#I don't really think this is fluff

[keischreiber]

Me just thinking of the before and after of how Reiner and Kristina interact with one another as they got to know each other better…

∘ Before: First few weeks of being… friends? Acquaintances? They didn't know. ∘

Kristina is working late because she has documents that needed to be reviewed for tomorrow's war council meeting with the brass. Reiner who also stayed behind because he had his own share of work to finish notices that the lights were on inside the room which Commander Magath shares with his officers. So, he knocks before carefully pushing the door that was already ajar to begin with, open. Reiner: Is anyone still— Kristina whose ears twitches at the sound of the familiar voice looks up from her pile of documents with a dirty look. Kristina: What do you want? Reiner: O-oh, I, uh— Kristina: Spit it out Eldian, otherwise, get out. Reiner: I— sorry to bother you. He leaves. Somehow, he felt a little disappointed, because they thought they had put a dent in their relationship as strangers. But that didn't seem to be the case. The next morning, Reiner finds a sorry note written in code, tucked away inside a map that was to be used for that day's meeting. The map was with him because he'll be discussing routes and logistics later. The sender? Kristina. It explained that there were listening devices inside the room, which was why she acted the way that she did. Somehow, Reiner found himself stunned. He simply shook his head, a defeated smile barely tugging at the corner of his lips. Reiner thought to himself: She really didn't need to apologize and explain herself.

∘ After: Almost a year and a half of being friends ∘

Kristina usually finds herself staying late at the Warrior's HQ. With the Warrior Candidates training being sped up because of the current war that Marley had with the Mid-East Alliance… there's always a lot of data about the children that need to be filtered, reviewed, and evaluated. At this point, Reiner would know that it was her who had stayed behind if the door was kept ajar. Regardless, he can't just take his chances, so he still knocks before entering. Reiner: This is the third night you're working late, Instructor Qual. The instructor doesn't even look from her pile, a look of disinterest was hanging over her features though. Kristina: Data doesn't collect itself. Why are you even here, Braun? Your War Chief already left hours ago, the other warriors, an hour ago, and the warrior candidates even earlier. Go home. Reiner: You're right, it doesn't. That's why the Commander handed this. Happened to be on the field when he did. Looks like he needs you to look at this too. He hands her an envelope with the words CONFIDENTIAL stamped on in. Kristina: If that's all, you can leave. Reiner: Here. She still doesn't look up, but sees him sliding a ration packet, and a small thermos. Raising a brow, she finally lifts her head from her papers only to look at the Vice Chief. Kristina: What's this? Reiner: Used to eat this a whole lot during missions back when we infiltrated Paradis. Downed it with some tea, when we could. She looks at it again. Kristina: I didn't ask for a sob story. Reiner: I know. Just thought you might need it. Kristina: Who'd want to eat or drink something that came from you monsters… Shaking his head, it was then that Reiner made gentle taps on the desk, too soft for any hearing device to pick up. It caught Kristina's attention for a moment, only to realize that he had already turned and began walking away. He raised a hand as if to say goodbye and then 'click', the door was closed, and the instructor was now alone inside the quiet office. Kristina: I feel like a jerk��� he even shared something about his past… When she remembers how he really tapped, "I understand" on her desk, she sighed. For now, she placed her pen down and reached for the thermos. Pouring its contents in cup, she found the warmth comforting on such a cold night. She sighed and took a drink. She could only really think to herself at that point. Kristina: Where the hell did he learn to make such a good cup of tea? It was warm. The tea, and most likely, her face.

tagging: @mobolanz Not entirely a story but, it is an example of how they interact. @sandosa Hi, this is erudianokabe. I remember you asked to be tagged too if I ever made content for Reiner and Kristina. xD

[xinganhao]

🌱 wonwoo x producer!reader.

the five times wonwoo swears he's over you (and the one time that he decides he isn't) ★ see also: main post, drabble

♫ maybe i'm just not better than this, i haven't tried / 'cause maybe you'll finally choose me after you've had more time.

🌱 the five times.

when he sees you for the first time in over a year.

he believes it's the nice thing to do, treating you out to dinner. he froze you out, after all, because he was stupid and he didn't know how to handle his crush on you. he likes to think that the past fourteen months have made him better. wiser. so, that night, he makes it up to you. he also makes up a dozen different excuses. do his eyes linger on you a little too long as you happily drink your yogurt drink? he's just making sure you like what he chose for you. does he walk a little closer when he notices you're shivering from the evening cold? he's just concerned you might get sick. he doesn't like you anymore. he's better now, wiser now. he has to be.

when your second studio choom video comes out.

it's not the same as the first time, where he'd smiled to himself while watching you perform your latest comeback in STUDIO CHOOM's crisp, 4k quality. back then, that's how he had known he was done for. this time, he watches it purely out of curiosity. to add to the millions of views that the video is already raking up. he keeps a straight face the whole time. just watches with a perfectly neutral expression. he's just a guy supporting a friend, isn't he? when he gets through the entire video without smiling, he counts that as a win. if his heart— the bloody traitor— had stuttered at your ending fairy, well. that's an entirely different story.

on a random tuesday, just because.

he's never really seen the appeal in games like stardew valley; they were always a little too slow for his taste. but you'd absolutely begged, and so he begrudgingly bought the game for ₩20,600 just to shut you up. he still doesn't care much for it, to be quite honest. there's a lot of slow, lazy days where he just dicks around in-game. he bears with it anyway since you're always so happy when you beat him at fishing, or when you get to steal away the bachelorette he was going after. your voice is a low buzz in his ear as the two of you play until the sun has risen, until he's cussing you out for keeping him up so late when he has a schedule to go to. you let him complain all he wants because he'll still back online for co-op later that night.

when you're back in the same recording studio as him.

this one is the hardest, because this is where he fell for you in the first place. you, with your head bent as you fiddle with jihoon's digital audio workstation. you, with your usually friendly demeanor shuttered behind something so cool and collected. the pencil tucked behind your ear. the way you worry your lower lip as the boys croon. he wants to scream, wants to test just how soundproof this damn studio is. instead, he sings his lines. he makes adjustments as necessary. he watches you do your thing, even jokes to you here and there. it's all he can do to keep his mind away from what it wants so badly to stray back to. in the end, he doesn't scream. but when you smile at him and tease him that he did a good job— he wishes he had.

when he drives you home after you've had one too many to drink.

you're half-asleep in his passenger seat, all soft edges and incoherent mumbles. he tries to be cross with you, tries to tell you off for not knowing your limits and ending up like this. there's an unmistakable softness in his gaze, though, as he makes sure the seatbelt isn't too tight around your frame. he avoids all the potholes and goes extra careful over the speed bumps. by the time he makes it to your dorm, you're already passed out with your cheek pressed against the window. he decides to let you sleep for only thirty seconds more. as he mentally counts down— thirty, twenty-nine, twenty-eight— he tries to convince himself that it won't sting when he gets to one. (it still does.)

🌸 the one time.

on another random tuesday.

in the end, it's not an evening of stardew valley that gets him. it's not one of your fancams, not your warm presence in his shotgun. no, it's something much more stupid. something much more small. it's the way he looks for his phone when it pings. he doesn't even know if it's you who's texting him. but it could be, and that's enough to have him fishing through his bag hastily. he catches himself one afternoon, notices the way he's just a touch too excited to check the newest notification. he's not any wiser or better, it seems. he doesn't know if he can be. he's still the same jeon wonwoo with a hopeless crush on you.

[galactaknightyaoi]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, GALACTA KNIGHT!!!! And congratulations to Meta Knight for experiencing the Cain Instinct for the first time.

Galacta Knight, as you might've been able to tell already, is one of my favorite characters, and KSSU is one of my favorite games (the original SS was my introduction to Kirby!) so I wanted to go all out. Happy day, old man. I pray for at least 20 more years.

Oh, and don't worry! He's not upset about the cake smash, he thinks it's funny. And he got back at him.

As for the in-universe explanation for there being 16 candles in his cake?

... 500+ didn't fit in safely.

The birthday boy and his family were just a bit too flammable.

[ghost-proofbaby]

It's summer for you, winter for me. Warm me up with strawberry fluff! As always, my muse, your muse, the one and only, Eddie.

Midsummer's night, because I don't have a lot to inspire you with. I'm thinking something cute but weird? Maybe some human body softness where Eddie is a bit of a freak and we love him for it. And we're told our bodies are lovely, even when they're doing weird shit.

I lalalove youuuuu. xo Rhi

RHI!!!! <3 i adore you. thank you for this prompt - i had far too many ideas for it, but ended up on settling for this one, which coincidentally feels like the most subtle of them all? either way, it definitely turned out being the softest. give me an eddie munson who just wants to sniff me like a dog. this definitely got a bit long but i hope you enjoy, my dear <3

the smell of you

warnings: weirdos in love? idk. i have a skewed sense of what is actually weird i think. mentions of death and coffins jokingly. eddie 'manhandles' reader sort of. not edited.

wc: 2.2k+

come enjoy a sweet summer treat with me <3

“Eddie?”

The entire apartment is quiet – too quiet – as you drop your keys into the old crystal bowl on the counter. The clink resonates through the air, louder than the soft murmur of the stereo static you can hear from down the hall. 

“You dead?” you call out again, slipping off your running shoes and tossing down your headphones onto the counter as well now, “Do I need to call the coroner?” 

Your tone is lilted, teasing with airiness as you continue to wander deeper into the apartment and head straight for the room you know Eddie has to be in. Like the waves pulled by the moon, there’s an incessant string tied around one end of your soul that connects you to his, and you follow it all the way down the hallway. The bedroom door is wide open, and you can hear his mumbled yell of a response without clarity before you even cross the threshold. 

You wouldn’t have even needed him to verbally respond to find him in this tiny apartment. You two could get separated on the streets of a bustling city, of a buzzing New York sidewalk, and you still wouldn’t properly lose him. It’s more than just soul ties and his gravity that keeps you pulled to him. 

Something unspoken. Something homely. 

“Sorry, what was that?” you hum as you spy him face-down in the bed, pillow muting him by the mouthful, “Say it one more time, and this time not into the pillow.” 

When he finally properly turns over, he’s a vision. Sleep lines folded into his skin and a bit of drool in the corner of his mouth, eyes squinting in irritation not at you but the sunlight flooding in through the bedroom window. Messy hair, messy shirt, messy everything. A kind of mess you just want to collapse into currently, curling up in all that he is from the day’s exhaustion. 

He’d mentioned wanting to take a nap before you’d left for the gym. Something about the summer heat draining him, trailing off as he’d rambled about how he’d probably thrive as a vampire. 

“I said,” he huffs, sitting up, the frizz of his hair becoming a makeshift halo, “If you call the coroner, request the comfiest coffin possible.”

“Why do you need a comfy coffin if you’re already dead?” 

“You dare deny me of being buried in tempurpedic memory foam? In my hour of need?” 

You roll your eyes as you huff out a little laugh, forcing yourself to turn away from him long enough to strip out of your socks. But just as you reach down for the pieces of clothing, you catch sight of the source of that stereo static flooding the room. 

Your shared record player, spinning a blood red pressing of one of your more recent vinyl purchases. The album has been played through, but the player no longer had an automatic stop mechanism, probably from years of use. 

The center of the record is probably scratched, and Eddie knows it, from how sheepish he looks when you glance over your shoulder at him. 

“Speaking of death,” you walk over quickly, purposefully, before carefully lifting the needle and cutting the static finally, “Care to explain why you’re burning scratches into my Momento Mori vinyl?” 

“I’m sorry,” he quickly apologizes, nearly flinging himself off the bed as he scooches quickly to the end, clearly fully awake now, “I put it on and thought I’d just lay down for a quick second, but then the bed was so comfy, and I thought it wouldn’t hurt to take a quick nap, and then…” he trails off, looking up at you through his lashes with big eyes already pleading for forgiveness, “I’ll buy you a new one. Swear it.” 

It’s impossible to be mad at him when he’s looking like this, inhumanely soft and easily forgiven, “You’re lucky you’re cute, or you really would be dead.” 

He doesn’t respond with words, but instead the outstretch of his hands, fingers flexing as he beckons to you. The needle rests on its perch, the vinyl left behind to gather dust for a few extra moments, as you go straight to him. 

When his palms slip beneath your old t-shirt and meet your skin, they’re pleasantly warm. 

“You were right,” you admit as his knees spread, delegating even more room for you to stand in front of him as your hand wanders to cradle the side of his face, fingers tangling in sweaty curls from his rest. Your thumb mimics his on your own skin instinctively, tracing a large arch right up over his cheekbone, “It’s hot as balls outside.” 

“Told you so,” he murmurs, smiling softly in satisfaction as he leans lazily into your touch. 

“You did,” you agree quietly, half-entranced by his relaxed face, no sight of pride in the room currently. 

He resembles a cat as he continues to preen under your gentle hand, and you almost expect him to start purring right before you find the strength to pull away, removing his hands from where they'd wandered to your lower back. 

One swipe of his finger along your sweaty spine, and you’d remembered what your original intentions had been immediately upon getting home. 

“Wai- Where are you going?” he’s seemingly brought back down to Earth the moment he loses the pattern your thumb had been tracing, the press of your fingertips into his scalp. When he reaches back out to latch onto you again, you take a step back, “Get back here-”

“I need to shower,” you laugh, shaking your head and smacking his hands away as he continues to barter, “I’m all sweaty and smelly, let me go clean up and then we can nap togeth-” 

“You can shower after we nap,” he nearly whines, finally catching your shirt between his fingers and tugging, uncaring for if he stretches the fabric. A small price to pay to have you close to him, “C’mon, sweetheart. I know you’re just as exhausted as I am.” 

You swear you meant to take another step backwards, but somehow, you end up back between his knees, “Did you not hear me, Munson? I stink.”

“Good.” 

He doesn’t give you any time to react – in an instant, he’s throwing his face forward, burying it against your stomach as you let out a gasp and immediately try to pry him away with far too gentle of hands in his hair. 

“Eddie!”

If it were anyone else, you’d probably be mortified. But Eddie just takes a dramatic deep breath in, nose buried just shy of your belly button, and when his shoulders start to shake with muted laughter, you can’t stop the smile from breaking. Your fingers are still twisted in his hair, still pulling back in an attempt to get him away from you, but he’s resilient. 

And all your faux resistance is weak in comparison. Soon enough, you’re back to melting into him. 

Only once you’re relaxed once more, no sign of trying to pull away again any time soon as his hands once more evade the space beneath your shirt to wander up and down your sticky skin without a care in the world, does he lift his face away from you long enough to breathe and speak, “I’ll have you know – I love your stink.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious.” 

“You’re an idiot.” 

“I’m your idiot.” 

The game of banter is cut short when he goes back to pressing his nose into your clothes that surely can’t smell good. No amount of deodorant or perfume could erase that underlying stench of sweat. Hell, the shirt is still a bit moist from it all: from the walk to the gym, from your workout itself, from the walk home. It’d been through the ringer, and you’re back to tugging him away from you. 

“I refuse to believe you like how gross I smell right now,” you reinforce, eyes darting towards the bathroom connected to your master bedroom, “I promise I’ll be quick with the shower.” 

“Baby,” he fights back, wrapping his arms around you securely, no intention of losing this battle, “You remember that time we went to the fair, and you were complaining about how you were sweating, so I tried to lick your face?” 

Your nose scrunches quickly at the memory, “I do, unfortunately.”

“You really think I’d be willing to lick the sweat off your body but be afraid of you smelling a little bad while we cuddle?” his shoulders drop as he looks up at you, head tilted, almost as if amused with the conversation, “What kind of man do you take me for?” 

“The kind that gets off on annoying me.” 

His jaw drops, putting on a fake look of offense before he dramatically throws himself back onto the bed, laying flat as he makes a fist to mimic stabbing his chest, “You wound me.”

You’ve heard those words a thousand times in a hundred different ridiculous voices. You’ve seen this scene enough to have it mesmerized at this point, down to the over-exaggerated pout of his lips and the lingering of the fist against his sternum. 

You never grow tired of it. You never will. 

“Need me to kiss it better?” you joke as you prop a knee up on the bed, following the same script as always. 

And he hits his queue perfectly when he lifts his head eagerly at the expected response, wiggling his brows a bit. “Absolutely. Doctor’s orders, in fact.” 

“Great,” you see an opportunity, and take it, “I’ll get right to it, after my showe-” 

You don’t even get the final syllable of the word off your tongue before he’s clenching his thighs around your own, knees pressing hard before he wraps his legs the rest of the way around your waist to pull you in. A squeak of surprise leaves your lips as you begin to fall forward, but Eddie is quick to break the fall with ease. Catching you with his eager hands, maneuvering for you to half drop to the mattress while some of you still lands atop of him. 

He has you right where he wants you, turning his head to be face to face with you, noses nearly brushing, “Unfortunately, the doc said you have to kiss it better now, or else you’ll be comfy coffin shopping.” 

“A fatal wound?” you gasp, nearly mocking him. It doesn’t offend him – if anything, his boyish grin only grows wider, “First, I’m smelly-”

“Again, I like when you’re smelly.”

“-And then I inflict a fatal wound upon my lover? Oh, how dare I.”

Slowly, all your insecurity of how you currently smell is simply fading. The entire ordeal has become an art of childlike, whimsical jokes – and Eddie is an artist. A professional at the dance, locked and loaded with his incomparable skill set equipped for disarming you this way. The ability to make someone feel loved, imperfections and weirdness aside. 

He likes you, even when you claim you don’t smell your best. And you like him, even when his hair is tangled beyond recognition and one of his socks is half-hanging off his foot from a nap.

You like him when he’s embarrassing you in public, tongue chasing after you with the threat of licking your sweat away, and he likes you when all you can do in response is a weak palm to his chest (that isn’t even making an effort to push him away) as you giggle relentlessly. 

You like each other on the good days, the bad days, the weird days. 

Disarmed entirely, you don’t even notice when his face conveniently slots itself far too close to your armpit as you two scooch further up into the bed. You’re more occupied with the way your legs tangle up, toeing each other’s socks off properly as he slings a heavy arm across your torso. 

“We’re gonna have to wash the sheets,” you mumble, exhaustion catching up as the two of you finally settle. 

He hums absentmindedly, nuzzling into your skin a bit further as he makes himself comfortable. “And wash away your sweet, sweet stink? I don’t think so, sweetheart.” 

“Oh, fuck off,” you laugh, unbothered as your fingers start to trail up and down his back over the t-shirt, smoothing out wrinkles along the way, “I’m serious. We need to change them soon anyways, I think I got crumbs in the bed the other night with those crackers.” 

“Bury me in the crumbs of all your midnight snacks,” he almost slurs, clearly drifting back off. 

You snort in response, relaxing and letting your own eyes shut. Matching all your deep breaths with his own, a million different last words crossing your mind to whisper to the boy you’re sure is once again asleep. 

I love you.

I adore you. 

I would like to spend the rest of my life with you, if you’ll have me. 

And maybe some of those unspoken thoughts slip out without you realizing, because he squeezes you just a little bit tighter, presses his face just a little bit deeper into your skin as his scruff tickles you. 

The only actual thought you can know for certain that you say, though, is, “Do you think they actually make coffins with memory foam inside?” 

To your surprise, even despite the almost-snores that had been escaping him, he answers in a heartbeat. 

“Oh, definitely. We’ll order two.”

[fogdraws]

Meanwhile at 221b Baker Street,,,

[touchyluffy]

part one

In the days it takes you to heal from your injuries, Luffy comes to your bedroom to sleep next to you every night. He does try, the night after the first, to sleep in his own bedroom but he can't. Usually sleep comes easy to him, especially after a long day of adventure but not now. He closes his eyes, trying to think of your wounds healing, your soft breathing, your warm hand holding his, but he can't fall asleep. He huffs in irritation and rises from his bed, sulking across the ship to knock on your bedroom door and opening it slowly. You put down your book, you were also struggling to sleep, and open the covers for him. You smile at each other as he excitedly hops into your bed.

And so it becomes routine for you two. Even as your injuries heal completely, as the sunsets and the crew walks off to their separate bedrooms, Luffy follows you into yours and you let him. It becomes normal to roll over in the middle of the night and snuggle into his warm body, to wake up in the morning with his arm wrapped around you, to feel him pull you closer in his sleep, to giggle at his sleep-talking, to hear your name in his mumblings. You offer to let him keep his toothbrush and some clothes in your room, he accepts.

Sleeping together becomes so routine that you have trouble sleeping without him. There were times when you two would be separated by a foe that Luffy challenged and each night you would stay awake staring at his side of the bed, worry clouding your mind and making it impossible to sleep and eventually when Luffy defeated the foe, he would be covered in bandages and it was your turn to listen to his soft, even breathing as he slept. There were times when you be working late into the night and he would come find you, curling up on the floor next to you to sleep in your presence until you eventually finish and drag him back to your bed so you can both sleep comfortably. There were times when you would get angry at him for putting the crew in danger with his recklessness and you'd slammed your bedroom door in his face and toss and turn, your anger at him turning into desperation for him to just come to bed already, eventually you get up to find him and as you open your bedroom door, Luffy's sleeping frame falls on your legs. He'd been sleeping against your door. Smiling you pull his rubbery body into bed and cuddle up next to him, his heartbeat your lullaby. He smiles in his sleep and his arms come up around you. Whenever he's missing his hat or sandals, you find them by your bed.

This new routine of you and your captain sleeping together left your other crewmates with their mouths on the floor several times. They still hadn't gotten used to you two waving goodnight and walking into the same bedroom. When they would ask, you tried to explain but there really wasn't anything to explain. You and their captain couldn't sleep unless you slept together. That's all, why do they always stare at you in such surprise when you say that? Their shocked faces didn't discourage you both into cuddling up to each other at night, finding relaxation, warmth, safety, and comfort in each others arms. What was once your space becomes "our bedroom", "our closet", "our bathroom".

[i-like-to-look-at-your-back]

Busy morning

Inspired by Mornings, With You (and coffee, too) by @lurethegalaxy

[etchif]

'They would not fucking say that' but it's 'they would not be this accepting of their own queerness, at least not just yet'

[funishment-time]

despite The Horrors, so many things in UDG really are just a hilarious concept because like. in DR3 we see the Remnants all going out into the world to Fuck Shit Up. and then Nagito is quite literally just babysitting an army of 10 year olds that really needed a time out

[canisalbus]

I bit of Machete art for you. He’s such an amazing character, and you’re so inspirational

.

[hyunniesgirl]

This picture just made me think about bf!lee know waiting for you after your classes ended, because this person in your university keeps hitting on you even though you already told them you have a boyfriend.

Minho will walk to you as soon as he sees you and throw his arms possessively over your shoulders when he gets closer, smiling to your friends and making sure everyone around knows you're taken and that he's not letting anyone take you from him.

[skeltnwrites]

my brain really tries to turn steve into a dad in every universe. i was just thinking about vampire!steve and his little half-vampire babies. maybe they inherit a garlic allergy from him and maybe even if they aren't technically nocturnal like him, they'd be bouncing off the walls at night anyway. his kids would die laughing when he has to wait to be invited inside aunt robbies house while they just walk right in. and he'd be able to hear when they're getting into trouble before you because of his extra good hearing. and just imagine if they inherited little baby fangs they'd be menaces at preschool!

[zirconpetals]

Langworth is such a funny ship because despite the way they look those are a couple of nerds whose top date idea would be debating each other for fun (and they'll have a great time too)

[sunshinebingo]

@gwynrielweeksofficial Day 3 - Confessions

Synopsis: Azriel is nervous about something important that he has to tell Gwyn.

Word Count: 1.4k

Read on Ao3

This is it. This is the day. Azriel is going to confess. Finally!

He has gone through a hundred different scenarios in his head and rehearsed a thousand different speeches. All of this in the hope for the best possible ending to this conversation. He isn’t even sure whether he is prepared enough for it. Anything can go wrong. But he can do it. Right?

Some may well think that it is no big deal. But for Azriel, and since it is Gwyn, it is the biggest of deals. He has felt the blood draining from his face the moment the realisation has hit him. Since then, a sense of dread has filled him every time he has thought of telling her. They have spent a lot of time together in the past week but the fear of her reaction has taken over every single time he had thought about admitting it to her.

Even now, he is still nervous despite being, as Gwyn likes to say, older than some of the rocks that have been used to build Velaris, and having been through much worse experiences in his life. But this is Gwyn. And he won’t be able to take it if he somehow ruins the precious thing that is their relationship. A few months aren’t nearly enough. He wants to spend years with his Gwyn. Centuries during which he intends to cherish her like she deserves and build a life with her.

“You know I care about you, right?” he mumbles to himself while pacing the length of his room. “No. You know that I care a lot about you, right?”

And on and on he goes until three knocks sound at the door of his bedroom and it opens without waiting for his response.

“Hi,” Gwyn’s sweet greeting soothes him as she walks in.

Azriel prays that her good mood will not be completely ruined by the upcoming conversation. He waits until she kisses his cheek – something that she always does when they meet, even if they are simply crossing paths and going about their business two seconds later – before he takes her hands and guides her to the bed. She sits down on the edge of the mattress with no question except for the silent one visible in her eyes and furrowed brows.

“I have something important to tell you,” he starts, squeezing her hand and kneeling down in front of her.

This is it. There is no going back now that he has her full attention. He has been holding onto this for long enough anyway. She deserves to know the truth.

“Is something wrong, Az?”

Azriel brings her hands to his lips and kisses her knuckles before placing their joined hands back on her lap.

“Gwyn.”

He takes a deep breath in. And on his exhale, he looks at her in the eyes and finally lets the truth come out.

“I lost your favourite book.”

Silence follows. Azriel’s eyes scan her face in search of a reaction so that he can know whether he should start running now or if he will have the time to give her an explanation and an apology. Gwyn’s face remains blank though her body has gone quite rigid since he uttered his last word. These could truly be his last words if she suddenly pulls out a dagger.

“Which one?”

A little relief washes over him at the calmness in her tone. It is short-lived however and disappears as soon as he notices her reaction at his following response.

“The one you lent me last week.”

Her eyes widen. Azriel feels her grip tightening on his hands.

“The first edition one?”

Azriel nods while internally debating if he should launch into the explanation and apology part now or if interrupting her interrogation will upset her more. So many questions and none leaving him feeling less guilty and nervous.

“The one that I tracked across Prythian for weeks?”

He nods again.

“And that by some miracle I managed to get the author to sign?”

He gulps. And nods again.

“HOW COULD YOU?” she shouts and harshly pulls her hands away as she stands up.

“I’m sorry, Gwyn,” he pleads. “I took it with me on my last mission so I could read it. It’s only when I got back home and looked for it that I realised my mistake.”

Gwyn crosses her arms and looks down at him with all the anger a female who has lost her most treasured possession can possess. It probably won’t take long before the dagger comes out.

“How could you be so careless? This isn’t meant to go promenading with. You know how much this means to me.”

Azriel abandons all the pretty speeches and decides to just go for the truth. He grabs Gwyn’s hand again and looks up at her from where he still kneels at her feet.

“It was extremely stupid of me. I’m so sorry. I’m already doing everything I can to find you another one.”

Gwyn stomps her foot down like a petulant child. “Yes. It was stupid of you,” she grits out.

She tries to withdraw her hand again but this time he holds on. She tugs harder, trying to turn away from him. Azriel holds onto her hand firmly even as she turns her back to him.

“Please don’t stay mad at me. I will make it up to you. I love you so much and I can’t stand when you’re cross with me.”

Gwyn suddenly stops trying to free her hand from his and slowly turns towards him.

“You... What?”

“I will make it up to you,” he promises.

He will do anything to avoid that Gwyn keeps her distance from him. He knows that she will be even more stubborn about it when he is the one at fault. The last time they had an argument, Gwyn, the petty minx, has done everything she could to be in his vicinity but not actually interact with him. It has been torture watching her act as though he wasn’t there at all.

“No. Not that. You said...”

“What? Don’t stay mad at me?”

“No, you idiot,” she says with an exasperated eye roll. “You...love me?”

Azriel frowns at her in confusion. “Of course I love you,” he answers matter-of-factly.

He watches as her expression morphs from shock after the anger to what he can only describes as wonder. A smile starts to brighten her face again and Azriel swears that tears start to line her ocean eyes. It only causes his confusion to grow.

“Wha- why are you smiling? Are you not mad anymore? Is it because I lo–”

He stops. And realises that it is the very first time that this confession has come out of his mouth.

“Oh!”

“Oh?”

Gwyn’s smile turns into a smirk while Azriel tries to process what he had just said. And why he didn’t say it sooner. Hasn’t he known for a while that he loves her? Hasn’t he been thinking earlier about how he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her? Of course he loves her. And it has taken a stupid mistake for his mind to come to terms with what his heart already knows.

“I love you,” he whispers more to himself, as though testing the words on his tongue.

“I love you,” he says, louder, when he looks up at her.

Gwyn’s laughter prompts his own. At the first tear that rolls down her blushing cheek, Azriel stands on his feet, cups her face and kisses her as though he has been deprived of her lips for a long time. He pulls away after a while and lifts her up to twirl her around, barely avoiding that they crash into any furniture around the room.

“I love you too,” she says in between laughs after he finally allows her feet to touch the ground again. “And I forgive you for now.”

Azriel looks down at the one he is certain is the love of his life. She is it. Though right now he has no idea what he is being forgiven for.

[utilitycaster]

There's this weird phenomenon where the people who are really, really invested in Campaign 3 being The Best try to argue that it's the most closely bonded party. when in fact the absolute strongest material with Bells Hells thus far is them realizing with a shock that they've spent almost three months alternating between "my way or the highway" and smoothing things over to the point that they almost shatter along with Ashton and realize that they absolutely cannot go on a time-sensitive, mission-critical journey to save the world without stopping to take a team-bonding vacation.

And to be clear, this rips, but it feels as though while Campaign 1 and Campaign 2 fans might disagree on their favorite campaigns, they do like their campaigns for what they actually are and simply have different preferences with regards to what kind of story they like. This particular flavor of Campaign 3 fans, and there's a decent number of them, only care about winning on the most kindergarten-ass "all you need is love 🥺" axis (also, shades of the bean-counting/points approach to media analysis) but as a result they put forward an idea of the campaign that's simply not the reality and it's like, do you like Campaign 3? Or do you like the fanfiction version of it you wrote in your head based on the first 10 episodes and into which you have slowly dissolved your brain? There's plenty of valid reasons to enjoy or even prefer the campaign, but it's easily the most dysfunctional party and that's fine!

[if-loki-was-a-fox]

I love it when c!BorealTrio is just like

c!Phil and c!Techno about c!Ranboo: "Ranboo is our friend who we would fight the world for to keep safe and happy. He is one of few people in this world we would entrust with our and lives." (Even if one of them, not naming names, won't admit it)

And then c!Ranboo's like: "Ah yes, my neighbors! Friendly acquaintances! They sure have been awfully nice to me, practically a total stranger! I can't imagine what it would be like if they cared about me on a personal level :]" (aka: I love these two but I'm sure they just kinda tolerate me)

And then not a single one of them ever catches on