#and plenty of them are optimistic and hopeful

[marisetcaelum]

❝ well, yes.. i suppose you could say that.. of course i realize my mistake, though i've always been called optimistic.. perhaps to an embarrassing degree, as you've seen. ❞

bird nods and glances down, folding her hands in front of her. at his words about carnal relations, however, she glances back up with the hint of a frown.

she sighs softly and swallows back her frustration. they had already been pointed enough with each other over this.

❝ i assure you, major, i have no intention of turning your men into my personal harem. far from it. ❞ she can't help but snort a little at the idea - bird had never been one to think of herself as desirable, nevertheless a seductress. ❝ my only wish is to aid your troops, not to distract them. ❞

bird's hands move to adjust her skirts slightly, smoothing them out to get more comfortable.

❝ and despite your reassurances, i feel i've plenty to make up for already. ❞ a nod of her head to the rain outside that had eased from a downpour to a sprinkle. ❝ but i hope in time that i can show you i'm no harlot - only a foolish woman with terrible luck. ❞

the woman manages a small smile and bows her head, attention turning to the ribbon tied around her waist to try and hide her embarrassment.

"The loveliest," Benjamin agreed, chuckling. "Unfortunately, madam, the cold hard truth of the matter is, out here, it's far from glamorous work. I'm unsure of your background, but since you believed we all own cutlery...well...I imagine you are more of a privileged sort? With all due respect, of course."

To his surprise, Bird opted for the medical tent. "If it makes you feel any better, most of our nurses don't start out experienced," he said, "but they can assuredly learn. However..." He leaned toward her. "I hope you aren't merely doing this to prove a point. You should never be bothered, nor influenced, by what someone else thinks."

If nothing else, she seemed well-versed in basic tools for the trade -- that would go a long way.

Benjamin's smile grew wan. "There will be many opportunities, yes... If there are not men with literal wounds, there are those with contagion. Camp diseases run rampant, which is why we ask that you...well..." A sharp, burning heat formed beneath his collar, and clearing his throat, he barreled on, "We request that no carnal relations occur between anyone but man and wife, if only to cut back on some of the less gentlemanly ailments."

[moonstruckme]

Heyyy! So I'm obsessed with your writing! Your EMT series might be my favourite thing I've ever read.

I was wondering if I could request an EMT Marauders x reader story where she gets really sick but thinks it's nothing and downplays it to them, only for it to end up being Pneumonia or something. And maybe they feel guilty for not realising it sooner?

I know you've probably already written something similar to this so no worries if you don't feel like writing it but I'd love to see your take it if you decide. Hurt/comfort is my favourite trope in the world. I just can't get enough of it!

I hope you're doing well!

Thanks gorgeous, hope you're doing well too <3

cw: pneumonia

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

You make sure there’s plenty of honey in your tea when the boys get home. 

“Hi,” you greet them, pleased when your voice comes out semi-normal. 

“Hey, gorgeous.” Sirius flops onto the sofa, nearly on top of your curled-up legs. “How was your day?” 

You try to keep your answer brief, your cough plied into submission with honey and warm tea but not for long. “Good. Got some things done.” 

You don’t mention that after every one of those things you’d had to have a thirty-minute lie down, or that many of them involved disinfecting surfaces you’d accidentally coughed near. 

“Being sick isn’t an opportunity to get things done.” Remus sinks into his chair, leveling you with a reprimanding look. “You’re supposed to be resting.” 

You shrug. “The only reason I haven’t been at work is because—” A couple of coughs fight their way out of you. James’ expression pinches as he sits on the arm of Remus’ chair, but thankfully the fit passes quickly. You take another sip of your tea. “Because I don’t want to pass it to anyone. I think I have to go back tomorrow, though.” 

Sirius makes a soft tsking sound. The boys are all still in uniform, his tattoos peeking out from the short sleeves as he traces looping circles on the side of your knee. “But you’re not better yet.” 

“Yeah, but I’m running out of sick days.” 

James frowns. “How long has it been?” 

You bring your tea to your lips, avoiding meeting anyone’s eyes. “I’ve been out for a week.” 

“But you were sick for a while before that,” he says. “What is that, ten days? Eleven?”

You shrug. 

Sirius is looking up at you with a puckered brow. “Do you feel like you’re getting better?” 

“I think so,” you say optimistically. It’s quickly undermined, however, when you’re caught up in another coughing fit. You have to set your tea down to keep from spilling it, holding a tissue over your mouth. 

James’ eyes widen, and Sirius sits up to rub your back. 

“That doesn’t sound very good,” James says. 

“No,” Sirius agrees. He reaches to feel your face, but you brush him away. 

“Don’t-—ack—don’t get too close. I don’t want to get you sick.” 

“I’m not gonna get sick, you baby.” He pushes past your hands. “Let me do my job.” 

“You just got off work.” 

“Yeah, well,” his voice softens, taking on a sympathetic hum as he lays his palm flat to your hairline, “maybe I maybe I was talking about my boyfriend job.” A pause. “I think your fever’s gotten worse, my love.” 

You whine. “Really?” 

“‘Fraid so. Have you noticed your symptoms getting worse at all?”

“I don’t” —you cough and reach for your tea again— “think so.” 

“Dove,” Remus says warningly. 

“It’s hard to tell,” you admit. “It’s moved around.” 

“Like where, honey?” James asks. 

“Like, in my…” You feel your throat contract, another fit brewing. You touch a hand to your sternum to avoid speaking. 

“In your chest?” Remus infers. 

You nod. 

He hums and moves to sit on the coffee table, his knees touching yours. You try to warn him away, but Remus shushes you gently. “Let me look at you.” 

He brings one hand to your face, feeling the way Sirius had, and touches the other to the pulse point on your neck. His touch is gentle and cool against your warm skin. You don’t know what exactly he’s looking for, but you find yourself fighting the urge to fall asleep in the basin of his palm when it slips down to hold your cheek. 

“You don’t need to talk,” says James, “but just nod yes or no, okay? Have you noticed yourself feeling more tired lately?” 

You nod tentatively. 

“Yeah? Less appetite?” 

You frown. “I don’t think—” You’re cut off by your own hacking. 

“One week off work, and she completely forgets how to follow instructions,” Sirius teases, rubbing your leg. 

“Terrible patient,” James agrees. 

“Alright,” Remus says once your fit ebbs. “I don’t have a stethoscope, but can you turn sideways for me?” 

You do, confused. Remus puts his ear to your back. You must make an odd face, because Sirius grins at you, reaching over to pinch your chin affectionately. 

“Take a deep breath,” Remus instructs. 

You try, but it doesn’t get far. Your lungs expand maybe halfway before you’re coughing again, horrible, wracking coughs punctuated by stabbing pains in your chest. Remus sits up after a few moments, rubbing your back. 

“Sorry,” you manage. 

“Why are you sorry?” Sirius pulls you into him, cradling your head to his chest. “That sounded like it hurt, huh?” 

“Yeah,” Remus answers for you, brows bent with sympathy. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. At least now we can get you some medicine, though.” 

You cough weakly. “You can?” 

“Sounds like pneumonia?” James asks Remus. Your boyfriend nods. 

Sirius coos, petting your head. “I’m sorry, baby. I was thinking it was just a cold.” 

“It’s not your fault,” you croak. “I was, too.” 

“Feels like we ought to have known the difference, though,” James admits. When Sirius gets up, he’s quick to take his spot, tucking you underneath an arm. 

“Where are you going?” you ask Sirius. 

He’s putting his shoes back on. “To get someone to write you a prescription. The sooner we get you on antibiotics, the better. It’ll give you something to show your boss, too.” 

“I don’t need to come with you?” you ask hopefully. 

He winks, grabbing his keys. “Perks of knowing people at the hospital.” 

“Perks of flirting with the doctors, he means,” Remus mutters after he’s gone. 

“Hey,” James laughs, giving his boyfriend’s knee a playful squeeze, “it works out for us, doesn’t it?” 

“Sometimes,” Remus allows. He fixes his gaze on you. “Anything we can do to help you feel better, sweetheart? Do you want to try a hot bath? Steam would be good for you.” 

You look down into your now cool mug. “Could I have some more tea?” 

He takes it from you with a kiss to your head. “What a silly question.”

[rhettrosunsets]

Dear Soulmate - Robert Reynolds X Fem!Reader

Pairing: Robert Reynolds X Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff

Summary: You've been called many things, a hopeless romantic, an eternal optimist, delusional. But you know in your heart of hearts that somewhere out there, your soulmate is waiting for you, and you'll keep writing about it till you find them.

(Based Off Laufey's Dear Soulmate)

Masterlist

Warnings: No use of Y/N. No description of reader. Reader is a hopeless romantic. Illusions to bad dates. Some people are shitty to reader. Laufey lyrics are intertwined throughout the fic.

Notes: This is so self indulgent. I absolutely adore this song with my entire being. I got the inspiration and just knew that I wanted to write Bob to this song.

Edited ✅

You’ve always believed in true love.

Maybe not the fairytale kind with big beautiful sweeping ball gowns and dashing princes. Or princesses losing their shoes, and the princes coming to find them. But you believed in the quiet kind of love, the kind of love that slips into your life like warm sunlight after a harsh winter's day.

The kind of love that sounds like laughter in the kitchen on early mornings while you cook breakfast together. The kind of love that feels like a warm hug after you've been in the cold. The type of love where you understand each other on a deeper level, like you two know each other better than anyone around you.

You’ve spent your whole life wondering where that love might be.

It started when you were little. You used to watch couples in old movies. your tiny head tilted, and your heart aching with something you didn’t quite have words for yet.

You would always say that you wanted to be loved like the girls in the movies while tears welled up in your small eyes. Your family laughed in the background, but you meant it. That’s what you wanted.

You soon began to wonder about all the thing’s your future soulmate would have, and that's when you started your journal. It was a small journal with a lock and key that you got at the school bookfair. You began to scribble in it every time you noticed something about yourself, or thought about features your soulmate might have. You would messily write down questions in bright gel pens adorned with various stickers? 

“Dear Soulmate, Do you live In New York City?”

“Dear Soulmate, Do you have a sister too?

Even as you got older and your life got louder, you never stopped holding onto that hope. The hope that someone out there was also thinking about you in the same way you thought about them. 

You went through high school, and you were called a hopeless romantic, someone who could never be satisfied, an eternal optimist for a love that doesn’t really exist. But you felt in your heart that it did, you knew it did. Despite what people would say and the words muttered about your perception of love, you just knew that someone had to be out there for you.

College had rolled around, and you still hadn’t found the one. You went on dates, plenty of them. You’ve gone on first dates with all types of people, some nice, some smart. Some were hilarious, and some were so cruel that you felt your heart slowly chipping away piece by piece. But none of them fit, none of them ever truly saw the real you. And you always left those dinners and coffee shops feeling lonelier than when you’d arrived.

But still, you waited, still writing in the same journal you’ve kept since you were a kid. 

“Dear Soulmate, Do you think of me?”

It was a dull Fall day on campus. You were in the final stretch of your senior year of college and you wanted nothing more than to finish up your studies and get a move on with your life. Despite the urge to finish this part of your life, you felt somewhat defeated. It felt like with every first date you went on, that you were getting further and further from ever meeting your soulmate. 

It was on this day, after a particularly bad first date that you were sat with your friend, you writing in the falling apart lock and key journal. Your friend had questioned what you were writing, and you told her the truth.

You were writing about your soulmates, questions you had for them, the things you wondered about.

Your friend laughed but didn’t make fun of you, or even discourage your writing, she just uttered a simple. “When you meet your soulmate, you’ve gotta give them that so they can see how long you’ve been waiting for them.”

You laughed with a shake of your head at her reply and went back to writing, having moved on from the stickers all over the pages, but still using colorful pens that remind you of your youthful dreams. 

You wrote out

“Dear Soulmate, One day i’ll give this to you”

You meet Bob on a Thursday.

The New York skyline was bleak and gray with a storm obviously coming in. Your once hot coffee was now cold after hours of not being able to drink it. And your to-do list was so laughably long It made you want to cry just thinking about it. You were running some errands for a friend when you bumped into him outside the bookstore, quite literally.

You feel yourself hit a solid body as you go tumbling backwards, your coffee luckily falling to the side and not all over you. Your bag drops, books and journal tumbling to the sidewalk. And before you can even apologize to whoever you just hit at full speed someone is crouched beside you, carefully gathering them up.

“Oh my god, M’so sorry.” you start to say, throwing your journal quickly in your bag “I wasn’t paying attention, my head was a million mi-”

“No, no, that was me.” he interrupts, his voice low, warm and gentle. He glances up at you, and your breath hitches in your throat just a little. He’s tall, has broad shoulders, has messy brown hair and the most gorgeous blue eyes you’ve ever seen.

He reaches for your copy of Jane Eyre, brushing his long fingers across the cover. “This is a good one. I just read it.” he said quietly, then held it out to you for you to take.

You blinked, startled by how gentle he sounded when he talked to you. “Yeah. Kind of a quiet little comfort read for me.” You mutter back softly, enthralled by the man who quite literally took your breath away as you reach for the book to put back into your bag.

“I like the quiet ones” he said gently as he looked at you. 

You smiled wide, your heart beating a million miles as your heart felt like it could leap out of your chest.

You soon learned his name was Bob, it was so simple, but it felt so right. You two ended up walking a couple blocks together, your conservation never getting dull or boring, it just kept going about anything and everything.

You gave him your number on impulse, scribbled on the back of an old receipt you had in your bag using the same purple gel pen that you use in your journal. It's probably the boldest thing you’ve ever done. But something in you told you to do it, and you listened.

You never expected him to use it. You expected him to throw it away as soon as you walked away.

But he used it.

A day later, he texted you

 “Hey. It’s Bob from the sidewalk disaster. Was wondering if you’d let me take you out for coffee sometime. Replace the one I ruined.”

You stared at the message longer than you cared to admit, your heart pounding away in your chest, a smile gracing your lips before finally typing a response

 “Only if you promise to let me pay for the coffee.”

The second time you saw him, it was pouring rain. You ducked under the coffee shop awning, soaked to the bone from the walk, but a smile gracing your face anyways. You spotted him already waiting at a window seat, one hand curled around a mug, his thumb tracing the handle slowly like he was lost in thought. He stood up the second he saw you,

“You okay?” He asked, his voice full of concern, his gentle eyes scanning your drenched form.

“Just a bit damp” you laughed softly. “But the coffee’s so worth it”

He smiled, his eyes softening as he mumbles a soft “You’re worth it.” so subtle you almost can’t hear him. You paused while taking your jacket off as you felt your face flush with heat, and then looked down, shyly. Responding with a soft “That’s a bold line for the first date.” 

Bob then made your heart skip another beat by saying, “It’s not a line, just the truth.” Before helping you take your soaked jacket off and laying it over the back of his seat instead of yours.

The two of you fell into a rhythm after that date.

Late night texts became a normality. The both of you stayed up till ungodly hours as you talked about anything and everything you could. Long walks became something you two took together, you loved walking through parks and pointing out the simple things, or feeding the ducks in the lake. 

You talked about everything and nothing, and he just let you. He loved the way you never stopped looking for meaning in small things and Bob listened like he’d never heard anyone speak the way you did, like every word touched his soul.

One night, a few months into your relationship you asked the question “Do you believe in soulmates?” It was a late rainy night. You were both curled on the couch at the tower with a bunch of blankets thrown over your laps, soft music playing in the background, while rain pelted at the windows. Bob was lying back against the couch with his arm around you, your head tucked under his chin.

He didn’t answer right away, seeming to give the question a moment of thought.

“Not always.” he said softly with a sigh before continuing, “I used to think that maybe that kind of thing wasn’t meant for people like me.”

You turned your head slightly to meet his gentle eyes. “What kind of people?” you asked softly. His gaze flickered as his eyes dimmed a bit. “The ones who’ve been broken before and have broken others. The ones who can’t always keep that light on inside them.”

Your heart clenched as you looked at your boyfriend, a loving gaze in your eyes. “Maybe that’s exactly who soulmates are meant for?” you reply gently, before grabbing his hand in yours and giving it a gentle squeeze. 

He looked at you like he was seeing something unreal in front of him. A look of wonder, his eyes holding a look of love that you didn’t know what to do with.  “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

You leaned in and kissed his cheek. “You waited,” you replied like it was the simplest thing in the world.

Two years later, You opened your journal one last time seeing the last thing written being

“Dear Soulmate, I can’t wait to fall in love with you.”

You chuckled softly looking at the ring on your finger, before scratching that out with your pen, and rewriting it.

“Dear Soulmate, I can’t wait to fall in love with you.”

“Dear Soulmate, I’m so glad I fell in love with you.”

[munsonify]

Hiiiii there

Can I request a Joaquin Torres x reader where maybe they're close friends, roommates or they have like a mentor - mentee relationship and the reader has developed conflicting feelings for him

Like she doesnt know if she likes him romantically or if she's just super close with him

(Optional: The reader is in her early 20s)

hiii of course!! i feel this in my bones, she is me and i am her. like that’s twin. thanks for sending this in!

a/n. i do not know how internships would work with the military/government so pls spare me lol also a VERY possible chance of a second part if people like this. here’s to hoping this isn’t a jumbled mess!

confused and frustrated - joaquin torres x fem!reader

summary. you find yourself struggling to distinguish what kind of feelings you have towards joaquin

content warnings. flufff, a little bit of angst (kinda hurt comfort feelings wise), age gap (readers 23, fresh out of undergrad), probably way too long of a backstory, kinda unintentional flirty!joaquin & touchy!joaquin (sfw), r being referred to as ‘my girl’, food, swearing, hugging. not proofread

word count. 3046

———

moving in with joaquin was one of the best and luckiest choices you’d ever made.

you started your search for an apartment near dc and john hopkins university ignorantly optimistic. surely, you thought, there would be plenty of options for a recent 4.0 graduate ready to begin her masters degree. your optimism died down within two weeks, realizing quickly how difficult this was going to be for you. there were flaws in everything you found: outrageous rent prices, horrible (or the simple lack of) amenities, potential roommates who seemed to be from the deepest pits of hell.

when you’d found joaquin’s listing up on craigslist, you were practically leaping for joy. while living with a man wasn’t the most ideal situation - something you’d learned when you’d called him, his phone number listed on the contact information-, he seemed kind enough, and tidy. it was a two bedroom apartment, and while the rent was slightly out of your price range, it was doable. especially considering how convenient it was between the university and the dc area.

when you’d signed the lease, you didn’t know he was in the air force, nor did you know the kind of connections he had. it was pure luck on your account that you’d found joaquin.

during your first week living together, you’d gotten to know each other, dropping little tidbits of your lives as you came and went from the apartment. you’d told him your aspirations one night over a shared takeout dinner, cozied up in pajamas. you were beginning your masters in global security, desperately searching for an internship in dc. you weren’t even sure where to start with it, and you were rather casual with letting him know this. it’d been on your mind, and joaquin was curious, so you spilled.

it wasn’t your intention to receive his help, despite immediately receiving it without a second thought. he’d spoken to sam, the captain america, along with a few other people, and was able to hook you up with an internship with them. joaquin practically took you under his wing from then on, and you couldn’t have been more grateful. everything about this situation made you ecstatic. you felt accelerated, accomplished, proud.

that’s how you’d gotten yourself in your current predicament, though it was incredibly unintentional. you’d began spending more time with joaquin the longer you lived with him. some of it had to do with your internship. you were working with the air force, and a good bit of what you did was with him. he showed you the ropes of what he did, both as an air force captain and as the falcon. other times it was casual roommate things: movie nights, quiet conversations in the kitchen, late night snack runs.

you got along with him well, you respected him and admired him, his hard work something you strive to meet. you had your time away from him, you had university classes to attend and new friends you’d made since you’d moved here. still, you came back to joaquin and your apartment, forcing yourself to face something you’d been shuffling away from.

you might possibly, maybe, have feelings for him. the situation was complicated, you were conflicted.

at some point along the way, you found yourself becoming excited to see him, to come home and tell him about your day. you wanted to tell him about the little things, like the cute dog you’d passed on the street one morning, or the sweet new coffee place you wanted to visit. you wanted to spend time with him, to be close to him and enjoy his company. and sure, these were things you could feel towards a friend. a platonic friend. still, you were conflicted. was it the close proximity? all the time you’ve spent together getting to your head?

this is what you were tossing over in your head one morning as you lightly jabbed at your morning cereal, head hung low, body slouched. you weren’t inexperienced, you’ve had a boyfriend before, you were aware what romantic attraction felt like. despite that, you were still abundantly confused. platonic and romantic attraction, you found, had a bit of a blurry line between it.

your body tenses the moment you heard the bathroom door open, the floorboards of your apartment squeaking under joaquin’s feet as he enters the kitchen. distracting yourself, you scoop a spoonful of cereal into your mouth, chewing slowly. you fight back a choke when he enters the room, freezing momentarily at the sight of him. there he was, damp hair, low hanging shorts, shirtless, and all too casual.

this wasn’t abnormal, you’d grown a bit comfortable around each other. with what’s been on your mind, however, it caught you off guard. your eyes lingered at his torso for a moment or two before they glided up to his face. luckily, he didn’t catch on, his head turning to look at you the moment your eyes drifted to his. joaquin gave you that large grin of his he always has on his face. his hand found your shoulder as he passed you to find the cabinets, squeezing in a gentle, friendly way as he bids you a good morning.

you normally wouldn’t think twice about that, either, your mind once again drifting to your conflicting feelings. you swallowed it down as you greeted him back, turning your head to offer him up a small smile. with his back turned to you, he rummaged through the cabinet until he found coffee grounds, beginning the process of making himself a pot. your eyes lingered there, too, only briefly.

turning back to your cereal, spoon poking at bits of it through the milk, your mind began to turn again. the way you admire him like that certainly wasn’t friendly. heat prickled at the tip of your ears and the apples of your cheeks at the mere sight of his bare skin, tanned and toned. you needed to get yourself together, to compose your thoughts before you combust right then and there.

the next few days were strenuous for you. with two lengthy essay due for your courses by the end of your week, most of your focus was turned to that. even though you prepared for and began these essays in advance, your life was busy, especially with your internship. though grateful for the opportunity, you were pleased to have these three days off to focus on your coursework. you holed yourself up in your room when you weren’t in class.

that didn’t stop you from thinking about joaquin and your little situation while you attempted to fall asleep. it infuriated you that you couldn’t understand your feelings for him. you’re both friendly people who just so happen to live together. you couldn’t tell how that deep running respect and admiration you had for him was manifesting inside of you. you enjoyed and appreciated the close bond you’d grown with him. a part of you feared that if that if it was more than just that close friendship you felt for him and wanted from him, that it would ruin what you had.

you settled your mind on that last thought for the time being. that this friendship you had, the bond you’d made with joaquin, was something you needed to hold close to you. your second thoughts had to have been nothing. you were searching for something in him that you should, realistically, be finding elsewhere.

that sentiment kept your body and mind at ease throughout the remainder of your time working on your essays. between joaquin’s job and your schoolwork, you didn’t get a chance to even see him (despite living in the same apartment), let alone speak to him. it made things a lot easier on you.

after you’d finally finished your work up friday night, you granted yourself some well deserved tv time. sure, you could go out with some friends, drink and have fun. after the weak you had, though, you wanted nothing more than to curl up on the couch with a blanket. that’s exactly what you did, and that’s exactly how joaquin had found you when he’d gotten home.

he pushed himself clumsily into the apartment, his keys jingling in his hand, the rustling of a large takeout bag in his other. you pulled your head up from the armrest of the couch far enough to glance over at the front door, peeling your eyes away from your intriguing show. there joaquin was, toeing off his shoes and tossing his keys to the kitchen counter. he smiled wide at the sight of you, watching you perk up excitedly, your eyes shining over at him.

“there’s my girl,” joaquin beamed, sliding the bag off his shoulder and setting it to the ground. after grabbing two cold beers and a bottle opener, he began his way to you, beelining to the empty spot on the couch. “feel like i haven’t seen you in forever. i got us dinner!”

there goes your brain again, whirring up like a rickety old machine as he nonchalantly speaks to you. you tucked your feet away to give him space, situating yourself to sit upright on the couch. he sat down right down next to you, the coffee table in front of you becoming your dinner table for the might.

“you’re the best,” you told him, beginning to take out the white boxes of rice and noodles. out of the corner of your eye you could see him opening up your bottle for you and setting it aside. “those papers nearly kicked my ass this week.”

“they didn’t stand a chance,” joaquin told you, fishing out plastic silverware as he opens up one of his own respective boxes, quick to dig in. “not against you.”

he always had a way with making you feel nice. everything he told you had the sweetest sentiment to it, even if you were talking about metaphorically fighting a writing assignment. what had been settled in your mind was now being kicked up a little, dust particles floating in your mind now as you thought. the way joaquin spoke to you made your heart flutter, even if he wasn’t meaning to. it was the sincerest of praises, they always were, and it came so naturally out of his mouth. that left you a little dumbfounded.

with a box of noodles in your hand and a fork in the other, you leaned back into the couch, drawing your vision away from him and to the television. you still spoke to him, though. you’ve seen the show before a million times. you could practically quote the entire thing.

“you’re right, i totally made it my bitch,” you confirmed, a small cheeky smile on your face. joaquin huffed out a small laugh as he leans back with you, legs spreading open a little as his vision drifts to the tv, too. your jaw clenched as you caught sight of his parted legs, his knee right near yours. if you moved just a few inches to the side and you’d be touching.

your grip on your fork was a little tight, something you were almost too late on noticing. it was close to snapping underneath your fingers. you wished you weren’t so tense around joaquin, and you wished he’d stop making it worse on you.

“we got some new tech in yesterday,” joaquin told you. you didn’t quite understand some of the things he and sam used, though it was intriguing nonetheless. “i can’t wait to show you tomorrow.”

thats exactly what he’d done.

after the two of you ate and spoke together well into the night, you parted ways to your respective bedrooms for the night. you thought in bed about joaquin again, eyes open and staring up at the dark ceiling. you thought about how he called you ‘his girl’, how he seemed so excited to see you just like you were him. luckily, exhaustion took over your body before you could worry yourself all night.

the next morning, bright and early, you and joaquin headed out together for the day. the first thing you did on base was head over to the new equipment and tech he was so eager to tell you about. sam was on base, too, walking around with two of you. you listened to them both eagerly and intently as they spoke. joaquin took over the conversation, and sam let him have it, his clear passion pushing him to the head of the explanations.

at some point, joaquin needed to excuse himself, running off to assist someone. that left you and sam, who’d began tapping away at a computer in search of something. hardly looking up, he spoke to you all casual. “you’re super obvious, you know that, right?”

“what do you mean?” you asked, an eyebrow cocking at his words. you sat yourself down in a rolling chair beside him, spinning yourself around to face him. you earned yourself a glare from the man, a look of slight disbelief etched on his features.

“the way you look at joaquin? like you’re in love with him or something? it’s obvious.”

“what?” you croaked out, a look of horror washing over your face. you sat up a little at his words, arms crossing over you chest. “sam i’m not in love with joaquin.”

“you’re a horrible liar,” he told you, eyes not even leaving the computer this time.

okay, sure, you admired joaquin. he was one of your closest friends, someone you could rely on, someone you cared for deeply. and sure, you may or may not have romantic interest in him, you still weren’t certain. that didn’t mean you were in love with the guy.

“i’m not lying,” you told him, your voice breaking slightly. cause you weren’t. to your knowledge, you were not in love with him. your nexts words came out in a low tone, just above a whisper. it surprised you a little, a worry you didn’t quite stumble upon until it was said. “it doesn’t even matter anyways. he wouldn’t go for me. i’m a little younger than him.”

you weren’t sure why that was your defense and not that you two were simply friends. you weren’t even sure where that idea came from. leaning back in your chair, you kept your arms crossed over your chest, seemingly sulking. you thought about what you said briefly, and it was true. there was a nearly 10 year age gap between the two of you. it wasn’t the worst, but it wasn’t the most favorable, either. there were a lot of girls closer to his age who weren’t still earning their degree, even if you were working towards a masters. the thought of this bummed you out a little, something you didn’t get to dwell in for long.

“again, horrible,” sam insisted, finishing up what he was doing on the computer. he turned to face you properly, his eyes scanning your practically pouting face and your slightly hunched body. you weren’t sure if he had more to say or not, the conversation was cut short by joaquin’s presence. sam gave you a knowing look before the day continued.

he was no help to you. the entire rest of the day was spent with joaquin bouncing around the base together, practically attached at the hip. sam split halfway through, claiming he had other things to attend to. and, despite how much grievance he’s caused you, you were upset he was going. it left you with joaquin and your string of never ending thoughts.

it was clear that you were nervous and in your head. joaquin noticed the way you shifted on your feet more than usual, your mind, despite trying to focus, so clearly drifting elsewhere. he didn’t say a word about it, not for a long while anyways. you two finished up for the day, and he finally drove you guys home. even during the car ride, he stayed silent about it. it was best to ask about it in the apartment, somewhere you could retreat to. somewhere that wasn’t so enclosed and cornering.

the moment you’d entered the apartment, eyes a little heavy, joaquin began making his move to question you in the most careful way he could think to do.

“have you been doing okay?” joaquin asked you. while you were en route to your bedroom, your shoes already off and on the shoe rack, you stopped in your place. he looked awfully worried when you turned to him. his eyebrows were knitted together, a small frown on the same mouth that usually smiled at you, wide and welcoming. “it’s just that you seemed a little off today. like something’s bothering you.”

you nodded at him as you thought. you couldn’t tell him what was going on, not when you could hardly explain it to yourself. it was too complicated, too messy to bring up. the last thing you wanted was for him to be dragged into it, too. not until you had your feelings sorted.

“i’m okay,” you lied through your teeth, folding in on yourself a little. joaquin began walking towards you, and as much as you wanted to step back, you let him continue his way to you. “i’ve just had a long week, ya know. it’s starting to weigh on me.”

the second half wasn’t a complete lie. yes, you were tired. yes, you had a long week. that wasn’t the only thing bearing down on you, and you thought that, possibly, joaquin could see through that. he nodded along with you, though, finally reaching you. wrapping his arms around your shoulders, he tugged you into a warm hug, one you couldn’t help but melt into. you leaned into him, arms wrapping around his waist in a gentle embrace. with your head resting on his chest, joaquin whispered to you.

“i’m always here if you need someone to talk to,” he reassured. you nodded against him, pulling him a little closer on instinct. you knew you could, you knew you could trust him with anything. just not this, not now, not yet.

besides, when joaquin treated you like this, so soft and caring and careful, how could you not be a little confused?

[mythalism]

i think what people need to understand is that no amount of essays assuring me of veilguard's strengths, of which i agree there are plenty, is going to change the fact that the emotional experience veilguard prompted within me (and for many others) while i played it was a deeply negative one. discomfort at best, painful at worst. im talking stomach aches. visceral, somatic creeping disappointment and dread that i tried to fight for hours and hours but eventually had no choice but to accept. i stopped wanting to play entirely around 30 hours. i felt vaguely ill. i felt anxious. i could not sleep for a few days. and im not saying i felt sick because it was so bad, but that i felt sick because of the sinking realization that i was about to be terribly, horribly disappointed after so, so long. you could call me dramatic and im sure someone will. idk what to tell you. my emotions manifest physically long before they become decipherable or understandable to me mentally, especially when they're 10 years in the making. probably an autism symptom. regardless, it was genuinely pretty awful, especially because i had immense good faith for this game. i was so hopeful and optimistic and generally thrilled and literally anyone who followed me before october 31 would know that. the emotional whiplash and crash was intense and devastating, and i was reeling for days. you cannot tell me that this experience was "wrong" or "toxic" due to it's negative nature. it was entirely involuntary and outside of my control, as i would expect many people's joy was. emotional reactions are not beholden to fandom discourse.

any post i have made criticizing the game since is attempt to make sense of the emotional roller-coaster of the past 10 years, this summer, and finally this game's release. i do not come on here and write out my criticisms of veilguard because i want YOU to dislike it too. the nature of my essays are not persuasive. if they do persuade you its just because i am a well-trained essayist. sorry. if they dont, great! that wasnt the point. i have no desire to change anyone's mind on the game, in fact i actually would not wish the disappointment i felt on anyone. the fact that i have a lot of followers who agree with what i say and who spread the thoughts i express across tumblr is literally out of my control. when i write out my long-winded criticisms, it is out of a need to express and externalize that sinking, cold feeling i had while playing, in pursuit of understanding exactly why playing that game felt that way to me. identifying, analyzing and verbalizing is the only way i have been able to process my experience. its confessional and therapeutic more than anything. it helps other people understand their own difficult emotional process with the game. its not an attempt to ruin your fun. my negative experience with veilguard does not invalidate anyone else's positive one.

i see so many posts acting like all criticism is an intentional, targeted hate campaign and i dont understand that assumption. to what ends? what would that achieve? why would i bother with such a thing? maybe that is some people's intention in the deep hater corners of this website, and im blissfully unaware. if it is, fuck them. its certainly the intention of annoying grifters, but i feel the distinction between transphobe grifters and devastated fans is pretty clear, so im not sure why the lines are deliberately blurred as if those groups are remotely similar. some of my criticisms come from a more objective place. the writing comes to mind, and it's a consistent criticism from thousands of players. but just because i consider it to be poorly executed, does not make it unlovable. and when i say that i think its poorly done, i am not saying that you cannot or should not love it, or that you are stupid for loving it. maybe someone out there is saying that!!! but i am not. things do not have to be perfect to be enjoyable. they dont even have to be well executed to be enjoyable. "i think x aspect of veilguard is poorly done for yz reasons" is a completely different sentence than "you should not like x aspect of veilguard for yz reasons". these are not the same statements. i see so many posts that are so vitriolic and acting like two experiences of this game cannot coexist, that one has to win and be objectively right, moralizing them on a false axis of positivity = good and negativity = bad, and acting like the existence of one negates the experience of the other. and why? why would that be true? i literally love so many things that other people think are absolute ass. i also love plenty of things that i myself think are actual ass. i love them anyway. this is allowed and really fun. i am not sure who told you that it is not.

however, i have just as much of a right to express my disappointment as you have to express your excitement. i am genuinely happy for everyone who loves the game, i am glad it resonated, or that you saw yourself in its characters, or that it just scratched your hyperfixation itch. but whatever je ne se quoi it had for you, it did not have for me. i have written out so much criticism about so many aspects of the game, but fundamentally what it comes down to and what i cannot express in words is that while i played after waiting 10 years for that moment, it felt wrong. it wasn't that i had specific expectations for game story that were not met, in fact, it exceeded my expectations in a lot of ways. i mean that in terms of how i felt, something was off. it did not resonate. it did not land. it did not hit the right cord with me. i did not have enough moments of joy to outweigh the feeling of emptiness. i did not walk away from it feeling the way that the previous games made me feel. and ive been trying to figure out exactly why that is for three months now by talking about it with people who feel similarly. i am not sure that i will ever be able to analyze my way into figuring it out. it might just have to simply be that it left me bereft.

and so my posts are not anti-veilguard hater propaganda to make you feel like shit for loving the game. rather, they are me verbally processing exactly why i feel like shit so i can hopefully stop feeling like shit. to assume that people who are trying to process these negative feelings are toxic and intentionally malicious is a projection made in bad faith. i love dragon age, and it is because i love it so much that it disappointed me, and it is because disappointed me that i have to verbally process it on tumblr.com so that i dont go absolutely insane. i tag my posts properly. i do not go into tags where i do not belong. i do not rage-bait. i am participating in post-partum dragon age therapy between me and my followers. if it ends up on your dash, sorry. my therapy is popular i guess. so please for the love of god enjoy the game, freely and enthusiastically. i am happy for you. i will sit here and be jealous that it spoke to something in your soul that it unfortunately did not speak to in mine, and nothing i say can take that away from you. please stop interpreting it as an attempt to.

[saveyourblood]

Pretty Boy - Ch 8 (Buddie x Reader)

Summary: You can feel Buck staring. When your eyes meet his, you realize he’s staring at your hand, which is still on Eddie’s knee. You slowly retreat, which makes Buck turn his attention to your face. You smile softly. He just looks out the window. The one where you’re an advanced paramedic, Buck and Eddie are firefighters, and you think you might be in love with both of them.

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7

Chapter Summary: A Tsunami hits LA, leaving more than a few tragedies in its wake.

A/N: You know what would be cool? If you left a comment :) Word Count: 3.2k Warnings: mentions of trauma/injury

“How’s Buck doing?”

You look up from your afternoon cup of tea. Normally, you’d drink coffee, but you’re trying to reduce your caffeine consumption. There’s a lull, so you’re sitting in the loft, trying to catch up on charting. One simple question from Eddie, though, and charting be damned.

“He’s… Buck,” you say. It’s not much of an explanation, but you hope it makes sense anyway. “He was really excited to come back, and this definitely threw a wrench in things.”

Eddie shrugs in contemplation. “Maybe he’s not as ready as he thought he was.”

“No, he’s plenty ready,” you disagree with a chuckle. “I just think maybe his body isn’t. Like, maybe this is a sign for him to take things slower. I don’t know.”

Eddie hums in acknowledgment. “Everything okay between you two?”

“Yeah,” you say almost immediately. “I mean, sometimes it sucks being the optimistic one all the time. But other than that, we’re okay.”

“‘The optimistic one’?”

“Buck gets down on himself sometimes,” you explain. “Like, sometimes I think he doesn’t get out of bed until I get home from work. I keep reminding him that everything happens for a reason, but… honestly, even I’m starting to have trouble believing that.”

“Sounds like things maybe… aren’t okay,” Eddie observes.

You can’t help but laugh. So much of your internal dialogue is you convincing yourself that everything is fine. When you say it aloud, it definitely doesn’t sound fine.

“I don’t know what else to do,” you say quietly, propping your elbow on the table. You rest your cheek on your palm.

“Trust me, I know the feeling,” Eddie agrees with a bittersweet smile.

Jesus Christ, you’re a terrible friend. Eddie lost his wife a few weeks ago, and here you are, bitching about boyfriend problems.

“How are you and Christopher doing?” You ask softly.

“How you’d expect,” Eddie answers with another sad grin. “It’s hard getting him interested in anything. He just goes to school and sits in his room until he sleeps.”

Your heart aches at the thought. You know what it’s like to grow up without a mother, but you never had to deal with the pain of losing one, not to the same extent as Christopher. You lost her, but you didn’t love her before you lost her.

“You should bring Christopher over some time,” you suggest. “I mean, Buck has nothing better to do all day; he’ll tell you that himself.”

Eddie nods, slowly at first, then quicker. “Good idea.”

Bobby crosses the loft. While you don’t want to end your conversation with Eddie, you also don’t want to waste the opportunity in front of you.

You close your laptop. “Hey, Cap? Can I talk to you?”

The last time you were in Cap’s office, you were being reprimanded for pushing Buck against an ambulance. Now, you’re bargaining on his behalf. It's funny how things change.

“What can I do for you?” Bobby asks after you take a seat across from him.

You take in a deep breath. “I’m here to talk about Buck.”

“About how you’re dating him?”

You blink. “Cool, so now everyone knows.”

“Eh, I’m not sure Chimney does.”

“Oh please, I’m sure him and Hen talk about it all the time,” you laugh. “How’d you figure it out?”

Bobby shifts in his seat. “I saw you kiss him in the hospital.”

Your face flushes. “You’ve known since the start, then. That’s… fun.”

“Honestly, I thought it was going on longer than that,” Bobby explains. “Since the two of you started getting along, you’ve had a connection. I knew it was only a matter of time before you both figured it out.”

“So… what happens now?” You ask. “Does one of us have to transfer?”

Bobby shakes his head. “Nothing like that. When Buck returns to work, you’ll each have a disclosure form to fill out. It gets sent to HR. Not much to it.”

“Is he ever coming back?”

“What?”

You clear your throat. “That’s what I actually came here to talk about. Are you ever gonna let him come back?”

“Of course. As soon as he’s medically clear, he can return to light duty.”

“Hmm.”

“What does that mean?”

You rub your hands together. “Buck has two settings: 0 and 100. In the last few months, all he’s talked about is getting back to 100. If he can’t be himself here, he doesn’t have a place here.”

Bobby looks at you. “Aren’t you afraid for him? Afraid that him always being at 100 will just get him hurt again? Afraid that he’ll never learn?”

“Of course I am,” you laugh softly. “But those are the things that make him Buck. And, god help me, I love him, even if those things scare the hell out of me.”

“He needs someone like you in his life,” Bobby says softly. “I’m glad he has you.”

“I’m glad I have him,” you agree. You pause. “Listen, Bobby: that man will sign whatever liability waiver this department throws at him. If you’re not ready, I understand that. But if that’s the case, you need to do him a favor and cut him loose. Because he’s ready, with or without the 118. So you should either let him come back at 100 or let him find somewhere that will."

“Seriously, man? A fucking tsunami ?”

“And only one wave wiped out miles of the city,” Eddie adds. “We’ll probably be looking at four or five more before it starts to recede.”

“It’s a good thing you left Christopher with Buck today,” you continue.

A natural disaster means you get to work rescue and paramedicine. You spend hours on a rescue raft, tagging DOAs and helping victims where you can. Eventually, you make it to the Santa Monica Pier. You’ve only been to it a few times since moving, but it’s nothing like you remember it. The Ferris wheel, which is normally on a platform sitting above the shoreline, is partially submerged underwater. Actually, the entire bottom half is submerged, and passengers are still in each gondola.

You quickly evacuate the people standing on the spokes, as they’re the most accessible and have only minor injuries.

“Grab a harness, rope, pulleys, and figure eight plates,” Bobby instructs.

“Times that by two,” you say as you click your helmet on.

Both the men stare at you.

“What? That woman at the top said her husband can’t move. You’re gonna need me.”

“It’s not safe,” Eddie protests.

You scoff. “Oh, it’s safe enough for you, but not for me?”

“It’s… I’m not…” Eddie fumbles.

“Alright, make it two of everything,” Bobby corrects.

Climbing the side of the Ferris wheel is surprisingly easy; it’s like a harder version of rock wall climbing but easier than actual rock climbing. You occasionally have trouble finding your footing but quickly correct it without a hitch. You and Eddie make it to either side of the gondola in no time.

“Oh, thank God you're here!” The woman exclaims.

You sling your bag into the gondola. “What happened here, ma’am?”

“Name’s Stacy. My husband, Max, hit his neck when the wave came, and now he can't feel his fingers.”

“My arms went numb. A couple of minutes later, my legs gave out. Am I paralyzed?” The man asks.

“It’s too soon to tell,” you say, climbing over the side. “You said you lost sensation in your arms first and then your legs?”

“Well, that might be a sign of swelling, which means you bruised your neck instead of breaking it,” Eddie explains.

You look over the side. “Hey, Cap, we can get one down to you, but the other one's a possible spinal. We're gonna need a Hail Mary.”

“I’ll order one up for you,” he calls back.

You hear a helicopter moving in as you and Eddie place a C-collar on Max. You quickly strap him into the rescue basket that the helicopter lowers down. Within minutes, Eddie gives the pilot a thumbs-up, and Max is airlifted into the sky. After taking care of Max, you place Stacy into a harness and help lower her to a rescue raft.

The Ferris wheel shifts. You grab the closest bar and hold on for dear life.

“Incoming debris!” Bobby shouts from below.

Eddie reaches out for you. You reach back. One of the spokes disconnects from the Hub, and it cuts the rope keeping you upright. Another sudden shift, and it’s too much — you’re knocked off the side. You hear Eddie screaming your name on your way down.

The first thing you feel is hot, searing pain in your side, like someone is jabbing a hot iron rod into it. The pain makes you gasp instinctually, but instead of air filling your lungs, it’s water. The feeling makes your head feel light and the rest of your body heavy. You feel a sudden shift in the water, like a heavy object dropped right next to you.

Then, you feel nothing.

You wake up sputtering. The water that took residence in your lungs is evicting itself, whether you want it to or not. You turn your head to the side, your coughs quickly turning into gags.

“Oh, thank god!” A familiar voice exclaims.

There’s some happy laughter in your ears, past the ringing sound. As you continue to heave, a gentle hand settles on your cheek. When you finally cough up or vomit all the water, the hand on your cheek straightens your neck. You feel a sudden warmth on your forehead: a pair of lips.

“What happened?” You ask. It’s barely audible, yet it feels like you’re shouting.

“When you hit the water, you aspirated. You went into respiratory arrest, then cardiac arrest. You were down for 7 minutes.”

The familiar voice… it’s Eddie. You blink your eyes open slowly. He’s hovering over you. There are tear tracks on his face.

“Good work,” you praise, somehow mustering the strength to pat his arm.

He laughs again, and some fresh tears spill onto his face. You smile faintly, a gust of cold air making the expression fade. You’re suddenly very aware of the fact that your top half is bare. Thankfully, they left your bra on.

You cross your arms over your chest. “Can I borrow your shirt?”

“This is stupid.”

“It’s not stupid — you need a hospital.”

“Yeah, a real hospital, not some makeshift disaster hospital,” you argue.

Eddie hasn’t let you walk since the beach; he barely let you stand up for transport. Now, you’re being pushed in a gurney. It’s humiliating,

“They need to make sure you’re okay,” Eddie says.

“I’m okay — ABCs are intact! My airway is patent, I’m breathing on my own, and my circulation is fine. I need a course of prophylactic antibiotics to prevent bacterial pneumonia, but other than that, I’m solid.”

You’re backed up into an open spot under a tent. A doctor begins listening to you while a nurse sticks telemetry patches to your chest.

“I’m gonna go help with triage; you better still be here when I get back,” Eddie orders, pointing a finger at you.

You collapse into the gurney with an annoyed groan. The groan turns into one of pain when the doctor starts prodding at your ribs.

“Definitely broken,” he observes. “Pneumothorax unlikely. We’ll get you something for the pain.”

You shake your head. “Just stop touching it and I’ll be fine.”

“You need something, or your breathing will become ineffective.”

“Something oral, then,” you bargain. “I don’t want to be doped up on Fentanyl.”

“Get her two 5 and 325 of Vicodin,” The doctor orders.

The nurse nods and goes to get the pills while the doctor attends to other patients.

You survey the crowd. There are a lot of ‘walkie-talkie’ patients, which is a good sign. Everyone is dirty and at least a little bit beat up, but from what you can see, nothing too serious is going on. You look to your right, and your eyes fall on the black tent. At least 15 covered bodies are lying on a tarp.

Your vision dances back over the crowd. A man in a white shirt with glasses strapped around his neck is stumbling around. His face has some scratches, and one of his arms is bloody. Weird, he kind of looks like Buck. You squint your eyes, and they widen.

It is Buck.

“Buck!” You shout, already scrambling out of the gurney. You pull off the telemetry leads, leaving only the stickers on your chest. You see a table with folded scrubs and grab a top. You slip it on, jogging slightly to catch up.

“Buck!” you shout again.

This time, he sees you. His eyes widen as he rushes towards you, scooping you into a hug.

“Hey, Pretty Boy,” you rasp out.

He holds you tighter. The pressure makes your broken ribs dig in further, making you gasp with pain. Buck quickly pulls away.

“What happened? Are you okay?” He asks, setting a hand on your face.

You set your hand over his. “I was gonna ask you the same thing.”

Your hand trails down his arm, making contact with a wet piece of fabric. You frown, pulling it away. Even in the dark, your fingers are shining bright red with blood.

“Baby, you’re hurt,” you say, taking his arm into both of your hands.

“It’s nothing,” Buck brushes it off.

“You’re on blood thinners,” you remind. “If a cut is even a little deep, it bleeds for a long time. You might need stitches.”

“I can’t worry about that now. I need to find him first.”

“Find who?”

You look him up and down, eventually settling on the glasses around his neck. They’re Christopher’s glasses.

“Hey, what did I say?!” Eddie shouts from a few feet away.

All the color drains from Buck’s face.

“I told you to stay—” Eddie starts lecturing, making his way through the crowd. He cuts himself off when he sees that Buck is with you. “Buck? What are you doing here?”

“Eddie…” Buck lets out slowly.

“Are you okay? Wait, where's Christopher?” He asks. The expression on his face flattens. “Why do you have his glasses?”

“We, um... me and Christopher, we were...at the beach, and… um...and listen to me, okay? I swear to you... okay, I tried… And I just...”

A few involuntary tears run down your face. Your heart is breaking listening to Buck’s shaky voice and watching the realization on Eddie’s face.

“Christopher?” Eddie asks, his expression changing.

He rushes forward. You and Eddie watch as a random woman sets Christopher down, just for Eddie to hug him tightly.

“You’re Buck?” the woman asks.

“What? No, I’m his father, Eddie.”

“He was looking for Buck.”

You put a hand on your boyfriend’s arm, watching him take in a few quick breaths.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly.

“Yeah… I’m great,” Buck says.

His body disagrees. His legs give way, and he starts to fall forward. Using all of your body weight, you push him back onto a makeshift gurney a few feet away.

“I got you,” you promise, keeping your arms around him.

He grips the arm you have around his chest, leaning into it for support.

You kiss the top of his head. “I got you.”

“So what really happened to you?”

You smile sadly, taking a sip of your water.

You and Buck have been up all night, sitting at his kitchen table. He went through everything that happened to him and Chris during the tsunami. At some point, it became morning. Normally, you’d be drinking coffee by now, but you thought it best not to put extra stress on your heart until you see a cardiologist.

“Eddie and I were on top of the Ferris wheel — ironically, the one at Santa Monica Pier. We were helping clear victims from it, and then the tide shifted. He reached out for me, I reached out for him, but a piece of the Ferris wheel broke and cut my rope. I fell into the water on my side, which is how I broke a few ribs. I aspirated, went into respiratory arrest, and… my heart stopped. They coded me for 7 minutes.”

Buck shakes his head as he runs a hand down his face.

“All I remember is hitting the water, then waking up on the shore,” you continue. “In between that, there’s… nothing.”

Buck takes a sip of his beer. “That’s probably for the better.”

You laugh. You can’t help it — it’s always been one of your coping mechanisms. “Yeah, probably.”

“Well, I’m glad it was Eddie there,” Buck says. “I mean, Hen and Chim would’ve fought like hell, but he’d move the earth for you. Just like I would.”

That funny feeling settles back into your stomach. Eddie cares about you in the same way Buck does; at least, that’s how Buck sees it. Some day, that’s bound to cause trouble. But for now, you’re grateful for Buck’s gratitude.

There’s a knock on the door. Buck frowns but gets up to answer it.

It’s Eddie and Christopher. Christopher is the first to enter, hugging Buck.

“There's a morning snack and midday snack, two coloring books and a bunch of Legos,” Eddie says as he walks in. He sets Chris’s backpack on the table, then looks at you. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” you return with a smile.

“Between us, he's never built anything that kinda looks like anything. He just likes sticking things together,” Eddie continues in a low voice.

Christopher is blissfully unaware, making his way to Buck’s couch.

“There's 20 bucks for pizza, and if I were you, I'd eat a couple extra slices. You look like you're wasting away to nothing.”

“Eddie,” Buck says, voice flat.

“ I will say, honestly, you being laid up is working out for me.”

“You want me to watch Christopher?” Buck says, approaching Eddie. “After everything that happened?”

“A natural disaster happened, Buck.”

“I lost him, Eddie.”

“No, you saved him,” Eddie argues, pointing at his son. “That's how he remembers it. And now, it's his turn to do the same for you.”

You feel like you’re intruding on the conversation, but you don’t dare look away.

“I was supposed to look out for him.”

“And what, you think you failed? I failed that kid more times than I care to count, and I'm his father. But I love him enough to never stop trying, and I know you do too.” Eddie sets a hand on Buck’s shoulder. “Buck...there's nobody in this world I trust with my son more than you.”

Eddie looks at you, then back at Buck. “Except for her, maybe. It’s the whole paramedic thing.”

“Which, speaking of…” Buck brushes Eddie’s hand off his shoulder, but it’s to pull him into a hug. “Thanks for saving her.”

They clap each other’s backs a few times, pulling away after a few seconds. Buck keeps his hands on Eddie’s arms while Eddie keeps his hands on Buck’s waist.

“She saved us first,” Eddie remarks.

He makes his way back to the door. He opens it and is about to walk out. Before he does, though, he turns around and points at you.

“You’re officially not allowed to work rescue anymore,” he declares.

Buck nods. “Agreed.”

Ch 9

[respectthepetty]

Before I do whatever it is I do for episode twenty of Perfect 10 Liners, I want to state that Junior is entering into the Fluke Gawin territory of babygirl.

And every week, I get more excited for Junior and Mark to give me more of their special brand of chemistry in My Romance Scammer.

It wasn't in my Top 5 GMMTV picks for nothin'!

So I am delighted that Junior and Mark get to play Lapis Lads in love with each other because they are easily my favorite couple in this eighteen-year-long show.

I think the only ones more happy than me are Green Guy Gun and his bestie Yellow Yal Arm.

Who is actually wearing yellow! Unlike his Red Rascal boyfriend who is wearing black.

But I'm not upset about it because I have bigger issues to focus on like Yotha constantly being true to his color and embodying his Negative Ned persona as he continues to doubt Faifa's ability to love while his sunshine boyfriend resides in Optimistic City with the rest of us.

So I loved the fact that Gun kindly reminded his man that Yotha once made him cry . . . a lot. People need time to learn to love, and thankfully, Gun gave Yotha plenty of time, so now it's time for Yotha to support his brother who was there when Gun needed him and quit being the nail in my clown car's tire!

Because Faifa is in love with Wine even if he can't say exactly that! But, to my surprise, he has been owning up to his big emotions every chance he gets. He told Wine that he purposefully bumped into him in the park. He tells Wine he is cute, and that he is trying to change his ways for him. HE REJECTS PEOPLE!

Faifa likes this dark Blue Boy!

And the whole world knows it!

Sidenote: I'm in love with the translation since it uses this idiom which also includes their color!

And even though Wine isn't 100% sure of his feelings, the colors and his actions are telling me he likes Faifa just as much as he agrees to stay on the phone with his light Blue Boy while they sleep with the light blue backing him up.

So even though these two color-coded boys in love are still trying to confirm if they need to make another plate for Wine at the family dinners,

Arm is already in his Jane Austen Emma mode and matchmaking like a true Regency era socialite. Only Arc could rein him in, and even then, Arm is prepared to pull out the final boss next week when he suggests his OTP visit the love guru known as Tawan.

And considering how everyone, including Yotha during an actual physical fight to support his brother and bestie Blue Boy Phuri, keeps telling Faifa he needs to be a bit more selfish when it comes to love and quit being so dang nice to everyone and their mom, I'm excited to see what advice Tawan will offer the boys.

Like they can't keep hiding from what is right in front of them.

And they can't keep ignoring the way they feel about each other.

They are in love with each other, and they are helping each other in all the best ways.

So if these two toxicitos could make each other better and communicate how much they love each other, then I have hope for the best Blue Boys.

But these perfectly color-coded boys have to get over a few humps first, and, unfortunately, they aren't the sexual kind.

So thank goodness Wine is there to help light Blue Boy Faifa learn how to reject people since it physically pains Faifa to not be of help at all times.

And it's even better that Faifa is turning darker for his dark Blue Boy and becoming more possessive about Wine as he slowly realizes he wants to be the only one to be his special someone.

Thank God.

And thank (Blue Boy?) Jay for asking the questions that need answers!

Because our boy deserves someone to make sure he drinks milk alternatives, changes his shattered phone cover, and gets home safely.

I love these Lapis Lads.

And soon they will realize they love each other.

But . . . will that be before or after Tor makes an appearance?

[dandelionjack]

using the above tweet, i.e. proof that he’s a fan, to begin an Assad Zaman For The Sixteenth Doctor agenda. (not that i want Ncuti gone, god forbid — i hope he stays on for the usual three seasons or more!) now back to Assad: just look at him, for heaven’s sake

you’ve heard the man on interview. you’ve seen him perform fiery theatrical speeches in fits of rage and quiet judgemental contemplation and irresistible charm. he’s got matt smith’s talent of portraying an incredibly old, world-weary immortal while being a young man

you can just envision him. stepping out of that big blue box. a calmer, less brash-and-bold, less ostentatiously optimistic doctor than fifteen — the twelve or eight type, a brooding romantic, distant and wistful, yet with that edge of emotional manipulation like eleven possessed

i am aware that plot + character dynamics + personality + costume design + set design + mood and atmosphere etc. are all up to the writers, directors and rest of the crew, not the actors at all, but they are created to fit around the doctor’s actor’s vibe to an extent — at least i know that capaldi influenced a lot during his tenure, from the fashion choices to the intensity of twelve’s relationship with clara.

basically, we all know how assad is. he understands armand on an intimate level. he’s got a grasp on the psychosexual multi-layered tension of it all. so, provided he gives input, this could be a renaissance for all us twelveclara eightcharley elevenamyrory ninejackrose (etc. etc.) freaks — imagine another unstable “TARDIS trio”, all at odds with each other, challenging each other, with the episodic sci-fi stuff as a reflective background to different aspects of their complex relationship. series 5-10 were peak for a reason. we need that type of Who back, no offense to ruby “perfect companion with 0 tension” sunday. not like kids won’t get it: kids actually love the moffat era plenty + there’s always fun scary monsters for the kids to enjoy

well, i’m getting ahead of myself. # assad zaman for sixteenth doctor 2028 . look at his sad, deep eyes. there’s a billion years in them

[brittanyearnestauthor]

Discovering How to Write Character Qualities Effectively

When crafting characters, it’s essential to give them qualities that make them likeable, relatable, and believable. In this post, I’ll outline a variety of character traits to help you build well-rounded, engaging characters that will captivate your readers.

Character Qualities to Consider

- Confidence: Characters with confidence are likeable and flexible in their actions, giving you plenty of opportunities to explore different storylines.

- Conscientiousness: This quality drives characters to approach tasks thoroughly and live intentionally, adding depth and realism to their lives.

- Creativity: Creative characters can have diverse hobbies, unique jobs, or a mix of both, making them more intriguing and complex.

- Curiosity: A curious character feels relatable and allows for expanded character and plot development.

- Humility: Humble characters are easier to root for, offering opportunities for mentorship or role model dynamics in your story.

- Patience: Patience helps pace your story effectively, allowing for valuable lessons and more nuanced narratives.

- Affection: Affectionate characters feel more believable and foster strong emotional connections with others.

- Compassion: Compassionate characters are sympathetic and helpful, contributing to growth and development within your story.

- Discipline: A disciplined character adds complexity, especially in action-driven stories, where training and focus play significant roles.

- Gratitude: Characters who express gratitude tend to be likeable and can bring warmth to your narrative.

- Loyalty: Loyal characters strengthen relationships and create positive opportunities to advance the story.

- Openness to Change: This trait allows you to write impactful plot twists with believable character reactions.

- Optimism: Optimistic characters showcase hope and positivity, offering endless opportunities for uplifting storytelling.

- Respectfulness: Respectful characters fit seamlessly into your story while avoiding unnecessary negativity.

- Ambition: Ambitious characters bring determination and drive, making them engaging and easier to write.

- Courage: Courageous characters open doors to explore compelling narratives filled with challenges and triumphs.

- Cheerfulness: Cheerful characters can serve as a source of support and positivity for others in your story.

- Honesty: Honest characters inspire trust and give you creative freedom to explore integrity-based plots.

- Adaptability: Adaptable characters thrive in varied situations, offering flexibility in storytelling.

- Consistency: Consistent characters help maintain narrative focus while allowing audiences to connect with them more effectively.

- Empathy: Empathetic characters can understand and share emotions, balancing negative and positive interactions.

- Flexibility: Flexible characters bring versatility, making your story dynamic and engaging.

- Persistence: Persistent characters pursue their goals despite obstacles, creating space for challenges and twists that highlight their strengths.

- Adventurousness: Adventurous characters open the door to exciting, diverse stories that resonate with audiences.

- Trustworthiness: Trustworthy characters build meaningful relationships, simplifying character bonding and progression.

- Reliability: Reliable characters help create cohesive plotlines and believable team dynamics.

- Punctuality: Punctual characters can serve as a contrast to those who are not, offering opportunities for teachable moments.

- Integrity: Characters with integrity are multifaceted and adaptable, adding richness to your narrative.

- Courtesy: Polite characters bring warmth and the potential for heartfelt, meaningful stories.

- Accountability: Accountable characters allow for compelling plots centered on responsibility and consequences.

- Diligence: Hardworking characters help avoid plot holes and elevate believability in achieving goals.

- Perseverance: Characters with perseverance inspire through their determination and ability to overcome challenges.

- Generosity: Generous characters open opportunities for narratives about selflessness and helping others.

- Consideration: Considerate characters make strong leaders and reinforce the value of empathy and kindness.

- Kindness: Kind characters evoke emotion and create heartfelt stories with universal appeal.

- Fairness: Fair characters are ideal for roles such as judges, lawyers, or public officials, offering integrity in positions of influence.

- Self-Control: Self-control adds complexity by exploring how much a character can endure before reaching their limits.

Conclusion

By giving your characters well-rounded qualities, you’ll have endless opportunities to develop them into the perfect "actors" for your story. Use this list as a guide, but feel free to adapt these traits to suit your narrative. With thoughtful character development, your writing will become more engaging and impactful.

Happy writing!

[weird-is-life]

Don't deny it

Pairing: Rockstar!Sirius Black x fem!reader

Summary: Rockstar!Sirius keeps denying your relationship and you finally have enough

Warnings: angst, fluff, use of pet names, use of y/n, swear words, mentions of head injury, happy ending ofc

Words: 2.4k

You thought, that you've been just imagining it, but as you hear Sirius getting interviewed now, you know, you haven't.

Sirius has been keeping your relationship secret. Like everytime he got interviewed in the last few months, he played it like he was single. No mentions of a girlfriend, meaning no mentions of you.

Like you get it, that the band is really famous and that mentioning your name would kind of make your life a bit more difficult. With less privacy and everything.

But he doesn't have to say your name, he could just admit having a girlfriend. No need to go into details.

And you think, you've finally had enough when you hear him reply to the reporter's question.

"So my last question is for all of the fangirls, is Sirius Black taken?" the reporter chuckles as she asks it.

You hear Sirius laugh too," taken? No, I'm definitely not taken. Still very single, sadly."

You hear him laugh some more, before you turn the interview off. You feel like the dumbest fool.

Obviously, Sirius is too embarrassed of you to even admit he's dating anybody, there can't be any other reason.

And you've definitely had enough of it. Everytime he denies your relationship, you feel like your heart is being ripped out of your chest and stumped on.

You can't go on like this. You don't want to hurt like this anymore. You can't keep hoping that one day, he's going to admit having a girlfriend. You just can't, it pains you too much.

So with that, you decide to ignore Sirius, hoping he'll understand, that you don't want to see him ever again. You know, he shouldn't be home for at least 2 weeks, so hopefully by the time he comes home, you'll move on (too optimistic).

You stop responding to his texts, answering his phone and eventually, you even turn off your phone. You don't give him any explanation, you don't think he deserves one.

Sirius on the other hand is going crazy with worries just after a few hours of radio silence from you. He even calls your best friend to find out if you're okay. Apparently, you are, but you friend refuses to tell him anything more and just hangs up on him.

That doesn't ease his worries at all. He rakes his mind for an answer to what's he done? But nothing comes to his mind.

He tries to contact you again and again, but still, no response. You don't respond even when James or Remus try. So Sirius starts to loose his mind over you.

But he can't leave to go to you, no matter how much he wants to. The band is in the middle of finishing the new album, so he can't just bail on them. He tried it and got yelled by the management pretty badly. Threatening of getting let go by their label if he just leaves.

Sirius becomes completely useless at the studio and the band rehearsals, messing up everything, because his mind is stuck on you.

"Please sweetheart, pick up, please" Sirius whispers brokenly as he once again tries to call you.

You don't pick up and the phone call ends. Sirius throws his phone across the room from the frustration. He slumps onto a sofa and puts his head into his hands in defeat.

He sits there with tears freely running down his cheeks. It's a heartbreaking sight, seeing him so hopeless.

James and Remus find him like that and immediately know, that they have to push him to go see you.

"Go, " James tells him.

"What?" Sirius looks up confused, eyes red.

"Go after her," Remus adds encouragingly.

"But the label....I can't....they'll cut us off-"

"Doesn't matter, we'll just find some other label, there's plenty of them, that want us," James says, maybe a little smugly at the fact, that are are many labels that would kill to have The Marauders.

Sirius looks at them unsurely, "are you guys sure?"

James and Remus groan in frustration, "fucking hell, will you just get out of here, please?" James tells him.

Both Sirius and Remus chuckle, and Sirius quickly gets up. He comes up to the boys and hugs them tightly, squeezing them almost death, until they are pushing him away.

Sirius basically sprints out of the studio. He just grabs all the essentials and runs to the airport. One of the benefits of being famous is the private plane, which he happily uses on his way to you. He gets home in a record time.

The walk through the halls towards your apartment is very nerve-wracking. Sirius doesn't know what to expect, but he certainly doesn't expect all of his stuff, that he's left at your apartment to be sitting outside waiting for him.

"Shit," he curses under his breath and runs a trembling hand through his hair. He can't believe this is happening. He hopes it isn't. He hopes, it's just a nightmare, that he'll soon wake up from. He can't just loose you, he won't survive it, he's sure of that.

Sirius checks under the rug for the spare key and as expected, it isn't there. So Sirius just knocks.

No answer.

He tries again, because he knows you're inside, he can hear the shuffling of things.

"Y/N, please it's me, please open. I-I....can we please talk?" Sirius begs and begs, but you're too stubborn for your own good, you've always been like that, so you don't open.

He knocks and begs, until the neighbours are threatening to call the police on him. Sirius, defeated, sits down with his back to your door.

"Please, love, c-can we just talk?" his tired voice still doesn't break you, but Sirius doesn't give up, " okay, it's okay. I'll wait 'till, you're ready."

And he means it. He makes himself as comfortable as he can on the floor, intending to stay there however long it takes.

You, on the other hand, put on your headphones to ignore Sirius pleads and knocking. You just can't see him right now or anytime soon, your heart is too broken for that.

Even if one part of you wishes to see him and hug him, your body craves the comfort of him. But the rational part of you knows, that'd be too bad for you.

Sirius keeps hiding you and you keep hurting, you can't go on like this, not anymore.

You go to sleep, full of raw emotions, and even if sleep doesn't come easily, eventually you drift off.

In the morning, you wake up just as tired as you were, when you went to bed. And when you open your fridge, you realise, you don't even have anything to eat for breakfast.

You groan internally, you don't feel like going out of your apartment, like at all, but you have to, you can't go on without food.

You put on your most incognito clothes, hoping that you won't meet anyone you know, especially Sirius.

And as you open your door, they suddenly slam wide open, because of some weight pushing against it front the outside.

Said weight, you realise, is Sirius. You yelp in shock, when you see him and look at him bewildered.

Sirius wakes up with a groan. He wasn't thinking of you opening the door, when he first leaned against it. Now he kind of regrets it, as his entire head hurts from hitting it on the floor.

"What the fuck, Sirius?" you whisper yell, you would yell loudly, if it wasn't so early in the morning.

Sirius, upon realising that he can finally see you, stands up quickly. That isn't the best idea though, because his head starts to spin.

"Sweetheart, i-"

"Don't sweetheart me, Sirius. What the hell are you doing here? Have you been here since yesterday?" you question, angrily. You notice, that Sirius looks just as bad as you. Huge eye bags under his eyes, hair dishevelled like crazy.

"Yeah, I told, I'd wait until you were ready to talk," he just replies, giving you a small, hesitant smile.

You don't know, what to say. Your head is full of emotions and you can't decide, which ones are right and which ones aren't.

While you are thinking of what to say to him and glaring at him at the same time, Sirius head starts to spin badly.

"I think, I'm going to pass out," Sirius quickly tells you as he almost tumbles on the ground.

You, without thinking, catch him by the arms.

"W-what's wrong?" you ask a little scared. You find Sirius at your door and suddenly, he's passing out?

"I hit my head..." he mumbles out and hisses as he touches the back of his head.

You sigh, "fuck, okay, c'mon." You help him to your couch and swiftly go to retrieve some ice pack for his head and some water.

You put the ice pack at the back of his head and Sirius winces some more. "Sorry," you whisper.

"It's okay-....I- thank you, sweetheart." Sirius calls you 'sweetheart' again and you want to slap yourself for feeling the butterflies.

You quickly go to the kitchen, so he doesn't see the redness at your cheeks. "Shit," you whisper to yourself, "what am I going to do?"

You've wanted to stay away from Sirius as far away as possible and now he is in your apartment? You don't know if you want to run away, punch him in the face or kiss him stupid.

You stay as long as you can in the kitchen, basically just hiding away from Sirius and you complete forgot about your intention of going to the shop.

Sirius is unusually quiet, so after a longer while you gather all the courage you can to face him, only to find him fast asleep.

You sigh at the sight of his peaceful, asleep face, you quickly throw a blanket over him (before you can think it through) and head out to actually get something to eat, 'cause you're starving.

When you come back, Sirius wakes up at your arrival.

"H-hi, "he says with a groggy, sleepy voice. He smiles at you like nothing has happened, like everything is normal and it makes you suddenly so so angry.

You drop your grocery bags on the ground and quietly, but sternly ask, "you are embarrassed of me, that's why, right?"

Sirius is quickly woken up from his half asleep state by your mad voice and baffles," e-embarrassed? What? Of course, I'm not."

"Yes, you are," you say exasperatedly, you can feel, that your eyes are filling with tears, " you are!"

Sirius stands up slowly, but steadily and comes closer to you, not entirely close, he still wants to give you some space. "I could never be embarrassed of you, y/n, never."

"Then why?" you ask desperately as one tear rolls down your cheek, Sirius's hand itches to wipe it away.

"Why what? I don't understand," Sirius begs for explanation, while he rakes his mind for an answer to his question as well.

"Y-you keep pretending like I don't even exist, like you don't want me!" you try to suppress the little sob, that escapes your mouth. Sirius wants to fucking beat himself up for making you cry, even if he doesn't really know the reason why yet.

"What do you mean?" Sirius asks stupidly and you sob again.

"What? What? What? The fucking interviews Sirius, I mean them," you pretty much yell it to him, the frustration being too much for you.

Sirius finally understands and the realisation hits him like a crushing wave. He didn't know you were feeling this way about them," why didn't you say anything? I thought, you were okay with keeping our relationship private."

"Private yes, but not to the point you are literally chuckling and saying how incredibly single you are," you argue," that's just wrong. But if you want to be single so badly, i won't fight against it."

"No," Sirius blurts out instantly, " I don't want to be single."

"Then what do you want?" you sniffle.

"You. Just only you, nobody else," Sirius is trying to catch your gaze, but you refuse to look at him, "sweetheart, please look at me."

You hesitate, but eventually you look at him. You notice, that tears aren't only on your face.

"Have you been feeling like this for a long time?" Sirius questions and you nod, he curses under his breath.

"I'm so sorry, i didn't notice. Shit, I'm such an idiot, " he starts and without thinking he takes a few steps closer to you," I'm sorry, angel. If I knew, you were feeling this way, I would have never ever continued denying our relationship. Fuck, It was killing me to stay quiet about us, I wanted to tell them everything about you. Please believe me."

You stay quiet and your sobs slowly start to go away. Sirius waits for you to say something, anything really.

"N-not everything please," you whisper. You can't stay mad at your Sirius long, even if you'd really want to sometimes. It's just not possible to be angry with him, especially when he loves you so much.

"What was that?" Sirius doesn't catch it.

"Don't tell them everything about me please," you tell him as you, after a few days, smile. Truly smile.

Sirius takes it as a permission to finally touch you. He has you in his arms in a matter of seconds, squeezing you oh so tightly, while he laughs happily.

"Does this mean, t-that I am forgiven?" he asks you unsurely, as he reluctantly eases you out of his tight embrace.

"Maybe," you grin at him

"Maybe? What do I have to do to get a yes, huh lovely?" Sirius softly asks, he takes your cheeks into his hands and gently wipes the tears away.

"You could kiss me, you know," you say with a sheepish smile. You look too cute, cheeks red and puffy, for Sirius to say no to you. As if he would every deny you a kiss or anything else for that matter.

He instantly leans it and kisses you, it's soft and maybe a little desperate kiss, but it doesn't matter to you or him.

You let him kiss you as long as you manage without breathing, even if you know there're still things to talk about. You'll talk about it, just later, after you get enough kisses.

[vivalas-vega]

fine line / part one

look at me trying new things !!! dipping my toe into a new fandom - long time lurker, first time contributor. first four parts are written, I just wanted to get this out and get some feelers and feedback. this is gonna be a big one, i'm working very hard !! please please please, let me know what you think (gonna update the header - just wanted to put something for now lol)

fine line / mcu x reader / part one

summary: Three kids from Brooklyn. A war that asks too much. And a woman with secrets stitched into every seam.

also - seems obvious bc of the title but fine line by harry styles is the song for this fic, if you like listening while reading that should def be on your playlist (maybe I’ll make a playlist, I’m undecided)

to be tagged in future works, please turn on post notifications for @vegaslibrary

word count: 2.5k

warnings: (not specific to this part, but for the series as a whole. this fic is 18+, you are responsible for your own media consumption). language, angst, drinking, smut, violence, references (and descriptions) of bucky's abuse within hydra, canon-typical situations - this is the mcu y'all, shit will get a little crazy, and a little devastating

Summer, 1943

“Come on, doll,” Bucky sighed, hand on your waist gripping firm to try and stop you but you just gave him one of those looks that was so classically you. A little annoyance, a little mischief. “A double date with Steve and Bonnie isn’t really what I had in mind for our last night.” 

His hand shifted just slightly, not enough to be considered indecent for how publicly you were situated, but enough towards your hip that you knew what he meant, what he wanted. “There’ll be plenty of time for what you’re suggesting later, Sergeant Barnes,” you replied, the smirk on your lips completely undercutting how innocent you sounded. You pushed him closer to Steve, forcing them to soak up as much conversation as they could before Bucky left at first light tomorrow morning. 

“I don’t see what the problem is. You’re about to be the last eligible man in New York.” Bucky said. “You know there’s three and a half million women here?” He was trying to make him feel hopeful and optimistic about his departure but you and Steve both knew it was fruitless. Bucky was leaving, leaving the two of you behind to go fight the war. It had been just you three since you were children, against the world, and your trio was about to fracture… in ways the boys didn’t even know. 

“I’d settle for just one,” Steve sighed and you flashed him a bright smile, trading places with Bucky and looping your arm through his. 

“Well, then it’s a good thing I’ve taken care of that, isn’t it?” you asked, waving to Bonnie in the distance, waiting for you all just at the entrance.

“What did you tell her about me?” he asked apprehensively.

“Oh, only the good stuff, Steve,” you replied, leaning closer, “and there was a lot to tell.” You made introductions and nudged him forward, trying to push him out of his shell but Steve didn’t do well with letting the rest of the world see who he was. You and Bucky were larger than life, and so was he according to you, but you two seemed to be the only people who knew that.

Howard Stark took the stage—a technology man so ahead of his time you half-believed he was a time traveler. You considered yourself a fairly practical woman, but even you couldn’t help feeling giddy as he spoke of a flying car. You watched in awe as he made it hover above the ground and you turned to face Bucky when you heard him mutter holy cow, with an awe struck smile on your face and delight in your eyes.

He leaned down to press a kiss to your cheek before turning to say something to Steve, who had disappeared at some point in the last five minutes, causing him to look around confused. You gave a sad smile, pointing toward the recruitment center. Bonnie didn’t notice, still marveling at Stark’s other inventions.

“I’m not sure why he wants to face the rejection time and time again,” Bucky said, a mix of disappointment and sympathy in his tone.

“He’s a dedicated man,” you said. “It’s a fine trait in what would make a fine soldier… I just wish they could see that.”

“Well, not everyone can see the world as you do, doll,” he said, pulling the door open for you. “But it’d sure be a good thing if they did.” You frowned slightly when you found Steve, standing in front of a mirror meant to show the person in front of it in a full military uniform… and Steve’s eyes rested where the neck was supposed to be. You thought the world of him, as did Bucky, and you hated how much him and everyone else fixated on his size. You always said a man was measured not by his stature, but by what his heart contained, though Steve could only hear you say it so many times before he stopped believing it.

“Come on,” Bucky said, clapping him on the shoulder and Steve turned, almost a little embarrassed at being caught in front of the display. “You’re kind of missing the point of a double date, we’re taking the girls dancing.”

“You go ahead,” he replied, stepping away from the mirror with his hands in his pockets. “I’ll catch up with you.”

“You’re really going to do this again?” Bucky asked with a disapproving look and you shot him one of your own.

“Well, it’s a fair. I’m gonna try my luck.”

“As who? Steve from Ohio? They’ll catch you… or worse, they’ll actually take you.” You gave Steve a sympathetic look, you’d watched him torture himself with this since the war began, and it broke your heart.

“Look, I know you don’t think I can do this-”

“This isn’t some back alley, Steve. It’s a war,” Bucky shot back and you sighed, realizing Bucky’s little side mission before he met up with you was pulling Steve out of another fight.

“I know it’s a war.”

“Why are you so keen to fight? There’s lots of other important jobs-”

“What do you want me to do? Collect scrap metal in my little red wagon?”

“Yes! Why not?” Bucky was exasperated and you let out another sigh. This is how it always was, it was you in the middle of them constantly… because you could so clearly see both sides. Bucky had points, but so did Steve. 

“I’m not gonna sit in a factory, Bucky. Even Button is doing more than me,” he protested and your eyes darted around… of all the places you didn’t want your laundry aired, a recruitment center was pretty high on that list.

“Steve,” you nearly whispered, a warning. You didn’t need any attention on you or what you did for the war, the less people knew the safer you’d be and the better you could carry out your tasks.

“Sorry,” he muttered, giving you an apologetic look. “Men are laying down their lives, Bucky. I’ve got no right to do any less. It’s not just about me.”

“Right, cause you’ve got nothing to prove,” Bucky shot back and the air grew more tense around you. You wished they wouldn’t fight, not when you had a gut feeling things would never be like this again. Tomorrow Bucky would ship off to war, you’d disappear into your work, and Steve… you didn’t know what Steve would do. This moment could have been the last where you were all still just kids from Brooklyn.

“Come on, aren’t we goin’ dancing?” Bonnie called out, lingering near the entrance.

“Yeah, we are,” Bucky answered, a slight edge to his tone as he tried to pull you away but you planted your feet.

“James,” you said, voice firm. “Not like this.” You gave him a look and he glanced back to Steve, letting out a sigh as he conceded. You were right, as always.

“Promise me you won’t do anything stupid until I get back,” he said, a teasing lilt to his tone as he fixed the distance he’d created just a minute ago.

“How can I?” Steve asked. “You’re taking all the stupid with you.” You cracked a smile, watching Bucky pull him in for a hug, both of them muttering something like punk and jerk. “Be careful,” he added when Bucky pulled away and you could see the longing in his eyes. Longing for his best friend’s safety, longing to go with him.

“Stop by the shop this week, okay?” you asked, leaning down to press a kiss to Steve’s cheek and he nodded half-heartedly. “Don’t disappear on me too, Rogers,” you prodded, keeping your tone light and he gave you his full attention, promising he would come by before you ran to catch up with Bucky. Perhaps it was a low blow pulling on his heartstrings like that, but you felt you had to. You didn’t have much time to make sure he’d be alright without Bucky… without you. You all had jobs to do, and as soon as Bucky shipped out yours would be your focus, you just didn’t know what Steve’s focus would be.

You and Bucky burst through the door like you were outrunning the end of the world, clumsily making your way inside your small apartment without letting your lips stray from his. Your back hit the wall with a soft thud and he took the opportunity to trail kisses down your neck as his hands roamed everywhere, trying to memorize the feel of you as best he could and you were doing the same. You wanted his touch burned into your skin, the memory lodged in every fiber of your being.

He groaned when you grabbed him by the lapel of his coat, one you’d made for him, and pulled him back to your lips, kissing him with such an intensity that his grip on your waist became bruising. Good, you thought. Give me something to hold onto when you’re gone. The sound that tumbled from your mouth when he hoisted you off the ground to set you on the table shot straight through him and he couldn’t get his hands to move fast enough as they pulled your coat down your arms and began working on the buttons of your dress.

Each inch of skin he exposed made him crumble for you, and his hands landed on either side of your neck to pull you back into a kiss, demanding and hungry… possessive. The slide of his tongue against yours melted you into him, sent tingles to the tips of your toes…. Your fingers were more controlled as they undid his belt, more graceful than his movements had been but the way you tugged it off and threw it on the floor was anything but. You slid your fingers through the loops and pulled him flush against your core, softly biting his bottom lip as he groaned into your mouth.

“God, Button,” he whispered, pushing the hair from your face. “You tryin’ to kill me before I ship out?” 

“Maybe just incapacitate you,” you replied and he shook his head before his lips traced a path along your chest. Your fingers tangled in his hair as he lingered just above your heart and when he lifted his eyes to meet yours they were dark, unreadable.

“You’re gonna vanish, aren’t you?” It was barely above a whisper but it felt loud as it rattled through your ears, heart still thudding rapidly and his hands still holding you like you might vanish right now. You’d grown so still you felt a little like glass beneath his fingers but he pressed on anyway. “I know what you’re planning, you might be able to fool Steve, but not me.”

You didn’t answer, just let your hands slide up to rest on his chest… not quite pushing him away, but not pulling him closer either. “You think I’m stupid?” he asked, catching your chin and pulling your gaze to him… not forceful, but insistent. “You’ve been wrapping things up for weeks, meeting people you won’t name. Soon as I got my papers, you started pulling away. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

“Bucky-”

“I get it. You want to do more. You’ve always wanted to do more.”

“So please don’t fight me on it,” you replied, soft and sure. “Not tonight.”

He swallowed hard, jaw flexing as he considered his next words. “I’m not trying to stop you, I just-” he exhaled sharply. “I don’t know how to walk out of here tomorrow and feel like it’s really you that’s leaving me.”

“Because it’d be so easy if it were you leaving me?” you asked as you ran your fingers through his hair and he didn’t have an answer, because it wasn’t easy either way. “Forget tomorrow. Just be here. Just… be here.” 

There was nothing else to say, and he didn’t know how to deny you anything, especially not when you pleaded. His eyes scanned your face for a moment and his grip on your face squeezed, just slightly, before he pulled you back into him, kissing you with a new purpose. Now, it wasn’t just him that had to make it back home to you, you had to make it back home to him, too. He didn’t like those odds, both of you being out there.

He pulled you up and helped you pull off the rest of your clothing before pushing you back onto the bed and settling above you, hands taking in every inch of flesh they could. Each movement felt loaded, a whisper of I love you, of I miss you, of please don’t break my heart. Each push of his body into yours filled you like fire and you wished you could stay here like this with him forever… that there wasn’t a war you were both so determined to fight, that you didn’t have to worry about the world outside your apartment door. You wished you lived in a world where the only thing that mattered was you and Bucky in this bed, giving and taking everything you had to offer.

You laid curled against his side, head resting on his chest and listening to the steady thump of a heart that you knew belonged to you. Your fingers moved idly along his skin, as if you were trying to stitch something into him. “I keep thinking about everything we’re never gonna get.”

Bucky was quiet for a long moment. His hand moved slowly along your back, like he could calm the ache out of you one inch at a time. “Like what?”

“Sunday mornings,” you said. “Stupid arguments over curtains. You kissing me in a grocery store, and it not meaning goodbye.”

He smiled, a little sad, “I would kiss you in a grocery store.”

“You’d kiss me anywhere, Sergeant.” you teased, voice thick with affection.

“True,” he chuckled before you fell back into silence. You could feel sleep trying to pull you under, your body exhausted from the weight of his touch, the weight of what it had meant, but you fought it… wanting another minute. Another ten. Another twenty.

“Promise me something,” you said, your voice smaller than you meant it to be.

He looked down at you. “Anything.”

“Leave before I wake up.”

“Button,” he started, already knowing he’d barely be able to stand leaving you as it was.

“Don’t make me watch you walk away,” you murmured. The pain of it lived in every word. “I won’t be able to take it.” He stared up at the ceiling like it might hold a better answer, jaw tense. “Promise me,” you prompted and you saw it break in his eyes. That familiar crack, the one that always came right before he gave in… because it was you. It would always be you. There wasn’t a single thing you could ask of him that he wouldn’t do, even if it broke his own heart.

“Okay,” he whispered. “I promise.”  You stared at him for a long moment, memorizing every sharp line, every soft crease, like your eyes could hold onto him when your arms couldn’t.

You pulled him back into you, losing yourself in him again. There would never be enough kisses. Never enough I love you’s. Never enough of this.

But it had to be.

This one night had to hold all the ones you’d never get.

Time was already moving on without you. But for now, it was just him. Just you. Just this.

And that would have to be enough.

next part

[dykesynthezoid]

I do think we’re getting at least some escalation of devil’s minion in s3 btw. And I don’t think that’s even me being hopeful or optimistic I think it’s literally just logical.

I’ve seen people say oh, but devil’s minion happens in QOTD, and s3 is TVL; and firstly, they’ve definitely made it sound like some elements of queen of the damned are going to be present in s3. Secondly, I suspect season 3 is going to end with the lead up to Lestat’s San Francisco concert. So the whole season will be both Lestat backstory + the set up for the events of QOTD. And devil’s minion happens, guess what, before Lestat’s San Francisco concert. It would almost not make sense to not at least touch on it while the other story beats are culminating up to that moment. Like, Daniel and Armand are already present in the story (where they aren’t in the book in the modern day storyline), why would you not continue their storylines to the next logical step?

Also, I think you have to consider just how many new characters and storylines QOTD introduces and how daunting that can be to absorb if you’re unfamiliar. Waiting to do anything with devil’s minion until season 4 means that’s just one more new storyline to have to inject into a narrative already very crowded with exposition. It just doesn’t make a lot of sense to do that, and I suspect the writers are pretty aware of that.

And frankly like. What other storylines would Daniel and Armand be getting? Like how are either of their stories supposed to move forward without, y’know, each other? Are we supposed to expect all of season 3 just to be one big pause button on both their larger narratives? That seems very silly. Daniel at least has the journey of adjusting to vampirism, but Armand especially is like. His semi-redemption and character evolution comes from devil’s minion. That’s the only real next step for him.

And I mean. Look at Assad and Eric. I don’t think Rolin Jones could convince them to wait a whole other season for something to happen if he tried. I know, I know it’s easy to be like “oh but maybe it’s just actors being silly” but compare how open they’re being about it now and how much more tight lipped they were in between seasons one and two. It’s night and day. It is a very very different vibe. And apparently, Assad has been plenty excited about it this entire time, so he was actually somehow managing to keep his mouth shut before. But now maybe he doesn’t need to, because he knows season 3 will at least offer something in the way of that development.

I think it’s entirely possible we won’t necessarily see the full “culmination” of their relationship until season 4, but I do think season 3 will at least have development and escalating tensions that are undeniable. I think it’ll likely start out slow and ramp up as the season continues. I’m not going to panic if we don’t get much in the first few episodes or if it takes until episode five to see Daniel’s turning. That might be needed, honestly, in terms of giving Lestat his necessary focus. But I think more small pieces will begin to accumulate, will escalate to a place of higher tension by the mid season, and then the finale will include some type of reveal or emotional climax, setting things up going into season 4.

And you know what, it’s worth mentioning: things have happened faster on this show than I expected before! I did not expect Daniel to be turned at the end of season 2. I thought we probably had a whole other season to go before that happened. “Well they were afraid of cancellation” / “well Eric just wanted to be a vampire so badly” and will these things also not apply to season 3/Eric and Assad wanting devil’s minion?? Idk babes. I’m doing the math and it doesn’t seem that crazy to me

[bitchy-craft]

Messages For You | Pick A Pile

Hello and welcome to this Pick A Pile! In here you'll find out a few things you should hear. I hope you guys enjoy and find this useful. Do make sure to leave comments down below on your experience! I do want to remind you all that this is a General Pick A Pile which means this is for a lot of people; therefore keep what resonates and leave what doesn't.

ANNOUNCEMENT: I added the ability to choose your own questions to be answered in my shop.

Masterlist > Questions > Paid Readings [NEW]

Pick A Pile!

Pile 1:

Relax, you deserve time off

It’s okay to take a step back; and when you do so, use that time to observe everything around you

Be confident and strong, you can do whatever you want

Be your true authentic self, that’s the way you’ll succeed

Don’t sit and wait, move and grow

It’s okay to take risks, most of the time they aren’t as big as you imagine them to be

Obstacles are there to overcome, do so

Leave behind what doesn’t serve you, they’ll be stuck where you leave them

Don’t always defend, start and fight

They’ll get what they deserve

Pile 2:

Be proud of what you’ve achieved, you deserve it

If you can’t reach what you want, jump and get it

Stand your ground and keep your head up high, the rest will follow

It’s okay to be worried, and it’s okay to have a support team to help you get through it

Rome wasn’t built in a day, you have plenty of time

They help you a ton, they want to help you a ton, let them

Someone is jealous of you, pay attention

You’re allowed a little help to grow

Patience is key

Focus on yourself, not around yourself

Pile 3:

Love yourself, you deserve to be loved

There are people who are protecting you

These people are trying to reach out to you; recognize their signs

You don’t need to do everything alone, there are people who want to guide you towards success

It’s time to heal, you’re ready

Balance your time and energy; take your time and take your needed breaks

It’s okay to not succeed immediately, you can try different things before finding what works best for you

Be optimistic, have hope; it’ll come to you

Choices are there to be difficult; take your time to analyse your decisions

What you’re waiting for will be there soon; continue what you’re doing, do your best

[upsylvtummy]

Allergy discovery...? - Lucien #1

Hey! So, this is my first fic on here, introducing some of my OCs, especially Lucien, Nico and Courtney! I was trying to semi-make sense of who they were for you guys while still keeping the sick, tummy ache plot, so I hope I managed to balance it out! Right, and I hope it's not too confusing to get who I'm shipping with Lucien 😭

Lucien had second-guessed plenty of his decisions in life—mostly before actually making them. Right now, staring blankly at the paper in front of him while patting around for a pen he swore he’d left nearby, was one of the rare moments he sincerely wished time travel existed. Architecture might have sounded glamorous in the media, but in college? The only impressive thing about it was how many freshmen kept willingly signing up for the torture. What kind of masochist did that to themselves? Personally, Lucien was just waiting for time travel to be invented so he could go back and run over his younger self before he declared his major. Kidding…kind of. Actually, not really. Anyway, this chapter wasn't supposed to be about regrets.

“Skipping practice again?” Lucien raised a brow, clearly unimpressed. “No.” His reply was curt, eyes still fixed on the smudged mess on his page—only God knew what it was supposed to be, and that was being optimistic. Somehow, his eyebrow attitude trickled into his tongue. “Don’t take it so personally,” the voice continued, “you show up so rarely, I doubt Coach even remembers your name. What’s changed?” Lucien sighed and finally looked up, rolling his eyes and tilting his head. “Nothing changed, Sam. I’m sticking to my 80/20 attendance rate.” He fought back another eye roll, straightening his neck instead. “I told Court I’d show up today. New season’s about to start.” His gaze flicked to the clock, and—thank god, finally —the bell rang. The classroom turned into a clean-up speedrun. Lucien swept up his pencils, rulers, and whatever else was thrown across the desk, stuffing them all into his one-pocket pencil case.

“I’m guessing you’re not rushing to eat lunch with me, huh?” Sam joked. He was used to Lucien being difficult to make plans with, it had always been that way. “Consider yourself lucky I tolerate your presence,” Lucien deadpanned, though the tiniest edge of humor lingered. “I am very grateful” Sam chuckled, but Lucien caught the subtle eye roll. “Oh yeah? Maybe if you keep being that grateful, Karma will reward you.” Lucien didn’t actually believe in karma. Though, considering what was about to happen, maybe he should’ve reconsidered.

After class, Lucien grabbed takeout before heading home. He usually cooked, but this week, between deadlines and forgetting groceries, he opted for something quick. He ordered spicy fried noodles with tofu and vegetables from a Chinese place—not something he’d tried before. But this definitely would be the last time.

Once home, he tossed his bag aside, freshened up, and flopped onto the couch with his meal and the TV. The food was alright. The tofu wasn’t great unless it was drenched in sauce, but it filled him up. Every now and then, he checked the clock, making sure he wouldn’t be late for practice. After about thirty minutes, he stood to wash his dishes. But then he froze. A strange heaviness had settled in his stomach.

Lucien groaned softly, hand instinctively pressing over his belly. Maybe he was just full? That’s what he thought at first. But when the discomfort didn’t ease, doubt crept in. He leaned against the kitchen counter, now pressing into his stomach more firmly, trying to find some relief. His fingers dug in beneath his shirt, and a weak burp escaped, unsatisfying and sour. Lucien rarely got stomach issues, and when he did, they were manageable: some pain, maybe throw up, and done by the next day. But this… this felt different.

A quiet moan slipped out as he hugged himself tighter, leaning over the counter. His stomach felt bloated and tight. He wanted nothing more than to lie down. But just as he turned to head for his room, his phone buzzed. Courtney. Perfect timing.

Lucien rolled his eyes and picked up the call, putting it on speaker so he could keep one hand over his stomach. “Hello…?” he answered, trying not to sound weak. “You’re still coming, right?” Courtney’s voice came through. She was his childhood friend—and the captain of their team. Lucien sighed and rubbed his belly more gently now. “You know what…” He paused, suppressing a burp. “I think I lost my train ticket.” Courtney wasn’t buying it. “Stop bullshitting me,” she snapped. “Fine. I’ll just have Nico come pick you up. He’s such a sweetheart.” Her sarcasm dripped through the phone. “No…!” Lucien yelped—too desperate, shit. But a strong cramp hit him just then, making him lean back against the counter, hands pressing firmly into his aching stomach. A loud burp escaped, and he cupped his mouth quickly. “You okay?” Courtney asked, hesitantly now. She knew Lucien well enough to recognize when he was deflecting. “I’m here! God, can’t you wait like one second?” he snapped, his sass back in full force. Lying to get out of practice seemed better than admitting stomach trouble. “Oh look, found it. I’ll be there.” His voice cracked under the strain, but he didn’t care. “Great. And if you’re not, we’ve got a problem.” She hung up.

Lucien groaned again, hunched over. His belly felt tight and swollen. “Ow…” he muttered, trying to breathe through the pain. He really didn’t want to cry over an upset stomach. No way.

But once he made it to the court, he regretted everything. He had conveniently forgotten his racket, praying they wouldn’t have a spare. The train ride had been awful—holding in gas made him nauseous, and by the time he changed in the locker room, luckily alone, he was trying not to show his bloated stomach. Taking off his shirt, he gently rubbed his belly, convincing himself the pain wasn’t that bad. He was just overthinking it.

Putting on his usual serious face, he stepped out onto the court.

“Oh my god, Lucy, I can’t believe it,” Nico called. “Didn’t think I’d see you after last time.” Lucien winced at the nickname and forced himself to stand straighter despite the ache. “I wish I didn’t have to see you. You’re lucky my shoulder wasn’t broken—I’d be seeing you in court.” He wasn’t serious, obviously. Nico studied law. The brunette only chuckled, giving Lucien a hard slap on the back. Lucien swallowed a burp. “Don’t touch me,” he groaned, trying to sound threatening, but it came out weak. Another cramp hit as he stared at the floor, fighting back a burp that escaped as a low groan. “Lucien LaVeau,” Nico gasped dramatically, “that’s disgusting. Where are your manners?” Lucien didn’t even react, nausea was taking over. His stomach pressed uncomfortably against his pants, and his face contorted from the effort of holding it in. Nico looked at him, his teasing fading briefly into concern.

“Lucien!” Courtney’s voice cut in. “Not only were you making excuses earlier, now you’re late?” Lucien immediately straightened up, forcing his face into something neutral—almost. His furrowed eyebrows betrayed him. “You sure you’re okay?” Courtney asked, squinting. He shifted his weight uncomfortably. Admitting the truth sounded nice… but way too humiliating. “Oh wow, thanks for the warm wel-,” he started, but a wet burp interrupted him. Vomit hit his throat and he swallowed it down with a grimace. Both Nico and Courtney stared at him. His face flushed pink. “…Rest assured, I’m fine.” “Right. You’re not gonna puke on my court, are you?” Courtney asked, stepping away just in case. Lucien looked away. “Obviously not.” But another cramp tore through him. He doubled over, hand gripping his stomach.

Nico placed a hand behind his upper arm, ready to steady him. Courtney took another step back. “Okay, Lucien. Spill it. What’s going on?” Lucien let out another burp, holding his abdomen tighter. His vision swam. He staggered, Nico grabbing his shoulder to keep him up.

Lucien groaned. He wanted to bark at Nico to back off, but he couldn’t even form words. Courtney gently wrapped an arm around his waist, rubbing comfortingly. Lucien hated being touched. But in that moment, he just felt hot and gross and overwhelmed. “You know,” Nico said, “it’d be really helpful if you stopped being all mysterious and maybe, I don’t know, communicated?” Lucien’s fist clenched. He wanted to respond—but if he opened his mouth, he knew what would happen. And then, it did anyway.

A loud burp escaped. He gagged and slapped a hand over his mouth. “Bathroom, now,” Courtney muttered, her voice awkward but serious. Lucien let out a pitiful sound, dropping to his knees, hugging his belly. Nico knelt beside him while Courtney looked around the court. Lucien sat back on his heels, one hand rubbing his stomach while the other braced behind him.

Nico gently lowered the waistband of Lucien’s pants. Lucien flinched but didn’t stop kneading his aching belly. Then, the worst happened. A wet fart escaped. Then another. And another.

Lucien shook from the shame. Nico didn’t even joke this time. “Feeling a little better at least?” he asked softly. “Maybe you should head to the bathroom…”

Lucien curled forward, burying his face in his knees. Courtney ran a hand through his hair. “Allergy? Food poisoning?” she guessed. Lucien shook his head, another fart escaped. His eyes widened. Oh fuck.

He shot to his feet, a belch escaping. “Can you not freak out for a second?” Nico asked, grabbing his wrist. “Let go…!” Lucien cried, yanking free and bolting. God, this was so humiliating…. He felt so out of character. “Yeah, no,” Courtney said, raising her hands. “I’m not chasing after Lucien if he’s gonna puke. Or worse.” Nico sighed and followed.

Lucien stumbled into a stall and sat down, just in time. His stomach erupted, liquid diarrhea flowing into the toilet. He barely had time to process before Nico burst in behind him. Lucien couldn’t even look up. “Lucien—oh my god,” Nico gagged slightly. “Okay, listen. Can you lean forward? It might help your stomach muscles.” Lucien, desperate, did as told—only for pressure to shoot up his chest. He gagged, then vomited on his lap and the floor. It was chunky, almost like the tofu hadn't digested at all. “Oh shit,” Nico muttered, turning away.

Lucien tried to apologize—another wave came up. He puked mid-sentence. “Fuck,” Nico backed into the wall.

Eventually, it was over. Lucien felt empty… and humiliated. He didn't want to admit how much better he felt after that, he didn't want to talk at all. Or to live, honestly. That experience should've killed him instead of leaving him with life-long shame. He took a quick shower, trashed his training clothes, and changed into his arrival outfit. This time, leaving his pants unbuttoned and his boxers low. The pain had dulled, but wasn’t gone.

When he stepped outside, Courtney rushed up. “You’re going home. Right now. Got it?” Lucien stared down at the grass, cheeks flushed, tears threatening to spill. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I’m just… so embarrassed.”

Courtney glanced over at him, her expression unreadable at first. Eventually, her brows pulled together in a soft frown. “Don’t be,” she said gently. “I mean, yeah… I guess it’s not exactly common, but it’s not like you could help it. Something clearly just didn’t sit right with you.” She let out a quiet sigh. “It’s not a big deal. Try not to overthink it.”

Lucien gave a quiet nod. Of course he was going to overthink it. How could he not?

“Nico can drive you home, yeah?” Courtney added. Her voice took on a firmer tone, just a little scolding. “I know you two don’t exactly get along, but I’m not letting you take the train like this.”

Lucien hummed in acknowledgment. He hated the idea, so much, but arguing felt like more trouble than it was worth.

Courtney walked with him to the parking lot, stopping beside Nico’s car. She gave his back a light pat. “Go rest. Seriously.”

Lucien got in without a word. Nico started the car, and silence settled between them—uncomfortable, normally they'd just bicker again. Even Nico seemed to understand now wasn’t the time to push buttons.

That silence, though, gave Lucien space to think. And that was the problem. With nothing to distract him, the memories of everything that happened came rushing back, things he’d been trying so hard to ignore. Shame tightened in his chest, and his eyes filled with tears all over again.

He rubbed at his stomach with one hand, the other covering his face as he leaned back in the seat. Slowly, quietly, sniffles filled the space between them.

Nico glanced over, sighing. “Can you try to calm down a little?” His voice was soft, unusually so. “I know it's hard and all, but there's no need to keep crying over and over again. We can't turn back time."

He hesitated, then kept going. “I promise you’ll feel better soon—physically and mentally. I know your stomach’s a mess, and your pride probably feels worse…”

Lucien winced at the way he said it.

“But seriously,” Nico continued, “no one’s mad at you. No one thinks less of you. Just rest. Take your time, Lucy. You’re going to be okay.”

Lucien didn’t respond. He stared out the window, tears still rolling down his cheeks.

“…Be quiet,” he mumbled.

[meraki-yao]

Soooo

Finally watched thunderbolts with my sister

And this is on par with CATWS for me, they are now tied for my favourite marvel movie

We cried. A lot. Which is normal for me but very rare for my sister. We were gripping each other's hands the whole time. We hugged each other and sobbed during Yelena and Alexei's moment because holy shit that hit hard. Way too hard.

I wish my parents could see it and get it. That would never happen. I have my "thunderbolts" but part of them is you guys, part of them is theatre which my mom is banning me from (I'm trying to work around it). I don't want to be left alone. I know the feeling so well. I don't want to feel it but I am.

I also cried when Bucky came in with the motorcycle because after listening to the horrifying masterpiece that was CATWS soundtrack where his theme was mechanic murder and screams of terror, my man finally gets a hero theme. But neither me nor my sister could keep a straight face during any of the congressman stuff.

Wanted to punch Valentina throughout the whole movie. I have many thoughts on the bitch, including not wanting to play God being a really big part of the reason I quit STEM. Also compulsory original Avengers nostalgia which also made me mad when she drank where Tony Stark once drank. I'm also following the amazing fic that is "twelve step" by boopboop on AO3, so the line "them living in the building built by the man whose parents he killed, in the suite that once belonged to his husband." Was running through my head. It's a fucking amazing fic by an insanely talented writer.

Also what's the difference between my girl Wanda's magic vision thing and the void? Also whatever superpower the void has, about re-living your trauma, that's the super power I wanted since I was 12. I was and am still sure that this is the most effective method of dealing with bad guys lol.

Me and my sister needed this movie. We just... Kinda wish we were them. We wish we had the solution that they did, but right now we're just... Kinda in the middle of misery.

I'm not optimistic enough to say the MCU is back, but I've definitely regained my interest in the universe. Still have reservations about the very premise and casting of Doomsday and looking back I have plenty of opinions on the infinity saga, but I'll be keeping an eye out. Really hope they keep up this quality of story telling.

Also love the revolution suit on Bucky.

[fadedneonzzz]

Some very very sad news today, Rooster Teeth has officially closed its doors without warning to many including many people working at RT. It’s rough as now the fate of RWBY is currently in limbo with WB looking to sell the IP off along with the other popular IPs. Now it’s very likely RWBY will be picked up by someone at some point as it’s pretty profitable as a franchise, that’s not what I’m worried about. What worries me is RWBY getting the gen:LOCK treatment in which a new group of writers are tasked with continuing the story with no input from the original writers or creators. The last thing I want is another company trying to reinvent the wheel with RWBY to “revolutionize” or make it “more appealing”/“more profitable”. My hope is that the majority of the original cast is kept, most of CRWBY is retained, and that the only change made is the company attached to it. Ideally, I want a company that will allow them to continue their vision for RWBY with as little interference as possible.

Also, if you’re celebrating this because you think RT deserves it or because you think this will be the death blow to RWBY, kindly fuck off. People legitimately lost their jobs without warning, these animators worked tirelessly to deliver a show loved by many more and entertained people for over 10 years to continue the legacy and memory of Monty Oum. It’s really disgusting to see people take joy in this. Yes, RT was definitely a flawed company, in fact it did plenty of shitty things over the past 5-6 years, but even still I don’t think there’s a single person who deserves to lose their job and potentially livelihood because of it.

Now am I a little too optimistic? Maybe, but that’s just how I am. There’s definitely a chance we’ll never see another volume of RWBY again, but I think it’s better to cross that bridge when we get there instead of fixating on the doom and gloom.