#grieving and moping together

[luvergirl-866]

dreams, fairytales, fantasies

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 7.9k

c/w - language, drinking, fluff, and ofc smut (sub p, sub a, strap, eating, fingering…it’s a lot) (also heavy usage of pet names bc i am a sucker for them)

a/n - this is just a real depiction of what happens when lesbians go two weeks without sex 😔. no but fr, i hope yall enjoy!!! (feedback much appreciated) (also, im majorly crediting the smut queen @basketball-lesbians bc ease and stiff changed the way i write smut forever).

The much anticipated make-up sex doesn’t happen until a week later, which is about six days after they’ve actually made up—which they manage without the involvement of sex. And that’s a great thing for them, considering they have a history of resolving arguments via orgasm, but they also can’t give themselves the credit because the no-sex thing wasn’t really their decision. (If it had been up to them, Azzi would have jumped Paige’s bones that very night they made up).

That day, though, was spent talking, reliving their breakup and the horrible year afterward for the sole purpose of truly processing it. They had continued talking during that time, of course, claiming to be ‘best friends’, but they meticulously danced around the topic of their high school relationship and the fact they were both miserable once it ended, grieving it in their own ways. They talked for hours, and both of them quickly came to realize that there was so much they hadn’t told each other. Azzi was shocked to hear that Paige spent her entire freshman year moping around, never getting out and having fun like Azzi wanted her to do. (“Seriously? I thought you hoed around?” she said when Paige gave her this information. Paige shrugged and said, “I told you I did, so I didn’t seem lame. But yeah, no. I smoked a lot and looked at our pictures and that’s—well, yeah, that’s pretty much it.”)

Paige was just as shocked when Azzi told her she tried going on a date with someone else, just to get the breakup off her mind, and they kissed at the end of the night and she went inside and cried for a long time. (“I didn’t know you went out with anyone,” Paige said, not particularly jealous, just a little hurt because even though they were exes that year, they were still best friends, and they usually told each other everything. Azzi picked her thumbnail, eyebrows drawn at the memory. “It hurt too much. I didn’t even tell my mom.” That, if possible, made Paige feel even worse).

Anyway, by the time they talked everything through (with some crying involved, and maybe a little kissing, too), it was late at night and they were both emotionally exhausted from the day. They’d gotten ready to sleep and laid in Azzi’s bed and murmured about how much they’d missed each other for about two minutes before they promptly assed out.

And then it was the week, their time consumed with classes, homework, practice, and even grownup things like grocery shopping. They spent as much time together as they could, practically magnetized to each other, attached at that hip when they were in the same vicinity. But they were both swamped with homework and while they tried to do it together that Monday, they quickly realized that it was impossible to focus around each other. Or at least, Azzi did. (“C’mon, we’re doing okay,” Paige said, at approximately 1 A.M., when they had been at it for four hours and had gotten absolutely nothing done. “I wouldn’t say that, P,” Azzi mumbled, slinging her bag over her shoulder and pecking a sulking Paige on the lips. “No more school around each other, ‘kay?” She couldn’t help but be amused at Paige’s exaggerated pouting. “I think we’ll be okay. See you tomorrow, baby.”

That night, her phone had blown up with messages from Paige, most of them silly selfies of her pouting at the camera as she sat at her desk with schoolwork laid out in front of her. Even that was enough to distract Azzi from her work).

So, no, it’s not until Saturday—the night of their second-first date—that the make-up sex (that can’t really be considered make-up sex anymore) happens. But, as the saying goes, good things come to those who wait. And that must be true because that night turns out to be very good indeed.

It all starts before the two of them are even together, with Azzi picking her outfit for their date. She’s never been good with decisions, and this is a big one in her book. She needs to wear the perfect outfit—something sexy and cute and romantic and alluring all at once. An hour into choosing the outfit, Caroline is beginning to regret offering to help.

“Okay, you’re just overthinking it now,” she says, exasperated, watching as Azzi frowns at herself in the mirror.

“If I don’t overthink it I’ll end up looking ugly,” Azzi says, turning this way and that in the mirror, making sure the outfit looks good from every angle. But when she takes a step back, leans her head to the side just so, and turns to the left, the shirt suddenly makes her look atrocious. With a frustrated sigh, Azzi takes it off, tossing it onto the ground.

Caroline groans, flopping onto Azzi’s bed. “What was wrong with that one?”

“Everything,” Azzi replies, going back to her closet to try again. “Has my wardrobe always been this bad?” she mutters to herself.

“You look good in everything, Az,” Caroline says. “And your clothes are cute. Paige is going to love you in whatever you decide to wear.”

Which is true—Azzi could be wearing jorts and a flannel and Paige would still swear up and down she’s the prettiest girl in the world. But love and want are two different things. After two weeks of no sex Azzi needs to be wanted.

“You know what your problem is?” Caroline asks as Azzi rummages through her clothes.

“What?” Azzi asks, sort of desperately.

“Your bra,” Caroline says simply.

Azzi looks down at her bra, then turns to Caroline, a little confused. “It’s a cute bra, though?”

“Yeah, it’s cute,” Caroline concedes, leaning back on her hands and giving Azzi an up-and-down look. “But I thought you were trying to get laid tonight?”

Azzi nods, because duh she’s trying to get laid tonight. It’s all she’s been talking about all week.

Caroline wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. “Then, this isn’t really about your outfit. It’s about what’s underneath.”

As she stares at her genius best friend, Azzi nods slowly, starting to get it. “I need lingerie.”

“Yup.” Caroline smiles, satisfied. “As soon as you put some sexy panties on, I promise you, girl, you’re gonna feel better about yourself.”

Azzi is already reaching back into her closet, opening her special drawer and rifling through it. “Should I wear one she hasn’t seen before?”

“Yeah, for sure,” Caroline agrees, standing up and walking over to Azzi, peering over her shoulder at her array of underwear. “And don’t tell her you’re wearing it, either. It has to be a surprise.”

Azzi pulls a few sets out, but none of them particularly catch her eye, and it isn’t until they’ve been searching for a few minutes that Caroline reaches into the closet and grabs a still-sealed box, the logo of a designer lingerie brand on the lid. “What about this?” she asks.

It takes a moment for her to remember what the box contains. She’d bought it just a month ago, on a whim, and while it had cost her a fortune she also couldn’t not buy it. She’d, of course, had Paige in mind when she’d bought it, but they haven’t exactly had lingerie sex in awhile—with their busy schedules, they’ve only had time for spur-of-the-moment quickies and lazy mouths and fingers in the mornings before practice.

But this—this is going to be post-date, make-up sex. The absolute perfect occasion to wear insanely expensive lingerie catered specifically for Paige.

With an excited smile, Azzi (with the help of Caroline) gets all laced into the set. And once it’s on, it becomes surprisingly easy to choose the perfect outfit. Because Azzi knows, by the end of the night, Paige will forget all about what she’s wearing, the memory replaced by what she’s not.

———————————————

Paige, of course, tries to fuck her multiple times before they even get to the restaurant. It starts immediately, when she comes to pick her up and they share a chaste hug and kiss, and Azzi takes the flowers from her hands and turns to find a vase to put them in—Paige’s eyes trail down to her ass and stay there for longer than she’d like to admit. And then Azzi is carefully arranging the flowers, talking about how excited she is for their date, when Paige comes up behind her and holds her tight. It’s a gesture that Azzi thinks is innocent until Paige kisses her neck and murmurs, “You look good, Az. Makes me wanna make us late for our reservation.”

Azzi’s entire body heats at that, but she playfully shoves Paige away, not about to let their hormones get in the way of this date.

But then, it happens again, in the car on the way over. Paige’s hand rests on Azzi’s thigh while she drives, which isn’t unusual, and Azzi doesn’t question it—that is, until her fingers trace a slow but sure path between her legs. Azzi lets it go farther than she probably should, only pulling Paige’s hand away once she’s fully touching her clothed center. Laughing, Azzi returns Paige’s hand onto her side of the car. “Your thigh-touching privileges are revoked for that.”

Paige groans. “I didn’t even do nothing, don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Just keep your hands to yourself, weirdo.”

And when they get to the restaurant, Paige opens her door for her, guides her in by the small of her back, pulls out her chair. It reminds Azzi of a more mature, experienced version of the Paige she dated in high school, and it reminds her exactly why their relationship was so perfect back then. It also reminds her of the aching need between her legs, the one that’s been there for two long weeks and that now practically burns in anticipation. But, she forces herself to ignore it, to just focus on the romance of it all. Paige decides to make that difficult by running a foot up and down her calf, and when she hisses at her to stop, Paige laughs and says, “You’re imagining things.”

It’s not five minutes later that Paige picks up her phone and begins typing. A flash of annoyance comes from the side of Azzi that thrives off attention, more particularly Paige’s attention, and that’s so used to constantly having it it’s a little off-putting when she doesn’t. But then, a moment later, her own phone buzzes, and Paige sets her’s down with a satisfied little smirk.

Azzi rolls her eyes. “You’re stupid.”

“Look at your phone.”

“That’s rude,” Azzi teases. “We’re on our first date.”

“We’ve been on a million dates before,” Paige says, which is technically true. “Look at it.”

Amidst the usual lighthearted, joking tone of Paige’s words, Azzi also catches a hint of something demanding, something that leaves no room for argument—at least, not without repercussion—and it makes it impossible to focus on the setting they’re in without also thinking of the events that will occur when they get home.

She picks up her phone, and there’s a text from one ‘P Boogs 💗’. When she opens it, she finds a stupid, horny text, nothing short of what she expected: can we go fuck in the bathroom or??

Rolling her eyes, and a little relieved that Paige didn’t actually write anything sexy (because if she had, Azzi’s not sure she would’ve been able to resist), she kicks her under the table and sets her phone down. “No, Paige. What’d I say about no more public restrooms?”

Reminiscent of a small child, Paige crosses her arms and slumps back in her seat. “I rebuke that.”

“You don’t know what that word means,” Azzi waves her off, before motioning to their plates. “Now eat before your food gets cold.”

Azzi has only two glasses of wine, so by the time they’re driving home she’s the perfect amount of tipsy. Wine also tends to make her horny, which doesn’t hurt the situation.

“You’re really okay?” Paige asks for what seems like the millionth time. “Because if you’re even, like, a little drunk, we don’t have to—“

“Paige,” Azzi says before she can finish that god-awful sentence. “I’m mostly sober. We’re all good.”

Paige glances over at her, and when she sees the firm look in her eyes she nods, relaxing into a sly smile. As she focuses back on the road, she says, “Good. Because I have an empty apartment tonight.”

The thought of it—the thought that Paige asked her roommates to clear out for the night, knowing what was to come—makes Azzi shift in her seat. The ache between her legs is crossing into painful territory at this point.

By the time they get inside Paige’s apartment, every instinct in Azzi’s body tells her to jump Paige’s bones as soon as the door is locked behind them. But Paige doesn’t really give her a chance—first kicking off her shoes and then immediately heading towards the kitchen. Azzi trails behind her as she opens the fridge.

“Hungry?” Azzi asks, a little confused considering they just had a fairly large meal at dinner. But Paige shakes her head, reaching into the side drawer of the fridge and pulling out a seltzer.

She waves it at Azzi with a smile, though it’s a little unusual—almost wavering? Not the familiar one Azzi’s used to. “Wanted a little drink.”

“Okay,” Azzi says slowly, leaning against the counter, watching as Paige cracks the can open. She shouldn’t be surprised—she herself is tipsy and it’s only fair that Paige would want to catch up after she had to drive. But Azzi has been a little blinded by the filthy thoughts that have been playing through her head all night, and was under the impression they’d fuck against the front door the minute they got home.

She’s already waited two weeks, she reminds herself. Paige only needs a drink or two—they don’t want to be drunk, not tonight—so what’s a couple more minutes?

“It’s kinda hot in here,” Paige says abruptly, and when Azzi looks at her, her cheeks flush. “Isn’t it?”

Azzi’s a little warm, but it’s mostly a mix of the alcohol and pure horniness, so she shakes her head. “Feels okay to me.”

“Oh,” Paige says, and then takes a long swig of her seltzer. She offers up that strange, wavering smile again.

Azzi studies her. This is her best friend, the girl she knows better than she knows herself. Paige is practically an extension of her at this point, it’s that easy for them to read each other. But right now, Paige is acting strange in a way Azzi can’t quite place. She’s been flirting like normal all night, but now that they’re alone she’s putting space between them. And that’s not to mention the blushing, the weird smiling, and the need for a drink.

As Paige takes an extra-long gulp of seltzer, it finally clicks where Azzi has seen this behavior from her: Back in high school, not long into their relationship, the first time they had sex.

She’s nervous.

But, no, that can’t be it, can it? They’ve slept together countless times in the four years since then. Paige knows Azzi’s body like the back of her hand. There’s no reason to be nervous.

Sure that she’s got it all wrong, Azzi crosses over to Paige, watching the way Paige’s gaze falters as she sidles up to her. “Hey,” she says, wrapping her arms around Paige’s neck, “you good?”

Paige blinks, then swallows thickly. “Me? Yeah, I’m all good.” She takes a sip from her drink. “Why you asking?”

Azzi hums, bringing a hand down to guide Paige’s free one to her waist—something she usually never has to do, as Paige tends to be pretty handsy. “You’re acting…weird, all of a sudden.”

Paige gives her a long, hard look, and Azzi thinks she’s about to deny it again but then Paige is sighing and setting her drink on the counter behind her, wrapping both arms around Azzi’s waist. “I guess I feel a little…nervous, for some reason?” she shakes her head, locks her hands behind Azzi’s back as if to steady them. “I’on know, bro. It’s stupid.”

Azzi shakes her head, playing with the baby hairs at the nape of Paige’s neck. “It’s not stupid.”

“Kinda is,” Paige says, chuckling at herself but it’s a shaky, breathy sound.

“Hey,” Azzi says gently, bringing a hand up to brush a stray strand of hair from Paige’s face, “if you’re not up to it, we don’t have to.” (Even though she spent the entire night suffering through a thong up her ass. The things we do for love.)

But Paige firmly shakes her head, gripping Azzi’s waist more tightly just to show how much she means it. “No, I don’t—you have no idea how much—“

“Yes, I do,” Azzi says incredulously. “I really fucking do.”

Paige’s breath hitches, and her gaze flicks down to Azzi’s lips. Azzi does the same, allured by the shiny gloss there, knowing it’s vanilla flavored from their previous chaste kisses tonight. She wants to taste more of it. Wonders if Paige’s lotion is vanilla, too.

“P,” she murmurs. Paige’s eyes don’t waver away when she hums, “Yeah?”

“Don’t be nervous,” she says quietly, bringing a hand down to cup her cheek, which gets Paige to look at her. “You know me,” she almost whispers.

Slowly, Paige nods, and when she leans down to connect their lips, Azzi nearly groans at the slight contact. It’s chaste to the point of innocent but it’s something, and they’re alone, and god does Paige look so good in this outfit. Paige readjusts, shifting so their legs are slotted together as she deepens the kiss just slightly, and Azzi reminisces on how she’s been waiting for this all night. Since that fateful night at Ted’s, really.

With Paige’s leg between her thighs, Azzi takes the opportunity to bare down, just slightly, only enough to increase the tension between her legs more than relieve it. But Paige groans into her mouth at the feeling and it lights her senses on fire.

They found a good dynamic years ago, and it’s one in which Paige often leads, allowing Azzi to follow without giving her the responsibility of being the first to move, to make decisions—something she’s always been more hesitant with. The past six months they’ve experimented some, stepping out of the comfort zone they had in high school and trying new things. But they still found that, for the most part, Paige prefers to lead, and Azzi prefers to be led—it just works.

But, even now, as Azzi dips her tongue into Paige’s mouth and brushes it against her’s, Paige still seems a little withheld. It’s obvious that she’s overthinking this, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why—this is big for them. They’ve talked about their feelings and gone on their first date and this feels a little like the last step in a routine that will throw them back into that all-consuming, intense relationship they had in high school. Which is exciting, and it feels natural, like it’s only the right thing to do—but it’s a little scary, too. And, knowing she’s being expected to lead, Paige is worried about getting it wrong. Messing up, somehow.

So when Azzi pushes against the fabric of Paige’s blazer, letting it slip off her shoulders, it’s not really a conscious thought that she’s taking over this time. It’s just—something she needs to do. And, if the absolute fire in her belly says anything, it’s something she wants to do, too.

Opening her mouth a little wider, Azzi sucks Paige’s tongue gently between her lips, drawing it out slightly, and when she pulls off it she opens her eyes to find Paige with her mouth wide open, tongue out, barely five minutes into kissing and already looking so desperate for her.

The sight makes Azzi groan a little, her eyes trailing from Paige’s lips, to the curve of her jaw, to her slender neck, and without thinking about it she slides her hands around Paige’s throat, squeezing experimentally. It elicits the right reaction, Paige’s eyes widening, hands sliding down to Azzi’s ass.

Pulling her close again, Azzi ducks down, moving a hand to the side to kiss sloppily at the skin revealed there. Paige sighs, always having liked being kissed on the neck, and Azzi mutters, “Marks?”

There’s a slight pause, Azzi’s lips hovering just shy of kissing the skin of Paige’s neck, and as soon as Paige hums out a noise of affirmation, she’s basically attacking her, tongue soothing over skin as she sucks hungrily. Her hips grind instinctively down on Paige’s knee as her hands slide lower, down her chest to squeeze her tits through her thin tank. Paige gasps, using her leverage on Azzi’s ass to pull her down harder on her leg. At this point, she’s sure she’s soaking through her fancy lingerie just listening to the little noises Paige is making, and suddenly, Azzi feels hungry. The kind of hungry that tends to be insatiable.

As soon as the thought comes to her, her hands fly to the button of Paige’s jeans, staring down to watch her hands work it open. Paige watches, too, then brings a hand up to Azzi’s cheek. Azzi halts her movements, looking up at her, searching her face for any sign to stop and finding a little hesitancy there. “Hey,” she says, “you good?”

Paige nods, then glances furtively down at Azzi’s hands. “I don’t think I’m ready for—your fingers.”

Soothing her hands across Paige’s hips, Azzi nods, pressing a tender kiss to her cheek. “I know, baby,” she says—Paige has always needed a good amount of buildup before any actual intrusion. “Wasn’t gonna use my fingers.”

Paige blinks, thoughts obviously a little sluggish as it takes a moment for the words to register, but once she does, she nods eagerly. “Shit. Okay.”

With one last peck on the lips, Azzi’s fingers get back to work, and as she slides the jeans down her legs she goes down with them, dropping slowly to her knees. She helps Paige step out of the pants and then tosses them to the side, looping her arms around her thighs and urging her to widen her stance. She presses a few comforting kisses to Paige’s pelvic bone and across her hips, breathing in the familiar scent of her as her kisses stray lower. As she licks up the inside of a thigh, her eyes open, glancing at the girl’s boxers and the wet patch growing on them. Feeling quite proud of herself, she smirks, biting at her thigh and relishing in the way Paige hisses.

“Stop messin’ with me,” Paige breathes, bringing a hand to Azzi’s head and trying to move her closer to her cunt.

“Uh-uh,” Azzi says, using a hand of her own to move Paige’s firmly away. When she looks up at her, Paige looks wrecked, which does amazing things to Azzi’s ego considering she hasn’t even touched her yet. Loving the expression on Paige’s face—lips slightly parted, eyes fluttering, the picture of submission—she decides to try and coax more out of her. “No touching,” she adds, something Paige likes to do whenever she’s being particularly needy. When Paige starts to protest, she moves her hand to her clothed clit and rubs harshly, cutting her off. “You heard me, baby.”

Paige’s eyebrows furrow, either from pleasure or annoyance or, more likely, both. “Azzi, please—“

“Shh,” Azzi soothes, removing her thumb and licking a stripe up her boxers—the faintest taste of her already addictive. “Be patient.”

She expects more resistance—the few times they’ve switched roles like this, it takes at least an orgasm for Paige to take her commands. But today must be different—is different—and Paige dutifully shuts up, using her hands to brace herself against the counter as she tilts her head down to watch.

Pleased, Azzi removes her boxers, salivating at the pretty pink peeking out from between her legs, and it’s all she can do when she uses her thumbs to spread her open, groaning when she gets a good look at the familiar, dripping folds. “So pretty,” she can’t help but mumble, leaning forward to press a kiss against her, licking her lips to taste the arousal left there. Paige’s hips buck, and Azzi gives her a sharp slap to the thigh. Paige nearly whines, which is kinda new—they’ll have to experiment with it later. “What’d I say, hm?” she asks, unable to keep herself from pressing her tongue between her cunt lips and licking upward, eyes nearly rolling into the back of her head at the taste. “Be patient.”

“Fuck,” Paige gasps above her.

It takes every ounce of self-restraint in Azzi’s body to not just dive in and devour her like a woman starved. It’s been far too long since she went down on Paige, even before their two weeks of celibacy, and she wants nothing more than to push her tongue inside and draw out as much slick as she can. But she also knows all too well that Paige likes to be ate slow. So, slow it is, as she licks up around her folds, tongue dragging delicately over her clit.

Her eyes fall shut, focusing on how wet Paige is against her tongue, dipping just slightly into her hole where the taste is the strongest and reveling at how good it is.

When Paige makes a high-pitched noise in the back of her throat, Azzi looks up at her, watching her reaction as she gently sucks her clit into her mouth. Paige is leaning back against the counter, cunt pressed into Azzi’s face desperately, and it’s obvious she’s trying to keep still. But when Azzi’s tongue flicks against her clit as she sucks, Paige can’t help but gasp, hips bucking just slightly.

With painted nails, Azzi squeezes her thigh just enough to get her attention. When Paige looks down at her, she pulls off her clit with a wet noise and says, “Hold your shirt up, babe.”

It’s amazing how quickly Paige obeys, rucking her tank up to reveal her bare chest, nipples pink and hard. Azzi doesn’t even try to stop herself from reaching up to play with one of them as she dives back into her pussy.

Her clit is already puffy, sensitive to her every touch based off the way Paige moans when she flicks her tongue against it. She licks little shapes, taking note of which ones draw the most sound out of the older girl. It’s mostly for her own benefit when she traces the letters of her own name on her pussy, but Paige whines high-pitched and needy like she knows.

Azzi pulls away just enough to see that her clit is an angrier pink now, twitching almost imperceptibly, and she gives it a break, moving lower to suck around her hole, drinking the copious juices she’s teased out. When she presses her tongue inside, she finds much less resistance than last time, and her fingers itch to be inside her.

This time, when she pulls away, Paige whines again—the sound a mix of frustration and desperation—and Azzi soothes a hand up the inside of her thigh. Paige’s eyes are hooded now as they lock with Azzi’s, and Azzi smiles up at her. “Hey,” she mutters.

“Uh-huh,” Paige breathes, nearly panting at this point.

“Think you’re ready?” Azzi asks. Paige gives her a quizzical look and she holds up her right hand in explanation. “Wanna finger you.”

As if on their own accord, Paige’s hips jerk forward. When she says, “Yes,” it’s nothing more than a breathy little sigh, but it’s enough.

Nodding, her eyes go back to Paige’s cunt, gaze immediately going to her hole, clenching around nothing. She brings two fingers up and dips inside, then drags them through her pretty folds, making sure they’re plenty wet. And then, without another warning, she plunges into her pussy, moaning as she’s immediately swallowed by wet heat.

Paige’s reaction is visceral, hips pressing down to meet her halfway, hands falling to her head, previous no-touching rules forgotten. Azzi decides to let it go, though, as she watches Paige’s features contort beautifully, pleasure etched into every sound she makes.

Azzi pulls out, presses deeper. Does it again, and then stays inside long enough to push up against her walls.

It’s then that Paige starts talking.

“Oh, fuck, Azzi,” she breathes, still generally pretty quiet, something Azzi plans to have changed once she’s done with her. “You feel so—good, Az, fingers feel so fucking good.”

“Yeah?” Azzi coos. She loves it when Paige gets to the babbling stage of fucking, and is quick to egg her on. “You like that, huh?”

“Mm-hmm, missed it—needed it—I don’t—“ she chokes on her sentence when Azzi plunges particularly deep. “Oh, baby, right there. So fucking good at that.”

“I know,” she murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to Paige’s clit. “You missed me, right? Missed this?”

“Of course I—“ she gasps, arches forward, “did.”

Suddenly, Azzi speeds up, filthy squelching sounds filling the room as her fingers move relentlessly inside Paige, palm coming to meet her clit again and again. Paige mewls, shifting a little, and Azzi uses her free hand to hoist her leg over her shoulder, allowing for a better angle.

“Oh!” Paige cries out, hands gripping Azzi’s head for leverage. “Oh, oh fuck. Baby, baby—mm, so deep—Azzi, more.”

“More?” Azzi asks, pulling her eyes away from where she’s wrecking Paige’s cunt to double-check. Paige usually can’t take more than two.

“Uh-huh,” Paige nods fervently.

Azzi doesn’t slow down, concern about hurting the other girl cutting through her own haze of pleasure. “You sure?”

“Yes,” Paige says, exasperation filling her voice.

“I just don’t want to hurt y—“

“Azzi, if you don’t give me another finger right now I swear to God—“

That’s all it takes for Azzi to pause her movements, pulling out enough to add another finger, and finding it surprisingly easy when she slides back in again. It’s not long before she builds up to her earlier rhythm, Paige’s hips moving against her hand, and then wet sounds are filling the room again, slick trailing down Azzi’s wrist.

Somewhere between Paige’s high-pitched moans and desperate little whines, she calls Azzi’s name. Azzi presses a kiss to her belly and says, “Yeah?”

“Can you—?” there’s hesitance in her tone that gives Azzi pause, movements slowing once again to look up at her.

“What’s up?” she prompts, gently as possibly through the arousal scraping rough against her vocal chords.

“Just, come here,” Paige finally says, hands moving from Azzi’s head to her shoulders, urging her up.

Azzi softens, mind becoming a little less cloudy at the request. Carefully, she eases Paige’s leg off her shoulder, then works up to her feet, keeping her fingers firmly inside Paige all the while. As soon as she’s up, Paige’s arms go around her shoulders, pulling her in, and Azzi smiles softly at the absolutely fucked-out, but undeniably lovesick, look on the other girl’s face.

Pressing a kiss to Paige’s cheek, she starts moving again, staying close so that Paige’s lips are right by her ear, hearing every sound she makes.

“I love you,” Paige mutters, forehead dropping onto Azzi’s shoulder.

Azzi presses a smile into Paige’s hairline, the gesture so innocent compared to the hand between her legs. “Love you, too, P.”

At that, Paige chokes on a moan, only just managing a feeble, “I’m close.”

Azzi nods, doubling her efforts. “Take your time, baby.”

“Mm-hmm,” Paige hums, but then she’s reiterating, “oh, fuck, Azzi, I’m really fuckin’ close.”

To be honest, Azzi is, too. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s come untouched, deriving pleasure from the simple act of giving it to Paige. But she holds back, forces herself to focus on the girl in her arms, running her free hand up and down Paige’s waist. “Yeah? About to come?”

Paige grasps her tighter, too fucked out to respond, but her following whines are answer enough.

“Give it to me, P,” she urges, knowing words are always the last thing Paige needs to tip her over the edge. “Wanna feel you coming all over my fingers, okay? Need you to show me how good I make you feel.”

Paige nods, and Azzi coos a, “Good, girl,” into her ear, and that’s all it takes for Paige’s hips to stutter, abs tightening as she spasms around Azzi’s fingers, crying out her name like it’s the only word she remembers. And at this point, it might be.

It takes awhile for her to come down, letting Azzi continue to thrust slowly for another minute or so before finally pushing her away. “Too much,” she breathes.

“Okay, baby,” Azzi says, pulling out slowly, bringing her hand up to Paige’s lips once she’s done. Paige doesn’t hesitate to take them into her mouth and suck, and it’s as she runs her tongue between her fingers that Azzi is reminded of just how magical her mouth is. Trying to sound casual, Azzi takes her hand back and says, “Hey, you all done?”

Paige is panting, hands going down to hold Azzi by the waist, looking as if she can barely hold herself up—but still, she shakes her head. “Nah, I can go for more.”

“Good,” Azzi says, stepping out of Paige’s grasp with a sly smile. Paige opens her mouth to protest but then Azzi swiftly pulls her shirt over her head, revealing her lavender lacy bra which leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. Whatever Paige was about to say dies in her throat. “I may have planned for this when I was getting ready.”

Her pants are still on—Paige hasn’t even had the pleasure of seeing the garter yet—but already her jaw is practically on the floor. “Oh, shit.”

“Uh-huh.” Reaching out, she takes Paige’s hand in her own, leading her down the familiar path to Paige’s room. “You can thank Caroline, by the way. Was her idea.”

“For real?” Paige asks as they enter the bedroom. She plops down on the edge of the bed, watching as Azzi locks the door behind them. Her eyes rake not-so-subtly over her frame as she watches her. “I’ll send her a card and flowers for this shit.”

Azzi laughs breathily, leaning against the doorframe.

Paige raises her eyebrows and then reaches behind her head, pulling her own shirt off and discarding it on the floor. “Aight, I think I can feel my legs again. Lay down, mama.” She smiles deviously. “I’m bouta get you right.”

—————————————

Paige has never been a good liar—which is clear, considering twenty minutes later she has her head between Azzi’s thighs, making her legs shake as she eats her relentlessly.

She’s already put on the strap, and this is her way of getting Azzi ready—alternating between eating her slow and then absolutely devouring her, pulling away every time she gets close to the edge, overstimulating her without even making her come.

“Paige, please,” she basically cries out for the nth time since they started. “I need you.”

Paige only smirks from between her legs, quite cocky considering she just got fucked into oblivion less than an hour ago. “What was it you said to me earlier? About being patient?”

Azzi rolls her eyes (though it may be more from the way Paige sucks on her folds than how annoying she is). “Mm—shut up, you liked it.”

Paige sure as hell isn’t about to admit that. Of course, though, she had enjoyed it, had reveled in the pleasure she took from giving up control, letting herself be told what to do. But now it’s Azzi’s turn, and she needs to regain control of the situation-hence, the edging. “Do you want me to fuck you?” she asks, muffled in Azzi’s pussy. “Or not?”

Azzi can’t say no to that, obviously, but still sounds a little ashamed when she lets out a meek little, “Yes.”

Paige quirks an eyebrow up at her. “Yeah? You done bossing me around?”

Azzi doesn’t respond to that, lips forming into a cute little pout that’s also reminiscent of the face she makes when she gets bratty. Chuckling, Paige shakes her head, pressing a lingering kiss to her clit. “I’on think so, baby. You had your fun.” Slowly, she crawls her way back up the bed, Azzi scooching up with her. “Now you’re gonna tell me watchu want. And you’re gonna be polite about it.”

The demanding tone in Paige’s voice is usually enough to set Azzi right, but she must’ve gotten too big a head after her little stunt earlier because now she doesn’t say anything, just looks at Paige a little defiantly.

Admittedly, she looks adorable, and Paige wants to kiss that look off her face. But she can’t let Azzi think that this is how it’s gonna be now. “Alright, pretty girl. If that’s how you’re gonna be, I’ma get right back down there and make you come on my tongue. You won’t get no strap tonight.”

At that threat (which is baseless, considering Paige is absolutely going to strap Azzi down one way or another tonight) Azzi’s eyes widen, and she shakes her head. “Okay, okay, no, I’m sorry, I don’t—I need you inside, Paige. Please?”

Grinning, Paige leans down and kisses her forehead. “That’s what I thought.”

Taking the silicon in her hand, Paige balances on one elbow as she drags it slowly through Azzi’s folds, taking extra care to bump the head against her swollen clit. When Azzi gasps, her eyes flit to her face, checking that she’s okay. “You ready, baby girl?”

Azzi hesitates, looking down at the toy between them. “It’s bigger than the last one.”

It’s true—this is a new strap, one Azzi herself actually suggested, claiming she wanted to try something bigger. They still have their last one, just in case this doesn’t work out, and Paige is about to remind her of that when Azzi shakes her head to herself and says, “It’s okay, I’m good.”

“You sure?” Paige asks suspiciously. “Because if it’s too big…”

“Nope. I’m sure.”

“Babe, we don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna.”

Azzi’s eyes move down to follow the cock, watching as Paige moves it methodically through her soaking folds, and her eyes grow a little wider. “Yeah, okay, I’m definitely sure.”

Amused, Paige watches as the younger girl stares, incredibly hungrily, at the toy. “Okay, princess. You gotta tell me if it hurts, though, okay?”

“I will,” Azzi promises. With that, Paige guides the tip down to her entrance, pushing her hips forward and against the resistance she finds there, studying Azzi’s face carefully.

After a moment, the head slides in, and Azzi gasps, wincing a little. “You good?” Paige asks, taking her hand off the cock to stroke Azzi’s cheek.

“Good,” Azzi confirms, swallowing thickly as her eyes meet Paige’s. “Just—go slow.”

“‘Course,” Paige says, leaning forward to press their foreheads together as she pushes in further. “Sweet girl,” she murmurs, mostly to distract her, “y’look so pretty like this, mama.”

She’s about halfway in at this point and Azzi gasps again, breathing out a word that sounds enough like a stop for Paige to halt. “Too much?”

Azzi’s knees are bent, feet flat against the mattress as Paige lays between them, but now she readjusts, wrapping them around Paige’s back for better leverage. “Okay,” she says once she’s done, giving Paige a little nod. “I’m good, keep going.”

Not loving the bossy tone of her voice, Paige makes a face at her. “Manners, princess.”

Azzi frowns but still lets out a little, “Please,” anyway.

With that, Paige jerks her hips, burying the dildo inside to the hilt. Azzi cries out, surprised and left breathless from the sheer stretch of it. “Shit,” she breathes, “so much for going slow.”

“Mm,” Paige hums, ducking down to kiss into Azzi’s neck. “‘S what you get for being bratty.”

“Yeah, okay,” Azzi sighs—Paige can’t tell if she’s being sarcastic or actually conceding—and her head falls to the side, allowing more access to her neck, which Paige already marked up earlier.

“I good to move?” Paige asks.

“I think so,” Azzi replies, breath still caught from the sudden fullness.

Paige rocks her hips back, eyes flitting from Azzi’s face to her pussy, unable to keep from watching as she slides back in, eyes widening as she watches her cunt swallow it whole, basically sucking her in.

When she does it again, a little more smoothly this time, Azzi fists the bedsheets so hard her knuckles turn white. “Mmph—so deep, P.”

“Yeah? Feel good?” she asks lowly, rutting her hips flush into her when Azzi nods, building a steady rhythm. Her eyes land on Azzi’s face, contorted with pleasure, then rove down over her body—her neck, her tits, her stomach—until she lands back on the strap. The sight has her leaning down on her elbows, heart racing as she breathes deep to steady herself.

Picking up the pace just a little, Paige lifts herself up, watching as Azzi’s eyebrows furrow, her fists tight in the sheets. The bed is starting to squeak now, which just turns her on even more if that’s possible, and she nuzzles her nose into the crook of Azzi’s neck, muttering, “Hold on to me, baby, it’s okay.”

Azzi’s arms come up to loop around her neck before she’s even done with the sentence, and Paige smirks, pressing a few kisses into her cheek. “How’s it feel, hm? How deep am I?”

“So fucking deep,” Azzi breathes, and it shouldn’t come as a surprise how close she sounds considering Paige has been working her towards the edge for awhile now.

Paige brings a hand down between their bodies, using it to rub a few tight circles against Azzi’s clit, stopping when she starts whining. And Azzi makes a sound of protest but it’s quickly cut off by a moan when Paige’s hand moves instead to press against her lower abdomen, pushing down hard enough to feel the strap moving inside her.

“Baby, baby, please,” Azzi slurs, crying out in time with Paige’s thrusts, “right there—keep doing that, fuck.”

Who would Paige be to tell her no? There’s that whiny edge to her tone, all desperate and needy, a telltale sign she’s getting close. Pressing down a little harder on her stomach, Paige speeds up significantly, angling her hips up in an attempt to hit that spot deep inside.

Based off the high-pitched moan Azzi let’s put, it works.

“Shit, look at that,” Paige says when she looks between them again. The strap is soaking now, and so are the bedsheets, a mix of Paige and Azzi’s arousal leaking down onto them. Angling her hand down, Paige uses her fingers to spread her lips open, groaning as she gets a better view of Azzi’s cunt swallowing the entire dick. “Taking it so good, mama. Fuck, that pussy crying for my dick, huh?”

“Paige, fuck, yes,” Azzi gasps, clawing almost desperately at Paige’s shoulders.

“Close?” Paige asks, trying to gauge where she’s at based off the way her legs are beginning to shake, noises becoming less breathy, more insistent.

Azzi nods, maybe all she can manage at this point, and Paige rocks forward deep, pleased with the way Azzi’s mouth falls open, tits bouncing with each thrust.

They’re silent for a few moments, nothing but the sound of the bedframe fighting for its life and Azzi’s pussy squelching around her cock filling the room. “Hear that?” she asks, using her fingers to rub harshly against her clit, only adding to the filthy sounds in the room. “Best pussy in the world, baby. And it’s mine, huh?”

Azzi only manages a pathetic “uh-huh”, and that’s just not good enough for Paige. “Nah, you gotta tell me, princess. Tell me whose pussy this is and I’ll let you come, okay?”

It takes Azzi a moment, probably trying to gather her scattered thoughts, before she whines out a needy little, “Yours, fuck, my pussy’s all fucking yours.”

Nodding, Paige presses a kiss to Azzi’s parted lips. “That’s right, mama. You wanna come?”

Tears are gathering at the corners of Azzi’s eyes when she nods, and it only spurs Paige on further. “Go ahead, pretty girl. Come all fuckin’ over my dick. Lemme feel it, baby.”

And that’s all Azzi needs, her back arching off the bed, moaning all high-pitched as she comes, pussy clenching around the dildo, nails scratching down Paige’s back, leaving her shuddering. She doesn’t stop, though, rolling her hips deep into Azzi’s through every tremor, only stilling when Azzi shakes her head, tapping against Paige’s hip.

She gives her a moment to catch her breath before saying, “Can I pull out?”

“Uh-huh,” Azzi sighs, throwing an arm across her face as Paige slowly eases out of her. She manages to get the strap off and tosses it onto the floor, a problem for future them to deal with, before laying next to Azzi, pulling her into her chest. She chuckles at Azzi’s blissed-out expression, and Azzi’s eyes open at the sound, peering at her a little sleepily.

“You laughing?” she asks, no real accusation in her tone.

“At you? Never,” Paige jokes. Azzi slaps her chest, collapsing back onto it, sighing as she wraps a leg around Paige’s waist. She’s not the touchiest person in general, and Paige finds it endearing how snuggly she gets after sex.

Her hands begin to run up and down Azzi’s bare back, and when she hears Azzi sigh, she’s quick to speak, trying to catch the younger girl before she inevitably falls asleep. “Hey,” she says, “you okay?”

“Mm,” Azzi hums.

“Was it good?” Paige asks, even though she already knows the answer.

“Very,” Azzi replies, cuddling closer into Paige’s neck. “Missed you.”

“Two weeks is too long,” Paige agrees. Azzi chuckles softly, and Paige angles her head to look at her, only to find that her eyes are closed and her lips are slightly parted.

“Why are you tryna sleep,” Paige very nearly whines.

Azzi lifts her head lazily, resting her chin on Paige’s chest to raise an eyebrow at her. “Because you just fucked the shit outta me. I’m tired.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Paige sighs dreamily.

Rolling her eyes, Azzi lays her head back down, settling back into her. “Lemme sleep, okay? I need some energy for the morning sex tomorrow.”

“F’real?” Paige can’t keep the excitement out of her tone at this.

Azzi shrugs coyly, yawns. “If you’re good.”

Internally, Paige vows to be the absolute best. Even if it means no yapping.

Her silence only lasts a few moments but, surprisingly, it’s Azzi who speaks. “And, babe?”

“Yeah?”

“You’d better ask me to be your girlfriend tomorrow.”

(Paige does, in fact, ask Azzi to be her girlfriend ‘again’, as she puts it. Azzi, of course, says yes.)

(Oh, also, Caroline does receive a thank you letter and a bouquet of flowers in the mail a few days later. Confused, she opens the letter, to find it reads, “Thx for helping azzi pick that fit for our date. you’re a g mama carol. p.s. the sex was ridiculously good.” Caroline sends a photo of it to Azzi, wondering why she needed to know about the sex. Azzi replies with a shrugging emoji and a, “She’s not lying though”.)

[one-strugling-bean]

No but ure so right

Thinking abt Hater n Peeps...

thinking about how they probably started out as friends with similar interests. Two losers with a damaged heart and a need to feel respected (and loved) meet and decide to conquer the world that wronged them before together

Thinking how at first they probably saw each other as more of a means to an end: ill make him do all the boring paperwork stuff while I actually conquer everything vs ill let him believe he's the number one and show his face while I pull the strings from behind type of shit. but eventually grew to appreciate each other's company, found interests in common, and went through shit that forced them to grow closer

(especially since they were probably each other's first friend. I imagine the giddiness over finding someone you just click with was even greater between these two at the start)

thinking bout how much hater must have soaked in and appreciated peeps praise from the start. Peepers being the 1st person to have ever called him cool. to support his dreams. even if hater hides it under a "sure you can tag along, if you do everything I say" kind of facade, he actually becomes super addicted to (and dependent on) peeps right from the get-go

Thinking bout how peepers must have been the opposite. He sees the potential hater has from the start, but for all the praise and admiration to become more than a way of manipulation it takes a bit. Still, it's only a small matter of time before peeps drowns in all the charisma and power being with hater brings. besides, he's found in Hater companionship the likes of he'd never felt before with anyone.

When he decides to make Hater the nº1 villain in all the galaxy, he knows he's sealing his fate - but he doesn't regret it one bit.

They essentially become best friends (also 1st and only friends), even if they never properly talk about it because ew feelings, and they're supposed to be villains, and villains aren't "friends". but they still see each other as friends and act accordingly

but then their pipe dream actually starts looking like it could work, and what before sounded like a make-belief game the two played with each other while they travelled the galaxy together, starts looking like a reality

They are ecstatic. they buy a customized ship. peepers convinces his people to fight for their cause and suddenly they have an army as well! hater steadily learns how to behave like a terrifying overlord instead of an edgy teen, and suddenly their fame is spreading everywhere!

they're unstoppable! hater is on his way to becoming the biggest threat to the galaxy and peepers is the 2nd in command that made it all happen! everything is perfect!

then, hater hurts peepers with his powers for the first time and things are... different.

They're both shocked that 1st time. hater has hurt many people by that point, but he never lost control on someone close to him. even if he was upset... peepers is also shocked because by that point he trusted hater with his life. he saw himself as a valuable part of their team - their partnership, and it felt like a betrayal. to both of them actually

but they don't talk about it, just like they never talked about whether they were friends before, so separately, they start making excuses. Hater is the leader - the Villain! Of course he shouldn't spare anyone! And Peepers is just an assistant, if he makes a mistake, of course he should be punished! they were always using each other for their own goals. there can't exist a betrayal of something that never existed, right?

and slowly, these excuses become the reality. hater hurting peepers physically and verbally becomes the norm, and perhaps in an unconscious bout of retaliation, peepers becomes hater's biggest critic, just as he is his biggest fan. He's the first to point out hater's flaws and mistakes (under whats acceptable of him) knowing exactly where to press on his insecurities to make it hurt more

they stop hanging out informally as much because "they're not friends it's just a mutual partnership". they still do hang out sometimes, because they're still lonely and have no other friends but its less... carefree

time passes and the empire grows. the more it does, the more they fall into their make-believe roles - the evil villain and his assistant. hater becomes crueler, peepers becomes more obsessed with his work (and crueler) and slowly they lose that spark that started them out in the 1st place

Then wander and sylvia come around and the make-belief starts to crack.

things start getting out of control. Hater's cruelty doesn't kill the enemies. peepers work isn't efficient enough. the two are once more thrown into unlikely situations together that force them to be closer, and the occasional chaos breaks the carefully crafted characters they'd built over themselves for so long.

they start being seen as jokes again. the empire is losing its edge and so are they. all the while, they start losing that shadow of subordination that had been controlling their relationship for so long

but many wounds and misunderstandings have been piling up for years, and there's only so much "casually hanging out with my friend-turned-toxic workplace relationship-turned-sorta friend again" they can do before something gives

and by the end of season 2, hater's fate seems inevitable - he'll let go of villainy sooner or later. but what about peepers? the other half of the same pipe dream, the other half of the same messy relationship.

Was he gonna be able to let go of it too? What was going to weigh heavier in the end? The fractured friendship? or the pipe dream?

were they meant to be able to solve their issues and regain that initial connection that drove them to conquer the stars together in the first place? Or just... break apart, for good.

...god i rly want a season 3

[alexlwrites]

𝑭𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒎𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒕

✿𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: Jungkook x Reader

✿ 𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚:  The one where everytime you get dumped you pretend that you never met the guy before to mess with their heads. To the point that if you run into them somewhere you reintroduce yourself and act like you’ve never seen each other before.

Enters fuckboy Jungkook who disappears after your night together, not knowing how much he was about to regret that choice.

✿ 𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒔:  Romance, Humor, Fluff, Angst, College AU

✿ 𝑨/𝑵: I’m truly sorry for this sad excuse of an update.

(Fanfic masterlist)

(support me on my ko-fi)

°•. ✿ .•°

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨 - 𝐎𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐲, 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬

(<<< part one)

“I can’t believe you’re doing this again” Jane’s voice rang through the phone as you walked down the streets towards your desired coffee spot.

You also couldn’t believe you were doing that again. You tried your best to live your life with no regrets, but men made it very hard.

“Have you seen him since he fled the crime scene?”

“Stop calling it a crime scene” you snapped.

“Well, have you?”

Your silence was enough of an answer. No, you had not seen or heard from Jungkook since he ran away from your bedroom in the dead of night, leaving behind only the smell of cologne and, funnily enough, a single sock. When you woke up that day to an empty bed, sheets crumbled and a mattress indented on the side where he had slept, all you could muster was a tired sigh of disappointment. 

And to be completely honest, you were disappointed with yourself, not Jungkook. You expected nothing less than a quick escape of him. But you should’ve known better than to hope for anything. Despite everything, you were still an idealist at heart and you thought that maybe just this once…

You shook your head obstinately. You had learned early on that no good would come from moping around for men who would never once feel any regret for their thoughtless actions and if your pain were to be always one sided, then it was better not to feel any at all. Not to dwell on it, move on, learn from it and be better. Or be worse, sometimes, as self-improvement was not always your goal.

Sometimes, you chose to listen to the tiny revengeful angel on your shoulder - who kind of sounded like Taylor Swift - that screamed for violence and vindication.

As your failed relationships started to pile up, you did reach a point where you had to wonder if you were the problem, as it was the canonical event of all 20 something women. But observation, therapy, critical thinking and hereditary pettiness brought you to the decision that it was not, in fact, your fault. At least not all of it. 

With that in mind, you left only the smallest of time slots in your booked and busy schedule to ponder and grieve over the fickle nature of boys’ interests. You had better, more important things to do, such as mindlessly scroll through Minecraft/AITA videos and save pilates routines that you were never gonna do. 

Still, in an experience intrinsically feminine, you allowed yourself a little treat to cope with the slight burn of despondency in the back of your mind. 

And so you directed yourself to the bougie coffee house near campus, hoping to drown your sorrows with an aggressively sweet and overly caffeinated drink. 

“You should slash his tires”

“Jane, please, we have talked about this.”

“You should totally slash his fucking tires!"

"Saying it louder is not gonna make me agree with you! Jane…"

Suddenly your eyes found Jungkook's across the room filled to the brim with depressed, financially irresponsible students, making you pause and hold back the urge to curl your lips in distaste. It bothered you that even with scared eyes as big as saucers and hunched shoulders to appear smaller, Jungkook still managed to look good. 

But you knew better than to let him know how much his presence and pretty face annoyed you. Boys like Jungkook only cared about having an impact on people’s life, very rarely caring if it was good or bad. He wanted a reaction out of you and you learned better than to give those away so carelessly.

So you frowned and looked away, the words practiced on your lips as you said “Some guy is staring at me.”

Jane laughed loudly on the phone “You’re a psycho, you know that?”

“I don’t know who it is, Jane, some dude” you stole a quick glance at him, finding vengeful glee at his shocked expression.

“Send me a pic of his reaction, I’m posting it on TikTok.”

You continued playing your part, ignoring your sister’s interruptions as you usually did “Of course I’m carrying a taser, Jane, I’m not an animal…”

“I’ll give you 5 bucks to tase him.”

“You know what, this coffee is not even worth the visual harassment, God I hate men…”

You walked out of the coffee house, hand empty but with a fulfilled sick sense of accomplishment as you stepped out into the street with a shit-eating grin.

“I hope you know what you’re doing” Jane said and you could hear the smile in her voice. Out of your two sisters, Jane was never the one to tell you to not do something, preferring to let you make your own mistakes.

And boy, did you. 

You left your big, beautiful, tattooed mistake behind you, ready to move on to something less prone to disappointment, such as fictional men and your Stardew Valley husband “Dont worry” you told your sister “I don’t.”.

—

“What are you doing?” Jungkook asked, left eye twitching slightly at your unbothered expression.

After your confusing exit from the coffee shop and a good amount of jabs from his friends, Jungkook had to hunt you down across campus, finding you sitting under a tree with a book in your hands, looking way too peaceful for someone who just had humiliated him.

You looked down at your book with an arched eyebrow “Kegels, clearly. Why?”

“No, I mean…” Jungkook’s frustration was rising by the second, the vein on his neck jumping out “Why are you acting like you don’t know me?”

You frowned.

 “Do I know you?” you asked, face doubtful.

“We have classes together?”

You blinked, impassive.

“We went on a date?”

A head shake.

“We slept together!”

“Nope, can’t say it rings any bells.”

That’s it. Jungkook was actually convinced you were clinically insane. 

“How can you not remember?”

“How can I remember something that never happened?”

“But it did! You’re crazy! I chased you for weeks!”

You smiled, a trap.

“So, you're, like, in love with me?” you ask, tone condescending. 

Jungkook scoffed and you weren’t sure if it was at the idea of love or loving you. “No, of course not.”

“So in this dream scenario of yours, we had sex but we weren’t together?”

“Trust me, this” he gestured between the two of you “is no dream scenario.”

“Well, aren’t you a charmer” you crossed your arms in front you, defensive “Let me get this straight. You, allegedly, chased me for weeks, but don’t really like me. Then, we had casual, out-of-relationship sex and then what? You banged my head against the headboard so hard I completely forgot about it? Your story is full of holes, my dude.”

You had to fight back the urge to smirk, energy spiking from feeding off of Jungkook’s stupefied confusion.

Nail in the coffin, you shrugged, turning your eyes back to your book “Maybe you weren’t that memorable and my mind deleted you like a childhood trauma.”

A slight left eye spasm was all the reaction you got at first, evolving to the pursing of pouty lips and the clenching of fists.

“You are insane” he said at last after seconds of turning clogs in his barely filled mind.

“Finally you said something true.”

Jungkook was equally bewildered and furious. He didn’t know what your deal was or what you were getting out of this, but your refusal to admit you had sex pissed him off deeply considering how much time and effort he put into getting you together.

“Also, I have to ask” you continued, clearly not done with your pursuit of driving him up the wall “what was your goal with this conversation? Chasing me for weeks to then sleep with me and then come here and tell me you’re not actually interested in me, but being upset when I don’t remember something that didn’t happen… What’s the point?”

Jungkook paused. Truly, he didn’t have much of an end goal in mind, actions fueled only by a bruised ego and a childish, borderline pathological need to prove himself.

When he didn’t answer, you stood up and gathered your things, keeping your head down to hide your poorly concealed satisfaction “I’ll let you ponder on that” you said “Don’t worry about reaching out with an answer, though.”

Finally, you looked up at him, face masked with faux awkwardness. “Anyway. Nice to meet you, I guess? No, actually, not really, this was weird as shit. You seem to have some things to figure out. Get help and take care, my dude.”

And so you left, leaving behind only a cloud of your bergamot perfume and a perplexed Jungkook blinking owlishly. 

There was a sudden influx of thoughts rushing through his usually much less busy mind, the general tone of confusion ringing amongst humiliation and frustration.

When Jungkook first set his greedy eyes on you, he had an inkling that you’d be a handful and in the beginning, you truly were. You took pleasure in making everything much more difficult for him, running from his presence like the plague and approaching the whole subject of him like one would the subject of warts - reluctantly and with caution.

And if he were honest, he wasn’t too sure on why he insisted, but one would be surprised at how far Jungkook would escalate things out of spite and resentment.

It was that same sick combination of flavors that drove him insane for weeks, moving him to pester you until you gave him a chance. And he took it, lord, did he take it.

That night, he made every possible effort to please you, cloaked in his best, non-ranch stained clothes and best non-arrogant behavior.

And when morning came and he opened up his eyes before you did, tired out from the epitome of his bestest behavior, there was a moment of quiet as he watched you eyelids flutter delicately, soft arm draped lightly over his waist.

The night before had been… Fun, he thought, even before you had reached your bedroom. You were weird and used a bunch of words he didn’t know, but you also made him laugh and listened to him babbling about his interest without once looking bored, even going as far as asking questions about his farfetched MCU theories.

And despite your many (too many to count, insurmountable really) differences, you had… Chemistry, one could call it. Thick chemistry, palpable tension, pushing you towards each other despite your previous attempts to go the other way.

But no amount of chemistry could break Jungkook’s routine as inertia pushed him out of your bed, practiced steps light as feathers as he escaped your apartment with one last look to your sleeping form and somehow one less sock on his feet.

And as he left, there was an undiagnosed pounding in his heart he tried to chalk off as the result of his Dorito and monster drink based diet, but his eyes kept flashing back to where you rested even when he was miles away.

He tried to make sense of your persistent presence in the back of his mind. You were cool, he’d give you that. Hot too. But it didn’t matter how your body fit his like they were manufactured together or how your passive aggressive way of flirting (or insulting, he had a hard time telling them apart with you) never failed to steal a snort from his lips. And yeah, it was kind of nice when you called him cute everytime he didn’t understand something you said. It brought a blush to his cheeks and wild butterflies to his stomach, because… Well, no one had ever called him cute after middle school. Hot? Yes. Sexy? Once a week. Biggest dick ever? Yes, both meanings.

But not cute. And deep down, under layers of aggressively oversized shirts and muscles… Jungkook kind of liked being cute.

Jungkook shook that thought away. Despite all that, you were a point he had to make.

And he did! Point proven and undisputed, up until you looked at him like he was a silly little kid throwing a tantrum (which he kind of was) and questioned him and his sanity,

But Jungkook was obstinate and, even more, the sorest of losers. He had proven himself once and would again! He was a man on a mission, he decided, watching you walk away from him while mouthing the words “I’ll pray for you!”. And the mission was to either send you into a psychiatric hospital or get you back into his bed.

And if the butterflies in his stomach fluttered excitedly at that second prospect, he didn’t allow himself to ponder on it for a single second.

°•. ✿ .•°

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[lovielied]

mine, all mine ♡ toji fushiguro x reader

୨ summary ୧ : three weeks after a messy breakup with your ex-boyfriend, toji fushiguro, you decide to go out in hopes of finding someone new. as if he'd let it be that easy.

** this was initially posted on my ao3, lovelied. **

wc: 3.4k

It’d been just shy of three weeks since you’d broken up with your ex-boyfriend, Toji Fushiguro. As you’d told your friends time and time again, it’d be easier to list what he’d done right as opposed to what he’d done wrong. If you were to go on about how much of a deadbeat asshole he was, you wouldn’t be finished for hours. 

Despite the fact that he was flakey and overall a bad person, you weren’t the type to refrain from giving credit where it was due. After all, there were a few things that were good about him.

Well, one thing— his dick, if you were to be blunt.

Even you had to admit that it would be hard to compare to him in that regard while exploring the dating pool. He knew how to use it, and he was certainly aware of that fact. You weren’t a good girl by any means, yet you had your dignity. No matter how good his dick was, you refused to let him laze around and expect you to take care of everything in the relationship. 

So, you left. 

Toji didn’t put up most of a fight, in fact he seemed almost amused that you’d suggest such a thing in the first place. But you were serious, and he’d soon realize that when he returned to your apartment the next morning to see messily stuffed bags of his personal belongings strewn along the porch. 

To your dismay, the first few days without him were actually difficult to get through. You missed him more than you’d care to admit, though you’d profusely deny that fact to your concerned friends. You had found yourself in a depressive episode, flaking on plans and hardly ever leaving the confines of your bedroom.

He was an asshole, but there were times when his presence had been comforting to you. You would never admit it, but you missed the feeling of being cradled in his strong arms while you fell asleep against his chest, or the teasing grin that would tug on his lips before he’d kiss you. You missed the way his cologne smelled, the way he fit perfectly on your couch when he stretched. 

And, perhaps most of all, you missed how expertly he would fuck you. 

Toji probably knew your body better than you did. He’d make you cum every time without fail, working you perfectly no matter what he was using— his hands, his mouth, his cock, even one of his (far too many) toys that he’d purchased solely with you in mind. You’d scolded him more times than you could count about the fact that he’d blow an entire paycheck on dildos and vibrators, despite the extent of his already existing collection.

Not that he cared, of course. He easily silenced your protests when it came time to put them to use. 

In the weeks following your breakup, you found yourself missing his body more than you did him. Was it selfish? Absolutely. But he hadn’t necessarily been any better of a person even when you were together. It wasn’t like you wanted to miss him, either. 

But during nights when you were alone in your bed, desperately chasing relief with your fingers even though you knew Toji would have brought you there within seconds— what were you to do but miss him?

It wasn’t really your fault.

After nearly 3 weeks of moping around, you decided that he wasn’t worth the heartache. Why should you stay inside and grieve what could have been? Determined to start getting over him, you’d decided to go out for drinks after work on Friday evening.

When it came time to actually follow up with this decision, however, you had a few reservations. It wasn't going to make you feel any better about what happened, you figured. 

Nevertheless, you argued with yourself to the point that you had practically forced yourself into going.

Squeezing into the skimpiest dress you could find, you dragged yourself to a quaint, sleazy bar on the corner of the street. It was the only bar you knew of, and most likely the only one in town. You hadn’t been inside since long before you had begun to date Toji, and your memories of the place were fuzzy. All you remembered was that your roommate in college spoke highly of it, and apparently it had been good enough to get you both drunk that night.

Not like that’d take much effort, of course.

The smell of alcohol and sweat slammed into you like a brick as soon as you stepped inside. Immediately, you began to regret even considering the idea to leave your apartment, but you couldn’t find it within you to turn around and make the walk of shame back to your battered mustang. 

For the first few hours, it wasn’t too bad. You adjusted to the smell quite quickly, and loosened up once you got a few drinks in. You’d even managed to catch the attention of one of the patrons, a decent looking man with a nice smile. He offered to pay for your next round, so it wasn’t hard to make small talk and enjoy the company he provided. Apart from a few short calls from your friends throughout the weeks, he was the first person you’d spoken to since the breakup. 

As the night stretched well past the midnight mark, you began to notice the bar getting more lively. An increase of people were coming and going, the music was growing louder, the lights dimmer. The ambiance of the place had changed drastically since you’d arrived earlier that evening.

However, you were comfortable enough with the man you’d met, finding it easier and less overstimulating to focus on him and not the people around you. He made good conversation, you’d realize— his ability to make you laugh so easily was almost relieving, especially so when your laughter had been so persistent that it generated the urge for you to use the restroom.

You excused yourself apologetically from him before slipping past a large group of people, navigating the crowded room until you found the bathroom.

It was unisex, you noticed. Stupid idea for a bar, you thought to yourself before pressing open one of the double doors. By the time you've taken four steps into the bathroom, you freeze in your tracks.

No fucking way.

An all too familiar chuckle fills the small space of the restroom as you swivel on your heel to turn around, yet before you’re able to reach back up for the door, a large palm is wrapped around the base of your wrist, tugging you back inside.

“Well, well.” Toji purrs, his grip on you only seeming to get tighter as he grins down at you with amusement. 

“Let go, Toji.” you huff, refusing to even look him in the eyes. You knew you shouldn’t have left your stupid apartment! 

“Why?” he drawls, snaking his hand further up your arm as he cocks his head. “So you can get back to your new boy toy out there?” 

“Bingo.” The syllables are dripping with sarcasm, your face just as unamused. 

“Not gonna happen. Been meaning to talk to you, anyway.” 

You have to force yourself not to groan, a roll of your eyes emphasizing your annoyance as you attempt to tug your arm out of his grasp— to no avail, of course. “Not interested.”

“Sure you are.” he taunts with a smirk.

“I’m not, I assure you.”

He cocks his eyebrow and releases your arm, folding his own arms over his chest as he takes a step back from you. His eyes sweep over your frame, and the hunger that’s visible within them makes you squirm. 

After a minute of agonizing silence, he clears his throat expectantly. “For someone who isn’t interested, you’re hanging around an awfully long time, aren’t you?” 

You feel your face heat up, shooting a half-hearted glare at him. “Just talk, asshole.” 

Pleased that he’d called your bluff, he chuckles heartily, leaning casually against the bathroom wall. “That’s what I thought.”

“You don’t even like alcohol. Why are you here?” you spat at him, still refraining from looking him in the eyes.

“Figured you’d show up around this hellhole eventually.”

“You’re fucking crazy.”

“Didn’t have much of a choice, did I? Someone decided to dodge all my calls.” he points out, tapping the prominent muscle of his arm idly. 

“Blocked you, actually.” you clarify with a mumble. 

He runs a hand through his hair with a worn sigh, giving you a look of annoyance as it falls down to his hip. “Quit being difficult, will you?”

“You know a lot about that, I bet.” you retort, refusing to let him get the satisfaction of talking down at you.

You were frustrated that he was here in the first place, but even more so that he had apparently been here every day waiting for you to come. There were certainly downsides to living in a small town where every recreational spot was well known. He knew you liked to drink, so it was a no-brainer that you’d go to the only bar in town eventually. It was truly a shame that he wasn’t as stupid as you thought he was.

Lost in thought, you hardly recognized that he hadn’t responded to your little remark, his body language making it clear that he wasn’t very amused by it. However, as you finally looked up at his eyes, you’d notice that they were fixed directly to your chest. 

Face growing hot, you self-consciously tug your dress up, shooting him another glare. 

“Pervert.” you scoff at him.

He remains silent, his eyes grudgingly dragging up from the flesh of your breasts to meet yours. 

“Wouldn’t have to be if you weren’t dressed like a whore.” he retorts, his voice thickly laced with sarcasm, though you knew he wasn’t quite lying.

You had intentionally picked out the most risqué dress you could, in hope of attracting a decent amount of male attention. It wasn’t like he could blame you, though. You hadn’t had sex since you broke up with Toji, and the thought of masturbation hadn’t even crossed your mind. While dating him, you didn’t ever need to masturbate. He made you feel better than you ever could by yourself, it was almost underwhelming to do so when you had him easily ready to satisfy you. 

Toji knew this, of course. You had made it quite obvious during your relationship just how much of a slut you could be for him, so malleable and compliant to him. How could you not be? With the way he had you feeling, you were more than willing to allow him to do as he pleased with you.

Perhaps that’s why he wasn’t subtle about the way he looked at you, or why he seemed so amused that you didn’t leave when he released your arm. 

He knew he’d fucked up, but he also knew that you’d come around. Your facade of annoyance would dwindle, he just had to ease it from you.

“How I’m dressed is none of your concern.” you hiss under your breath, heat spreading throughout the bridge of your nose and the flesh of your cheeks.

“Really? Whose concern is it, then? The scrawny little prick you left waiting out there?”

Your palms curl into fists at your sides, the frustration radiating from you as you glare up at him. “It’s not your problem.” 

“Mhm. Hoping he’ll dick you down half as good as I can?” 

Blinking rapidly, you can feel your breath catch in the canal of your throat. The statement is so blunt, it’s almost enough to make you forget your frustration. But you don’t, your brows furrowing into a frown as you scowl at him.

“He’d probably do it better.” you knew that wasn’t true, but you’d rather die than admit it to him. 

Though, the statement didn’t offend him as you intended it to. In fact, it had the opposite effect— an obnoxious guffaw rumbling in his chest. He was.. laughing at you.

You felt your face get hotter. 

“You’re an awful liar, baby.” 

And hotter. “Don’t call me that.”

Toji’s laugh dies down, though he has the audacity to clutch his hand against his abdomen as if the laughter had been hurting him. 

Hopefully it’d kill him..

“Come on, who are you fooling here?” he manages between chuckles, pushing himself out of the casual lean he’d maintained against the wall as he took a few steps towards you. 

You took equal steps away from him, backing toward the wall opposite to him. “I’m serious.” You lie, your wobbly tone a spotlighted contradiction.

He’s unfazed by your movements, continuing to walk in your direction with an amused expression. “I think we both know that you’re not.”

Admittedly, he adored the subtle reactions he so easily drew out of you. He loved the way you nervously dragged your gaze away, wedging your pouty lip between your teeth as you backed into the wall behind you. Toji mirrored you, moving in closer until he was mere inches away.

“I am.” you squeak out again, the sound of your voice shrinking as he grows larger in size the closer he wanders towards you. 

Your knees felt weak below you. It was almost surreal how easily he rendered you so helpless, all you were able to focus on was the feeling of your heartbeat ramming repeatedly into the inner lining of your chest. 

“Yeah?” he whispers, the heat radiating off of his immense physique suffocating you. The smell of his faint cologne filled your nose, and that scent alone was nearly enough to drive you crazy. Knowing him, he’d intentionally worn it to have this very effect on you, to have you gazing up at him so desperately while maintaining that stubborn look in your eyes. 

You swallow the lump in your throat, nervously chewing at the plush of your bottom lip without even realizing it. The gleam in his hungry gaze had you weak, his proximity causing you to feel small. He caged you against the wall with his arms at either side of you, his head dipping down so he could observe your reaction. The black strands of his hair fell synchronously, yet they didn’t shield his piercing eyes from you.

“You’re serious, right?” he mumbles, the warmth of his breath fanning against the flesh of your neck making you painfully aware of just how close he was to you.

You nod, almost helplessly. You were most definitely not serious, and he knew that. He knew it by the way your thighs pressed together, a sign he easily recognized as an effort to prevent your heat from spreading from the confines of the space between them.

“Stop me, then.” Toji whispers, lowering his head further and pressing his lips against yours. 

The little gasp you let out allows him to slide his tongue into your mouth, prodding it against your own wet muscle with ease. A calloused hand slides down from the wall and hooks against the fleshy handle of your hips, tugging your melting frame into him. His knee easily parts your latched legs, a soft and surprised whimper filling his mouth as the cap of it presses easily up your dress and against your clothed cunt.

He’s kissing you lazily, his mouth uncharacteristically languid as it pressed against yours. You were overwhelmed by his taste, the prominence of his tongue fulfilling an ache you didn’t even know that you had. So overwhelmed, in fact, that you almost whined out in protest when he withdrew for a short instance to catch his breath. 

“Stop me.” he repeats with a whisper, the warm sensation of his breath grazing your lips. Without giving you a moment to protest, his mouth is gravitating back into yours, a low grunt of satisfaction rumbling in his throat.

Despite your stubborn reservations, you knew you didn’t want him to stop. He always knew exactly how to work you up, and it’d be outrageous to pretend that there wasn’t a part of you that’d missed him for that very reason.

Toji uproots his wet lips from your mouth, pressing them instead against the sensitive flesh of your throat. Easily locating your pulse point, he nips at the skin, the sound of your whiny little moan making his cock twitch. 

“You want me to stop?” he taunts, his tongue prodding into the dull bite marks he’d created.

Your response is evident, a desperate back and forth tugging of your head.

His mouth, which had been moving in tune with your whimpers, slowed expectantly as he felt you shaking your head so frantically. “Didn’t hear you.” he grunts, threatening you with the possibility of his departure.

“Don’t stop..” you plead with him in a broken voice, your eyelids heavy with arousal as you felt his knee teasingly dig a little harder against your heat. 

He smirks against your throat. “You gonna quit whining and be a good girl?” 

“I will.” you assure him, the desperation in your voice leaving no room for doubt that you were more than willing to submit to him once again. 

“Say it.” he urges, his knee digging further up between your legs as he tauntingly dragged the cap of it against your clothed heat.

“I’ll- ah! … be a good girl!” you huff out in a soft hiss, your thighs squeezing around his leg as you pant out from the contact. 

You hadn’t even realized just how much you had missed him. 

With a groan of acknowledgement, Toji suddenly pulls away from you. You cry out softly in protest, slightly lifting your head up to reveal your pleading eyes to him. You’d promised to be good, hadn’t you? Why did he stop? He’d taken a step away from you, dragging his knee out from where it’d been wedged between your legs and giving you space to move from the bathroom wall. 

You whine out his name in a breathless whimper, subtly poking your lip out in a pout. 

“Not here.” He huffs out, motioning to your surroundings. Given how crowded the bar was in the first place, you were lucky someone hadn’t entered the bathroom sooner.

“Who cares?” You huff, unable to disguise the impatience in your tone as a familiar cork of arousal winds deep within your gut. He was the one who’d gotten you like this in the first place, anyway.

Toji lazily weaves his hand into your hair the next moment, a sharp tug of his wrist pulling you forward before you could process it. A gasp of pain flutters past your lips, but you’re too stunned to protest as he lowers his mouth down to whisper into your ear.

“I don’t want to hear you complain.” He murmurs, his voice low with warning as he gauges your reaction. 

Your lips parted as you prepared to protest, but the creak of the door swinging open immediately had you pressing them closed as you straightened your posture. 

He doesn’t seem nearly as bothered as a tall woman struts in, the sound of her heels clicking on the tile overbearing the awkward silence that filled the bathroom. 

“Excuse us.” He purrs, allowing his hand to fall from its original position in your hair to instead lock around your waist. “We were just leaving.” 

The woman’s petrified expression immediately reminded you of your disheveled state— your slightly unkempt hair and the crumpled dress that’d been rolled up above your thighs. You scuffle to rearrange the clothing, your face hot as you shoot her an apologetic look. 

Toji notices the silent interaction, however, and doesn’t hesitate to butt in with a smirk. “Sorry about that.” his tone was sincere, yet he was unable to mask the amusement in his expression. “She had too much to drink. Couldn’t hold herself together.” 

You bite your tongue, forcing yourself not to shout at him as you give the woman a sickeningly innocent smile. 

“She’s very sorry, isn’t she?” He continues, to your horror. His eyes travel back down to you, a taunting gaze within them as he squeezes your waist. 

“Yes, I’m sorry.” you mumble through gritted teeth. 

The woman waves her hands dismissively and hurries to an open stall, not a word from her. Embarrassed beyond belief, you swat Toji’s leg as hard as you can, tugging free of his grasp as you scurry out of the bathroom. 

“You’re such an asshole!” you hiss at him, huffing out in frustration as he wraps his arm around your waist again. 

His stupid grin only widens as he navigates the crowded room, assumingly headed for the exit. “And you’re still leaving with me.”

[lamemaster]

Jingle Bells and Chaotic Elves

Request: @wareagleofthemountain I’m new to your blog and love your writing! If it’s okay, may I request a fic where Glorfindel and fem reader are newly weds and, as they begin to build their life together, reader gets a letter from her friend who is a horse trainer. The friend informs her that they have a colt in need of adoption and the reader knows that Glorfindel is in need of a horse. So they take a trip to pick up little baby Asfaloth and raise him! Thank you! 💕

Genre: fluff

Pairing: Glorfindel x Reader

Summary: How best boi Asfaloth came to bear the canonical bells

AN: Thank you for requesting this! I am sorry for being so late but writing animals is something I am still learning! I hope you like it🐴he's bby I love him (had to go back and add asfaloth pov becoz I'm stupid)

It had to be a surprise. Convincing Glorfindel to stay behind while you traveled was no easy feat, and escaping the entirety of Rivendell, an unrivaled hub of gossip proved an even harder bargain.

The only viable plan was to leave during his week of patrol duty, a decision you knew would be a shock upon his return. But you dearly hoped the letter you left, reassuring him of your safe return, would ease the blow.

Once your errand was done, you would seek his forgiveness. A month away, you promised him in that note. Surely, he could wait just that long.

The surprise? A colt.

Your friend Gwendel of Rohan had written to you urgently, detailing how he’d stumbled across the abandoned creature during an evening stroll. Despite his best efforts to find the mare or its owner, no one came forward.

Some had tried to claim the colt, but its fiery temper rejected them all, even Gwendel, whose every act of kindness had been met with resistance. Worse still, the colt refused to eat, its health deteriorating rapidly.

Normally, such an errand would have fallen to Elladan or Elrohir, but Gwendel’s letter stirred something within you.

Glorfindel.

Your beloved had never fully accepted another horse after losing his steed in the First Age. Asfaloth’s absence haunted him, and though his rebirth had brought him back to Middle-earth, his companion’s loss weighed heavy on his heart. Glorfindel grieved for Asfaloth as a father might for a lost child.

Gwendel’s letter had to be a sign. A colt abandoned in the world might find the love it needed in Glorfindel and perhaps offer him some solace in return.

That was your plan.

Until you reached Rohan.

The frail creature that greeted you from the corner of Gwendel’s stable wasn’t just any colt.

It was Asfaloth.

The beautiful snow-white steed that Glorfindel still mourned stood trembling in his stall. The colt’s amber eyes fixed on you, brimming with a light of recognition.

And then, as if time and space had never separated you, he stumbled toward you on wobbly legs, butting his head against your leg.

“Asfaloth,” you whispered, tears pooling in your eyes as your fingers tangled in his soft mane. “It’s truly you.” Bending down, you kissed the top of his head, your heart soaring with love and joy.

You couldn’t wait to tell Glorfindel. He would be over the moon.

That was the plan.

Until the mountain dumped its snows onto Rohan, trapping you there.

From weeks to months, your surprise turned into an adventure, long surpassing Glorfindel’s begetting day. The snow had made travel impossible, and you could only hope that the eventual reunion with Asfaloth would soothe any ire Glorfindel might feel at your absence.

Nestled beside Asfaloth in the stable, you braided his soft mane. His health had improved greatly, thanks to Gwendel’s care and thanks to Asfaloth finally allowing himself to eat.

“Oh dear, I hope Glorfindel isn’t moping in the halls of Imladris,” you mused aloud, to which Asfaloth unhelpfully shook his head, undoing the braids you had just finished.

“I know you miss him,” you sighed, feeding him a carrot. “But you have to be patient. You’re still too young to travel in winter.”

But Asfaloth had other plans.

Without warning, he stood and dashed out of the stable, hooves crunching over the snow. You ran after him, calling his name as the rest of the stable looked on in chaos.

And then he heard it—the sound of bells.

It was the bells he had heard first. The delicate tinkling of your bracelets, clear and familiar, ringing through the snow-covered valley.

Glorfindel had found you.

It had been months since you left, and while the logical choice might have been to wait for your return, Glorfindel’s patience had faltered. At the first clearing of snow, he had set out from Rivendell. If you were in Rohan, he would spend the winter with you.

And there you were, your laughter and bells filling the air.

But as his gaze shifted, his knees nearly buckled.

Standing before him was a colt. A tiny, beautiful Asfaloth neighing in excited greeting. Bells wrapped around the colt’s neck jingled with every delighted prance as Glorfindel knelt to hug his long-lost friend.

“You followed me once again?” Glorfindel whispered, his voice trembling as he knelt before the colt, his arms encircling Asfaloth.

The small steed, now nestled against his chest, let out a soft, contented whinny as Glorfindel buried his face in Asfaloth’s snowy mane.

The bells tied to the colt’s neck jingled faintly with the movement, their merry sound mingling with the shallow breaths of a warrior brought to his knees by the return of his oldest friend.

“You found me,” Glorfindel murmured, his voice breaking as his hand trailed down the colt’s neck. “Even after all this time… you found me.”

Behind Asfaloth, your bracelets jingled similar to Asfaloth's as you ran to meet him. The sight of you and Asfaloth together filled Glorfindel’s heart with a joy he hadn’t felt in ages.

“I thought I’d lost you forever,” Glorfindel whispered. His tears fell freely now, vanishing into Asfaloth’s pristine coat. “But you followed me, as you always have.”

Smiling through the tears shining in his eyes, he cradled Asfaloth closer, his hand stroking the colt’s mane. When you reached him, arms wide, Glorfindel rose to meet you, his golden hair catching the sunlight as you embraced.

“Thank you,” he said hoarsely, his voice barely above a whisper. “You brought him back to me.”

“In the wake of your begetting day, I fear my present was delayed,” you said, wrapping your arms around him. “But it seems you found him by yourself.”

“There is no celebration without you,” he replied, his hand lifting to caress your cheek, flushed from the cold and his nearness. “This is the best present of all. I shall be forever grateful.”

Before either of you could say more, Asfaloth squirmed between you, nudging Glorfindel insistently with his head and making his annoyance at being ignored well-known.

Glorfindel’s hand trembled as he stroked Asfaloth’s mane, his touch gentle yet desperate, as though afraid the colt might vanish if he let go.

“You’re my dearest friend,” he said to the colt, his words cracking under the weight of his emotions. “My brave Asfaloth. You’ve returned to me, and I will never let you go again.”

The colt nickered in response, leaning into Glorfindel’s touch.

Months later ~

Chuckling, Glorfindel reached into his satchel for yet another apple, discreetly feeding it to the colt. “What’s with the bells?” he asked, as though to distract you from his indulgence.

Surrounded by the fresh blooms of spring, you laughed, watching Asfaloth now a lively yearling attempt to stomp on an irritating bee buzzing too close to his hooves.

The memory of his infancy in Rohan came rushing back. The trembling colt, spooked by every shadow and sound, fleeing in a desperate, mad dash.

Whatever sorrow had clung to him, whatever shadow had haunted his young heart, had left him terrified and alone, wandering the dark woods.

The bells had been your idea.

You started small, looping one around his neck, letting it chime softly with every step he took.

The sound startled him at first, but soon, the gentle, repetitive ringing became a companion to his movements. A constant he could rely on.

With time, you tied more bells to his halter and to the saddle as he grew. You ran with him, letting the bells ring in harmony with your laughter, teaching him to associate their sound not with fear but with joy and safety.

The bells became a lullaby of sorts, drowning out the forest and glum world that once weighed on him and masking the harsher sounds of the dark he’d feared.

He stopped flinching at every rustling leaf or snapping twig. Step by step, he grew braver, the chiming bells now a comforting melody that guided him toward home.

But such tales were not to be shared with Glorfindel. This lifetime did not deserve such sorrow.

Instead, you smiled, shaking your wrist so the bells on it chimed in harmony with Asfaloth’s. The colt perked up at the familiar sound, his ears twitching as he trotted closer to nuzzle you.

“He’s such a pretty boy,” you said, stroking Asfaloth’s snowy coat with unabashed fondness. “We just wished to match our beauty.”

Glorfindel laughed, a sound rich and bright, as he slipped an arm around your waist. He tilted his head, gazing at you and Asfaloth with a softness that made your heart flutter.

“You’re both too beautiful for me to bear,” he teased gently, resting his forehead briefly against yours. “How is a simple elf supposed to compete with this?”

You chuckled, the bells jingling again as Asfaloth nudged between you both. Glorfindel turned his attention back to the colt, scratching him behind the ears. “It suits you both perfectly,” he added with a fond smile.

And so it was that Asfaloth, the steed who would one day carry the Ringbearer to Imladris, came to bear the sweet sound of bells

Asfaloth wandered, searching for his master.

He was smaller now, his once-proud form reduced to something frail and unfamiliar. The world seemed vast, darker than he remembered, and far more unkind.

He searched the forests, retracing the steps of his past, the places where he had once woken as a youngling. He had expected to find his master nearby, but the only thing that greeted him was the haunting echo of a distant horn. Startled, he had bolted, fear carrying him into the depths of the unknown.

For weeks, he roamed, driven by a desperate need to find the hidden city, the glimmering sanctuary where his lord resided. His heart clenched with unease at every shadow. When the forest buzzed with life, he would whine softly for his master, unable to keep the yearning at bay. But in the eerie silence of the darker woods, he dared not make a sound, fearful of what might lurk there.

His search came to a halt when he encountered a human.

The man had found him and, against Asfaloth’s will, led him away from his wandering. The human’s presence was strange and unwelcome, but Asfaloth was weary.

His strength had been diminished in this fragile form, and fear gnawed at him, keeping him tethered to the company of the human’s herd.

But he would not forget.

No matter how much time passed, no matter how many comforting gestures the mares or the other humans offered, Asfaloth could not accept their touch. His soul burned with loyalty, and he refused to bow to the men who came to claim him.

He fought them off, biting and rearing. He ran from the mares who tried to soothe him with soft nuzzles. Only one was worthy of that closeness. His master.

And yet, exhaustion wore him down.

One cold morning, the frost nipping at his bones, Asfaloth felt hands combing gently through his mane. Too weary to resist, too tired to keep fighting, he leaned into the touch.

It was warm.

For a moment, he allowed himself to succumb to the comfort, to let go of the ever-present ache in his heart. He had grown so cold, so terribly cold. And he missed his master with every fiber of his being.

Then, a soft sound stilled him. The faint, familiar chime of bells.

He froze, his breath hitching as a scent drifted into his senses, sweet and unmistakable. His heart surged as the scent enveloped him, filling him with a bittersweet hope.

It wasn’t his lord.

But it was you.

You, the one dearest to his master. The companion who had been his lord’s closest friend. The bringer of treats, the gentle presence he had trusted so deeply in the past.

At once, the cold vanished from his heart.

For Asfaloth knew.

He knew that if you were here, then his master could not be far behind. His lord—the one he had been seeking would come.

[localcanadiancreature62]

Stan's Breakup Recovery,Fiddlestan au

This au again cuz i now have the Fiddlestan brainworms. Enjoy.

I just realized that Stan remembering their relationship while Fidds doesn't is actually the most horrific part of this au. Like imagine seeing your ex every single day with no way of talking to him about what happened because of his mind being too shattered for him to have a proper conversation. Imagine grieving a man who's already too long gone. Also these are mostly set in the 80s during Stan's early Mr. Mystery years.

Stan tries really hard to not think about what happened between him and the southern nerd,but that's a difficult task considering that he refuses to throw away the man's banjo and his various notes on his dumb killer robots despite how many times he tells himself to forget about Fiddleford and finally get rid of all evidence of him.

Fidds often sung to Stan,which is why he catches himself humming upbeat country folk songs without realizing it and he cries as he knows that he will never hear his southerner's high pitched,shrill singing ever again.

Stan considered on using Fidds' computermajigs and his various other gadgetry as attractions as a way to spite the hillbilly for leaving him,but he can't even think about the southerner in a spiteful way because of how much it pains him to be reminded of what they had.

Stan spent half of his life thinking that it was his fault that Fidds went insane,that HE was the reason why the man decided to destroy himself with that memory gun even when deep down he knew that neither of them could've expected that. The con man spent weeks watching his nerd lose himself in real time while not being able to do ANYTHING about it when he held onto the camera for Fidds' "experiment" while not knowing that it would eventually lead to the southerner forgetting to the point of losing his entire identity. He thought that if he caught onto the man's instability sooner,if he didn't press his own problems on the poor man,then he would still be stable. Old Man Mcgucket would still be his Fiddleford.

Fiddleford was the one thing that Stan never failed. Every other romance he had went horribly in one way or another,plus he somehow managed to NOT screw something up for once when he got into a relationship with the hillbilly nerd. Stan could proudly call something his,and be seen as worthy rather than people favoring his brother. But even with how happy he was with Fidds,he still screwed it up in the end. The man went insane,and he had to work on the portal alone.

Stan couldn't sleep during the first few weeks of Fidds leaving him and quitting the project again after that car crash. He was so angry and depressed and hurt by what the man did,even after everything they've been through together. He only got 2 hours of sleep at best,because if he wasn't thinking about fixing the portal and agonizing over not being able to activate it despite the various quantum mechanics lessons that the nerd drilled into him,he was thinking about Fiddleford. Of how they used to be so happy together,of the reason why he left. Of how ANGRY he is about his steadfast love and support being taken for granted,again (Ford was the first to do this). But even then,he kept going,as moping around about his hillbilly ex wasn't going to fix Fiddleford nor bring Ford back.

[crushedsweets]

How would the other pastas/proxies react if Toby died during a mission?

Writing on my phone in the car 10 mins before my shift forgive me… finished during my lunch break…

Tim would try really really fucking hard to pretend he doesn’t care all that much. He’s already lost plenty of friends/colleagues (directly or indirectly) to the operator and slenderman, and he always treated Toby like he was a pain in the ass, but like. Him and Brian took Toby in when he was just 17-18, he tried to make him a better man, the two of them have done abhorrent shit together and had to return to the cabin like nothing happened. He’d cry, spend long hours thinking about Toby, thinking about how much of a dick he was to the kid. But he’s strong . Kinda

Brian wouldn’t try to pretend he doesn’t care, although he is in a very similar boat to Tim. Took him in, guided him, hurt him - he would probably be the one to set up a grave of some sort for Toby, whether or not they even have his body to bury. The rest of them wouldn’t be able to do it

It’s possible that Kate wouldn’t even find out for a long fucking while. But she would cry, and mourn, and she would start going back to the cabin and she would sleep in the attic (Toby’s room) and it would be shitty. Toby was the only proxy to treat her like a person and they were both outcasts in their own right, both being the closest to perfect vessels slenderman/the operator could get . So it would suck ass.

I think Natalie would just die too. Ok not really but he was the first person to really just. Take care of her. And she really trusted that he would never ever leave her, not like everyone else . She would be angry, pissed beyond belief and she would cry and scream and throw around any of the gifts he’s ever gotten her and smash some shit he’s made her - and it wouldn’t be fair, and she would regret it, and hopefully someone would be there to pull her back before she legitimately fucks it all up, but she can’t get rid of that anger. Like Kate, she would go to the cabin. Being there too long gets her really bad slender sickness, she’s not immune like the others, but she doesn’t really care. Everything hurt so bad anyway, the screaming and crying already brought her nausea and migraines. Her and Kate would just silently lounge around his bedroom for hours everyday. Natalie is a tattoo artist with little to no tattoos bc commitment issues is a big thing for her, but she would get a little something to honor Toby

Jack would mourn . Toby used to bring flowers to his mom for Mother’s Day, because Jack couldn’t bare to be in a 10 mile radius of his family. He would try to host something for people, just invite them over and make some food and try to talk and have comfort. Only Natalie and Nina would come by choice, not because the rest don’t care but it’s just something they can’t handle to do. Kate might get dragged along. It would be painful and uncomfortable and probably just result in an argument of sorts, depending on how far along Natalie is in the grieving process . He would visit the grave Brian made for toby quite often.

Nina would be constantly crying, all the time. She’s had shitty men after shitty men in her life, the only good guys she’s had were her father and brother and she went ahead and left them behind to go seek out Jeff - but Toby was good(to a point, obviously). He was rough around the edges but he was protective, he took care of her, he defended her even if she didn’t deserve it. She and Natalie would probably have a few intense arguments because they’re two sides of the same coin in their grieving , with Natalie having constant explosive anger and Nina having long, drawn out grieving and sobbing. It would be a bit much for both of them. She would mope around her apartment for a long while.

BEN would also be pretty sad, but not nearly as much as the rest. He would talk it out with Jeff but wouldn’t cry, wouldn’t mourn , would just keep going. Jeff wouldn’t give a shit, would say it was bound to happen and to move on

Ann and Lulu would be pretty bummed out too, but Ann moves on pretty quickly. For Ann it’s more so a sad “Aw but he was fun”… lulu is too lost in her own head to spend too much time on it, but she’s undeniably sad when she’s reminded

Sally would also be sad, but similarly to BEN, she would move on. Cry to Jane about it and cope. Jane would think it’s sad, but she wouldn’t dwell on it either - she wasn’t close to him, she only knew him in passing whenever Sally got lost in the forest.

Liu doesn’t know Toby well so he wouldn’t think much, but Nina would cry to Liu about it a lot and it would be pretty depressing for him too. Just by watching how it affects Nina

[a-dam-leo-valdez-lover]

Reunion

Leo Valdez x Fem reader

This takes place after the events of the second great prophecy, Y/N was on the Argo II with the 7 and is a daughter of Apollo but really could be anyone. Y/N is mourning the loss of her best friend and crush Leo and when everyone gathers for the memorial of his death things change. Don’t judge me too hard its been a few years since I wrote anything and had to start my blog fresh. Not entirely following cannon and while calypso is mention she isn’t actually a part of the story.

It took 3 days of searching before Chiron decided they were never going to find Leo’s body, to declare him dead. It took 2 weeks for Frank and Hazel to go back to Camp Jupiter after Leo’s funeral, Jason followed them a few days later promising he’d iris message Piper everyday. After a month Annabeth and Percy needed to go back to school, it turns out going on a quest really messed up a demigod's grades and makes getting into New Rome university way harder. A week after Percy and Annabeth left camp, Piper went out to visit her dad and for the first time since the quest began, Y/n found herself completely alone.

At first she struggled to find a way to spend her days. Unlike her siblings she lacked any all all skills in archery and Y/ns musical abilities left much to be desired. It was winter at camp so there wasn’t as much going on, most days she spent alone. The snow covered camp was beautiful, quieter than normal it seemed, except for the occasional bit of laughter from the other year round campers. She tried to iris message the others occasionally, shed promised Piper that she would call everyday, but it was never enough. She spent time with will, practicing in the infirmary and getting to know Nico since they were basically joint at the hip these days. It was good to see them happy, but it made her feel more alone. Sure her and Leo were never together, but he was her world, her partner in crime. She never got to tell him she loved him.

Over time though, it became easier. It turns out crushes feel less strong when the one you like is gone, and while Y/n may suck at archery and music it turns out she had a real knack for pegasus training. Plus with all the time in the world to practice she was pretty good with a sword too. Eventually she spent less time moping and being lonely and more time focused on build relationships with her sibilings, especially Will. The two of them would talk for hours on and end and his southern accent, while not quiet like Leo’s was comforting on the night where she had nightmares that kept her up. By default she became close with Nico too, sure they’d spoken on occasion before the quest and became a bit closer while trapped together on a ship for a few weeks, but this was new. He was quiet and didn’t ask too may questions, but he understood her grief better than anybody else.

Unbeknownst to Y/N, Nico knew she wasn’t he only one still grieving Leo. He’d spoken to Percy and Hazel a few times and heard through the grape vine how Frank, Annabeth, Jason, and Piper were doing. He could see the sadness that lingered in their eyes, the lack of sleep was obvious, and he knew he had to do something. So it took it upon himself to plan a memorial for Leo.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

6 months after Leo’s death, everyone came back for the memorial. It was weird, awkward almost to all be together again. On one hand they all knew each other like the back of their hand, but at the same time things had changed, they weren’t in any real danger for once and its almost like they didn’t know how to interact without a monster lurking or the impending end of the world to lead the conversation. Thank gods for Piper, she always knew how to get everyone talking.

"Remember the time Leo pranked Chiron by programming his wheelchair to go backwards only? Or that time he made that robot spider to scare the Athena cabin during capture the flag," she reminisced, a bittersweet smile on her face.

Percy chuckled, "I swore Annabeth was going to kill him for that, i swear she screamed so loud my mom could hear it."

”Rude,” Annabeth tried to be mad but even she couldn’t hide the smile on her face, “but yeah, I was planning my revenge”

She paused, everybody knew what she wanted to say, he died before she got the chance. The room was heavy for a moment before y/n changed the subject.

”You know what I was thinking about the other day, the time he 'accidentally' set the strawberry fields on fire while upgrading Festus's flame system.”

It worked like a charm. The room echoed with laughter and shared stories about the metal dragon and the boy who built it. Y/N listened as everyone talked, but her attention began to drift as she gazed into the sky, captivated by a mysterious glimmer.

Annabeth noticed her distraction, especially because the conversation had shifted a while ago, and asked, "Y/N, do you even know what we're talking about?"

"Festus," Y/N replied absentmindedly, her eyes still lingering on the shiny object.

Annabeth sighed, "No, we're discussing college plans, Y/N have you even heard a word we said?."

Before Annabeth could get into a lecture about how important having a plan is, Y/N's eyes widened.

"It's Festus," She whispered, so quiet almost anybody could miss it She rose quickly from her seat staring at the shiny object in the sky, her heart pounding with a mix of hope and disbelief. The group followed her gaze, their expressions changing from confusion to surprise. A metallic dragon, catching the sunlight, soared across the sky. The sight left them momentarily speechless. Then, realization dawned, and their faces mirrored Y/N's astonishment.

She ran out as fast as she could to the beach where the dragon was landing, when she saw him. Leo Valdez, presumed dead, had returned in the most Leo way possible. The daylight seemed to cast a spotlight on him as he stood there with a stupid smirk on his face. The poor boy had hardly a moment to prepare himself before Y/N jumped into his arms wrapping him a hug.

"What are you—how, I mean..." Y/N stuttered, her voice a mix of confusion and elation.

Leo, with his trademark smirk, simply said, "Surprise."

"Surprise? Surprise? What the heck, Leo!" Y/N's confusion turned into a whirlwind of emotions. "You died. I watched you die. We never found your body, but you were gone. I spoke at your funeral, and now you're back, and all you have to say is 'surprise'? Gods, what is—"

Leo's laughter cut through her words. "Hey, I had to make a grand entrance, right? Can't just show up without a little flair."

Y/N's frustration shifted to a mixture of relief and exasperation. "Flair? Leo, you had us all convinced you were gone. What happened? How are you here?"

Leo scratched his head, a habit that hadn't changed. "Long story short, Festus and I took a detour in the labyrinth. Ended up in Ogygia. You know, Calypso's island? Time flows differently there, and by the time we found a way out, well, time had moved a bit faster here."

"Ogygia? Calypso? Time travel?" Y/N's head spun with the unexpected twists.

"Yeah, yeah. I've got a lot to catch you up on," Leo grinned. "But one thing's for sure, I'm back, and we've got some serious catching up to do."

Y/N's initial shock transformed into a grin. "You have no idea how much we've missed you, Leo Valdez."

As they walked back to camp together, the reunion echoed with laughter, questions, and the comforting feeling of having a friend thought to be lost returned.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later that night as the campfire crackled, casting a warm glow on the faces of the reunited demigods the Apollo cabin led the campers in a a few songs and Leo entertained the crowd with his tales of defying death. The atmosphere was one of joy and celebration, as the group sat together, reveling in the miraculous return of their comrade.

As the night unfolded, the campfire stories wove a tapestry of memories, both old and new. Y/N, caught up in the camaraderie, joined in the laughter and shared anecdotes. However, amidst the festivities, a moment of quiet reflection struck her. As she looked at the boy in front of her smiling and laughing her heart suddenly felt like it was being pulled in a few directions. He was really back. Maybe it was the days excitement or too much smoke inhalation or a combination of the two, but Y/N couldn’t breathe.

Pulling away from the group, Y/N wandered to the edge of the camp, her thoughts a whirlwind of emotions. The gravity of Leo's return, the mourning that had transpired, and the overwhelming joy of having him back weighed on her. It was all too much. Not to mention him being alive meant she’d have to deal with the whole unrequited crush thing. Not that she could even think about it right then, because Leo, sensing her retreat, followed her to the quiet corner.

"Hey, Y/N, everything okay?" he asked, concern etched on his face.

She hesitated, then sighed. "It's just... Leo, I thought you were gone. We all did. Losing you was... I can't put it into words. And now you're back, and it's so much to process."

Leo nodded understandingly, pulling her into a comforting hug. "I get it, Y/N. It's a lot. But I could never leave you behind, you know? We're in this together."

His words resonated with Y/N, and as Leo held her, she felt a mix of emotions pouring out. The weight of grief mingled with the joy of reunion overwhelmed her, and tears flowed freely. Leo just held her, it was almost enough to make her feel better on the spot. As the two stood apart the rest of their friends watched them whispering to one another.

”So when are the two of them going to admit they’re in love” Frank joked.

”Y/n talking about her feelings? It’s never going to happen” Jason laughed receiving a slap in the arm from Piper.

”I wouldn't say never,” Nico said , “she thought she missed her chance once she won’t let it happened again”

”Well lets just hope its soon, because I cannot hear about how ‘y/n does like me like that’ from Leo again when its so obvious to everyone else she does' Piper laughed looking at her two friends.

This is the first thing I’ve written in a long time but hopefully it’ll get better. Requests are open and please let me know if you want a sequel to this or anything else. Also lmk if you want to be tagged in the next one!

[coal15]

A few days ago I put up a poll (link HERE) because I had way too many ideas for fix-it fics after Buck and Tommy broke up, I decided to let everyone else choose which sort I should start with. The brain clutter was gumming up my creative process too much to focus. Well, since then an idea came through so vividly I just had to start writing it. I am keeping the poll up though, because I've got so many ideas that if the style of fic I'm already writing wins I'll just start on another one in the same vein, then tackle the second most popular one next. The one I've already started on is rated GA, romantic, angst, some laughs, and it will probably end up being about 3 not very long chapters. Below is an excerpt from Ch.1 of Door to Door

A little while later they were sitting on Eddie’s couch nursing beers in silence. Under normal circumstances Buck would ask Eddie why he was walking around the house in underwear and a long sleeve button-up shirt, but the song ‘Old Time Rock ‘n Roll’ blaring at top volume pretty much answered his question. What guy HASN’T acted out that scene from Risky Business at some point?

“It’s something new, I know that much.” Eddie said out of nowhere.

Buck frowned. “Huh?”

“The vibe you’re putting out, man. I’ve seen you depressed a lotta different ways for a lotta different reasons, but this one is new. So. You ready to talk about it or should we just keep drinking for a while? There is no wrong answer.” 

“He dumped me.” Buck felt his chin beginning to wobble as he spoke. “He actually–and it was, I, I, think, I don’t know, I asked him to move in with me and suddenly his whole mood changed. Outta nowhere. He said he was only my first boyfriend, not my last.” His eyes burned and he started to lose control of his voice, every word less and less steady. “He just took it for granted that I’d fall out of love just because there’s other hot guys in the world I haven’t dated–but I don’t want to! Eddie, I was so ready to just be with him and I don’t understand why–” by that point he couldn’t have choked out a decipherable word to save his life. He doubled over on the couch, and Eddie took the beer bottle from his hands so he could bury his face and sob. 

From what Eddie could glean of the Abby situation Buck got over her gradually, only half realizing it, and the only thing left to do was process what grief remained after the denial finally fell away. He and Ali weren’t together for long enough to merit more than some light moping. The breakup with Taylor hadn’t been easy, but at least then he had the comfort of choosing to end it, and the confidence of knowing he made the right choice. He loved Taylor enough to grieve the end of their relationship, but it didn’t destroy him. As far as Natalia, what was there to say? He latched onto someone, hypnotized by the desire to find a soulmate, and ended it as soon as he realized his mistake. This wasn’t like any of the other breakups. This was new. He patted his best friend’s back, squeezed his shoulders, and waited for the crying to subside enough to ask questions without making it worse. 

It took several minutes.

“I guess the first thing is, do you think he was right?” Eddie asked gently when the timing was appropriate. “I mean, I know breakups suck and you’re hurting, but . . . well, think about it. Carefully. You settle down with Tommy and he’s the only man you’re ever gonna be with. Forever.” He paused to make sure Buck was looking right at him. Eye to eye. “Are you absolutely sure that’s what you want?”  

“Yes!” Buck croaked, wiping his eyes and nose on the back of his sleeve. That is so gross, said a tiny sliver of his brain. Oh shut up dickhead, nobody cares what you think, said the rest of his brain.

“Okay,” Eddie nodded. “And did you tell him that? Like, did you make it abundantly clear you are a thousand percent ready to give up casual dating?”

Buck’s eyes and nose required sporadic dabbing as he considered the question. “I, I think I did.”

Eddie’s eyes narrowed. “Thaaaaaat didn’t sound too confident.” 

“I told him my first and my last could be the same thing.”

“Could be? The first word you ever spoke could be the same as your last word, but it’s not likely. Plus either way there’s a whole lotta yapping in between.”

“Hey, whose side are you on?” 

“Future Buck.” Eddie plucked their beers off the coffee table and clinked them together. “I’m on Future Buck’s side.”

“Hmph. I hope his life doesn’t suck.”

“Um . . . I hate to break it to you buddy, but he’s kinda depending on you right now.”

**********Click HERE for the rest

[bumblesimagines]

A not so brief summary on my thoughts on House of The Dragon S2:

This finale makes me want to go outside and reconnect with nature 'cause why the hell did they make us wait so long just for a bunch of filler episodes and what was basically a trailer for season 3?

Spoilers for the show AND book which includes the deaths of characters and the arcs they had in the book.

Right off the bat, I'm just going to say that this post, this post, and this post sum up some of my thoughts. It truly feels like Ryan Condal (as well as others in production) had someone else give him a rundown of what happened in the book and just went off on that alone. I admit, I like some changes made from the book specifically with Alicent being Rhaenyra's childhood friend but at some point it just diverged from an adaptation to a fanfiction.

I know people whine and complain that it's 'nOt GoNnA bE eXaCtLy LiKe ThE bOoK' but if that's the case, stop calling it an adaptation and start saying it's based off the book. Of course, people are going to be annoyed when changes are made when they step in with the expectation/hope it'll be like the first few seasons of GoT.

Season 1 was good but rushed and had far too many timeskips that skipped needed character development. We never got to see Rhaenyra shift away from 'I don't want children' to learning of her first pregnancy. We never got to see Alicent fully turn away from Rhaenyra and stew in her resentment over being stuck in a marriage she never wanted while watching Rhaenyra be free enough to have multiple sons with a man who wasn't her husband. Laena, Laenor, and Harwin had little impact because we saw so little of them. We never got to see if Rhaenyra loved Harwin or if she saw him as a fwb.

It was rushed but the characters felt alright.

And then in comes season 2 and we can see that they were too afraid of being called out to write proper female characters. I've said this before when answering an ask but HOTD only has two types of women: rebellious, headstrong, stubborn, warrior girls and sensitive, withdrawn, submissive, rule followers. This is Arya vs Sansa all over again. Women can be multiple things at once. Not every Team Black girl has to be a fighter, not every Team Green girl has to be quiet and faithful.

Why wasn't Rhaenyra angry about Luke's death? She left S1 looking enraged and started S2 off strong in her grief but then Luke was never mentioned by name ever again. I understand burying down the grief and anger to rule but we should've seen her continue to break down in private throughout the season. Her SON was MURDERED and you're telling me she's not going to continue grieving him when she didn't even do anything for half the season? All she did was run off leaving Jace and the Council scrambling to stay together or get consistently spoken over again and again and again. And now suddenly Ryan wants her to be this calculated meticulous cult leader? Rhaenyra's downfall is descending into paranoia and letting her emotions and worries get the best of her (WHICH NETTLES WAS A BIG PART OF). She loses and flees King's Landing because of it.

Why was Alicent's plot mostly revolving around Cole? Why did they choose to have her sleeping with him while B&C happened? In the book, Alicent is essentially taken hostage because B&C knew Helaena took her children to visit their grandmother and say goodnight. She watches her daughter be forced to choose between her two sons only for the son she chose to save be killed. Instead of feeling grief for her grandson's death, she feels guilty for... having slept with Cole. No real thoughts or feelings over her GRANDCHILD being MURDERED. Look, I love the Rhaenyra x Alicent ship but it was doomed from the start. Instead of trying to make it seem like there's a chance, complicate it more! The complexities is what makes the ship good! But no, let's have Alicent, mother of the king and a big part of what started the war, mope around and fuck this dude. Hello?? Are they also setting her up to poison Aegon at the end when she spent half of season 1 saying she needed to protect her children from Rhaenyra???

Why did Helaena mourn her son for an episode and then move on? Are ya'll seeing this pattern or am I crazy? Helaena is supposed to descend into madness over her grief and guilt. She can't look her remaining son in the face because she'd chosen him to die. She's so consumed by this that she ends up impaling herself in spikes after throwing herself from a window. Are they setting her up to be murdered? To do it just because? And what do you mean 'Helaena doesn't ride. She has no taste for it'? Helaena LOVED to ride. Her love for her dragon is the reason Dreamfyre breaks free from her chains in the Dragonpit when she senses Helaena has died. But of course, Helaena is a Team Green girl and only warrior girls ride dragons, right Ryan? And she's Team Green so obviously unlike in the books, the smallfolk despise her as much as the others? They took the devastating choice of B&C and gave it to Alicent in the last episode which makes the death of Helaena's son's absolutely meaningless and unneeded as well as her own death. And also? all of a sudden Helaena can now understand her prophecies and speak them clearly? So why didn't she tell anyone of B&C? Surely a mother would try to break away from fate to save her children?

Aemond, Aegon, Cole, and even Daemon were given more complexities and plotlines than the main women, Alicent and Rhaenyra, were lmao. While the faces of the war were cast aside to be one stereotype or the other, we got to see the men be messy and chaotic and full of emotions. Aegon got to be angry and defensive over his son's death but not Rhaenyra. Cole got to be conflicted over his doings but Alicent was just meh about it. Daemon had so much unnecessary hallucinations lmao. Was it even character development if after every hallucination he still beat his chest and called himself king? He learned nothing but suddenly he sees a horribly CGI put together vision of GoT and he's fine putting away what he's been saying all season long? Come on now.

Jace, Baela, and Rhaena were massively underused. In the posts I linked, it explains my issue with Rhaena taking over Nettles. It's stupid and unneeded. We get to sympathize with Hugh and watch Daemon bang his mom but there's no need for the ONLY WOC IN THE BOOK to be seen? Not even his clear bias for Team Black will allow him to bring in Nettles and let Rhaena be one of the few Team Black girls who isn't a fighter and a Strong Female Lead? Okay.

Jace and Baela were. there. I guess. We could've cut back a lot more of Daemon to show Jace in the North winning over Cregan or even having him return mid-season. He did nothing but serve face and have a few lines of being annoyed. And, it was his idea for the dragonseeds, both highborn and lowborn. And Baela was just there to be his voice of reason. The rational girlfriend who pulls her boyfriend out of his head. She had one good scene where she wasn't just Daemon's daughter or Jace's love interest (they never even did or say anything remotely romantic. They feel like friends over two people in love) and then she just. existed to be there for Jace.

The dragons were great and I loved their designs. I loved that their dancing is based on the birds of prey death drop(?) and I clocked it instantly when I watched Rook's Nest. However, I really hope Aegon belives Sunfyre is dead because of a weakened bond and not that he's actually dead considering Sunfyre burns and eats Rhaenyra alive?? That's his whole thing??

I did not care for Tyland and the pirate chick. We had a full fledged BATTLE be offscreen but we had to see Tyland get tossed around in mud? Okay. Sure. Uh huh.

Like... what was this? It was like hours long filler episode. 'It's setting up for season three!! that's why it sucked!!' but we still had needed action and characters that were brushed over? We could've had the battle between the Blackwoods and the other idiots, we could've had Nettles taming Sheepstealer, we could've had the women feel like real people instead of being one dimensional characters, we COULD'VE HAD RHAENYS HAVE EMOTIONAL SCENES WITH HER BELOVED GRANDDAUGHTER(S) BEFORE FLYING OFF TO BATTLE.

Anyways, honestly, 4 or 5 out of 10 for this season. I was bored for most of it and it was massively underwhelming. I expected this season to end with the Gullet and Jace's death being the straw that finally broke the camals back in Rhaenyra which would've had her take King's Landing in a fit of rage and grief. I also expected Daeron to at least have some sort of appearance? He gets mentioned twice and we see Tessarion briefly but no sign of the missing TargTower son and no Maelor? Okay. Sure. Let's just call this House of The Dragon: The Poorly Written Fix It Fic Brought To Life Instead Of Being Left On AO3. No wonder GRRM isn't going to be involved anymore.

This doesn't read like an adaptation brought to life by a passionate fan. It reads like an adaptation created purely to reach Game of Thrones level of fame and popularity. GoT earned it's popularity in the first few seasons. HOTD is merely piggybacking off it's success and failing at being anything other than a boring high budget show that happens to have dragons.

[atopvisenyashill]

alright things i liked

baela pointing out that jace is not the first bastard to inherit a seat that isn’t his by blood. that was a fun convo and i loved the back and forth and i love that she comes at it like “why are you moping do you think you’re the only bastard in the fucking world” and jace is like barely able to argue his point that LIVING that reality is so much more draining than she realizes, he’s too busy daydreaming about strangling ulf to death over the kitchen table.

everything helaena did. sensing daemon is having a dragon dream and using it to get him back to rhaenyra’s side, the way she really was listening to alicent’s idea about running away to essos together, letting her mother speak her piece in her defense, then going out onto the balcony knowing aemond is going to corner her and giving him the dressing down of his LIFE while he cries, all very good.

abigail thorne. omg. am i mad she’s not sabitha frey? yes. was she still hilarious? also yes.

ESSOSI OUTFITS THAT LOOK GOOD. WE GOT BLUE HAIR FOLKS!!!!

ulf and hugh and addam. trying to find their place, trying to bond with their dragons and each other, unsure of their footing. addam looked ready to turn to goo in his chair. hugh wincing at every “lowborn” quirk ulf has. ulf going ham on acting like ulf bc he’s nervous & telling jokes to cover it. loved it.

alys alys alys. crying at daemon’s bedside at what’s to come, at what she’s going to face next. do you think she saw simon’s death and wept for her silly uncle. does she grieve her cousins before they have even died. does she weep at daemons bedside knowing she’s leading him to his end.

larys and aegon. the whole scene was so good, the way larys is really trying to convince aegon to leave & fight another day and he has like a VERY solid plan but aegon is so completely shaken up bc he just had no idea aemond hated him that much, this is just what love is to him, is this constant push pull of humiliation and abuse that hes still as blind as he was when he was a child to the way his actions affect aemond.

alfred brune just nervously disappearing into the crowd after Daemon gets everyone singing “god save the queen” is so fucking funny. man is like “oh i misread that one HARDCORE i am about to get ate by a fucjing DRAGON while those two watch and fuck nasty” his ass is GRASS lmao

things that were booty, ass even

every single scene helaena had should have come earlier in the season. there’s no reason alicent & helaena couldn’t have had this convo in the last episode instead of alicent fucking off to the godswood for a swim.

i think it’s fine In Theory that alicent goes to rhaenyra and basically surrenders. she’s been shut out of power, she’s lost control of aemond, she’s terrified for helaena’s safety, and otto who was her rock & partner in all things has been gone for a long while. she’s floundering, her shitty boyfriends have abandoned her, she thinks her only shot is to work out a surrender with rhaenyra. COMMA BUT. caving to rhaenyra saying “i’m gonna have to execute aegon” was dumb & ooc. i’m tired of all these little trips between KL and dragonstone. i think that confrontation lacked a lot of punch, alicent was FAR too calm. idek what they’re doing w alicent’s reactions half the time tbh, this feels once again like being unable to let an actress just look ugly for a minute. even during a scene where she should ostensibly be nervous and freaking out, she looks immaculate & prettily distressed. i’m very much over it esp with how often we’ve seen rhaenyra look banged up or windswept or tired or whatever this season.

officially fridging marilda just takes so much intrigue out of the hull boys & alyn specifically. marilda is the only baseborn or lowborn character we get in the book that isn’t shit talked and this is likely due to alyn making SURE his mother is respected. to cut all of that for….what? more manpain? unacceptable.

pls tell me why tyland gets more haha jokey scenes than baela and rhaena get for any scenes at all. baela fights and SURVIVES the last dragon battle in westeros. rhaena is the last dragon rider until dany. they are powerful political forces just as their grandparents and parents. but they just do NOTHING it is so FRUSTRATING.

in theory i’m fine with aegon thinking sunfyre is dead and then finding out he’s alive bc sunfyre has come to rescue him from something. but if sunfyre doesn’t show up WAY EARLIER than the swan dive, if they CUT SOMEHOW THE SWAN DIVE and we don’t get to see aegon snot-crying and screaming as he holds baela’s burnt open face against a headstone and screams that he’s going to kill her for killing sunfyre while she’s glaring and daring him to fucking do it then, you all will never know peace from me. i will literally never stop bitching i will become the most annoying poster on this website i will find condal and hess and i will-

all build up and for WHAT. did they forget that even tho s6 ended with a bunch of shots of people’s armies moving there was an entire fucking battle that happened and then cersei committed religious terrorism??!!!

OH SO WE KEEP YAPPIN ABOUT DAERON ALL FUCKING SEASON JUST THIS RANDOM ASS FOURTH CHILD THAT WE DIDNT HEAR ABOUT ONCE LAST SEASON, AND ALL WE SAW WAS THAT TWO SECOND SCENE OF TESSARION FROM THE TEASER??

AND WE DONT EVEN SEE DREAMFYRE??

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 46

Burdockcreek died of greencough.

[Image ID: Clammask, Rustshade, and Weedfoot stand together, each with + CONDITION: GRIEVING underneath them. The ghosts of Twinekit, Burdockcreek, and Locustseeker stand above them.]

Fennelspot asked that Burdockcreek’s loved ones say goodbye to him before he passed. He was asleep, his breath strangled by mucus, but Fennelspot assured everyone that he would be able to hear them. He and Troutpaw moved Wildclaw back into the medicine den to give each member of the Clan their moment alone with the young historian. 

Oilstripe asked to go first and quietly stepped into the quarantine den. Burdockcreek laid curled up in his nest, the symptoms of his deadly condition draining down his face. Oilstripe took a quiet spot beside him.

“Is it okay that I don’t feel too heartbroken?” Oilstripe asked. “I don’t want you to go, of course. You’re my brother. I trained you. I don’t think I’m as close to you as Clammask or Dad, but I’m still your older sister. It’s just that… did you know Twinekit joins you on patrol some days? And Locustseeker watches us when we’re studying the world and telling stories to the kits. I still haven’t seen our mom after so many moons, but our siblings visit so much, it’s like they never left. I forget that’s not how it is for other people.

“What I mean to say is, Twinekit and Locustseeker are in the den with us. Twinekit insists that she’ll be the Fetcher for all of her littermates, it’s rather cute. It’s true, Twinekit! You’re perpetually cute. If you wanted to be taken seriously, you could have waited to die. Locustseeker’s here for moral support, Burdock. They’re excited to talk to you again. You’ll have a good time in StarClan. I’ll see you soon, little brother.” Oilstripe ran her tail over Burdockcreek’s feverish head and left her brother behind.

Weedfoot came in next. Her belly was swollen with her second litter, making her waddle into the den. She pressed her muzzle into Burdockcreek’s neck.

“You were as much my apprentice as Oilstripe’s,” she muttered. “You shouldn’t be leaving before I do. I’m sorry.” Weedfoot lingered in Burdockcreek’s unconscious embrace, unafraid of catching his disease. She only looked up when Clammask’s soft paws padded in.

“I’m sorry,” Weedfoot gulped, sitting up and clearing her throat. “I forgot this wasn’t his vigil yet. I’m taking up your time.”

“No, don’t leave,” Clammask croaked, stepping in front of Weedfoot when she moved to go. “I don’t want to say goodbye alone.” Weedfoot welcomed Clammask into her embrace, letting the golden molly rest her head under her chin. Weedfoot’s warmth covered Clammask. The deputy gently licked Clammask’s ear until she was ready to talk.

“Do you remember the last Harvest Moon,” Clammask mumbled, “when Burdockcreek challenged the LynxClan historians to a climbing competition? StarClan, he lost so bad, he moped behind the Leader’s Stone for… for… I can’t do this. I can’t remember my brother like this.” Clammask turned away from her dying brother. Weedfoot waddled to her side and walked her out of the den.

Rustshade came in a short while later. He stared at Burdockcreek, whose breathing had grown slow in the moments since Clammask left. Rustshade couldn’t keep his claws seathed.

“Are you here, StarClan?” Rustshade growled, looking up into the ceiling of the shipwreck. “You can’t take him. Why do you think you can take another of my kits from me? You don’t get Burdockcreek. You can’t have him.” Rustshade slipped beside his son. He closed his eyes, willing Burdockcreek to claw back from the edge and stay by his side.

Burdockcreek stopped breathing shortly after.

(Burdockcreek: 40, male, historian, competitive, lore keeper)

(Oilstripe: 50, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)

(Weedfoot: 95, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Clammask: 40, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Rustshade: 90, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

Puddlepaw and Ripplepaw are the first of their litter to earn their names. Ripplefern gets moth wings from Downstar as a gift for graduating.

[Image ID: Puddlewhisper and Ripplefern stand as adults. Ripplefern has moth wings tucked behind her ear. Above Puddlewhisper, it says LEVEL UP! PUDDLEPAW -> PUDDLEWHISPER, ODDLY OBSERVANT -> NATURAL INTUITION, MORBID CURIOSITY -> GHOST SENSE. Above Ripplefern, it says LEVEL UP! RIPPLEPAW -> RIPPLEFERN, AVID PLAY-FIGHTER -> GOOD FIGHTER, SPLASHES IN PUDDLES -> TALENTED SWIMMER, + ACCESSORY: MOTH WINGS.]

(Puddlewhisper: 12, trans female, codekeeper, righteous, natural intuition, ghost sense)

(Ripplefern: 12, female, historian, charismatic, good fighter, talented swimmer)

The AshClan cleric, Newtstream, asks for spare thyme. Fennelspot hands some over.

[Image ID: Fennelspot and Darkkick face Newtstream, who says “I really am glad you’re alive, Darkkick.” Darkkick responds, “Where was this concern when you let Autumnstar exile me?”]

---

Newtstream was there. She was there, in RippleClan’s camp, speaking with Fennelspot and Spikecrash like it was the most natural thing in the world. And she would notice Darkkick any second.

With his tail as tended-to as it would be for now, Parsley and Carnationspeckle offered to take Darkkick on a tour of the territory. It was strange to walk through land that Darkkick knew in passing, knowing that it may soon become as familiar to him as AshClan territory once was. With spring weather bringing life to the territory, Darkkick had a lot to say on how the caretakers were managing their gardens and utilizing the ocean. He couldn’t lie, when he had been AshClan’s clerics, he dreamed of the days when he’d lead a patrol to the ocean to collect rare salt, but now, once his tail was healed, he would be able to swim in that glistening water whenever he wanted. Perhaps he should have joined RippleClan earlier.

That simple joy crumbled when Darkkick’s tour group returned to camp near sunset and saw Newtstream sitting in the sand. Darkkick kept his face still as his former apprentice noticed him. As soon as her brown eyes widened, Darkkick strolled across the clearing, ignoring how his tail ached when he held it high.

“The rumors are true then,” Newtstream said softly, studying Darkkick. “You’ve returned to the Clans.”

“So I have,” Darkkick huffed. He refused to break eye contact with Newtstream. He would not break first. From the corner of his eye, Darkkick could see Spikecrash get ready to interject, but Fennelspot put his tail on her worn splint.

“I don’t see any reason AshClan can’t use some of RippleClan’s thyme incense,” Fennelspot said. A movement of his paw broke Newtstream’s stare. Fennelspot rolled an incense stick to Newtstream’s paws. “This bowl is a beautiful offering.” He placed his paw on the lip of a well-carved wooden bowl, perfect for ceremonies or meals for honored guests.

“AshClan thanks you, Fennelspot,” Newtstream said, bowing. “And it was good to meet you, Mediator Spikecrash. I hope your recovery continues as expected.”

“Thank you,” Spikecrash gulped, casting a glance at Darkkick. “It… will be nice to see you and your Clan’s mediators at my first Gathering. With the way my healing is progressing, Fennelspot says I’ll be better by the end of the season!” Spikecrash flexed her back paws. It seemed Fennelspot had done a good job.

“If you’ll speak to Halibutdusk over there,” Fennelspot explained, nodding to Halibutdusk by the oven, “he can escort you back to AshClan.”

“May StarClan watch over you, Fennelspot,” Newtstream said. She reached down for the incense, but paused. She stood back up and looked at Darkkick, her whiskers drooping. “I really am glad you’re alive, Darkkick.”

“Where was this concern when you let Autumnstar exile me?” Darkkick spat. His spit flew onto the incense. Newtstream closed her eyes for a moment. Then she picked up the incense and walked toward Halibutdusk.

“Spikecrash,” Fennelspot sighed, “it’s probably better that you not mention your relationship to Darkkick around other Clans. They may not take it well.”

“Because he was a cleric?” Spikecrash asked.

“Because she’s the reason I’m not one anymore,” Darkkick growled, cocking his head at Newtstream as she left camp. “StarClan told all the clerics that RippleClan was to be founded, and when I told Autumnstar, he called me a liar and exiled me. Newtstream was my apprentice. She said nothing in my defense, even though she saw the same things I did!” He yowled in the direction of the exit, knowing full well that Newtstream would be able to hear him.

“Darkkick may not be a cleric anymore,” Fennelspot explained, rubbing against Darkkick to soothe his shaking pelt, “but it’s better if the Clans get used to the idea of his return before hearing that he stopped keeping his oath.”

“That oath stopped bearing weight when I followed StarClan’s will and they did nothing to protect me,” Darkkick growled.

(Darkkick: 106, male, warrior, lonesome, talented swimmer, understands nature)

(Fennelspot: 103, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Spikecrash: 21, female, mediator, wise, good speaker, lore keeper)

[vertejay]

WHAT IS GRIEF if not love persevering.

you ask me about love, and i’ll tell you about grief.

synopsis ﹐ kageyamas first Christmas after losing his grandpa. you knew it was going to happen eventually, why are you shocked kageyama? you aren’t going to mope around for the holidays, are you? life keeps going, you can’t just stop because you’re grieving.

content warning ﹐ grieving, some stages of grieving heavy feelings and thoughts, death of a family member, mentions of death(outside of his grandpa), trouble adjusting, probably ooc, mentions and depiction of mental health, cussing, fighting, over-thinking, pressured religion mentioned in passing.

authors note ﹐ a lot of this is inspired by and based on my own experience of grieving a family member (especially during the holidays), and some things I’ve been told personally in times of hardship.

wc ﹐5.1k

Peeling away the impeccable job of wrapping, a crisp tear fizzling out into the atmosphere with buzzing joy filling their ears. With precise tears, carefully choosing where to pull from, unraveling his gift, his grandfather was on the edge of his seat in anticipation. Butterflies brewing in his stomach, pure joy emitting off of his face, which was equivalent to that of the nostalgic brilliance of the Christmas tree lighting that was tucked into the corner. Safe to say the tree would be staying up for a while, long after Christmas, long after New Years. The soft mix of colors and white from the years and years of well loved bulbs lit up Kageyama’s features, softening him completely around the edges. 

Once calculatingly pulling off the wrapping completely of the last gift between him and his sister, throwing it in the communal bag of tossed paper soon to be forgotten about, his judging eyes swept over the meticulously crafted gift, a homemade scrapbook from over the years, his grandfather the highlight of most of them. As his health was at a slow decline, and it was Kageyama's last Christmas before he turned 18. 

Softening at a glance, and unexpectedly, a tear found itself staining the glassy laminated cover. His lips parted in surprise, his head whipping to his sister who shared the same look. The both of them turn to their grandfather, who had this warm, very familiar smile. His smile felt like home. He was home. Kageyama was at home. He and his sister scrambled to their feet, nearly leaping to their grandpa, enveloping him in the warmest hug. 

That was the best gift his grandfather could have asked for. Family together, enjoying their time, and appreciating gifts. His grandfather's hands pulling them impossibly closer, a sign of his festering heart and love from raising them, only to pull away, wiping the tears that refused to hide themselves from his grandkids faces. 

Then the lamp started to look weird. Kageyama, with the warmth swiping his face that belonged to his grandpa, stared long and hard at a lamp in the distance of the house. Distorted. Its image pulls itself in unimaginable places and ways. Flickering in a way no lamp would.

And suddenly Kageyama was 20 again, the weight of grief slamming him into a reality. His heavy denial had made people question his loyalty for his grandfather. He didn’t initially react, in fact, he was the one to watch him take his final breath. To tell the doctors the time of death. The one to make the phone calls. Each phone call ripping him to shreds more than the last, more than he let on, and he was biting tears. All while there was a swirl of emotions that he didn’t know was brewing.

He loved like a dog, undying loyalty, respect, and enthusiasm. He wasn’t a violent dog, he didn’t know why he bites. 

His sister forcing him to his feet while she had to help him get ready. His hair falling into its natural shape, soft edges sticking out. Drowned in black. A color he carried in his closet without a problem before. But now there was a weight to that color. There was a reason. His feverish-looking face, void of emotion, staring himself down in the mirror as his sister, through pure strength and having to be there for her younger brother, adjusting and picking at his clothes, straightening him out. He refused to get ready by himself, getting ready by himself meant it was real. His sister helping him get ready made him feel like a kid again. 

Maybe if he felt like a kid again, it would mean that shortly after their grandpa would routinely call down their names for breakfast before sending them off for school as he usually would. Except he hasn’t been to school in two years, that routine has long since fallen apart. Any hope of it, shattered without a second thought being allowed to fester. 

“Tobio, I can’t keep helping you,” there was a longing in his sister's voice, a sad softness rounding the edges of her words. His eyes shifted to her in the mirror, his face twisting in an unreadable expression. 

“I’m not following what you mean,” he paused for a brief second, his nose wrinkling, “I didn’t ask for you to help me.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” she sighed shakily, there was evidence she had been crying previously, “you aren’t asking for help. I’ll help you get ready for his funeral, but I can’t continue to help you if you won’t help yourself. You can’t rot your life away, if you start now, you won’t stop,” she paused, her lips pressing into a thin line in thought, “you know he wouldn’t want you to spend your life like this.”

Her words stung. Partially because she was right. But because why now. Why so soon. He twisted in his chair, staring at her, in the flesh, “what the fuck.” His brows furrowed, “pray, tell, what the fuck do you want me to do? You should know better than anyone that I’m the last person to keep up appearances like that.” He breathed out, stomach churning in a disfigured offense, he was appalled by what he was hearing. “If it’s that big of a fucking deal, why did you help me in the first place,” he quickly stood up in a looming height over her, the chair nearly falling over in the process, “I can’t believe you’d say some shit like that.” The heavy weight of his feet moved faster than his brain could process anything at all, slamming the door behind him. A harsh silence fell over his room leaving his sister to suffocate in it, where they once sat in silence.

Miwa’s shoulders slumped, and she let out a quiet sob, slinging herself into the chair he just so hurriedly pulled himself out of. She was hurting and grieving just the same, and a part of her felt like she was sacrificing her hurt to help her now lost younger brother. It was her grandfather too, and it felt like no one was there to help her. Her heart sank at the unexpected fight, only trying to help him through the words she wished she had been given the opportunity to hear. Maybe she was telling them to herself more than she was her brother.

The silence that found itself embedded at the funeral, followed by the unmistakable tension. Being one of two people at the front row of a funeral was a pain he’d never wish on anyone. He swallowed thickly, trying to rid of the dry mouth as he eyed the coffin. This wasn’t happening. No way in hell. His hands fidgeting in his lap, back against the chair. One of his legs bouncing to no end, rapidly, faster than the heart slamming against its jail cell of a rib cage. His jaw clamped shut, clenching and unclenching. His eyes started to dart around subtly in an anxious manner, he began to dissociate. 

Before he knew it, his labored and quick breath found itself betraying any semblance of composure. He felt like he couldn’t get enough air, his vision now narrowing. Shifting to his elbows resting on his knees, one leg planted while the other still shaking, his hands holding themselves shakily as he picked at his once neatly kept nails. He found himself falling apart in the front row, unable to pull himself out of the sudden panic attack. This was a side of him never seen before, not even by his own sister.

He stirred awake. Now Kageyama was 21. It was a god forsaken dream, something that felt so real and so close, yet so far away. Kageyama isn't 17 anymore, it’s December and he hasn’t been 17 for a long time now, and his grandfather was gone and painfully buried just months prior. He dragged his hands up to his face, a silent sob falling into them while still tangled into his bedding. Ever since the loss finding itself in his life, sleep didn’t come easy anymore. There was an unimaginable amount of guilt that ate away at Kageyama: survivors' guilt. 

Why is it that he got to keep living, experiencing life without the one who raised him. His best friend for what was essentially his entire life, up until last year. His empty heart ached in his chest. 

Why was it that it felt like everyone else got to move on and heal, yet he’s stagnant. He felt stuck in place, unable to move on. The eyebags heavy on his face which color started to drain from slowly. Any life left in his eyes had been drained abruptly, he was no longer the Kageyama his grandfather knew and loved. 

The shape of Kageyama’s soul changed, and now a shell of his physical being. Why was the motion of life so unfair that he would have to remember his grandfather longer than the time he’ll have to know him. The thought of his sends shivers down his damn spine, even if it’s a long way coming.

The ache in his heart, mind, and soul never subdued like everyone told him it would. Not even a little bit, not even at all. Such bullshit to be told that with time comes healing, there was nothing filling the hole left by the absence of his grandfather. Life kept going, sure, but he was in the same spot. To hell with people who told him he couldn’t get breaks because of grief. The words of comfort from others fell on deaf ears, as they were all but sincere and caring. He saw the pity in their eyes, heard their empty words and promises that would never be fulfilled. 

There was a barrier between him and his sister now, a thick tension since the funeral. Relations have shifted between his team, a sad look in their eyes that made the very blood in his veins boil to no ends. Those sorrowful looks followed him everywhere he went. This grief reigned over him now, he didn’t control it, it controlled him. The only real thing grounding him was volleyball.

There was an uncovered distance for those who told him to turn to religion for comfort. For something he never believed deeply in before, why would it be something he turned to now? A discomfort swallowed him whole when people tried to bring him to religious services. He sneered at the thought of wallowing in his grief while people told him to seek this person, or to pray to this figure for forgiveness and guidance in times of crisis. For those same people to tell him it’s not too late. It made him want to vomit.

After a long shaky sigh leaving him, he begrudgingly pulled himself out of bed. His tired eyes, now stained red and slightly puffy, tell-tale signs of crying. Pushing himself through his doorway, he ambled toward the kitchen. Opening the fridge, the cold air filling his breath, smothering his person. He bit back a grumble of shock, reaching for the water filter and lazily poured it into a cup. 

His eyes followed around the kitchen, dishes strewn around in the now full sink. Take out boxes littered around, mail smothering the counters. Boxes of his grandfather's stuff strung around, some items outside of the box, showed that there was once an interest in the items. Laundry basket full, sitting outside of the laundry room, crying to be done. This place was a mess.

No one came over anymore. He had long distanced himself from everyone in his life, and he found it hard to trust in anyone. To trust in relationships. Who was to say that the second he got close to someone, they wouldn’t leave too? Whether it be death or abandonment. He was shortly pulled out of the thundering thoughts in his head when he felt cold wet drips fall onto his foot, “shit!” He yelped out, dropping the water filter pitcher onto the table, the glass had long overfilled itself and began to spill, rolling itself off the counter and onto the floor.

He reached for a nearby, surprisingly clean, washcloth. His watchful eyes watching the way the water was soaked up by the cloth, he hummed in thought. Dropping the towel onto the floor to pick up the remnants of water, getting rid of any trace of a mess, shortly after, tossing it towards that same screaming laundry hamper. 

For a long time, the only reasons he’d leave his house were for volleyball, and his weekly visits to his grandfather's grave. After games, Kageyama would find himself avoiding celebrating with his teammates completely outside of the court, that’s not right. How could Kageyama be cheerful and celebrating one win over a loss that changed life as he knew it, how could he find himself being happy when his number one supporter, his lifeline, wasn’t there to celebrate his wins. 

Sometimes on harder days, or just weeks overall, he’ll find himself going more than once that week, just to talk to him at his grave. It’s well kept, new flowers, any sign of wilting had been discarded. His grave was better preserved than Kageyama himself, and his living spaces. He had truly neglected himself, and continued to put his grandfather first. 

Kageyama was never much of a talker, more of a listener than anything. But suddenly the storm of loss swept him off of his feet, and the person he would always listen to was gone. And now it was his turn to talk, his grandpas turn to listen. And that’s how it will be from now on.

The first few months, Kageyama still found himself searching for him in the crowd. After getting off of a flight, finally coming home after traveling for volleyball, he instinctively pulled up and pulled up his contact, mindlessly looking around while his fingers moved on their own. Glancing down, a frown set in on his face, “right.” He’d mumble quietly, a huff leaving his mouth, and stopped looking. 

He would randomly smell the random staples of his childhood, pure nostalgia flooding his senses. Or randomly catching a whiff of his cologne on a stranger, nearly giving himself whiplash from the turn toward the direction of the scent. 

For a couple weeks after his initial death, he’d be delirious. He suffered in silence from hallucinations, mostly credited to his newly founded lack of sleep. He was scared to sleep, more often than not, every time he woke up, he would remember that his grandpa wasn’t around anymore. He buried himself in volleyball, yet isolated himself at the same time. 

He still lived in the house his grandfather used to live in. It was deafeningly silent. When he passed, so did a part of Kageyama. So did that house, it’s not what it used to be. Denial.

After a little while, his moping shifted to anger. Everything he internalized, became externalized for the worst. He felt like he was his junior high self all over again. He would take all of his frustrations out on other people, which further isolated himself. He was easily irritated. 

He was pulled out of his thoughts by the ding of his phone, his forearms pressed against the cold granite counter, in what little space was on the counter. He grabbed at his phone, seeing a text from the Adlers group chat, Hoshiumi wishing them all a Merry Christmas. He stared at his phone longingly, he had forgotten all about it, not that it mattered. He made a mental note to visit his grandfather's grave later, he had no intention of celebrating the holiday otherwise.

Suddenly his sister texted him, “what are you doing today”, he stared at the notification banner in thought. Their relationship had shifted and texting had become spotty since the death, especially since their argument. He had never apologized for his reaction, or his venomous words that followed it. He felt like he had no reason to, sure some of the things he said came off aggressive, but she was the one that started it, much less on the day of his funeral. She was the one that was saying hurtful things, even if that wasn’t her intention, there was no reason for her to say the things she did, she never apologized either. If she didn’t apologize after all these months of hurting, he didn’t feel the need to either.

He hasn’t seen her since. She’d try to text him, try to invite him to these things, but he felt no need to reciprocate. He gave her the bare minimum, sometimes going as far as not answering her at all and leaving her on read. He chose again not to respond to her text. Turning his phone off, he turned it over onto the counter. 

Walking his way over to the sink, throwing his head back, cup to his mouth, swallowing the rest of the water. As he set the cup in the sink, he drank in the sights of the mess. He had to admit, this was a new low, a new gross for him. He shuffled all of the dishes to one side of the sink and around the counter to the best of his ability so he had a free sink to do what made up a lot of the mess. Letting the slightly hot water run, filling the sink, he pumped some soap along the running water to create bubbles. He snaked his hands to a sponge, grabbing some dishes to soak and getting to work. It’s not like he had anything else to do, any people coming over, but if he was down here already, ignoring the problem any longer would only make it a hassle. Hopefully cleaning the kitchen would distract him, even for a short period. 

He stared at his wrinkled hands above the muddy water in contemplation, dishes clean and put away. He didn’t feel accomplished, not relieved either, like people said he would. He felt the same, like there was a gaping hole pierced through him, not that much has changed, just the house. Just a little bit cleaner, not him, just the house.There was no cleaning this wound like you would a house. There was no fixing it, like you would a house. No changing it either. 

Crouching down where he stood after draining the sink, he ripped a trash bag from the box, it seemed violent almost. Wagging it beside him, filling it with air. He clutched it at his side, now open, he started making his way around the kitchen, any trash finding its new spot in the trash bag. Any mail strewn around, in the bag, he didn’t bother looking at what it might be. Most of it was his grandpas anyway, looking at it meant reminding him of the loss. The reminder of the loss would cause him to stop all that he was doing and stumble his way back to his room permanently for the day. He was in a momentum a part of him didn’t want to stop, simply for the sake of distraction and sake of moving around. 

Standing around like this, despite being an athlete, made his body ache. His bones now felt weak, his joints hurting at every wear and turn. Simply because of his bed rotting, his body alone has changed. The only real reason he was eating barely two meals a day was because more often than not, his teammates would either swing by with food or remind him on off days, some of them stayed and ate with him to both make sure he ate, and made him feel less alone while doing so. During practice, they would bring food and make sure he ate before officially starting practice. He was eternally grateful for them, even if he wasn’t the best at showing it. 

He sauntered his way in and out of his house throwing the trash bags into the larger trash can, which slumped into it, slowly taking up all of its room. He made his way back into the house, a shiver falling down his spine as the warmer enveloped him like a hug, in contrast to the freezing air outside. Passing through the now clean kitchen, to the laundry room, he let out a long sigh at the rather large basket of laundry that direly needed to be done. He scowled, the last laundry bottle that his grandpa had bought was finally starting to come to an end of its supply, another meaning of closure that he wasn’t ready for. Separating the colors from the whites and black, towels from the clothes, jeans from the clothes, he threw in what had the largest pile into the washer, which was the black and white articles. 

In the middle of him dumping the pile, there was a knock at his door, his attention shifting to the doorway of the laundry room behind him. Shrugging it off, he reached for the laundry soap, gripping the cap he struggled to open for just a moment, then carefully measuring the liquid's content into the lid, shortly after dumping it into the washer. He’d have to buy another bottle of laundry detergent soon if he wanted to keep the laundry going. Another knock, harsher this time. “Coming!” he spat out, slamming the washer lid shut, grimly pressing the correct settings and the start button. Any serene feelings and atmosphere that weighed in, gone within a second, snapping out of his almost manic cleaning. 

Mumbling discontentment under his breath while taking his sweet time to walk to the door, with the intention of making them wait enough to want to leave just as much as he did. As opened the door, he was half ass expecting some carolers or someone asking to sign for some random cause that wasn’t relevant to him, but instead, he found his sister, gift in one hand, the other, raised to knock again. Knuckles just inches away from his face. His face contorted in what could best be described in a mix of frustration and confusion, “Why the hell are you here?” 

Her hand dropped to her side, welcoming herself into her old home, ridding herself of her shoes and extra layer of a coat at the entrance, hanging it up. She hummed in a sad sweetness, but she was in much better condition than he was, “Because you wouldn’t answer the phone, so I figured I’d invite myself over, you know, to celebrate Christmas with you since I doubt you’d let anyone over in this state,” she scrutinized, only stopping to look around the living room and kitchen, “place looks shockingly clean, all things considered. At least something is taken care of, surely it isn't you.” 

A twinge of hurt showed on his face, betraying his faux front of nonchalance, “how delightful,” his voice dripped with sarcasm, “if you’re just going to criticize me, you aren’t welcome here.” His voice sharp, and void of any emotion, a stark contrast to his once sarcastic tone. 

Her bright face faltered, “you know that’s not what I meant,” she sighed, “do I?” he cut in. 

“Well a part of me would sure fucking hope so, but I guess not,” her brows furrowed, “someone has certainly changed, but the place looks good, I’m proud of you.” 

“How could I not change? Why didn’t you? You don’t get to just walk into my house, insult me, tell me I’ve changed when grandpa fucking died, then tell me your proud of me,” he sighed in frustration, angrily running his hand through his dark hair, “that’s not fair,” his voice cracked, his pseudo - front he put on wavering, “you’ve been so mean, but it’s so fucking hard to hate you. Hating you would be so much easier when things are like this. But I can’t, because I’m a person too, believe it or not. Everyone else seems to be fine, but this isn’t something I can move on from, he was my soul person, Miwa.” His shoulders slumped, his resolve no longer absolute, but in shambles. 

Miwa set the gift aside onto the nearby couch, with little care, that wasn’t her priority anymore. She rushed him into a bear hug, arms caging his torso, head flush against his chest, hearing his picked up heart rate. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, “I did the same thing on the day of his funeral too, I’m so sorry. I’ve been a shitty older sister in times of need. That day.. I was just telling you what I thought you would need to hear, but really it was just what I needed to hear.” She squeezed him tighter, he did too in turn, “I know how close you two were, and no one moved on from it,” she rubbed his back, soothing him, “I think everyone just thought it would be easier to put on a front and act like they’ve healed, instead of dealing with it together. Maybe that scared you into thinking your feelings weren’t welcome in the family, I’m sorry it’s been so hard. I’m sorry I haven’t said anything, to you or to them, sooner. I should’ve a long time ago.” she choked back a sob now too. 

Kageyama was quiet for a while, relishing in the warmth he hadn't felt in months, not since his last hug with his grandpa. Tears unearthed themselves, “I’m sorry too,” he reluctantly mumbled out, “I should’ve reached out too and shouldn’t have jumped the gun without letting you explain yourself.” She shook her head against his chest, bumping his back with her fist lightly, a way of dismissing it, telling him there was no fault on his side. They stood there for a while, slightly swaying, rubbing each other's backs, quietly crying together. 

After what felt like an eternity, his sister pulled away, reaching up to wipe his tears before wiping her own. “I got you a gift I thought you would appreciate.” she nodded her head toward the gift on the couch, it was wrapped neatly in a wrapping that looked similar to the one their grandpa always used. She made her way to sit next to the gift, gesturing to the empty spot on the other side of it. He somberly followed, taking the seat with the couch sinking into the weight below him. 

She handed him the gift, a proud look on her face, her sad eyes showing hope. He took it, peeling away the exemplary job of wrapping, a crisp tear fizzling out into the atmosphere with a dull buzzing filling their ears. With precise tears, carefully choosing where to pull from, unraveling his gift, his sister sitting with pride, her heart swelling with a healing joy, arms straight, hands on her knees, shoulders bunched up. 

He began to feel a sense of nostalgia, like he’s been in this exact scenario, but he couldn’t place his finger on it. Once calculatingly pulling off the wrapping completely of the only gift, his judging eyes swept over the meticulously crafted gift, a homemade scrapbook from over the years, their grandfather being the highlight of most of them. That’s when it clicked, this was in his dream. The exact scrapbook from his dream, his face dropped and shot to his sister, who then began to look worried, “no fucking way,” he started, “you’re joking.” He sounded so serious, it made anxiety swirl in his sister's stomach. 

“Is it bad? I’m sorry, is it too soon?” she rambled off questions like a freight train, faster than he can respond, but he shortly cut her off with a brief “no!” shaking his head violently before elaborating. 

“I had a dream last night,” he started with a shaky sigh, staring at the book in his hand, “I was 17 and it was Christmas, grandpa was still alive, he gifted me this exact fucking scrapbook.” A look shot between the book and his sister, ultimately landing it on his sister, scanning her face for any sort of reaction. 

Her face cracked a smile, “Tobio is this your way of telling me you’re psychic,” a dramatic gasp leaving her mouth, a hand posed against her chest, “can you tell me if my future boyfriend is hot?” she teased lightly, her shoulder shoving into him, “no, but, I hope you like it, it took ages.”

A fracture of a smile ghosted his face, quickly transitioning into a questioning brow, his face reading a very joking ‘are you serious’, “ugh as if” he joked back, then his face softened, “I couldn’t thank you enough, actually, words can’t express how much I love it, I don’t have a gift for you though.” 

His sister vehemently shook her head, “I don’t want a gift, the best gift I can ask for is you happy, and you taking care of yourself from now on.” Her voice was firm, the older sister mannerisms showing through her words before she pulled him into a hug, “you know, everyone was worried about you. That you might be dead or something,” which let out a breathy laugh from him, “I’ve missed you, don’t think of this as an apology gift, but as a gift from me as your older sister on Christmas. I mean it.”

He nodded at her words, welcoming her embrace, “I wouldn’t think of it that way, ever, I promise. You’ve made this day feel like Christmas, I couldn’t thank you enough, you were always there to make everything feel magical, even when we were younger, you made my childhood, my childhood.” He sighed with relief, “you were always welcome here even if I don’t invite you, it’s not just my home either, it’s yours, grandpas too. I’m sorry,” he said again, sincerity and warmth emanating off his voice, even getting a little shy, “I love you Miwa, thank you again. I plan on visiting his grave later if you’d like to come with.”

Out of pure shock, she pulled away from the hug. The sudden embrace being interrupted made his head spin before he could even realize what he said. Tobio Kageyama had never once said a full I love you to Miwa, much less first. This was new, and she knew she had to relish it, “oh my god, Tobio, you just said I love you first, with an ‘I’,” she looked at him like there were stars in her eyes, “am I dreaming?” 

He shied his eyes away from her analytical, joking look. Maybe if he looked away, it wouldn't be there, but he was sorely mistaken because he could feel the look radiating. A content exhale was heard from her, “I’m kidding, and I’d love to go with,” she reassured, “I love you too, Tobio. Merry Christmas.” 

He smiled lazily, he hadn’t shown this many emotions in a long time and it was tiring now, “Merry Christmas Miwa.”

Maybe there was a chance at cleaning this wound like you would a house. There was fixing it, like you would a house. Changing it too.

[deepdeanvsweston]

ik you’ve mentioned that DSS is your least fav book in the series and i’m wondering what you would change about it?

im not the biggest fan of it either tbh :)

Oh SO many things buckle in team. Ok so roughly in keeping with canon:

- first, Hazel wouldn't mention that Daisy was dead in the first chapter, nor would it mention it on the blurb

- for me it took the shock out of it so much that I wasn't even surprised she came back

- so it would be this secret until. Well. She actually throws herself in and then the Grief Pages

- just as a side note, when I first read the chapters where Hazel was grieving, I remember thinking 'surely Hazel should be sadder?' because emotions always tend to come through really nicely when Robin writes her. I like to think that Hazel was telling herself 'Daisy wouldn't like me moping about and wailing in the casebook about it'

- anyway

- I'm ALWAYS sitting on the fence about whether I like the moment they reveal themselves as detectives/police officers (I can't quite remember what they call themselves)

- first read I hated it I was like 'what are you doing!!!' but on a re-read I did think 'oh this is very fifteen year old behaviour'

- I really enjoyed the 'theyre 1930s teenage girls so have to be covert in their operations' aspect of MMU, so when they did reveal themselves as 'police officers' and were conducting interviews I did miss those vibes

- so I'd possibly change that bit, I'm not sure what to though

- I'd change how the Damina kiss played out

- I think it was too on the fly personally

- I would have written as Daisy goes to Amina's room for something. And then when she comes back, Hazel describes her as pink and distracted and how she keeps touching her lips. And Hazel writes in her casebook how 'Daisy has lipstick on her lips that wasn't there before but knew Daisy wouldn't appreciate her pointing it out' sort of thing

- I'd change nearly the whole ending

- it's always always bugged me (and made me sad if I'm being honest) how everyone was paired up at the end. I've spoken about this before, but just to reiterate, I think it was bad that a series aimed at 9-12 had all the characters pair up at the end of the series, as if all happy endings included a partner, and especially considering the speed at which it was done

- Halexander I get, it'd been building for a while. Damina, for the same reason, though I would have liked more development. But George and Lavinia I actually had to put the book down because I was speechless

- so yeah I'd do away with George and Lavinia completely (apologies George/Lavinia shippers 💔)

- as for Halexander like I said I get it it had been building

- but what I'd have liked to had seen is the bit where George is like 'has Alex really not said anything?' I would have somehow implied that he was being respectful of Hazel's grief, rather than just being nervous to confess

- and then Hazel would go seek him out instead, and ask him, and ofc he'd say yes

- but then Hazel would tell him 'i can't do this, not right now' and I like to think it would be a sweet moment where they agree to be 'friends for the foreseeable future'

- the whole 'Daisy reveal' thing bugs me too, I just didn't enjoy the way it was done. I'm possibly biased and pinning more on these relationships than there actually is, but I think Bertie and Hazel should have got to see Daisy alive together

- No do you know what I just didn't like the way Daisy actually 'died' either. If we're keeping with canon, she had to die because of the Grief Pages, but maybe I would have had Daisy pulled overboard secretly at night without Hazel realising, maybe about halfway through the book (so earlier than in canon)

- and so Hazel still has this glimmer of hope that Daisy is out there and takes charge and perseveres to solve the case with George, Alex and Amina

- which in my professional opinion would have made the 'madam president' and Hazel telling Daisy she made herself president more meaningful

[ghostwise]

ZevWarden Week 2023 - Day 2, Secrets Kept and Told

🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿

Death From Head to Foot :: 721 words tags: guilt, ptsd, canon-typical violence, zevran arainai/male mahariel

It was bound to happen eventually.

Zevran does not know the man, but the man knows him, and that is his own error. An Antivan Crow never blows his cover. A Crow should strike from the shadows, vanishing after a swift and lethal blow with none the wiser. No witnesses. But here he is, and here the grieving stranger, bent on his destruction.

Had he not come to this city, Zevran would have never known that this particular iteration of Vengeance stalked the world, with his name upon its lips.

Worse still, Hamal meets his would be assailant first.

Damn it all.

"Do you regret his death?" Hamal asks him, days after the fact.

An easy question. Zevran is alive and his attacker is dead. The Warden is safe and unharmed. All should be well. And yet…

Zevran gives a terse shake of his head. "It was him or me. And you were quicker in dispatching him than I would have been."

Hamal observes him for a moment. "What's wrong?"

He doesn't immediately reply.

It's true that the incident bothers him still. It does him no good to brood over it, however; he should have put it from his mind straight away. Such childish moping helps no one. Now Hamal is concerned, and Zevran knows better than to try to insist everything's fine.

Experience has taught both of them how to navigate these fraught moments of conversation. So he gives.

"It was his right," he says sharply. "I killed someone dear to him. He reacted accordingly."

"As did I," Hamal returns, carefully.

"I know that," Zevran says. "Thank you, by the way."

Hamal's brow furrows. "Creators, now I am worried. Zevran, what's the matter?"

"It is going to happen again."

In the resulting silence, Zevran lets out a sigh, and explains.

"In all of our travels together," Zevran gestures in a wide arc at their surroundings, "How many times do you think we have passed through a city or town where I have killed someone? In truth, it happens more often than I care to comment on."

Hamal hesitates before answering. "This troubles you."

"No, in fact," Zevran replies. "What troubles me is that you cannot understand how much I am guilty of. Not because I would ever keep it from you—but because if I listed off my every sin we would never have time to discuss anything else! And then things like this happen without warning, and it—damn it all. How can I expect you to answer for so much?"

Perhaps it is a testament to how long they have been together, that Zevran no longer glosses over his emotions, his anger, his sadness. He doesn't need to. Not with him.

Hamal looks away for a moment. Through the muddle, it clicks.

"You wanted to kill him yourself," he says gently.

"I was the target. I should have handled it."

"How is this different from any other time you have killed to protect me? Or I you, for that matter?"

The question knocks a bitter laugh out of Zevran. He looks away. Worse still, he realizes that Hamal is right; this was different. And now Zevran can only remember every stupid, cruel decision he made when he was an angry and lost young man.

It had not been a contracted killing.

It had been a simple murder. A common fight gone wrong, bravado and his cunning Taliesen egging him on. A version of himself Zevran cannot think about without his stomach turning. No wonder the man had been so bent on killing him. No wonder.

"Shit," Hamal murmurs, and sets a warm hand on his shoulder. "Zev, you do not need to talk about it if you do not want to. I don't mean to pry. Just tell me what I can do to help you right now."

In an instant, the feeling swells and fades. Zevran shuts his eyes. His shoulders slump minutely; he is grateful for the escape.

"Just… forget I said anything," he says. "Please, amor, forgive my bad mood. I will be fine. Really."

And I will tell you later, he thinks, as Hamal gives him a reassuring squeeze, what a horror it is you have married; and you will love me all the same, I know; and I you, more and more all the time…

[professional-bulshitter]

palm springs starring Andy Samberg and Cristin milioti is such a great movie example of,

she's everything. he's just Ken.

and, and hits just the right spot between barbie (the movie by Greta gerwig) and Good Omens (the queer angel demon book turned show) (if this doesn't makes sense rn gimne a min I'll explain,,,

so this man (Nyles) has been stuck in a time loop for the longest time ever and he just takes it yk? like he's having a shitty ass life rn,, he makes a friend who wants to kill him, his gf is cheating on him, he's stuck on the day of the marriage of two people he doesn't particularly care or like and he's just having a bad time overall yk?? so he's just accepting of his fate and is just accepting of the sheer hopelessness of life and meaninglessness of his every action

and then, and then, comes our main female protagonist (Sarah) who's dealing with the consequences of her shitty choices, she's absolutely miserable at her own sister's wedding because she's slept with her fiance and she's considered a fuck up by everyone and her past is just fucking her up constantly and all that right?? and suddenly she mistakenly becomes a part of the time loop and now he has another person with him, she's not lonely anymore but she wants to escape it and they're having fun, feeling nice together and all that, and then she finds that the other mc lied to her and it's devastating ofc it is

and the way they behave is what I'm talking about concerning barbie and ken,,, because as soon as she leaves, the man Nyles is inconsolable, he tries to find her, goes mad doing everything in his capacity to find her, tries ways to kill himself just to find her again and that's it?? cause he's sorta grieving what they could've been and how he fucked up and all that,,,

but her, she goes and learns physics. like tf? every time the loop resets, she goes and sits at a cafe and learns quantum physics and figures a way out and experiments her way through it (is it a little convenient and far fetched that she could learn it this easily? with no previous background in it or anything else we know of? ofc yes? but is the suspension of disbelief similar to that in a barbie movie?? yk the answer is a yes 🤷‍♀️) and then she comes back with a way to get them both out of the situation that they are technically in because of him while he mopes around in the background waiting for her

the good omens thingy is the one that happens in the ending of season 2 wherein both Aziraphale and Crowley want to be together, but the way and the place they want to do it at is very different (gross simplification but essentially),,, and in palm springs (a movie that I watched for funsies and wasn't supposed to write this about) they both are essentially in a similar situation with Nyles wanting to be together w her but in the loop while she wants them to get out of it together and figure it out yk,,, it's also a nicer version of that conflict as they do end up agreeing on doing one of these things together rather than seperating (temporarily but still,, unlike some celestial beings 👀)

and yeah. that's it ig

PS,,, ik I'm talking about three movies here to get the full context of this but like it fits?! and I can't help it. (emphatic period and not an exclamation mark because I'm not desperate)

PPS,,, side note I feel so sad for tala (Camila mendes's character because she's like the only not shitty(ish) character out of all of them who ends up being married to a mf cheater who cheated on her a day before their wedding with! HER! FUCKING! SISTER! (AGAIN A DAY BEFORE THEIR WEDDING!)

PPPS,,, that's just the way I understand it and all of these movies together but yea,,, also it's fun to see men being 'rescued' and essentially just existing characters in place of women (but that could be just me 🤷‍♀️)