#fan fic challenge
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
Please don't shoot me for this...
But Echo's "Hey kid, and... Other kids."
Has almost the same cadence as Freddy Prince Jr's
"Hey dawg, and uh... Dog,"
From the live action Scooby Doo movie and now I can't help but imagine Echo saying all th-
*nifty little gunshot wound*
#the bad batch#tbb#rewatch rambles#tbb echo#echo#arc trooper echo#scooby doo#âand he was like 'WHA?' and i was like 'later Oyyn'â#âi can look at myself nakedâ#âno offence you just kind of creep-me-ouytâ#i could go on#fan fic challenge#write an echo story using a freddy line from the luve action scooby doo films as a promt#ill wait
22 notes
·
View notes
Text
â Sovvan Night Challenge â
â Halloween Fic-fest 2024â
A writing Challenge for the Valdemar fandom, thirty days in October to write a fic with the theme of Sovvan Night.
It can be any characters from any period in Valdemarâs history or your own OCs, as long as it is set in Valdemar.
Autumn is the season of harvest, the time of celebrating the yearâs bounty. It is also the time to mourn the yearâs losses. Sovvan is the night of the year when the veil between life and death is thinnest. Celebrated with a great hunt, feasting and dancing in the day, and scary stories at night while candles glow in every window to ward off evil and guide lost spirits home.
The Challenge-
Write a new fic set in the kingdom of Valdemar (from the world of Velgarth by Mercedes Lackey) with any of these themes-
Autumn
Hunting
Haunting
Ghost Stories
Brush With Death/Near-Death Experience
Meeting the Shadow-Lover/Death
Afterlife
Reincarnation
The Sovvan Night fic does not have to be set actually on Sovvan Night, as long as it fits into the overall theme.
This is an open Challenge to inspire you into writing a totally new fic; it can be scary, spooky, or horror-themed, it can be sad, bittersweet or tragic, it can even be a silly crack-fic or crossover with pop-culture Halloween standards.
Anything goes! (Please remember to Tag properly)
The Challenge begins October 1st, with all fic to be posted to Ao3 on October 31st (Halloween), so you have 30 days to write. Please tag your fic with [Sovvan Night Challenge 2024] and I will make a Collection of them all.
No limits to wordcount, write as little or as much as you like, the important thing is to Just Write! (poetry and meta analysis welcome too)
#sovvan night challenge halloween fic-fest#sovvan night#halloween fic challenge#fic writing challenge#valdemar#heralds of valdemar#bards of valdemar#healers of valdemar#shadow lover#world of velgarth#mercedes lackey#get writing#ao3 things#ao3 challenge#fan fic#fan fic challenge#autumn theme#halloween theme#fall fic challenge#halloween fic fest 2024
9 notes
·
View notes
Text
i genuinely don't care how good a piece of ai generated art or writing looks on the surface. i don't care if it emulates brush strokes and metaphor in a way indistinguishable from those created by a person.
it is not the product of thoughtful creation. it offers no insights into the creator's life or viewpoint. it has no connection to a moment in time or a place or an attitude. it has no perspective. it has no value.
it's empty, it's hollow, and it exists only to generate clicks (and by extension, ad revenue.)
it's just another revolting symptom of the disease that is late stage capitalism, and it fucking sucks.
#''but i just want to use it to--'' don't care! it's shit! stop fucking feeding it!#if you need help generating ideas or jumping off points then join an artist or writer group online#talk to people#make connections#that's what art and writing is supposed to be about in the first place#i'm mad as hell etc.#so goddamn sick and tired of seeing ai shit get passed around on here#it's bad enough in general but every time i see more of it showing up#tagged as fan art or as fic#the angrier i get#heartfelt imperfection in art and writing will always ALWAYS be worth more than the most technically ''perfect'' ai generated image or text#fandom problems#ai generation algorithms die in a fire challenge 2k23#just a heads up that i'm muting this post and will no longer see responses to it#because i'm tired of seeing dogshit takes from jackasses who want to ''debate'' me#there's no debate you're in the wrong on literally every level and you can die mad about it
10K notes
·
View notes
Text
BLEED YOU DRY (1)
SUMMARY: When you awake to find Astarion attempting to drink your blood, you find yourself making a interesting decision.
PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader (reads as Gender Neutral but future chapters will be femme focused, just a heads up!)
WORD COUNT: 3,273
WARNINGS: Bloodsucking, that's about it?
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, so I'm aware I'm way ahead of schedule for this Haunted Hoedown thing but I'm going to be gone for a few days in the middle of it so I figured I'd get a headstart now to make sure I get every day done but also to build the hype? Maybe?
Basically this is going to be a little twelve part miniseries based on prompts from this writing challenge. I'll make a masterpost either tonight or tomorrow with all the ones I chose, plus some other stuff, so you guys know what's going on!
The prompt for this particular day was "I want to watch you bleed."
CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER
-
The squirming tadpole behind your eye is what wakes you up. Its constant movement, wriggling from edge to edge quickly prompts you to groan and palm your eye, attempting to suppress the feeling as you blink through the darkness. It takes a moment to adjust âto feel that twitch of the creature die downâ and when it does thereâs a sigh of satisfaction that leaves your lips.
Despite how long itâs been, youâre not sure youâll ever get used to the fact that you have a parasite living inside your mind. Even after experiencing the insertion firsthand, you often forget itâs there, looming behind your retinas, awaiting use every time you run into another. Normally itâs so still, barely inching out of place; sitting there, incubating within your thoughts. Tonight though, somethingâs urging its presence. Keeping it awake as you close your eyes again, scrunching up your face once it moves a second time.
Angrily, you sit up and turn your head, suddenly catching Astarionâs gaze, noticing the open-mouthed grin he offers in response.Â
âShit.â
You narrow your eyes, focusing on his teeth. How bared they are; ready to strike at a moment's notice despite the only food lying around being you. âWere you just about to bite me?â you ask and almost immediately he attempts to play it off as if it were nothing, scoffing and rolling his eyes.Â
âI wasnât going to hurt you if thatâs what youâre insinuating. I was only going for a nibble.âÂ
You can feel your tadpole squirm. Heâs telling the truth, albeit for reasons that are more selfish than he lets on. Despite seeming otherwise, he only wants to drink from you for strength âfor energy. His desire to kill you is minuscule, lingering in the shadows of his mind for a potentially later day but surprisingly such notions donât scare you. Astarion may be a bloodthirsty creature but for now, heâs an ally.
âAnd you didnât think to just ask first?â You raise a brow at him, watching his expression twist into something bordering between confusion and interest.Â
âIâm sorry, just ask?â he parrots, exploring your features and how they remain calm despite the context. Â
He was expecting you to be angry. To throw some kind of fit and deny. Itâs what any normal person would do, but considering the circumstances, offering up a little blood to build up the strength of someone on the same side is worth more than the annoyance that forms across your face.Â
âYes, like a normal person,â you chastise, taking in the scowl he offers in response.Â
His brows furrow at the sound of your words, angling upwards to appear as sinister as possible, and you canât help but snort. Something about his constant disapproval is almost humorous at this point.
âNormal? Darling, Iâm a creature of the night. A blood sucking fiend. Aââ
âVampire, yes, weâre all well aware given the teeth.â You poke at your own canine, tapping the enamel with open lips just as he swallows hard and narrows his eyes.Â
âYes, well, obviously considering such details I thought it inappropriate to ask. People donât typically agree to such perilous sounding terms,â he says, voice light and airy. Casual, you might say, despite the context.Â
âSo instead you were just going to go for it?â You raise your brow, a smirk playing across your lips as he rolls his eyes.Â
âSeemed like the best possible option⊠at the time.âÂ
You offer him a quiet ah, nodding your head as the two of you remain still, watching each other. Trying to gauge how the other is feeling without the use of your tadpoles.Â
Based on what you know about Astarion you assume heâs too stubborn to ask. Now that heâs caught, regardless of whether or not he needs the blood, heâll never find himself in a position to be desperate enough to say those simple little words. Being a man of persuasion, heâll most likely just talk his way into it âmake it seem like the whole thing was your idea in the first place before diving right in.Â
Itâd be respectable if you werenât the victim. If it were Wyll or Gale and you were to bear witness to his deceptions, youâd fully support it. Encourage it even if he were to ask your opinion.
Since itâs you though, you canât help but feel a bit frustrated. Astarion and you have never been particularly friendly. Having only been around each other for a few weeks, all youâve talked about is the Illithid and how you plan to get rid of it âwhat youâll do after itâs gone. But even the latter conversations hardly spark specific details. Mostly theyâre just brief mentions of wanting to run away. To become hidden after the war is over.Â
You assume someoneâs looking for him based on the way he speaks and carries himself. When youâre on the move he hides within the pack, using you all as a shield while he looks around. Always on high alert, his ears twitch at any foreign sound, his eyes dart to meet the faces of anyone you may come across. At night, heâs always the one to keep watch and over time youâve come to realize it isnât just because he doesnât sleep. Itâs because heâs looking for someone.Â
Even now, as he stands above you, you can see his eyes looking past you to focus on the underbrush. The way they narrow with focus, pushing past your face. He can sense something that you canât âfeel the eyes of some foreign presence staring at the two of you.Â
Youâre tempted to use the tadpole to find out what exactly it is but quickly refrain once you hear the shuffling of branches behind you followed by Astarionâs breath of relief.Â
âYou alright?â
His eyes shut for a split second. His chest heaves a single breath and in that moment youâre struck with an odd sense of sympathy. The feeling of pity laces throughout your thoughts as you imagine Astarionâs life before all of this. You imagine it isnât great. Considering heâs a vampire, thereâs probably at least an inkling of trauma there after living, dying and coming back as something other than yourself. No sane person would be the same after that, especially when taking into account all the symptoms. Before his transition, he could do mundane things. Enjoy the pleasantries of life like the sun and sleeping and food.Â
Nowadays, all it seems he craves is blood and power. Flesh of whatever he can get his greedy little hands on. The upper hand in any possible argument. Both make what Astarion is on the surface, but looking at him now, wondering what else lies behind that thick, defensive coat of first impressions, you know there are other things. Nicer ones he refuses to showcase.Â
Theyâre the details of his life before everything. Traits reserved only for himself, and for some uncharacteristic reason, youâre tempted to find out what they are.Â
âIf you need toâŠâ Trailing off, you feel your stomach twist at the realization of what youâre about to offer. The consequences are high, maybe even too high, but perhaps the benefits could be deemed higher. At this point, youâre certain no one else will give him what he needs. Theyâre all too noble or guarded to allow Astarion, regardless of his current allegiance, to drink.Â
They donât trust him. And even though you find yourself in the same boat, feeling the skepticism of your words start to echo in the back of your mind, you know itâs the most logical thing to do. Sure, it may not be the right one. By a long shot, itâs probably one of the worst ideas youâve ever had, but you know deep down that itâs necessary for your survival. To ensure that, when all this blows over and the potential of you going your separate ways occurs, Astarion doesnât view you as an enemy.
âIf you need to drink, you can.âÂ
His eyes widen only a bit. Just enough for you to notice the slight shock that spreads across his features. âI can?âÂ
Thereâs a reluctance you feel begin to bubble up but instead of acting on it you merely shut it down, nodding your head. âYes, but only a little. Donât want you bleeding me dry before this whole thing is all over.âÂ
Somehow that makes him laugh. âOh, darling, I wouldnât dream of such a thing.âÂ
You force yourself not to smirk as he lies through his teeth. Knowing him, heâd suck you dry if it werenât for the fact that thereâs safety in numbers. âUnfortunately for me this isnât a dream.âÂ
âFair point,â he replies, taking a short step forward. After that he slowly begins to crouch towards the ground, watching you closely âfocusing on the rise and fall of your chest as his face falls mere inches from yours. âFor now though, I promise to do no such thing.â
âAnd youâre certain youâll keep it?â Â
He hums, a grin pulling at his cheeks. âFor now,â he muses. âIn the future thoughâŠâ
Heâs so close you can feel his breath. Hot and heavy puffs pushed through a low, far too sultry tone of voice that has you pressing your lips together in a thin line.Â
Out of everyone, Astarionâs always been the most intriguing. The one youâve had this constant back and forth with, debating whether or not to approach or run. Aside from the obvious vampirism, itâs quite obvious that he isnât like the others. From what youâve been able to piece together, he doesnât have a cause. A God or some sort of leader heâs willing to lay down the law for. Heâs not noble like Wyll or faithful like Shadowheart. Heâs just Astarion. A bloodied wolf all by his lonesome, following the rest of the pack.Â
Youâre sure he has desires like the rest of them. Wants and needs thatâll inevitably be gifted to him at the end of this âso long as you all survive. Like everyone else, he has a purpose in mind, but what that purpose is is unbeknownst to you thanks to the charm he offers in replacement of the truth. Because of this, he feels almost like a treasure chest. A trove of untold riches kneeling before you, tempting you to open.Â
âIâm sure the future will have us far enough away from each other where that doesnât happen, so I wonât worry.âÂ
Almost immediately, he can tell youâre fishing for information. The way his brow slightly upturns and the flirtatious grin across his face transitions into more of a smirk. It makes you internally curse, knowing that no matter how hard you try youâll never beat him at his own game. His way with words is too precise. Too calculated, even for someone like you who grew up convincing people of your lies.Â
âYou never know. Perhaps after this is all over Iâll follow you. Linger amongst the shadows until the time is right.âÂ
You canât tell if heâs kidding. His voice is too convincing to be completely certain, so you merely roll your eyes. âYes, well, if you do decide to drink me to death, be sure to make it quick.âÂ
He clicks his tongue, leaning slightly further in. âWhat would be the fun in that though?â
Thereâs an unfamiliar ache inside your chest. A rupture of pain that wreaks havoc against your ribcage, pounding. Now that heâs close to you, you can assume itâs always been there but because heâs so good at posing a distraction you werenât fully aware of it until now.Â
âFair point,â you repeat his words back to him, deeply inhaling just as the tadpole suddenly shifts in tandem with your chest. Ebbing and flowing across your inner eye in time with your shaky breath, you notice Astarion pick up on it, humming knowingly.Â
âYou fear me, donât you?âÂ
Despite the answer being blatantly obvious, your lips remained sealed. Closed off, regardless of the truths the rest of your body spills.Â
âItâs quite alright, darling. Itâs normal. Creatures of the night are hardly meant to be trifled with.âÂ
Heâs in your face now, a mere hairâs length away, once again baring his teeth. Against your lips, you can feel the movement of his words pushing through the air, coating you in further reluctance as the withheld breath inside you finally releases. As it hits his face, he blinks and pulls away. Ever so slightly giving you the space you need to recollect your thoughts and swallow back the fear.Â
Heâs terrifying. Even you have to admit that. Unlike Laeâzel heâs more calculated in his intimidation, opting to pull you in âto make you feel comfortableâ before he ultimately strikes. Because of this, his threats feel more authentic. Less like simple tactics used to get you to back off. They arenât words of warning âtheyâre promises. Declarations of a moment heâs more than willing to make a reality if given the chance.
âDo you want my blood or not, Astarion?â
Your patience is thin. Your chest is in pain and while the tadpole inside unwittingly reaches out to his, driving you both closer as he instructs you to lie back down and get comfortable, all you can feel is temptation. Desire.Â
Upon resting your head, you feel the connection between you grow stronger. Inside, your head flashes with icy sensations that trickle down towards your neck. Small tremors of whatâs to come as Astarion positions himself around you.Â
When he leans down, thereâs a moment where you think of retracting. This is all too sudden, you think. A mistake made in hopes of gaining the upper hand. Just moments ago you were made unaware of the full potential of Astarionâs charms, but now that youâre lying beneath him, awaiting the moment he sinks his teeth into your flesh, you can feel the regret begin to build.
âIt wonât last.â
Pulling yourself from your thoughts, you look to see him staring over top of you. Both of his arms are planted on either side of your head, bending at the elbow so that heâs low and close. âIâm sorry?â
âThe pain. It wonât last long, I promise.â
Strangely enough, he sounds sincere. Not that that means much when a good portion of the words that exit his lips are lies. Still though, instead of returning to that previous headspace you merely breathe and nod, waiting for the moment the tadpoleâs connection vibrates with confirmation and Astarion begins to lean in.Â
Itâs a slow process. Above you, his shoulders shift, pushing his arm to cup the back of your head and expose your neck. Against your skull, Astarion tightens his grip to steady the endless thoughts that race through your mind as you share a glance. Itâs small but important. A moment of recognition that tonight is not the night you die at his hand, but merely a preview of what might come if your paths wrongfully cross.Â
At the last second, you give him a curt nod and feel him dip, running the tip of his tongue along your jugular before the presence of teeth poke holes through your flesh. At first, it's painful. The blood thatâs sucked through your veins pulsates through the open wound in stinging waves as you feign a soft groan. Then Astarionâs grip around your head tightens at the sound, pushing you further into his mouth. Further into the euphoria he takes as the feeling transcends into something numbingly cold.Â
Your eyes flutter shut at his continued feed. The feeling in your hands begins to fade even as you somehow find them moving to Astarionâs back, one of them pressing against his shoulder, the other finding purchase in his locks. At that point, you can feel Astarion moan against you, desperation filling his every cell as his teeth shift further into your neck, prompting your eyes to shoot open.Â
Heâs going to kill you at this rate. To drink you drier than an insect's husk, so, through half-conscious pushes, you tell him to stop. To let go and to keep his promise as you grip the roots of his hair and pull.Â
As it happens you see his eyes shift to yours. Theyâre blown out completely, the whites of his eyes stained red to match his ruby pupils. For a moment, they remain locked to your half-lidded ones, honing in on the way they start to flutter again before you see them tightly close. Then he finds himself ripping away and gasping for air. Coughing through the thick blood that coats his tongue as he stares down at your neck.
The wound is only slightly gaping. Two well-defined puncture wounds sit side by side, but at the moment you canât feel them. Instead, thereâs still only numbness. A space of nothing that lingers between your head and chest, making you shift to sit up and place your hand there, finding more blood.Â
âSee? Over before you know it, right?â He laughs but all you do is glare.Â
âYou almost killed me.â
âAh, yes, but notice the key word being almost.âÂ
If you werenât so heavy-headed youâd punch him in the throat. Maybe strangle him if you could get the right angle. âYes, fine, youâve had your fun. Now, do you need anything else or am I fine to pass out now?âÂ
You expect him to say something else. To make some quip about the safety measures of post-bloodsucking, but he doesnât. Instead, he merely inches closer, staring at you as he reaches for your bloodied hand and pulls it close.Â
Once again, your tadpole wriggles against your will. Throughout your skull, it practically dances as Astarion glances down, taking two of your fingers into his mouth with careful precision. If anyone were to see theyâd most likely faint at the mere lewdness of it. Frozen in time, your body refuses to move as he laps the blood off your skin, staring at you through hooded eyes that make you want to scream.
Youâve never been in this kind of position before. Sure, youâve experienced many kinds of intimacy, both sexual and not, but somehow this feels different. Forbidden, in a sense. As if sharing this moment is not only wrong but also against some sort of ethical code.Â
At first, you wonder if itâs because blood isnât necessarily something thatâs given. Always taken. In battle, itâs ripped from your skin through the means of injury. Punctured or sliced out of you at the hands of a sword. No bond goes along with it. No mutual agreement that any life will remain once the deed is over.Â
But then you begin to think of Astarion. The elven vampire now infected with the Illithid. Like you, heâs been changed. Subtly shifted into something new. Overall, your transformation isnât nearly as different as his. Before the infection, you could still enjoy the pleasantries of being human, but still, thereâs this connection that draws you towards him. It makes its presence known within the tadpole. Throughout the movements that echo in your minds as Astarion cleans the last of the blood away, looking at you with soft eyes.
âI consider this a gift, you know,â he says, dropping your hand, and moving away to stand without so much as a thought.Â
You blink back your confusion, trying your best to focus on the genuine-looking smile that appears as he takes a few steps backwards, never breaking eye contact until he telepathically adds I wonât forget it then stalks away.Â
#astarion#astarion bg3#astarion fan fic#astarion series#astarion x reader#astarion x you#baldurâs gate 3#baldur's gate 3 fan fic#bg3 fan fic#haunted hoedown#writing challenge#summer writes
2K notes
·
View notes
Note
maybe art falling for a sports journalist that watches his matches.. maybe they (unknowingly) stay at the same hotel and romance arises
Requests
Art Donaldson, a young tennis prodigy. Better than his teammate and after Tashis Duncan early retirement, by many called one of the best young players. He was the subject of numerous articles written by you, a new but dedicated sports journalist.
There you were, among the crowd of posh tennis enthusiasts, a notebook in your hand as your eyes examined every move that Art made. Every gesture, facial expression and grunt he made caught your attention. You didn't even look at his opponent, they didn't matter. Art moved across the court with the grace of a dancer and the precision of a master, his every move like calculated.
As he prepared to serve, his eyes scanned the crowd, searching for familiar faces amidst the sea of spectators. And then, as if drawn by an invisible force, his gaze locked with yours. You were so far from each other yet the surroundings suddenly didn't matter.
And then, with a flick of his wrist, the ball has been sent across the court, his serve powerful and precise. The match resumed, but for you, the moment of eye contact stayed in your mind long after the final point had been won.
As the evening settled over the bustling hotel lobby, you found yourself craving a bit of caffeine to fuel your late-night writing session. With your laptop tucked under your arm and a knitted sweater on, you made your way to the cozy café nestled in one corner of the hotel lobby, the soft glow of overhead lights casting a warm ambiance.
"One americano, please," you said, flashing a smile at the barista before turning your attention back to your surroundings.
Out of the corner of her eye, you noticed Art looking up from his notebook. Messy blonde hair was partially hidden by the hood of a Stanford hoodie. His gaze lingered on you for a moment before a hint of recognition sparked in his eyes. With a smile that sent your heart racing, he removed the hoodie and tried to fix his hair.
"Late-night writing session?" he asked, his voice warm and inviting as he put his elbow on the counter of a bar and rested his chin on his hand.
You nodded, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks at the unexpected encounter. "Yeah, trying to meet a deadline. What about you? More match strategies?".
"Nah, just jotting down some thoughts." He looked down to his paper. "I saw you today in a crowd".
A thrill shot through you at the thought of him remembering you. Your lack of speech was interrupted by barista giving you a coffee. "Thank you" you mumbled.
"Here, have a seat." Art gestured to the empty chair beside him.
As you calmed yourself down, you settled into an easy conversation, your shared passion for tennis serving as a natural starting point. You felt yourself drawn to Art in a way you hadn't expected. Beneath his charming exterior, you discovered a gentle spirit, someone has been through a lot.
April 28, 2024
#writers on tumblr#fan fic writing#x reader#art donaldson x reader#art donaldson imagine#challengers imagine#challengers x reader#mike faist x reader#mike faist x you
801 notes
·
View notes
Text
swift revenge
Summary: Taking out a threat of a big group of raiders one of Jackson Patrol groups had spotted the day before, leaves Joel finding someone form his past he thought had been dead for over twenty years.
Pairing: Joel Miller x fem. reader
Wordcount: 3.2k
Rating: M
Warnings: post outbreak, raiders, holding people in cages, sexual trafficking, implied sexual abuse, angst, dark themes, reunion, protective Joel, feral Joel taking immediate revenge when he finds out what had been done to reader, reader is Joel's pre outbreak fiancé, blood, little bit of gore
follow @toomanystoriessolittletime-fics and turn on notifications to get notified when I post new fics
Full Masterlist // Joel Miller Masterlist
"Who did this to you" Drabbles
There were many, many things he could be doing right now.Â
He could be at home. He could be sitting in front of his fire place, in the warmth, reading a book or enjoying a glass of shitty whiskey.Â
He could try to talk to Ellie again, maybe talk her into playing the guitar with him again.Â
Hell, heâd rather be working in the kitchens, enduring the trash talk of the kitchen staff, than riding through this fucking snow storm with a group of the patrol men and women, riding towards the outer parts to a small town where another patrol group had spotted raiders the day before.Â
He knew that if they had been sent out through this weather, these raiders must be a real threat.Â
And while he knew he was one of the most trusted and capable patrol group members, he was getting tired.Â
The last two years in Jackson had made him grew comfortable. Maybe even a little lazy at times. He wasnât getting any younger.
Sometimes he wondered how his life would be right now, if the outbreak hadnât happened.
If he would still be living in his house in Austin. Maybe he would have got into Sarahâs pleas and put a pool in the backyard.Â
Maybe his baby girl would have found someone and gotten married. Hell, maybe heâd be a grandpa by now.Â
And you⊠maybe he would have gotten to marry you. Make a home with you. Have another kid or twoâŠ.
He shook his head, his eyes blinking back into reality.Â
âApproach with caution. Will and Emma spotted at least six people before they retreated. They chose the big school that we cleared some months ago as their shelter. There might be more people inside. We gonna meet up with the second patrol group in the woods behind the school and then decide how we carry on,â Tommy instructed the group of eight people Joel was part of.Â
Joel took a deep breath before he rode forwards, next to his brother.Â
âHow bad do you think it is?â He asked, hearing Tommy sigh.Â
âWilliam said they saw how three men dragged a woman from inside and⊠you can imagine. Dunno what else is waiting inside. I donât like it. But they got to close to Jackson. Gotta take care of them,â he said.Â
âThink we could get into the school through the barricaded basement?â Joel asked, hearing Tommy hum.Â
âPossibly. Letâs check in with the other group. They have been watching them for the last four hours,â Tommy said. Joel nodded.Â
âHey uh⊠You okay? You seem⊠dunno quieter today,â Tommy said, looking up at Joel from where he was riding next to him.Â
Joel released a long breath.
âItâs her birthday today,â he said quietly and Tommy raised his eyebrows before a sad smile came to his lips.Â
âYou gonna be okay?â Tommy asked and Joel gave him a half smile.Â
âDonât have another choice, huh?â He shrugged and Tommy pressed his lips together in a tight smile.Â
âWe should get a drink after. To celebrate her,â Tommy said.Â
Joel nodded.Â
âIâd like that.â
There were definitely more than six people inside this school. Thankfully the basement entrance had still been barricaded, so they could enter the school quietly without alerting anyone inside.
But what they encountered once they made their way upstairs was unlike he had ever seen.
These people must have been here for a while.
And they were monsters.Â
Cages were set up, women chained inside, with only either their head or their legs sticking out and Joel could only imagine what these monsters had been doing to them.Â
He was still trying to form a plan when the first shot rang out.Â
The following minutes where a blur. He had lost count of the amount of men he had killed as he made his way towards the other side of the room, still keeping an eye on the patrol group and his brother who was right beside him, taking the threats out until only three of the raiders were left, now tied up to a pole close to the staircase, William, one of the first patrol men, keeping an eye on them, gun pointed at them.Â
Joel closed his eyes, his gun still in his hand as he searched for his brother who was already walking towards him.Â
âHow many?â Joel asked.Â
âCounted around 20 including the three that are still alive,â he said, bending down to clean his knife from blood using the shirt of one of the dead men laying on the ground.Â
Joel sighed.Â
âI donât like this,â he said.
âMe neither. Might need some help with getting some answers out of the rest. Wanna know if there are more and how they found this place,â Tommy said and Joel nodded.Â
âWhat aboutâŠ?â Joel gestured around them, counting six cages. He hadnât looked closer at who was inside.Â
Tommy rubbed his fingers over his nose in deep thought.Â
âOffer them to join Jackson. Donât think they gonna trust us though. Can only imagine what these monsters put them through. Might need to send for some women from Jackson. We only have Emma here to talk to them and you know they probably do not trust men. I wouldnât either,â Tommy said.
Joel sighed, letting his gaze drift through the room that must have been the cafeteria before the outbreak.Â
He would never understand just how much the outbreak changed people. Or more like⊠let them live their true self without having to think of the aftermath of their actions.Â
âWe gonna search the rooms on this level first and the rest of the building for more people and then Iâm gonna send three people back to Jackson to get some more people and horses over here,â Tommy said and Joel nodded. Tommy gave him a tired smile before he turned away from him and walked towards some patrol member to instruct them about what to do
Joel walked towards the first dead person laying on the ground, searching through his clothes. He hated this part, but it was important. More than once the stuff people had on them had given him clues to other threats that were around.
He was checking the third person when he heard Tommy call out for him.Â
Joel grabbed the ammo he had found and walked towards his brother who was standing at one of the more closed caged. They were build rather amateurish with some wood and some barbed wire on the top. He tried to school his face into a neutral one when he approached, pointedly ignoring the filthy line of what could only be dried cum dripping down what looked like a improvised flap in the door, next to where Tommy was standing in the opened door to the cage.Â
Tommy looked at Joel with an expression he had never seen before. Fear, surprise, pity?
âWhatâs going on?â Joel asked and he saw Tommy send two of the patrol men away who had been standing next to him.Â
Joel joined Tommy at the opened door, Tommyâs lips opening and closing without any words coming out before he finally just nodded his head towards the cage where Joel could see a woman sit in the corner, her back towards them.Â
She was hiding, making herself as small as possible.
Her hair was long and matted, laying over her shoulder, almost reaching down to the ground.
âTommyâŠâ Joel began, wanting to ask what the fuck was going on when the woman turned her head towards them, bright wide eyes looking directly at them.
It was like his body knew, before his brain did.Â
His heart rate going up, his hands clenching into fists. His breathing quickened and he only realised he had lost his balance when he felt Tommyâs arm behind his back, holding him up.
He knew those eyes.Â
He saw them in his dreams during good nights when he woke up in his old home, in his old bed, in her arms.
He saw them in his nightmares during bad nights when he imagined the million ways she had possibly died.Â
He whispered your name and could see your head tilting, your eyes still on him. He didnât know how long you just stared at each other before something in your face changed, your bottom lip trembling.
âJoel?â
Through the fog inside your brain, it took a while to realise that the man standing in the opened door of what had been your prison for weeks (or months) was not your in your imagination.Â
He looked older, and for a small moment you were angry that even after more than twenty years and a whole fucking apocalypse Joel Miller still looked like he stepped straight out of a wet dream.Â
You hugged yourself tighter, still cowering in the corner furthest from the door, your feelings overwhelming you.Â
You mourned him.Â
All this time you had mourned him.
You had been at his parents ranch near Nashville to prepare the birthday party of his mother the following week, Joel, Sarah and Tommy due to arrive the day after Joelâs birthday.
Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine waking up during the night having to kill both your future mother and father in law, both of them infected.Â
For days after you were in shock, hiding in the old bunker under the barn, thankful for Joelâs dad being a little bit of a prepper.
You eventually, after waiting for weeks, made your way to a QZ, not knowing that only days after Joel would have made his way to his childhood home in the hope of finding you.Â
You learned quickly that the QZ was your personal hell and you took the first real chance of something better to get out.Â
And life was good for a while after that. You joined a community near Denver. You even made your way back to Austin, spending more time than you probably should have searching for even the smallest sign that Joel and Sarah had survived. But you found your old home abandoned. The cabinets picked over.
You had locked yourself into your old bedroom, allowing yourself to cry over the things you lost, before you took some pieces to take with you.Â
One of Joelâs shirts and his aftershave that was still halfway full.
A picture of you, Joel and Sarah that had been taken on the day he had asked you to marry him.Â
Once you got back to the community life moved on.Â
But your luck had to run out sooner or later and after you community fell, you had been taken hostage and deemed to be left alive to⊠entertain the raiders who had burned down your home.Â
You didnât even know how long you had been with them.Â
You didnât know how long it had been since they had taken you. It could be months or years.Â
You grew numb after a while. It was the only way to endure their abuse on your mind and body.Â
The only way to survive was to flee into your imagination.Â
And Joel was always there.Â
You jumped when he took a step forward, his hands outstretched in a calming manner.
âJoel?â You whispered again, tears filling your eyes.Â
âItâs me Darlinâ. Can I come over to you?â He asked, and hearing his voice made the first tears escape.Â
You slowly shook your head and he stopped, looking at you with concern.Â
âIâm⊠Are you really here?â You whispered. You could see him gulp, his eyes closing for a moment before he nodded.Â
âIâm here. Iâm really here. IâŠâ he shook his head, looking around before he looked back at you and slowly took his coat off.Â
âItâs cold and youâreâŠ. Can I put this on you?â He asked, holding out his coat.Â
You shook your head.Â
âIâm filthy and I⊠You donâtâŠâ you were overwhelmed, not knowing what to do.Â
âI donât care about that Darlinâ. I just want you to be comfâŠ. I donât want you to be cold,â he said, approaching you slowly, like he would a frightened deer. As if you would jump away if he moved to quickly.Â
âOkay,â you whispered and he let out a relieved breath before he got closer to you.
âLet me help you,â he whispered and you took a deep breath, closing your eyes as you turned towards him, your muscles spasming as you moved them, letting him slowly help you into his coat. You heard his sharp inhale the moment he saw what they did to you, the many many scars covering your whole chest, your whole body really, his breath stuttering for a moment before he slowly zipped up his coat and you couldnât stop yourself as you let yourself fall against his chest. His arms pulling you against him immediately.Â
You cried against his chest until you had no more tears left.Â
When you finally looked up at him he was already looking at you.
Those big brown eyes you had fallen in love with looking at you with concern and wonder.
He reached out slowly, giving you time to turn away before his fingers slowly brushed over your cheek, the palm of his hand slowly coming to rest against your cheek and you leaned into his touch.Â
âSweetheart,â he whispered and you closed your eyes.Â
âWho did this to you?â He asked and you released a shaky breath, opening your eyes again.Â
âWho⊠Who hurt you like that? WhoâŠ. Who did this to you? Please tell me,â he was almost begging, and you could see how he was restraining himself to keep calm. There was something lingering in his eyes that should scare you, but instead you found comfort in it.Â
âEveryone. They allâŠâ you stopped yourself, one of your hands coming up to press against your chest, a move that you used to calm yourself down.Â
You felt something drop down on your hand, looking up to find a tear drip down Joelâs cheek.Â
âTommy,â he said and you were confused for a moment before someone else walked into your cell, and there was Tommy Miller, who you had not realised had been there before.
âHi,â he smiled warmly at you and you awkwardly smiled back, not having used these muscles in a long time.Â
âTommy is gonna stay with you,â Joel said and you looked at Joel with wide eyes, your fingers digging into his arms, not wanting him to leave.Â
âNo⊠No⊠No you need to stayâŠ. I need you toâŠ.â You panicked.Â
âShhhâŠ. Sweetheart. Iâll be right back. I just needâŠ. I just need to punch one of these people in the face before IâŠ.â You could feel him shaking beneath you in barely contained fury.Â
âJoel,â you whispered, and he finally looked at you.Â
âCan youâŠ. Can you take me away form here?â You asked, voice quiet, barely above a whisper.
He took a deep calming breath before he looked at Tommy.Â
âIâm okay to go back home?â He asked. Tommy nodded.Â
âOkay. OkayâŠ.â He said, more to himself before he looked back at you.Â
âIâm gonna take you home,â he said.
When you slowly made your way towards the exit he picked two blankets, pulling them around your shoulders. You looked around the room, finding so many of the men who had made your life a living hell for so long lying dead on the floor.Â
But it were the very alive bright blue eyes of one of the men, Gabriel, who had loved to use his knife on you most, that were looking at you that made you shrink back against Joel, your steps faltering.Â
âAh I see how it is. Kill all of my men and then steal the tightest pussy right under my nose. Fucking assholes,â he spat and you turned away from him, hiding against Joel.
âTommy,â he hissed under his breath and you found yourself in the other mans arms the next moment. You looked after Joel, internally already panicking about seeing him walk away from you, before he picked up one of the axes that had been used for firewood.Â
âSo you just pick up women and rape them because you feel like it huh?â Joel asked as he walked towards him.Â
âI mean Yeah,â Gabriel shrugged.
Joel nodded, coming to a stop right in front of him.Â
âAnd Iâm gonna continue to fucking do it once I get out of here,â he said and Joel chuckled.
âYou think youâre getting out of here? Really?â Joel asked, the handle of the axe now resting on top of his shoulder.Â
âHad worse odds. Some of our guys are still out, scavenging. They gonna be back and then we gonna kill you. And then we gonna get to your little community and take overâŠâ he said, confidence pouring out of every pore of this disgustingly excuse of a human.Â
âOh yeah? What makes you think we havenât killed all 27 of them already?â Joel asked and Gabrielâs smile slowly disappeared.Â
âHuh? Not so sure you gonna get out of here now? You think weâre amateurs? The rest of your men are right outside. Dead,â Joel mocked.
âPlease IâŠ.â
âTell you what. Iâll let you go,â Joel said and you stilled. You could still feel Tommy with his arm around you, keeping you close.
Gabriel didnât say anything, just looking up at Joel.Â
âUnder one condition though,â Joelâs lips twitched into a frightening smile.Â
âWhat is it?â Gabriel asked and Joel called for another man, whispering something in his ear, the other man nodding.Â
âYou really should look away now,â Tommy said to you and you looked up at him.Â
âWhy?â You asked. Tommy only shook his head but you looked back to Joel anyway just in time when Gabriel started yelling.Â
The man Joel had whispered to was pulling at Gabriels pants until he was naked from the waist down. Two other men came and grabbed Gabriel who was now screaming. They pulled him up, carrying him over to a table where he then stood against it, Joel following them, the axe now swinging and you slowly connected the dots of what was about to happen.Â
âIâm letting you go,â Joel said, before he brought the axe down, Gabrielâs bloodcurdling scream filling the room that let you hide against Tommy, taking deep breaths against him.Â
Everything that happened after was a blur, but the next thing you could remember was that you were on top of a horse, Joel holding you against him, your body tucked into the blankets against his chest.
âThank you,â you whispered, feeling his arms tighten around you, his lips finding your temple.
âAlways,â he whispered.
#my fic#Drabble challenge#Joel Miller#Joel Miller x fem. reader#Pedro Pascal#joel miller fanfiction#fanfiction#fanfic#fan fiction#tlou fanfiction
295 notes
·
View notes
Text
Flashing Lights
Art Donaldson x reader
If people like this Iâll write a part 2 and possibly some sub Art fics in the future. Challengers is all I can think about at the moment and this blonde man is living rent free in my brain.
ââââââââââââââââââââââ
âCome on come on, they can never have too many pictures taken of them!â
Your friend dragged you and your mediocre camera, quite forcefully, to Tashi Duncanâs party. It wasnât just that you hadnât been invited and that you werenât remotely a tennis player it was that Ashleyâs lame excuse of âthey need more photographersâ was patently untrue. Everywhere you looked there were photographers with cameras that cost more than your yearly rent.
âIâll get us a drink wait here.â
You watched her confidently insert herself into the queue for the bar, in between endless posters of Tashi Duncan hoodies and Tashi Duncan headbands. If you hadnât been such a feminist you might have felt a little sick from all the masturbatory self promotion.
In your idleness you decided to people watch. There were no less than a hundred people there already, all dressed elegantly with hair and makeup that no doubt took longer to do than the night would even last. You pulled at your tight dress. Flattering? Definitely. Comfortable? Absolutely not. Ashley had the tennis body, the Tashi Duncan confidence and skill but without the praise or queue of fans. You had your camera.
You hadnât touched a tennis racket since you were ten years old. These people werenât your peers they were your betters, including the snobby photographers and perhaps even including Ashely. At least she knew what âdown the lineâ meant.
âCan we go?â Your voice sounded bitter as Ashley handed you a cocktail. âIâve got two photoshoots to edit for tomorrow and I donât even like tennis! Why am I even here?â As your friend defended her plan to âsleep with as many rich tennis players as possibleâ your eyes wandered once again, this time landing on a man who needed no introduction.
âIs that ⊠Art Donaldson?â
It was him, smoking a cigarette by Patrick Zweig dressed for Summer. Fire and ice in the flesh. You suddenly felt the need to readjust your dress, your hair, your earrings. To fidget. To fidget and prepare for the chance he might look in your direction and see what he wanted.
âFuck me itâs Zweig.â
As Ashley launched into a thesis on why Patrick was the hottest man sheâd ever seen, your eyes bored into the side of Artâs head. His curls fell so perfectly on his forehead but all you could find yourself imagining was messing them up. As your staring breached the line of too far, Ashley tapped your arm. âThink I should go talk to him? Flirt a bit? Heâs a bit of a man whore, Iâm pretty sure I could get him.â Just as you opened your mouth to speak, the recipient of your staring began to move closer.
It only took a few moments for Art to reach yours and Ashleyâs corner of refuge but his eyes never strayed from you. Zweig had followed him like a puppy and whilst you couldnât have cared less where the brunette chose to stand, you could practically feel Ashley screaming in her head.
âAaliyah right? You basically murdered my friend out there yesterday.â As Ashley corrected Patrickâs memory, you forced your eyes to look at anything that wasnât Artâs knowing smirk in your direction. It didnât work, in fact your refusal to make eye contact with the future star had made your feelings glaringly obvious.
Youâd watched him play many times, instead of doing your own work, and although you found tennis a little boring the man had you riveted. The ease at which he hit the ball with such force, the little hand movements heâd do during a tie break and his cruel habit of taking his shirt off on hot days ⊠you were hooked.
As he eyed your dress you wondered if heâd seen you, made note of just how many matches youâd been front and centre at. Maybe he knew you were an amateur photographer and perhaps his smirk was intended as a mockery of your being there. Art knew you didnât belong at thee Tashi Duncanâs after party. You both knew it. He looked at you, finally as youâd lifted your gaze, and cocked his head slightly to the side.
âSo, you donât like tennis?â
Shit.
âOh. You heard that.â
âYep.â
His voice was glazed with amusement as he sipped his cold beer, daring you to defend yourself.
âAshley was invited,â you lied with little ease. âIâm here as her friend- well I guess also photographer but you all seem to have that covered.â Both yours and Artâs eyes glanced at the gang of professionals taking Tashiâs photo. She was holding the shimmering trophy as if it was nothing of real value, she had the humble but proud smile down. Art clocked your jealous expression and raised an eyebrow. âTashi not your favourite?â
âSheâs pretty amazing and she looks fucking beautiful tonight I canât lie. I just, I guess I wish I was that talented.â
Despite her successful flirting to Patrick, Ashley heard your little, sad admission. Mentally you scolded yourself for letting Art see your vulnerable side. Instead of judgement he smiled.
âAre you not the best at getting front row seats?â
He left off âat my matchesâ but the point had been made loud and clear. You chose not to react and to ignore him completely. âAshley?â But when you turned your head to your friend you saw her mouth was occupied. Oh.
Art laughed at his best friend. âSeriously? You couldnât go one night?â No, Patrick couldnât and he couldnât find it in his horny heart to feel guilty for stealing your one friend and escape route from you. The pair, still connected by their lips, hurried away from the party and to some poor fuckerâs bedroom. You were alone with Art Donaldson and the party that engulfed the two of you had began to die down.
âI should go too-â
âWanna go down to the beach with me?â
You couldnât help but scoff audibly at his request. âYou donât even know my name.â
Artâs eyes practically gleamed with cheekiness as he moved towards you. âThen tell me.â
âItâs Y/N.â
With a charming smile he repeated his offer. âY/N⊠wanna go down to the beach with me?â
If a mind reader had been in attendance youâd have been mortified as your first thought was: Oh god have I even shaved?
The decision to take your heels off had been an impulsive one and an instant regret as you felt the brittle sand rub against your toes. Avoiding the broken glass, you walked into Artâs shoulder and quickly apologised. âYouâre like a baby deer.â
You perched on the rock overlooking the water that moonlight reached. Artâs eyes were transfixed on you as your hair blew from your shoulders. Surely he was just bored and flirting for fun. But you hadnât seen him speak to anyone except Patrick before approaching you.
âWhat is it about photography?â Art gestured to the camera you almost forgot you were still wearing around your neck.
âWhat is it about tennis?â
Art lit his second cigarette, took a drag and smirked.
âIâll let you answer that.â
Much to his elation, your dress had begun to ride up but you hadnât noticed. You simply dug your toes in the sand and smiled coyly at the blonde. But how to best handle this?
âWatching you play tennis isnât like watching other people play tennis.â
Art grinned, only for a moment, but you caught the ego boost in real time. He moved backwards in his chair, outstretching his long legs and looking up at you with keen interest and quiet amusement. âGo on.â
Your mind flashed back to his most recent match. His opponent had purposefully coughed every time it was Artâs turn to serve and instead of letting it distract him or doing it back Art had fired the ball, with force, by his head. It had been a warning, not a greatly subtle one but certainly great to watch. The shock on the boys face as he narrowly missed receiving a black eye had made you laugh and you suddenly remembered Art had beamed at you when you had.
âYouâre just really good at it.â
âTry again.â
He wasnât making this easy for you but that didnât mean you had to shower him in compliments, not when he hadnât so much as asked you your name until prompted. You watched him, completely settled and comfortable in Tashi Duncanâs deck hair and wondered if someone this confident and talented (and knew as much) could possibly be single⊠unless?
âAre you and Patrick just friends?â
He twitched ever so slightly at your question before covering his shock with a chuckle.
âUmm.. yes. Sorry to disappoint.â
You smiled, suddenly feeling more confident now that youâd put him on the spot for the first time that night.
âNot disappointed.â
Seeing you at ease, seemingly with any answer he had to offer, Art relaxed into his chair again. A moment of silence passed as the two of you listened to the very end of the party above and the seas tumbling waves. The water was just beginning to reach the rock youâd been safely perching on. A sign to leave.
âI think I should go back to my ho-AAA!â
Youâd barely taken two steps before buried broken glass assaulted your feet.
âJesus fuck!â
âY/N!â
The pain shot through you from toe to head, it settled in between your eyebrows as you frowned, trying not to scream. Artâs face was a picture of panic. He couldnât help but notice how much pain you were in from putting weight on your foot, which had just begun to bleed as a thought entered his head.
âIâll carry you.â
âI think I can walk.â
You took a hesitant step further but your foot ,in an act of betrayal, buckled under the pain. Giving Art a look of defeat you sighed. âYeah, I think youâre gonna have to.â
You thought it would feel strange, the man whom youâd been watching almost obsessively for months play a sport you despised carrying you to safety. It didnât. It felt right. His strong arms flexed under your weight as he took confident but cautious steps to Tashiâs party. There wasnât much left of it. In fact the only people still there were two photographers packing up their lighting equipment and they didnât give you so much as a second glance.
âAny chance you secretly are friends with Tashi?â Art asked, his voice hopeful, hoping he could drop you off to safety. He pursed his lips when you shook your head. Another moment of silence passed through the two of you but this one was different. You craned your neck out to gage the distance before suggesting:
âMy hotel really isnât far. A mile at most.â
Art smirked for a moment, forgetting what the actual circumstances were. Your foot had stopped bleeding but you didnât feel like walking. In fact you were rather enjoying Art Donaldson: the knight in shining armour. It was a good look on him.
âUber?â
âThink of it as a workout.â
It wasnât the recreational workout Art had been hoping for that night but he did it. He carried you and your shoes to your hotel room. The receptionist barely reacted to your new person but of course what did she care? She was probably only concerned with what mess youâd leave the cleaners.
â67, this is it.â
Art put you down, keeping his arm around your waist for support. He was a little flushed from the exertion and you were flushed from the pain, or perhaps just his wandering hand.
âDo you want me to st-â
âI want you to stay.â You interrupted him hurriedly, desperate for him to stay. In that moment you didnât mind if he stayed to read the complimentary bible next to you or if he wanted to fuck you mercilessly in front of the bathroom mirror. You just wanted him close.
At your eagerness, Art smiled following you in. Your hotel room was not too messy for visitors but it certainly hadnât been expecting any. For a moment you wondered how Ashley was getting on in her room down the hall and if she too had embarrassed herself in front of her favourite tennis player. Somewhat likely.
âI think seeing as youâve carried me bleeding you can see me in pyjamas. Give me one se-â
You gestured to the bathroom and your dress, looking forward to getting out of it but Art shook his head. You froze. His face was one of sheer determination and unwavering confidence, not unlike the look he gave cocky opponents who needed humbling. He closed the gap between you until his chest was inches from yours but blocked by your camera. You took it off, not breaking eye contact, and placed it slowly on the desk behind you.
Just as you thought the only way to break the silence would be with a kiss, Art broke eye contact. âDo you have any antiseptic wipes? Anything to clean it?â You felt your stomach unclench. âYeah.â Limping slightly, you fetched a packet from the bathroom sink and placed them in Artâs open palm. He gestured to the bed.
âSit.â
His order was polite but you felt compelled. Sitting on your own bed as if it was alien, you looked up at him waiting for the next.
âFoot.â
Art got down on his knees. Your stomach flipped. With careful hands, he held your injured foot and inspected it. Youâd never felt so exposed before, the way his eyes engaged with your wound as if it were more fascinating than any match heâd won. There was an unspoken rule for neither of you to speak as he cleaned you. It stung like a bitch but you only let out minor hisses in pain, barely audible to Art but not unnoticeable.
As he took out a plaster, seemingly from thin air, and applied it to your foot he said: âBefore tonight,â Ouch. You winced from the pressure he applied. âIâd seen you watching me.â He didnât look at you, only concentrating on his handiwork and causing you as little pain as possible.
âYeah I gathered from all the teasing.â
His voice grew suddenly lower. âIâm not talking about tennis matches.â
You were suddenly reminded of a not so distant memory. Ashley had stood you up for lunch, sheâd found a better hot date, and you had been in the cafeteria alone. Art had been queuing in front of you, waiting for Patrick and youâd been in awe. What you hadnât noticed was that heâd sensed your eyes burning holes into the back of his head long before he turned around. He had given you a passing look of recognition and slight amusement before finding his seat next to Patrick.
You imagined alongside that memory were hundreds others. Hundreds of days youâd stared at Art, watched how he span his apples before eating them and the line of his jaw when he drank water in oppressive heat. All the time he had known, you just hadnât been as subtle as you thought.
âOh.â
Art gave you your foot back and sat on the bed beside you. For a moment you couldnât bare to look at him, incase he disappeared and decided it was funnier to leave you hanging. Your foot was the least of your worries. You couldnât remember the last time youâd really kissed someone, with feverish need, but you wanted to.
Noticing your inward battle, Art raised his hands almost in defeat. âI can leave.â He meant it, there was no judgement. You turned to him, your eyes meeting his clouded with lust, and recognised that this was a man who needed to be wanted. He wanted to give and receive pleasure, not out of boredom but out of a clawing need for it. If you wanted him to leave then heâd leave but if you wanted him to stay then heâd make the most of it.
Your hand settled atop of his.
âDonât.â
Part 2
Masterlist
#challengers#challengers fic#mike faist#art donaldson#art Donaldson x reader#art donaldson fan fic#art donaldson fanfic#challengers x reader#challengers art Donaldson#challengers 2024#x reader
338 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Glandolorian November Prompt Challenge
In honor of the newest P-boy joining the roster, let's ignore him and give Mr. Djarin Din some time to shine - with The Glandolorian!
We are opening it up to non-fic submissions, too! Want to participate? Post your Mando in the Colosseum submission by November 30th with the hashtag #the glandolorian 2024 and tag me - @beefrobeefcal.You can also send me the link to your submissions via direct msg or in my inbox.
VISUAL ARTS SUBMISSIONS MUST INCLUDE:
Mando in a gladiator role of sorts
The following wording: I saw what you did there, and that was NOT the way.
Dieter Bravo (or reference to) must be incorporated somehow
IF MANDO/DIN/MR>DJARIN IS NOT YOUR BAG, YOU CAN SWAP OUT FOR AN ALTERNATE: Late 1990's Xerox Commercial Pedro
FIC SUBMISSIONS MUST INCLUDE:
Mando in a gladiator role of sorts
The following wording: I saw what you did there, and that was NOT the way.
Dieter Bravo must be mentioned or referenced at least once.
IF MANDO/DIN/MR.DJARIN IS NOT YOUR BAG, YOU CAN SWAP OUT FOR AN ALTERNATE: Late 1990's Xerox Commercial Pedro
Let the games begin,
Beefrođđ„©đ
#the glandolorian 2024#pedro pascal#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal fanfiction#the mandolorian#din djarin fanfiction#pedro pascal fic#pedro pascal fanfic#đ„©đ„«đ„©#the mandolarian#the mandolorian fanart#din djarin#din djarin fan art#gladiator 2#beefro prompt challenge
95 notes
·
View notes
Text
need more challengers fics where they actually are at least half as toxic as they are in the movie. tashi told art she would leave him if he lost a tennis match and refused to say i love you and cheated on him twice. art got right in the middle of patrick and tashi's relationship didn't speak to patrick for years after and then told him he wasn't even a peer and didn't matter when they finally saw each other again. patrick decided he was going to fuck with both of them by sleeping with tashi and then basically announced this to art mid tennis match. like i know these people would not deal with any of this or any of their other baggage before entering a relationship. can you imagine trying to hardlaunch a throuple that toxic. it's delicious. why do i keep seeing challengers triad fluff. as if art wouldn't think neither of them actually love or even care about him once he retires but would still do anything to keep them from leaving him and patrick wouldn't be insanely dickish and mean because he's desperate to prove he's not just the washed-up tagalong to his situationship's eight-year failmarriage that should have been his and tashi wouldn't be furious with them both for not being happy instantly when she feels like she's given them all she can give and furious with herself for having both of them and it still not being enough. please. these people are HOT but more importantly they are UNWELL.
#it's not that i don't think they'd make an incredible throuple#it's that every time i read a fic where they're functional i'm like. we've skipped a step. they would not be like this.#challengers#fics where they have problems....... yes......... ha ha yes.........#big fan of when everything changes by vokdas rn#like yessss art is incapable of telling them what he needs bc it's too embarrassing to ask to be loved when he can't play tennis for them đ#i <3 messy ships they are so fun
83 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Princess has been kidnapped!
Drew this for a fic I've been tryna make for ages, it's finally seeing the light
#veearts#south park#eric cartman#kyle brovlofski#stan marsh#kenny mccormick#princess kenny#paladin kyle#paladin butters#grand wizard cartman#ranger stan marshwalker#the stick of truth#sp fanart#fan art#it was a monster of a fic to hash out lol#its meant to be between the black friday eps and tsot so. the limits rlly challenged me#but with limits comes creativity#woohoo#anyway if u read it it's just them playing pretend cuz I think it's charming#but there is still drama cuz I mean. they have to lol
585 notes
·
View notes
Text
Little art Donaldson smut never hurt anyone đ©
ImagineâŠ
Kissing art is a head-spinning experience, heâs gentle but so needy, quickly slow small groans of pleasure come from his mouth, they were enough to make your pussy slick, after a moment of a gentle and kind make-out, you decide you needed more so licking arts lips to permit you to stick your tongue down his throat was the step that you needed and the one he would never deny you, it was getting more intense, teeth clashing whines instead of groans were coming out of his pretty mouth, you were getting so lost in it you almost missed his other hand awkwardly moving along your curves (he don't know what to do with all thatđ€) he just needed a little direction so you grabbed his free hand and placed it on my tit, he immediately started massaging it, toying with your nipples you started kissing back harder, he pushed you back against the wall right next to your dorm room, but you both didnât care if you were practically humping each other in the public corridor. The realisation ofâ you probably both canât breathe comes to mind, needing a breath you pulled back art protested quickly and tried to link your lips again.
#plus size reader#afab reader#x reader#afab#fluff#art donaldson#art donalson x reader#art donaldson smut#art Donaldson x plus size reader#smut#art Donaldson x fém!reader#art donaldson x female reader#art Donaldson x fem reader#challengers#challengers 2024#fan fic writing#fan fic stuff#fan fiction#x plus size reader
96 notes
·
View notes
Text
â Sovvan Night Challenge â
â Halloween Fic-fest 2024â
A writing Challenge for the Valdemar fandom, thirty days in October to write a fic with the theme of Sovvan Night.
It can be any characters from any period in Valdemarâs history or your own OCs, as long as it is set in Valdemar.
Autumn is the season of harvest, the time of celebrating the yearâs bounty. It is also the time to mourn the yearâs losses. Sovvan is the night of the year when the veil between life and death is thinnest. Celebrated with a great hunt, feasting and dancing in the day, and scary stories at night while candles glow in every window to ward off evil and guide lost spirits home.
The Challenge-
Write a new fic set in the kingdom of Valdemar (from the world of Velgarth by Mercedes Lackey) with any of these themes-
Autumn
Hunting
Haunting
Ghost Stories
Brush With Death/Near-Death Experience
Meeting the Shadow-Lover/Death
Afterlife
Reincarnation
The Sovvan Night fic does not have to be set actually on Sovvan Night, as long as it fits into the overall theme.
This is an open Challenge to inspire you into writing a totally new fic; it can be scary, spooky, or horror-themed, it can be sad, bittersweet or tragic, it can even be a silly crack-fic or crossover with pop-culture Halloween standards.
Anything goes! (Please remember to Tag properly)
The Challenge begins October 1st, with all fic to be posted to Ao3 on October 31st (Halloween), so you have 30 days to write. (the Collection is called Sovvan_Night_2024)
No limits to wordcount, write as little or as much as you like, the important thing is to Just Write! (poetry and meta analysis welcome too)
Four Days left!!
Stay tuned for the Reveal on Halloween (October 31st).
#sovvan night challenge halloween fic-fest#sovvan night#halloween fic challenge#fic writing challenge#valdemar#heralds of valdemar#bards of valdemar#healers of valdemar#shadow lover#world of velgarth#mercedes lackey#get writing#ao3 things#ao3 challenge#fan fic#fan fic challenge#autumn theme#halloween theme#fall fic challenge#halloween fic fest 2024
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
Kelvin!Spock x Female!Human!Reader: Mr. Right
Summary:Â When one door closes, another opensâperhaps the door you were meant to enter all along.
Warnings/Tags: Starship Enterprise; post-Star Trek Beyond; friends to lovers; breakup; almost kiss; counselor!reader; Star Trek: The Original Series references; Star Trek: The Next Generation references
Relationships: Spock/Reader; Spock & Nyota Uhura; past!Spock/Nyota Uhura; past!Kevin Riley/Reader
Challenge:Â â160 Collective Drabblesâ challenge by BobaPop on Lunaescence Archives.
Requester: @lovemesomeescapism
Tag List: @imaginesfire
Notes: For once, this is not a repost for this challengeâŠtechnically. I did write a response to the prompt "Mr. Right" ages ago, but when I was reposting, I decided that the Now You See Me one shot I wrote really wasn't worth keeping. Someone on Tumblr asked me for a Spock one shot, so I slipped him in as a replacement.
It's been a really long time since I finished something new. I realize that I am rusty. This is actually several drafts into attempts to write this one shot. For the first time ever, I actually cannibalized previous drafts while trying to get the meandering dialogue and point back on track. It still doesn't feel quite "right" to me, but it's probably going to take some time before I get back in the swing of things, and I'm ready to let this one go.
Mr. Right
Throughout Terra's history, human beings had sought the comfort of white noise. Quiet droning sounds proved beneficial for many aspects of mental health in the species. As a counselor on board the U.S.S. Enterprise, you'd recommended listening to white noise to dozens of fellow crewmates and patients alike. The best way to do this in the deep space you'd all been exploring for nearly five years was to turn everything in one's quarters down until the low hum of the ship's warp drive became audible. Many of those crewmates and patients reported back to you with decreased stress levels, improved mood, and a distinct uptick in ability to concentrate. Almost all of them said they got better sleep.
Now you learned that every single one of them had lied to you.
You'd spent the better part of the evening-adjacent hours lying face-down on your sofa, trying and failing to take a nap. The scratchy, standard-issue pillow beneath your face was soaked with tears. Your chest ached. Worst of all, any attempt on your part to get your mind off what upset you just ended with you crying harder. All the while, that awful rumble went on and on and on and on relentlessly, allowing you no respite long enough to drift off and forget your current predicament.
A chime cut through your misery. You paused without so much as lifting your head. As of three hours prior, you were officially off duty for the day. Nothing required you to answer the door unless an order came down from a superior officer, and they would call first. Probably it was only Uhura coming by to check on you. Having been through her own breakup during this voyage, surely she would understand when you didn't let her inside.
The chime sounded again, and with it came a surge of possibilities flooding your mind. What if your visitor was dealing with a crisis? Cases of PTSD had been on the rise since the events on Altamid. You could hardly ignore that in favor of your own small, personal crisis. Off duty or not, your role as a ship's counselor would not allow you to wallow in self-pity when someone might need your help.
As your boots hit the floor, you pressed one sleeve of your rumpled blue uniform to the corner of each eye. The gesture wouldn't do much to disguise what you'd been doing over the course of your time off, but you felt a little steadier afterward. Breathing deeply in and out helped tooâuntil you hiccuped. But you could prepare yourself no more. Squaring your shoulders, you stood, walked over to the door leading to the corridor, and opened it.
Just outside stood the familiar, lanky figure of the ship's science officer. The second you spotted him, you wiped your sleeve across your face with greater urgency.
"You're not one of my patients," you said, "or Uhura."
"A very astute observation, Lieutenant [L Name]," Spock replied.
A long moment elapsed during which the two of you stared at one another. Several fellow crewmates in various uniform colors threw curious looks at his back as they passed by on their ways to wherever they were headed. Your friend, meanwhile, allowed a single dark eyebrow to drift toward his hairline. He clearly had no intention of moving on.
"What are you doing here?" you sighed at last.
The wayward eyebrow rejoined its brother. "Lieutenant Commander Uhura informed me that you left your office this afternoon in distress. I note that her assessment was an accurate one. If anything, you appear to be in more distress now than she described to me then."
You couldn't lie to Spock, not when you looked the way you looked after a crying jag like the one you'd just had. So you didn't bother to try. "Fine. I'm in distress. But really, Spock, it's not the kind of distress you can help with. I'm sure Captain Kirk will need you on a landing party any minute now, so if you'll excuse meâ"
"Lieutenant Commander Uhura also informed me of the cause of your distress."
"Of course she did." Sometimes you wished your two friends were a little lighter on the "amicable" part of "amicable exes." "Let me guess: You came by to tell me that you told me so."
"As a Vulcan, I have no reason to rub my correct prediction in your face, if you will forgive the Terra colloquial."
You let out a wet laugh despite yourself. "You're pardoned."
"What I have done is stopped by the mess hall. If I am not much mistaken, ice cream is a traditional consolation food in these types of situations."
He produced from behind his back a number of different colored tapes. So startled were you that you found yourself unable to say anything. Never in a million years would you have imagined Spock of all people standing in front of you and offering you junk food of all things. Your silence went on for so long that he had to prompt you to speak:
"Was I incorrect in my understanding of how to handle Terran breakups?"
"No," you said, then, "I just didn't want you to find out about the breakup until I could pull myself together."
"I surmised as much, given that Lieutenant Commander Uhura found out about your circumstances before I did, although you and I are closer friends. It would have been more logical for you to contact me for assistance than her."
Vulcans as a whole were difficult to read. Even factoring in your education and training, as well as your friendship with Spock that had gone on for several years now, you could only guess his feelings the majority of the time. Not so then. Something about his tone made him sound hurt. Maybe you could chalk that up to projecting your own feelings onto him, but you couldn't risk that assumption.
"It's just that you warned me against dating Kevin," you explained. "As ship's counselor, I should have seen the end coming a kiloparsec away."
"Perhaps. But one might also say that your extensive proximity to the crew's emotions might cause some loss in objectivity on your part."
"So you're not here to make me feel worse?"
"I came for consolation purposes. That is all."
"Well, all right, then."
You stepped away from the doorway. Spock followed you in. He paused only long enough to press the button to close the door before he came to join you in your sitting room. A crate sat on the floor along his path, and he looked at you questioningly as he walked by it.
"Those are Kevin's things," you said.
"Expedient," he observed.
Normally, you might have tried to go for a little more decorum around him, but that day you didn't have the energy to do more than flop back onto your couch. At least you were upright. Spock, on the other hand, claimed a dignified perch at the end of your chair. The two of you certainly made an odd pair.
"He had so many hair products!" you burst out when the awkward silence turned unbearable. "I should have known we wouldn't work out. Who brings that much hair spray into deep space?"
"Humanity can hardly be expected to iron out all its flaws when you all cling so hard to your baser emotions."
"Do you mean Kevin's desire to look nice, or my need to be in a relationship?"
Spock blinked, then smoothly said, "In this case, I refer to your former beau's preoccupation with personal grooming."
"Right. Either way, I'm about ready to get rid of all my own baser emotions. Not feeling them would be a blessing." You got back to your feet and thrust one hand in Spock's direction. "Ice cream tape, please."
He offered one to you.
"Spock," you said warningly.
"I do not believe that heartbreak is an excuse to overeat. I only brought so many because I was unsure which flavor you would select."
The glare you leveled at him seemed to make him think better of lecturing you on the dangers of gluttonyâas well it should have. This was the same glare that you gave Dr. McCoy when you were tired of listening to him. Unlike with Dr. McCoy, you smiled once Spock dropped the rest of the tapes into your outstretched hand.
"Thank you." You headed for your in-quarters food producer, then turned your head to ask over your shoulder, "What flavor do you want?"
"I do not require ice cream."
"Come on, Spock. If you're going to spend the evening commiserating with me, you have to have some ice cream, too. That's a critical part of the Terran breakup process."
One corner of his mouth twitched. "I'll have pistachio, then."
You fed the yellow-green tape into the slot. A quiet beeping noise covered the hum of the warp drive as the computer worked. While you waited, you flipped through the remainder of the flavors until you found the one you wanted.
"I don't think it would be a good idea for you to give up emotions," Spock said.
"Huh?" Frowning at him, you replaced his tape with yours. "Aren't you the guy that's been talking about doing the Kolinahr when we get back to Earth?"
"That's different. I am a Vulcan."
"Half Vulcan."
"Vulcan enough."
A shriller beep put an end to this potentially sticky subject. The ice creams were ready. You dumped the rest of the tapes in a basket next to the food producer, picked up the bowls, and brought them back to the living room. Spock took his with a grateful nod, though he waited until you sat down again before taking a bite.
"Maybe I'd be a better counselor if I didn't have emotions," you mused. "If I wasn't blinded by my own feelings, I could help the crew more with theirs. I shouldn't have the same problems as they do after all the studying I've done."
"While that may indeed make sense, it is hardly realistic. Besides, if you did not have your human emotions, you would no longer be the [Name] that I know, and I believe that I would miss her."
You couldn't help but smile around the spoon in your mouth. Popping that out, you said, "I bet you say that to all the Terrans you like."
"Hardly. In fact, that captain may benefit from an hour or two without his usual emotions."
"I appreciate you saying that, Spock."
"I am only speaking the truth. I have no intention of bolstering your ego artificially, even if doing so is a part of the Terran breakup process."
"I know." You slowly lowered your spoon back to the bowl, staring off into space. Something was dawning on youâsomething that might have dawned on you sooner had you not been so enthralled with your own feelings. "You know what else I appreciate? You coming here to help me today. Not every first officer would go out of their way for a ship's counselor like that."
Spock fixed you with an unblinking gaze as he said, "You mean a great deal more to me than most ship's counselors mean to their first officers."
"I don't care what Captain Kirk says. You sure know how to make a woman blush."
"I have had some practice with the activity."
"Remind me to thank Uhura later."
"Thank her for what?" Spock asked.
Maybe you were reading the signs wrong. Maybe you were just desperate. If he had to ask, you had to be wrong. But you took a deep breath anyway, and said, "Helping me realize that maybe the guy I've been looking for this whole time has been my best friend all along."
How could it have taken you this long to work it out? No one else spent as much time with you as Spock did, not outside of your office hours. It didn't matter if you were in the mess hall asking for a round of Fizzbin after dinner or you wanted a quiet night in your quarters. He always seemed to be there. You felt comfortable around him. Maybe you didn't always understand Spock; maybe Spock didn't always understand. But you didn't enjoy anyone's company the way you did his. And you had to wonder when your eyes met just then if he felt the same way, and if this coming-to-see-you-with-ice-cream thing was his way of showing you that.
"Well," he moistened his lips before going on, "I certainly feel that our relationship is founded more steadily upon mutual interests and desires than it is upon a passion for hair products."
You leaned forward. "You know, that sort of relationship sounds really appealing right about now."
"It does?" Spock shifted closer to you.
"I think it's about time that I dated someone whose first thought in the morning isn't beating me to the sonic shower, don't you?"
By that time, you both had come so close that it wouldn't have taken much more movement on either of your parts to touch lips. Your heart gave a painful leap inside your chest. Was this too much too fast? Even if you had just realized you'd had a thing for Spock for a while now, you had only just broken up with your last boyfriend that morning. Treating Spock as a rebound was the last thing you wanted to do. He didn't seem to mind, though. His mouth drew closer and closer to yours until you could feel his breath on your face.
The communicator in your room chirped. You jumped. Spock paused before sitting back up in his chair. Then you rose wordlessly, stepped over to the panel, cleared your throat, and pushed the button.
"[L Name]," you said.
"[Name]?" Uhura did not remark on how breathless you sounded, thankfully. "I need to talk to Spock."
"It's for you," you said unnecessarily. Spock had already reset his face into its typical blank mask and made his way to the communicator himself.
"Spock here. What is it, Lieutenant Commander?"
"Captain Kirk needs you on the bridge. We have a situation up here."
"What kind of a situation?"
"There's a former United States President floating outside the ship. He says he needs our help."
"I will be there right away."
A second chirp signaled that communications between your room and the bridge had ceased. Spock turned back to you.
"My presence is needed on the bridge," he said.
"So I heard."
"I apologize. I believe we were in the middle of something."
"It's all right."
He didn't move.
"Spock, go. Don't you want to know why a deceased historical figure has asked for the Enterprise's help?"
"I'd prefer to stay here," Spock said. "But you are correct. I must leave. Will you still be here later tonight?"
"Yeah." You surprised yourself with the eagerness of your answer. "Yeah, I will. I promise I won't run off with any other lieutenants while you're away. I'll save the rest of the ice cream. We can share it when you get back."
There it was: The slight curl to Spock's mouth that told you that you weren't making up the mutual attraction between you both after all. "To use another Terran phrase, it's a date."
He hesitated another moment longer before he quickly exited your quarter. You grinned as the door slid shut behind him and the white noise returned full force. As you sunk into your couch and pillow this time, you found you didn't mind the hum as much. In fact, the sound did exactly what it was supposed to do: Relax you. Kevin and his excuses from that morning felt farther away than your own home planet. Maybe you owed him a thank you, too, because if you were still with him, you wouldn't have slept as well as you did that night knowing that Spock would be back soon.
#fan fic#straw writes#reader insert#second person pov#star trek#star trek beyond#challenge response#request#spock#spock x reader#spock x you#spock x y/n#star trek x reader#star trek x y/n#star trek you#kelvin universe
186 notes
·
View notes
Text
THE ROGUE TAX (2)
SUMMARY: Fed up with paying Astarion to pick all the locks, you force yourself to learn the hard way.
PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader (reads as Gender Neutral but future chapters will be femme focused, just a heads up!)
WORD COUNT: 2,635
WARNINGS: Short nightmare sequence, too much sexual tension, slight mentions of a handkink, inappropriate lock pick teaching.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I know I'm posting these super early but day two of the Haunted Hoedown! This time the prompt is "finders keepers!" I honestly had so much fun with this one, so hopefully all the new Astarion fans that've followed me in the last day enjoy? Love you guys. :))))
Also I was originally going to make all of these challenge fics separate but I've since decided to make it more of a connected fic so... that's a thing now? I'll link the last chapter below!
CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER
-
âI wasnât aware you were so proficient at lock picking.âÂ
You smirk at Astarionâs false praise, busying your hands against the lockâs mechanism. Youâve only been at it for five or six, maybe seven tops but you can already tell itâll be a while. The lock itself is tough; covered in a layer of thick rust. Plus, being that itâs a chest and not a door, itâs a bit more advanced than youâre used to.
âYes, well, not all of us are vampires that can woo their way through a padlock.âÂ
In response, Astarion laughs, throwing his head back so dramatically that from the corner of your eye, it looks as if heâs lost his head for a moment. âYou do realize who youâre talking to, correct?â
You hum out a response and push the short hook further in, feeling the pressure of a loose pin hit the end. When that happens, you grin to yourself and slide closer to the chest, biting your bottom lip in excitement.Â
Over the last few weeks, you and the rest of the group had come upon some interesting findings. A cave inside a well, a few hidden cellars around the surrounding the goblin camp, a hidden chest or two. At first, it was exciting, getting to experience the joys of a good treasure hunt but quickly such feelings fell once you discovered how difficult it was to break into said things without the help of Astarion and his seemingly magic hands.
âI know youâre excited to prove yourself, darling, but why donât you let me finish things off, hm? Itâll go a lot quicker.âÂ
You shake your head and continue your ministrations, carefully pushing the hook further in, feeling that alleviated pressure of another pin. âIâm tired of relying on you and your bloody rogue tax.âÂ
After agreeing that Astarion would just pick every lock your party found for a price, it was evident he was more than willing to take more than he was owed. Saying things like I did all the work or you wouldnât be here if not for me, it was obvious he was exploiting you. Using his roguish charms to earn himself a bigger cut despite doing next to nothing else.Â
It was frustrating, to say the least. Another minor annoyance to add to his long list of negative personality traits, and lately you were determined to combat it. To learn the trade for yourself so that every piece of treasure found could remain solely yours.Â
âIâm sure everyone is but thatâs the price you pay for a professional.âÂ
You roll your eyes and continue to fiddle, feeling his gaze glued to the positioning of your hands âhow your fingers tighten and twist around the metal instrument.Â
Youâd be lying if you said it didnât make you at least a little bit nervous âhaving his eyes on you. Across your palms, you can feel the slick of sweat collecting with each new movement, while behind you, you can practically feel Astarionâs judgement throughout, silently picking apart all of your mistakes.Â
âYouâre doingââ
You shush him angrily before he can continue, knowing heâs trying to break your concentration. Knowing that he thinks that if he can prove to be enough of a distraction youâll end up slipping up and giving in.Â
âI was just going to tell you about the wonderful job youâre doing.â His tone is laced with sarcasm. Drenched in a thick layer of impatience that has you groaning under your breath.Â
âIsnât there someone else you can bother?â
âNo.â
You know there is. In the other room of the abandoned building you currently find yourselves in, at least four other people are rooting through the rubble. Most likely theyâre stationed in their usual areas. Galeâs probably next to the stack of bookshelves with Karlach, telling her all about his collection back at the camp while Wyll and Shadowheart are searching through the cellar in hopes of more wine.Â
âYou sure?â
For a moment you debate telling him to go keep watch with Laeâzel just so that heâll shut up but the thought dissipates once you feel him flop onto the floor beside you with a groan.Â
âEveryone else is so dull,â he complains. His line of slight flickers between your face and hands, watching the way they remain almost too still as he speaks. âTheyâre all do this do that, and for what?â
You shrug your shoulders ever so slightly, unsure of what he means.
âTheyâre all living for other people, darling. Other causes. Everything they do serves a higher purpose and for that reason alone, theyâre boring.â
Despite your previous determination your hands release themselves from the padlock before you find yourself readjusting âmoving to plop down next to him. âYou think everyoneâs boring because theyâre selfless?â
âPredictable,â he corrects, pointing a loose finger in your direction. âAll of them talk too much about a future that may not even come considering weâre infected and have little idea on how to remedy the situation.âÂ
Youâre not sure where this rant is coming from but you welcome it considering itâs been weeks since youâve had a normal conversation that didnât revolve around mapping or looting or combat. Weeks since youâve taken a moment to learn about the people you find yourself in constant contact with.Â
âSome people just donât like looking back.âÂ
Thereâs a hint of surprise in his eyes when you respond as if he wasnât expecting such an answer. Or really, maybe an answer at all. All at once his face seems to rise in thought, taking a moment to absorb the words before he hums in response, pursing his lips. âYes, well, I suppose some people donât have a past worth running from.â
Whatâs that supposed to mean?
The tadpole behind your eye wriggles for his attention before you can even think to suppress it. Working to pull him in as you stare at one another, narrowing your eyes at the sudden cerebral contact. At first, heâs reluctant. You can feel the pushing sensation suggesting that you stop. That you should stick to the confines of your own mind rather than pestering him, but quicker than you can move away to agree, itâs as if youâre sucked back in again. Pulled by the very thread of your own brain matter to see flashes of a life you assume to be his.
The first thing you see is candlelight. A flickering of warm hues that dance across wooden interiors. Itâs almost dizzying the way the light shifts across your vision, forcing you to close your eyes. Next to you, you can hear Astarion breathing heavily. Deep inhales followed by even deeper exhales that you swiftly use as a metronome to carry your focus. To aid your tadpoleâs connection.Â
Swallowing hard, you listen to the beats of his breath, feeling them take over your chest as the vision in front of you grows to reveal bits of cobblestone. In the background, you can hear the faint sounds of scuttling feet. The dripping of water. A hungry growl followed by an even hungrier gnaw of flesh that squelches on your tongue.Â
You can taste the iron âfeel the fur and bones of an unknown animal brush against your lips and gums. All of it swirls around your mouth like a tornado of overstimulating sensations, forcing the vision to pass as you reach for your throat, coughing up nothing but your own spit despite how real it feels.Â
Itâs apparent then what Astarion means. That some people arenât always blessed with the privilege of running away. That people like him donât have the means of calling upon allies to aid them through the awful shit that is reality.Â
Even with such little context, you can sense through his tadpole that heâs alone in this life. Alone before the Illithid âalone now. And more than likely, heâll be alone after itâs all over, in death or otherwise.Â
Rubbing your throat âtrying your best to get rid of the tainted feeling of skin and bone from your mouth, you feel empathy rather than sympathy. An understanding of his words as you look toward him, noticing the far-off look in his eye before he blinks and travels back.
âI only showed you that to save the explanation,â he says, and whether or not itâs true you merely just nod, welcoming the silence. The tranquil hush of two people attempting to navigate the other.Â
It doesnât last long. In between, there are a few moments of background noise. The sound of echoing footsteps and muffled voices. You know itâs the others looting just as you should be, but neither of you moves to join until Astarion eventually clears his throat, signalling change.Â
âAnyway, theyâre all in their own worlds, coasting on the wings of optimism.â He flicks his hand around the air while rolling his eyes. âItâs disgusting and partly why I choose your company above theirs.âÂ
Letting yourself fall back into your usual, somewhat antagonistic rhythm, you give him a curious look. âPartly, huh?â
âDonât get too excited,â he quips, the edge of his lip twitching into that usual grin of his. âThe other part is the potential of your blood, darling.â
âAh yes. And here I was assuming you were just following me around so that you could steal my treasure.â
Both of your eyes move back to the unbroken padlock. Itâs the only thing in this room that seems to be worth either of your time and Astarion knows it. Itâs why heâs been so keen on your failure.Â
âYou know, I could help you if you like. Show you a thing or two so that the next time this happens you donât have to rely on me.â
Itâs tempting, even if you know that youâll be taxed to all hell. Whatever spoils you find will ultimately be cut in half and, more than likely, heâll sweeten the deal for himself by claiming first pick.Â
âWhatâs the price?â
He shoots you a look of offence, clutching his chest. âMy dear, Iâd never dare put a price on the education of thievery.â
You hold back a grin, pressing your lips together, watching the way he quickly springs into action, motioning for you to hand him your tools. When you do he begins to explain the process, showcasing all the tips and tricks against the air with careful precision. Which would be helpful if you werenât so focused on his hands rather than his words. On the way they curl around the handles of your tools, tightening with every gesture performed.Â
Astarionâs got nicer hands than most. Long and thin and surprisingly well-manicured for someone who spends most of his time in the forest or drinking the blood of unsuspecting animals. And guiltily enough staring at them so intently just reminds you of that night he drained your neck.Â
You can still feel the pressure of his fingers against your head. The way they roughly cupped you like a goblet of wine. Despite the fear in that moment, youâre now able to look back at that memory almost fondly. A moment of potential weakness for you somehow became a moment of trust for him and as a result, here you were now, acting almost friendly amid a terrible situation.Â
It makes you grin, prompting Astarion to stop his explanation and narrow his eyes.Â
âAre you even listening?â
âHm?â
Thereâs a knowing glance that befalls his face then. A transition of clarity that has his mouth opening and closing before he hands you your tools. âMight be best if we take a more hands on approach.âÂ
You look at him confused, letting the hooks in your hand lazily rest in your palm as you watch him hop to his knees and begin to guide you.Â
âI want you to do exactly what you were doing before, alright? Use the hook to push the pins.âÂ
Despite your continued confusion, you follow his position by kneeling in front of the chest and popping the hook into the hole, digging around the darkened space until you feel the shift of that first pin.Â
âGot it?â You spare him a glance and a nod, watching him crawl towards you, positioning his chest firmly against your back before reaching out to hold your wrists. âNow, take that other hook of yours and situate it at the base of the barrel.â
Doing exactly that, you feel his fingers slowly slip over yours, navigating you through the trials of getting that second pin to shift as the barrel turns in your grasp. At first, itâs difficult. Mostly because all you can focus on is the breath that hits the side of your face. The heat of the air that travels down your spine in nervous waves youâre almost certain he can feel. But then youâre reminded that youâve been here before; stuck within his heated grasp.Â
âThatâs it. Just like that.âÂ
Youâre practically holding your breath as you find that third pin, feeling Astarionâs hand shift you in the right direction before you lose it at the last second. Ever so gently, his chest shifts upwards against your back so that he can rest his chin on your shoulder to get a better look. A newfound weight that makes you close your eyes and release a bit of air from your nose, realizing how intimate this is.Â
Somehow it feels even more personal than letting him feed off of you. Perhaps because the bloodsucking was for his own benefit, knowing Astarion, moments like that where heâs able to take rather than give mean next to nothing to him. Theyâre just moments of manipulation. A series of tactical steps he takes to get whatever he wants whereas this is different. This is for you.Â
Youâre not sure how to describe it other than an offering of trust. Maybe itâs a token of appreciation for letting him consume. Maybe itâs nothing more than a game to make you squirm beneath his grasp. Either or, itâs an experience you know youâll be thinking of for days to come, attempting to decipher its intent.
âOnce you feel that final pin I want you to ease it in gently, alright? Be delicate.âÂ
You offer him no response as you listen to his words. If you did, youâre certain heâd make some offhand comment that would only further the lewdness of it all, grinning like the mischievous prick he is.Â
âAfter that, you should feel a little shift and âvoilĂ !âÂ
The chest clicks open. Your breath releases in a long, much-needed stream but Astarion makes no effort to move from your frame. Instead, he continues to cling to your hands, angling his chin so that when you eventually look at him youâre practically touching noses.Â
âThatâs it?â
âThatâs it.â
âItâs that easy?â
Slowly but surely he slips from your frame with a nod, his hands sliding across the expanse of your sleeves, coating your skin in a wave of goosebumps as he moves to stand. âYes, but keep it hush, hush. Wouldnât want the others to find out, would we?â
You shake your head, a small smile creeping across your lips as you then turn towards your reward, gripping both edges of the lid before pushing it up. Inside there are only a few items. A few spell scrolls and some fabric but itâs enough to get you excited regardless, realizing that itâs yours.
âNot bad for your first go.â Peeking over your shoulder, Astarion watches as you sift through everything carefully, unrolling each scroll to read the details before looking back up and raising a brow.Â
âYou sure thereâs no tax?â you ask, but all he does is laugh and shake his head.Â
âFinders keepers, darling. As I promised.âÂ
#the rogue tax#baldur's gate 3 fan fic#bg3 fan fic#astarion#astarion bg3#astarion fan fic#astarion series#astarion x female reader#astarion x reader#astarion x you#haunted hoedown#haunted hoedown writing challenge#summer writes
2K notes
·
View notes
Note
Heyyy! If youâre open for requests, thereâs this TikTok that I saw where a pregnant lady had her husband lift her heavy belly for a few minutes and it gave her some relief. I somehow could see Mingyu do that. His wife having a hard time getting used to her growth and him trying his best to help her đ« đ« đ«
baby âą mingyu x reader, 1k, fluff, domestic au âą warnings: pregnancy, "baby" as a term of endearment, mingyu being his usually sweet self (mostly), established relationship
"This is all your fault, you know."
At the sharp tone of your words, Mingyu looks up from his phone.Â
"This," you gesture at yourself, at the unmistakable way your stomach now protrudes, a little larger each day as time creeps closer to your due date. "This baby is already huge and we're not even halfway there. It's all your fault, Kim Mingyu. You and yourâyour stupidly big bones and your long limbs and your giant frame and, andâ"Â
It's another empty complaint, that's all. Lately that's been much of what comes out of your mouth the moment your sore feet touch the floor, having to support your new weight, and when you're rushing to the bathroom again after just having left it. And when you hear Mingyu's mom lament about how heavy he was at birth, you don't even want to think about how the next few months are going to go.Â
This pregnancy is both a blessing and a curse.
You get up from your chair, eager to crawl into bed and let sleep magically melt away your problems if it comes at all tonight. But before you can take a single step, Mingyu is there. It takes him two steps to cross the room and come to your side, and while he usually wears a big smile whenever he looks your way, now it's been completely replaced with a frown. A solemn expression.
"I'm sorry, baby," he says softly, gingerly pulling you into a hug.Â
"W-what? What are you apologizing for?"
"All of it."
You take a step back and try to wiggle out of his arms so you can properly read his expression. "Hey, I was just jokingâ"
"Y/N," he says, shaking his head as he loosens his arms, "it's hard going through all this alone. You know I would help if I could."Â
He's being genuineâthat much you can see, but that makes you all the more concerned. Is there something going on? What does he mean? So much of your attention has been focused on preparing for the baby ever since finding out the good news that you hardly had a moment to stop and consider his feelings in all of this, and for a second your heart drops at the thought that there might be something wrong.Â
Mingyu's never been one to hide anything though. He always wears his heart on his sleeve and speaks without a filterâwhich is only a bad thing when he showers you with overly cheesy complimentsâand even now, one look in his eyes tells you exactly what you want to know. You can see the excitement floating in his eyes, the absolute adoration at the start of this new chapter in your lives, the nerves of being a parent for the first time.Â
But also mixed in there is a ton of guilt.Â
While none of it is his fault, you can tell that he's feeling the immense guilt of watching you suffer to bring a child into this world while he is, well, still very much his regular self.Â
"Mingyu, you are helping. You've been doing all the cooking and running around to get me whatever I'm craving, which has been a lot these days. You set up the baby's room all on your own, and then there are your massagesâI'm going to get so used to having this luxury that I'll be asking for them even after all this."Â
His frown only deepens. "Baby, that's not enough. I hate seeing you in pain and being unable to do anything about it. I wish I could take it from you."Â
"Hey, look at me." You heave a sigh, reaching to take his face between your hands. "I'm fine, Mingyu. You know how strong I am, right? I can handle it. In fact, you should worry more about what this kid might do in the future."
"Knowing the two of us, that's probably true." He wavers for a second before a smile starts to creep onto his face, but he holds it back, almost shyly. "Y/N, can I try something?"
"Like what?"
Mingyu steps closer until the space between you diminishes, leaving only your belly pressed against his. Then in one motion, he takes his hands and carefully places them under your belly, and then lifts.Â
"Does this help at all?" he asks, face gleaming with tentative hope.
You slowly relax into his hands and take notice of how everything shifts. The weight pressing on your bladder is alleviated immediately, and your sore lower back feels much better. Even your feet aren't quite as in pain as before. "Yeah, actually. This helps a lot. Thank you, baby."Â
"Good. Then I'll do this for you all day." Then he nuzzles even closer to you, burying his face in the crook of your neck as you wrap your arms around him as much as you can. There's still too much space between you with the baby in the way, but when you close your eyes and listen to the sound of Mingyu's steady breaths, it's enough to spread a warmth in your heart that takes you back to the early days of your relationship.Â
"Hey, Y/N?" Mingyu pulls back slightly to look at you.
"Hmm?"
"Do you really think we should be worrying about how our kid might turn out? What they might be like?"Â
You study him, looking beyond the spark of anxiety in his eyes. "Well, yeah, but they'll be fine. Trust me, if they have your genes, they'll basically be perfect already. You were a perfect kid."Â
"I guess I kind of was." He stays still for a moment, but when he meets your eyes again, there's a mischievous smile threatening to creep across his lips. "Yeah, see, I wasn't exactly worried that the kid might turn out like me."Â
"Hey, Kim Mingyu!"
#mingyu imagines#mingyu scenarios#mingyu x reader#my fic#ok i know you sent this in may....... OTL#srry this took forever anon đ you prob thought it wasn't gonna see the light of day#which is half true bc it's just that.... i was going to turn this down at first#bc i'm not a fan of domestic aus and esp not pregnancy aus đ
#but then... it's kim mingyu... and like#idk what it is about him but surprisingly i actually had this idea come to mind?#so it was a great writing challenge!!#well anyway!! uhhhh if ur still around i hope you like it :')
298 notes
·
View notes
Text
A masked surprise
Summary: Letting your friend drag you to a costume halloween party even though all you wanted was to stay home turns out to be the best decision ever
Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem. reader
Wordcount: 1.5k
Rating: T
Warnings: costume parties, halloween, alcohol, missing your husband, reader is Frankie's wife, costumes, surprises, some..... making out, a lot of fluff in this
A/N: This is my fic for the jolabrew + withcheese fall challenge! I chose Frankie and the prompt "masked stranger party" though the stranger turns out to be not that strange at all Tagging @jolapeno & @goodwithcheese I loved writing this and i had so many more ideas for the great prompts!
follow @toomanystoriessolittletime-fics and turn on notifications to get notified when I post new fics
Full Masterlist // Frankie Morales Masterlist
âCome ooooon, we gonna be late,â you heard from downstairs.Â
Sighing you looked at yourself in the mirror. You still did not understand how you let yourself talk into going to this halloween costume party.Â
You⊠werenât a fan of parties.
Being the introvert of your friend group, you were happy just staying home and watching a movie. Or⊠binge a whole series on Netflix.Â
You had a busy job, so you were glad when you were home and got to relax. Of course being home nowadays came also to be a little bittersweet.Â
Frankie had been gone for almost nine months and you missed him every single day.
Thankfully this would be his last time on deployment and you were counting the days until he would be home just in time for Thanksgiving. But Thanksgiving still was weeks away and you hadnât been able to talk to him in the last three weeks with him being on a mission.Â
So maybe the reason why you agreed to go to this party was to get you to think about anything else than your husband being away for one evening.
Taking one last look at the mirror to check your outfit, the stewardess costume being a little tighter than it had been the night you had met Frankie almost six years ago, you gave yourself a small smile.Â
He had been dressed as a pilot, and you had been a stewardess. Your friends were teasing the two of you to this day that you ending up together had been written in the stars from the moment you met.
Just a couple more weeks until he would be home.
You could do this.
It was a friend of your friends friend that was hosting this party.Â
You had gotten here almost an hour ago and were on your second drink. The music was blasting and you were talking to a woman in a very impressive Mandalorian costume when you felt like someone was watching you.Â
Looking over your shoulder you couldnât pinpoint If someone was actually watching you, with the amount of people in the room. Letting your gaze wander through the room your eyes lingered on a tall person wearing a ghostface mask leaning against the wall on the other side of the room, a beer in their hands.Â
Your lips twitched into a small smile when you saw someone dressed in a full Luigi costume fist bump into their shoulder before you turned back to the Mandalorian in front of you.
âThis might be super forward but⊠do you think we could go out for dinner sometime?â The Mandalorian lady, Tess, asked you. You couldnât hide the surprise at hearing this question, giving her a small smile.
âIâm sorry. Iâm already taken. I feel very flattered though. Never had a Mandalorian hit on me,â you smiled at her and she sighed with a wistful smile.Â
âShould have known. Where is yourâŠ.?âÂ
âHusband. My husband. Heâs currently on deployment. I am counting the days until he gets back,â you said, taking a sip from your drink.Â
âOh that must be so hard,â she said.
âLetâs just say I am glad when heâs back for good. The last six years were a challenge with him being away so often. But heâs⊠heâs the love of my life,â you shrugged with a dreamy smile.
âOh ugh are you talking about Frankie again?â Your friend teased you while she put an arm around your waist.Â
âStop bullying me,â you playfully slapped her arm, making her laugh.Â
âNah. Frankie is okay. Iâm fully prepared to not see you for weeks once heâs back,â she wiggled her eyebrows and you rolled your eyes.Â
She wasnât wrong though. The last time Frankie had been on leave you barely had left the house for the first two weeks.
âAnyway. Letâs stop moping about my husband and maybeâŠ. Dance?â You looked at your friend whose eyes lit up.Â
âYes please. The guy I just flirted with was gay. I was blinded by the firemen costume. I need to dance these awkward feelings away,â she awkwardly laughed, before she pulled you to the dance floor.Â
You felt like someone was watching you again. I mean there were a couple people watching you probably. You were trying your best impression of the Wednesday dance from the Netflix series, you and your friend laughing almost maniacally while doing it.Â
âIâm gonna get another drink, you want one?â Your friend yelled and you nodded. The song changed to a Prince song and you continued to dance, enjoying yourself. It took you a moment to realise there was someone behind you. Slowly turning around there they were. Mysterious ghostface mask, dancing with someone dressed as Mario and you wondered if Luigi, Mario and ghostface knew each other. You gave them a smile before you turned away, continuing to dance.
Once your friend got there to get you your drink, she said that sheâll go to the bathroom. Nodding you told her youâd wait outside for her, needing a bit of fresh air.Â
This was how you found yourself sitting outside, the music still blasting.Â
You had a drink and a hot dog.
And you were a little tipsy.Â
Smiling to yourself you bit into your food when you heard the door open. Looking over your shoulder you saw ghostface mask stepping on the porch.Â
âYou know I never saw Scream?,â you said before you turned away from them, continuing to eat.Â
âI actually donât like horror movies at all. Iâm getting scared way to easily, my husband thinks itâs hilarious,â you hummed. When the person didnât say anything you turned around again, your eyes widening when the familiar brown eyes of your husband were staring back at you. He was smiling sheepishly at you, the ghostface mask still in one of his hands.Â
The hotdog fell to the ground as you jumped up from were you were sitting.Â
âFrankie?â You whispered with wide eyes.Â
âHi baby,â he grinned.
âAm I hallucinating?â You asked and he chuckled, shaking his head.Â
âIâm back baby. For good,â he said and before you could stop yourself you were walking over to him, falling into his arms that wrapped around you, pulling you closer. You took a deep breath, just inhaling his scent that you missed so much.
âHave you been watching me?â You asked, resting your chin against his chest, looking up at him. He leaned down, kissing your nose.
âSince you got here. Will and Ben are here too. Theyâre in the Mario and Luigi costumes,â he grinned and you chuckled.Â
âI missed you,â you whispered and he finally leaned down to kiss you softly. You brushed one of your hands through his hair, deepening the kiss. He hummed against your lips, one of his hands on the back of your neck to get you even closer.Â
âWoah,â you heard behind you and you parted from Frankieâs lips, looking behind him to find your friend grinning at you.Â
âYouâre welcome,â they winked.Â
âYou knew?â You asked surprised.Â
âOf course I knew. Now you can stop mopping about him coming home,â they winked.Â
âYou really missed me, huh?â Frankie teased and you hid against his chest.
âWe had six days after we got married before you had to leave. Of course I missed you,â you said and he kissed your forehead.Â
âYou wanna stay or you wanna get home?â He asked, voice low.Â
âHome. Definitely home,â you said quickly and he winked.
âUhm we are going home. Is that okay? I feel bad because we got here together andâŠâ your friend stopped you.Â
âPlease. Iâll get Mario or Luigi to take me home, donât worry,â they grinned and you laughed.Â
âOkay,â you reluctantly got out of Frankieâs arms to go over and hug them.Â
âThank you,â you whispered and they just squeezed your tighter.
âGet out of here,â they chuckled and you walked back to Frankie, taking his hand.Â
You were waiting for an uber outside when you noticed him still holding the ghost face mask, about to throw it in the trash.Â
âUhâŠ. You should keep that,â you said quickly and he turned to you, narrowing his eyes. You sucked your bottom lip between your teeth as you looked up at him and his eyes darkened.Â
He put the mask into the back of his jeans before he pulled you back into his arms.Â
âKinky,â he whispered against your lips before he kissed you again.Â
âYou love it,â you mumbled.Â
âI really fucking do,â he grinned and kissed you again.Â
#my fic#frankie morales#frankie morales x fem reader#pedro pascal#fanfiction#fanfic#fan fiction#francisco morales#frankie morales fanfiction#coffee house fall challenge
174 notes
·
View notes