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coquettepascal · 3 days ago

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felicitas and her general

summary: general acacius has caught your attention after being the first mortal to worship you in decades. you only face one challenge: don't get too attached.

warnings: rated g, contains spoilers for gladiator ii, follows the timeline of the movie somewhat, reader is the goddess felicitas (who is the goddess of good luck,) this fic is basically just an add on to the movie.

tags: goddess!reader x general acacius, emotional infidelity, lots of roman mythology stuff, writer is basing all her knowledge out of what she remembers from PJO and HoO, worship, complicated feelings, marcus does not cheat on lucilla physically, yearning, pining, grieving, guilt, major character death(s), stalking (kind of), a lot of obsession/dedication, angst, hurt no comfort but also hurt with comfort.

a/n: i watched gladiator ii and then was too emotionally devastated to finish this fic the way i planned. i really hope you all like this!! also, this fic is also dedicated to my dear friend @pascalssbabyy because she is my biggest cheerleader and i love her <33

wc: 7.2k (not beta read)

It was he who woke you.

A quiet sacrifice in the evening that felt like the freshest breath of air you could have, more intense than what you could have atop any mountain, near any spring. The scent of burning meat and smokey vegetables grasped at your lungs, and you almost choked on it. How long had it been since someone had offered you something so kind? Real food, not just scraps of something they didn’t wish for.

You’d never complain about how difficult it is to be a minor Goddess, you know that you could be a mortal, but most don’t think of how Gods can fade. It’s a physical process, one where you’d notice how your fingertips passed through things like chalices and bowls, how a spoon slid through your hand once. The clatter of gold on the table was embarrassing, even though you were alone. Nothing about being forgotten, or fading, physically hurt. It was only mentally taxing, knowing that you weren’t as important as you once were, that mortals found you insignificant.

Generals used to come and offer things frequently sometime ago, but you couldn’t even begin to understand how long ago that was. When you’re immortal, or supposed to be, mortal lives seem fleeting. You had taken them for granted, and regret it now, for all you have now are the empty clouds above your temple.

The last offering you can gather was from a young boy, who wanted to win a board game against his sister the next day. He had given you half a bun with strips of meat. Sure, it was thoughtful, but this was something rich.

You finish inhaling the offering, and then hear the offerer's voice. But it’s muffled, and you want to see who it is anyways, so you swipe through the clouds and create a window to see. Then you can hear him clearly.

Someone who is clearly a general kneels at your altar, which is chipped and dirty. The ashes of the food are in front of him, smoking still, and you can taste the wealth in his meal. It can’t distract you from him though, he is striking.

Broad shoulders support a heavy, curly, grey, head of hair, which is bowed in honor of you. His body is widely built, sturdy for battle, and his voice is just as powerful. You’re so focused on hearing his voice you only catch the tail end of his request.

“... Allow me to come home safely, if not for Rome, then for my wife.”

Your heart squeezes, and you swear you can feel the ichor gushing through your veins. Scarcely when a General came to give you an offering all those years ago would he mention a wife, only ever wishing for luck in the upcoming battle or war. But here, now, you’ve been given a respectful request and offering. It isn’t a thought in your mind to not favor him now, your eyes closing and your mouth murmuring a blessing to him. It feels intoxicating to use some of your power again, especially on someone who asked for it. It also feels intoxicating to watch this General leave.

He looks around before he goes, seeming to note how degraded your small temple has become. The statue of you that lies ahead of your altar is yellowing, and ironically, multiple fingers have broken off. The General seems displeased by this, sighing as he exits the temple.

His gait is heavy, sandaled steps weighted as he walks down them and into the torch-lit night. You find yourself looking for him even after he’s disappeared from your sight, the warmth of gratefulness hugging around you. Part of you knows better than to play around with the thought, but still you wish to know more about him.

—

It worsens when he comes back. A few times a week he returns, offering rich foods. It’s been a month now, and you are coming back to life.

Fading didn’t feel like anything, but coming back feels like so much more. The first few offerings had your body feeling alight again, like the ichor in you was flowing again, but within the last two weeks you’ve gotten your fingertips back. They were tingling for a day and then the next you were able to properly grasp things again, nothing was slipping through you.

In that time you had also learned his name. A guard had come looking for him one night, and stood behind him whilst he prayed. You had found yourself smiling when he didn’t interrupt himself, instead acting aggravated once he had finished. The guard had apologized for interrupting and let him know that “Your wife wishes to speak to you, General Acacius.”

Acacius.

You still don’t know his first name, but it is enough. You can think of it when you feel lonely, when you are bored. Something to associate with the offerings, with the blessings. The fact he has been so consistent hints at a desperation, which would usually repel you from blessing him, but he is the only one who seems to recognize you. His efforts are not going to go unseen by you, not when you have so little to do.

You can feel yourself conceding to your need to know him more, but just as you begin to fight yourself again, he shows up.

Tonight he’s dressed a little nicer. Usually he arrives in a plain tunic but this one has golden trim on it, and his hair is a little more tousled. He stumbles into your altar holding something in a cloth, but he’s walking like he’s… drunk?

Acacius meanders to your altar, grabbing a torch along the way, and then empties the contents of the cloth. It produces a small dessert bun, a Libum, or honey cheesecake, and your mouth waters. So much of the food that is given to you is savory meats, masculine foods that are heavy on the senses, but this is sweet and delicate. You can, of course, eat whatever you’d like. You’re a Goddess, and though you aren’t major, you are still very fortunate.

But this feels thoughtful.

The General drops to his knees after lighting the bun ablaze, swaying slightly, and now you know he must be drunk.

“Goddess Felicitas,” he begins as normal, “I am sorry I am later than usual. Though I don’t know if Goddesses sleep. I was… caught up in other affairs, but I made it in time.”

He is less eloquent than usual and seems particularly focused on how it is nearly past midnight.

“I brought you this though,” he gestures to the half burnt bun. “I wanted to bring you something different than meat and… things. I thought a dessert would be fitting for that task.”

Acacius pauses now. His thoughts are probably muddled from whatever he drank, and you find yourself smiling. Foolery has never been so endearing to you.

“You have been listening to me, I suppose. My requests for luck in battle have been answered, as well as my safety being ensured. Your blessings have brought my wife peace of mind, something I could not previously afford to her.”

He looks so small in your temple tonight. Normally he is not so vulnerable, but his shoulders sag as he mentions his wife. Some sort of shame runs over him at the idea that he could not ease his wife’s worries, but it makes you feel better that you could help.

“Goddess Felicitas, I come here tonight bearing no requests, just gratitude. Your blessings have soothed wounds I could not see, and I feel like a young soldier again. You invigor me.”

Then, he leaves.

You watch helplessly as he stumbles back down the steps and away from your temple, and more than ever you wish to chase him. The love he has for his wife is clear, and you hold no jealousy of that, but you wish it were you. Something in you is deeply attached to this General now. He has awoken you so much more than rekindling your power as a goddess, more than releasing you from the grief that comes with fading. Yes, Acacius has made your heart beat again, your mind curious again, and you feel seen. Being worshipped is not the same as being loved, if that were true you’d have had many children by now,

But after so long being forgotten, this feels like what you remember being loved as.

—

You try not to interact with the other Gods for the most part. They tend to meddle in things they don’t need to, and are sensitive. You are not exempt from this stereotype, but that’s only more reason for the distance.

But today, you venture to meet another deity.

Morpheus is not hard to find. He is pretty stationery where he is, usually lounging on a rock or bench near his temple, or above it in the clouds. He is a bit…dramatic, from what you remember, but wise.

Today he is stretched out on a cloud above his temple, eyes shut. His pale skin stretches taut on his bones as his lean frame breathes deeply. But, he is not asleep.

“Morpheus,” you speak.

His body rolls toward your direction, eyes still shut, but a small smile on his face.

“O young goddess Felicitas, what brings you to me?” He questions.

It’s hard not to feel embarrassed. You’ve spoken to Morpheus on very rare occasions, but he’s always been somewhat helpful, though nosy. Dreams tell a lot about people, and when he’s the one giving them to people, it’s hard to hide anything at all.

You don’t want him to know of your true affection for General Acacius, just that he is… worthy of a visit.

And so you begin to describe it to Morpheus, your need to visit Acacius. He doesn’t open his eyes at all, but he raises his eyebrows a lot and seems bemused at your situation. You’re only halfway through your rambling before he raises a gangly limb and waves at your words.

“Felicitas, you think you are the only Goddess wishing to visit her admirer? You need no explanation,” he says jovially.

Morpheus reaches into the air and pulls 6 black berries into existence, then drops them into your open palm.

“When you know he is asleep, bite down on one of these and think of him,” he describes to you.

The berries smell like nothing, but a powdery residue is left on your skin as you roll them in your palm. It doesn’t repel you at all.

Tonight, you will visit him and express the same gratitude he did to you.

—

Marcus lays next to his wife, Lucilla, with her hand in his. She fell asleep sometime ago, leaving him to lie awake by himself.

He didn’t make it to her temple tonight and the guilt is festering in his body. Marcus knows that she is a Goddess, that he probably isn’t a thought in her mind. He knows that he is just another whiney mortal, giving her food that isn’t nearly as good as whatever Gods eat. His insignificance grows as he feeds into his guilt.

Stress has permeated his life for much of it, from his time as a young soldier up until now, as a General. Battles, politics, and his family, have created a breeding ground for him to be wracked with anxieties, but he stays strong. Thanks to his time in Felicitas temple, it’s been better.

Which is why failing to make it to her temple tonight is making him feel so bad.

He grabs at the linen sheets of his bed, stressing and trying to reassure himself until he falls asleep finally.

—

Being in a dream is weird. It feels much the same as it does when you disguise yourself as a mortal, the out of body experience is semi-familiar, but it’s weird because someone else is there.

You’ve been watching the General enjoy the lake in front of him for a few minutes now. He hasn’t slipped into it, but just walks along the waterline. It seems like he is looking for something. Surely his dreams usually contain more action, or perhaps are memories, so you assume it may be strangely understimulating for him.

The appearance you’ve chosen is one of modesty, but elegance. A seafoam green peplos hangs off your frame delicately, with golden clasps at the wrists and waist. You did your hair so it would be tucked out of your face. There is no guarantee that Acacius will recognize you like this, but you look much like your statue that’s within your temple.

Swallowing your nerves, you shimmer yourself into visibility. The grassy field is odd beneath your feet, and you walk toward him with uncertainty in each step. You’ve never met with a mortal before, and you haven’t stepped on anything earthy in a long while. His broad stature only becomes more daunting as you get closer, especially since he seems so focused.

You will have to speak first. You’re much too quiet in this environment, and you must act fast lest he wake before you get his attention.

“General Acacius,” you speak firmly, though your hands shake.

This is so unfamiliar to you. You’ve barely even seen his face, as he’s usually bowed at your altar. It is the first time you’ll see him at an equal level, the first time you’ll have brought yourself to him rather than him to you.

He turns quickly, an instinctual aggressiveness toward the unknown. You stand about 10 feet from him, eyes widening.

Acacius is striking. His nose is what you focus on first, strong in shape and line, but behind it are his eyes which look to you with wide acknowledgement. His hair curls around his head in greying ringlets, like a permanent laurel crowning him. The wide expanse of his back was once impressive, but now you can see the solid wall which he becomes when facing you. Nothing could push him over it seems, a man built to stand.

Your heart squeezes the way it did the first time he gave you a request, a tender rush tingling your whole body. No words come out of either of your mouths, and the General drops to one knee instantly.

He recognizes you.

“Goddess Felicitas,” he rushes out in a breath. His chest is heaving as he bows his head and no, no this isn’t how you want this.

Your feet are moving before you can focus on your anxiety, bringing you so close to him that you can kneel too. Maybe a goddess should not kneel before a mortal general, but you are just on your knees rather than putting yourself below him. Your peplos billows a little as air rushes through it when you hit the grass.

He is above you like this, and you tilt your head to see his face again. His strong brow is furrowed, eyes squeezed shut like he is afraid of you.

“Acacius,” you say softly, “I am not here for… for ill reason. Please relax yourself.”

You lean back as he relaxes, head tipping upwards as he kneels in front of you as well. Now you can meet his eyes, see the crinkles that are beside them, and really take him in.

An energy of anxiety is shared wordlessly, with him stiff from the sight of a literal goddess, and you with the fear of… something.

The identity of your anxieties isn’t something that you can figure out. Maybe it’s too much to see such a handsome mortal, or maybe it’s that you’re going to thank him for his offerings so personally. Maybe it’s humiliation from this act. What would other Gods think of this? Is it not degrading to become so attached to a mortal? Are you no better than Zeus or Hermes, the gods who interact too intimately with mortals?

The sound of his labored breathing alerts you, calls your attention back to the present moment.

“I wanted to thank you,” you admit meekly, “for your offerings. You have been very generous and… devoted.”

His eyes are shifty, and you can see the terror in him still. You don’t want him to fear you, but you can understand why. Visits from Gods or other deities can mean trouble, but you aren’t significant like that.

“General Acacius you are the first mortal who has acknowledged me in a long time,” you offer a vulnerability, perhaps trying to soothe him.

It feels so backwards for you to be kneeling in front of him, speaking. He has done so in front of your altar for many weeks now, but now the spots are switched, yet you are still in power. You avert your gaze as you speak up, wanting to request something of him.

“You’ve been so generous to me, General, I was hoping to know more about you.”

And now, rather than scared, he seems suspicious.

“To know me?” He clarifies.

You nod.

“I only know your last name. I think I could offer more luck and splendor if we were more… personal.”

Gods that felt awful to say. You’re no better than the whorish brutes on their thrones, offering petty glories for intimacy. Everything feels flirtatious but that’s not what you’re looking for. Acacius has a wife he clearly loves, you would never want to interrupt that.

He seems to hesitate, but he knows he cannot refuse you. So far your blessings have brought ease to his life, he wouldn’t want to lose that.

“Then… yes, I suppose I can offer myself if it would please you.” He responds stoically.

And it does please you, to know his name. Marcus Acacius, the one who woke you, the one who has saved you from being a fragmented memory within the temples.

Marcus Acacius, who you are too fond of.

—

You visit him 3 more times. In an attempt to space out the usage of the berries Morpheus gave you, you only visit him once a week. The bleak tasting berries are sour on your tongue, a rotten sour which lingers once you wake up, but it’s worth it.

The two of you have grown closer, with Marcus opening up more. He tells you about the stresses in his life, how much anxiety is buried in him. But, he’s confident for the sake of his wife. You’ve learned that her name is Lucilla, and much more about her. Marcus talks about her a lot, in passing or retelling something she told him. In the small amount of time you’ve gotten to know him, you’ve gotten to know her as well.

It burns you with a strange warmth, a desire and envy which makes your stomach growl. You are hungry for him to admire you in the same way, to speak of you, but doesn’t he already? Shame grips your throat when you think of it. You are a Goddess who he sacrifices to, who he wishes to have blessings from. What more do you need? A mortal couldn't offer you what another deity could.

After the fourth meeting, you found yourself lonely. Lazing back in the clouds above your temple, you woke with a deep hunger. Marcus is beautiful, an admirable man, and he loves passionately. You are already being such a glutton for even speaking with him, meeting with him repeatedly, so why must you yearn for him too?

Worship isn’t enough, you want what you will never let yourself to have.

Nothing hints that he might feel similarly. His starry gaze which lands on you is not due to your beauty, your personality, or anything more. You have blessed him, and that is why his eyes glitter. Goddess status has never made you feel so low and isolated. Still, you are happy to help him achieve what he wishes, even as it cripples your heart.

Tonight you plan on visiting him. That fourth visit was a week and a half ago, he may be wondering where you are. He still comes to your altar each night, but the prayers are less personal. Marcus saves his stories and ramblings for when the two of you are in the field, or near the lake, when the two of you are really alone.

—

You bite into the berry at around midnight. Its tangy yet death-tasting juice floods your mouth, clinging to the crevices between your teeth and staining your gums. Closing your eyes, you think of Marcus, and his curls, and his eyes, and his nose, and his strong hands.

And then you are there, and he is waiting.

It seems like his subconsciousness has picked to be at the lake today, and he’s sat in the sand at the edge of the water. You walk over to him, but notice how… down he appears to be.

“She is not happy with me,” Marcus confesses before you even sit down.

You stand a few feet back from him, looking at how his curls fall around his bowed head.

“Lucilla?” You ask softly.

He nods.

A wicked feeling begins to steep in your heart. She is upset with him, he is in need of you for something more than a blessing.

And so you listen.

It’s one of the longer meetings the two of you have had. Marcus doesn’t cry, but he seems truly upset. He’s been called to go off somewhere far again, to fight and kill. Reassurances that you will protect him as best you can only soothe him so much.

He doesn't care if he dies, he cares that his beloved is distraught over this.

The more the two of you talk, the closer you get. There are marks on the sand from where you originally sat, but now you kneel in front of him, with creased brows and worried eyes. This isn’t something you can fix, you aren’t familiar with love and its intricacies.

His knees were tucked closer to his chest before, but they’ve loosened now and his fists rest atop them, clenching. Frustration sits on his face like a mask, one you wish to take off him.

Touching is not… something either of you partake in. Sometimes your shoulders will brush when you sit together, but nothing more has ever been initiated.

That is why it doesn’t surprise you when he flinches as your hand reaches out to rest on top of his right clenched fist.

“Marcus,” you say softly, wanting to offer comfort, but he cuts you off.

“Don’t,” he replies swiftly.

At first it hurts, watching as he waves off your hand from his own, but then you look at his face rather than where your hands were joined. The frustrated look on his face is gone, replaced with something worse, something guilty. His eyes aren’t glittering at you like usual, nor are they hardened with anger.

They’re soft pools of conflict that mirror your own.

It doesn’t soothe your burn, satiate your envy. You can see in his eyes that maybe you aren’t alone in these feelings of admiration, of want, but maybe this is not what you want.

Maybe you want a different universe, one where he doesn’t have to be a mortal and you, a Goddess. So you wouldn’t have to worry about him dying, and have this friendship survive off death flavored berries. Maybe you want a universe where he isn’t married, where he could be yours and you wouldn’t feel like a spectator to his heart.

Maybe you want that, but you won’t get it.

Instead the flames of jealousy die in your chest and are replaced with tumors of guilt. Your whole body feels bloated, embarrassed, and ugly.

The pair of you stare at each other, a stupid realization between the both of you as you realize that your secrets have been spilled, even though it’s the same one.

His eyes don’t move from yours, so you move from his.

The sandy edge of the lake does not look so bright now, even though there are no clouds in Marcus’s dream.

“When do you leave?” You ask softly.

You will not follow him into whatever battle he’ll win. Don’t embarrass yourself, Goddess.

He tells you two weeks. You say you’ll see him before then.

Then you wake on a cloud again, with a cavity of guilt in your chest.

—

Marcus wakes alone.

Lucilla had not wanted to sleep with him that night, choosing to stay elsewhere. She didn’t tell him where, she left in a quiet flurry of tears and anguish.

It’s easier for him to feel guilt over his Goddess than it is to hurt his beloved, even if it is the same.

In a moment of frustration he grasps at the sheets, turning over and biting at his pillow. The bed is so cold, and the room smells like stale air even though the window is open, the night breezy.

He knows she is beautiful because she is a Goddess. All Goddesses are beautiful, ethereal beings that mortals cannot even comprehend at times. Marcus knows he is lucky to even perceive her, for her to have chosen to visit him.

Yet through all her blessings, he feels cursed.

A plague of emotional infidelity is crawling through his body, sticking to his bones and making him stiff. Everything he does has felt flat for so long, from pretending he is grateful to the Emperors, to now pretending nothing is wrong in his marriage. He’s scared, and exhausted.

Marcus rubs a hand over his face after rolling over and sitting up in bed, groaning into his palm.

At first he tried to blame her for it. What would a Goddess want from a successful General other than a demigod hero son? What could truly be so special about him? He assumed she was manipulating him, using some sort of power to morph his heart, but now he knows it is not true.

If she had wanted to, she would have had him by now, and he knows this. If she had wanted to, her hand would have stayed where it was tonight, and pushed him further. It isn’t unlike the Gods to force themselves on a mortal, but she didn’t.

Instead, his hand feels hot where hers rested, and his mind is spinning.

Marcus doesn’t fall asleep again, afraid that he’ll see her.

—

You wait for a full two weeks before you visit him again. He had been coming to your temple less, and you had assumed he was busy with preparations for the coming battle.

The stubbornness you felt that night has not left you. At first you did not leave your temple in fear that you would grow attached, now you remain there because you have grown attached.

“Enough is enough,” you had thought to yourself.

But it is hard not to miss him, and his soothing prayers. The way his offerings tasted of smoke and sweet, and how he’d always burn such a large portion. Marcus never gave you scraps, he seemed to refuse to.

However, you can only distance yourself so far.

It is quiet when you approach him. He is sitting in the field this time, the lake a distant glitter in your eyes. He does not face you, but his head isn’t bowed like before.

“Marcus,” you greet, your voice muted.

He raises his head, turning over his shoulder and nodding, as if to direct you to come closer, and so you do.

Tonight’s visit isn’t vulnerable, or even pleasant. Marcus seems so distant as he dryly tells you about how he’s preparing, and his wishes to return safely. His eyes barely meet your own as he talks, and he continuously twists the ring on his finger.

It grows tiring, watching him ramble about politics you could care less about, listening to him say things that have nothing to do with him. He’s so far from the friend you thought you had made. When the air between you goes quiet, you don’t fill it for a while. You listen to the sound of the wind in the grass as his eyes still will not meet yours. It’s breaking you apart.

This is the last night you’re able to visit him, unless you visit Morpheus again. You will not waste it like this.

“What is ailing you, General?” You ask, deciding to prod more than you usually do.

To your surprise, he scoffs in light laughter.

“You,” he responds quietly.

His words don’t hurt, at least not yet. You have the option to walk away now, wake yourself and leave him with his final blessings, but of course you don’t.

“Me?” You ask, “what have I done?”

Marcus rolls his shoulders back, lifting his head to look into the everblue sky above the both of you.

“You have made my life difficult, Goddess.”

Difficult? You have made his life difficult?

You have half a mind to tear him to pieces, curse him with something awful like snakes for toes, or spoons for teeth. After all that you’ve done for him, all the safety you’ve provided, he is telling you that you make things difficult? How dare he? Be outraged, Goddess, for he disrespects the holy luck which you bestowed to him.

That’s what you should think, that’s how most of you should feel.

But instead you feel small, and hurt. Yes, he is disrespecting all that you’ve given, but also you feel like a failure. Your physical existence is because of him, because he did not let you fade. All you wanted to do was make his life easier, help him to have an eased mind and a safer life.

But instead, he’s telling you you’re difficult.

It feels like your body is shrinking in the white peplos you’ve worn, the sheer fabrics swallowing you. Shame is flooding in the form of tears behind your eyes, wetting your orbs with an unexpected outburst of emotion.

“I am sorry,” you manage weakly.

Marcus does not look at you while you cry, and you want to believe it is because he cares too much to watch, but you cannot verify that.

The wind picks up again, but it does nothing to hide the soft cries you can’t hold back. Once you were a fading Goddess, now you are just a failing one.

There is no luck involved with love.

Eventually he speaks again, with his head turned away from you.

“I am sorry too,” he says. There’s a finality in his tone that makes you ache.

So much is said in such little words. He is sorry to you, for you, and with you. A sorrow is shared between the two of you, knowing that your hearts ache for one another as they are worlds apart yet on earth together.

This last berry was only supposed to mark the end of your visits, not the end of everything. It feels like this is all there is for the two of you, since it’s too complicated to continue on like this.

That’s why he doesn’t move away when you move closer and rest your head on his shoulder as tears leak down your cheeks, or at least that’s what you’ll believe.

—

Time moves weirdly when you’re immortal, but it all happens so quickly.

Marcus stopped coming to offer things for you, and so you were blessing him less. Admittedly you had kept an eye on him, but not a keen one. It didn’t feel right, not when you and him weren’t… friends anymore.

But this feels too soon, too fast, too unfamiliar. Has your sadness caused you to be blind?

You watch as a man kneels in front of Marcus, panting and bloody with a sword beside him on the ground.

The only reason you are here was because you had felt the roar of a crowd all the way at your own temple, a wide distance away. It had drawn you in, and instead you had found this.

That roaring which you had heard crescendos to a new height around you as you shimmer into existence, cloaking yourself to the mortal eyes in the stands of the coliseum, but existing enough to touch him.

Arrows stick out of his front, more crushed beneath his back, as he is slumped on the white, gravel, ground. His hair is curled with tacky blood streaking through it, and he is so, so, still.

You drag your hand across his forehead, feeling the remaining heat, and in the echo of the crowd you begin to sob.

Everything around you is moving, changing, fighting, and screaming, but you sit invisible in the center of the coliseum, running your hands over the now dead General Acacius. There is nothing you can do to bring him back, to ease Lucilla, to save him and apologize. He is dead beneath your fingers, with arrows lodged deep in his irreparable, mortal, flesh.

You were supposed to keep him safe.

Hot tears run down your cheeks as you keep grasping at his armor, unable to move him or yourself. The last visit felt official, but this feels final. There is nothing more for you here, no friendship in a corpse.

Thoughts are running through your mind at the rate that your breath is puffing from your chest. The question of where he will end up in the afterlife is overwhelming you, and the chance for him to go to Elysium feels reasonable. It’s where he should be, where he deserves to go, especially after all he had done for Rome. You don’t even care why he’s here, or why he seems to have been brutally killed, but after the time you spent with him, Elysium seems right for him.

—

It’s where he should be. Elysium is where he should be.

And it’s where you find him.

His place there is somewhat similar to his and Lucilla’s home back in the mortal world, with lush greenery and airy drapes that flutter in various colours. It seems like he has left space for Lucilla here too, with space left in the chests for her things, and a permanently made half of the bed.

Elysium offers a true celebration of life for heroes, demigodly or not, and you’re sure Marcus has been enjoying that. Anything that he had been shackled to in his mortal life was gone now, and it seems that all he would have to miss is his wife.

Most of your time is spent there, in his afterlife home. You peer from behind curtains when he comes back, hidden in drapes and keeping yourself small.

He is already dead, but after the last time you abandoned him, you cannot bear to leave him alone again.

The vision of him, bloodied and murdered on the coliseum floor, flickers into your mind every time you see him lying in his bed. It’s an obsession to be near him, to be looking after him. Pluto might not even know you’re down here anymore, but what does it matter?

Marcus Acacius was the last living mortal to worship you. In the underworld, you are beginning to fade. Your fingers are slipping from you again, which is making it easier to lurk near him, but it is a painful process.

You want to speak to him. No longer do you yearn for his love, not after being in his home and seeing how dedicated his heart truly is to Lucilla, but you yearn to speak to him again. A panicked emotion runs through you at the thought of fading alone, of being entirely forgotten.

It didn’t matter before he died, fading was just something bound to happen, but now it’s more. Is he forgetting you?

—

You’ve lost most of your arms by the time you work up the courage to speak up. Lucilla arrived sometime ago, joining Marcus in the afterlife. Watching them together brought some warmth to you, some kind of happiness that you couldn’t have for yourself, but seeing it for him was enough.

You sit on the terrace of their home, invisible to their eyes, and somewhat to your own. From the tips of your fingers to just below your elbows, you are a specter. Grey shadow fills where your limbs used to be, and they pass through all objects. You couldn’t tap his shoulder if you tried.

Oftentimes you sit, hidden, and ponder by yourself about more than Marcus. There were so many things you were adamant about when he was alive, and you regret it all now. Your determination to avoid your feelings, or at least not show them, and your need to not become attached… it bites at you now, a stinging, grieving, venom, that won’t leave. Your status as a Goddess blinded you to how tender that friendship could have been, and now you sit as a ghost spectator to his afterlife, obsessed with a mortal as a fading immortal.

The tips of your fingers pass through the glass you try to grab as you think of this on the terrace. You’re glad that you’re such a minor deity, so at least you do not have to feel so humiliated about fading. A smile has just graced your face as you feel blessed for being so unimportant you can essentially stalk this mortal, when suddenly his voice cuts through the humid air of the space.

“Felicitas?” Marcus’ voice asks.

It’s so hesitant that you think you’re imagining it. You thought you had their home to yourself right now, thinking they had gone to do… whatever souls do in Elysium, but when you turn your face, he is there.

Marcus has not worn fancy clothing in a long while now, and right now is no different. He stands before you in a plain looking tunic, which just graces his knees. To see him at ease has been so nice, but he looks distressed at your sudden appearance.

You cannot find your voice as you awkwardly stand up, trying to think quickly. There is no good way to explain what you’re doing here, hidden away in him and his wife’s home. You could just vanish into thin air, but that feels wrong. He has seen you already, any attempts at pretending you aren’t here would be ridiculous.

His eyes scroll from your face down to your arms, and the smoking shadows that used to be there. Concern pinches onto his face with knitted brows and pressed together lips.

Something in you wants him to turn away, so you don’t have to think about why he is worried for you, even after all the trouble you caused, but he doesn’t.

His sandaled steps are heavy as he comes to you, reaching for your hands but finding the gesture fruitless as his own slip right through yours.

“Dulcissima,” he speaks weakly, shock woven in his words.

You had told him about fading a little while ago, when the two of you were in that field. Now it seems the severity of it has hit him.

What is hitting you is the name. Dulcissima, or sweetest. How long had it been since you had been referred to so fondly? All at once you are being remembered, recognized, and shown some affection. It feels like too much and tears are falling out of your control.

“I’m sorry,” you manage, “I was supposed to– to keep you safe.”

Marcus is shaking his head already, refusing your apology.

“No, no. You did keep me safe, you did. I pushed you away, I couldn’t control myself and I caused this,” he argues.

It does not comfort you that you both blame yourselves. You wish to reach out to him and touch his face like you should have when he was warm and alive. You want to know if he is cold now, and it’s as if he hears you.

Marcus places a hand on your cheek, a softness in his eyes and hold that says that he missed you.

“I saw you,” he claims, “when I was on the ground. You were the last thing I saw.”

Somewhere between life and death for mortals, there are moments of godly clarity. Some see the light, others see their families and memories, but in that tiny glimpse of time, some see Gods.

He was able to see you as you knelt over him, sobbing as you were cloaked to any mortal's naked eye. You were the last thing he saw, and the last thing he truly regretted.

All you can do is stiltedly nod at him, feeling like you were in trouble even though it seems he’s not upset.

For a moment, his eyes flick away, contemplative, but then he meets your gaze again.

“I told Lucilla of you, before I died. Not– not of my feelings which I struggled with, but that you were a close friend, a blessing in many ways.”

A blessing in many ways.

Another choked sob is wracked from your chest, your bottom lip curling out embarrassingly as your face contorts. He almost coos at you, the thumb on your cheek rubbing away your tears.

“Goddess, I have missed you,” he admits.

Stupid nods are all you can offer, your voice imprisoned in your ever tightening throat which cries. When he was alive he was never this tender, too confused and insecure to ever touch you, but it seems he has been regretting things too.

“Felicitas,” he says quietly, “do you come here for ill reason?”

You shake your head this time, rather than nodding. You have no reason to be here, other than the fact that guilt has taken over your mind and heart since he died.

“Then relax, dulcissima. I have an offering for you.”

Marcus relaxes his stature, eyes still gazing over you. He looks at your fading palms and you watch him swallow nervously.

“I will worship you again, lending you offerings here, and all I ask in return is for our friendship again.”

It’s the opposite of how you met, almost completely, but it’s everything you need. You will not fade, he will not struggle in marriage, and you will have one another again.

Again, you are nodding stupidly, but soon you’re embraced by him and nodding into his chest. His hands grasp at your back as he tells you how much he missed you in his final weeks, how he regrets losing you entirely, how he requires you as a friend.

You are satiated in his arms as he comforts you, awakening you again there on the terrace. Unbeknownst to you, Marcus has let tears slip down too as he holds you close.

“You will keep me safe here?” he asks jokingly.

It makes you smile, the idea of offering luck to a man who already died.

“Yes, General. I will keep you safe here, from all the horrifying glory and splendor,” you assure.

The two of you laugh, breaking the embrace but staying close. A passionate connection is still between the two of you, but in a different way now. Maybe when he was alive it was romantic because it is all you could think of, but through his death the two of you have come to understand it more.

You require one another in a unique way, and leaning on one another does not have to be intimate the way he is with his wife. Marcus does need you, just as you need him, and now that you are both immortal in a way, you will never be separated again.

please leave a comment, like, reblog, askbox, or ANYTHING. i'd love to hear thoughts on this <33

tags (people who seemed excited for this) (sorry if these dont work)

@pascalssbabyy , @moonshapedflan , @gossipgirl-03 , @kyloispunk , @frannyzooey , @coocoolahh , @bug-boy32 , @honeymarvel , @magicalmorg , @1deakybass , @tuquoquebrute , @harryshousewhore , @teeagain, @chewie-bars , @vampyyweek , @queenslandlover-93 , @amijenn , @aquanatalie

#pedro pascal #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #gladiator ii spoilers #gladiator 2 spoilers #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius #general acacius #general acacius x reader #lucilla x marcus #i just realized idk lucillas last name oops #pedroverse #ellie writes

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robo-writing · 2 days ago

Note

helloooo

I’ve recently gotten into call of duty and I make a humble request 🕺

could I have a ghost x afab!reader who’s usually innocent and stuff, but tries to seduce him or something? Take your time!! I love your work

I don’t think I’m ever gonna get used to people saying they love my writing 🥹

His squadmates check up on him occasionally—especially Soap, nosey as he is. For everything that they've gone through together they practically know nothing about Simon, and he likes it this way. Not to say that he doesn't trust them, but because Simon's a solitary creature, nothing more. However, it's surprising to the entire team when he off-handedly mentions that he's picked up a new hobby recently—bird-watching.

Immediately questions are fired off, but much to everyone's annoyance Simon only smiles as he takes another swig of beer. They almost suspect him of lying; he's not. His favorite past-time is making his way to his local haunt—9:00 pm sharp, every Friday—all to watch the pretty little bird behind the bar. He hasn’t missed a day, a regular customer every week for the past three months.

He likes the atmosphere, he likes how no one seems to ask questions about the 6’4 beast that orders his whiskey neat and sits alone in the corner—even more than that, he likes how you greet him with a smile every time he walks through the door.

Adorable really, how you fly about the bar, chirping out orders at the speed of light. More than once he’s had the opportunity to talk to you, and more than once have you averted your eyes from him, made yourself busy in hopes that you could hide the obvious attraction written on your face.

It never works, but he likes that about you.

He likes how you stumble over your words, how you meekly offer him a refill once his glass is empty, how your face lights up when he purposely lets his fingers touch your own when you set down a new glass. It's easy to let his mind wander knowing how easily riled up you are, and let it wander he does. Sensitive little birdy, he thinks to himself. Wonder how you'd react if his fingers were stroking your clit instead.

His pretty little birdie, shy little thing you are. So shy that you can’t bring yourself to express your little crush with words, but it’s alright—he knows—and he's willing to play this game for as long as you want it to go on. He's a patient man. It's February now, and it seems as if you're ready for this game to end. Among the red streamers and paper hearts that decorate the bar is you, and the cute red set you're so excited to show him. "I got the boss to sign off on it, see?" You ramble excitedly, stepping away for a single moment to show off your low-cut top and jeans to match. "Isn't it so cute?" He's the only one that gets this special treatment, the sight of you doing a 360 almost enough to make him reach across the bar. "Mhm," he agrees, far too engrossed in the shape of your ass than the color of your outfit. "Y'look amazing birdie." You bow your head in embarrassment at the nickname, unable to see how Simon's lips curl upward in response. "How am I supposed to react when you say things like that..." "It's a compliment. I don't say shit I don't mean." Again, you feel your face heat up at the implication, surprising yourself with a sudden burst of confidence. "You really mean that, don't you?" "I do. You think I don't?" "I think you're a flirt," you reply, the timbre of his voice sending shivers up your spine when he answers— "I'd be more than happy to prove just how honest I am, birdie." The look he sends you is nothing short of a promise, eyes boring into your own as he takes a sip. He knows, and you're willing to guess that he's known for a while based how how quick he is to laugh at your befuddled expression. "That's—I mean—" He sets his glass down slowly, tilting his head towards you. "Am I reading something wrong here?" You stumble over your words, barely muttering out a meek little "no" under your breath as he leans in close, enough to smell the liquor on his breath. "So, if I ain't wrong, feel free to meet me in the back after closing. I'd hate for you to think I'm a liar." Hours later, he found the answer to the question of how you'd react with his fingers against your clit—turns out you're even more sensitive than he imagined.

#robo writes #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley smut #ghost #ghost x reader #ghost smut #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley smut #this kinda strayed from the theme a bit sowwy :3

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goldfades · 2 days ago

Text

I DON'T WANT YOU LIKE A BEST FRIEND───JOE BURROW

request: Can you write a joe burrow one shot about so high school 🥰🥰 Or if you’ve already done that, then the song dress

ev's notes: this was supposed to be a blurb. keyword: supposed to. i got a bit carried away, but how can you not when it comes to taylor? also, we all love LSU joe

The first time you saw Joe Burrow, he was standing on the edge of a practice field, helmet in hand, a picture of quiet confidence. His buzzcut was sharp enough to catch the late Louisiana sun, and you remember thinking he looked like the kind of guy who had his entire life planned out. It was almost intimidating how effortless he made everything seem—throwing perfect spirals, cracking jokes in the locker room, balancing the weight of a team on his shoulders. But then, somehow, you found yourself next to him during a random group project in Sports Management 201, and everything changed.

You didn’t become best friends overnight. Joe wasn’t exactly the “overshare everything in one go” type, and you, well, you had walls of your own. But there was an ease between you, the kind that turned study sessions into late-night deep dives about life and childhood and everything in between. By the time sophomore year rolled around, you were inseparable. You’d sit on the floor of his apartment during game weekends, surrounded by a haze of pizza boxes and team gear, and think, This is it. This is my person.

But somewhere along the way, the easy edges of your friendship began to blur. Maybe it was the way Joe looked at you during one of those low-stakes nights, his gaze lingering just a little too long. Or maybe it was the time you patched him up after a particularly brutal hit on the field—his voice low and rough as he muttered, “What would I do without you?” Either way, the shift was small but seismic, like an earthquake rumbling beneath your feet before you even realized it was happening.

You couldn’t pinpoint when you started noticing the details. The golden flecks in his otherwise blue eyes, the way his laugh hitched just slightly when he found something truly funny, or the way his voice softened when he said your name. You tried to ignore it at first, chalking it up to some misplaced admiration for your best friend, but the feelings were stubborn, refusing to be tucked away neatly. They buzzed under your skin, electric and impossible to ignore, leaving you breathless whenever he was near.

And then there was the dress. A stupid, impulsive decision born out of frustration and hope, hanging in your closet like a secret you weren’t ready to admit. You’d told yourself you bought it because you deserved something new, something fun. But deep down, you knew the truth.

You weren’t supposed to want him like this. You were supposed to be his confidante, his teammate, his best friend. But every lingering glance, every accidental brush of hands, every inside joke that felt too personal—it all built up, layering itself into something you couldn’t unravel even if you tried. And now, sitting in the dim glow of your shared favorite bar, watching him laugh at something trivial, you wonder if he feels it too.

If he notices the way you can’t quite meet his eyes for too long. If he knows that every smile he sends your way makes your chest tighten. If he realizes that every secret moment you’ve shared has carved itself into your memory like a golden tattoo you’ll never erase.

You don’t want him like a best friend. Not anymore.

The bass from the speakers thrums through the walls of the house, rattling the beer bottles on every flat surface. The air smells like spilled alcohol, cheap cologne, and too many bodies crammed into one space. It's chaos, but the best kind, the kind you’ve come to associate with game days at LSU—sweaty, celebratory, and electric. Tonight, the Tigers pulled off a win that had everyone on their feet, screaming until their voices cracked, and the party is nothing short of a victory lap.

You’re deep in a circle of friends, the buzz of alcohol warming your veins and making you laugh harder than you have in weeks. The strain of classes, late nights, and endless football schedules has melted away, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself relax. Someone hands you a drink—something neon and probably terrible—but you take it anyway, raising it in a toast to nothing and everything. It feels good to let loose, to drown out the noise in your head with the noise of the crowd.

And then you see him.

Joe is across the room, leaning casually against the kitchen counter like he owns the place. His LSU cap is turned backward, and his smile is as easy and devastating as ever. You can tell he’s in his element, surrounded by teammates and admirers, his laugh cutting through the din of the party. You feel it in your chest like a physical thing, a pull you’ve never been able to explain but have stopped trying to fight.

But it’s not just Joe that catches your attention. It’s the girl next to him.

She’s gorgeous, the kind of gorgeous that turns heads and stops conversations. She’s leaning in close, her perfectly manicured hand resting on his arm, saying something that makes him laugh. Not just any laugh—the kind that crinkles the corners of his eyes, the kind you thought was reserved for the two of you. Your stomach twists, sharp and sudden, like you’ve just swallowed something bitter.

You try to look away, to focus on anything else—the half-empty drinks in front of you, the sticky floor beneath your shoes, the laughter of your friends—but your gaze keeps drifting back, helplessly tethered to the sight of them. She’s laughing now, tossing her hair over her shoulder, and Joe’s watching her like she’s the only person in the room.

The nausea hits you like a wave. It’s not subtle, not something you can breathe through and ignore. It rises quickly, making your throat tighten and your head spin. You set your drink down on the nearest surface, ignoring the shouts of your friends as you mumble something about needing a break.

The hallway to the bathroom feels like a mile long, each step heavy and unsteady. The crowd thins as you move away from the main party, the noise dulling to a low hum. You push open the bathroom door and lock it behind you, gripping the sink to steady yourself. The fluorescent light overhead is harsh, making everything feel too bright, too real.

You glance up at the mirror, and there it is: the blue dress.

You bought it on a whim, a little too expensive for your budget but too perfect to leave behind. Joe had told you once, in passing, that blue was your color. It had been a throwaway comment, something he probably didn’t even remember, but it had stuck with you. When you saw the dress, you thought of him, of the way his eyes softened when he looked at you, of the way he said your name like it was something special. You’d wanted to impress him, to feel like you could belong in the world he so effortlessly ruled.

Now, staring at your reflection, the dress feels like a cruel joke. The silky fabric clings to you in all the right places, the color vibrant against your skin, but it doesn’t matter. Not when Joe is out there, smiling at someone else like she’s the only thing that matters.

Your hands grip the edge of the sink, knuckles turning white. The nausea is still there, but now it’s tangled with something else—anger, humiliation, heartbreak. It’s overwhelming, and for a moment, you think you might actually cry. But you don’t. You can’t. Not here, not now.

You take a shaky breath, forcing yourself to stand up straighter. The dress still looks good, you think, even if it feels tainted now. You smooth the fabric down with trembling hands, telling yourself that it doesn’t matter, that Joe doesn’t matter. But deep down, you know it’s a lie.

He’s always mattered.

You take another deep breath, the kind that feels like it’s dragging through every nerve in your body, and push yourself away from the sink. The girl in the mirror stares back at you, her lips pressed into a determined line, her eyes just a little glassy. Maybe from the drink. Maybe not. Either way, you’re done hiding in this bathroom like a cliché in some bad movie.

Joe can talk to whoever he wants. He’s not yours. He never has been. But you? You’re not going to let one moment ruin your night. Not when the music is still pumping, your friends are still laughing, and—let’s be honest—you’re in a frat house. There are plenty of boys here who would love to talk to a girl like you, especially in this dress.

A smile tugs at the corner of your lips, small but defiant, as you fix your hair and smooth your dress one last time. If Joe wants to waste his night with someone else, fine. You have no shortage of options.

The noise of the party hits you the moment you step back into the hallway, a tidal wave of music and laughter and the unmistakable sound of someone shouting “chug, chug, chug!” You weave your way through the crowd, ignoring the tightness in your chest when you pass the kitchen and see him still standing there, leaning closer to that girl. Instead, you head straight for the living room, where the crowd is thick, the lights are dim, and the music feels like it’s coming from inside your chest.

You position yourself near the edge of the dance floor, close enough to seem approachable but not so close that you’re desperate. It doesn’t take long. It never does at a frat party, especially when you’re wearing a dress like this one.

The first guy approaches within minutes. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, and definitely a little drunk. His grin is lopsided as he leans in, yelling over the music. “Hey! You’re way too cute to be standing here by yourself. What’s your name?”

You force a smile, polite but not overly enthusiastic. “Thanks. I’m just waiting for my friends.”

He doesn’t take the hint. “Well, they’re not here right now, are they?” He takes a step closer, the smell of beer and sweat rolling off him in waves. “Lucky me.”

You laugh awkwardly, trying to keep some space between you. He’s not bad-looking, you’ll give him that, but there’s something about the way his eyes linger on you that makes your skin crawl. It’s like he’s not looking at you, but at the dress, the shape of your body, the idea of what you might let him get away with. It’s unsettling, and the longer he talks, the more you want to disappear.

“So,” he says, leaning in even closer, “you here with anyone? Or are you single tonight?”

You hesitate, the words catching in your throat. Normally, you’d have brushed this guy off by now, forced a polite smile and ducked away before things got too awkward. But tonight isn’t normal. Tonight, you’re wearing this stupid blue dress for a boy who doesn’t even notice you’re alive, who’s too busy laughing with someone else to care that you’re here, trying not to drown in your feelings. And maybe it’s the alcohol humming in your veins, or maybe it’s the weight of everything pressing down on your chest, but you don’t brush him off.

Instead, you tilt your head and smile, the kind of smile you’ve never given to anyone but Joe. “Single.”

His grin widens, and he takes another step closer, his hand finding your waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world. It feels wrong and right all at once—wrong because he’s not Joe, but right because at least someone is looking at you like you matter. His voice is low, almost a murmur now. “Lucky me.”

You laugh, a sound that feels foreign to your own ears, and let him guide you further into the crowd, where the music is loud enough to drown out your thoughts. His hands are confident but not pushy, and when he leans down, his lips brushing against yours, you don’t stop him.

You kiss him back. At first, it’s awkward, more about the motion than any real feeling, but as the seconds pass, you give in, letting the alcohol and the haze of the moment carry you. His hands slide down to your hips, pulling you closer, and you let him. You let him because it’s easier than admitting that the only person you really want to be kissing doesn’t want you back.

You’re not sure how long it lasts—minutes, maybe hours—but the world blurs into a mess of noise and heat, and you lose yourself in it. You don’t notice the weight of another gaze until it’s too late.

“[Your Name].”

Your name isn’t loud, but it cuts through everything like a knife. The music, the chatter, the blood pounding in your ears—all of it fades the second you hear his voice. Joe’s voice.

You pull back from the guy, your head spinning as you turn to find Joe standing a few feet away. His cap is gone now, his hair slightly mussed, and his expression is unreadable. But his eyes—those blue eyes you’ve memorized in a thousand different shades—are filled with something you can only describe as hurt. It hits you like a punch to the gut.

“Joe,” you manage, your voice shaky, but he doesn’t respond right away. He just looks at you, his jaw tight, his hands curled into fists at his sides.

You barely hear him. Your focus is locked on Joe, on the way his shoulders tense and his gaze flickers between you and the guy. When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet but razor-sharp, like he’s trying to keep something dangerous from slipping out. “Didn’t realize you were… busy.”

The guy behind you shifts awkwardly, clearing his throat. “Uh, I didn’t—”

“She’s drunk,” Joe cuts him off, his tone flat but laced with something that feels too heavy, too sharp to be just irritation. His eyes don’t leave yours, even as he continues, his jaw tight. “You know that, right?”

The words hit you like a slap, and your stomach twists in both anger and embarrassment. You straighten up, the haze of alcohol doing little to dull the heat that creeps up your neck. “Joe, I’m fine. Don’t—”

“No, you’re not,” he snaps, his attention finally shifting to the guy, who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else right now. “Get lost.”

“Hey, man, I didn’t mean any harm,” the guy says, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. “She seemed into it.”

“Yeah, well, she’s not,” Joe bites back, taking a step forward. There’s a warning in his voice, low and simmering, and the guy takes the hint, backing away with a muttered excuse before disappearing into the crowd.

You whip around to face Joe, your chest heaving. “What the hell is your problem?”

“My problem?” His laugh is bitter, his eyes narrowing as he looks at you. “What are you even doing, [Your Name]? You’re drunk. And you’re letting some random guy—”

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” you interrupt, your voice rising to match his. The heat in your face isn’t just from the alcohol anymore; it’s from the way he’s looking at you, like you’re some reckless child who needs saving. “I’m not a kid, Joe. I don’t need you to swoop in and play hero.”

His hands curl into fists at his sides, and for a moment, he doesn’t say anything, just stares at you like he’s trying to figure out what to do next. When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter but no less intense. “You don’t see it, do you? The way guys like that look at you. They don’t care about you, [Your Name]. They just see an easy target.”

You flinch at his words, the sting of them sharper than you expect. “You don’t get to decide what I do or who I talk to, Joe. You don’t own me.”

“Damn it, I’m trying to protect you!” His voice cracks slightly, the frustration and something else—something softer, almost desperate—breaking through. “Do you have any idea how bad this could’ve gone? What if I hadn’t been here?”

“I didn’t ask you to save me!” Your voice is shaking now, the emotion bubbling up faster than you can contain it. “You think you’re protecting me, but all you’re doing is acting like you know better than I do.”

For a moment, the two of you just stand there, the weight of the argument hanging heavy between you. Around you, the party continues, oblivious to the storm brewing in this corner of the room.

Joe runs a hand through his hair, his expression shifting into something you can’t quite read. Hurt? Anger? Both? “You don’t get it,” he says finally, his voice low. “You never get it.”

“Then explain it to me,” you shoot back, your own voice raw now. “Because all I see is you barging in and making me feel like some helpless idiot.”

His jaw clenches, his hands flexing like he’s holding back something volcanic. When he finally moves, it’s not to storm off—it’s to step closer, his hand wrapping around your arm with just enough pressure to make you pause, though not enough to hurt. His grip is warm and steady, grounding in a way that feels infuriating right now.

“That’s enough,” he says, his voice low but firm. There’s no anger in it, no edge, just a quiet certainty that only makes you bristle more. “You’ve had enough for tonight.”

You yank your arm back, but his hold doesn’t falter. “I’m fine, Joe,” you snap, your voice sharp and defensive. The alcohol in your veins has burned away just enough to leave you teetering on the edge of indignation. “I don’t need you babysitting me.”

He doesn’t respond, his eyes meeting yours with a calm intensity that only fuels your frustration. “Let me go,” you demand, your voice rising. “Seriously, Joe. You can’t just decide—”

“You’re drunk,” he cuts in quietly, his tone unshakable, almost maddeningly patient. “And this isn’t you.”

Your stomach twists, the words hitting a nerve you didn’t realize was exposed. “Oh, so now you’re the expert on me?” you fire back, your voice trembling slightly as you try to pull away again. “You don’t get to tell me who I am or what I can do. I’m not some little kid you need to take care of!”

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t yell, doesn’t even argue. He just lets you rail against him, his expression remaining infuriatingly steady as he starts guiding you through the crowd, his hand never leaving your arm. You’re too angry to notice the way people glance your way, their conversations pausing as they watch Joe Burrow, the golden boy of LSU, calmly escort you out of the frat house like it’s a routine play he’s run a hundred times before.

“Joe, let me go!” you yell again, louder this time, but your voice bounces off the walls of the crowded room and fades into the noise of the party. He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even look back.

By the time you’re outside, the cool night air hits you like a slap, the contrast between the crisp breeze and the stuffy warmth of the party jarring enough to momentarily stall your protests. Joe finally lets go of your arm but stands in front of you, his broad frame blocking the house and everyone in it from view.

You glare at him, crossing your arms as you try to steady your breathing. “What the hell is your problem?”

“My problem?” he echoes, his voice still calm, though there’s a hint of something sharper underneath. “My problem is watching you let some random guy take advantage of you because you’ve had too much to drink. My problem is knowing you’re going to regret this in the morning.”

“And you think dragging me out of there like I’m some damsel in distress is going to fix that?” you snap, your chest heaving with the force of your words. “You don’t get to control me, Joe!”

“I’m not trying to control you,” he says, his voice quieter now, but no less firm. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“From what?” you demand, throwing your hands up. “From having fun? From making my own choices?”

“From getting hurt,” he says, and the words are so soft, so raw, that they stop you in your tracks. For a moment, all you can do is stare at him, the anger in your chest giving way to something heavier, something harder to ignore.

His eyes meet yours, and for the first time tonight, you see the cracks in his calm façade. There’s something unsteady in the way he’s looking at you, like he’s balancing on a knife’s edge, trying not to fall. “I care about you, okay? More than I probably should. So yeah, maybe I overstepped, but I’m not going to stand there and watch you make decisions that aren’t you, not when I know you’re going to hate yourself for it tomorrow.”

The weight of his words hangs in the air, heavy and unrelenting. You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. Because for all your anger, all your frustration, there’s a part of you that knows he’s right. And it terrifies you.

Joe takes a step back, running a hand through his hair as he exhales slowly, like he’s trying to steady himself. “If you want to go back in there, I won’t stop you. But I had to try.”

He turns to leave, his shoulders tense, and for the first time tonight, you feel the weight of everything crashing down all at once.

You watch him for a second, the silence stretching between you, thick and tangled with everything unsaid. The words you want to say sit at the back of your throat, but they won’t come. Instead, you take a deep breath, the cold air doing little to cool the fire in your chest, and you follow him.

Joe’s footsteps are steady and purposeful, like he’s not even thinking about the fact that you’re trailing behind him, but somehow you can’t bring yourself to be mad at him anymore. Your anger dissipates in the quiet of the night, swallowed up by the calm that surrounds you both. The sounds of the party fade away as you walk down the street toward your apartment, the rhythmic tap of your heels on the sidewalk oddly soothing.

You keep your gaze fixed ahead, not meeting his eyes. For once, the noise in your head is quieter than the pounding of your heart, but still, you can’t shake the nagging feeling that something's missing.

You finally glance at him out of the corner of your eye. His face is shadowed in the streetlights, but you can still make out the tight line of his jaw, the furrow in his brow. He doesn’t look at you, his focus trained straight ahead, and for some reason, it makes your chest ache.

Neither of you speaks, the tension between you thick but not unbearable. It’s the kind of silence that feels like it’s holding its breath, waiting for something to shift, for someone to break. But you don’t. Not yet.

By the time you reach your apartment door, the quiet feels heavier than the air itself. You fumble with your keys for a moment, your fingers trembling just enough to make it harder than usual to find the right one.

"Here," Joe says, his voice low, and you glance up just in time to see him stepping forward, his hand brushing against yours as he takes the keys from you. He unlocks the door in a smooth motion, and before you can even think to thank him, he speaks again.

“I—”

“You looked good tonight,” he says, cutting you off softly. His voice is steady, but there’s something in it that makes your stomach flip, an edge of vulnerability you weren’t expecting. His eyes meet yours then, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “The dress. I liked it.”

The words hang in the air for a moment, and it feels like the ground beneath you shifts, like the world tilts on its axis and sets you spinning. You stare at him, your heart beating too fast, and then—without warning—you’re smiling.

It’s not forced or awkward. It’s real, stretching across your face in a way that makes the weight in your chest lift just a little. And then he’s smiling too, that familiar grin that’s been burned into your memory for years, and suddenly, everything feels lighter.

“Thanks,” you manage, your voice quieter now, softer. You glance down at the fabric of your dress, smoothing it out as if to steady yourself. “I wasn’t sure if it was my color.”

“It is,” he says, and there’s no hesitation in his voice, just certainty. “Blue suits you.”

You blink, staring at him, at the way he’s looking at you now—open, earnest, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Something in his eyes shifts, like he’s trying to gauge whether you’ll believe him, whether you’ll understand the weight behind those words. And you do.

A smile spreads across your face before you can even stop it. It’s like all the pieces of this night fall into place, clicking together, and for the first time in hours, you feel lighter. The alcohol fades to a dull buzz in the back of your mind, replaced by a warmth that starts in your chest and spreads outward, filling you up from the inside.

“I’m glad you like it,” you say softly, the words slipping out before you even think about them. You’re not even sure who you’re trying to convince. Maybe him. Maybe yourself.

He smiles back, that familiar, crooked grin that makes your heart stutter in your chest. And just like that, you know.

The tension between you two, the hurt, the anger—it’s all still there, but it’s fading, slipping away with each breath you take, with each passing moment. The connection you’ve both been avoiding is right there, in the space between you, unspoken but understood.

Without thinking, without hesitating, you step forward. The words leave your mouth before your brain can stop them.

“Do you want to come in?”

For a second, he doesn’t answer. He just looks at you, his expression unreadable, like he’s trying to figure out what’s real and what’s not. But then the smile returns, a little softer, a little more vulnerable this time, and he steps closer, his hand brushing against yours again.

“I’d like that.”

You step aside, holding the door open for him, and as he crosses the threshold into your apartment, the world outside fades away. The weight of the night, the tension, the unspoken feelings—it all starts to fall away as you close the door behind him, the sound of it locking making everything feel a little more real.

And for the first time tonight, you feel like you might actually be able to breathe again.

Inside, the apartment feels cozy, a stark contrast to the cold night air outside. You toss your keys onto the counter, the clink of metal breaking the comfortable silence as Joe surveys the familiar space. He’s been here more times than you can count, so much that it’s almost like he lives here—except he doesn’t. He’s always just passing through, leaving behind traces of himself that linger far longer than he does.

“I’m gonna shower,” he says casually, already heading toward the bathroom like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And maybe it is.

“Sure,” you reply, watching as he grabs a towel from the hall closet without missing a beat. “You know where everything is.”

He shoots you a grin over his shoulder. “Hard not to when half of it used to be mine.”

You roll your eyes, but a laugh slips out before you can stop it. The tension from earlier feels miles away, replaced by an easy warmth that only Joe seems to bring. You head to the couch, plopping down and grabbing the remote while he disappears into the bathroom. The sound of water running fills the quiet, and you let yourself sink into the cushions, your body finally relaxing.

When Joe reappears twenty minutes later, his hair damp and curling slightly at the ends, he’s wearing a pair of sweats and an old LSU hoodie you distinctly remember stealing from him months ago. The sight of him makes your stomach flip, but you push the feeling down, focusing on the TV as he flops onto the couch beside you.

He stretches out, his long legs taking up most of the space, and gestures at his hoodie with a mock-serious expression. “You know, you could at least ask before raiding my closet.”

You glance at him, feigning innocence. “What can I say? Your clothes are comfortable. And they look better on me.”

He snorts, leaning back with a grin that’s all teasing charm. “Debatable.”

“Not even a little bit,” you counter, smirking. The playful banter feels so normal, so easy, that you almost forget the storm that brewed between you earlier.

Almost.

After a while, the two of you migrate to your bed, the comforter a welcoming cocoon as you prop up pillows and settle in with The Office playing softly in the background. Joe’s on one side, you’re on the other, the space between you wide enough to be friendly but not awkward. It feels... safe. Like every other time you’ve done this.

But tonight, something lingers in the air, something unspoken that buzzes just beneath the surface. You try to ignore it, to lose yourself in the familiar rhythm of Jim and Pam’s back-and-forth, but you can feel Joe shifting beside you, his presence impossible to ignore.

It’s almost halfway through an episode when he speaks, his voice cutting through the soft glow of the TV. “You know…” he starts, his tone so casual it catches you off guard. “It’s funny how everyone thinks we’re just friends.”

You turn to look at him, your brows knitting together. “Uh… because we are just friends?”

He shrugs, his eyes still fixed on the screen, his expression maddeningly nonchalant. “Sure, but like… doesn’t it ever feel like more than that sometimes? Like, not in a weird way, but…” He trails off, his lips curving into a small, almost amused smile. “I don’t know. Just thinking out loud.”

Your heart stutters, your breath catching as his words sink in. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of the way his arm brushes against yours, the warmth radiating from his body, the way his voice dips just enough to make you second-guess everything. But Joe doesn’t seem fazed. If anything, he looks like he’s just commented on the weather, like this vague, half-confession isn’t turning your entire world upside down.

“Joe…” You hesitate, unsure of what to say or how to even process what he just implied.

He finally looks at you, his gaze steady but soft, like he’s daring you to call him out. “What? I’m just saying. It’s not that crazy of an idea, is it?”

Your mouth opens, but no words come out. You’re torn between laughing at how absurdly casual he’s being and screaming at him for dropping this bombshell like it’s nothing. Instead, you settle for staring at him, your mind racing as the silence stretches on.

And then, as if to hammer the final nail in your coffin, he adds, “I mean, you do look really good in that dress. I wasn’t lying about that.”

It feels like the air’s been knocked out of you. Your heart pounds so loudly you’re sure he can hear it, and you’re not entirely sure if the warmth spreading through your chest is panic or something else entirely.

Joe doesn’t push. He just leans back against the pillows, his gaze flicking back to the TV like he didn’t just casually crack open the door to feelings you’ve spent way too long pretending don’t exist. But the small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth gives him away. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

And for the first time, you’re not sure if you want to close that door or walk straight through it.

Your brain short-circuits. There’s no other way to describe it. You sit there, staring at him, your mouth opening and closing like you’re a fish out of water, but no words come out. None. Your heart is pounding in your chest, your thoughts racing too fast for you to grab hold of even one.

Joe waits, his expression unreadable. His eyes flick to yours, searching, like he’s waiting for some kind of confirmation—or maybe a rejection. The seconds stretch into what feels like hours, and the weight of the moment settles heavily between you.

You want to say something, anything, but your tongue feels glued to the roof of your mouth, and all you can do is sit there like an idiot while your heart threatens to burst out of your chest.

And then, Joe decides he’s done waiting.

Without warning, he leans in, his hand coming up to cup the side of your face as his lips press softly against yours. It’s gentle, tentative, like he’s giving you every chance to pull away. But you don’t. You can’t. The moment his mouth touches yours, it’s like the world stops spinning.

When he pulls back, his gaze locks on yours, his thumb brushing against your cheek. His expression is softer than you’ve ever seen it, and his voice is quiet when he finally speaks. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

It takes a second for his words to register, but when they do, they snap you out of your daze. “I’m impossible?” you manage to croak, your voice barely above a whisper. “You just—”

“Yeah,” he interrupts, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I did.”

You blink at him, still trying to process what just happened. But then the realization hits you like a freight train, and the words tumble out before you can stop them. “I feel the same way.”

Joe’s smirk widens into a full-blown grin, and he leans back, his hand dropping to rest casually on your knee. “Took you long enough to say it,” he teases, his tone light but undeniably smug. “Thought I was gonna have to spell it out for you.”

Your cheeks burn, and you swat at his arm, unable to stop the small laugh that escapes you. “Oh, shut up.”

He chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he pulls you closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and tucking you into his side like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His hoodie smells like fresh laundry and something distinctly Joe, and you let yourself sink into the warmth of him, your head resting against his chest.

For a while, neither of you say anything. The TV continues playing in the background, the familiar sounds of The Office filling the room, but neither of you are paying attention anymore. Joe’s fingers trace absent patterns on your arm, and every now and then, you catch him glancing down at you with a soft smile that makes your heart flutter all over again.

It’s quiet, easy, comfortable, like this is exactly where you’re supposed to be. And maybe, just maybe, it is.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

#nfl fic #nfl football #nfl lb #nfl imagine #joe burrow #joe burrow bengals #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow smut #joe burrow fan fic #joeyb #cincinnati bengals #joe burrow x you #joe burrow x y/n #joe burrow x oc

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lafaiette · 2 days ago

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So, the localization file of Veilguard was found thanks to datamining, and it contains Some Stuff about Solas, Solavellan, and some cut ending stuff.

No idea if these lines were cut because of budget/resource reasons, if they are old scraps left of Joplin or if the writers simply changed their minds. Please keep in mind they are in jumbled order/there are different responses, probably due to different choices and the dialogue wheel.

Under the cut because of spoilers.

Solas and Fen'Harel

"I must hold back the blight! My wolf will distract Elgar'nan while you take the dragon!" "Did I see that right? The Dread Wolf is a separate spirit from Solas?" "Nice. Why does he get to be part wolf?" "Yeah. Seems like Fen'Harel is a merging of the two."

It seems like Solas and his wolf self are two separate spirits - perhaps similar to Falon'Din and Dirthamen, who are confirmed to be the same spirit who split into two different aspects.

Final dialogue with Solas (Solavellan edition)

"The blight is its prison. The world is safe." "Until the Veil collapses, and demons kill thousands of people." "If there were another way…" "There [i]is[/i]. Let the Veil stay in place." "The elven people must be restored. They do not deserve what was done to them." "Neither did the Titans." "Neither did Mythal. Either time." "Those are my mistakes. Only I can correct them." "I'm here to help you." "You think you have to do this alone. But you don't." "Every time, it has come down to my choices." "Are you a god?" "I am the furthest thing from it." "Then stop acting like one. Let someone else help you." "Do the right thing." "You want to be a hero? Then save the world. Right now." "The restoration of the world as it was meant to be…" "That's not saving the world, that's saving your pride." "Is that why you think I am doing this?" "I think you're doing this because you think that you have to. But you don't." "You have to forgive yourself." "You know how I got out of the Prison of Regrets? I let it go." "Varric's death was never truly your fault." "And you didn't cause every problem. You tried to fix them." "And every time I failed." "The world's still here. You got some of it right." "I cannot. To stop now would dishonor those I've wronged to come this far." "Even if those you wronged asked you to stop?" "Vhenan. And… Morrigan?" "One appellation among the many I wear, Dread Wolf." "I have been advisor to Orlais, Witch of the Wilds, daughter of Flemeth… and once, long ago, an old friend." "Mythal…" "You never would have left the Fade and taken on that humble form had I not been the one who first convinced you." "The things that I have done…" "Are not for you alone to bear, my friend. The many wrongs we did, we did together." "It is not too late to stop this. Banal nadas. Ar lath ma, vhenan." "My life force now sustains the Veil. With every breath I take, I will protect the innocent from my past failures. " "The Titans' dreams are mad from their imprisonment. I cannot kill the blight, but I can help to soothe its anger." "What I've done, I will atone for." ""But you do not have to go alone." "Thanks to you, I can see the way."

Rook and Solas' final confrontation if Rook tries to convince him to stop was apparently supposed to be much longer, with Solas mentioning the elven people and the Titans, Varric's death, and Rook acknowledging he always did try to save the world.

It seems there was also one more line Solas would say to Lavellan after her "But you do not have to go alone." -> "Thanks to you, I can see the way."

The Inquisitor's happily ever after

"So you have to stop Solas, but not in a way that prevents him from stopping the blight." "Let Solas put the blight into its nice new prison, then we'll put him in there with it." "So with Solas and the elven gods out of the picture, where does that leave us?" "Nothing. He didn't deserve his little happily ever after." "If there's anyone who can reason with the blight, it's him." "The Inquisitor believed in him. [i]She [/i]deserved her happily ever after, even if that's helping Solas fix his mistakes." "And so the Dread Wolf shall spend eternity in the knowledge that he stood at the precipice of disaster and was saved by a mortal's wisdom." "Then why maneuver matters so as to deliver it to him?" "Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain were villains trying to conquer and blight the world." "Solas did terrible things, but he was trying to help. I can understand that." "He was wrong, not evil." "She waited many years for him. You are kind indeed to ensure those years were not in vain." "I am surprised less that he would seize upon such a chance for redemption, and more that you would offer it. " "The Inquisitor earned it." "He's working off his debt. After all, I don't think there's anyone else alive with the power and perspective to try to heal the blight." "Few would react with such compassion to the Dread Wolf's trickery. What merits him a fate fairer than Elgar'nan or Ghilan'nain?" "True. Even had I Mythal's full power, she and I often struggled to mend feelings we might have broken." "'Twould not be the first time he accomplished something Mythal herself thought impossible." "And so the Dread Wolf is stopped by, of all things, love." "Surprised?" "He's fixing his mess."

Lines for the different ways Rook can handle Solas' fate. Rook and Morrigan discuss Lavellan and Solas' chance at happiness, with Rook deciding to help them reunite despite Solas' trickery; Rook deciding to lock Solas away with the Blight; probably a line referencing a friend Inquisitor or Rook themselves ("Solas saved by a mortal's wisdom") and one referencing Lavellan ("Solas saved by love").

Epilogue

"It may mean nothing. Or everything. What matters is that the Solas is content, and we need no longer fear him tearing down the Veil." "So, Rook, what's the plan?" "[i](Sighs)[/i] Damn it." "Thank you." "Then it sounds like you have work to do. I'll leave you to it." "Good luck, Rook. Enjoy the adventures to come. " "I'm sorry, vhenan. If there had been another way..." "And now he'll spend who knows how long trying to heal the blight? What does that even mean?" "I can think of few things he'd have hated more." "He made a cage with bars made out of his worst weaknesses. He's not getting out on his own." "And we're certain there's no way for him to escape?" "Trapped forever in a prison with the blight." "Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain are also both dead. 'Tis no great loss there, the blighted fools." "So, Rook: How does it feel to have saved the world?" "Honestly, I have no idea." "Don't be so shy with your feelings, Morrigan." "We were all young once, were we not? 'Tis from such humble seeds that great things are grown." "Tell that to Mythal." "When the next aspiring deity lays claim to our world, you are the woman who shall remind them that even gods can die." "You are really bad at inspiring speeches." "Despite these rough edges, you forged a team that saved all of Thedas. Precious few can claim that." "I notice you left out one elven god—the only one still here in any capacity." "When the next aspiring deity lays claim to our world, you are the one who shall remind them that even gods can die." "You're leaving me to handle this?" "Were Mythal younger, she might have wished to rule again. Were I younger, I might have agreed with her." "Hey, the world is still here and isn't blighted or covered with demons. I think we did okay." "Says the woman carrying the god who made most of the mess I had to clean up." "And prepare yourself for whatever storm next clouds our skies." "I did save the world." "Who else? Make no mistake, you could do with a finer touch in matters of politics. " "You're not very good at this." "Even with Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain dead, the Venatori remain a threat, as do the Antaam and darkspawn. "

It seems there was supposed to be an additional scene after the ending, with Rook and Morrigan discussing the future. The dialogue would change depending on Solas' fate/Rook's choice about him.

That "Solas is content, and we need no longer fear him tearing down the Veil." probably refers to the ending with Lavellan, while it's not clear if that "I'm sorry, vhenan. If there had been another way..." is supposed to be there (maybe Solas apologizing again for bringing her to what he believes will be a terrible place?) or if it's referring to another scene.

The lines about him being stuck in a prison made out of his worst weaknesses, being unable to get out on his own, and spending a very long time trying to heal the Blight, something he hates, all sound like lines that would fit his bad endings.

One last mission

"Rook gives the team their seventh pep talk after the Finale." "We're sticking together. The gods might be dead, but there's more to do in this world." "We'll find Harding or Davrin. Somehow." "The eighth pep comes after nearly all content has been completed." "Weird shit is going on. What are the clues we have? The Executor, the Devouring Storm - what does it mean?" "We don't actually know. But it sounds bad. So we need each other more than ever." "On return to Rivain Island, defeat the Executor and collect the Memento for Davrin/Harding"

There is a cut scene + mission with Rook talking to their team after the ending and going to Rivain for one last mission. It's pretty much confirmed the cutscene was supposed to take place in the Lighthouse, there are old files and flags for it. If you pay attention after the ending sequence, you will see your Rook appear in the Lighthouse for a millisecond, the only trace left of that scene.

#dragon age #da:tv #da:tv spoilers #solas #solavellan #well #some more reasons to be angry i guess LOL #also there is some stuff about iron man's suit being available as a customized appearance #apparently bioware/ea had something planned with marvel #perfect for a game written like a mcu movie

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sloppilyeatinggrapes · 3 days ago

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This is my secret sideblog so I'm just gonna. Not do it as an ask game, I just want to talk about podcasts!

1.) what’s the first podcast you listened to?

Welcome to Nightvale <3

2.) what’s a podcast you’ve cried over?

So many, but recently, Unwell!

3.) Favorite podcast pet? (Idk if that’s worded weird but like if one of the characters has a cat or smth)

I'm honestly not the biggest fan of podcast pets but there is ONE EXCEPTION which is Dumptruck from Find us alive

4.) what podcast has the best soundtrack/music?

Aaah there are many I like... One some might have missed is Dreamboy, which have a couple of bangers, or In Strange Woods, which is a WHOLE MUSICAL and I listen to the songs frequently. But my go to soundtracks are Friends at the table (thank you Jack deQuit). Honorable mention to Wolf 359 and Hallowoods who I think uses their osts SO WELL, giving me VISCERAL reactions when I hear the music out of context.

5.) what’s a podcast that you really like but find it kinda hard to follow the plot?

I have tried to listen to What's the Frequence so many times, it seems so intriguing and interesting as a concept, but I still don't know what even the basic plot is. I think it starts with a murder?

6.) what characters from different podcasts do you think would be friends?

Maybe this is a weird combo but I do think Diggory would be great Friends with Kai and X from Girl in Space. It's something about identity and bodies and being made with a purpose, and somehow still ending up being a pretty chill person.

I also think the demons from Brimstone Valley Mall (especially the teens) would be best hatefriends with the Hrose camp polecule. They are opposite sides but same kind of mall kids. Maybe they wouldn't be friends maybe I just want to watch the world burn

7.) what characters from different podcasts do you think would hate each other?

hmmm. Elias TMA and Keppler Wolf359. They are boss middle managers who think very highly of their own competence, have VERY different ideological base and would kill each other with knives over a cornchip

8.) what’s a podcast where you mix up the characters voices?

I have had this problem with A LOT of podcasts in the beginning, it usually takes me a while unless they are very distinct. I remember it being a problem with Mabel (literally two characters and I couldnt tell them apart...) and Syntax with two of the women side-characters. It took me so long to understand what their personalities were supposed to be, since I couldnt tell who said what.

9.) what’s a podcast that you know the characters so well you can recognize their breathing?

oooh hmm. I mean, Nightvale. It's been like 11 years after all. And Deck the halls with Matrimony!

10.) what’s a podcast that you wish you could listen to again for the first time?

oooh maybe The Penumbra podcast, specifically Juno! I think I got a weird impression of it because I listened to the OG, much rougher version of arc 1, it was really confusing and I got a very different idea about the characters in my head. Now when it's finished, I think it would be a better listen to just go through all of it as a blank slate! I also liked the end, and I think it found what it is about during the journey.

11.) what’s a podcast you’ve listened to more than once?

Most... If I like it I'll listen AT LEAST twice. But I have listened to Deck the Halls SO MANY TIMES because it's short and wrapped.

12.) what’s a podcast you wish more people listened to?

Having many fans is a double edged sword, but right now, Hallowoods and Hymns for the road. I think both would be so visually inspiring for fanart and oc's.

13.) what do you like to do while listening to a podcast?

Draw! Always!

14.) who is a podcast character that you love?

Leon from Greater Boston!

Diggory Graves from Hallowoods!

Brnine from Friends at The Table!

15.) who is a podcast character you can’t stand?

Genuinely? I did not like Cassius from Syntax... sorry... I just think they are too stupid for me.

16.) what songs do you associate with a certain character/ podcast?

oh man, Hoziers Eat your young with Hallowoods, Moss by cosmo shelldrake (for obvious reasons) with Hymns for the road, Haunted House by sir babygirl with Friends at the Table

17.) what’s a podcast that you can’t stop thinking about?

Bluff city (friends at the table), Hallowoods, Greater Boston and The Silt Verses. It's something about imperfect communities

18.) are their any podcasts that you regret listening to?

Yes. We're alive. Zombie podcast. Was waiting for it to subverse all the boring and bad cliches it set up. It didn't. It was 100 eps a 40 min. I have never been more mad

19.) whose your favorite podcast couple?

In canon, of course Cecil and Carlos. The OG!

Shipping wise its Leon and Michael from Greater Boston, Harley and Lancaster and Love and Radager from Find us Alive, Brnine and Valence from Palisade, Heard and Hector from Bluff city.

I also ship Malik from World gone wrong with the alien replacement of his ex. I WANT TO BELIEVE.

20.) whose a podcast character that you think would dress really cool?

Actually cool? Probably Riot or Olivier from HFTH. Cool as in interesting/fascinating? Cecil WTNV again.

Podcast themed ask game cause I’m bored!

1.) what’s the first podcast you listened to?

2.) what’s a podcast you’ve cried over?

3.) Favorite podcast pet? (Idk if that’s worded weird but like if one of the characters has a cat or smth)

4.) what podcast has the best soundtrack/music?

5.) what’s a podcast that you really like but find it kinda hard to follow the plot?

6.) what characters from different podcasts do you think would be friends?

7.) what characters from different podcasts do you think would hate each other?

8.) what’s a podcast where you mix up the characters voices?

9.) what’s a podcast that you know the characters so well you can recognize their breathing?

10.) what’s a podcast that you wish you could listen to again for the first time?

11.) what’s a podcast you’ve listened to more than once?

12.) what’s a podcast you wish more people listened to?

13.) what do you like to do while listening to a podcast?

14.) who is a podcast character that you love?

15.) who is a podcast character you can’t stand?

16.) what songs do you associate with a certain character/ podcast?

17.) what’s a podcast that you can’t stop thinking about?

18.) are their any podcasts that you regret listening to?

19.) whose your favorite podcast couple?

20.) whose a podcast character that you think would dress really cool?

#podcast posting #sorry I didnt do the game u_u

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arpicityandneed · 2 days ago

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Hello there :)

This is my first time requesting something but I was wondering if you could do prompt 7 with Loki?

Like maybe in the first Thor and they're having a ball and they're friends to lovers possibly?

I would be absolutely honored if you made this but no pressure 😁

Hope you have a great morning/noon/night ❤️

Hi hello! I love Loki so I hope you like how I've characterized him, this is supposed to be before he starts all the drama and maybe prevents it cause love conquers all ya know?

Loki (#7 finding a somewhat private area at a fancy party to fuck)

18+ f!reader. Creampie. Strength kink. Childhood friends to lovers. Semi public sex.

"So this is where you snuck off to." Loki only knew how to speak in a purr. You knew this, and yet it had still bothered you to listen to your childhood friend use his silver tongue on another woman. So you'd escaped to the balcony, mead in hand as you looked over the golden buildings of Asgard.

"I'm surprised you even noticed I was gone." Maybe the mead had gone to your head, or your centuries old crush was finally becoming too much to bear. You never spoke this way.

"I always notice you. Especially in that gown." Loki wondered if you knew what you did to him, wrapped in silk so close to your skin tone it almost looked like you were naked if he squinted.

"Really? Because I'm sure Lady Astrid would be happy to show you hers again." Yes, it was petty of you but your heart was aching. He'd been so close to her.

"Who?" Loki was genuinely confused, he'd made his rounds as expected of a Prince of Asgard, but he'd been distracted by you the whole time. He'd even used magic to keep an eye on you when you were out of his line of sight.

"The one you.. lingered with." You wouldn't face him, and for the first time in a hundred years Loki felt-- hopeful. Maybe his love for you could be returned after all.

"I'd do more than linger with you, if you'd let me. I'd spend a millenia groveling at your feet for a kiss." Loki closed the distance easily with his long legs, leaning against the balcony railing beside you.

"You're just saying that to make me feel better." You scoffed, "I don't need pity, even from you my Prince."

"Pity. That's what you think this is." Loki took your glass from your hand and set it aside, caging you against the balcony when you finally turned to look at him. He towered over you with something close to anger in his eyes.

"Maybe charming you isn't the answer then." His gaze flickered down to your lips a fraction of a second before he was kissing you. But even calling it a kiss wasn't fair. He was making love to your mouth. Sucking on your tongue, hand buried in your hair as he cradled you against him. His arm around your waist pulled you closer until you felt the hard length of him pressed into your stomach.

"Does this feel like pity to you?" He rasped when he finally pulled away, both of you breathless and panting. "I've wanted you too much for too long for you to ever imply I was offering out of pity."

"I didn't- didn't know," You were melting, the heat of his body through your thin dress was tearing down your defenses by the second.

"I was going to court you, before touching you. I wasn't going to be like Thor and bed you before I even asked for your hand. But maybe I need to be more like my brother for you to get the hint." Loki wasn't really even thinking before the words were spilling out of his mouth, because you were in his arms. He could see your pebbled nipples through the silk of your dress which he ached to taste. And he was so goddamn tired of being a gentleman if it meant you thought he didn't want you.

You were going to explode. His hands were greedy, grabbing at your ass and cupping your breast in his palm while he talked. Had you really been so mistaken?

"Maybe I should be more forward. Is that what you need little one?" Your cunt throbbed and you nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck and throwing aside your pride as you begged,

"Please? Need you, for so long now I've-" He shut you up with a kiss. This one even hungrier than the last as tugged your dress up your hips, cupping your sex and groaning when he felt how you drenched his fingers.

"Oh." He smiled wickedly as he traced your slit, feeling how your hole clenched down greedliy around the tip of his finger. "Hungry little thing isn't she?"

"Loki, please," you were lost in him. His clean yet intoxicating scent, the way his slender yet massive frame blocked you from view. It was like it was just the two of you in the whole realm.

"I don't know.. Don't want you to confuse this for a pity fuck." Loki was teasing you, and yet you could tell beneath it all he was truly hurt by your assumption.

"Prove me wrong then. Show me how much you want me." You pouted at him, trying to tug him closer as he freed his cock from his pants. The tip was flushed and sticky with arousal as he rutted against your folds to slick his shaft. Every grind of his cock against your cilt made you ache to be filled.

"As milday commands." It was a stretch to take him, but the slight burn was nothing in comparison to the bone deep relief you felt when he was sheathed in your wet heat.

His forehead dropped against yours as he cursed, eyeing the way your pussy was stuffed to the brim and creaming on him. He whistled low and appreciatively.

"This is not going to end here. Now that I know what you feel like," he swallowed thickly, thrusted a little deeper into you until you felt him in the back of your throat with still a few inches to spare. "I can't ever go without you again."

"You don't have to." You promised, wrapping your leg around his waist pulling him closer. It wasn't enough until his balls tapped against your ass. You'd taken all of him.

"I've waited too long to be gentle. But-" You were the one to silence him this time, nipping at his bottom lip so sharply you saw a bit of blood.

"I've waited longer." He grinned, more than a little feral over you. He picked you up and put your other leg over his hip- holding you up without even straining.

"Then you'll take me like a good little wife to be won't you?" You were stunned by his words but Loki didn't wait for an answer before he was fucking you mid air, using all his strength to lift you up and drop you on his cock over and over until you were screaming.

"Loki!" You knew he hadn't cast any spells for privacy, and yet you couldn't stop yourself.

"Louder, let all the women know who owns this cock." He growled in your ear, splitting you open and making your eyes cross every time he hit that spot inside you. Your legs were shaking around his waist as your orgasm grew like a wave threatening to drown you in pleasure.

"Loki, fuck, more!" Distantly you realized you would have to explain this to Heimdall at one point, but you were truly too fucked out to care.

"Good girl, just, like, that." Every word was met with a thrust inside your gummy walls that fluttered around his cock, sucking him in like your pussy never wanted him to pull out.

"You're going to make me cum, darling. Where do you want it?" He could still be somewhat of a gentleman. Give his lady options, like taking his load in her pussy or on her face.

"In-inside, please, want to give you a child!" Loki's grip on your thighs grew tight enough to bruise a mortal, but you merely moaned louder. He touched you like he owned you and you couldn't get enough.

"Want to give me an hier? Gonna be such a pretty little mother aren't you, fuck." His hand found your little bundle of nerves, and you whimpered as the wave broke. You came so hard you squirted, soaking his formal attire and ruining your dress without a drop of remorse.

"That's it darling, milk me. Take every drop I give you." His thrusts grew sloppy, the only sign of how out of control he felt as he started unloading in you. His heavy balls pumped spurt after spurt of seed against your cervix.

Only when he set you down on your feet did he pull out reluctantly, watching with rapt attention as his cum slid down your thigh. With a wave of his hand your clothes were righted and clean- but he left his cum leaking out of you as he offered his arm. The perfect picture of princely charm.

"Shall we announce the engagement then?"

#f!reader #loki x you #loki x reader #loki smut #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki #mina writes ☆#asks ☆#hundred follower event ☆

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sage-nebula · 3 days ago

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Okay, so I actually do want to get my thoughts down on why I didn't like season two as much as season one. This is going to be a lot of complaining, but keep in mind that while I don't think season two was as good as season one, I think season one was S tier. Season two was B tier. B tier is still pretty damn good, but it is a noticeable drop, and is disappointing considering that this is the show's finale. But with that said, please do not reblog this yammering about how much you hate the show, you're glad it's over, etc. Despite my criticisms, I don't feel that way, and I don't want to see that on my post.

With that said:

My biggest problem with the show overall is that, between seasons one and two, they seem to have remembered that this is supposed to be a video game show, and so felt compelled to abandon their focus on character work in favor of flashy action sequences. This isn't me being in la la land thinking that season one had no action sequences; obviously it had fight scenes as well. But season one had a heavy emphasis on the characters, their internal worlds and struggles, that I feel was sorely lacking in season two.

The best way to demonstrate why I feel this is is to look at the final episodes of each season. Season one ended with Jinx's family dinner party. That entire scene was one long conversation; although there was a bit of action when Caitlyn freed herself from her bonds and got Pow-Pow (and then Jinx knocked her out and took Pow-Pow back), that isn't what I would call a fight. Neither was Silco shooting at Vi / Jinx killing Silco. Instead, the scene consisted of Jinx walking back and forth along the table, trying to figure out whether Vi or Silco loved her most, and who she should be with therefore. It ends with a quiet, mournful song as Jinx fires the rocket, right as the Piltovan council was deciding in favor of Zaun's independence.

By contrast, the final episode of season two is pretty much a 40 minute battle sequence. The character exploration they could have had (e.g. Ekko convincing Jinx not to commit suicide) was omitted completely in favor of this battle sequence. We couldn't even see Piltover prepare for the battle. Instead, it cut straight from discussion of what they had to do to prepare, to the battle itself. Ekko convincing Jinx was omitted, Jinx making her decision was omitted, Sevika and the Firelights being convinced was omitted, Vi mourning her sister was omitted, how Sevika ended up joining the council was omitted. The only character work we had in the last episode at all was what was between Jayce and Viktor, and even that was barely anything, time-wise, in comparison to all of the battle scenes. (And the fact that the only character work in the finale was between two men when this series was supposed to be about two sisters . . . don't even get me started.)

While the animation in this show is the best animation I've ever seen, period—and while the action sequences always look fantastic because of that—I feel that the shift in focus from character work to action was to the show's detriment. What made Arcane so good, in my opinion, was not the animation—or at least, not just the animation. It was the character work. The fact that we had these three dimensional characters, each with their own rich, internal worlds that drove the story forward—that was what made it worth watching. So to cut that out, and relegate it either to music video montages or off-screen conversations, was a mistake. The characters suffered for it, and so did the story. It turned it from a masterpiece of a narrative, to just another good show. (Although I maintain that season one is a masterpiece. Season two doesn't affect that.)

Having said that, I'm going to break the rest of my critique down into sections.

The Noxus Problem:

Before I go further, let me just say: I love the Medardas. Mel in particular is my second favorite character on the show, and I love how messy the Medarda family is. I'm still fascinated by the Black Rose, and I feel that we weren't given an adequate answer as to what, exactly, the beef between them and Ambessa was. I want to know more about that. I'm really hoping that we get another show with Mel at the main character, to further explore what is going on there.

However, I feel bringing in the Noxian army was a huge, huge mistake, because it took focus away from the socio-political conflict between Piltover and Zaun—and, in the final episode, abandoned it altogether. After all, there is no time to address that if they're being invaded by a foreign army. There is no need to address it, if you show them working together against a common enemy. Except, there really is; we're given no reason to believe that Piltover's oppression of Zaun will stop. Yes, Sevika was given a seat on the council—but we don't know what that deal entails. Was she promised sovereignty for Zaun? If so, then why is she on Piltover's council? Is it merely that now she can vote for it? If so, I can't see that (or any other pro-Zaun measure) going her way, considering the fact that the two people most likely to support her (Mel and s1!Jayce) are both gone.

I understand that the writers' intention was, "they came together to fight an enemy, everything is good now!" but that is simply not how it works. Now that the battle is over, the most realistic thing to assume is that it went back to the status quo prior to martial law. And the status quo was that life in Zaun was suffering. Despite what the alternate timeline in episode seven tried to suggest (and "alternate timeline" feels too gracious; Zaun did not look like that prior to Hextech, Powder was mentally ill since the first episode's cold open—it was an AU on multiple levels), life in Zaun was never good. Characters like Sevika and Silco wanted to fight the enforcers and Piltover rule for a reason. And that reason has never been properly addressed or resolved, and we're given no reason to think that it will be, because they chose to ignore it altogether by making the second season about the Noxus army's invasion rather than letting it actually be about the socio-political struggle between the two sister cities. And for whatever reason that was done—the writers' being scared to commit to either Zaun's independence or Piltover beating them into submission, or the desire to set up the next show—I feel that it was a mistake. The Noxian army should have never invaded this show. Instead, Ambessa should have been saved for the Medarda spin-off, with Mel's decision to return to Noxus instead of staying in Piltover built to a different way.

The Vi Problem:

Of all the characters, I think Vi was written the worst and done the dirtiest in the second season.

The problem with Vi's character stems from inconsistency. We're never given convincing reasons for why she thinks the way she does, or why she does the things she does. The second season opens with her having done a complete 180 on her sister, for reasons that we're left to guess at because they aren't explained. Is it because Jinx fired the missile at the council? Is it because Jinx rejected her by saying "here's to the new us?" We don't know, because no time is spent on character work for that. All we know is that Vi went from telling Jinx "it'll be okay" at the end of s1e9 to begging Caitlyn to let her help hunt and kill Jinx in s2e1, even before the attack on the memorial service. Vi went from being unable to bear the thought of being an enforcer because they killed her parents in the beginning of s2e1, to being willing to gas the Lanes with the Gray in s2e2.

And this inconsistency is not relegated only to act 1. In act 2, Vi strangles Jinx so hard in her apartment that Jinx has trouble speaking after Vi finally releases her—but later, when they fight in the mines, she doesn't do anything to seriously hurt her and instead just tries to pin her down and get her to surrender. Why is she less murderous toward Jinx now? We're not given a reason. After all, she wanted to kill her in the temple; her brief hesitation when Jinx said "it had to be you" is overruled when she raises her fist to deliver the finishing blow, stopped only by Isha's intervention. And again, her first instinct upon seeing Jinx again was to strangle her hard enough to crush her windpipe. But she flipped again, for reasons we're not privy to, because the character work wasn't done. The closest we get is Vi accepting Jinx after Jinx proved she was right about Vander—but even then, that doesn't make up for the above.

And again, it doesn't end there. In act 3, she's furious with Caitlyn for jailing Jinx, and wants to comfort and help her sister. Yet when Jinx leaves her in the jail cell, suddenly it's "tell me you were right, Caitlyn" and "I was an idiot for trusting her" — this, after Jinx was right about Vander. This, after Jinx saved Caitlyn's life. This, after Jinx told her "don't feel guilty about being happy" and "you deserve to be with [Caitlyn]." She does a 180 again simply because Jinx left? Even though Jinx left telling her that she deserved to be happy? Even though Jinx was probably the one who told Caitlyn where Vi was?

In season one, Vi's actions made sense. Her reasoning was always clear. We knew that she hated the enforcers because they killed her parents, and made life worse for those in Zaun; we knew that her priorities were those closest to her (not Zaun itself, never Zaun itself), and that she would do anything for those she loved. And we knew who she loved, without a doubt, and could see exactly why she loved them.

In season two, this is no longer the case. Vi's motivations and goals flip-flop on a whim. Best I can tell by the end of the season, Vi is willing to agree with whoever is closest to her at any given moment in desperation to keep them there. Jinx abandoned her, but Caitlyn was still there, so Vi agreed to be an enforcer and kill her sister. Then Caitlyn abandoned her and Jinx came back, and while Vi blamed Jinx for Caitlyn's abandonment, she was still willing to take Jinx back if it meant having Vander back, too. But then Jinx left again, and Caitlyn was there, so now Caitlyn Was Right and Jinx shouldn't have been trusted. Perhaps if we had the character work to understand what was actually in Vi's head it would make sense and she would seem like a better written character, but we don't, and so instead it seems that her goals shift depending on what the plot needs. The plot needed her to fight Jinx in an Cool Battle Sequence, so that's what happened. The plot needed her to fuck Caitlyn so the show could have a lesbian sex scene, so that's what happened. No thought was given to her character or her relationships at all, despite her being one of the protagonists. (Jinx is the other, of course.)

Speaking of Vi's relationships, though . . .

The Sisters Problem:

This was supposed to be a show about sisters. What happened to that?

In season one, their relationship was handled beautifully. We saw how close they were in childhood, and the moment they fell apart; and we saw them struggling to work their way back together in late teen (Jinx) / adulthood (Vi), only for Jinx to seemingly sever that at the end. Honestly, that is the one complaint I have about the finale of season one; it has never made sense to me that Vi didn't try to argue with Jinx when Jinx asserted that Vi couldn't love her like she used to, because Vi did love her. Even at that moment, she loved her. But I digress. The point is, in season one, the sisters' relationship continued on a strong through-line. We could see where they were going, and how they were getting there, every step of the way. It was strong, it was consistent.

This is not the case for season two. I already talked about this a lot with Vi above, and Jinx's character was written much more consistently; still, there are problems. For one, in act 3, Jinx is made to ignore Vi's own inconsistency; her line "you're never going to give up on me" makes no sense when Vi had already given up on her once before, in act 1 and the beginning of act 2. The bigger problem, though, is that their relationship was sidelined hard and that, as a result, we once again miss the character work. We got a bit of it in episode six, with their talk about their mother next to the chunk of wall that had once been used to mark their heights. And we know that Vi forgave Jinx the moment that she invited her into the group hug with Vander. But for a show that was supposed to be about them, that is nowhere near enough. Jinx telling Vi, "you know I'm always with you" doesn't feel earned when we didn't get to see them reach that point again. Vi not mourning her sister at all, and instead being fine with being "the dirt under [Caitlyn's nails]" feels extremely dissatisfying when the entire show was supposed to be about the sisters. The most important relationship for Vi and Jinx both was the one they had with each other, and that was completely forgotten.

Speaking of the lesbians, though—

The Violyn Problem:

Look, I'm a lesbian myself. Obviously I was on-board for Violyn, and I thought they were well-written in season one. The problem is, they weren't well-written in season two.

To be fair, of the two characters, Caitlyn was better written. While she, too, had problems with inconsistency (we're given no reason as to why she's feeling doubt about martial law or why she wanted to betray Ambessa in act 2, for instance), she was still written more consistently than Vi was. Catilyn being willing to abandon her positive belief in Zaun made sense given the life of privilege she was raised in. Caitlyn turning to martial law made sense when you remember that her dream was to be a cop. Even her turns back toward wanting to remove martial law and betray Ambessa could have been written to make sense, had the character work been put in. It wasn't, but Caitlyn still made more sense than Vi overall.

But this section isn't about Caitlyn, it's about her relationship with Vi. And her relationship with Vi was done dirty. Yes, they ended up together. Yes, they had sex. But again, the character work to get them there was not done. In season one, we see their relationship develop; we see how they go from enemies who oppose each other to friends who build trust (and feelings) between them. We see their growing care for each other, we see them work past their preconceived notions and struggles. Their relationship is slowly and steadily built. It makes sense.

In season two? We kind of get that in act 1, but only because we can continue on from knowledge of where they were in the last act of season one. However, season one can no longer carry them after Caitlyn hits Vi in the stomach with the butt of her rifle and then they break up. They should have had a long way to go toward reconciliation after that; the trust between them was shattered, and it takes a long time to build trust back. But they weren't given that time; Vi's easy acceptance of Caitlyn back in her life the moment they reunite aside, we're given absolutely no reason why Caitlyn—someone who felt horribly betrayed by Vi seemingly choosing Jinx over her—is willing to trust Vi and take her back again. Even putting aside her doubts about Ambessa (which were, again, not built up well enough to justify a betrayal from a writing standpoint), and the fact that she was in a relationship with someone else (and there was never any indication that Maddie was a traitor until the literal second that it happened), Caitlyn felt betrayed by Vi. It isn't believable that she's Completely Over It by the time they reunite again, or that those feelings of betrayal wouldn't come back full force when she sees that Vi is partnered up with Jinx, versus Vi's previous assertion that she was only trying to protect Isha when she stopped Caitlyn from shooting.

And it wasn't only Caitlyn who had reasonable grievances! Vi saw Caitlyn change before her eyes, when that was her worst fear; she saw Caitlyn being willing to shoot at a child, knew that Caitlyn had teamed up with Ambessa to put Zaun under martial law, and then had Jinx imprisoned after Jinx saved her life. She did, very briefly, air those grievances with Caitlyn. But then it was all abandoned a few scenes later so that they could have sex in the dungeon. It was completely forgotten for the sake of a fanservice sex scene.

Listen. As I said before, I'm a lesbian. And I'm always happy to see sapphic relationships in shows. I'm even happy to have messy sapphic relationships in shows, because believe it or not, we sapphics are actual human beings, and sometimes that makes us messy. ACAB, and that includes lesbian cops, but bastards make television entertaining. I'm here for that.

But messy shouldn't mean underdeveloped. It shouldn't mean poorly written. And I for one could not enjoy that sex scene when it wasn't properly built up to at all. When Vi and Caitlyn had all of this unresolved, and now ignored, conflict between them. It wasn't even hate sex, or at least, "we're still not good but we're alone and horny" sex. It was "everything is better and they're a couple now" sex. Which is extremely frustrating, and a complete let down over how well their relationship was written in season one. Despite the "league of lesbians" goof tags, the show wasn't about them, but it still should have done them justice, and it didn't. Not by a long shot.

Other Problems:

I don't like that the only character work in the last episode of the show was between Jayce and Viktor. While even that was lacking, taking a show about two sisters and making its series finale about two men puts a bad taste in my mouth. I understand that the bulk of the fandom cares about the men (or at least it seems like it does when I put "jayvik" into my blacklist and half the Arcane tag disappears), but the show should be written for its narrative, not for the fandom. And I, for one, never cared too much about Jayce or Viktor, but after the way this finale sidelined all of the women in order to focus on them? My feelings are pretty negative toward them now.

I don't like that they tried to do a fake-out with Jinx dying, when it's obvious that she didn't. For one, Riot would never kill off their most popular character. For another, there are too many signs that make it obvious that she survived, from the pink streak right before the main explosion, to the glitchy "the end" message over the airship sailing away (one that Powder said she'd ride on one day). It feels as if they wanted to make it look like she died for shock value, and that's something I thought that this show was above doing. It's cheap, it's bad, and I don't like it.

I don't like that Mel and Ekko were both sidelined so much throughout this entire season. Mel spends the bulk of the season in captivity, and then when she is finally free, she doesn't get to do anything to affect change except be in a magic battle against her mother. Jayce completely abandons her without any insight as to why beyond "the Arcane messed him up", and we're given no indication that Mel had anything to do with the reformation of the council at the end. Ekko, meanwhile, was completely absent in act 2, and while he literally saved the day in act 3:

His convincing Jinx not to commit suicide was off-screen;

His rallying of the Firelights was off-screen

He ends up alone in Zaun with absolutely no indication of what he or the Firelights will do after—was the tree even healed at all?

Ekko and the Firelights should have played a much bigger role. The sanctuary that the Firelights had built for the refugees should have had more of a showing other than "the tree is sick" (a plot line which, as I just said, was never resolved). Episode seven was nice, but the Zaun depicted was completely incongruent with what we knew of Zaun's state at the start of the show, and the depiction of Powder is the same. (Because Powder was hallucinating even as a small child, as shown in the cold open of season 1; Vi's death should have sent her spiraling. The fact that she was Totally Mentally Healthy in the alternate timeline makes absolutely no sense. She was Ekko's Ideal Version of Powder, not who she'd realistically be growing up like that.) He wasn't given justice as a character.

And Mel? Again, she spent most of the season in captivity, had her agency completely ripped away from her, lost everyone she ever cared about, has powers that aren't clearly defined or explained, and is now leaving the only home she has known for years to go back to Noxus. And again, I want that story for her, I want that show, but after we saw her brilliant mind in action in season one and how much change she affected, I still feel that she was done dirty this season. I hate how much she was sidelined; she deserved better.

Final Notes:

Despite all this, I do still love Arcane. Well, I love season one, and season two had parts that I liked (I think that arc 2, despite the lack of Ekko, was the best because of the fleeting character work we did get and the focus on the sisters), despite being a disappointment overall. I think for me, I'm going to just take the parts from season two that I did like and put them into an alternate season two that I have in my mind; one where Noxus didn't invade so that the issues between Piltover and Zaun could be focused on and actually resolved, one where the character work wasn't abandoned for flashy action sequences, and one where there wasn't a fakeout of Jinx's death for shock value.

And now that it's all off my chest, that's all I have to say about that.

#arcane #arcane spoilers #arcane critical

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lilgaeguli · 22 hours ago

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[ pairing ] childhood best friend × f!reader;

[ sinopsis ] childhood friends with a mutual feeling that blossomed on a sunny summer vacation;

[ wc ] 3,4k

[ genre ] fluffy smut

[ warning ] unprotected sex (don't do this), fingering (f receiving), tons of rough sex, cute nicknames, Hongjoong is a certified lover boy, kitty slapping (once), nipple play, and some comedy at some point (???)

[ song reccomendation ] we can't be friends — Ariana Grande, sweater wheater — The Neighborhood, Friends — Chase Atlantic & Wild Thoughts — Rihanna;

[ n/a ] I really liked to write this cause I loved the vibe. I hope you get it 𖹭

[ ! ] everything written here is merely fictional and does not represent the artists mentioned.

It was supposed to be just a trip between old friends, but it turned out that spring found them, blossoming a forgotten passion.

Everyone ran from one side to the other shouting and singing while you felt your stomach churn as you laying down on the couch waiting for that damn nausea to pass, staring at the old, turned off television. The sun was slowly hiding behind the horizon beginning the night, but for you it only reminds you of the early morning you spent awake. With your eyes closed, you felt like a burden in that state. Through the reflection of the television, with half-open eyes you saw Hongjoong approaching.

— Are you better? — He said, leaning on the couch.

Your head throbbed just from hearing his voice a little louder. You grimaced, bringing a hand to your temple, almost begging him not to open his mouth anymore. Maybe it was a little rude of you.

— Uh, sorry — Then he noticed — I'll speak more softly.

— No problem, it's not your fault — You reassured him, closing your eyes to avoid the light — What time is it, Joong?

Your stomach growled, begging you to eat something, but you were sure you would throw it all up. Damn anxiety, it should have passed by now.

— It's 4:30 pm — he whispered thoughtfully.

Silence hung for a moment, but this time it caused you immediate loneliness. You felt something on your forehead, making you open your eyes with difficulty. It was just Hongjoong checking your temperature with his cold hand. His bright eyes were full of concern despite his expressionless face.

— You need to eat something.

Anxiety. Even the idea of swallowing something repulsed you. You always felt like this on long trips, it took a little less time for the nausea and anxiety to pass. Probably because this time you were traveling with just your friends for the first time, even though it was only a few days in your parents' old summer house, your intuition indicated that something was different.

— I don't want to. It'll pass soon. Besides, I don't want to throw up.

Let's just say that Seonghwa's car almost got a new decoration on the trip. However, not even this infamous reminder made Hongjoong give up.

— You're as white as a sheet, you need to eat – he said more imposingly — I'm going to make some tea and think of something decent, you're going to eat even if I have to feed you. Your mother will kill me if she finds out that I left you on the verge of anemia — That's an exaggeration.

It was strange how he always found a way to take care of you. Not strange, in fact very adorable, almost brotherly to say the least. Knowing that it would be smarter not to argue, you just nodded.

— Aren't you going to see the lake?

Almost as a reflex, Hongjoong picked up a pillow, hitting Mingi, who came into the room excitedly. Poor thing. You laughed softly, avoiding moving, causing a possible dramatic stab.

— Is she still sick?

— Shut up, Mingi! — he scolded once more, coming out louder than he would have liked. Realizing it, Hongjoong looked at you, pleading for mercy on his face.

Your lips twisted chuckling. The headache was going away. Mentally thanking yourself, you sat down and looked through the door that pointed to the huge lawn surrounded by the forest. You felt foolish for being in that state instead of reliving your childhood memories in that place.

— She’s fine, look — Mingi pointed out, regretting it in the same second due to the storm in his eyes threatening them — Ah… Hongjoong, we were thinking about playing marcopolo¹, maybe going into the forest once more. What do you think?

— Here’s what you do, Mingi — From the beginning of the sentence and Kim’s tone, you already knew what was coming — Why don’t you go ahead and whenever I shout “Marco” you shout “Polo”, we’ll run, I’ll find out where you are. It’ll be super fun — he said ironically, gesturing, that sharp smile was the cherry on the cake.

Giving you a discouraged look, Mingi left cursing softly. You let the laziness melt away from your body and stood up, your shoulders feeling lighter. You didn’t feel the slightest bit like running after butterflies or jumping in the lake with the boys, but it was a start.

— Joon, I’m going up to my old room. I want to take a shower but I promise I’ll come down to help with dinner.

Your feet touched the floor more firmly, a relief.

— No problem, just rest. I’ll be right up to get you something to eat, princess.

Just like the warm sun of that afternoon, that lovely nickname warmed your chest. You went upstairs, walking through the hallways lit only by the rays of sunlight through the windows. It was like reliving a perfect memory, you could smell the cookies your mother baked, perfuming the house, while you and Hongjoong played hide and seek.

You've always been together since you can remember. You grew up together, two children who used to fight over Pokémon cards now barely spent time together due to their busy lives. Seeing the man Kim Hongjoong become filled you with pride. Distant but so familiar, and even from a distance he found a way to take care of you. Maybe it's true that a girl's first crush is the purest.

Entering your room, you caught a glimpse of the wallpaper on the walls with some war marks, that is, chalk scribbles, and your clean bed with a stuffed rabbit on top. Everything was as it always was, as if you had never even left that place.

Stopping for a second you noticed that finally that anxiety and nausea had passed, relieved you looked for your suitcase that Seonghwa had left next to your old dressing table. Out of the corner of your eye you captured your image in the axed mirror. You were a woman now.

After a relaxing bath, you put on a white dress with yellow flowers, like when your mother would bathe you and tidy you up after playing all afternoon completing your memories. You sat in front of the dressing table, fixing your hair with a smile on your face. Just to see if it was just a daydream, you opened the drawers and proved to yourself that that room had stopped in time.

You found things that you didn't even suspect existed anymore, like an unfinished sketchbook full of folds and a photo album. You opened the small album, a little dust tickling your nose indicating the time the object had been forgotten. Each frozen image made a movie run through your head. Until you found a photo of Hongjoong and you together, his knee was scraped, next to the bicycle revealing the reason for the injury. You laughed to yourself as you remembered the story behind the photo. You decided that you were going to teach Kim how to ride a bike without training wheels, helped him, but only for the first 5 seconds before he took his body and the bike to the ground. In an attempt to help, you did as your mother did and showered him with kisses.

— Knock knock — speaking of him — what are you laughing at? I could hear it as I walked up the stairs — he said, entering the room, balancing a cup in his hand and closing the door behind him with his foot.

Was the house too quiet or were you really excited? Probably both.

—Try drinking a little, it might help ease the… anxiety — he got lost in his own words, but his proud face said what was necessary.

Hongjoong quickly admired you from head to toe, not wanting to be caught doing such an act. You nodded in thanks, grabbing the hot cup and leaving it on the dresser.

— I found some interesting things here. Want to see? — you asked, sipping his tea.

He quickly nodded and you made room for him to sit next to you. You put the cup aside and opened the photo album showing that funny photo, to say the least. When he saw the photo, his face lit up and his previously rigid shoulders took on a relaxed posture, but once again all you could pay attention to was that sweet and funny laugh.

— I didn't know that photo existed. My knee hurt just looking at it — he scratched his head

— Do you want a little kiss to make it better?

Adorable! Both of your cheeks turned a peachy shade. Every joke has a grain of truth. You wanted that, didn't you? — I mean, maybe it wasn't obvious, but you couldn't argue — Your fear was that you wanted that but it could be platonic, or worse, being rejected. Why would he, who watched you grow up and protected you so much, see you as anything more than a friend? But there was a small chance that he was thinking the same thing and that's what you clung to.

— There's one more thing I wanted you to see.

You rummaged through the drawer, fully aware of what you would find. Feeling the objects, you turned to him and placed them in his hands.

— Wait a second, I remember these rings — Holding the rings at his fingertips, he shook his head in disbelief — I bought us lollipops after school and they came as a gift. Later, we played wedding games.

He remembered, even more vividly than you. Hongjoong had a lot to say, questions to ask, it was clear but a lump in his throat held back his words. Suddenly he felt 13 again, looking at you still wondering if it was the right thing to do. A breeze hit the back of the man's neck, that silence creating the perfect environment just for the two of you as if the universe had finally aligned.

— I promised I would take care of you. Even if you left my side I would still be waiting for you — he laughed breathlessly, his eyes were aimless — After all these years... are you still mine?

Millions of fireworks exploded, clearing your mind, finally opening the horizon. It took a few seconds for you to formulate a cohesive sentence, if you knew how torturous those milliseconds were for him. You looked at each other calmly, looking like two fools. Finally, the two of you met again. You brought your faces closer, waiting for his reaction. He left the boy he used to be behind, without hesitation he started a warm kiss. It was sweeter than you could ever imagine, his soft lips against yours gave you goosebumps all over. Taking a liberty, he brought a hand to the back of your neck, deepening the slow kiss that like gunpowder ran through your body, warming you completely. It gradually took a needier turn, as if your bodies were now acting on their own, searching for a perfect connection.

— Joon… wait a minute — you separated, taking a breath. His lips shone, calling you once more, but you knew that from then on it would be dangerous territory.

— What happened? Did I do something wrong? — You wanted to pinch yourself. It was impossible for someone as kind as him to exist. Fool, that’s how you should feel for not having opened your eyes sooner.

— No, no, no. I just… — you didn’t want to say it, it felt wrong to say such a thing to someone who until a few seconds ago was nothing more than your best friend. But your mistake was forgetting that he knows you, from your tantrums to your silliest quirks.

— I don’t want you to feel obligated to do anything. It’s okay — you said, making your lips form a line that was still cheerful.

That wasn’t exactly what you wanted to say.

You placed a hand on his chest, pushing him weakly out of the seat and standing up with him gently. You looked deep into his brown eyes and gave him two short kisses that had an innocent undertone.

— I’m tired of waiting for your love, Hongjoong.

Your hands ran over his shoulders, stopping around his neck, caressing the area. In perfect connection, he moved his hands, adorned with silver rings, to your waist, further limiting the distance between your bodies.

—Me too — he murmured — No more games.

Your lips met once more without any secondary thought making you question, in order to explore hidden parts of each other. He sought your warmth in someone who only offered him cold. After so long wanting more than the title “friend,” Hongjoong tried to remain calm, always aware of which part of you he could touch, controlling his growing urgency. You knew what you wanted, it was no longer a surprise. Given that, you helped him take off his shirt, throwing it anywhere in the room. That unknown sensation enveloped you more intensely to the point of being irreversible.

You guided him to the bed and laid him down, untying his belt, as passive-aggressive as he was. You seemed like completely different people at that moment, leaving any modesty aside. Your mesmerizing eyes enchanted him as you crawled towards him, that perfect vision at the same time angelic, promiscuous and seductive. You distributed kisses along his neck, going up his jaw to his ear, moaning softly just so he could have a taste of how much you wanted him. He grabbed your hips, adjusting you on his lap, desperately trying to have some kind of friction, that's when you felt how hard he was.

— I've been craving you for so long…

He whispered hoarsely, bringing you the taste of all the nights you fantasized about his hands running over the curves of your body, saying how good you're for him.

— So don't be shy, taste me.

You took off your dress, revealing your bare breasts. At that moment Hongjoong observed you like the most delicate piece of art, but he wanted to mark you, claiming you as his. He changed positions, attacking your breasts with kisses and hickeys. His tongue working on one of your nipples while he played with the other, pinching it, caused a mixture of sensations of sensitivity, pain and pleasure.

— shit, you're so amazing — you whined

— Oh, you like that? I can do this all night long, princess.

He grunted, smirking. Your nipple between his teeth caused you a strangely pleasurable agony. However, a lack grows inside you.

— I had a very nice dream that started like this — He said, looking at you, smiling sweetly.

— And how did it end? — you asked, feeling your skin boil.

— you teaching me how to make you feel good while I ruin my little princess.

His calm voice saying something so obscene was a reward for all the waiting during these years. You caressed his face, the warmth of his cheeks brought back memories, now being replaced by new ones.

— Let's end what you started — you whispered, pulling your silver necklace to get his attention.

He gave you a few short kisses, smiling sweetly at each small distance. From now on, words alone would not be enough to express his desires and feelings. While one of his hands supported you on the bed, the other slid down your body. After a light squeeze on your waist, he entered your panties. The silver of his rings made your stomach turn. Circular movements began on your pussy. He observed the smallest of your reactions, always returning to the most torturous points that were indicated to him, sliding his fingers over your slippery folds. He kissed your forehead lovingly even as you grumbled about his fingers searching for more.

— Please, Joon... I need you inside — You sighed a little frustrated.

— We waited so long, what are a few more seconds? — he teased, laughing — I just need to make sure I won't hurt you.

He didn't just want to try to take care of you, but to make sure that only he could hurt you the way he wanted. Slowly you felt your insides stretch and the cold silver once again made itself present, making you gasp heavily. Two of his fingers invaded you while his thumb continued its work tirelessly. Your low moans incited him even more, if you kept up this pace you wouldn't be able to last much longer, but it was far from enough. You grabbed his hand when you felt your sensitivity slowly increase, that didn't stop him from giving your swollen pussy a few taps, making you choke on your own breath.

— Hongjoong... — his sparkling eyes, so pure, begged for mercy.

He wanted to make sure that your first time together was the best possible for you, unfortunately they would have to avoid drawing attention. Next time he'll make sure to make you scream his name to whoever wants to hear, but right now he needed to remember what it's like to have fun with you.

— I want to see you cumming on my cock so badly

Hongjoong was making a great effort to contain himself just to worship you, but he couldn't ignore his own desire any longer. He got on top of you and pulled down his jeans, showing his covered hardness. He pulled you by the waist easily, already showing his need. The wet base of his cock slid over your wet pussy before invading you completely, making a wet sound, you swallowed every inch of him perfectly, your cervix was pressed, causing you ecstasy making you ignore any discomfort, feeling only him pulsating inside you. He moved his hips slowly, sliding into your warm interior, increasing the speed as your moans escaped.

— Fuck, you feel so good — he said, running his tongue over his teeth with a wicked smile, completely different from the Kim Hongjoong you always kept your eyes on — my babydoll is taking me so well…

The weakly afternoon sun hit his face and made him even more attractive, his concentrated expression and his hoarse moans made you lose yourself for a second, inert in pleasure in all forms, that's when you were surprised by voices outside the house, it seems the boys came back from the lake.

— Shit — he cursed, pushing the strands of sweat-damp hair back — Chill, baby. Don't hold back.

He stood above you, resting one hand on the headboard of the bed, now making full eye contact, which was a complete mess. It didn't take long for him to return to his work and thrust into you more aggressively this time, making it difficult not to make a sound. That's when he grabbed your hips, reaching your deepest point. Your insides contracted and euphoria took over you, you moaned slowly but were interrupted by him covering your mouth.

— Look at me — he couldn't be enjoying himself more — We need to be quiet. No one but me should hear you like this, right? — he asked rhetorically, going slower but rougher.

You nod with teary eyes, and he slowly takes his hand away, allowing you to breathe in relief.

— I don't care about who's outside — you whispered — Fill me up, please.

He was as surprised as you were to hear those words spoken by your sweet lips. Your wish was his command. Hearing you begging like that, he thrust into you again, hard, in contrast to a soft kiss that he started in an attempt to mask his own moans. You reached your limit, leaving his lips, and he just watched you so vulnerable, cumming on his dick, your liquids mixed and leaking through your pussy, sensitive to the touch. He lay down next to you, cradling you in his arms, caressing your hair, distributing simple kisses over every inch of your skin, showing how proud he was.

— You know we’re not just friends anymore, right? — You turned to him, snuggling into his chest, wondering if maybe you hadn’t sounded too oppressive.

— We’re already married. Have you forgotten? — He joked, easing the tension in your mind —Honestly, I don’t care about the title, but I’ll keep trying until you’re mine alone.

You kissed, leaving any doubts behind, staying there enjoying each other’s presence for a few seconds until you noticed the unusual silence for a full house. A few grumbles revealed the reason for the tranquility. Hongjoong snorted, rolling his eyes.

— Marco! — He called loudly, looking at the closed door.

And outside the room he heard someone answering “polo!”.

— Damn…

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planetkiimchi-rbs · 1 day ago

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i wish i didn't have to go to school today so i could curl up in my room and read all your fics like a christmas fic binge :(( but !! i'm so glad that it's FINALLY HERE (i've been waiting for this since june you don't even know)

full fic analysis under cut bc i rambled again :( but i finished reading this and i just. i love it so much??? the idea was so good and it was so well executed i can't imagine a better writer to write minghao this specific way. <33

For a moment, Minghao is simply taken aback by the quiet grace of your entrance, the way the afternoon light seems to favour you.

hell-O what happened to good morning ?? y/n really came into this fic like an ethereal being

"Each flower has its own needs, but with patience, they show their beauty. Much like people, I suppose."

this sentence set the stage for such a beautiful analogy of people being like flowers... also minghao's SO insightful ugh 😩😩

You respond with that cute grin of yours𑁋it seems more relaxed now.

aww that's so cute!! love how y/n slowly gets more comfortable w hao ☹️☹️

the tip of your tongue just barely peeking out in concentration.

people who stick their tongue out the side of their mouth when they concentrate >>> it's such a lovable trait

And flowers𑁋like people𑁋don't rush.

no why is this the PERFECT fic for hao and his patient, transcending calm????

The shift from the warm tones of summer to the cool shades of autumn had arrived, bringing a new, fresh palette for him to play with.

THIS LINE !!

"Not just you, no," Minghao replies amusedly. "But I think you could be. A flower, I mean. You're just someone who's figuring out what kind you want to be."

i love how he doesn't deny comparing people to flowers in general cuz somehow that is exactly what minghao is? like a guy who sometimes is a little on the sidelines simply because he enjoys perceiving other people a bit too much

The question rests upon Minghao's shoulders

NOO THIS SENTENCE 😭😭 absolute poetry how do people even come up with these ??

I've been liking the liánhuā lately𑁋the lotus. It grows in muddy water and blooms above the surface, even despite those circumstances. It also represents purity, resilience, and growth."

this is an amazing choice honestly the lotus is soo beautiful & strong (also i like the way lotus roots taste) and it's so minghao!!!

Then he just simply shrugs. "I guess I didn't mind it," he replies lowly, and meets your eyes warily. "Does it bother you?"

if someone said this to me i'd be folding on the spot bro like just confess already??

"I don't mind either," I like being in this place... with you. "Not at all."

rania and her lovely writing style of putting unsaid words in italics in between 🤩🤩 i love how distinctive it makes your writing

Minghao has picked flowers for funerals before. He's also seen people hold onto flowers that are long past their bloom, clinging to them as if their presence alone could bring someone back. He's been there too.

oh GOSH the sorrow? so beautifully portrayed

The question feels a bit silly to ask, and it makes Minghao's features soften as he looks at you, a warmth in his chest that spreads like the first rays of sunlight breaking through a cold morning. "I've already been waiting for you," he says, almost cheekily, and it seems to lighten the moment a little. "I haven't planned on stopping anytime soon."

this fic is my other roman empire (this and moni's "finger trapped (ripped to its seams)")

His arms catch you instinctively, gentle yet steady, embracing around you like flowers petals folding inward for protection. His warmth seeps into you as if he were the sun reaching a flower in the early hours of dawn, and his hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, encouraging you to press closer into his warmth.

this whole paragraph healed me.

Minghao wonders if flowers ever feel the same bittersweet pull when their petals fall𑁋the ache of letting go, but the quiet hope of something new taking root.

holy shit. this line touched a part of me so raw that i didn't even know existed

caught in bloom, caught on you | xu minghao

SYNOPSIS. in which you find yourself becoming a regular𑁋or perhaps more than that𑁋at minghao's flower shop. PAIRING. florist!xu minghao x gn!reader GENRE. fluff, a pinch of angst, hurt/comfort, strangers to friends to lovers WARNINGS. hao basically falls in love at first sight HAHA, mild cursing, implied that yn lost someone close to them, a lot of yearning n pining, kissing WORD COUNT. 8.3k

notes: wheeboo is NOT in their short-ish fic era anymore and is in their long-ish fic era rn 😭 anyway,, i didnt have a title for the fic until hao posted his song on his birthday so... I hope u all enjoy?? this might be one of my faves haha

Minghao likes these kinds of days.

Thin, irregular shapes of cotton drift lazily across the endless blue embrace of the skies. The afternoon sun carries warmth in its hands that he could feel right through the glass windows of his flower shop. It's almost as if the season of summer itself is breathing through his shop, softly encouraging his little garden to reach for the light.

Minghao runs his slender fingers through the cool edges of a hydrangea, its soft petals a deep shade of prismarine.

Ever since he was younger, his mother had told him that flowers weren't just things to be cared for. They were companions, your friends if you'd let them be, each blooming with all different kinds of personalities.

He likes how the flowers didn't ask for much; they simply needed patience and care, and in return, they gave him a sense of peace that he couldn't find anywhere else.

The sudden chime of the bell pulls him from his thoughts. He straightens up, wiping his hands on the apron tied loosely around his waist, and glances toward the door.

The figure the walks through the door is unfamiliar, yet it's easy to catch the way the sunlight highlights the edges of your silhouette, almost like a halo as you step inside the shop. For a moment, Minghao is simply taken aback by the quiet grace of your entrance, the way the afternoon light seems to favour you.

Your gaze circles around the shop, taking in the rows of flowers with a soft curiosity. There's some sort of quiet hesitation in your movements when you take a few more tentative steps inside, as if you're trying to find the right place to be in this space, just as much as you're trying to find the right flower.

Minghao finds himself clearing his throat, drawing a polite smile across his lips and catching your attention right away.

"Good afternoon," he greets calmly. "Can I help you with something today?"

You glance up at him, a slight surprise in your eyes before they soften.

"Hi, um... Yeah, I was actually looking to see if I could buy some flowers. The shop I went to before closed down, so I've been searching for a new place. It was a bit of a drive." Then you hesitate briefly, before continuing, "I'm not sure what to look for exactly, but something for a first date would be nice."

Minghao's heart stirs a bit disappointingly at that, though he quickly suppresses the feeling away. After all, it's just flowers, and you're simply here to buy them for someone else.

He nods thoughtfully, giving a soft, understanding look.

"Ah, well. Congratulations first of all on the date," he says calmly, though the nerves itches his fingers. "A first date is always special, isn't it?"

"They are," You reply sheepishly, and the hint of a blush to your cheeks nearly resembles the colour of the roses displayed near the window.

"Is there a specific kind of vibe you're going for?" Minghao asks. "I can help you pick something that feels right."

You pause for a moment, eyes lingering on a beautifully-painted vase. "Hmm, I think... something romantic, but not too traditional, if that makes sense? Not something too cliché, you know, but I also want it to feel special."

Minghao simply hums in response, his mind sifting through the variety of options he could think of. There's this odd sense of responsibility within him to make your choice is beyond perfect.

"Roses are always a classic," he begins. "but they're quite conventional, so..."

He can sense you following closely to him as he walks toward another part of the shop.

"These are tulips," Minghao explains, gesturing to a row of soft, voluminous blooms in shades of pale pink and coral. "They're not commonly picked like roses, but there's a nice charm about it. They're meant to represent long-lasting love."

You take a good look of the flowers, and you're amazed by how bright they appear.

"Wow, they're so beautiful." Then you take a small glance up at Minghao, before back down at the flowers. "You must really take care of these flowers to make them look this vibrant."

"I try my best," he mutters quietly, watching as you continue to take in their beauty. "Each flower has its own needs, but with patience, they show their beauty. Much like people, I suppose."

Your eyes flicker back up at him, and for a moment, there's a quiet stillness between you, as if the space between you two is holding its breath. Then you let out a warm, somewhat nervous chuckle.

"I think I understand," You say, taking a step closer towards the tulips and carefully running a finger over its petals. "It's about giving them space to grow, right? Not forcing them to be something they're not."

There's something about the way you speak, something thoughtful, almost as if you also understand the language of patience he's grown so accustomed to.

"Exactly." He smiles faintly. "That's what I like about flowers𑁋they don't rush. They just exist, and somehow, they slowly become what they're meant to be."

You lift your gaze to meet his, and in your eyes, Minghao sees something more than just curiosity. There's a softness there, a sincerity that draws him in. At his sides, he feels his fingers twitch slightly, but he quickly smooths his hands down his apron.

It's strange how a simple conversation about flowers can make him feel so... connected to someone.

"I think these are perfect," You tell him, eyes brightening with confidence.

A wave of satisfaction washes over Minghao, who nods in agreement.

"Would you like me to wrap them up for you?" he asks.

"That would be great, thank you," You respond with that cute grin of yours𑁋it seems more relaxed now. The thought makes his heart flutter.

Minghao begins to wrap the delicate stems with some brown wrapping paper, carefully arranging them so they're secure. As he ties a ribbon around the bouquet, he can't help but sneak up a glance at you. You're wandering around the shop with your hands clasped in front of you, looking at the other arrangements on display, and he smiles to himself.

He finishes the bouquet and smooths out any remaining creases with his fingertips. When you make your way back over to him, he offers it to you.

"Do you want to write your name on a gift tag?" Minghao asks, holding up a small card and a pen. He doesn’t know why his heart's beating faster𑁋perhaps it's the subtle hopefulness in his voice that will make your name linger longer, even after you leave.

You glance at the pen in his hand, considering it for a moment before nodding.

"Sure, I'd love to," You tell him with a faint smile, snatching the pen from his grasp, giving it a quick click before writing something down, the tip of your tongue just barely peeking out in concentration.

When you finish, you hand the card back to him. He takes it from you carefully, inspecting your neat, intricate handwriting. It's simple, yet there's a certain elegance to it it. Minghao reads it under his breath: For someone special, who I hope feels the same - Y/N.

Y/N, he repeats in his mind.

"I'll finish it up for you now," he says, placing the card with the bouquet. He arranges the flowers once more, making sure everything is perfect before handing it to you.

You find yourself fishing into your bag for your wallet. "How much do I owe you?"

Minghao hesitates for a moment, his fingers hovering over the register, but there's something about the way your features soften and how your eyes meet his that makes him pause.

"It's on the house."

You stop your hands, peering back up at him with a surprised look. "Really? Are you sure?"

"Of course," he assures calmly. "It's the least I can do."

You just blink at him a few times, a soft chuckle escaping your lips.

"Thank you," You let out sheepishly as you take the bouquet in your hands, the ribbon slipping through your fingers as you carefully adjust it. There's a split second that passes where you sneak a glance at the nametag on his chest. "I really appreciate it. I'm sure they'll love them."

Something in his chest tightens at that𑁋they'll love them. Minghao tries not to overthink it, tries to ignore the brief twinge of something unsettling in his chest.

But you're smiling, so he smiles back.

"I hope so," he replies gently, and with a polite bow of his head, he adds, "I'm sure they'll appreciate the thought behind it."

As you walk towards the exit, you take a final look around the shop, eyes lingering on the shelves of flowers, before turning back to Minghao.

"I'll be sure to come back," You say brightly, and the way the afternoon sunlight pours down all around you in the doorway makes you appear almost angelic. "Thank you for everything."

"I'll be here," Minghao responds, offering a small, timid wave of his hand. "Take care."

The chime of the bell above the door announces your departure, and a sigh leaves him.

It's just flowers, he tells himself again. Just flowers.

And flowers𑁋like people𑁋don't rush.

Minghao finds himself wiping away some spilled soil on the counter, the soft hum of piano music drifting throughout the quiet flower shop. He had just gotten done cleaning up after a busy morning of rearranging a few displays around the shop to tie into the slow seasonal changes that were beginning to take shape outside.

The shift from the warm tones of summer to the cool shades of autumn had arrived, bringing a new, fresh palette for him to play with. Chrysanthemums, petunias, dahlias, and marigolds were beginning to make their way into the shop, taking their place next to the peonies and roses that had been so meticulously cared for.

When the last bits of soil are wiped away, Minghao steps back to admire the beauty of the shop around him, he takes in a deep inhale, letting in the earthy scent of the fresh blooms fill his lungs.

After storing away a few extra vases in the backroom, the chime of the door hits his ears, and Minghao finds himself straightening back up to greet whoever had come inside.

When looks up, however, he freezes for a moment. He catches you standing in the doorway, and Minghao has to blink a few times to make sure his mind wasn't playing any tricks on him.

"Hi, again," You're the first to greet this time, and then that grin spreads across your face once again, one that seems all-too familiar.

Minghao leans against the counter. "Back so soon?"

"I was just in the area, couldn't help myself, you know..." You drawl with a playful shrug. "I actually just officially moved into the city just last week, hopefully to be closer for this new job and well... The drive here isn't as long as before."

Minghao smiles softly. It's an unexpected but pleasant surprise for you to admit all that to him, and for some reason, it makes him feel a little lighter.

"That's great," he responds, pushing himself off the counter as he straightens up. "I imagine that must be a relief. How do you like it so far?"

You step further into the shop, your eyes eagerly scanning the new arrangements he's set up.

"It's been great, actually," You say with a relieved look. "Life has been... good, honestly. I think the city suits me. It's different, but in a positive way, and I'm already surrounded by a lot of nice people."

This warm and genuine feeling tugs at Minghao's lips as he listens to you, adjusting the stems of a vase full of a plethora of zinnias.

"I'm assuming that date from before went well then?"

His words makes the smile on your face flicker, and the change is subtle but noticeable enough for Minghao to catch it, even when he's not directly looking at you. You shift your weight between your two feet, and the way you glance around the shop seems almost like you're trying to distract yourself from something.

"The date didn't go well at all, actually."

Minghao's fingertips pause on the cold surface of the vase, brows furrowing in a bit of surprise.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," he apologises gently, regretting for the sudden change in mood. "I didn't mean to bring up anything uncomfortable."

You let out a small, rueful chuckle, shaking your head. "No, no, it's okay. Really."

The air seems to thicken a little. You could only stand and watch for a few long moments as Minghao moves gracefully around, tending to all the flowers with his usual care.

After a long pause, you finally break the silence.

"It was good at first, I think, then it just became... awkward. Like really awkward. I thought I had everything planned out𑁋good place, nice flowers, all that jazz... but I guess it just didn't click. I think we both kind of felt it." You feel your shoulders deflate in a pit of defeat, a soft sigh escaping your lips as you run a hand through your hair. "I don't know why I just rambled all that. Sorry about that."

Minghao doesn't say anything at first, simply giving you some space, but he feels his heart tighten in his chest. He casts his eyes on you, also unsure why you're telling him this or why it feels important to him, but he knows it's a moment of vulnerability𑁋a rare one𑁋and he wants to handle it with care.

"No need to say sorry," he reaffirms, tone soothing. "Sometimes things don't go as expected, and that's okay. It doesn't mean it wasn't meaningful."

You glance towards him, catching the sincerity dripping down from his words. It catches you by surprise at how almost... comfortable it feels to be open right now, with him. The atmosphere here doesn't demand anything of you.

"As people, we try so hard to make things go right that we forget to just... let them unfold naturally," he says softly, as if thinking aloud. "I think sometimes things don't work out because we're not ready for them yet, or maybe they're not the right kind of flower at the right time. You can spend so much time trying to arrange them, placing them in the perfect spot, hoping they'll just fit… but sometimes they don't. And that's okay."

You can't help but quirk a playful lip at that, but you can't resist the way his words appear to tug right at your heartstrings. "Are you comparing me to a flower?"

"Not just you, no," Minghao replies amusedly. "But I think you could be. A flower, I mean. You're just someone who's figuring out what kind you want to be."

The thought about being a flower𑁋in another life, perhaps𑁋is a bit silly. But you also wonder about other things too𑁋if you're being treated with the same care and attention that Minghao gives to his flowers, or if you're wilting like one that hasn't found the right light yet. And as you gaze around the shop, taking in the beauty of the blooms around you, you find yourself smiling.

"I think I'd like to try and take care of a flower," You announce, determination weaving around your voice and words. "I'm not sure if I'd be good at it, but I'd like to try."

Minghao crosses his arms together, letting out a thoughtful hum while studying you for a few seconds. "I think you'd do well."

For some reason, those few words were enough to send heat crawling up your body and into your face.

"Thank you," You breathe out sheepishly, the corners of your mouth tugging upwards. "Can you give me a few recommendations?"

Minghao just nods. "Sure."

From there, he leads you toward a small display near the front of the shop where a few different pots and seedlings are carefully arranged. He describes a few of them to you. You're immediately drawn to the passion dripping from his tone, and the way he appears to light up when he speaks.

"These might be a good start," he suggests, gesturing to a small seedling. "Marigolds are pretty low maintenance. They need light, of course, but they're easy to grow and care for."

You take a moment to study over the baby plant with sweet curiosity.

"I think I'll start with these, then," You say, glancing back at Minghao. "Something easy."

Minghao's eyes don't stray away from how you admire the tiny plant, how you cradle the pot in your hands to take a closer look at it as if you're already imagining yourself taking care of it.

"Taking care of them can be a good reminder to take care of yourself too," he points out. "They need patience, consistency… and a little bit of trust, just like people do."

You look up at him, a smile tugging at your lips once more, feeling something warm bloom in your chest. His words settle into you in a way that's hard to describe, but they feel right𑁋like they're exactly what you need to hear.

"That's true," You reply, the weight of the sentiment settling comfortably within you. "I guess I could use a reminder like that."

"Shall I wrap it up for you?" he offers.

"Yes, please. Thank you."

After mulling over some options, he chooses the perfect wrapping paper and adds a small note about caring for marigolds. You watch him, mesmerised by the ease in his movements, the care he pours into something so simple. For a moment, you forget about all the bustling noise outside the shop, and all that exists is Minghao and the flowers, his flowers.

As Minghao ties the final knot around the marigold pot, he hands it to you, and his fingertips briefly brush against yours.

"Thank you," You tell him softly. "For everything, really. It's very calming in here."

Minghao's smile widens, almost like he's heard those same words before, and perhaps he has; maybe many people find themselves drawn to his calm presence and the haven he's created in this little shop.

There's a strange warmth that spreads throughout your chest as you cradle the small plant in your hands. "I'll be sure to take good care of it."

A few moments of comfortable silence pass as you both stand there, your eyes drifting around the shop to take in the palette of autumn that colours the space. Yet it's almost instinctive in the way your gaze finds Minghao.

"I hope you won't mind me coming back, you know... to make sure I'm doing a good job with this little one." You gesture to the plant in your hands, a playful tone to your words.

Minghao chuckles, a sound as gentle as the petals surrounding him. "Of course. I'll be here."

"Do you mind if I take another look around with the place? It looks great, by the way."

"Take all the time you need."

And for the first time in a long while, Minghao felt like he wasn't just waiting for the next flower to bloom.

He was blooming, too.

"Do you have a favourite flower?"

The question rests upon Minghao's shoulders while he waters a cluster of orchids in the back corner of the shop. You're hovering near him, aimlessly trudging your fingertips over, but instead lets the question settle in between the quiet moments.

"I imagine it's hard to pick as a florist, right?" You let out a meek laugh. "It's kind of like asking a painter to pick their favourite colour."

The corners of Minghao's lips curl up slightly, his eyes fixed on the glistening leaves under the faint droplets of water. You can tell he's contemplating the question from the quiet hums leaving his mouth, and for some reason, you find comfort in his patience.

"Not exactly," he says after a pause, his voice steady, thoughtful. "A painter might have a favourite colour, but they don't use it all the time. It's about balance. Knowing when to bring it forward and when to hold it back."

"Ah, so you do have a favourite flower," You tease lightly, nudging him playfully with your shoulder. "You just don't want to admit it."

The brief touch seems to linger in the air, a soft warmth that you both let pass without acknowledging. Minghao gently sets the watering can down and looks at you for a moment, his gaze a little deeper than before.

"In China, we have a lot of flowers that hold meaning," Minghao continues. "It's hard to pick one specifically, but... I've been liking the liánhuā lately𑁋the lotus. It grows in muddy water and blooms above the surface, even despite those circumstances. It also represents purity, resilience, and growth."

You tilt your head as you take in his words. You already knew yourself that you didn't know much about flowers, but there's a certain curiosity that washes over you from how Minghao speaks so fondly about them. Even something as simple as a flower has layers of meaning for him.

"That's really beautiful, I..." You trail off, trying to find the right words. "I've always looked at things really surface-level, you know, like I've always found daisies beautiful because they're so simple and bright, but I never really thought much about their deeper meanings. It's kind of like... I never thought about why I liked them. It's just easy to see them and appreciate them, I guess."

Minghao blinks at you, before lowering his gaze down to the floor. "Daisies suit you."

You turn to him, dazed. "Really?"

Minghao takes a contemplative pause. "Well, they're not only... beautiful to look at, but they brighten up any space they're in."

You feel your feet seep into the floor, sinking deeper as your cheeks warm, suddenly hyper-aware of how close you were standing next to him. And it's the way he acts like he didn't fucking say anything out of the ordinary almost makes you lose it.

"Are you flirting with me right now?"

However, Minghao doesn't seem fazed by the question. Instead, his lips twitch into a small, almost imperceptible smile, and then a few seconds later, your phone rings.

Minghao just offers you a little wave of his soil-painted hand. "Have fun at work, Y/N."

"Minghao! Can you teach me how to wrap these flowers?"

Minghao casts his attention up from displaying a new set of hyacinths, catching you behind the counter with a bouquet in your hands, along with a small old lady on the other side with a cheerful grin.

There's a subtle tug at the corners of his mouth when he hears you holler for him again, and he brushes his hands against his apron, before marching his way toward you. He steps up to you, taking the flowers from your hand while you beam happily towards the old lady.

"What's the occasion for the flowers, ma'am?" You ask curiously. Th elderly woman lets out a soft laugh, resting her wrinkled hands on the counter.

"It's for my grandson! He's graduating from high school today. Time flies by, doesn't it?"

"Wow, that's such a milestone! Congratulations to him," You exclaim enthusiastically, softly clapping your hands together as Minghao deftly arranges the flowers within the wrapping paper, before sliding it over to you.

He leans in a bit more, almost too close you feel the way his arm brushes against yours and the way his breath fans against your skin.

"Fold the edges like this," Minghao instructs softly, his hands hovering right over yours. "Make sure the paper covers the stems. Too much pressure could break them; too loose could make them fall apart."

You watch as his hands follow yours while you nervously, yet carefully trace the frail edge of the paper, showing you how to make each fold with a care that's almost tender. His close proximity sends strange flutters to your stomach, but you do your best to ignore it.

"Okay, like this?" You question, pulling the paper slightly tighter around the bouquet.

Minghao hums approvingly, letting you hold the flowers while he circles a ribbon around it with ease. His hands brush against yours as he neatly ties it, and the two of you pull back to watch how it delicately falls over the bouquet.

The old lady glances between the two of you with a knowing smile.

"The two of you make such a cute couple! Do you run the shop together?"

You feel your face fire up at that, cheeks burning with embarrassment. Then you instinctively glance over at Minghao, who surprisingly doesn't seem as flustered as you are.

"Oh, um, we're not𑁋"

"They like to help out here once in a while," Minghao adds in smoothly, though you aren't sure if that entirely helps or not. However you know what he's saying is true, because whenever your break for work comes or on your free time, you find yourself naturally walking towards the flower shop to help out at times.

The lady just beams up even more, scooping up the bouquet in her grasp. "Well, it's nice to see young faces working together! You two sure do have a lot of chemistry."

You offer a wave of your hand. "I hope your grandson enjoys the flowers. Congratulations to him once again!"

With that, the old woman offers a small wink before turning to head out of the shop. "Thank you, dear! Take care, both of you." Her delighted steps echo off the walls as she exits the shop.

The shop grows quiet again. You let out a sigh, cracking your knuckles as you turn to Minghao, who was already wiping over the surface of the counter, making quick work of putting things back in order, and for some reason, it still doesn't wipe away the pit of awkwardness you're feeling. You wonder if he feels the same too.

"So," Minghao starts, still continuing to clean without batting a glance at you. "You're taking over my shop, it seems."

You let out a haughty scoff. "I just wanted to try wrapping some flowers for someone. Don't let it get to your head."

Minghao only chuckles lightly, though he keeps his focus on the counter, yet you could only focus on him. You can't help but admire the way his hair falls effortlessly over his forehead, the slight endearing tilt of his head as he works, and how his movements are so meticulously unique to only him. There's a certain aura he exudes that makes you feel strangely at peace, a magic that only seems to reside within the walls of the shop.

"Why didn't you say no?" You suddenly ask, the question slipping out before you could shut your mouth.

Minghao pauses mid-swipe, looking back up at you. "Say no to what?"

"To, uh... the lady back there," You stammer, feeling the heat creep back at your neck. "About us, you know... being a couple."

Minghao remains silent as he tosses the dirty wipe away. For a moment, he seems to be contemplating something𑁋whether the question, the idea, or something more.

Then he just simply shrugs. "I guess I didn't mind it," he replies lowly, and meets your eyes warily. "Does it bother you?"

Your mind goes completely blank at his question. Does it bother you? The simple truth is that you didn't expect him to answer so casually. You were expecting him to probably correct her humbly, in all honesty. After all, it was just a passing comment from a lady who didn't mean any harm behind it.

But... does it bother you?

"No, it... it doesn't bother me. Really," You respond after a pause, voice coming out a bit forced. Your heart is beating super fast right now. "I guess I just didn't expect you to go along with it since we're not𑁋"

"𑁋not a couple," Minghao finishes for you. "I know."

You feel like you're melting into a pile of goo, your thoughts scattering like ants running out of their pile.

"I'm sorry, I'm overthinking," You mumble out, trying to brush everything off with an airy laugh.

Minghao shakes his head. "I should be sorry. I made you uncomfortable."

"You-You didn't, trust me!" You wave your hands dismissively, albeit a bit dramatic. "I was just caught off-guard and didn't know how to respond."

This seems to relax Minghao's shoulders a bit, but not entirely.

"Okay," he says, and his voice is as light as a wisp getting caught in the wind. "But you'd tell me if you were uncomfortable, right?"

You give him an easy nod, maybe even confident. "I would. I promise. And you'd... tell me too?"

Minghao meets your eyes with a steady gaze, his expression soft but thoughtful. For a moment, there's a subtle shift in the air, and you can feel the weight of his words before he speaks again.

"Yeah," he answers firmly, sincerely. "I would."

When you open your mouth to speak again, your phone dings in your pocket. You squint your eyes to read over the message in your notifications, before closing up your phone.

"My meeting got cancelled." Then you blink up towards Minghao, as if trying to convey an unspoken question to him.

As if the answer wasn't already obvious, Minghao gives you a small, almost teasing smile.

"I don't mind the company," he tells you, then quirks up a brow. "Unless you do."

"I don't mind either," I like being in this place... with you. "Not at all."

Flowers bloom when the time is right. And you don't mind waiting for it.

When a flower dies, there's a certain routine that comes after it. Trim away the wilted petals, dispose of the stems, recycle them as compost, and plant the next set of blooms.

Minghao hates seeing flowers die.

The sound of crumbling petals tie a knot in his chest, the stillness that follows afterwards is almost deafening. But he knows it's an inevitable part of life. Every flower has its chance to bloom and thrive, and eventually, it will fade.

The flowers don't belong to him, after all𑁋they are simply passing through his care briefly before going to someone else or withering away, like everything else in life. Minghao knows it's unnecessary to hold onto these flowers so tightly, but after being surrounded by them his entire life, it's merely impossible to let go.

The bell chimes as he's composting a few camellias that had sadly wilted, and he gazes up to find a gust of snow following your footsteps as you step inside. A large, black fluffy coat hugs your body and a scarf is wrapped snugly around your neck. However this time, Minghao doesn't notice any ounce of a smile to your face.

He sets the compost bin down and wipes his hands on his apron.

"Y/N?"

There's a very subtle twitch to your expression when he calls out your name.

"Hey," You croak out, voice a bit strained. "Um... is it fine if I buy some flowers?"

Minghao feels something in his chest clench at your tone, but he pushes the feeling away with his usual calm composure, masking away any concern simmering on the surface.

"Sure," he replies, focusing on the shadows that plague over your features. "Is there anything specific you're looking for?"

Your eyes drift away from to look around the flower shop, taking note of the bright, usual blooms that surround you, yet none of them appear are what you're looking for.

"Do you have, um..." You feel like you're already going to regret this. "...anything for a funeral?"

The words float in the air between you both. Minghao's expression falters for just a moment, the calmness that he usually carries slipping as his eyes soften toward you.

"Of course," he says softly. "I have a few options."

With that, he leads you to a particular spot in the shop, where it houses all sorts of flowers with muted colours𑁋white roses and lilies, pale chrysanthemums, and pink and purple orchids all arranged neatly. Minghao watches as you gaze over each flower, but he doesn't speak yet, simply allowing you the moment to breathe.

"These are the traditional flowers for a funeral," he explains finally. "White roses for remembrance, lilies for peace, chrysanthemums for mourning, and orchids for everlasting love."

It's bit a different when it's you though, and he doesn't exactly know how to explain it.

You plod slowly throughout the display, picking up a stem here and there, but each time, you set it back down as if it didn't feel right. But when you come across the orchids, you linger a little longer on them, tenderly caressing the petals as if you were scared to break them.

"I think I'll choose these ones. The orchids," You murmur, picking up a few stems and showing it to him.

Minghao just nods, taking the ones from your hands and grabbing a few more to finish the rest of the bouquet, moving with careful precision.

"I'll handle the rest, don't worry," he assures you as he gracefully works to arrange the orchids.

None of you choose to say anything more, only letting the diffident silence stretch. For some reason, the shop feels a little more cooler, the air heavier than usual. The only sound is the rustling of Minghao's hands moving carefully over the flowers, the quiet snap of a stem as he trims it with his shears. Outside, the snow continues to fall.

Minghao doesn't press for any details, yet even in the quiet, you have a feeling that he knows. Maybe that's why he's just letting his hands speak for him.

"Here you go." He offers you a neat bouquet of pale lavender orchids.

You step up to him to retrieve it from his grasp, bringing it close to your chest. "Thank you."

Minghao knows he shouldn't let his feelings get in the way, but as he takes note of the slight glassiness to your eyes and small tremble of your hands holding the bouquet, he isn't sure how much longer he can hold it in. He feels guilty when he lets his eyes drift down to your lips for a second, before averting it back up quickly.

The smile you give him is nothing short of fragile, faint, but it's there. And then, with a sudden leap, you find yourself leaning into Minghao's embrace without thinking, wrapping your arms around his body as if he was the only thing in the world that was preventing you from falling down. And in a way, he is.

You don't cry𑁋not entirely. A single tear slips past your lashes, landing silently against his shoulder. He feels it, but he doesn't move, doesn't say anything, and just lets you... be.

"I'm sorry," You mumble into his shoulder. "I didn't mean to𑁋"

"Don't be," Minghao interrupts softly. "It's okay."

You pull away for a moment to look up at him. He's still holding you. His hands have fallen down to your sides, resting there as if he's held you like this before. The way you're looking at him has Minghao nearly forgetting how to breathe; it nearly urges to him to lean down and close the distance between the two of you.

His gaze lingers on your lips, and for a split second, Minghao almost allows himself to follow the instinct to lean in.

But then he stops himself.

He's not sure what this is, what the right thing to do is. His thoughts are tangled mess of roots𑁋he's always been careful with holding himself back, with promising to wait, yet something about the way you look at him makes it feel like the only right thing to do is to give in.

But he can't. Not yet. Not when you're so fragile and baring yourself raw to him.

Yet he sees the way your eyes flutter at him, the way a crease of question forms in between your brows as if you're also unsure of what this moment is, but there's a longing there too. It's almost pleading. And you lean in a little more towards him.

"Y/N," he breathes out your name, and it's the first time you ever heard his voice shake like that. "We... We shouldn't."

You don't say anything at first, your eyes searching his face like you're trying to read something. You open your mouth, close it, and then, with a slight exhale, you step back, only a little, but enough to let the cool air seep in between you.

"I'm sorry, I..." You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, letting out a sniffle. "Fuck, I'm sorry..."

Minghao feels his chest tighten. "It's okay𑁋"

"I-I just wanted to feel something for a moment, you know? Everything is such a mess right now and the first person I thought of was you, because I like... the way you make me feel. I like it way more than I should. And that... that it's okay if you don't feel that way too."

Minghao's heart stutters at that, and perhaps the world even pauses too. All words that want to leave him become stuck in his throat, because he knows deep down𑁋from as far back as the moment you walked into the flower shop𑁋that he's felt the same way for far too long.

So, he settles with taking one hand from your side and slowly reaching up to trace your warm cheek with his thumb, his touch delicate as if he's afraid he might cause your petals to fall down. He brushes away a lingering tear that had been drying up on your skin and lets his hand stay there.

"You... deserve way more than just comfort in a moment like this," Minghao starts quietly. "But you're grieving right now, and I don't want to take advantage of that. I don't want to just be someone who's here for a moment, because... you mean so much to me more than that."

Your lips form into a tight, thin line, and you flicker your gaze towards the floor, the heaviness in the air still weighing down on your shoulders.

"Minghao..."

"And if I act on what I feel, it wouldn't be fair to you," Minghao continues, voice trembling slightly as he speaks. "I want it to be because you know what you want. And if you ever give me that chance, I promise I'll be here for you. Not just now, not just in this moment, but... for everything. When you're ready; when you're healed; when it feels right, I'll be here𑁋I always have been."

There's a lump in your throat that you swallow down. For a while, you could only simply stand there, feeling as if you're teetering on the edge of something you can't quite reach. But even as you stand in this stillness, there's something in his words that echoes off the walls of your mind𑁋it's understanding, and it's care, and it feels like a promise.

"I... I know. I just... I'm sorry for putting all this on you. I think I need space to... heal and think." Then you look back up at him, wonder tainting your features. "Will you wait for me?"

The question feels a bit silly to ask, and it makes Minghao's features soften as he looks at you, a warmth in his chest that spreads like the first rays of sunlight breaking through a cold morning.

"I've already been waiting for you," he says, almost cheekily, and it seems to lighten the moment a little. "I haven't planned on stopping anytime soon."

The chuckle that leaves you isn't forced; in fact, it's quite relieving. It feels like the start of something, and Minghao feels a flicker of hope at the sound.

You reluctantly separate yourself away from him, cradling the bouquet of orchids to your chest, and let out an exhale you hardly realise you were holding in.

"I'll be okay, you know," You tell him, even if it's a bit of lie, or half the truth. You can't tell which.

Minghao glances down to your hands, as if you're holding a piece of your heart wrapped up within the petals, before back up to your eyes.

"I know," is all he says.

The world doesn't stop for grief, but it's okay to pause for a little while.

Minghao wonders if flowers ever feel the same bittersweet pull when their petals fall𑁋the ache of letting go, but the quiet hope of something new taking root.

You haven't stepped foot in the flower shop in a while. At least, not as often as you used to come.

The absence is especially daunting, and Minghao can't help but feel it every time the bell chimes and it isn't you that walks through the door. On rare occasion you'd swing by to say hello during your breaks at work and sometimes, a pretty, shy smile from you before you disappear back into the world outside.

It's strange how easily your presence had come to be a part of the rhythm of his days. He used to wonder how someone like you would be drawn to the boring stillness of a flower shop. But now the place feels more emptier than before you came into his life, the petals around him somehow less vibrant, the air colder, even when the sun streams through the windows.

He tries not to dwell on it, but he can't help the nagging feeling that maybe you've drifted away, maybe things have changed. Maybe he was just a moment for you. And now, that moment has passed.

So he simply spends his days in the shop, moving between shelves of blossoms and arranging bouquets, but his thoughts always return to you. To the quiet moments when your voice would fill the space between the flowers, to the way you cared and tended the blooms even when you had no reason to.

It makes him think that if flowers could speak for us, then what might they say about you? Would they say you were someone who saw beauty in the smallest things? Minghao often found himself wishing that flowers could speak just so he can hear what they would say about you.

But flowers don't speak, of course. They just bloom and stretch toward the light, growing in places where they are tended to, and even in those that have been forgotten.

Maybe that's what Minghao was𑁋a forgotten flower of his own waiting to be seen, to be noticed.

Luckily, he was able to distract himself a bit today with a few deliveries for a couple of upcoming weddings and a new arrangement for the store he was preparing to do in the next few days, along with piles of orders for days. But it still wasn't enough.

As he flips the sign on the window to display Closed, he fumbles for his keys to lock the door. However, the sound of the bell rings through the shop, stopping him mid-motion. Minghao lifts a brow up, not expecting for anyone to show up right as he's about to close up.

And when he looks up, he freezes.

"I'm not late, aren't I?"

It's you.

The way your voice comes out all shaky like you're out of breath, yet soft has Minghao feeling as if he's sinking into quicksand. The sight of you standing at the doorway is a dream he never dares to wake up from.

"You're not," Minghao manages to say, somehow. "You're just in time."

Your lips tug into a small, relieved smile, and it's enough to make the air feel lighter in the shop. You take a few hesitant steps so that you're fully inside, letting the door shut behind you with a faint click. You take in the familiar, fresh scent of all the blooms and greenery around you, and it hits you in the heart just how much you've missed this place.

"I had, uh… a late shift at work," You explain unsurely. "so I thought about stopping by, but I wasn't sure if you'd still be here."

Minghao just shakes his head, watching as you brush your fingertips over some lilies and baby's breaths that were displayed on a small table near the window. Gosh, he'd do anything to flat out say how much he missed you, how much he'd been thinking about you, but he doesn't.

"Have you been busy?" You ask him.

"A little," he responds. "but manageable, I would say."

"Ah… that's good," You mumble, voice trailing off as you start to make your way in his direction, catching eye on a particular bouquet sitting on the counter behind him. "No-show again?"

Minghao lets out a sigh, and he feels you following behind as he walks towards the counter. He picks up the bouquet in his hand, letting his gaze fall over it.

"Mhm," he hums. "But it's alright, really. Happens more often than you think."

You quirk a brow as your eyes roam over the bouquet, and a particular, almost knowing look stretches across your lips.

"That's funny," You huff, taking the bouquet from his grasp. It held a colourful variety of hydrangeas. "It looks a lot like an order I placed a few days ago."

Minghao's heart skips a beat as he watches you carefully examine the bouquet, his breath caught in his throat.

"This… was yours?" he questions in surprise.

"Yeah, I…" You bite your lips sheepishly. "It was sort of an impulsive thing, I guess."

Minghao only continues to watch as you admire the bouquet, caressing over the delicate wrapping paper and the all-too familiar bow that he would tie all of his other arrangements.

"Impulsive, huh?" Minghao teases lightly, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. "Well, you certainly picked a good one."

You look up at him, a small, tentative smile forming on your face. "I guess I just wanted to get something special. For someone."

Minghao feels his heart sink at that, a flutter of hope and uncertainty colliding in his chest. Someone.

He opens his mouth to say something, but the words get caught in his throat, unsure if it's his place to ask, or if he even wants to hear the answer.

"I see," he says instead, trying to keep his tone relaxed, though there's a hint of sadness to his voice that he silently hopes you don't notice.

You take note of his unreadable expression, over the way his eyes appear downcast and a subtle tension to his posture.

However, this doesn't make you stop from gripping the bouquet tighter in your grasp, and then in the next moment, you're stepping closer and offering it over to him.

"I hope you like them," You state, holding out the bouquet thing as if was the most natural thing in the world.

Minghao glances at the bouquet quizzically, the same one he had just been holding, then back at you. His face shifts between a million different expressions𑁋confusion, surprise, hope, and everything in between𑁋before the tension in his chest eases just slightly as he finally registers what you're doing.

He's a florist, for crying out loud. He's usually the one to be giving flowers to people. Never in his years of practically living in the shop has anyone offered flowers to him. The gesture is practically foreign, yet in this moment, it feels so right.

His fingers graze against yours as he hesitantly takes it from your hands, but you fully let go. Instead, you cover his hand with yours, warmth spreading between you as you gently press your palm against his. His heart is beating in his throat, in his ears, everywhere in his body, and he wonders if you can feel it too.

"I missed you," You declare softly, yet a pinch of urgency behind your words. "I missed you so fucking much."

His chest tightens, and it's as if the weight of everything crushes him in the best possible way. All the time he had spent wondering if you had forgotten about him, if maybe you had moved on, it all melts away in an instant. Because you're here. And you're saying everything he's been craving to hear.

And gosh, does he want to kiss you right now.

This time, Minghao doesn't waste a second. He brings a hand up to cradle the side of your neck as he presses his lips to yours. It's perhaps a bit desperate first, making him swallow down a faint sigh you let out but it quickly settles into something softer, deeper, like two people who've been waiting for this moment for far too long.

He can feel the slight tremble in your breath as your lips move against his, and he pulls back slightly, just to make sure you were still with him.

Minghao lets his thumb lightly caress over your cheek as if trying to memorise the feeling of your skin under his touch, as if he'd been starved for this closeness.

"I missed you too," he whispers, a breath away from your lips. "The flowers did too."

A light, airy chuckle escapes from you. "Oh, did they?"

"Of course," Minghao murmurs, his lips curling upwards against your skin. "They've been waiting for you to come back."

"Well, I better not keep them waiting anymore then, right?" You jest playfully, leaning in back once again.

Minghao doesn't hesitate to meet you halfway. "Nope," he says firmly against your mouth. "I think they've waited long enough."

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#rania 🪴#seventeen #the8 #🏷️ — fic recs

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