the pull of her presence. You stop just short of closing the distance, leaving a fragile sliver of space between you—a barrier you cling to, as much for your own composure as for a chance to steady the storm inside. 

Every part of you aches to close the gap, but you hold back, convincing yourself that this small distance is the only way to face her with a clear mind.

Agatha doesn’t push, doesn’t reach for you. Instead, she stays where she is, leaning against the dresser, her eyes fixed on yours with piercing intensity. Her stillness feels intentional, as though she’s giving you space to breathe, to think, while still holding you firmly in her orbit.

“Well?” she prompts, her voice a velvety blend of calm and command. “Whatever’s got you pacing like a caged animal, it’s time to spit it out.”

You let out a sharp breath, your shoulders slumping slightly as the tension inside you finally breaks.

“Doesn’t this worry you?” you ask, your voice tight with nervous energy.

“You’ll have to be a little more specific, hon.” she replies smoothly, her tone effortlessly confident. “What part of this is supposed to worry me?”

You gesture vaguely with your hands, the words tumbling out clumsily as you try to give shape to your thoughts. “I mean… all of it? Us. Nicholas. What if—what if this gets messy?”

Her smirk deepens, and she tilts her head, studying you with that maddening, amused expression, like she’s already figured you out and is just waiting for you to catch up.

“Messy?” she repeats, the word rolling off her tongue with a teasing lilt. “Sweetheart, the only thing messy about this is how you’re tying yourself into knots over it.”

“I’m serious, Agatha.” you scoff defensively, crossing your arms over your chest.

“So am I, hon.” her voice sharpens slightly, firm but not harsh. “Look, I’m not saying there won’t be challenges. But whatever they are, they’re not anything two grown women can’t handle.”

“So… what exactly is it that’s worrying you?” she presses, her tone softening just a fraction.

Her question hangs in the air, and the weight of her gaze settles over you like a warm, steady pressure. You glance away, trying to collect yourself, before meeting her eyes again.

“It’s everything.” you admit, your voice quieter now. “I just… I don’t know how this works. How we work.”

Agatha doesn’t respond. She just watches you, but there’s no rush in her gaze, no impatience—just a quiet expectation, as if she knows the words are there and trusts you to find them on your own.

Her unexpected steadiness makes something inside you loosen. For some reason, you thought Agatha might struggle with conversations like this—emotional topics, deep and vulnerable. It never seemed like her thing, at least in your mind.

But now, seeing her so composed, so unshaken by the storm you’ve brought to her, you realize that maybe she was expecting this, maybe she’s known this conversation was inevitable long before you did.

And somehow, her calm confidence makes it easier to breathe.

“I just…” you trail off, running a hand through your hair. “I need to know. When did this start? When did you start… feeling like this about me?”

Her brows lift slightly, and for a moment, genuine surprise flickers across her face. It vanishes as quickly as it came, replaced by that familiar smirk curling at the corner of her lips.

“That’s a tough one to answer.” she begins, her voice carrying a thoughtful edge. “It wasn’t some grand epiphany. More like… a collection of little moments, each one adding up until I couldn’t ignore them anymore.” 

There’s a faint trace of annoyance in her tone, not aimed at you but at the sheer audacity of the realization itself. Like the idea that you’ve been occupying so much space in her mind is a personal affront she’s still coming to terms with—and even now, it seems to bruise her pride just a little.

“Like what?” you press with quiet insistence, a thread of determination woven through the words.

Agatha tilts her head, her smirk softening as her gaze narrows, calculating. For a moment, she looks almost reluctant to speak, as if she’s weighing how much to tell you. 

“You remember that afternoon a couple of months ago,” she starts, her tone deceptively casual. “when you showed up drenched from head to toe? It was pouring outside, and you still walked in here grinning like an idiot, dripping all over my floors.”

You blink, caught off guard by the memory. “Yeah, what about it?”

“I thought to myself,” she murmurs, her eyes drifting as if replaying the scene, “how does someone look that damn happy while freezing and soaking wet? And why the hell can’t I stop staring at her?”

Her words hit like a punch to the gut, your cheeks heating as your gaze darts away from hers. Instinctively, you feel the urge to take a step back, a reflexive retreat from the intensity of the moment. 

But this time, Agatha reaches out, moving as though she’s read your mind. 

She leans forward slightly, her hand grazing your wrist as her fingers curl lightly around it, tugging with just enough firmness to pull you a fraction closer to her.

“And then…” she continues, her voice gaining that teasing edge that always leaves you off-balance, “You’d leave those little treats from the café on the kitchen table. Like some saintly delivery girl, making sure Nicholas had something sweet after school and I had something waiting for me after work. You didn’t think I noticed, did you?”

“I just thought—” you begin, stammering slightly, but she cuts you off with a wave of her hand.

“You thought I was too busy to notice, or that I didn’t care.” she says, her tone mockingly serious now, though her smirk never wavers.

Her fingers trail from your wrist to your hip as she speaks, and it takes a moment for you to realize you’ve unconsciously taken a step closer, the space between you narrowing with each passing second.

“And you,” she continues, her voice dipping lower, “always smelled like coffee after your morning shifts. That scent… it stuck with me. Sometimes I’d walk into the kitchen at night, hours after you left, and I could still smell it. God, I started to notice it everywhere. It drove me insane.”

Your breath catches at her words, and again as her other hand joins the first, both settling firmly on your hips. With a final, deliberate tug, she guides you into the space between her legs, her warmth radiating against you, drawing you into her orbit completely.

“And then there was last Friday night.” she breathes, her voice steeped in an intimacy that makes every word feel like a secret. “I came home and found you on the couch with Nicky curled up next to you. I stood there just staring at you both. I couldn’t stop thinking about how… safe he looked with you. How much he trusts you. How cute the two of you looked together like that.”

The weight of her words leaves you momentarily stunned, but before you can process them fully, a darker thought claws its way to the forefront of your mind.

“And the other Fridays?” you ask, your voice trembling slightly despite your best efforts to keep it steady.

Her brow arches, and the sharpness in her expression returns, a glint of mischief sparking in her eyes. “What about them?”

“You know what I mean.” you say, crossing your arms tightly, trying to shield yourself from the sudden vulnerability you feel. “All those nights you came home late, looking… like that.”

Agatha sighs, the sound low and laced with mock boredom, yet the gentle squeeze of her hands on your hips betrays her true feelings—anything but indifferent. It’s not real annoyance, more a carefully crafted exasperation tinged with amusement, as if, deep down, she’s savoring how your relentless, probing questions are playing perfectly into her hands.

“Most of them were business dinners.” she says, her voice firm and matter-of-fact. “Clients, potential partners. Necessary evils, nothing exciting.”

“But not all of them.” you press, your voice sharper now, frustration lacing your words.

“No.” she remarks dryly. “Not all of them.”

“How many were dates?” you demand, the jealousy you’ve been trying to suppress bubbling to the surface hot and fast despite your best efforts to tamp it down.

“Does it matter?” she counters smoothly, her tone cool but not dismissive.

“It does to me.” you snap before you can stop yourself.

“Fine, a few. But none of them were serious, hon.” she says, and you could swear her voice is playful, almost teasing, as if she can sense the jealousy burning you alive and is enjoying every second of it.

“Define ‘serious.’” you scoff, your hands coming up to push lightly against her shoulders, but she doesn’t budge an inch.

“One dinner.” she states with a shrug, her tone infuriatingly calm and offhand. “Maybe some fun at their place afterwards, but that’s it. It was never anything more.”

Her honesty stings, even if it’s what you wanted, what you asked for. You look away, biting the inside of your cheek to keep the jealousy from overtaking you.

“And last Friday night?” you press, your voice barely above a whisper. The words feel heavy as they leave your lips, your pulse quickening with a mix of apprehension and the need to know. “What happened before you came home and found me and Nicky on the couch?”

Her grin turns inexplicably wicked as her hands slide lower to firmly your ass. With a deliberate tug, she pulls you flush against her, your hips colliding in a way that sends heat racing up your spine.

“Last Friday night was a date, sweetheart.” she begins, her tone maddeningly casual, like she’s recounting a a dull anecdote rather than making your blood boil. “She tried to kiss me outside the restaurant and invited me to her place.”

She pauses just long enough for the words to sink in, her eyes glinting with amusement as she gauges your reaction.

The words hit you like a cold gust of wind, and your chest tightens, jealousy fizzling hot and insistent in your stomach. Her nonchalance feels like a knife twisting, and you’re sure she can sense it, her smirk widening ever so slightly as her eyes lock onto yours.

You force yourself to hold her gaze, but the casual edge of her tone, the way she seems so unaffected, is almost too much to bear. A hundred thoughts race through your mind, each one more unbearable than the last. You’re not sure whether to scoff, snap, or step away, but before you can decide, Agatha’s voice cuts through the tension again.

“But…”

The word hangs in the air for a moment, and her expression shifts, the confidence that usually cloaks her like armor faltering ever so slightly. It’s subtle, but enough to make you feel the weight of whatever she’s about to say. 

She exhales through her nose, the hesitation palpable as though she’s debating whether to say the words out loud. 

When she finally does, her voice is lower, dipping into a gentleness that catches you completely off guard, each word laced with a quiet vulnerability that makes your heart stutter. 

“When I politely declined her offer… I called her by your name.”

You blink. Once. Twice. your brain firing on all cylinders yet somehow managing to stall completely. Surely, you must have misheard her.

And then she winks. And it’s game over.

Your eyes widen to comical proportions, your jaw drops like it’s auditioning for a slapstick comedy, and you’re pretty sure your entire face is now brighter than a chili pepper under a spotlight. 

At your reaction, Agatha’s smirk blossoms into its full, mischievous glory, positively dripping with wicked delight—a clear indicator that she’s savoring every second of your mental implosion.

“You what?!” you practically squawk, the words bursting out louder and more incredulous than you thought humanly possible.

Agatha chuckles, low and rich, the sound rolling over you like a warm wave. The sheer satisfaction glinting in her eyes is almost maddening, and her hands, still resting on your ass, shift slightly—her fingers brushing against the loose fabric of your shorts in a way that feels far too casual given the bombshell she just dropped.

“No, no, wait.” you stammer, still trying to process. “You’re telling me you, Agatha Harkness—confident, poised, never-misses-a-beat Agatha Harkness—actually called someone by the wrong name? My name? On a date? I mean, don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t exactly strike me as the type to… you know… trip over your own rizz like that.”

She tilts her head, one brow arching in mock warning as her eyes lock onto yours, a look that clearly says, Careful, hon, don’t push your luck. It’s playful, yes, but there’s just enough edge in her gaze to make your breath hitch, like she’s daring you to test her patience. 

“Trust me, sweetheart, no one was more surprised than me.” she admits with dry amusement as the faintest shrug rolls off her shoulders.

But there’s a betraying flicker in her eyes, a glimmer of self-deprecation, and you can tell she’s trying very hard to hold back laughter herself at this point.

“So, you’re standing there, at the end of your very hot date or whatever, and just—what? Randomly blurt out my name?” you ask, the teasing edge in your voice growing sharper as you fight the urge to giggle.

“It wasn’t quite like that.” she corrects, “We were outside the restaurant, and she leaned in—clearly angling for a kiss. I… stopped her before it went that far.” she continues as her smirk deepens. “But then she still invited me back to her place, and… well, that’s when it happened. Your name name came out instead of whatever hers was. Clear as day.”

The image plays out in your head: Agatha standing there with some impossibly glamorous woman, utterly composed until… she isn’t. The thought sends a strange mix of emotions swirling through you—jealousy, disbelief, and something dangerously close to triumph.

“Why didn’t you…?” you hesitate, your voice faltering as the question comes out before you can stop yourself. “Why didn’t you just go home with her?”

“It wouldn’t have made much sense, would it?” she replies with a shrug, as if you’ve just asked the most obvious question in the world.

“Why not?” you push, your heart pounding now.

“Because it wouldn’t have mattered. The whole date was a lousy attempt to stop thinking about the fact that I wanted my hot, younger babysitter.”

Your breath hitches, heat rushing to your face at her words. They land between you, heavy and electric, making it impossible to look away.

“And I knew,” she continues, her voice dropping to something almost conspiratorial, “that if I’d gone home with her, it wouldn’t have changed anything. I’d have spent the whole night imagining it was you. Hell, I spent the entire dinner doing that.”

The honesty in her words steals the breath from your lungs, leaving you momentarily stunned. Her confession is playful and teasing, but it’s also raw, stripped of any pretense, leaving no room for doubt.

“You’ve been in my head, sweetheart, for longer than you realize. Last Friday night just made it impossible to keep pretending otherwise.”, her words come out almost in a sigh, laced with exasperation, like this whole ordeal has been just as maddening for her as it has been for you.

Your thoughts are spinning, a chaotic swirl of emotions you can’t quite untangle, but the way she’s looking at you—steady, unshaken, and utterly sure—anchors you in place. Her gaze is magnetic, pulling you toward a singular truth that feels impossible to ignore, and there’s only one thing your mind is screaming at you to do.

Your hands fly to her neck, fingers tangling in the soft waves of her hair as your lips crash into hers. The kiss is anything but gentle—urgent, unrestrained, a collision of pent-up tension, jealousy and raw need. 

Agatha stiffens for a second, caught off guard, but the hesitation melts as quickly as it came.

She responds with equal fervor, her lips moving against yours with a commanding urgency that steals the breath from your lungs. When she finally breaks away, it’s not in retreat but with a low, surprised laugh that vibrates against your lips.

“Well.” she drawls, her voice roughened with amusement and provocation, her lips still brushing yours, “If jealousy makes you this needy, I might just make it a habit to mention my Friday nights more often.”

Your face burns as you glare at her, though the heat in your chest only intensifies. 

“Don’t even try it.” you snap, tugging slightly at her bottom lip with your teeth as your voice drops to a playful warning. “I mean it, Agatha.”

Agatha chuckles, the sound rumbling through her chest as one of her hands drifts from your hips to the front of your shorts, her fingers toying lazily with the waistband. 

The casual, almost absent motion ignites a wildfire beneath your skin, leaving every nerve alight and your body coiled tight with anticipation.

She slips one thigh between yours, nudging gently to widen your stance, and your hands instinctively clutch her shoulders for balance. Before you can steady yourself, her fingers dip beneath the fabric, brushing the edge of your panties.

Her smirk deepens, her eyes gleaming with sinful intent that sends a tremor through your knees, as if she’s already savoring the exact moment she’ll make you fall apart. 

“But baby…” she murmurs, leaning in until her lips brush the shell of your ear, her voice dropping into something dark and honey-sweet. “Needy looks sooo good on you”

Her voice alone sends a pulse straight to your core, and when her fingers dip lower, slipping past the edge of your panties to press against your soaked folds, the moan that rips from your throat is nothing short of pornographic.

You’re drenched, embarrassingly so, and the slick sound of her fingers gliding through your arousal only makes it worse. 

She doesn’t even try to conceal her delight, letting out a throaty, satisfied hum that vibrates against your skin. It’s a sound of pure indulgence, as though she’s reveling in the way your body responds so eagerly, so quickly, to her words, to her touches.

“Agatha—fuck!” you gasp, your voice trembling with a mix of need and protest as your hips buck involuntarily against her hand. “We’re not… we’re not done talking.”

Her lips curl into a grin as she pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, her eyes gleaming with a challenge as her fingers slide deeper, spreading your wetness with excruciatingly languid strokes.

“Oh, I know.” she purrs, her tone dripping with faux innocence as her fingers tease your entrance. “Go on, baby. Keep talking.”

“You can’t seriously expect me to—”

The sentence dies in your throat, replaced by a strangled moan as two fingers slide into you effortlessly. The sound of your wetness fills the room, obscene and loud, and you can’t stop the strangled cry that escapes when she curls her fingers just right.

“I’ve been patient, haven’t I?” she asks smoothly, her smirk widening as her thumb brushes a lazy, maddeningly light circle over your clit. “I’ve let you ask all your questions, answered them, and I’m still here for the rest. But…”. She punctuates her next words with a deep thrust, her palm grinding against your clit in a way that makes your breath hitch. “It’s time you start giving me something back, don’t you think?”

“Oh my God—fuck!” you groan, your head dropping to her shoulder as your hips grind against her hand, chasing the pleasure she’s so expertly coaxing from you. 

Your legs tremble, barely holding you up, and the wet, filthy sound of her fingers moving inside you makes your face burn with humiliation and need.

“That’s it.” she hums, her voice low and approving as her free hand moves to tangle in your hair, tilting your head so her lips graze your ear. “Be a good girl and try for me, mmh?”

“Agatha, please.” you whimper, your nails digging into her shoulders as your walls clench around her fingers. “I can’t—I can’t focus when you’re—mmh—when you’re doing that.”

“Sure, you can. And you will.” she murmurs, her thumb pressing harder against your clit in rhythm with her thrusts. “You’ll think, talk, listen, and take everything I’m giving you, just like the clever girl I know you are.”

Her praise is a double-edged sword, both a balm and a brand, sending warmth flooding through you while also igniting a stubborn need to meet her challenge. Gritting your teeth, you force your voice to form a single, coherent thought.

“N-nicholas.” you stammer, your voice barely intelligible as pleasure and worry collide in your chest. “What about—oh, fuck—what about Nicholas? What if— what if this messes everything up for him?”

Agatha’s smirk softens just slightly, though her fingers don’t falter, their pace steady and relentless.

“Nicholas is smarter than most adults, baby.” she murmurs, her voice impossibly calm and confident even as you whimper against her shoulder. “He’s practically a human lie detector. Honestly? I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already picked up on something.”

“Besides, he adores you.” she continues casually, as if you aren’t completely falling apart in her arms. “As long as we handle this carefully—and don’t, you know, start fucking in the living room while he’s watching cartoons—he’ll be fine.”

You let out a strangled laugh, though it quickly dissolves into a moan as her fingers curl deeper, hitting a spot that makes your entire body tense. 

“But—but what if he—oh my God—doesn’t take it well?”

“Sweetheart.” she murmurs, her free hand tilting your chin up to meet her gaze, her eyes impossibly tender yet razor-sharp. “Stop overthinking. We’ll handle it. Together.”

You nod weakly, unable to form a rational response as she quickens her pace, driving you closer to the edge with every thrust. 

But before you can let yourself fall completely into the haze of pleasure, another thought claws its way to the surface.

“And Rio?” you choke out, though your voice is barely a whisper now, trembling with the effort of holding on. “What happens when she—fuck—when she finds out?”

“Rio doesn’t have a say in my life anymore.” she drawls, her smirk widening into something downright predatory as her fingers thrust deeper, harder, drawing a strangled cry from your throat. “Sure, we keep things civil for Nicholas’s sake, but beyond that? She can think whatever she wants. It won’t change a damn thing.”

“But—but what if—mmh yes—what if she makes it hard for us?”

“What’s she gonna do, huh?” Agatha arches a brow, her free hand gripping your waist to steady you as your legs start to tremble. “Get all huffy and judgmental? Let her.”

Her confidence ripples through you, grounding and infuriating all at once, even as her pace grows brutal. Your walls clench tighter around her, the pressure in your belly building to an unbearable height. Yet one last question remains lodged in the back of your throat. 

When it finally tumbles out, your voice cracks under the weight of it. “And what if you… what if you get tired of me?”

Agatha freezes for a heartbeat, her gaze pinning yours in place with a fierce, almost dangerous intensity that takes your breath away.

“I won’t.” she snaps, her tone so firm, so unshakable, it’s as if the very idea is offensive.

Her gaze drops pointedly to where her fingers disappear into you, sliding out glistening before thrusting back in with a wet, filthy sound, over and over again.

“If you could see yourself right now—falling apart on my fingers, so perfect, so mine—you’d know just how impossible that question is.”

Her words land like a thunderclap and your body shudders violently, your legs trembling so hard you’re certain you’d collapse if it weren’t for the firm, possessive grip she keeps on your waist.

And then, as if to punish you for your suggestion, or perhaps to drive her point home with devastating clarity, she slides a third finger into you without warning. The stretch is intense, toeing the line between pleasure and overwhelming, and you let out a strangled cry that tears through the room.

Her thumb presses harder, faster, against your clit as her fingers work you open. It’s deliberate, merciless, as though she’s staking her claim in every possible way, daring you to question her devotion again.

“That’s it, baby.” she hums, her voice dark and velvety, her satisfaction palpable in the way her lips curl into a smirk against your temple. “Taking me so well… so fucking perfect.”

Her words only add fuel to the fire blazing inside you, and you’re helpless to stop the wrecked, broken moans spilling from your lips as her pace quickens. 

Your body arches involuntarily, seeking more, needing more, as the pressure builds impossibly higher, threatening to snap with every flick of her thumb and thrust of her fingers.

You silently call on every divine entity, ancient force, or cosmic fluke you can think of, just to ensure she’ll grant the desperate plea teetering on the edge of your lips.

“Please!” the word escapes you as a desperate sob, raw and aching as your hands clutch her shoulders. “Please, Agatha—fuck, I need to—”

“Come for me, baby.” her command cuts you off, slicing through the haze like a blade and shattering you completely. 

Your body seizes, the coil in your belly snapping violently as your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, relentless and all-consuming. 

Wetness gushes from you, coating her hand and soaking the fabric of your shorts as she continues to work you through it, her fingers dragging unrelentingly along your walls, sending shivers through every nerve.

“Fuck, look at you.” she breathes, her tone edged with awe and sinful pride as your walls spasm around her fingers, gripping her so tightly it’s a wonder she can still move. “So messy for me.”

The intensity is almost unbearable, your cries escalating into a scream that rips from your throat as the pleasure crests in waves, each more powerful than the last. 

Agatha doesn’t let up, her movements steady and calculated, prolonging your pleasure until the last waves finally begin to ebb. 

Her hand on your waist tightens, grounding you as her lips press soft, soothing kisses along your jaw, a stark contrast to the raw intensity of what she’s just done to you.

As you collapse against her, your breathing ragged and uneven, she slows her fingers, her touch gentler now as she carefully withdraws, her hand glistening with your release. 

She presses a lingering kiss to your temple, her voice impossibly tender despite the smug satisfaction lacing it.

“See? I knew you could do it. Such a good girl for me.” she murmurs, her words a caress that feels like velvet against your frayed senses. 

Her free hand strokes slow, appeasing circles against your lower back, grounding you as the tremors in your body begin to ebb.

The room feels impossibly quiet now, the only sounds your labored breathing and the warm, satisfied chuckle that hums through Agatha’s chest.

“You’re insufferable.” you mumble weakly against her neck, your voice hoarse and cracked, though there’s a stifled laugh buried beneath the exhaustion.

“And yet….” she purrs, lifting your chin with a single, deft finger until your gaze meets hers. Her piercing eyes hold yours captive, but there’s a glimmer of something softer beneath the smirk curling at her lips—something achingly tender, almost reverent. “Here we are.”

Her thumb brushes over your cheek, the simple, affectionate gesture robbing you of what little breath you’ve managed to reclaim. 

You blink up at her, still dazed, a faint, incredulous smile pulling at your lips.

“Here we are,” you echo, your voice trembling but steady enough to carry the weight of a moment that feels suspended in time.

It’s a connection that needs no embellishment, one that feels intimate and inevitable, like it had been quietly waiting for the two of you all along.

The rest of Sunday unfolds in a blissful, lazy haze. 

After the emotionally charged conversation in the morning, the day slows to a gentle rhythm. Agatha suggests a walk to clear your heads, and the two of you meander through a nearby park. 

The air is crisp, the sun peeking through the clouds as you stroll side by side, talking about nothing in particular—favorite seasons, forgotten childhood stories, ridiculous hypotheticals. 

It feels easy, natural, like you’ve been doing this forever.

Back at home, the afternoon fades into evening. You help Agatha prepare a simple dinner, and she insists on pouring you a glass of wine while you work. 

Later, the two of you curl up on the couch, a movie playing on the screen, your head resting on her shoulder. The sound of her quiet laughter at the film’s witty dialogue makes your heart ache with something sweet and new.

But the serenity is interrupted by the unmistakable sound of the front door opening. Nicholas bursts in, his bag slung over his shoulder, his cheeks flushed from the cool evening air. 

Rio follows, her gaze sweeping briefly between you and Agatha, lingering just long enough to convey a subtle curiosity, before she offers a polite nod. Bending slightly, she presses a kiss to Nicholas’s cheek, her voice soft as she wishes him goodnight. 

Without another word, she straightens, casting one final glance in your direction, then strides out the door with the same poised elegance she carried in.

“Hey, kiddo!” Agatha calls out, sitting up slightly but keeping her arm draped over the back of the couch, her fingers brushing your shoulder.

Nicholas closes the door and freezes the second he turns, his eyes darting between the two of you. 

His brow furrows, and then, with his hereditary dramatic flair, he lets out a loud, exaggerated sigh.

“Finally!” he groans, dropping his bag on the floor with a thud. “I was wondering when you two were gonna figure it out.”

You blink, startled. “Wait—what?”

Agatha’s smirk is instant, her lips curling as she leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “What do you mean, ‘figure it out,’ Nicky?”

He rolls his eyes with as if the answer is painfully obvious. 

“I mean the two of you! You’re always talking about each other and asking me stuff.” he quips, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “You’re like, ‘What’s your mom’s favorite breakfast?’, and Mom’s like, ‘Do you think she likes scary movies?’. Ugh, it was soooo annoying.”

Nicholas shakes his head, letting out another dramatic sigh as if he’s been a long-suffering martyr to your mutual pining. 

From beside you, you hear the unmistakable sound of a small snort escaping Agatha.

Heat floods your cheeks as you glance at her, but it only makes her grin widen. She arches a single, perfectly smug eyebrow at you, her expression dripping with satisfaction.

“Told you.” she says simply, giving an exaggerated shrug.

You cover your face with your hands, groaning. “This is mortifying.”

Agatha’s laughter fills the room, warm and unrestrained. She reaches out to tug one of your hands away from your face, her thumb brushing over your knuckles in a gesture so casual yet affectionate it leaves you breathless.

After that day, You and Agatha decide to take things slow, despite the months you’ve already spent orbiting each other. You want to step out of the roles you’ve occupied—Nicholas’s babysitter, his mom—and discover who you are to each other beyond that.

At first, you were almost afraid. Afraid that someone like Agatha, who seemed so independent and unapologetically confident, might be all fire and intensity, with little space for tenderness beyond fleeting moments. 

But slowly, carefully, she proves you wrong.

When Agatha loves, you realize, she doesn’t hold back. She loves with her entire being, fiercely yet gently, as though nothing outside the world she’s built around you truly matters.

Sure, the sex is breathtaking—raw, unrestrained, and unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. But with Agatha, it’s so much more than that. 

She doesn’t just make you feel wanted, she makes you feel profoundly seen, utterly cherished. Every touch carries intention, every kiss a pledge of devotion.

She quickly learns your body like a map, her fingers and lips tracing each curve with reverence, savoring every discovery as though unveiling a hidden treasure meant only for her.

But beyond the fiery passion, there’s an unexpected warmth, a softness that takes you by surprise. 

Her teasing sarcasm and sharp wit—cornerstones of who she is—remain ever-present, capable of making you groan in exasperation one moment and laugh until your sides ache the next. 

And yet, as new facets of her emerge, they gradually begin to share space with so much more.

At night, when the world is quiet, Agatha reveals a rare, thoughtful vulnerability, speaking of the things that scare her or the mistakes she’s afraid of repeating.

In the evenings, she pulls you onto the couch, wrapping you in her arms as she teases you about your movie choices, only to stay glued to the screen the entire time.

In the middle of an argument, even when her irritation is clear and the sharpness in her tone feels like a shield she’s reluctant to lower, her gaze softens. Against her own nature, she takes a breath, letting the frustration ebb just enough to say, “I’m listening, go on.” It’s not easy for her, you can see that—but she tries. She chooses to stay, to listen, to understand, even when every instinct might tell her to close off.

Each moment is a small glimpse into a side of her that feels like a gift, a quiet affirmation that she is so much more than you ever imagined.

You also come to realize, that Agatha, for all her snarky remarks and commanding presence, craves affection too. 

She’ll never say it outright, of course, but the way she seeks those little moments of closeness gives her away every time.

The way she tucks you closer to her chest in the morning, long before the rest of the world is awake. The way her hand brushes your hair back as you lean over a book, a casual touch that lingers just a second too long. The way she kisses your temple absentmindedly as she passes you in the kitchen. The way her fingers trail down your arm before settling on your waist as you both stand in the backyard at night, watching Nicholas excitedly point out constellations while Agatha murmurs their names with a quiet smile. The way her fingers softly brush against yours when she hands you a cup of coffee.

These aren’t grand gestures—they’re quiet, unspoken reminders of how deeply she cares. They’re Agatha’s way of saying what she can’t always put into words, of reaching for connection in ways that feel achingly sincere.

Agatha surprises you constantly. 

She starts showing up at the café during your morning shifts, always impeccably dressed, her heels clicking against the tile floor as she strides in like she owns the place. 

“I’m between meetings” she claims casually, though you notice she always stays just long enough to leave your coworkers flustered and whispering about ‘the gorgeous older woman’ who sits at the corner table, sipping her black coffee and glancing at her phone like she has nowhere better to be.

When she catches you watching her from behind the counter, her smirk is instant, as if to say, Yes, hon, I know I’m distracting you. And it never fails to make your pulse race.

She spoils you shamelessly, too. Thoughtful gifts appear with alarming regularity—books she’s noticed you eyeing, a beautiful scarf she swears “just screamed your name,” or your favorite pastries from a bakery across town. 

“Stop fussing.” she says one evening as you eye the expensive wine she’s ordered at a rooftop restaurant. The city lights glitter around you, and the cool night air brushes your cheeks. “You deserve it.”

You roll your eyes but lean in to kiss her anyway, her hand slipping up to cup your cheek. Her smile softens, that guarded edge melting just enough to reveal the depth of her affection, and your heart aches in the best way.

For Agatha, you could have stopped working altogether if you wanted to. She made it clear from the beginning that money would never be an issue, brushing off the idea as though it was laughable. 

Still, you hold onto your job at the café. It keeps you busy in the mornings, gives you a sense of independence, and lets you stash away some savings of your own. Besides, you’ve worked there so long it feels strange to think about leaving.

At the same time, you insist on keeping your part-time babysitting job, though you flat-out refuse to let her pay you anymore.

That particular conversation becomes a recurring battle. One day, however, you reach your limit.

It’s the umpteenth time Agatha offers to pay you for the hours you spend with Nicky. She leans casually against the doorframe as you fold Nicholas’s laundry, her voice calm but insistent, a mix of exasperation and charm she wields far too well.

You freeze mid-fold, the heat of your frustration bubbling over.

“Agatha, I swear to God, if you bring this up one more time…” you snap, throwing a pair of socks straight at her chest with uncharacteristic force.

Her smirk falters as she catches them, her eyes widening at the sharpness in your voice.

“You’re seriously yelling at me over socks?” she quips, clearly thrown off but still managing to sound incredulous.

“I’m yelling because I’m done with this conversation.” you fire back, your voice louder than you intended. “I’m not taking your money for this anymore. Period. End of story. Got it?”

Agatha blinks, stunned into silence. It’s not often you raise your voice, and judging by her expression, she doesn’t quite know what to do with it. 

After a long, weighted pause, she finally lets out an exaggerated sigh, her shoulders slumping dramatically as she tosses the socks back at you.

“Well, you’re impossible.” she grumbles, crossing her arms over her chest as she leans back against the doorframe with a look of mock irritation. “I can’t win with you.”

You narrow your eyes at her, still fuming, but the hint of a grin tugs at the corners of your mouth.

“You already have.” you mutter, chucking another pair of socks her way.

This time, her smirk returns in its full glory. She catches the socks with ease, her expression relaxing as she throws them back with a playful flick of her wrist. “Flatterer.”

After that conversation, the balance you strike feels so natural, so effortlessly right, that it’s hard to remember a time when things were any different.

You spend your mornings at the café, while most of your afternoons are dedicated to Nicholas. Over time, Agatha begins working from home more often, and those afternoons blend seamlessly into dinners shared around the table, followed by evenings that melt into cozy, lazy hours on the couch. 

Even if you don’t see her much while she works—her door often closed as she immerses herself in work—there’s something undeniably comforting about knowing she’s just upstairs. 

It’s in the faint hum of her voice during a call, the creak of floorboards as she shifts her chair, or the brief moments when she steps out to grab coffee, check on Nicholas, or steal a quick kiss from you in the kitchen. 

Her presence lingers throughout the house, steady and grounding, offering a quiet reassurance you hadn’t realized you craved.

The roles you once played haven’t disappeared, but they’ve shifted, harmonizing gracefully into this new dynamic that feels equal parts exciting and comforting.

Agatha doesn’t push you to redefine everything overnight, doesn’t demand more than you’re ready to give. Instead, she meets you where you are, and together, you explore the space between who you were before and who you’re becoming now.

Five months in, Agatha brings it up over breakfast.

“You know…” she begins casually, buttering her toast with the kind of ease that suggests she isn’t about to change your life forever, “it’d make a lot more sense if you just lived here.”

You nearly choke on your coffee, coughing and setting the mug down with a sharp clink. “Are you—are you serious?”

She looks up from her plate, her expression calm but her eyes warm, filled with a certainty that grounds you even as your heart races. “Of course. It feels right, doesn’t it?”

It does. Deep down, you’d known for a while now that this was where you belonged. Still, hearing it aloud, from her, catches you off guard. But there’s no hesitation when you answer.

“Yes.” you say, the word coming out soft but steady. “It does.”

Everything falls into place with an almost disarming simplicity and, by the end of the weekend, your things are integrated seamlessly into her home. 

Your favorite mug finds a spot on her kitchen shelf, your books line the living room walls alongside hers, and the faint scent of your perfume lingers in her bedroom.

Nicholas adjusts effortlessly, almost as if he’d been waiting for this to happen all along. The three of you settle into a domesticity that feels natural, filled with laughter, shared meals, and quiet moments.

Even Rio seems unbothered when she comes to pick Nicholas up on the weekends. She exchanges polite words with you, her demeanor perfectly cordial, before whisking him away for their outings. 

Whatever tension you’d feared never materializes, leaving you to wonder if Agatha had talked to her privately or if Nicholas, in his own way, had smoothed the path between you.

On Saturday mornings, Nicholas claims the kitchen as his domain, declaring himself “Head Pancake Chef” as you and Agatha lounge at the table, sipping coffee and exchanging amused glances while he works.

In the evenings, after Nicholas has gone to bed, the two of you often find yourselves curled up together on the couch, her arm draped lazily over your shoulders as you share quiet conversation, watch a movie or simply sit in comfortable silence.

Every day, every moment, strengthens the sense that this is exactly where you’re meant to be.

Yet, for months, you’ve held onto your old apartment, keeping it as a safety net—a place to retreat to if things fell apart, if Agatha ever grew tired of you, if it all turned out to be too good to be true. 

You’d told yourself it was practical, that it didn’t mean anything. But deep down, you’d known it was fear keeping you tethered to the space.

One random evening, everything changes.

It’s late, and the house is quiet. You and Agatha are curled up on the couch, one arm draped around your shoulders as you trace lazy circles on the back of her hand. There’s an ease between you, the kind that has grown naturally over the months.

Out of nowhere, she murmurs, “I love you.”

The words land softly but powerfully, knocking the air from your lungs. 

You freeze, your hand stilling on hers as your mind races. For a brief moment, you think you’ve imagined it, your own thoughts playing tricks on you.

But then you glance up, and she’s watching you. Her expression is open yet achingly vulnerable, her lips slightly parted as if she’s bracing herself for your reaction, the faintest flush coloring her cheeks.

Agatha Harkness, who exudes confidence and poise in every other moment, suddenly looks almost shy.

Your heart swells, the response spilling out without hesitation. “I love you too, Agatha. So much.”

Her eyes widen briefly before a slow, radiant smile spreads across her face, lighting her up in a way you’ve never seen before.

She leans in, her movements deliberate yet tender, and when her lips meet yours, it’s as if the world tilts on its axis.

The kiss starts soft, her lips warm and gentle against yours. But it deepens quickly, her hand coming up to cradle the side of your face, her thumb brushing your cheek.

You feel her smile against your lips, a small, unguarded curve that sends warmth flooding through you. When she finally pulls back, her forehead rests lightly against yours, her hand lingering on your cheek as if she’s reluctant to let go. 

Her eyes search yours, glowing with a mix of joy and relief, and you realize that this moment, this love, is as real as it gets.

The next morning, you list your apartment for sale.

Weeks later, it sells, and it’s time to clear it out for good. Agatha insists on coming with you to help despite your protests that there isn’t much left to do, since most of your things had already made their way to her house when you moved in.

Together, you sift through the last remnants of your belongings—forgotten trinkets in the back of drawers, mismatched furniture that doesn’t fit anywhere anymore, and boxes filled with things you can’t remember why you kept.

As you bend down to pick up one of the boxes, you feel the weight of her gaze on you. By the time you straighten, she’s right there—closer than she was a moment ago—her hand curling possessively around your waist, her presence electric.

“What if…” she murmurs, her lips grazing your ear as her fingers slide to the small of your back, “We give this place a proper send-off.”

Before you can respond, her mouth is on yours, claiming and insistent. The kiss is searing, a collision of teeth and tongues that leaves you breathless as she presses you back against the nearest wall.

“Agatha—fuck!” you gasp as her hands wander, gripping your hips and pulling you flush against her. “We’re supposed to be clearing out, not—” your voice falters as her lips graze your neck, stealing your train of thought entirely.

“Oh, we will.” she purrs, her voice dripping with wicked intent. “After.”

What follows is nothing short of ruinous. She doesn’t just touch you—she consumes you, her hands, mouth, and body working in perfect, devastating harmony to claim every inch of you.  

She starts in the kitchen, bending you over the counter with a commanding ease that makes your breath hitch. Her nails dig into your hips as her fingers slide into you, relentless and thorough, her mouth hot and demanding against your neck. The slick sound of her movements mixes with the sharpness of your cries, echoing off the bare walls as her pace quickens, leaving you breathless and clawing for the edge.

In the living room, she pushes you down onto the couch—the same one where you once sat alone, overthinking everything. Now, it’s where she strips you bare and buries her head between your thighs, her tongue working with maddening precision. She doesn’t stop, even as your hips buck against her mouth, her grip on your thighs unrelenting. When you fall apart, her name breaking from your lips, she takes it all, her smirk sinful as she looks up, licking her lips like she’s savoring every second.

Even the bedroom—now a sparse, nearly empty space that offers no distractions—doesn’t escape her attention. She pins you to the mattress with a ferocity that leaves no doubt as to who you belong to, her name a broken mantra on your lips as her pace builds, her body pressing against yours in a way that demands surrender. Her fingers push you over the edge again and again, each climax leaving you trembling and weak, her breath hot on your skin as she praises you through the haze of pleasure.

By the time she’s done with you, every surface bears the evidence of her passion, and you’re left spent, boneless, and utterly wrecked in her arms.

Later, as you sit on the floor together eating takeout amidst the remaining boxes, she looks over at you with a satisfied smirk.

“So…” she says, her voice a lazy drawl. “Think you’ll miss this place?”

You laugh, shaking your head as you lean into her side. “Not even a little.”

Because your home isn’t a space anymore—it’s her.

Exactly one year after that Sunday morning when everything changed, you find yourself reflecting on how far you’ve come.

It’s Friday night and you’re sitting at a cozy restaurant, the golden glow of candlelight reflecting off Agatha’s beautiful features. Her hand brushes against yours on the table, her touch as natural and grounding as the rhythm of your breaths.

Fridays used to be a minefield, an endless loop of questions you were too afraid to ask, feelings you didn’t dare name. You remember those nights vividly, steeped in quiet agony, where every thought, every fleeting moment tied to Agatha—her voice, her gaze, her very presence—was laced with an ache so consuming it felt impossible to escape. 

At times, you can still taste the bitter certainty that nothing you longed for could ever be within reach. Looking back, though, you almost laugh. 

Agatha had nearly driven you insane with her looks, her touches, her maddeningly unreadable smirks. You’d been so sure you were imagining it all, you’d almost lost your mind trying to figure her out.

But now, Fridays have transformed into something else entirely. They’ve become a ritual of joy and love.

They’re your nights. Date nights. Moments stolen just for the two of you while Nicholas stays with Rio or a babysitter. Whether it’s a fancy dinner in the city or a quiet evening at home, these Fridays are sacred.

You glance across the table at Agatha, who’s sipping her wine, her eyes flicking up to meet yours. 

Her smirk curls in that way you know will always make your stomach flip, no matter how many times you see it. But there’s a softness behind it now, a tenderness she doesn’t bother hiding anymore.

“What’s that look for?” she asks, her voice low and familiar, the sound of it wrapping around you like a warm embrace.

You smile, bliss flooding your chest. “Just thinking about how lucky I am.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes in mock disbelief, but the way her thumb strokes the back of your hand betrays her. 

“You’re insufferable.” she mutters, though her tone holds no bite.

“And yet…” you tease, leaning forward slightly, your voice dipping conspiratorially, “Here we are.”

Her lips twitch as though she’s fighting a full smile, and for a moment, you both laugh, the kind of easy, unguarded laughter that fills every quiet corner of your heart.

And as you sit there, her hand in yours and the echoes of your journey fading into the warmth of the present, a quiet certainty blooms within you: you can’t wait to see where this love leads.

[cleomcdonald]

Original tags on this post

So I get what you're saying, and I'm going to counter with...

Davrin is my least favorite companion in this game. There is nothing wrong with him. He's a good buddy buddy kind of companion, but he doesn't rise above the others in my affection. So when it comes down to "Davrin (sad) and Assan (my boy!) VS Harding who is the sweetest sweetheart to ever stab a man AND Taash who is basically 20, going through figuring out who they are *just* lost their mother and now you want me to kill their gf too?? Well...

It's kind of sad when people (you know what kind) feel like they'd be "fine" with sacrificing Davrin if not for Assan dying when Davrin's whole narrative is about learning that he matters even if he isn't a sacrificial pawn for some greater good. It's heartbreaking actually.

[pencil-n-pen]

Princess ⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚

⊹‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

leon kennedy x fem!reader

Summary: Being an independent woman and a full time student is all fun and games until final’s season. Luckily, your not-quite academic rival Leon Kennedy is there to pick you up when you fall.

cw: Female pronouns and description used for reader but nothing detailed (no skin color, eye color, hair type, body type, etc.) This is basically just an x reader for my independent eldest daughters who do nothing but their absolute best all the time everyday and deep down want a hot guy with beefy arms to let them relax for a minute. So i guess expect the related issues that come with being an eldest daughter?

Tags/tropes: hurt/comfort, dom! leon if you squint, leon’s very touchy, leon being a gentleman!! probably ooc, i kinda struggled finding his voice :/

wc: 3.3k

a/n: wowee so i’m not rlly looking to be a full time author or anything but i could NOT get this idea out of my head and i figured i could give back to the tumblr fic community <3 here’s to everyone who wants hurt/comfort without smut, incest, or a needlessly specific reader! hope everyone’s recovering well from finals!

— ‎ ‧₊˚ 𓂃౨ৎ

The first time it happened, it honestly, truly, was an accident. A mistake, if you will. You would never willingly fall asleep on a random guy at a party. That is all kinds of bad for a number of reasons.

However. There were some… extenuating circumstances.

Finals. They’re a make-or-break for the first semester. Mostly just a break. In the sense that you contemplated how upset your parents would be at you if you dropped out and if the subsequent disowning would be worth it.

You did finals the same way you did everything. You worked. Studied. Borderline obsessed over it. Romanticized it so you could push through when the other’s resolve started dropping. Stayed home. Your friends bemoaned your “no-fun attitude” but they’re crying over their grades and you’re not, so.

Well. Actually you’re definitely crying over your grades, almost every day in fact. But not because they’re bad. Just because you’re tired. Really tired. The kind of tired that makes people have public breakdowns. But you can’t afford to have a public breakdown because you have to succeed at college and you have to work in order to stay on top of your bills and be able to send some money home to your family and make sure you have time to call your parents and make time for your sister to call you and vent because you didn’t have a you at her age and you wish you did so you have to be there for her and your friends need you to be there for them not to mention planning for how you’re going to use your degree after you graduate and—

Most of the time you try not to think about it.

So finals were over. And everyone wanted to celebrate. And you did, you promise. You’re totally the party girl type. Totally. (Maybe if you say it enough times it’ll come true?)

You don’t hate parties. You like dressing up and going out. It’s fun! It’s just… not your idea of an unwind. Not after you nearly ran yourself into the ground for a month straight for the sake of academic validation. You’d prefer to sleep for 72 hours straight. And maybe watch a movie at home in the sweatshirt you cried over your textbooks in. Maybe over a glass of wine? You’re not really sure. Relaxing never really goes well for you. It’s either depression-bed-rotting or full productivity.

Needless to say, you weren’t exactly thrilled to find yourself at this party. You’re not really sure how your friends convinced you.

But you’re here, in makeup and an outfit you like (you’re thankful this isn’t one of the ‘put on a tight dress and dance’ parties) and you just honestly want to go to bed. It’s a house party, so it’s not nearly as crazy as some of the other parties you’ve been (read: dragged) to, but still.

You’re on the couch, ignoring the smell of alcohol in the air and pretending the pounding baseline of the music coming from the speaker in the kitchen isn’t starting to give you a headache.

Ada Wong, a girl you’ve hesitantly dubbed your party friend, is sitting on your left, while the guy you can never quite tell what he is to her, is sitting on your right.

Leon Kennedy.

On a good day, Leon Kennedy is a smart, brooding, annoyingly capable guy who you share some of your classes with. On a bad day, he’s the bane of your existence. On a really bad day, you fantasize about all the ways you could kill him and turn the experience into a really good term paper.

It’s complicated. You’re smart. He’s smart. You tend to clash because neither of you like backing down from a challenge.

But right now, in this moment, at this party, the only thing you can think about is how fucking tired you are and how warm he is.

The music is so loud it drowns everything out in your brain. The few thoughts that make it through the overwhelm of sound are fuzzy and staticky. The cling and slip around in your head like syrup. The worst parts about parties are, funnily enough, working to cancel out the main reason you can’t fall asleep in your own bed at night: overthinking.

That and the fact that you haven’t sleep in forty-eight hours. An energy drink and an iced coffee count as a full nights sleep, right? You’re sure the heart palpitations are normal.

You manage to keep up with the steady flow of the group conversation, but as the night wears on, talking becomes harder and harder and just plain processing the words being said slowly turns into an impossible task. At some point, someone else squeezed onto the couch— you think it might be Chris? Ada did say he was coming late— so now you’re pressed against the one and only Leon Kennedy, and he’s radiating heat like a furnace.

Like you, he opted for a slightly more casual approach to the house party. Of course, he’s a guy, so his wardrobe was probably never that big, but still. It’s nice to see someone else in a sweatshirt and jeans.

You at least put on your favorite jeans! You call them your hot jeans, for self explanatory reasons. So what if you’re wearing an oversized sweatshirt? It’s cold!

You jolt in place, not realizing your eyes had slipped close and the conversation had continued on without you. Something prickles in the back of your head. An instinctual sort of thing.

Don’t fall asleep in public places.

Don’t fall asleep at someone’s house you don’t know.

You know the owner of the house, you think. You’ve been here once or twice. But you don’t know everyone at the party and where your friends have gone because they’re not in the group talking here and you should probably stand up soon, to wake yourself up, don’t let your friends down, don’t be that girl who falls asleep at the party, don’t—

You jolt again.

Wake up. You tell yourself. Leon’s looking at you out of the corner of his eye, but you ignore it.

It feels like a record skip. You’ll blink, and the conversation isn’t the same as when you first closed your eyes. The song isn’t the same. Were the lights always this bright?

“Whew!” Ada whistles from above. When did she stand up? “Someone’s got final’s exhaustion written all over their face!”

The group laughs and you do too, but it sounds different. Leon doesn’t. Why isn’t he laughing?

You jolt again. Harder this one. A full body shake. You wince as your knee knocks into Leon’s.

“Sorr—“

“Stop that.” He grumbles, and oh. A warm, solid hand snakes around your waist and pulls you closer. Closed to that warm, stupidly comfortable side.

This is wrong. It’s Leon. It’s Leon. You can’t. And this is a party, and your friends are here—

“Stop being stupid,” You can feel his chest rumble from where your cheek is pressed flush against it, and when did that happen? He picks up your left arm and drapes it across his stomach, then picks up your right arm and wraps it around his lower pack. “Squeeze.”

You listen, and wow. Who has time to go to the gym this much and be an academic rival? You feel like you’re slacking. Maybe you need to make time to get some—

“I can hear you thinking,” He says, voice deep and rumbly. It’s honestly a miracle you can hear him over the music. It’s probably because your face is pressed against his chest. If you strain, you can feel the dull thud of his heart.

“You have a heart?” You say, half-delirious with exhaustion. It comes out more as a question than a statement

“Mhm,” He rumbles. “I am in possession of one. Great observation princess.”

You frown into his chest. “Why are you always so mean? You call me that stupid name. I’m not a princess.”

“I’m not mean. Whoever said princess was a mean nickname? You decided that on your own.”

“Then how come you call me that?”

“Because,” He huffs, repositioning to a more slouched position that’s more comfortable for your neck. The arm tightens around your waist.

It’s nice. It’s possessive. Protective. No one’s ever really done that for you before. Usually it’s you doing the protecting.

You don’t want to relax. You can’t. You can’t.

“Because,” He continues, “Princesses need to be taken care of. Especially smart, stubborn princesses who never pause for one second. Not even when they should.”

You should get up. Apologize for how weird you’re being. Have another coffee or energy drink. Join the party. Do something that isn’t this.

“Go to sleep,” He says, his voice like a warm blanket settling and slipping into your mind. “Nothing‘s going to happen to you while I’m here. No one is going to be mad at you for sleeping. And if they are, I’ll kick their ass. Go to sleep.”

It’s easy to give in after that.

You sag, boneless. Like a puppet with it’s strings cut. You inhale deeply, breathing in the deep, rich scent that’s distinctly Leon.

Just for a few minutes. Because Leon’s watching. He won’t let something happen to you. Just for a few minutes. You’ll get up soon. You will.

He tucks you closer to him. “Sleep.”

You’re out like a light.

—

“No way, she’s actually asleep?”

“Holy shit Leon, did you drug her?”

“I did not.”

“Well, thanks, for whatever weird magic-spell you cast. Seriously. We’re all starting to get worried about her. She doesn’t take any breaks and she doesn’t let anyone help. Last week a librarian found her asleep on the printer. Fully standing.”

“Hmm.”

“I’m going to start inviting you to our apartment if it means she’ll actually get some fucking sleep. It’s unsettling finding her in the same position as when I left like, six hours beforehand.”

“Don’t worry. She’s in good hands.”

—

It’s horrific, running into him in the library.

What makes it more horrible is the fact that you’re ugly crying silently in the English textbook section, because it’s always empty. You’re ugly crying in the English textbook section of the university library and Leon Kennedy just walked into the aisle.

You sniff, lifting your head from your knees to stare up at him from the ground. He has a knack for finding you at your lowest, it would seem.

“We’ve got to stop seeing each other like this, princess.”

“Oh?” You sniff hard, running a hand across your face as if that will clear up your red rimmed, puffy eyes, the tear tracks on your face, or the flush on your nose. The action at least wipes away the snot. “I wasn’t aware you ever fell asleep on me at a party. Did I ever find you crying in the English textbook section of the library?”

He tilts his head. “Why the English textbook section? It’s one of your best subjects.”

“It’s the emptiest section. Plus, anyone looking for an English textbook at this hour isn’t going to bat an eye at me.” You wrap your arms around your legs and hug them to your chest. “What are you doing here?”

“One of your roommates called Ada. They said you haven’t been home since this morning. They thought you might’ve been at hers, or with me.”

You snort. “It’s like they don’t even know me.”

He rolls his eyes. “I think they were hoping you’d be there. I think anyone who knows you knew you’d be here.”

“Crying in the English section?”

“In the library, dumbass.”

He stalks forward, leaning back against the bookshelf across from you and sliding his hands into his sweatpants pockets.

“Tell me. Is your pathological avoidance to asking for help conscious or not?”

You kick out, one shoed foot catching him in the shins. “Dick.”

He shrugs. “Just want to know. I can’t exactly gloat over scoring two points above you if you’re not in top form. I want a fair fight.”

“Is that what you're here for?” You ask suddenly, everything in your body going rigid. “You think this is funny?”

“No,” He says calmly. “I’m here because you’re being stupid again. You know what’s not healthy, or smart?”

He gestures to you. You, sitting on the floor, tears drying on your face. “This. Going out to parties to make your friends happy when you should be at home, sleeping. Studying for so long you end up looking like your boyfriend of eight years just broke up with you. Come on, princess. Where’s those brains you brag about?”

“They’re up here,” You tap your forehead. Against your will, your eyes burn, tears welling up, your face tightening. “And they’re tired.”

You drop your head into your hands, forgoing your silent crying of earlier in the place of open mouth sobbing. You can’t help it. You’re just so tired. So done with it all. With trying to keep up, with trying to make space, with trying to make time. With doing your best and it not being enough. You’re tired of being tired.

“Annnd there it is. Come here.”

He lowers himself to the floor next to you, tucking you close in a similar fashion as that night at the party.

“Come on, same thing as before. Hold onto me. Give yourself a minute.”

You wrap your arms around his middle, same way as last time, burying your face into his shoulder. Someone could see. Someone you know might see you crying and think—

He reaches a hand up and pulls the hood of your sweatshirt over your head.

“There. Now no one can see your face. Stop worrying. Just cry, princess.”

You sniffle. “I’m getting snot on your sweatshirt.”

“It’s had worse on it.”

“Gross.”

You can practically feel the eye roll. “Can you stop being dirty-minded and focus on something productive? Like crying? Or not crying, if that would make you feel better.”

You shift, so your head is lying against his shoulder instead of smashed into it like before.

“Why do you care if I feel better?”

Why do you care?

He shrugs against you.

“Told you,” He pushes your hood back a bit, tapping you on the forehead with his pointer finger. “My competition’s no fun if she’s not taking care of herself. How else is she gonna kick my ass?”

“I can take care of myself just fine. I don’t need you to swoop in here, Leon.”

“Mhm,” He says. “And i’m sure you do great at it, considering you’re still alive and kicking my ass at those stupid socratic seminars. Consider this… self-care. In the face mask, getting your nails done way.”

“Who taught you self care?”

“Ada. We have face mask nights.”

You jolt up. “Is she—“

“She’s not my girlfriend, we’re not fucking, no she’s not going to be upset or care in any way about this. Calm down.”

You begrudgingly settle back against him.

“If anything,” He continues. “She’ll be excited to see you at more parties in the coming months.”

You frown. “I never said—“

“You only go to parties if your friends physically drag you or when you feel confident enough in your grades and the general state of your life. It’s really easy to tell which version of you shows up to the party. It’s the way you dress.”

“How so?”

He shifts slightly. Guilt twinges in your stomach as you realize how uncomfortable he must be.

“You wear your pick-me-up pants when you’re dragged there. The ones that make your ass look great.”

You sit up with a gasp. “My hot pants?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Is that what you call them?”

Your brain catches up to the rest of what he said. “Hold on. Did you just say—“

“I said what I said. I’m assuming there’s a reason you call them your hot pants.”

He smirks, and you flush.

“Moving onto more pressing matters,” He tilts his head at you. “You have two options this evening. Either I take you back to your place and you sleep in your own bed, or you come to my place and we binge watch the Oceans movies until you fall asleep.”

“How did you know I like the—“

“The icebreaker for club thing. You said they were your favorite movies.”

You look up at him. “You remembered?”

“You were wearing your hot jeans.”

“You’re the worst.”

He scans your face for a moment, eyes sparking with mirth and a little something less innocent. “Maybe.”

You sigh and lean back against him, exhaustion from all your crying hitting you at once.

“Nuh-uh, no sleeping here. You gotta pick one. My place or yours?”

You frown into his shoulder. “Ugh. Fine. Yours, but only because I wanna watch the Ocean’s movies. You better not have a disgusting frat house.”

“I do not. I do have popcorn and ice cream.”

“Ada bought those, didn’t she?”

“Nope,” He says, nudging you with his shoulder to stand. You clamber in gracefully to your feet, your head starting to pound. “Chris likes to have movie nights. It pays to be well stocked.”

Your cheeks warm as a large, steadying hand finds its way to the small of your back. “How many of my friends are you friends with?”

“I was friends with them first.”

“Ass.”

He chuckles incredulously. “For having friends?”

“Yes,” You say, letting him pull you to his side while you walk to your table where you left your stuff. Probably not the best idea to leave your entire net-worth unattended, but whatever. You were going through it. “How dare you.”

“Mmm. I see. My apologies, princess. I’ll tell Chris and Ada.”

“You get on that.”

You can’t help but smile as he helps you pack up your things, passing you items across the table and carefully zipping up your pencil case.

“Don’t touch my papers, I have a system.”

“Is the system absolute chaos?”

“Shut up.”

Once everything is packed up, you zip up your backpack, but before you can sling it on, Leon’s arm darts out and snags it right out from under you.

Your expression grows pinched. “I can carry my own bag, Leon.”

“I know you can.”

“Give me my bag.”

“No.”

You groan. “Why do you want to carry my bag?”

“See, there’s this thing called chivalry—“

“Oh my god, shut up. When have you and chivalry ever been synonymous?”

He shrugs. “Ever since I met the girl in the hot jeans who regularly kicks my ass academically.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Mmm,” He hums, wrapping an arm around your waist and walking you towards the doors to the library. “And you’re stubborn. Come on. Brad Pitt and George Clooney are waiting for you.”

You sigh dramatically, hiding a small smile in your hand.

Maybe you could get used to this.

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

[lightdancingwords]

One Day - Part One of ?

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Y/N Female character Series Summary: You were rescued by Dean Winchester a long time ago. Over time, you kept bumping into each other.

Word Count: 4,556

Tags/Warnings: Violence, profanity, murder/death/kill, angst, arguments, slaps, mention of torture, monsters/supernatural

A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list! This story is AU as it does veer a bit from the history we see in Season 1 of Supernatural. There will be references to episodes and seasons, but it'll change as the chapters come. Enjoy the ride!

Dividers: credit to @talesmaniac89

Chapter One: The First Time

Dean was in a mood. Sam had just left for Stanford—and God, that was one Hell of a fight to break up between his brother and John—and his father…. Well, John had been trusting Dean to go on hunts by himself for a while now. Like a good little soldier, doing what daddy said.

After Sam left, John just muttered about how he had a job to do and he had damned well go do it. So… Dean hopped into the Impala and started looking for newspapers to track down the next monster to hunt.

There was a hint of something—a missing person’s case—that didn’t sit right with Dean. He made some phone calls, impersonated an official or two, the usual—and off he went to a cozy little city in Indiana, home of Purdue University.

Go Boilers! Right?

Ugh.

Not that it hurt to see all the hot chicks. Man, college girls….

His missing person’s case was, unfortunately for his libido, not one of the Sororities. He wished it was. He knew pornos weren’t accurate, but wouldn’t it have been nice if they were?

God. He needed to get laid.

He yanked his attention back to the missing person’s case, and realized that while he was driving, investigating, and basically from the date of the first case, three more had gone missing. The monster, whatever it was, was being systematic.

Every single one of the missing persons came from the same floor as this one off-campus apartment complex. If you could call a whacked up house divided into four individual studios an apartment complex.

He tracked down the very last person from that complex, a pretty teenage girl, fresh to college named Y/N.

“So let me get this straight,” he said, trying very hard to stay focused on the hunt and not flirt with her. “You don’t know why the others have gone missing?”

“That’s right,” she said, regarding this ridiculously young looking man dubiously. He didn’t dress like an investigator nor did he act like one.

“Did you know them well?”

She shook her head, fidgeting on the sofa. In the course of two weeks, four people in the building had gone missing. She was the last one left and was, quite honestly, freaking out.

Four studio apartments, four people. Two of them had just moved in together. She was, literally, the last one standing.

“Any weird people hanging around? Repair folks? Maintenance guys? Anything?”

She shook her head again. “No. The only person that came around in the last month was the landlord.”

“Oh yeah? Why’d he come around?”

She let out a sigh. “I really wish I knew. Just something about annual inspection, but we just moved in like… two months ago, right when the semester started.”

“Really? Huh.” That was a potential clue for Dean. He wasn’t sure why the monster would wait almost two months, but maybe there was something related.

“All right, well, if you think of anything, please let me know, okay?”

“I,.. yeah, I will.”

Dean took one look at her and knew she wasn’t going to. He had the feeling she was suspicious about him, but that was nothing new. He just really, really wished he could ask her out for some drinks and then—

God. He really needed to get laid.

She escorted him to the door and shut it firmly behind him. He had a few options, none of them easy. He debated tracking down where the previous missing persons were last seen, but that meant leaving Y/N unguarded. If Sam hadn’t been an idiot, he could’ve done the investigating while Dean played bodyguard.

In the end, Dean parked the Impala out of sight of the apartment complex while giving him sufficient view to keep Y/N safe. And waited.

It took hours. Painfully long hours. Dean was going insane at the wait. But his patience—pfft, what patience?—was rewarded. He saw something, someone, lurking about the complex. He sat up, squinted in the dim lighting.

Oh yeah, there was definitely something there. He grabbed his gun with one hand and the flashlight in the other, and went running.

The drawback of having to park far was that by the time he reached the building, the thing broke into Y/N’s apartment. Broken glass and wood splinters was everywhere, and he cursed up a storm.

Just as he burst through the shattered doorway, he heard Y/N screaming. Without a thought, Dean jumped over the overturned coffee table and saw it—them.

She was actually pushing the monster back, punching and kicking, which won a glint of Dean’s respect, and he got a good view of it: vampire, from the looks of the fangs.

“Hey, ugly!”

The vampire—God, those fangs were nothing like those from movies—turned to see Dean and snarled. It grabbed the girl, shit, and all but flung her into Dean,

Unwilling to let her crash into the coffee table, Dean caught her and went limp as they went down. More wood shattered and he grunted while she cried out, more out of fear than actual injury, he’d wager.

Normally Dean would be all about having a girl on top—maybe even quip that joke—but he had the wind knocked out of him. Just as he tried to shove the girl out of his arms, he saw the vampire leave with a hiss, running out the door.

“Shit,” he cursed, scrambled to his feet and rushed out the door.

Too late.

It was gone.

“Dammit!” His back was aching, his lungs were sore, and he had nothing to pay for it. With more profanities under his breath, he came back inside the apartment.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked, going over to the girl to help her get up.

“No, I’m not okay! What the hell was that?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he said.

“Try me,” she said, dusting off her rear. God, what a nice ass.

“All right. It’s a vampire.”

She froze, and stared at Dean. “Excuse me?”

He grinned lopsidedly. “Told ya you wouldn’t believe me.”

“You’re right. I don’t. Vampires aren’t real,” she insisted, ignoring the trembling of her hands. Vampires might not be real, but she also knew what she saw: some man with what looked to be monstrous teeth.

“Then explain what you just saw,” he challenged. He marveled at her composure. Not many would be this calm after having had their home broken into and being nearly fed on.

“I…” She stopped. She couldn’t. Not really.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” Dean raked his fingers through his hair and let out a breath. “Listen. It isn’t safe to stay here.”

She glanced at Dean, then deliberately looked over at her busted front door. “No shit, Sherlock.”

He grinned. She had fire. He liked that. “You got any place to stay?” he asked, wildly tempted to offer her a motel room and then share it with her.

“N-no…” She bit her lip. “Nothing local. I’m from California.”

He paused and arched a brow. “No kidding’? Why’d you come here?”

“Veterinary school. One of the best and I wanted to get out of the state for a bit.” She paused, then shook her head. “Real smart of me.”

Dean actually felt bad for her. No doubt she wanted to experience a bit of the country, get out of her hometown, and just do the usual college kid thing to do. Instead, her neighbors go missing and she was attacked in her apartment. What a life.

“Okay, well… can you stay at a motel?” he asked.

“I don’t have any money,” she said ruefully. “I can’t…” God, she doubted the landlord had a spare door even if she called him about the break-in. It’d take time, and it wouldn’t be safe.

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean insisted. “It’s on me.”

“I am not having sex with you,” she said.

She was so blunt Dean actually did a double-take and laughed. “I wasn’t even going there,” he said with a wry grin. “Look. I’m a hunter, okay? I hunt the supernatural. I’m just helping out here, okay?”

She frowned, wary. He did save her, she had to admit. Could have left her there and chased it down. Even left her to deal with a broken door, the late night police call, everything, all on her own.

“I… o-okay. Can I grab some stuff first?”

“Yeah, go do that. I’ll call the police for you so you got it on file, okay?” That way the landlord’s insurance would cover damages, get her door replaced.

It took an hour, some manipulation of the truth, and then Dean and Y/N were heading to the nearest Motel 6. He ended up having to take her in his car as she didn’t have one. She walked to the college or took the bus, which was why she lived so close by the university.

It felt awkward and weird to ask for two rooms—she insisted, as she wasn’t comfortable sharing a room with a total stranger—but Dean was willing to roll with it. Just chalked it up to a weird case all around.

He was yanking off his boots when he heard a knock at the door. Puzzled, he peered through the peephole and saw her outside his door. He’d be damned lucky if she wanted sex after all. Celebration of life and all that crap.

He was crestfallen a moment later when he opened the door.

“What did you mean, you hunt monsters?”

Damn pornos and their fake stories. He stepped aside to let her in and shut the door. “Just what I said. I hunt monsters.”

“But… monsters aren’t real,” she insisted. For a moment she seemed small and vulnerable. Dean felt an inkling of compassion, wanted to comfort her. He held back, shoved his hands in his coat pockets.

“I know it’s easier to believe that, but they’re real. Vampires, werewolves, Wendigo, ghosts, all that crap.”

“I-if they were real, why isn’t it common knowledge? Why hasn’t the government done anything about them?”

She was trying hard to logic her way through it. Determined chick. “Well, regarding common knowledge… people like to believe that the world isn’t that bad. That there aren’t monsters that go bump in the night. It’s easier to believe they hallucinated and forget it ever happened.”

She regarded Dean dubiously. “And the government?”

“Now that I can’t tell ya. I don’t know. I never met a Man in Black so I’d have to guess they’re a little busy dealing with other shit.” He scratched at his chin.

He could tell by the look in her eyes that she was more than a little freaked out. She wasn’t sure how to reconcile what happened, what she saw.

“How do… what am I supposed to do?” She sank down at the edge of the motel bed, wrapped her arms around herself.

“What do you mean?” He joined her on the bed, maintained a polite distance between them. God she smelled good. Like white jasmine.

“I just can’t go back to class pretending I never saw a vampire,” she said, her brows drawn. “Or that my neighbors weren’t attacked and eaten by them.”

Dean cleared his throat, uncertain how to approach her situation. He rarely bothered talking to one of the potential victims this long before. Other hunts he just tracked down and killed, leaving the authorities to deal with the mess. It wasn’t as if John walked him through this shit.

“Well, uh, I guess it’s up to you,” he said honestly. “I’m gonna find this vamp and take it down. That should solve the problem.”

“For this one, sure,” she said, and glanced at Dean. “But what about next time? I mean, you said ghosts?”

“Yep. Unhappy spirits. Demons. You name it, we’ve dealt with them.”

“I don’t…” she trailed off. She looked so lost, Dean felt it in his heart. He had a rather good idea of how she felt, given his exposure to the supernatural at a tender young age.

Ever since Mary died, ever since he saw his mother burning on the ceiling and his father tasking him to keep Sam safe, Dean’s innocence had been lost. He became cynical at a very young age. To him, life was hunting monsters and keeping Sam safe.

Sam was gone now. All that was left was the hunt.

“Take some time to think on it, Y/N,” he said at last, knowing it was awful advice but he had nothing else to offer.

“But I have class tomorrow. How am I supposed to act?”

He bit his lower lip. “Maybe don’t go. We don’t know why this vampire was targeting you and your neighbors.”

“Miss class? Are you insane?”

“What? It’s just class,” he scoffed.

She stared at him. “You’ve never been to college, have you?”

“Nope.” His cocky grin spoke volumes. “Kinda wish I had though. College chicks are hot.”

She rolled her eyes. “College is expensive. Me getting a scholarship to pay for my tuition was a miracle. I can’t afford to fail.”

“Well, it’s not safe for you to go until I catch that vampire,” he argued. God, this chick was stubborn.

Her expression hardened. “I’m not missing class, Dean.”

She won the argument. Damn chick was stubborn as hell. Dean agreed to a compromise: she went to class, he followed her everywhere while doing as many phone calls as he could achieve. Then went absolutely stir crazy while he waited.

She had two classes, which were a good couple of hours long. Then she used the computer lab to do her homework. All in all, he spent about eight hours there.

On the way back, they stopped at her apartment to meet with the landlord. Dean whipped out his fake ID again.

“So you’re saying the annual inspection is unrelated to the disappearances,” Dean said, pressing on the landlord hard. He wasn’t the vampire, but he acted strangely. Didn’t seem to care that someone busted down a door or that four of his tenants went missing.

“That’s right,” the landlord said, his expression hard and shuttered. “I don’t like your implications. Who’s your supervisor?”

“Nunya,” Dean said, annoyed. “Look. Four people are missing and your last remaining tenant got attacked. You’re saying you don’t give a shit?”

“I’m saying I don’t care as long as bills are paid. I’ve already notified the next of kin to come get their belongings. I’m replacing the door. What else do you want me to do?” The landlord was of height to Dean, and glared at him.

Dean wished he could throw down with this jerk. Uncooperative bastard. There was something off about the guy, but Dean couldn’t put his finger on it.

“Fine! What about a security system then?” Dean challenged. “I’m not leaving Y/N to get attacked again!”

“That’s your problem, son!”

Right then and there, Dean very nearly clobbered the guy. Y/N grabbed his arm, hastily saying his name. “Dean… Dean! Stop!”

Dean threw her a furious look, his green eyes dark. He was absolutely disliking how this asshole was approaching the situation. He was not about to leave Y/N alone without something better than a door to keep her safe.

“Thank you, Mr. Smith,” Y/N said calmly. “I appreciate the door being replaced.”

The landlord scoffed, glared at Dean and muttered something about how it’d be replaced within the hour. And left. She waited a moment, then turned on Dean in a fury.

“What is wrong with you?!”

“Me? That jackass is a part of this, I’m damned sure of it! And he’s just leaving you to get killed!” Dean wanted to punch something. Or kick. Preferably the landlord.

“If that’s how you treat human beings, I hate to see how you handle harmless monsters,” she shot back.

“Sweetheart, there aren’t any harmless monsters,” he said, wrenching his arm free of her grip.

“That you know of,” she challenged. God, this chick was going to give him a headache. Wait. He was already getting one.

“Christ. What are you, some monster version of PETA?”

She took a deep breath, contemplated slapping him, and counted to ten. Then, mustering as much calm as she could, she fixed a look on Dean. “Look. He can’t do anything else, okay? So what… what can we do?”

In that moment it took everything he had to not joke about fucking. She’d probably hit him. He cleared his throat, calmed down his temper if not his libido. “God. Uh. Okay.” He rubbed his scalp, let out a huff. “Okay. Great. He’s fixing the door. That’s still not gonna keep you safe.”

“Then what? W-what about crucifixion? Holy water?”

“Unfortunately, sweetheart, that’s all Hollywood. Not gonna work.” He let out a breath. God, he deserved Sainthood for what he was about to do. “I can stay with you. Play bodyguard until I catch the vamp.”

“Excuse me?” She looked so offended, Dean wasn’t sure how to take that. He wasn’t ugly, come on. He also liked to think he wasn’t that bad in bed. His flings and one-night stands didn’t seem to complain. Yeesh.

“I can stay here,” he said slowly, enunciating carefully. “I’ll crash on your couch. Play bodyguard.”

“For how long?!”

“For however long it takes! Do you want to die?!” he shot back. He was so frustrated, he was absolutely about to lose it.

“Well, no! No one wants to die!” She threw her hands in the air. “This is a studio apartment, Dean! Ever heard of privacy?!”

Dean counted to ten. Then again. Nope, he wasn’t calm. Not this time. “Look,” he said, his anger heavily restrained. “This isn’t exactly what I was hopin’ to do, sweetheart. I was hoping to just come here, kill some monsters, and go on my merry way. Not play babysitter!”

“Well then, go ahead! Leave!” She flung a hand to the door, glaring at him. She stood there for long moments, waiting almost impatiently. “Well?!”

“Jesus Christ, you’re annoying! Look, I’m not leaving you here to get killed, Y/N!” He stormed up to her, almost nose to nose. God, he had problems all right if he found this ridiculously hot. “So suck it up, I’m crashing on your couch!”

Sparks were almost flying from her eyes, she was so damned pissed. She let out an angry grunt, spin on her heels and stalked into her bathroom. The door slammed behind her a moment later. He heard a yell of frustration after that and almost did the same himself.

“I’m grabbing stuff from my car! Don’t go anywhere!” he yelled out to the bathroom. He heard something that was undoubtedly profanities. He grinned. “Definitely my kind of girl,” he said with a chuckle, and headed out the doorway.

He popped the trunk, and then the hidden floor for what he’d need. Machete, his gun and— He never finished that thought as something hard smashed his head into the trunk and flung him to the ground. Dazed, he could barely focus as he saw something head into Y/N’s apartment. “No…” he groaned, unable to get up. His head was spinning too hard.

Barely seconds later, he heard something smash inside followed by a scream, this time full of fear. He heard his name. It was Y/N. She was screaming for him. “Come on… get up…” He struggled, rolled over, and nearly fell flat on his face. Just as he was pushing his way up, trying to control the sudden nausea that came from his head injury, a booted pair of feet came into his line of sight.

That was the last thing he saw before his face was kicked in.

Dean wasn’t proud of himself. He tracked down Mr. Smith, all but beat the shit out of him to find out his link to the vampire. Turned out it was some obscene, whacky slumlord scheme, all to get him money while the vampire feasts like a king. How it was never revealed before, Dean had no idea—and didn’t give a damn. He had to find Y/N.

John might object to how Dean handled it, but, well, his father wasn’t there. Sam would be too tender-hearted, maybe. Dean would do it again, if he had to. He failed Y/N, after all. Let the damned vampire get up behind him and knock him silly. It was damned embarrassing. John would probably lecture him on letting his guard down.

He probably wouldn’t tell his father, nope. Not up to proving his father he was a disappointment… again.

Regardless, he found out where the vampire was taking Y/N. The vamp took her and his other victims to some abandoned farm silo west of West Lafayette in some middle of bum-fucking-nowhere Indiana. Some little dinky town called Oxford.

He navigated down the streets, mindful of the unlit streets. “God, did these people never hear of street lights?” he grumbled, not wanting to wreck Baby on some goddamned pothole he didn’t see. Eventually asphalt gave way to gravel to dirt. He just about had a nightmare over the sheer cleaning he’d have to do of the Impala after all this was done.

When he finally saw the silo, he cut the engine and coasted a few more feet. He didn’t want to risk the vampire knowing he was there. As it was, he was sincerely and truly hoping Y/N was still alive. She was tough, she had fire, but the vampire had paranormal strength.

God, he’d love to ask her out after this. Given his luck though, she’d probably ask him to go the hell away and never bother her again.

He crept up to the silo, machete in hand, his gun in the back of his jeans. As he got closer, he started to hear voices, screaming. One of them was definitely feminine, afraid, in pain. Y/N. His heartbeat picked up as he hurried, heedless of any noise he was making.

A faint mist clung to the ground, swirling around the boots of the lone, young hunter. His knuckles were white, his breathing measured but tense, as he entered the silo. It was so dark, the moonlight barely illuminating the intricate interior.

Across from him, the vampire emerged from the shadows, its pale skin gleaming in the moonlight. Blood-red eyes pierce through the gloom, and a cruel smile spreads across its face.

“You came all this way, just to die?” the vampire hissed, its voice a low, mocking growl.

“One of us is dyin’ tonight,” Dean replied, tightening his grip on the machete. “And it ain’t me."

The vampire darted forward, a blur of movement too fast for the human eye. The young man anticipated the attack, swinging the machete in a wide arc. The blade whistled through the air, narrowly missing the vampire’s neck as it twisted to the side with inhuman grace.

“You’ll need to be faster than that,” the vampire taunted, its voice now behind him.

Dean spun, slashing upward. The machete grazed the vampire’s arm, drawing a thin line of dark blood. The creature snarled, its fangs glinting like daggers.

The vampire lunged, its fingers aimed for Dean’s throat. He ducked just in time, rolling to the side.

“You're surprisingly quick,” the vampire admitted, circling its prey. “But you’re tiring. I can hear your heartbeat slowing. Smell the sweat of your fear.”

Dean didn’t reply, his chest heaving as he strategized. He knew he had only one chance—one clean strike.

The vampire leaped again, this time coming from above. Dean raised the machete, catching the monster mid-jump. The blade bit deep into its side, sending it crashing to the ground with an unearthly scream.

But it’s not enough.

The vampire rose, the wound knitting itself together before Dean’s eyes. It smirked. “That all you got?”

Desperation fueled Dean’s next move. He feinted left, then swung hard to the right, aiming for the neck. The vampire, too confident, didn’t anticipate the feint. The machete connected with sickening force, burying itself deep in the creature’s throat.

For a moment, silence reigns. The vampire stumbled, its hands clawing at the blade embedded in its neck. Dark blood poured from the wound.

Dean didn’t hesitate. With a roar, he yanked the machete free and swung again, severing the vampire’s head in a single, brutal stroke.

The headless body collapsed, twitching once before going still. The head rolled to a stop, its crimson eyes staring lifelessly at the ceiling.

Dean wiped the sweat and blood from his face, looking down at the vampire’s remains. “Told you,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.

The fight was over, but the scars—both physical and mental—were just beginning to form.

He had no time to worry about that. He dropped the machete, ignoring it for now, and went in search of Y/N.

Dean found Y/N, freed her from the bindings. He also found the bodies of the missing people. He called 9-1-1 and reported the discovery before disappearing. He hated doing that to Y/N, but she needed the ambulance, the police, more than she needed him.

It would be hours later that he returned to her studio apartment. Her door was restored; good. He wouldn’t have to beat the landlord again, or try to do it himself. He saw her light on, so he knew she was home. Even so… he hesitated.

“Come on, man,” he whispered to himself. He knocked on her door and waited.

The outside light flickered on and he called up his best smile, unaware that it looked nervous and sickly more than confident. After a moment, Y/N cracked opened the door and peeked through the slit. “Dean…?”

“Hey. Uh. How’re you doing? Oh God,” he added in a whisper under his breath. He felt so fucking stupid. He saw her smile and he relaxed marginally. “Sorry for leavin’ you like that, but I had to. There’d be too many questions and—”

“Dean, shut up and come on in,” she said, stepping aside and opening the door. He hesitated, then stepped inside, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m glad you came back. I… wanted to thank you.”

“Uh, thank me? For what?”

She wrinkled her brow at him. “For saving my life,” she said, as though it should be obvious.

“I didn’t… but you got…” Great. Just great. His charm died with the vampire.

But she was smiling. “Thanks. I… really. Thank you.” Her smile fell, and out of the damned blue, she slapped him.

Dean’s head rocked to the side and he very nearly spun around. He caught himself, wiggled his jaw with his hand and stared at her. “What the hell?!”

“That was for abandoning me!” Then she grabbed the collar of his coat and pulled him into a searingly hot kiss. Dean’s brain froze. Just… froze. His libido popped out of the box and wondered if it was finally going to be freed. Then she let him go, breathing a bit heavily. “And that was for saving me.”

“Um…” Come on brain. Come on. Work! “You’re… welcome.”

She smiled, a bit shy, a bit amused at his reaction. “You can go now, Dean.”

“Yeah. Sure….” Damn. College girls can kiss!

Tag List: @spxideyver, @deadlymistletoe, @bitchykittenconnoisseur, @aarpfashionvictim, @stoneyggirl2

@foxyjwls007, @katastrophicmind, @globetrotter28

(If you do not want to be tagged for this Supernatural fic, please let me know and I'll remove you in future postings! If you want to be added, please let me know and I will!)

Edited: Fixed some paragraphs I accidentally copy-pasted twice from my Word doc!

[rainchyna]

⌗ ˚ ͙◌˖ ࣪ . ִֶָ𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝐇𝐇𝐇 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝟗𝟎𝘀˖ ࣪ .ִֶָ

(f!reader, fluff, language, mentions of drug and alcohol use, smuttish, i've lost my touch i fear)

⏾ you didn't really care for hunter when he first joined the wwf. you didn’t exactly know who he was, you just saw him around backstage. he wasn’t exactly memorable to you, he had the basic wrestler look. 6’3, blond, muscular. not much to think about.

⏾ hunter, on the other hand, had his eyes on the prize way before signing with wwf. you had been established in the company as women’s champion at the time, the company heavily relied on you as their top female draw. you were great, the fans loved you, and your merch sold.

⏾ after he was signed, he’d just admire you from afar, you were so effortlessly cool. you've always been his wrestling crush. you were beyond talented, bombshell of a beauty, so, so sweet, and well liked by everyone. of course everyone liked you, look at you. the things he would’ve done to even be near you.

⏾ hunter began hanging out with shawn (who had essentially recruited him for the kliq) almost immediately. you and shawn were really good friends at the time, as vince had put the tag team belts on you and shawn as a joke. shawn could immediately tell that hunter had a thing for you, the way he could barely pull a proper "hello" when you're around immediately gave it away. hunter's eyes would be glued to your face, and up and down your body, he'd immediately smile and look away, slightly blushing when you'd even glance at him.

"dude, what's all that about?"

"don't. don't even, I just-.. she's.. wow."

"do you want me to introduce you-"

"yes, please."

⏾ you were somehow, magically, (backstage politically, shawn michaels sends his regards) dragged into a romance angle with hunter. he was the new signing, and the company wanted to give him a little push. so, now you two were forced to be around each other a lot. you dropped the tag belts soon there after, but kept the women's championship.

⏾ he had kept his french aristocrat gimmick from wcw, but instead of Jean Paul Levesque, he was now Hunter Hearst Helmsley. you were his ‘wife’, y/n y/l/n-helmsley, you escorted him into the ring, interfered in his matches, and cut promos with him. you spent a lot of time on and off the road with him, it's not like either of you had a choice.

⏾ you two slowly became friends, though the dynamic was a bit weird at first since he seemed to be a big fan of you. he kept up some of his 'aristocratic' behaviours, he was trying so hard to win you over. he'd hold doors open for you, always keep as seat open for you, push chairs in and out for you, carry your stuff whether it's a bag or a championship belt.

⏾ and warm up to him, you did. you thought he was really sweet, even though he'd give you 'funny eyes' when you worked out together. hunter was always complimenting you, your matches, your gear, your looks, anything. if he could find a way into your heart, he sure was going to sweet-talk his way there.

"your match was so good earlier, I watched the whole thing."

"yeah, I know. I saw you at the commentary table, burning holes into my body."

"how could I not? you're so talented, and you looked so damn gorgeous."

⏾ a friendship was beginning to blossom between you two, he was actually genuinely so lovely. it was nice for once to not be the only one sober when the rest of the kliq were either drunk or stoned off their mind. you two became the friend groups 'parents', and were often left alone when shawn, kev, scott and sean were passed out.

⏾ you could talk to him for hours about the most random things ever, whether it was wrestling, music, life, ways to get the idiots on the floor to sober up, it was just so easy to talk to him. you two had a whole lotta chemistry in real life, and it translated into the ring.

⏾ having you almost as a 'mentor' to his french gentleman character was constantly messing with his brain. it was like the really hot, popular girl tutoring the new guy in class.

⏾ you were trying to hard to teach him how to cut a babyface promo, but he just couldn't do it the way you wanted him to. he was just a natural heel. you ended up convincing vince to turn you both heel, as it would've been better for him. but, as you turned heel, vince wanted you two to turn up the sexual element of your on screen relationship.

⏾ you were now all over each other at all times, you were wearing shorter dresses, unbuttoning his white shirt before matches for him, he was constantly groping you and kissing your neck, just touchy.

⏾ you two immediately became significantly closer. the tension from your fake relationship spilling into your friendship. it was obvious, something was happening here.

⏾ you two were now hanging out without shawn, or the chaos of the kliq, just one on one. you work out together in hotel gyms, go on coffee runs because the coffee in the arena sucks, eat together in catering way before or after lunch breaks so you can be with each other in peace. sometimes, you'd just sit together just to be in each other's presence.

⏾ you and hunter were entering the mutual crush phase, and it was so beyond obvious to everyone around you.

⏾ shawn was your biggest fan, no one wanted you two to get together more than he did. he was always teasing you two, making loud kissing noises when you and hunter were doing literally anything, 'your girlfriend' to hunter's face when you were right there. shawn would even purposefully create situations where you and hunter had to be basically breathing each other's air. whether it's him taking up more space in cars so you'd be forced to sit on hunter's lap, or talking one of the boys who didn’t need much convincing into locking you two in a a tiny closet.

⏾ then degeneration-x formed, you two couldn't escape each other now.

⏾ shawn lobbied hard for you and hunter to be in the faction, and it was immediate perfection. it became a public secret that you and hunter had something going on, everyone backstage was so aware of it, and the fans began seeing it during shows. it was obvious it wasn't just the 'y/n and hunter are married' thing, even commentary would make jokes about it.

⏾ it went from casual friends, to close friends, to no one really knows what's going in with you two. now became stolen glances, hidden touches, whispered words, longing looks, painful yearning. hunter was always hugging you, his arms were always around your shoulders or you waist, hand glued to your hip, heart eyes.

⏾ you two were almost always cuddled up, hunter didn't care if people talked, he was obsessed with you. he wanted to always be near you, to be the one who made you laugh, to be the one who made you feel safe and love. he would even kiss your head and cheeks, he didn't care who saw. the relentless teasing was worth it, all the jokes and the stares. it was all worth those couple minutes of intimacy.

⏾ but he wanted more, both of you did.

⏾ it all boiled up to a moment when are four of you were on the road. shawn had stopped the car, and him and chyna went into a convenient store to buy some snacks and drinks. you and hunter were sitting in the back seat when he turned to you, and asked;

"why aren't i your boyfriend?"

"you haven't asked me-"

"can you please be my girlfriend? like please?"

"yeah, i would love that."

⏾ by the time shawn and chyna came back, you two were busy making out, not paying attention to anything but each other. shawn loudly knocked on the window, "happy for you, idiots, but not in my car." he said, chyna laughing in the background.

⏾ hunter is so obsessed with you.

⏾ hunter is also such a jealous boyfriend. it took him so long to finally have you all to himself, and he sure as hell wasn't going to let you get away from him. he fucking hated the way some wrestlers backstage looked at you, sometimes even the fans at ringside pissed him off. you were his, and his alone.

⏾ he would possessively show you off. if someone in particular was annoying him, he'd pull you as close as possible to him, sometimes on his lap if he could. he'd hold and kiss you while holding eye contact with that person. he didn't give a fuck, you were his.

⏾ he'd also refuse to let you out of his sight. if you had a match, or a promo, he's there watching, the furthest he could be was gorilla. if you had to change, he was in your locker room. he was always there, but he had limits, of course. if you wanted to be left alone, he respected your boundaries.

⏾ he was so protective of you, so, so protective. he hates seeing you upset, or bothered. he would do anything to make his girl happy. he didn't care if he had to spend his entire cheque spoiling you, hunter would go to hell back to see you smile.

"is that a diamond fucking ring?"

"anything for my baby."

⏾ loves, loves, loves when you ask him to give you head. that man is a munch, i don't care what anyone thinks. especially as he gets older, baby, that alone gets him off.

⏾ absolutely adores seeing you in his clothes, specifically in his leather jackets.

⏾ super touchy. whether it's a hand around your waist, around your shoulders, finger hooked on a belt loop on your pants. hunter always needs contact, especially when emotions are high. you're the only person who he could feel genuinely and wholly vulnerable with.

⏾ huge on cheek and forehead kisses

⏾ genuinely, has a sexual thing for you sitting his lap. has something to do with him being so much bigger than you.

⏾ massive daddy kink, even worse sir kink.

⏾ also has thing for seeing you in his merch, or anything with his name on it.

⏾ literally gets so annoyed and straight up upset when you have to do anything. he wants you to just sit back and relax, he wants to take care of you all the time. hates seeing you up on your feet doing something he could do for you. he gets borderline embarrassed.

“where are you going?”

“to get.. water..?”

“water? mhm, what else do you want?”

“uhm.. a sandwich…?”

“seat your ass the fuck down, then.”

⏾ you’re so beyond spoiled in this relationship. want a sandwich? he’ll start with making his own bread from scratch. need a change of clothes? here’s his comfiest hoodie, while he does your laundry. want to paint your nails? gel, or regular polish? you want a diamond ring? do you want that lab grown or naturally mined?

⏾ when he began growing his beard, he became absolutely in love with you trimming and cleaning it up for him. he closeness, having you on his lap, the bathroom smells like aftershave and your perfume, your clothes are slightly damp and he can’t get that silly smile of his face for you to actually work.

⏾ you’re his bestest friend :(

⏾ constantly reminds you that he loves you, mostly because he’s loves hearing you telling him you love him back.

⏾ gets the most raging boners when you tug on his hair. like, this man is borderline whimpering when your fingers barely graze his scalp.

⏾ the second you’re on your knees for him, he loses his mind. it’s like he can’t breathe anymore.

⏾ LIVES between your thighs. his eyes barely open, licking and sucking, he’s humping the bed beneath him. it’s gets him off so much. (i’m obsessed w this can u tell)

⏾ sit on his face, smother him. his nose takes care of your clit. (iykyk)

⏾ “angel” and “baby” are his favourite nicknames for you.

⏾ one of his favourite things to do was to rub the fact that you’re his in the faces of your fanboys. he lived for it, it gave him an excuse to be all over you on national television. the explicitness of dx also added to him being just inappropriate on live television.

“see this? see all of this? *actively groping you*, i get to have this gorgeous, sexy woman all to myself *more groping ofc*. and you pathetic scums can’t have her, you can just watch. *groping intensifies*”

“suck it? i mean, as long as it’s this pretty little thing”

⏾ (stupidly) flirts with you like his life depends on it

“ya come here often?”

“??? we both work here.”

⏾ 5939/10, need him. need him bad

[amoebab22]

Hard agree on this. Also wtf is Bellara's class?? Mage? Rogue? Why can't she do mage stuff in battle?? Does she just have a cool magic pip boy or....

Really only Davrin, Bellara, and Harding's personal quests make sense.

Analysis of each in no particular order below the cut.

Bellara has to go do calibrations initially (classic Bioware) but you get the sense she does this on the regular because of Cyrian's death, so the fact she "waits" for Rook makes sense because it feels like she does this weekly or whatever so we could just tag along one time. We also find this magic archive with important knowledge which somehow is not a Chekov's gun, but initially I was like okay this is a little forced BUT this could be so useful!!! (But then it's just like, not at all.) So of course we're gonna go help her figure it out but then we run into Cyrian and he's working with yet another evil ancient mage and well, shit, we should probably take care of that. Sure, his funeral might not be necessary, but because he sacrifices himself to defeat the forgotten one, I can see Rook feeling an obligation to him.

(Also, what happened to the Dalish burying their dead because it was more like uthenera? Also why are the Dalish up in Tevinter and Antiva where they could be enslaved? Also why are Tevene magisters not up in Arlathan forest doing their fucked up magic PhDs by stealing Elvhen shit??)

Anyway, then we have Harding, who can SUDDENLY CONTROL ROCKS??? Yeah, that's PRESSING to figure out. And yeah of course she's waiting for Rook to come in case she needs help cuz fuck if she knows how this rock shit works. Going to Kal-sharok (sp?) also makes sense cuz well fuck they've somehow survived the Blight alone for a thousand years (side note, the dude says they had to do terrible things to survive but then I didn't see that explained? I assume cannibalism. But did I miss that explanation? I was ready for some Broodmother shit. I was READY. That quest fucked me up in DAO), which hey, the Blight is different now, but these guys are the Legion of the Dead on steroids. If I was Rook I'd be begging for their help.

Then her whole quest kind of unravels for me. I admittedly got bored. Once she could control the stone it just felt like a ton of exposition that could have been done in a more engaging way. Also why is she going camping in Ferelden with Emmrich when the entire country is basically dead? It would make more sense for us to use her powers to rescue her parents or something? Something hyper personal that's really urgent.

Finally we have Davrin, the most obvious choice to join up. He's a goddamn Grey Warden (Wardens, my morally grey beloveds), and Wardens are sworn to fight the Blight at any and all costs. That's why Clarel could be convinced to do what she did. That's why Isseya was ordered to blight the griffons and ultimately did it, despite hating it and knowing it was evil. That's why the Wardens forced Hawke's father to do blood magic. And that's why a few Wardens followed First Warden Genevieve into the Deep Roads in The Calling to find her brother (which, good book other than the fact that Maric has a weird elf fetish and had never learned not to think with his dick. Loghain was holding Ferelden together tbh). The Wardens are compelling because they're the ultimate "the ends justify the means" group, who are unknowingly weakening the Veil each time they stop a Blight, which could ultimately unleash all of the Blight.

And Davrin is up against this Architect-like blighted creature so yeah, he's not taking that shit on without some back up. And Rook really doesn't want the Gloom Howler or her calling-addled Wardens rolling around. Seems bad when the gods control the Blight. So waiting for Rook makes sense, and a harder fight when you ignore his shit also makes sense.

We could have had Emmrich join up and speed up his timeline on being a Lich supposedly because the power would help the fight, only to find out it's really because he's terrified of dying.

Lucanis should have been more like Zevran: an unwilling Crow who volunteers so they can have some goddamn agency for once in their life and because fuck it, they were gonna die anyway. Much like a Warden, they would have accepted death.

A Shadow Dragon would be down to kill Venatori and super powerful mage slaveholders. I mean, my Shadow Dragon Rook killed slavers too hard for the group. We could take another one of those. A former slave Shadow Dragon would be extremely conflicted about fighting Solas (if he'd been characterized correctly and not retconned into an asshole) because Solas is a former slave who freed slaves. Hell, without sufficient loyalty to Rook, they'd JOIN Solas in a final battle.

Or, frankly? Dorian could join us again. Solas made Dorian a better person. Dorian has an amazing, genius level understanding of the Veil and magic. He kept up with Solas's discussion of magic every time. Yeah yeah, it has to be a new leader, but uh, Lace is there. Dorian would immediately be like oh, another world threatening evil mage? Two this time?? Well, looks like I'm coming out of retirement. Dorian would *struggle* to kill Solas. Solas is the reason (along with possibly Inky) that Dorian is fighting to end slavery in Tevinter. Solas maybe wasn't his friend, but Solas was *right* about so much. And Dorian would have felt the Veil weakening. He'd know. And I think he'd really sympathize with Solas's story of being coerced into being something he's not, into doing things he doesn't believe in, by people that say they love him. That would hit home. And without high enough loyalty to Rook, an Inquisitor who vowed to save Solas and Dorian could turn on Rook in the end. They could side with Solas, see that his place actually makes sense (because it does, in an 'ends justify the means' way. In a 'this is inevitable, and doing it in a controlled way is better than a chaotic collapse' way).

But then we'd have to sympathize with Solas and we'd want to take down the Veil. Which would end the story, and by god EA and Bioware are gonna milk that IP until it's a desicated corpse.

Ok fine you guys twisted my arm (I say to a completely empty room) here's why I think Mass Effect 2 worked and Veilguard tried to copy it and failed.

First up is the complexity of the goal/plot. In ME2, the end goal was simple: Stop the Collectors from harvesting humans. Blast off through the Omega 4 Relay and probably die. Take down as many Collectors as possible before you die. Basically, shoot stuff until it explodes. It made sense that half of the squadmates were just "legendary badass", "legendary badass (green skin version)" and "legendary badass (huge tits version)." You need to kill dudes, so you pick people who are good at killing. There are a few who are better at tech or science, but they use tech and science to, you guessed it, kill dudes. Then you have a few who join due to aligning goals (Legion) or loyalty to Shepard (Tali, Garrus) or humanity/Cerberus (Jacob, Miranda), or they're literally getting paid to be there (Kasumi and Zaeed). But all of them have reasons to stick around, of various importance.

The specificity of the main plot is also relevant here, because everybody in the galaxy is like "oh humans are getting kidnapped? sucks to suck dude rip in piss ://" so it makes sense to recruit whoever you can get. You need help for an issue that (according to everyone who would otherwise help) only concerns you. So you're like "hey are you good at killing? and do you mind dying?" and most of those freaks go "yeah lmao whatever." They're self-selecting, because the cause is so specific and explicitly suicidal.

The suicidal thing also helps explain the loyalty missions, btw. They're not presented as "hey can you umm help? or I'm gonna be distwacted 👉👈" but as "hey man, these people are willing to die on your command, you should probably help them with their unfinished business at the very least." And yeah, the mechanic of "if you don't help they'll fucking perish" remains the same, but the framing is different. In ME2, you're basically helping a bunch of professionals to do this final thing before they die for your cause. It's both a sign of respect and of consideration for them as people, and strengthens your bond with them and their loyalty to you. The way it's framed means that you don't have to do this in order for them to do their job, but doing it helps strengthen their belief in you.

And because the stakes are relatively low (as far as everyone knows), of course the squadmates will respect and appreciate a Shepard who takes care of them more. Of course it builds loyalty. This person isn't just using you as a meat shield for their pet crusade, they're genuinely trying to do what's right and don't want you to die for nothing.

In Veilguard, you're literally told multiple times that you have to do their dumbfuck busywork or else they're gonna throw in the towel. Hey man can you do this thing? Or else I'm not saving the world :3c The stakes being SO HIGH while their issues are SO NOTHING makes most of them look really immature and incompetent, which clashes against the whole "gang of experts" thing. You're telling me this couldn't wait? I have to go into Lucanis' mind and figure out his traumas or else he won't ... hold a knife good? And that will doom the world because he's the only guy who can hold a knife? Okay???

ME2 presents everybody as professionals and experts in their field, but at the end of the day, they're just there to kill stuff. Remove one, and another will be found. The mission is (as far as everyone in power knows) not galaxy-threatening yet, so finding new guys to help would be easy. That's why Shep taking the time to solve their final issues means something and why it earns their loyalty. It shows that Shep cares about them as people.

Veilguard presents these people as experts in their fields, too. They're considered irreplacable in this conflict. And the conflict is saving the whole entire fucking world. And YET, that has to take a backseat to them figuring out what happened to a work colleague or Lucanis' grandma, because none of these experts can take a fucking chill pill to SAVE THE WORLD.

ME2 offers "low" stakes for the conflict and high stakes for the characters, so when it focuses on the characters' stories, it makes sense. You get the impression that it's character drama with a common goal that brings them all together. Veilguard offers high stakes for the plot and low stakes for the characters, but still focuses on the characters, so you get the sense that we're fucking around playing therapist while the world is on fire in the background, and it's presented as totally logical, because these guys can't save the world without a clear mind!! Despite being ... experts in their fields.

That's why, to me, Rook feels like a therapist while Shep feels like a leader.

Anyway, this is the formal end of the post but I wrote more on the specific character motivations of the Veilguard and why they don't work/feel trite to me and how that adds to Rook feeling like they're a therapist but it didn't fit with the rest of the post so under cut.

Another thing is that, while sometimes the problems of the Veilguard are technically higher stakes than the problems of the ME2 squad, there is a sense of "Hey do you actually need me for this?" And that I think is in part to the lacking motivations of the Veilguard. It's so unclear why some of them stick around that it becomes difficult to justify why they wouldn't just leave to fix their own issues.

(For example, Garrus asks us to help kill a guy. The guy isn't dangerous, he's not out there killing people or in possession of a superweapon ready to destroy a city. He's just an asshole and Garrus wants revenge. He could, technically, leave and just kill the guy himself. He knows where the guy is, so what's holding him back? Well, the job is. And Shepard is. Garrus wants Shep's help, because he doesn't trust himself to finish it on his own. He needs somebody to rely on, but he also knows that he can't just leave without Shep's permission, and that Shep needs him, too. Everything is on Shep's schedule, and there's no real time limit. His revenge can wait until Shep is ready to offer their help.

Neve is hunting an old rival who is a blood mage threatening to enslave her favorite city in all da world. It's pretty damn high stakes. But in my playthrough, Neve wasn't counting on Rook's help at all. In fact, she explicitly mentioned several times that she didn't. Yet, she still sat around and waited for their help. She didn't leave to deal with this on her own, didn't even consider it. But why not? What about Rook or this cause is keeping her there, especially since there's canonically time before the next big move and the issue is so high-stakes and pressing? People will die if she doesn't do something, yet she's sitting on her ass waiting for Rook, whose help she isn't counting on, to step up? What???)

Neve is introduced as being hired by Varric to find Solas, which she does. In the tutorial mission. She sticks around after Varric dies because ... she's in too deep now, I guess. She has to help save the world, you see. Even though all she wants is to go back to Minrathous and protect the people there. She wants your help to. Figure out some stuff. The famous big city detective needs the help of a person who's introduced as somebody who "thinks in straight lines" and whose nickname is probably a play on "rookie." She is not getting paid for this. She's doing this out of the kindness of her heart, even though most of her time on screen is spent dreaming of her favorite city in da world. She's not an expert in anything that has to do with the current plot, so she's in-fiction not really vital to keep around. Her role as a mage is made entirely pointless by the existence of Bellara and Emmrich. Supposedly her area of expertise is in blood magic ... despite hating it and not actually practicing it, on account of it being bad and evil. So she's an expert in killing blood mages, then?

Well, no. That's Lucanis. He's the resident mage killer ... who we find in an underwater prison, guarded by blood mages. I get there is a reason for why he was defeated, but the optics aren't great, ya know? We don't really free him as much as we lightly distract his guards, so he can bust out of the prison fully clothed and armored. He's suuper eager for revenge, but he's also been forcefully possessed. But that's okay, because we need his expertise for um. Killing mages. Which is what the Evanuris are. So this random possessed human guy will know better than anybody else how to kill the Evanuris. Sure. He decides to stick around on account of ... the Crows always finishing a contract. Who is paying him? Who is paying the Crows? His gam-gam ordered him to stay, she's basically offering us his services for freeing him. Guy is an indentured servant but acts like it's his choice, like it's an honor thing and not his grandma putting him in the toilet. And when it's time for him to show/offer his expertise in the field, he says "How am I supposed to fight a cloud?" which is fair enough, sure. But have you not fought mages before? Do you not have any reference for them doing weird shit at all? Do you not know how to disrupt rituals, break barriers? In the end, all he can practically do is hold the special knife and attempt to stick the pointy end into his target. Which my rogue Rook or Davrin or Taash chould've done. But gam-gam says to sit so he sits! It's not a very compelling motivation for this epic expert mage killer to just kinda. Stick around out of obligation. It could've been interesting, if he chafed against it or had to be won over, but he's just fine with it. It's treated as natural that this dude, who isn't even slightly an actual expert and is just a glorified knife holder and who isn't practically useful in any sense of the word, is still in the group. It's treated as natural that Rook has to go out of their way to help him clear his mind so he can hold the knife better next time, instead of just finding another guy to hold the knife. Maybe the spirit in him makes him stronger and more capable of fighting mages? No, the spirit is what made him miss in the first place, actually! So you have to help him figure it out or he'll miss again. DON'T ask somebody else to hold the knife though. It HAS TO BE Lucanis. Because he's the mage killer expert. Who missed. And can't handle mages.

Then we have Taash, who we need to kill the blighted dragons. They're the only dragon hunter around and have an encyclopedic knowledge of said dragons. Unfortunately the blighted state of the dragons that are actually necessary to kill are behaving in unexpected and different ways from normal dragons. They're literally manipulated by the Evanuris to be harder to kill. Making Taash's expertise moot. I didn't even have them in my party when I took on two dragons at once, and in fact the only dragons that Taash is presented as capable of killing are ones that they want us to kill. So this expert we recruit mostly introduces more dragons for us to kill that aren't actually threatening us in any way. The main time Taash has to show off their knowledge is when we use the dragon trap ... which was fashioned by Wardens. Who are all trained specifically to fight Archdemons. Who are dragons. That are blighted. Do you uh. Do you see my problem here. Taash also sticks around the Veilguard for inexplicable reasons. Mostly it seems they don't want to go home to their mother, which is fine, but this is a whole-ass adult, supposedly. They could go back to hunting dragons for the Lords, because they're written as too self-absorbed to really care about stepping up to the fight just for the sake of it. So despite them not really being useful in any way to the overall plot, we still have to help them figure out their gender identity, or else they won't be able to ... fight the blighted dragons. Which they couldn't fight. On account of the blight. Cool cool cool.

Then we have Emmrich, who is a professor and has shit to do. He is also presented as a Fade expert, while Bellara is somehow not, despite doing most of the Fade-related and artifact-related magic on-screen. Emmrich joins the Veilguard on account of um. Well we asked nicely, and he's a good guy, so he has to help save the world. Despite the fact that he's terrified of dying. Which he's far more likely to do after leaving his job. And the thing is, yeah, "the world might end so we need to stop that!" is a valid motivation, but if we accept it as the motivation of a central character whose plot we must find compelling, then why is it that it's only a few guys trying to save the world? This conflict is prestented as bigger than all the previous games combined, bigger than (the) Inquisition, which had literally entire armies and different branches and infrastructure for it's "smaller" conflict, and people were still volunteering and joining in droves, but here we're 8 guys? Are we meant to believe Emmrich's willingness to join the Veilguard is somehow unique to him, and that nobody else in the world would volunteer to join? When Harding exists, on the same team?

Speaking of, Harding is a character who can really get away with "I wanna save the world", because her joining the Inquisition is literally how she got into the plot in the first place. She's a joiner. She joins heroic causes. So her having this sort of bare-bones but noble motivation works. Same with Davrin. Bellara seems to join out of both curiosity and guilt, which are interesting enough reasons and come through visibly in her subplot and characterization, but more importantly, she doesn't have anything holding her back that might take priority until she finds out her brother is alive. Her sticking around also makes some sense because she's ya know. An elf mage Fade expert. Or sorry an elf artifacts expert.

I'm not saying "somebody's gotta do it!" or "it's the right thing to do!" aren't valid motivations, they clearly are, but there's gotta be more to it, especially when it comes to characters who have something to lose like Emmrich. My guy is terrified of death but he's such a good dude that he jumps into this life-threatening conflict without a second thought? But then gets so "distracted" by his wacky scientist former colleague that he needs our help figuring it out? Huh???

Um. I didn't have a conclussy for this part of the post so. bye

[astonmartinii]

day ten: three (un)wise men | lando norris social media au

pairing: lando norris x fem piastri reader

christmas time is the one time of year oscar has some peace and quiet away from his teammate... or at least it was

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

yourusername

liked by alexalbon, georgerussell63 and 671,209 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername: the piastri house just got a bit busier

view all comments

user2: just take me out back and put me out of my misery

user3: add me to the list

oscarpiastri: i think you'll find it was quite busy enough

yourusername: boring, get a new routine bozo

oscarpiastri: i am not wholly opposed to this relationship but that was before he invaded our house and got mum to get rid of all of my salmon

landonorris: i am ALLERGIC

oscarpiastri: that's such a lie ???

landonorris: your mum believed it

oscarpiastri: you're just letting him lie to mum @yourusername

yourusername: he didn't lie he just embellished the truth

oscarpiastri: i'm telling mum we've just thrown out perfectly good salmon

landonorris: NOOOOOO

yourusername: well this isn't dramatic at all

oscarpiastri: @zakbrownceo lando just pushed me down the stairs

landonorris: snitches get stitches

oscarpiastri: i probably already need some :(

yourusername: you're literally fine osc let's stop being dramatic please

user4: my new years wish is to be in a relationship like theirs

user5: i think i would do anything at this point

user6: in brother's best friend we believe

oscarpiastri: BEST FRIEND?

landonorris: wow osc tell me how you really feel

oscarpiastri: i mean i like you, i tolerate your relationship with my sister but i draw the line at saying you're my best friend

logansargeant: logan sargeant erasure for sure

user7: so like now y/n is done with her degree will we get her in the paddock more

mclarenf1: not if this is what happens when she's around

user8: it's funny?

mclarenf1: oscar got thrown down the stairs over fish?

user9: they're called the three unwise men for a reason

landonorris

liked by oscarpiastri, carlossainz55 and 893,209 others

tagged: yourusername

landonorris: first christmas down under

view all comments

user10: why is this actually making me want a hot christmas?

user11: if it seems so wrong why do i want it to be right?

user12: i can't be sweaty while eating christmas dinner sorry

yourusername: that's not necessarily true

landonorris: oh! yes... hehehehe

oscarpiastri: SHUT THE FUCK UP

yourusername: why are you in our business ?

oscarpiastri: you're making it my business

landonorris: and how would we be doing that?

oscarpiastri: you're cuddled up like two ft away from me, giggling very loudly and saying 'what you gonna say to that osc'

yourusername: us? never!

oscarpiastri: i'm going to tear out my hair before the end of christmas

yourusername: with that forehead? no you won't

oscarpiastri: life was so peaceful when you went to lando's for christmas

landonorris: it might have been peaceful but you did miss us ... the phone logs prove it

user13: they gotta be so annoying for the other piastris

user14: idk i think they're like puppies that have to get all of their zoomies out and then just pass out on the couch

user15: more like lando and y/n are the big bumbling dogs and oscar is the one unimpressed cat who will on occasion chase their tails

carlossainz55: and yet you never made the short trip to spain... makes you think

yourusername: i'm way cuter than you

carlossainz55: is it just a piastri thing to be annoying

oscarpiastri: excuse me?

carlossainz55: you heard me the first time

yourusername: this is a crazy hill to die on considering lando will be a piastri in the near future

oscarpiastri: he basically already is

landonorris: omg i knew you guys loved me

carlossainz55: ew?

oscarpiastri

liked by yourusername, landonorris and 1,204,377 others

oscarpiastri: you know what they were right to call us the three unwise men because why did i come down to get a glass of water to see lando under the tree in nothing but a ribbon i NEED all three of us dead at this point

view all comments

user17: exsqueeze me?

user18: lord i have seen what you have done for other people

user19: my only thing is ... lando doesn't seem the most flexible how did he do the ribbon bows himself ...

maxfewtrell: most traumatic facetime of my life

yourusername: you can be angry about this, i personally do not give a fuck

oscarpiastri: that much is clear

yourusername: lando made it very clear that we had bagsied the living room for the evening

oscarpiastri: you have a christmas tree in your room? why didn't you do that there?

yourusername: you have an en suite you could've gotten a glass of water from there?

landonorris: i think i know the issue here

oscarpiastri: oh please do share your wisdom

landonorris: you seeing me like that changed something inside of you

landonorris: are you having an identity crisis osc?

oscarpiastri: no?

yourusername: good! he's mine!

oscarpiastri: i was in shock because i saw my future brother in law 90% naked on my living room floor

landonorris: i can see that

yourusername: omg look at us we're so good at talking it through - therapy who?

alexalbon: PLEASE STILL GO TO THERAPY DEAR LORD

oscarpiastri: i will defo still be talking to my therapist about this

user20: i know the caption is traumatising but also lets have a second to think about how oscar has just posted three memes of himself

oscarpiastri: i have a very expressive face i gotta use it

maxverstappen1: wowwowowow lando is stooping low for the mental games this season

maxverstappen1: let it be known lando, gay chicken is not very effective in psychological warfare

landonorris: okay?

maxverstappen1: it will just take your love away from you ....

landonorris: i don't want osc? i am very happy with the piastri i have

yourusername: i am the best piastri :P

oscarpiastri: i'm gonna ignore the whole slander in the comment above but are we all ignoring how max is lamenting over his loss of daniel?

yourusername: i think we should just leave him to it ....

yourusername

liked by georgerussell63, maxverstappen1 and 782,309 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername: i got my present this year, yes ribbon included

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user21: slowly but surely you guys are pushing me into my hater era

user22: if you're gonna brag about it can we at least get some photgraphic evidence

user23: PRETTY PLEASE

yourusername: that's for my eyes only

oscarpiastri: and mine apparently

landonorris: i gotta spoil my girl

alexalbon: but from what oscar's post says the present was you?

landonorris: well yes!

alexalbon: wow that must be disappointing i'm sorry @yourusername

yourusername: i can assure you i was very happy with my gift

landonorris: see alex !!!!

landonorris: i also got y/n other gifts

alexalbon: i should think so considering i've seen you in changing rooms :/

georgerussell63: another woman disappointed on christmas, not very feminist of you lando

landonorris: NO BODY SHAMING ON CHRISTMAS

landonorris: also WHAT?

user24: poor lando - he can't escape the bullying from alex and george even on christmas

user25: it's good entertainment tbf

oscarpiastri: i'm glad my trauma was a nice gift for you

yourusername: ur still whining about that?

oscarpiastri: yes i will whine until i die it was TERRIFYING

landonorris: you can keep complaining

landonorris: but i'll do it again next year

oscarpiastri: cool you can traumatise YOUR family instead

landonorris: oh you'll be there

oscarpiastri: huh?

yourusername: you guys are all coming to somerset next year!!!

oscarpiastri: i didn't consent to this?

yourusername: we can't split up the three unwise men :(

landonorris: please osc :(

oscarpiastri: fine.

landonorris

liked by maxverstappen1, yukitsunoda0511 and 982,309 others

tagged: yourusername & oscarpiastri

landonorris: no shrimps on the barbie at christmas i am very disappointed

view all comments

user27: didn't they throw out all the fish when lando arrived...

user28: let's sit back and watch oscar vs lando part 289 since christmas started

oscarpiastri: you raise a GREAT POINT

oscarpiastri: i got thrown down the stairs for no point?

landonorris: i fought you in self defence?

oscarpiastri: i didn't have any fish in my hands? STOP VICTIM BLAMING

landonorris: actually it was only like three steps

oscarpiastri: three steps constitute stairs

landonorris: nuh uh three steps does not a stairs make

user29: yall done?

yourusername: you don't even like fish?

landonorris: but i love YOU !!!

yourusername: i love you toooooo

yourusername: but you're gonna have to get over it because next aussie christmas i will be having my seafood

landonorris: i guess so

landonorris: but just for you!

yourusername: awwww this is real love :3

user30: i think we've just seen y/n tie lando down for life

yourusername: oh believe me i've tied him down before

landonorris: hehehehehe

oscarpiastri: idk i defo saw a shrimp ...

oscarpiastri: in a ribbon...

landonorris: well i was hardly ever gonna be excited to see YOU

yourusername: it's okay babe he's just trying to rattle you

oscarpiastri: i'm just stating what i saw

yourusername: that's it !!! the next time your next to stairs it's ME you should be worried about

oscarpiastri: well this is not very christmas spirit of you

landonorris: we got all our christmas spirit out even when you tried to cockblock

oscarpiastri: i'm going to block both of you

user31: three unwise men i love you all

user32: mclaren please never take them away from me

user33: @ mclaren please bring back unboxed with y/n as host please

yourusername: i only star in not safe for work videos with lando sorry

landonorris: :3333333

oscarpiastri: i'm going to kill myself

fin.

note: nearly done with this series woooooo!!!!

[jedi-enthusiasm-blog]

Listen maybe the jedi couldn't end slavery on tattooine in their lifetime with just the numbers they had, sure. But they could've gone back for anakin's mom, like the one woman who is clearly a sore spot for him, I get it, not attachments and all, but he's far more likely to not make a sudden, angry, rash decision and slaughter not just the men, but the women and the children as well if she's not in danger of being kidnapped and murdered right?

Beautiful comment left by a dear in my post about the Jedi's limited numbers. At least it wasn't an essay in the reblogs, unlike the last… seven or eight I think. Idk, I lost count after three people dropped anti-Jedi essays I definitely didn't ask for in less than an hour in a clearly tagged post that wasn't even meant to be serious.

Now for the response because why the heck not?:

1) Sorry to break it to you buddy but she could still be kidnaped tortured and murdered on Couruscant.

2) They should have gone back to free one slave and risk war with the Hutts since Watto has connections with them? Really? It sounds really fucking risky. Plus, when freeing slaves, slaves are hostages, freeing them is dangerous for both the slave, the person/people freeing them and whoever is in the blast radious since, y'know, there's a fucking bomb inside them.

3) They did free her in Legends, or at least had a part in her winning her freedom.

4) It's not the Jedi's job to placate a fucking genocidal child murderer, it's ANAKIN'S job to keep his shit together and not murder people.

5) Why does Shmi deserve freedom more urgently than any other slave? Because she's nice? Because she's Anakin's mom? Newflash mate, freedom is a right and even the rudest slave who has no family or friends deserves it. What you say is ATTACHMENT, it's the Dark Side. You'd be saving Shmi because of who she is in relationship to someone else or because she's "earned" it, not because she's a fucking person and deserves her basic human rights. Arguably, if you flip this you could just as easily say that a rude person with no friends and family deserves slavery, or at the very least shouldn't be a priority when freeing slaves.

6) George Lucas is more metaphorical than literal, and the PT suffered for it (it does have some holes).

7) How do you know the Jedi didn't try to free her but couldn't for X reason? That headcanon is just as valid as saying they never tried (actually more, since Qui-Gon did try).

8) It bears repeating: it's ANAKIN'S responsability to keep his shit together and not. murder. people. I don't give a fuck that his mom died, it's no excuse to MURDER FUCKING CHILDREN. Shmi didn't deserve to be kidnaped, tortured and murdered, but the Tuskens (the children most of all) didn't deserve to be slaughtered like animals either.

9) I'm gonna say it again because this is serious: Anakin shouldn't be coddled by the fans, he was above the IRL age of majority in most countries, twelve year olds spent their whole lives in PRISON for far less and he got married literally one day after. He. Was. An. Adult.

I apologize for the essay because it does seem disproportionate in hindsight. But after months of having nearly every single one of my posts infested with anti-Jedi people dropping essays I have clearly stated I don't want, after years of not being able to enjoy the content I like without looking at comments and reblogs and seeing vitrol towards not just the fictional characters I love but towards me and other real people, I'm at the end of my patience.

I won't tag you in the end, commenter, because I don't want to give any incentives for harassment or make you or anybody who sees Star Wars like you to feel upset by reading this. You are entitled to your opinions as much as I am to mine. If you see this post, you know who you are.

[nemainofthewater]

One day left, and Caoxiang are in the lead with 58.8%, followed by Jiang yanli with 15%, and then Everyone from A journey to Love with 7.1%.

Tag propaganda under the cut:

Jiang Yanli

#jyl lives in all our hearts forever and ever by @chord-assassination

Everyone (A Journey to Love)

#having complicated feelings about everyone from a journey to love#like i dont know if i should laugh or cry#oh to have an entire arc dedicated to killing your favs#like cdramas often do#pain is all i know#thanks to cdramas#a journey to love by @mysteriousboo

#this was so hard#i was pulled bt gx/cw and ajtl cast both were DEVASTATING#ajtl eventually won it might be recency bias but#that show basically said bond with this found family for 30+ ep and then not only are most of them gonna DIE#but their individual deaths will be drawn out in the last 6ish episodes#you can't turn away bc you've bonded so much so u just watch almost the whole main cast die horribly lonely deaths#and the sick thing is they warned you this wouldn't end well. YOU KNEW yet it's a credit to show and actors how devastating it truly was#tragedy that is tragedy#of course i wavered with gx/cw they were so YOUNG and it felt way too SOON and they had just achieved a beautiful glimpse of life 😭#but i was admittedly soothed by knowledge woh watchers would carry so i wanted a chance to shine the light on another devastating tragedy#i cried so much in last eps of ajtl. witnessing the first 3 deaths was AWFUL it hit me oh this is how they're doing it huh#the fact the first 3 deaths they at least had somebody near them? but the last 3 didn't bc most of the team was gone by then?? heartbreakin#poll#cdrama#word of honor#a journey to love by @unfriendlycoelacanth

In honour of the fact it is the evening preceding the birth of a religious figure best known for rising from the dead please have this poll.

They are alive in our hearts 😭😭😭😭😭

There are SPOILERS

SO MANY SPOILERS

PROCEED AT YOUR OWN RISK

Write-ins, propaganda, and images are welcome!

[nabaath-areng]

Then and now: Ieeha

I don't know how this meme is supposed to go but I was tagged by @lynxden so I'll just briefly go through Ieeha from start to finish <3

Starting with 2014:

I bought this game as a birthday present for myself, I had NO idea what it was about and had never played any MMO before, but I was well into FF as a franchise and my friend who was too told me "Imagine FF... but with your own character...", and that was all I needed to jump in LOL.

It's funny looking back because the character I originally made had a different name, and I made him because I wanted a basic and bland, short gridanian lancer. The most unremarkable dude you could possibly imagine...

And then I unlocked dragoon. Which is decidedly NOT unremarkable and bland. Which led me to explore other jobs in just a few months, leading me to leveling White Mage and then Scholar, which remain my go-to, most played jobs to this very day.

"But how did that become Ieeha later" you may ask... well, it was a gradual process of going from his original character aesthetic to one that begins to resemble the Ieeha I know now.

Frankly what held me back a lot in the design department was the gender lock on gear, which lead me to frequently fantasia him to various female race variants of himself´:

(I'm also including these because there was no Gpose. The sheer effort I put in constantly to time weather, time of day for lighting, cooldown for skills etc....... lets get you to bed grandpa etc)

2024:

I revamped him (lore, name, background etc) in 2021, and then with Dawntrail his old face didn't resemble him anymore and I had to change it. Some tweaking was done but I can confidently say that I'm happier with him than ever and I'm sorry but I'm going to keep gushing about it <333

I never really had OCs before him, so in a sense he's my ever first one, which gives him a special place in my heart. It's taken so long to get here in terms of allowing myself to love him as much as I truly do and not feel weighed down by other people's opinions, and it's really improved my relationship to my creative ideas as well.

[chickenkurage]

DAY 4: (not) ASKING FOR HELP

Creator Stickman Alan AU

Summary: After being saved from Halo and having his memories wiped (it didn’t work of course… of course, 06 would never let him rest). Alan finds himself… broken. He refuses to accept help.

Tag/s: Hurt no Comfort, Injury/Burns, Family Dynamics, Panic Attacks, References to Depression.

Alan never liked asking for help, he’s always able to do what was needed. Whether it’s a chore or some other stuff. He would almost always never ask for help, that’s just– basically against his nature. 

He is an able bodied person, he can handle being tired. He can handle being out of breath to do something his body is not quite used to.

He can handle–

“Alan?” Alan flinched, his head bumping the roof of the kitchen cabinet, causing Second, who called him to let out an ‘ooh’ as Alan rubbed the back of his head, turning towards the orange hollowhead who held on a wince.

“Sec,” Alan mumbled, his other hand holding an orange juice he had been trying to sneak out from the fridge. “Alan… aren’t you supposed to be sleeping?” Second asked, an amused smile in his face as he tilted his head.

There they go again, treating me like a child. Alan thought, dismayed, his hand tightening on the bottle in his hands. It took him a lot of self control to not burn the whole bottle in his hand.

He’s been doing that– trying his best not to get angry. Everyone has been treating him like some kind of… glass. Walking around on eggshells around him.

"I am, I just need something to drink," Alan replied, twisting the cap off the bottle and taking a sip, secretly wishing it were alcohol instead. Well, beggars can't be choosers, Alan thought dismally as he heard Second clear his throat.

"Do you... Do you want to talk?" Second asked, rubbing his hands together nervously, briefly rising on his tiptoes before settling back down as Alan wiped his mouth.

Talk? What is there to discuss with an amnesiac man? Alan pondered humorously, feeling a strong urge to laugh. Instead, he let out a snort. Second raised a brow, which then smoothed out as Alan shook his head, waving a hand dismissively.

“There’s nothing to talk about, just… getting some drink” Alan gestured at the refrigerator as Second forced a smile, nodding. “Ah..well–that’s good,” Second mumbled, disappointment bleeding out of his tone as he rubbed the back of his neck.

Alan only hummed, throwing the empty bottle on the bin before dusting his hands.

. . . . 

Alan is by no means a patient person, he lacks every corner of patience. That also means he is much more prone to being… angry. Not to other people, mostly to himself (of course it’s always him–just him, him).

There are a lot of times he gets very very annoyed at how he was treated, and in the process he decides to break a whole damn mountain in the forest in his anger.

“Just because i’m acting like i’ve forgotten everything DOES NOT mean i get to be treated like i’m–i’m fucking STUPID!” Alan shouts, kicking a whole rock down the mountain, fuming.

Smoke comes out from his mouth as he lets out another shout, letting out a growl as he burns a tree, and another one. And another one as well. He’s sure if Second saw him doing this, he would be gracefully horrified.

Alan, the amnesiac, the poor guy, the one that was forced to fight–in that DAMNED ARENA. The one that lost his OWN dignity. His eye sight being stripped away, HIS hearing being taken away.

EVERYTHING was taken away.

“Calm down calm down,” Alan mumbled to himself, steaming smoke coming from his mouth as he continued to pant, huff and growl (like a damn dog). His fist clenching and unclenching in a pattern to control his anger, to let it simmer. TO forget.

Treated like a delicate glass, how does it feel? Alan Becker

“Shut up, shut up,” Alan growled, pressing a finger to the side of his head, ignoring the pounding headache the voice is giving him. Ignoring the anger that is slowly coming back, He ignores the way his hands are bursting with fire, the heat making him sweat.

He ignores how his hands–his fingers are digging to his scalp as he continues to pull and tug his hair.

“Shut up, Shut up–LEAVE ME ALONE!” Alan yells, blindly throwing a fireball, more whispers and laughs he hears. Yet when he opens his eyes he sees no one (always no one, who is it, whose voice is it, he’s going crazy isn’t he? Alan the crazy man…hahahahahHAHAHAH).

He could feel the touch in his skin, how–how he held his chin, forced him to kneel–used like a damn chair. His weight on his back.

Alan pants, his chest heaving, his eyes watering as smoke hits his face, his hands still burning. He could see how his fingertips were starting to darken–disgusting, disgusting. The smell of burnt flesh, the pain–the mind numbing pain he can feel starting from the tips of his fingers up to his shoulders.

He knows he should stop his fire, extinguish it. Because he’s burning his skin, he’s burning everything, the grass underneath his fingers is slowly turning to ash (he can taste it in his mouth, his lips, his tongue).

Yet all he did was cry, tears falling down, his mouth letting out such an animalistic wail as he watched his hands burn, he could see droplets of tears falling down his arm, before sizzling when it met the fire.

Alan squeezes his eyes shut, his head pounding as more laughter are heard (stop laughing, please please, don’t you see? I am in pain–). He could hear that fucking laugh, the giggle, the taunts. He could feel phantom hands touching his hair, petting him as if he’s some kind of damn dog.

Stop it, fucking stop it. Alan thought, more sobs coming out of his mouth. It’s embarrassing how it took him a long time to understand that those wails were coming from him.

He’s somehow thankful he was in the forest, no one to hear him but the trees around him, and maybe the birds that were chirping above his head.

Alan can only cry, both from pain and both from being cursed to remember everything.

Why did he have to remember…

. . . .

“Alan?” Victim whispered, seeing the white hollowhead raise his head, he was laying on his arms, his hands tucked under his chest. “Hey,” Alan mumbled, forcing a smile as Victim entered the room, his hand on the door and a small smile on his face.

Alan could see how rumpled Victim’s suit was, how his hair is a little messy. Perhaps he came from the search, where he, Chosen and Dark were searching for Halo. 

Yet, none of them could find him. Alan knows, because he too is searching for him.

Alan eyes the stain on Victim’s shirt before his eyes travel up to Victim’s face. “Would you like to talk?” Victim asked, taking a seat beside Alan who moved a bit to give space. 

“About?” Alan asked, lowering his head again on his arms. He knows he should act lively, excited, happy. Like how he was before, how he was so so naive, so eager to please (won’t you please notice me? Why do you only notice me when I AM in pain?).

“What have you been doing? I know me, Chosen and Dark have been so busy with… our mission” Victim paused, his selection of words almost made Alan scoff. 

Mission? Mission to find the person who had hurt me? What about you Victim? Will you also kill yourself, knowing that you had hurt–

Alan shuts his mind briefly, shut up shut up shut up…

Victim does not deserve that, it was valid. His anger was valid, the hurt he gave Alan was valid. It was all valid. Alan should just swallow the bitter pill, that the same person he is talking to is the same person who had also forced him to crawl like a dog, the one that had forced him to throw his dignity away.

He may be the same as Halo, but Alan—Alan loves him… he…loves him, his own creation, his own child, his own hand that had the pen, that made the stroke. It was never lovingly, but Alan made him. Then threw him away.

Alan’s pain and suffering are not the same level as Victim’s, he was overreacting. He must be, Victim deserves kindness, after experiencing so much from Alan’s hand.

And Alan? Alan deserves pain, hurt, suffering… death

“Alan?” Victim’s voice called, forcing Alan out of his mind. A soft–gentle hand on his shoulder as Alan raises his eyes up at Victim’s. “Hey,” Alan replied, smiling, it was not forced anymore… maybe.

“You okay?” Victim asked, rubbing his hand over Alan’s shoulder, such a calming gesture made Alan relax, his once tense posture gone, he’s almost melting under Victim’s hand that he forgot he had to respond to Victim’s question.

“Me? Everyday” Alan whispers, a real smile appearing in his face as Victim mimicked the gesture, his hand leaving Alan’s shoulder.

Alan suppressed the urge to chase the touch, to tell Victim to pat him again, to rub his back, to hug him. He wanted all of those–HE wanted more. But Alan knows–dogs don’t get to pick which bone they want.

They only should take what was given to them.

Dogs don’t get what they want… ever.

Oh, Alan Becker. Your own love will be your downfall…

Oh, haha! I’ve already told you this back then haven’t i?

Alan Becker, who loves like a dog.

Will die like a dog.