#i might be able to have them just let me come in later

[alchemistc]

The voice echoes. He's coming in and out of it, desperate to open his eyes, desperate to make sure he can actually feel all his fingers and toes, but it's hard.

He knows that voice though. He knows he does.

The building hadn't been as stable as they thought it was. Probably in the investigation later on they'll discover building codes not up to standard, faulty evacuation plans. He got the kid out, though. He knows he got the kid out.

Eddie too, he's pretty sure.

".. uck!" The voice yells. It's kind of funny, he thinks to himself, as he can feel the strings of consciousness slipping, how much his name sounds like a curse when you're having a hard time keeping things straight. And then everything fades to black.

---

---

"Buck, please. Just wake up."

He wants to, is the thing. It's not like he's not trying, he wants to tell the voice, wants to be a little petulant about it too. That feels like the right attitude to have, for some reason.

It's hard to breathe. Might be something has him pinned. He'd seen beams falling, he's pretty sure.

"Goddamnit!" the voice yells, and Buck strains to remember. "I can't move this fucking thing unless you're able to get out from under it on your own, so wake the hell up. C'mon. Give me something to work with."

Buck wiggles a toe. Fucking ow.

Fingers, next, and that - that's a whole new ballgame of pain, but holy shit he can feel it all. Jesus Christ it hurts.

"For fucks sake, Evan, I'll take anything, at this point. Please."

Buck's lips suddenly feel a lot less numb. He does know that voice.

Hasn't heard it in three weeks, except for on the voicemail he'd left three months ago complaining about downtown parking for the hundredth time and letting Buck know he was gonna circle the block again, but -

"T- Tommy?"

Buck blinks his eyes open just in time to see Tommy drop to his knees near Buck's head, a relief filled sob echoing around the space. Buck takes the opportunity to stare.

"Hey," Tommy says, breathless, the corners of his eyes wet, his turnouts fully covered in dusty debris. It's an achingly familiar sight, even if he's significantly less sooty than the last time.

"You swear a lot more on the job," Buck notes, and Tommy bites out a desperate laugh, slipping a hand from a glove to reach for Buck's cheek.

"How are you feeling?" Tommy asks, and Buck crinkles his nose, widens his eyes. He laughs again, and Buck - God Buck has missed this but he's still having trouble taking in a full breath and - Tommy pulls a hand away from Buck's neck. "Your pulse is steady. Elevated, but you should be - can you wiggle fingers and toes?'

"Hurts like hell, but yeah."

"Well. A building just fell on you. So that tracks."

Buck takes stock of himself, even though he feels goddamn miserable taking his eyes away from Tommy.

Sure enough, there's a beam barred low across his chest. Definitely at least bruised ribs, if not broken ones. He can't see much over it, but it feels like he's got full, painful movement in his legs. "Tommy, I think my halligan's pinned with me."

He snorts. There's nothing funny about this, but Buck finds himself snorting back, the two of them bouncing off each other until Buck eventually winces at the pressure and Tommy gets himself under control. He's fully crying now, wet fat tears streaked through the dust on his face. "Thank fuck I am also a firefighter," Tommy says, and Buck prepares himself for the moment Tommy gets the tool under the beam at the right angle to lift. "How's your pain?" Tommy asks, when he's situated.

"On a scale from ladder pinning my ankle to lightning strike?"

Tommy scowls.

"I'll be able to move if you make room. If that's what you're asking."

Tommy eyes the space. The beam. The settling dust and the only real angle he's got with enough leverage to make space for Buck to slide himself free. He won't be able to help Buck pull himself out. "The moment you have an inch you move backward as fast as you can. There's at least two yards of clearance behind you, and I'm not dropping this thing on your fucking head by accident."

Buck nods.

Tommy grabs his chin. "Verbal confirmation, Evan," he demands, suddenly so serious Buck has to swallow back a bratty retort.

"One inch, pull myself backwards."

Tommy nods. Situates his hands. "Good." And then before Buck can brace for the pain he's lifting the beam.

It's fast. So fast Buck doesn't have time to scream, or listen to the signals from his brain telling him he's fucking dying. Tommy lifts, Buck scrambles, and he has just enough room to clear his legs before rubble shifts to their left and Tommy's dropping the halligan to roll his entire body over Buck's.

A few broken pieces of concrete roll to a stop before they reach the two of them, and Buck beams up at Tommy. "Little bit of an overreaction, don't you think?"

Tommy settles his weight. Tips his chin so that he can see Buck beyond his visor. "I feel like maybe you aren't taking this as seriously as you should."

Buck shoves a shoulder against Tommy's weight, and he rolls right off, lays side to side with Buck while they both catch their breath. It's such a fucking familiar position that Buck fails to stifle a laugh.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, when he's calmed down enough that Tommy has stopped asking him concussion protocol questions.

Tommy sighs. Turns to his side, and Buck knows this position, too. They never did it in turnouts, though. "They grounded us an hour before the collapse."

"I heard," Buck presses. "I also heard the 217 was working fire suppression on the perimeter."

Tommy looks guilty. He rolls his neck, reaches out under the guise of checking Buck's pulse again.

Buck doesn't stop him.

"Yeah I might be fired," he says, and then shrugs a shoulder. "They called for full evac and when Eddie came out with that kid but you didn't -."

Buck feels a little breathless again. He almost asks Tommy how much he's got in his tank - Bucks's ran out a while ago. But they seem - pretty firmly trapped. Buck can't see an exit point, and he's almost positive there's not enough room for both of them to stand at the same time. They'll need that oxygen. "You came after me?"

Tommy sighs. Seems satisfied that Buck's heart is still doing what it's supposed to, and that he's not leaking internally. When he shifts his hand, it's not away - callused hands catch the underside of Buck's chin, fingers curl over his cheek. "I'd tell you not to read into it, but..."

Buck's breath catches. He holds it. There's - he has no idea how much air they have. They don't have time (or enough air, maybe) for Buck to lean up and kiss him. "Tommy."

"We'll talk about it when we're both safely out of here and bundled in our shiny blankets. If the 118 doesn't kill me first."

"What...?" Buck doesn't know what that means. They did everything they could to convince him not to reach out but they also weren't, like, calling for his head. He wants to know what it means. Tommy's brow goes up.

He shifts to his knees, holds out a hand. "Help me look around. See if we can find an air pocket."

He helps Buck to a kneel of his own like it's nothing, and despite the creaks and groans and the sting of sore muscles, Buck doesn't think there's anything permanently damaged. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It'll keep, Evan."

More than anything, Buck wants to call him out on that. The implication that Tommy knows more about the 118's current feelings on Tommy than Buck does. His name, suddenly back in play like Tommy hadn't used the lack of it to dig the knife in.

Buck shifts his weight and checks for his flashlight. Aims up, first, as high as the beam of light will go. There's really not much room in this little pocket of space.

He can hear Tommy shifting on his knees behind him. They need to be smart. Conserve air, conserve energy. Buck had been near a sidewall when the building came down, but who knows how long it'll take for the building to be stable enough to attempt a rescue. Maybe they're still gonna die in here, after all.

God, he doesn't want Tommy to die.

"Back to Evan, I noticed," Buck comments, doing a terrible job of not sounding eager, and he can hear the heaving breath Tommy takes, the way the shift of his body just pauses.

"The thing is, the moment I realized I might not have any more time, all I wanted was another five minutes. Just to hear you breathe. See your face. You wouldn't even have to know I'd done it, just -." He sucks a breath in through his nose. "I just realized the pain is still worth it."

That spurs Buck into action, because - because they're not gonna die - not here, not now, not for as many years as Buck can squeeze out of this life. He shifts. He pokes. He checks for light beyond the pockets between rubble. He takes even, measured breaths around the rapidly tightening muscles around his ribs and the moment he feels a draft he almost cries.

"Tommy!"

He turns to catch his eye, thrilled, ready to drag him over and -

"Tommy?"

He's slumped on his side. And - and god damnit, Buck is so fucking stupid, he should have checked Tommy too, should have known if he was hurt he'd hide it like the massive asshole he is.

There's nothing obvious until Buck pulls at his turnouts, and then he has to hold in a scream so he doesn't bring the rest of the place down on them.

---

---

The paramedics don't fight him when he shoves his way into the ambulance behind them. No one does, not as he's shoving Hen and Chim away from him while they desperately try to check his vitals, not when Eddie takes one look at the rebar sticking through Tommy's side and his face goes fucking white.

He crashes twice on the way to the hospital.

---

---

Buck comes to slowly, and is immediately pissed, because he's in a fucking hospital bed.

Eddie leans over him when he sits up. "Take a second, man."

"Did you drug me?"

The eyebrow raise is a little condescending. "You passed the fuck out in the middle of the waiting room when they told us Tommy's surgery went well."

Well that's - that's - oh God, Tommy's okay. He remembers now. Tommy pulled through. Tommy was out of surgery and they were setting him up in a room and it'd be a while before he woke up but he was -

"I wanna see him."

Eddie chuckles, and Buck seriously considers throwing something at him, but before he can find something to toss Eddie's leaning sideways in his seat to pull the curtain divider away. "Even the nurses were taking bets that you'd kill a man if they put you in separate rooms."

He'll have to thank Gina later.

Tommy's still asleep. In repose, he breathes deep and even, eyes fluttering behind his lids, and Buck remembers what an active fucking sleeper he is, how much it had infuriated him that Tommy could never remember his dreams. God.

He's bruised around the eyes, there's a clean shave on the side of his head where he'd taken falling rubble in his mad dash past the kid Buck had sent ahead of him. The hospital gown looks so stupid on him.

Buck glares when Eddie tries to wrangle him back under his thin blanket - swings his legs over the side and tries not to wince when he puts his weight down and feels exactly how fucked up his ribs are. The bindings are tight. He's gonna need help rewrapping them.

"Tommy said something about you guys wanting to kill him. Know anything about that?"

It's a little accusatory. A lot, actually. Eddie sighs. "He tried to bring your shit by the station a week later when he knew you were off shift. Chim and Hen weren't, uh ... particularly nice about it."

Buck blinks. He still hasn't gotten any of that back.

"So he just ...took it back? Didn't leave it behind?"

"Oh he took about fifteen minutes of having his head bit off and then grabbed the box and shoved it back in his bed before he left."

Despite how absolutely ridiculous that all sounds, it makes something sizzle under his skin. If it was all just adrenaline, all just heat of the moment panic, Tommy would have left that box anyway.

They know so much and still so little about each other.

He's pretty sure he might actually get the chance to know more now. Even if he has to pry it from Tommy piece by piece for another decade or five.

Buck shoves that thought right down and gives himself the next two days to think about.

"And what'd you do, while they were berating him?"

"Oh, I threw like three loaves of bread in there with your stuff while he wasn't looking."

"You gave him my moping bread?"

"Two of the sourdoughs and an Irish soda bread."

"What if he didn't open the box back up?"

Eddie shrugs. "I hedged my bets. Either he opened that box back up to do his own moping or eventually there'd be some moldy ass bread in there."

"I hate raisins, by the way," comes the croaky voice to Buck's left, and Buck doesn't hesitate to wheel his saline bag the extra foot to reach the bedside. Buck knows that already. He'd made the soda bread out of spite, at three in the morning when he realized the second pillow still smelled like Tommy's shampoo and he'd remembered the almost-argument they'd had about wet hair on the pillows.

Tommy's hand meets Buck's halfway, and his smile is tired and magnificent.

Eddie smirks. "So you opened the box, then."

Tommy doesn't look away from Buck. His fingers squeeze. "I opened the box."

"Eddie, I need you to go distract Gina for like, three and a half minutes."

"...I know I'm going to regret asking," Eddie says.

"Tommy's hooked up to a bunch of monitors that are gonna make some extra noise in a second here, and they've already seen us making out in this hospital, they don't need to be alerted to another free show."

Eddie's out of his seat immediately, and halfway out the door when he turns back. "Just so we're all on the same page, this is not me encouraging this. You two are just walking talking piles of trauma and you can't just kiss about it and suddenly everything is fine."

Buck can taste the bitchy comment on the tip of Tommy's tongue. He squeezes Tommy's fingers and counts himself lucky when all Tommy does is make a dismissive noise in the back of his throat.

It's not like Eddie's wrong.

The door clicks shut behind him.

---

---

Tommy sets aside a third jello cup and stares at the cards in his hand. He glances through his lashes as he sets two cards down on the pile. "Two sevens."

"Bullshit."

His eyes gleam with challenge as he flips them both over and Buck has to take another loss. He doesn't care, is the thing. He'll happily lose at cards to Tommy for the next -

Six months is a reasonable length of time, probably. They've hit that mark once before.

Tommy shifts his weight, grimaces, and Buck is on his feet in a heartbeat. "You need another pillow? Change the angle of the bed?"

He laughs, soft and warm, rolls his eyes. "That joke I made about you guys needing your own ward? You may not have it named after you, but it's practically the Ritz around here. All the nurses have come by like six times just to see if I needed my pillow fluffed. I'm good, Evan." Buck settles back into his seat. "I just have a hole the size of a boba straw in my side."

"It was significantly wider than a boba straw."

"Could still suck a tapioca pearl through it," Tommy reminds him, almost petulantly. It's been a treat discovering that Tommy can throw it back almost as well as Buck when he's ornery about being bedridden for a full two days.

Buck finishes rearranging his cards. Grabs three random ones and sets them atop the pile. "Three eights."

Tommy stares at his cards. Glances up at Buck. Turns his gaze to his cards one more time.

"One nine," he declares, and Buck doesn't even complain that he'd fully let him off the hook there.

---

---

Tommy is actually the worst patient in the world. They have to have Eddie over to wrap Buck's ribs for at least a week, and Tommy refused to take any pain meds home with him, and every morning when Buck fusses with the dressings on Tommy's side Tommy stares in the mirror and complains that the scar isn't even symmetrical to the one on his ribs. Buck spends twenty minutes reminding him he'd have a punctured lung, if that was the case, and that seems to shut him up for a little while, at least.

"Hey," Tommy says, on day eleven, when Buck leans over him on the sofa to say goodbye and head back to the loft. Tommy's fine, really. He needs rest and leaving for the night isn't going to kill either one of them. Still, he tugs at Buck's belt loops until Buck allows a knee to bend and press into the cushion beside him. "This is not me asking you to move in with me."

"What -?"

Tommy presses something into his hand. It's warm, like Tommy's been smoothing it in his palm for a while, grooved along the edge facing Buck's fingers. "Yet," he says, softer than before, watching Buck palm it with a smile that Buck is beginning to fully understand the implications of.

It's a key.

Buck blinks. The years stretch ahead of him. Grumpy grizzled Tommy bitching about the towel rack having too many wet towels on it. Silver fox Tommy grinning over some flirty kids head at Buck as he tries to make it back to the booth they got to the bar early to camp at. Tommy, tomorrow, fondly annoyed when Buck confesses he can't watch another true crime documentary or it'll actually kill him.

"I love you," Buck blurts, and feels like crying when Tommy tugs him close for a kiss.

[latenightreadingpdf]

Knock on the Door - Spencer Reid

₊‧⁺˖⋆ Masterlist ⋆˖⁺‧₊

Summary: In the midst of an intense investigation, Spencer and Derek bring you into protective custody after a disturbing discovery links you to their case. As you navigate the unexpected situation, Spencer’s calm presence offers reassurance, sparking an unexpected connection amid the chaos.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

The quiet street was a far cry from the usual high-stakes BAU scene, but the tension in the air made Spencer’s skin prickle with unease. He glanced at Derek, who was already preparing to knock on another door, exuding his usual calm confidence.

"This one could be a lead," Derek muttered, showing a slight glint of hope in his eyes as he raised his hand to knock. The case had been dragging on, and frustration was growing with each unanswered question.

When the door opened, Spencer noted the faint hint of confusion in your expression. Derek immediately flashed his badge, his tone respectful but firm. "Ma’am, I'm Agent Derek Morgan. This is my colleague, Dr. Spencer Reid. We’re with the FBI."

Your eyes darted between the two of them, registering the serious expressions they wore. "The FBI? What's going on?"

"Have you had any strangers come to your door recently trying to sell you something?"

A flicker of recognition passed over your face, and Spencer leaned in, catching the shift. "Actually, yes,” you said, brows furrowing. “A guy came by yesterday… He gave me his card.”

Spencer and Derek shared a look. "Do you still have that card?" Spencer asked, trying to keep the urgency out of his voice.

"Yeah, I think so. Let me grab it." You turned back into the house, leaving the door partially open, and returned a moment later with a card in hand. As Derek took it from you, he confirmed with a nod that it matched the cards left at the other crime scenes.

You looked between them, anxiety creeping into your voice. "What is going on? Who is this guy?"

Spencer’s voice softened, his gaze meeting yours directly. "We believe he's a dangerous criminal who may be responsible for several recent homicides. His method involves gaining entry to homes under false pretenses."

Your face paled as the weight of his words sank in. Derek placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "We need to take you back to the station to make sure you’re safe. There are some steps we’d like to take to ensure you’re protected while we gather more information."

"Safe? Is he going to try and kill me?"

Derek’s expression turned serious. "We have reason to believe he might try to come back, and it’s important we get ahead of him."

A sense of dread settled over you as you let their words sink in. You followed them to the car, feeling your stomach twist with a mix of fear and disbelief. As you settled into the backseat, Spencer turned to give you a reassuring nod.

“Just so you know,” he began, his tone gentle, “we’ll have officers posted near your home to ensure he doesn’t have the chance to get in. We’re taking every precaution.”

“Thanks,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just… a lot.”

“Understandable,” Spencer said, glancing at you with a sympathetic look. “We’ll also have you meet with a sketch artist and undergo a cognitive interview. It’s standard procedure, and it might help us learn more about him.”

You looked out the window, processing the reality of the situation. The quiet chatter between Derek and Spencer drifted over you as they discussed possible motives, patterns, and theories. But for now, you were too lost in your own thoughts to make out their words.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

When you arrived at the station, Spencer took a moment to walk you through the cognitive interview process. "It’s designed to help you remember specific details," he explained, his voice calm and assuring. "It might feel intense, but I’ll be with you the whole time."

You nodded, glancing around the bustling police station, feeling a strange mix of curiosity and adrenaline. "Okay, so… I just answer questions, and you’ll be able to get a clearer picture of this guy?"

Spencer gave you a small smile. "Pretty much. Think of it as helping us paint a portrait. Every detail, no matter how small, could be useful."

The interview went smoothly; Spencer’s presence was patient and encouraging, never making you feel pressured to remember something you couldn’t. Afterward, he led you to a small break room, offering you a seat at a worn table with a coffee machine humming nearby.

A few minutes later, Spencer returned with two steaming cups, handing one to you. "Here," he said, "it's not gourmet, but it’ll keep us awake."

You took it gratefully, feeling a sense of normalcy settle in. "Thanks, Spencer." You sipped the coffee, savoring the warmth. "I didn’t expect to spend my afternoon in an FBI station, but… it’s definitely more interesting than my usual routine."

Spencer chuckled, seeming surprised by your laid-back attitude. "Most people aren’t as calm in situations like this."

You shrugged, feeling the weight of the situation but refusing to let it get the best of you. "I don’t know. I figure, if I’m in good hands, there’s no point in freaking out."

As you chatted, Spencer filled you in on some of the behavioral profiling techniques they used, giving you a peek into the mind of the BAU. His eyes lit up as he explained the ways they’d been analyzing the unsub’s behavior to find any possible patterns, and you found yourself genuinely interested, asking questions and absorbing his answers.

"Do you ever wonder why people do these things?" you asked thoughtfully, watching him as he considered your question.

"All the time," Spencer replied, his voice softening as he looked down at his coffee. "But there’s rarely a straightforward answer. The best we can do is study the behaviors and try to make sense of them. Hopefully, it helps us stop them."

A sense of respect grew in you as he spoke, and you found yourself admiring the dedication he had for his work. "That sounds exhausting. Important, but exhausting."

"It can be," he admitted, his gaze meeting yours. "But it’s worth it, especially when it means keeping someone safe. Like now."

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you at his sincerity. "Well, I guess I’m lucky you guys were around."

The door to the break room opened, and Derek poked his head in, giving Spencer a grin. "You two doing all right in here?"

Spencer nodded, standing up to update Derek on the details you’d given during the interview. As they talked, you finished your coffee, feeling a strange sense of calm despite the unusual circumstances.

When Derek turned his attention to you, his gaze softened. "We’re going to have a team set up around your house tonight, keeping a close eye on things. We’ll catch this guy if he shows up."

You nodded, feeling reassured. "Thanks, Agent Morgan. I know you guys are handling it, so I’ll let you do your thing."

Spencer glanced back at you with a small smile. "If you need anything, or have more questions, just let me know."

As they walked you to the main desk, Spencer looked back, his gaze soft. "We'll keep you safe," he assured you once more, his sincerity unmistakable. "Until then, try not to worry. We’re on it."

A small smile tugged at your lips as you nodded. "I trust you," you replied, giving them one last grateful look before they escorted you to a waiting area. And as you waited, you felt a sense of calm, knowing you weren’t facing this alone.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

[stalkedbytrains]

It wasn't a bad accident. Well, it was, but it also wasn't. You are able to walk away from it. But your car is pretty wrecked. The right front wheel is bent, which you didn't think could happen and yet here it is at a 30 degree angle.

It was the other driver's fault so your insurance will cover it.

Convenient.

You pull out for phone, which survived untouched, and texted your date.

"Sorry, have to cancel, got into a car accident. I'm fine call later"

"do you needa ofrhgdsaofgh" came the reply.

Well that was odd. But the paramedics are still insisting that they take you in to run some diagnostic tests because internal bleeding is a thing.

You decide that it was easier to just go with them rather than fight it. You get the information of the company that is being called to tow your car and head off to the hospital in the ambulance.

The hospital is fine, you actually manage to get through everything pretty quickly.

Convenient.

There's an extremely cute tech who is helping you through the imaging process when a pair of police officers come into the room.

They say your name and when you respond, you ask, "Is this about the accident? I thought I went through everything with the officers there."

"What accident?" they ask.

"I got into a car accident on my way to my date."

"Oh, really? So you were going to meet Dale Andrews?"

"Yeah, we went out a couple of times, he seemed really nice," you say. "He asked me over for dinner and a movie. I think he wanted to watch something scary, like Seven."

"We have some more questions for you about Mister Andrews."

"Why?"

"He was just arrested for a series of murders and we think you might have been his next victim."

"Huh." Convenient.

"We'll let you finish up here," the cops say. "When you're done, if you have the time we would love to have a longer discussion."

The cops leave and let you get your tests. Everything appears clear.

"What a day you're having," the tech says.

"Yeah, what a day. I can use a drink. Or several."

The very cute tech says, "Well if you need someone to drink with, here's my number."

Convenient.

if you like this i have a kofi where you can give me some support

You were born with the power of convenience, everything is convenient for you. Always a full cellphone bar. Never hitting a red light. Everyone being more late then you so no one can complain about you being late. One day, you were driving to meet a date. Until you got into a car crash

[fishnapple]

How they proclaim their love for you

(lover/partner/future spouse)

This reading is about how the person you have in mind would proclaim their love for you. You can consider these as their mini love affirmations

Disclaimer : cheesy edition

This is a general reading meant for multiple people. Take only what resonates and leave out the rest.

Your feedback is much appreciated. If you find the reading resonated with you, leave a comment, I’d love to know 🎐

About me | Masterpost Book a reading with me - KO-FI (Read this post : personal reading)

CUBE 1

• Let's take all our time in this world. There's no need to rush. Time? It might not even exist for us. We have escaped time.

• You sent an electric shock down to my core and I still find myself standing. Stronger than ever. Like a machine getting its fuel.

• Our language is of moonlight, fluttering wings, laughter of the stream, cloudy scents of flesh.

• Our lips kiss through the air with words.

• Actions speak louder and we are loud in our actions.

• My mind is spinning, soaring then diving, goes a hundred miles around then comes back, struggling to take you all in.

• This dark corner is our playground.

• I'm in hardworking mode when it comes to our connection. I have lofty goals. Let's work hard together.

• We look like kids when we're out into the outside world together. People ask whether we are friends? We are best friends, whether we are lovers? We are best lovers, whether we're having fun? Nothing is more fun and more serious.

• I have fears, but when I open my mouth, I don't let them escape. But you helped them get out. Is this a prison break for them or for me?

• My mind keeps going back and forth from past to future and you're there, in all of them.

CUBE 2

• Here, take my money. What's mine is yours.

• Do you know the plot where one character is thrown into a dire situation, and somehow, the other one character will come to their rescue. That's me, I'm the one rescued, by you.

• After winter is spring, time goes on, seasons change, I have you with me to witness that together.

• I've become greedy. Wanting to possess every minuscule expression of yours. If I would just freeze them in time.

• Do you see those wild beasts outside the window? And here we are, snuggle comfortably in our home, safely. The light of our home attracted those beasts, they're outside, cold and hungry. Our home will welcome them, but they won't be able to come in as their old shells. They will come in as happiness, transformed.

• I fall in love fast and then I keep it slow.

• I love giving you a bath, bubbling up your hair, seeing water running on your skin then later drying your hair for you and smelling the fresh shampoo scent. Aromatherapy at its finest.

• There's this need growing in me, and I can feel it growing in you too, we share some parts of ourselves with each other. This need is big, it's overwhelming, it makes my heart feel a tugging pain, it animates my body, giving me energy. It's the need to be, to stay alive, so that I can be together with you.

• I know all the right words yet feel like a fool with you.

• I imagine myself a parent, coming home to see our kids fighting, then I will act as a mediator, coming in to lecture them. I look forward to this scenario more than the promotions of my career. Biggest achievement.

• Thank you for letting me love you.

CUBE 3

• Loving you feels like second nature for me, something I've done so many times already, everything in me just do it automatically.

• We definitely have met before. Did we share past lives together? You look so familiar, like the ghost in my dreams, the daydreams in my head, the face of a character in those novels I read.

• My soul is a trapped pool, I would use my bare hand to scoop out all the dirt and monsters from it, take a cupful of water, boil it over and over again until it transparently pure, keep it warm or ice it the way you like then present it to you.

• I stand firm on this earth, confident that I have someone to come back to.

• Our hearth is the most sacred place to me. I would put offering before it, just like how people of bygone days worshipped at the god altar.

• I will keep it warm and nourishing for you.

• Never fear.

• Our lifetime together will blink by so fast, I'm already missing it. But have no fear, it won't end.

• We navigate this path so well that we're definitely professional travellers.

• Change of places, change of jobs? Doesn't matter, I can go along with everything, as long as there's no change of hearts.

• We've travelled from faraway lands to each other and we will continue to travel together.

• I wish you could read my mind and feel my heart, and I could do the same for yours, it would save a lot of time and misunderstanding.

• This is just the beginning.

CUBE 4

• I will tell you "I love you" everyday. Make that a checklist.

• If you and I went to the same school, you would be my high-school sweetheart, the one that I would secretly gush about in little notes, the one that I would absentmindedly draw a heart next to your name.

• Even if we were continents apart, I still feel you next to me, every waking moment and every sleepy dream.

• You fill my throat with sweet sweet love dripping down so much I feel like I can't breathe.

• I love you.

• I can't speak! Tongue tied. Unlock me. But then, if the door is open, I'm too shy to step out.

• In sickness and in health.

• I feel a part of myself went missing whenever you're not here.

• Your pain makes me bleed.

• This is new to me, I don't know what to do. Help me, teacher.

• I probably have a malfunction somewhere in the system to be acting like this. What have you done?

• You are love personified.

• Life has been good since you came to me. But it also has been exceptionally difficult for me to stay alone.

• I have imagined countless times how you would hold my younger self in your arms and feel soothed by them. I may not get to feel it in the past, but I will feel it now, for my past self, my present self and my future self.

[lostintransist]

Fallen Angel | Really? You'll Wear It?

Sitting at the kitchen table to do your makeup had turned out to be the easiest option. Johnny had popped by earlier in the day while Simon ran some of his errands. He would follow you from room to room as he chatted at you. You could almost bet that his words got trapped when he was on a job and he needed to let them all out.

Johnny had flopped onto your bed, messing with your neatly placed stuffies and made bed, while you changed into the dress hanging on your door. Gary had asked you to dinner and sent a gorgeous velvety dress. They had started doing that, asking you on dates. You wondered, as you stepped into the dress, if they talked about it. No one ever asked you out when you already had a date planned. The dress hit your thighs and stalled. Cursing you stepped out of it and pulled it on over your head.

Johnny had started to toss one of your small stuffies above his head.

"My mam has started to try and set me up with a local girl and won't listen when I tell her that no woman in her right mind would put up with my schedule. When she tries to argue and when I point out that a woman out of her mind would be a worse option than no woman at all she just shakes her finger at me and sends me off to deliver her sweets to whoever she is trying to see me up with."

"Next time tell her you're into men and that might shut her up. Now can you come zip me up?"

He popped up, a body shaped dent in your previously flat blanket. He notices the face you pull at it.

"Ah, sorry bonnie. I'll fix it. Now give us a spin," he spins a finger in a circle. "Though you might be onto something about me mam."

He pulls the zipper with expert ease.

"You might have to bring a man home to truly sell it though," you muse. Matriarch MacTavish had a hankering for all her children to be wed, fed, and steady on in producing her grandchildren.

Dress situation handled, you start gathering your mirror and makeup.

"I could take you home?" He joked as he fixed your bed to look just as good as before.

"I don't dare risk your mam's ire when we "break up" because you found someone you actually want," you roll your eyes and head to the kitchen. "Why not ask Simon? I doubt your mam will question him if you're actually dating."

"You don't know that she won't," he mutters as he follows.

Johnny is uncharacteristically quiet as he settles in next to you at the table. He slumps forward, head resting on his upper arm as he plays with the earring dangling from your ear.

Noticing the silence from your constant motion friend you let it ride. His hand stays where it could reach the earring even as you turn your head to and fro in the mirror.

When his question comes it is quiet, contemplative. "What makes you think I don't want you?"

You study your eyelashes instead of looking at him. "You're one of the most sexual people I know Johnny, I would never be able to satisfy that need for you."

He hums deep in his throat in response, letting the topic die. His eyes scratch lines in your skin. He speaks again when you are adding the final touches to your lips.

"Why do you wear these earrings so often?"

"They were a gift from Gary." The question in his tone clicked in your brain. "If you gifted me jewelry I would wear it too."

He sat up now, eyes bright as a pup who heard the word walk.

"Really? And if I made it?"

You glance at him with a smile, "Even better."

Eyes bright he leans in for a kiss, ruining your lipstick, before bouncing up and out the front door.

You call after him, angry that you need to fix your face again. He simply laughs and shuts the door behind him.

Two weeks later a small package is delivered to the cafe when you are on shift. You sign for it and offer the delivery man a drink at half price. He accepts and waves as he leaves.

Grabbing a pair of scissors you open the small box. Inside is a jewelry box, the velvety texture reminding you of the last time you saw Johnny.

Opening it you let out a gasp as you see a delicate piece that reminds you of chainmail. Small, interlocking circles form a diamond that hangs from a long chain as you pull it free. Setting the box on the work counter you put it on. Grabbing up your phone you send a picture to Johnny telling him you owe him an extra kiss for such a wonderful gift.

Setting your phone down you see a note in the shipping box you missed before.

Every good heart needs protection from time to time. - Johnny

Fallen Angel Masterlist | Masterlist

[dude-why-3]

Who painted the sky?

Chapter 21: Stolen Goods

When she opens the front door fifteen minutes later, Annie finds Armin leaning by the camp van, trailer attached. He’s wearing his green hoodie, hands buried in its pockets, a smile plastered on his face. She suddenly feels extremely underdressed, the pair of shorts and white shirt she’s hurriedly thrown on doing nothing to keep her warm against the chill of the night. Annie narrows her eyes and Armin’s smile grows.

2.45am

Armin: u up?

Annie: no

Armin: lovely

Armin: do you trust me?

Annie: depends on the day

Armin: meet me outside in 15

Annie: what for?

Armin: just trust me!!

“What’s that?” She gestures towards the van and crosses her arms against her chest in an attempt to keep herself warm.

“A surprise,” Armin beams. He steps aside and opens the passenger door, holding it open for her. “Do you still trust me?”

Annie presses her lips together for a second, considering her possibilities. Then she sighs loudly. “My trust is thinning by the second,” she finally says.

Armin’s laugh pierces through her ears as she gets on the passenger seat and secures her seatbelt. Armin wastes no time in getting behind the wheel and starting the car.

“Did you even ask Hannah before taking her van?” Annie asks as they back out of the parking lot and onto the street.

Armin slowly stops and checks both left and right before continuing, though Annie’s pretty sure that’s a one way street anyway.

“I’ll bring it back by the morning, she won’t even notice it’s gone.”

Annie studies his features very closely. He keeps his eyes focused on the road, his brows slightly furrowed, his hands maneuvering the wheel with ease. And he drives so slowly, Annie can’t decide if he’s just being mindful of her or actually doesn’t usually go over thirty-five kilometers per hour.

“Will you tell me where we’re going?”

“If you ask nicely,” he teases, turning the radio on.

Instead of music, they’re met with the morning news read in such a monotone voice it could put them both to sleep. Armin turns it off again. Annie stares at him, her eyes narrowed, lips pressed together. She crosses her arms over her chest, not saying a word. She can see him tense up under her stare, he steals a tiny glance at her and she raises an eyebrow, demanding an explanation.

He looks back at the road, a smile slightly pulling on his lips. As if he were proud of this whole ordeal.

“We kind of stole the canoes,” he finally says, in such a casual tone that you’d think he does it on a daily basis.

Annie’s blood boils. “What?!”

“We’ll bring them back!” he defends.

“Armin, why would you steal the canoes? And at this hour!”

“I thought it’d be fun!”

“You thought stealing someone else’s property would be fun?!”

Armin laughs nervously. “Believe it or not, I actually have a plan.”

Annie raises an eyebrow at him. “Let’s hear your plan then.”

“It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you–”

“Armin, I will kick you out and drive this car back to camp myself if you don’t tell me what we’re doing on the road, at three in the morning, with someone else’s canoes,” Annie threatens, in the most imposing voice she can master.

Armin sighs heavily. “I thought it’d be quite romantic to go canoeing at night and stargaze and, I don’t know, just spend time together.” He steals another glance at her., shrugging helplessly, his complexion pinking up. “And you seemed sad that you couldn’t come canoeing this week and missed out on all the fun, so I thought this might cheer you up.”

“And you thought involving theft would make it more fun?”

“Kinda?”

“I–” She finds nothing to say, her mouth agape as she stares at him in astonishment, yet her face is getting warmer by the second.

She covers her mouth with her palm, staring at him with big eyes, her chest growing warmer. Her lips arch up then, and she snorts at the idea of it all. Her giggles turn into a laugh, and she finds herself bending over and holding her stomach, not able to stop her laughing fit.

Armin steals a glance at her as she keeps laughing and nervously chuckles. “I’m not sure if I should be scared or laugh with you,” he admits.

Annie takes a deep breath in, trying to calm down her laughter. “Gosh, Armin, you’re so stupid, I love you.” Her voice sounds breathless, then she breaks into giggles again.

Armin‘s eyes widen. He remains quiet, his cheeks growing pink. He swallows the lump in his throat, allowing himself to sit with her words for a few seconds as she keeps chuckling. His lips unknowingly curve up at the sound, the oh so adorable sound.

“I love you, too,” he quietly says, eyes focused on the road.

He smoothly takes a turn to the left and enters a portion of the road that’s more lit, for he can see the trees on either side of the road more clearly now.

Annie’s laughter soon ceases. She wipes a tear from her eye, then turns to him with a big smile. “What was that?”

He’s almost disappointed that she didn’t hear– but maybe it’s for the better. He shakes his head as if to chase the thought away, pushing a little smile on. He clears his throat.

“I’ll put on some music.”

He fishes his phone out of his pocket, opens the music app and clicks on a song, then hands the phone to Annie. She connects it to the aux.

Low piano tunes start playing as he starts the car again, followed by a little harmonica solo, then Piano Man fills the car.

The two are quiet as the song follows its course, the car rolling down the empty road. Annie steals a glance at Armin, trying to read his mind, hoping he’d return her glance and find her eyes and smile at her, that sweet smile of his that always calms her nerves– but he doesn’t. He did so the whole ride as she was fishing for answers out of him, and now he’s so focused on the road he won’t spare her another look.

"The aux is all yours if you want to put anything on," Armin says.

Annie considers it for a moment.

"Sure," she mutters. "But my phone's almost dead."

"You can use mine."

"Is that okay?"

"Of course."

Annie smiles shortly and picks his phone up, already having a song in mind.

"The password is ema-eight-six-four."

Annie hums as she types it in. She's already on the music app when the phone unlocks.

"Who's Ema?" she asks, typing the song's name in the search bar.

Armin visibly tenses, his eyes growing wider, his jaw clenching. "It's not a name."

Annie raises a curious brow. She finds the song and clicks on it, soft guitar tunes echoing through the car, followed shortly by equally soft words, and First Day of my Life makes itself at home.

"What is it then?"

He doesn't say anything for a long second. Annie blinks once, twice, tilting her head at his profile, trying to read his mind.

"It's an acronym."

"Oh." Annie's silent for a while, letting the song play on. "What does it stand for?"

Armin steals a glance at her. His fingers grip the wheel tighter. "A is for my name. Armin. M stands for Mikasa."

He goes quiet again, as if considering his next words. Annie nods along, her curiosity growing bigger. E must stand for their other friend he keeps mentioning. She doesn't remember Armin ever mentioning his name before, despite talking about the two all the time. She wonders why. Armin always pictured him as such a good friend, yet he's never mentioned his name. Yet he seems to get sadder whenever he mentions him.

"And E stands for Eren," Armin finally says, his voice barely above a whisper. “He…” Armin trails back, then takes a deep breath and blinks rapidly, as if chasing tears away. “He was– He is my best friend.”

Pressing her lips together, Annie looks over at him– his frown, his clenched jaw, his fingers turning white on the steering wheel. His eyes focused ahead and only ahead, as if not seeing anything beyond that.

Annie tilts her head. “Was? Did you two have a fight or something?”

Armin opens his mouth but then closes it again. “Oh, no, I could never fight him.” A sad smile makes its way onto his lips. He loosens his grip on the steering wheel. “He always did whatever he wanted, fighting him would have been futile.”

Annie furrows her brows. It was always the past tense with Eren, as if– oh.

Oh, no.

Annie’s eyes widen in realization, the puzzle pieces finally fitting together.

Armin takes a deep breath in, as if to calm himself. “He is my best friend,” he says again, this time more content. He brings the car to a stop, and only now does Annie realize they’ve reached the canoeing spot. “He went missing a few months ago. The police searched for him, we searched for him, but then his birthday came around, he became a legal adult, and they stopped looking. Now he’s just… missing.”

Annie bites her lips, her eyes wide. “I… don’t know what to say.”

The boy nods slightly. After a moment of silence, Armin takes a deep breath in, letting it out through his mouth slowly, then takes his seat belt off and flashes her a smile. “Let’s go canoeing, shall we?”

Annie hesitates for a second, uncertain of whether this is the right thing to do or she should say something. She’s not sure what– sorries would do nothing to make it all better, she knows that much. The blonde eventually nods, and they get out of the car. She comes around the car and, standing on her tippy toes, wraps her arms around his neck.

"I'd tell you that I'm sorry, but I doubt that would help," Annie says, tightening her embrace.

Armin lets out a huff. He puts his arms around her and rests his chin on her shoulder. "It's fine," he whispers.

Silence falls over them for a moment, the water’s constant running and the owls’ occasional booing the only sounds in the valley. Armin’s arms soften around her, his eyes fluttering close as he buries his face in the crook of her neck. His heart beats against her chest, and hers against his, and for a second she thinks that this is the closest they’ve ever been.

Then, "I'm sorry," Annie says.

Armin huffs a short laugh, tickling her skin. "You're right, that doesn't do shit."

Annie scoffs a little herself. "I know!"

He takes her hand and helps her into the canoe, and she settles on one of the benches.

Armin allows himself to enjoy Annie's warmth for a second more before he parts from her.

The two open the trailer and take one of the many canoes out. Once they settle it on the shore, they decide to leave their shoes in the car, since they'll have to get in the water to push the canoe anyway.

Just as he’s about to join her, Armin’s eyes widen as if he had just remembered something, and he asks her to wait just a moment before he dashes to the car. Annie tilts her head to the side, brows furrowed– this is getting weirder by the second.

He’s back in no time, a backpack swung over his shoulder. He tosses it into the canoe and it lands with a boof, sounding rather heavy; it even looks stuffed, round on the sides, as if it were bearing heavy luggage. Annie’s frown deepens at the sight of the mysterious bag, wondering what he might have brought in it, but the boy seems not to notice her confusion. He pushes the canoe into the water and jumps in and settles on the bench in front of her.

“What’s in the backpack?” she questions, taking the paddle he’s holding out for her.

“Oh, just some snacks,” he smiles, slapping his paddle in the water.

Annie does the same, not ceasing her questionnaire. The paddles rhythmically hit the water, one in, one out, one in, one out, creating a splashing sound, the calm water only disturbed by them and the occasional fish jumping around.

“Snacks? What for?”

Armin scoffs. “You’re really not into surprises, are you?”

Annie sighs, her shoulders slumping. “I’m not fond of them,” she admits.

Armin hums. “Okay,” he says, his voice soft. “We never got to have our picnic,” he says.

Annie hums in understanding– they didn’t, the consoulers were tasked to clean the children’s dorm on the weekend the two of them had planned it, and they never got around to rescheduling it.

“So, I thought we could have it now. We could stop on that little island and stargaze and eat snacks.”

Annie takes a moment to consider the idea, a smile involuntarily raising to her lips, her face warming. He really thought this through, huh? She wouldn’t have ever thought she was worthy of so much thought and consideration, yet here he is, having planned an entire night adventure for her just because she seemed sad to have missed the canoeing.

“Ok, we can do that,” she finally says. “I’d love that.”

“Good.”

The moon shines high above them, reflecting in the water, only allowing Annie to briefly see Armin's face– but even then, she can tell apart the red on his face, the sheepish smile on his lips, and the somehow determined look in his eyes. His eyes, searching hers so intensely, she can feel her own cheeks warm up, the tips of her ears catching fire, and she's sure he can see it too, for his smile boardens.

He puts his paddle on the floor of the canoe with a click, causing the canoe to slow down. Annie does the same, following his movements, squinting her eyes to get a better look at what he’s doing. Armin brings the backpack closer to himself, unzips it, and starts rummaging through its contents. He eventually retrieves a bag of chips, a victorious expression on his face.

He opens it and thrusts it towards her. "Chips?"

“I thought we were supposed to have the picnic on the island.”

“We can have some snacks now too,” he shrugs, popping a chip in his mouth.

Annie leans forward, careful not to dip the canoe at any end, and grabs a handful of chips, popping them in her mouth one by one. He’s chosen the cheese flavoured ones– her favourite. He insists on sharing them, yet he lets her have the most.

Once the chips are no more, Annie wipes her hands on her shorts. As Armin puts the empty bag away, she picks up her paddle.

But Armin doesn’t do the same. Instead, he just stares at her, a dumb smile on his lips, his eyes sparkling with a kind of softness she finds foreign. Way too foreign.

Annie frowns. "What?"

Armin opens his mouth but then bites his lip. Then he smiles again. "You're beautiful," he says, his voice barely above a whisper as if not to disturb her beauty. He says it like a secret needing to be kept, as if the world could not handle it had he spoken any louder. As if her beauty were something to be protected.

Annie’s eyes widen briefly. She freezes in her tracks, hand frozen midair. If her face wasn’t pink before, she’s sure it’s bright red now, for even her ears have caught fire. She falters, her hands growing weak, and almost drops the paddle in the water, but thankfully manages to catch it in time, bending over the edge of the canoe, dipping her hand in the water in the process.

Annie’s lips press together as she watches him try to catch his breath. He seems to calm down at some point, then starts laughing even harder.

Armin presses his lips together as if trying not to laugh, a soft snicker still escaping his lips.

Then he bursts into laughter.

"I paid you a compliment and you just– you dropped the paddle, An!" he manages to say between laughs and hiccups, clutching his stomach.

Biting her lips, Annie looks away, her face so hot it feels like it’s going to explode. She listens as Armin tries to calm down, taking a deep breath in, her eyes focused on the moon’s reflection on the water. It’s a full moon, so shiny and beautiful that not even its own reflection in the water seems to do it justice.

Suddenly, an idea morphs into her mind, and she forgets all about her embarrassment. She turns towards Armin, who ceased his laughter and picked up his paddle. Seeing the look on her face, his expression morphes into one of curiosity, his eyebrow arched.

“Let's go for a swim,” Annie says, taking even herself by surprise.

Armin's eyes widen. “Now?”

“Yes.”

“Right now?” he asks again, a smile blossoming on his lips.

Annie rolls her eyes, smirking to herself. “Yes, Armin, right now. Or do you not know how to swim?”

“Of course I know how to swim,” he says, his voice sounding almost offended.

Annie laughs again and sets her paddle on the floor of the canoe once more. She grabs the hem of her shirt and pulls it up and over her head, remaining in only her black sports bra. Her skin shivers at the sudden contact with the night cold.

“What are you waiting for then?” she teases even further.

She folds her shirt and her shorts and places them safely on the bench, then tentatively stands up, scanning the water with her eyes, trying to decide whether she should actually do it or not. She closes her eyes, swallows hard, and jumps in without another thought.

The water is so cold when she touches it, it makes her skin shiver. As she emerges from the water and moves her now wet hair out of her face, Annie wishes she wouldn’t have been so reckless. She looks up at Armin, who's staring at her with an unreadable expression on his face, something like surprise mixed with delight, his smile growing wider. Annie finds herself mirroring it.

“Armin, come in!”

His hands go to the hem of his shirt, his eyes never leaving her. He pulls it over his head, and Annie turns around, feeling her face warm up at the mere thought of seeing Armin naked.

Shortly after, she hears a splash as he jumps into the river, followed closely by a small shriek.

“You didn’t tell me it’d be this cold!”

Annie laughs shortly, finally looking up at him. Before she gets the chance to take a good look at him, arms wrap around her waist, and she’s being pushed under the cold, cold water, letting out a shrill of surprise.

The two sink under the surface. Annie’s eyes widen in surprise, a bubble of air escaping her lips; her hands instinctively go to his arms and clutch his flesh, holding on for dear life. She only catches a glimpse of Armin’s shit eating grin before she’s pushed out of the water, his grip tighter around her waist. The cold hits her in the face, the hairs on her arms raising at the sudden change of temperature. She wraps her arms tightly around his shoulders, both in an attempt to ground herself to something and get warmer, his skin against hers extremely hot. He buries his head in the crook of her neck, his shoulders shaking with laughter, but his arms are wrapped securely around her waist– although Annie’s not sure if she is clinging to him or the other way around.

“Why did you do that?” she asks, but her voice is breaking into laughter too.

Armin tries to answer, but just as he’s about to open his mouth, he’s splashed with water right in the face, making him recoil. Annie giggles shortly at the look on his face, her head feeling suddenly very light, her chest warm– and once again, she wonders what kind of spells he’s put on her to make her feel like this so suddenly, so unexpectedly.

She moves his wet hair out of his forehead, wanting to see his face better, and his eyes pierce through hers as soon as she does, shining in the dim moonlight. It illuminates them so beautifully, makes their blue even brighter, more intense, and she finds herself drowning into them, so, so deep, as if he were inviting her into his soul, laying it bare for her to discover. His touch is gentle on her skin, his warmth and heat sheltering her from the cold of the night.

Annie parts her lips slightly, then presses them together, afraid that the wrong words would come out. A hint of confusion passes Armin’s eyes as he searches her face. Annie looks away, denying the thought, overly aware that she could not hold back if she looked at him any longer, that she shouldn’t, for the summer is almost over, and if she hasn’t until now, why would she allow herself to fall now–

“Annie,” he says her name in a whisper, like a sacred relic that should be preserved and protected from the rest of the world.

She closes her eyes, furrows her brows. She shouldn’t, she knows she shouldn’t, but the dam is slowly, slowly breaking, the water overflowing, threatening to spill over.

A warm hand touches her cheek. Her eyes flutter open, and widen even more when she finds Armin staring back at her, his eyes so comforting, the smile on his lips reassuring, letting her know that if she falls he will be right next to her and hold her hand through it all, making the crash softer.

His lips part.

But before he gets the chance to say anything, she makes up her mind. She gathers every ounce of courage she has left in her, and she grabs his face in her hands, and she wants to tell him that she does love him, and she wished their time together would never end but it will end, and they will part ways, and she’d be damned if she let the time pass without doing something about this fire he’s ignited in her, and–

Before she knows it, her lips brush against his. Her lashes flutter against his cheek, his eyes equally as surprised, and she closes her eyes, tentatively places a hand on his jaw, and-

Armin pulls her closer to him, placing his hand firmly on the small of her back, bringing the other to her face, moving a strand of hair behind her ear before tangling his fingers in her hair. A sigh escapes Annie’s lips as she slowly moves her lips against his, sending a shudder down Armin’s spine– and he’s not sure what takes over him, but he’s suddenly kissing her so hungrily, moving his lips against hers with such need, bringing her closer, closer, as close as he physically can. Annie slightly parts her lips, and Armin wastes no time in taking the invitation, sneaking his tongue past her lips– and she allows it, and she tilts her head back a little, and he takes her all in, his kiss sending shivers through every particle of her body. The cold slowly disperses, the moon shining brighter even, and as their lips dance together and Armin's hand moves slightly up on her back, making her skin burn, she wonders why she hasn’t allowed herself the luxury of kissing him this freely before.

Something cold and slick suddenly touches her leg, moving along it. Annie yelps, breaking away from her lover, and dips in the water, her eyes widening in panic when she realizes she's going down, Armin’s support suddenly gone.

It takes the boy a solid second to come to his senses, grab her arms, and pull her up. Annie takes a deep breath of air when she finds herself not drowning anymore, clinging to his arms for dear life.

“What happened?” he asks, his voice alert.

He squeezes her forearms in his hands, which feels weirdly grounding, and her body slightly relaxes. But the nagging feeling that something has touched her sends shivers down her spine.

“Something touched my leg!”

“What?”

Annie runs a hand down her face, moves her hair out of her eyes, and wipes her head around, squinting her eyes at the water, trying to see what it was, but the dark won’t allow her to.

“I swear something touched my leg,” she says, eyes still squinted.

Armin blinks at her once, twice, looks down in the water as if searching it too. “Maybe it was a fish,” he offers, “there are fish in the river.”

He looks up at her, a smile starting to pull at his lips, his eyes slightly squinted as if trying to see her better. His hands still holding her by the arms burn through her skin, her face warms up, she feels it in her ears even.

“Probably,” she mutters, lowering her gaze.

Armin smiles softly. His hands leave her elbows then, yet her skin continues to burn, and the boy swims away. Annie narrows her eyes before diving right in and swimming after him. But he’s faster than her, five feet ahead, and he doesn’t look like he'd slow down. He turns around only briefly, to catch a glimpse of her, his smile widening when he does so, then he turns away and disappears under the water. Annie takes a good look at the spot where he previously was, takes a deep breath of air in, and dives into the water.

When she opens her eyes, Annie finds Armin already looking at her, a big smile plastered on his lips. He extends his hand forward, showing her his palm, and she puts her own palm out, paralleling his, extending her fingers so she can touch each of his fingers, and lays her palm flat on his. A bubble of air leaves her lips when she smiles. A similar one leaves Armin’s when he mirrors her. He interlocks his fingers with hers, holding her hand delicately, his smile widening. In the dim light of the moon and the stars shining above them, with his hair floating around his head and the kindest look on his face, Armin looks absolutely beautiful, taking her breath away.

Without letting go of her hand, Armin swims up and breaks the water’s surface, pulling her with him.

There’s a big smile on his face when Annie faces him again, and she finds herself mirroring it. He’s looking at her with sparkling eyes, and she’s thankful for the dark, for it provides some sort of shelter from the intensity of his gaze– she’s pretty sure she would have melted right away had he looked at her that way in broad daylight.

“This is so fun!” he says, his voice filled with excitement.

Annie lets out a chuckle. “It really is!”

“I love you!”

“What?

“I said I love you!”

Annie’s eyes widen, she feels her face burn. Her heart skips a beat, beating so fast that it threatens to burst out of her chest. Yet her muscles relax, a big smile pulling on her lips.

“No, I heard you, I was just giving you an out!”

Armin laughs, throwing his head back, the crystalline sound echoing beautifully through the valley.

“I don’t need an out, I love you! I have loved you for so long it hurts, Annie.”

The girl takes in a deep breath, trying to calm down her nerves, trying to calm down her racing heart, trying to cool down her burning skin– but she can’t. The effect his words have on her entire being is impossible to undo.

Before she knows it, the words that have been itching on the tip of her tongue for so many weeks finally set free. “I love you, too.”

Armin’s eyes widen then, and his lips part slightly. He gazes at her with a look she doesn’t quite understand. Annie bites her bottom lip, suddenly very aware of herself and her surroundings and the cold of the night, and his eyes on her, bubbling with questions he doesn’t seem to want to ask, the water splashing against their bodies softly. But she doesn’t regret saying it– she’s been wanting to say it for so long, she’s been wanting him to hear her say it for so long.

His face flashes pink, so bright it’s visible through the dark of the night. “You do?”

Annie giggles, floating closer to him and cupping his face in her palm, holding it so gingerly. “Of course I do,” she whispers, resting her forehead against his.

She grazes his cheek with her thumb, searching his eyes curiously. He slowly raises his arms around her, resting his hands on the small of her back, and tugs her closer, until there’s no room between them even for the water. Very slowly, Armin brings his lips to hers and kisses her, much softer and much shorter than he did earlier, as if to seal their newfound love.

Then he parts away, a soft smile resting on his lips, and buries his face in the crook of her neck, eliciting a little giggle from Annie.

“We should get going,” she mutters, threading her fingers through his hair.

He shakes his head, tickling the skin on her neck. “Not yet.”

Annie hums, resting her cheek against the side of his head. “It’s getting colder,” she warns. “Your lips will turn purple.”

But he says nothing, only tightening his hold on her. Annie sighs.

“I can’t kiss you if your lips fall off.”

Armin scoffs lightly. He looks up at her, meeting her eyes with such a serene look on his face. “Alright,” he mutters.

He kisses her cheek, then takes her hand in his and tugs her away. They help each other back in the canoe and take their assigned seats on the benches, facing each other. Armin rummages through his backpack and produces a yellow towel out of it.

Annie snorts. “You really thought of it all, didn’t you?”

Armin leans forward and places the towel on her head, gathering her hair and squeezing it gently. “I like planning my surprises thoroughly,” he smiles, massaging her scalp.

Annie’s face warms up. “Is that so?”

“Yeah.”

He drops the towel on her shoulders. Annie hastily dabs the water away from her body and returns it to him with a thankful smile. She hastily puts her shirt back on, then watches Armin do the same. He puts the towel aside. They soon start paddling again, the canoe drifting through the night slowly and surely.

Once they make it to their usual stoppage spot for their picnic, and pull the canoe up to the shore, Annie is not surprised to see Armin pull out a blanket either. He did say he likes planning his surprises to the smallest detail. They spread it out and seal the corners with pebbles to make sure it’s secure.

As Armin takes out everything he’s prepared for the picnic, Annie rubs her hands together in an attempt to chase the cold away. Her eyes follow his every move, watching patiently and he unpacks cookies and casseroles of fruit, and paper cups. Once it’s all laid out, Armin stands up with a proud smile to admire his work. His eyes meet hers, and his smile momentarily falters.

“Are you alright?”

Annie nods thoroughly. “Yeah, just a bit cold. Don’t worry about it,” she hurries to add, still rubbing her hands together.

Armin shrugs his hoodie off and holds it out for her. “Here,” he says.

Annie presses her lips together. She can’t possibly take it, and leave him in only a t-shirt.

Armin sighs. He takes a few steps towards her, closing the distance between them, and drapes it around her shoulders, rubbing her arms up and down as if to prompt her to put it on properly. “I can’t have you get sick again.”

Annie eventually does as she’s told, slipping her arms through the sleeves. She already feels better, the warmth of his hoodie engulfing her. She rests her forehead against his shoulder then, hiding her burning face from his gaze. Armin laughs softly, bringing a hand to her head and gently running his fingers through her damp locks.

His skin is warm, and his heart is beating so loudly she can hear it, and soon their heartbeats and their breathing sync.

He retrieves his hand from her hair, nudging her shoulder slightly.

“Annie, look up,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he were holding his breath.

Annie complies, looking up at him with a small frown. But he’s not looking at her, his head tilted up towards the sky. A whimsical smile is resting on his lips, his eyes sparkling with wonder.

Curiosity takes the best of her. She straightens up, his arm falls from around her, yet his hand bruises against hers, and she finds it in herself to take a hold of it, wrapping her fingers around his much bigger and much warmer ones. She follows his gaze, and looks up.

The view Annie’s met with is mesmerizing: thousands of little, sparky stars light up the night sky, blinding her, reminding her of a life she’s never lived, in which the stars belong to her and the sky is her canvas. It is so beautiful, she has to pinch her skin to make sure it's even real. A billion stars shine above them, the full moon throning in the middle of them, illuminating the river and the valley.

A shooting star falls so fast, she almost thinks she dreamed it up, were it not for Armin marveling at the sight and pointing up to show it to her. A smile pulls on her lips, and she feels at peace, standing there with his hoodie around her shoulders, with his hand holding hers, admiring the world around them.

“What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful,” she mutters, somehow afraid she might disturb the serenity of the stars. "Who painted it?"

His eyes lock on hers, a smile playing on his lips. "Hmm?"

"The sky. It looks like a painting." Annie's lips curl up as she leans her head against Armin’s shoulder again. "Who painted the sky?"

He takes a moment to consider, his eyes going up once more. He watches the sparkling dots patiently, trying to make out the shapes of constellations, his hold on Annie's hand tightening only slightly.

"I don't know," he finally says. "But I'm sure they painted it for you."

She hums lightly, a cue of red spreading in her cheeks, looking up once more. Her eyes hover over the sky a little longer before settling on one star, and a little idea pops up in her mind.

She points up. “See that one blue-ish star that shines a little brighter than the rest?”

Armin’s gaze follows her finger and he nods slightly.

“I’ll name it after you,” she whispers.

His eyes light up, he wraps both of his arms around her and buries his face in the crook of her neck. A light giggle escapes Annie’s lips as she pats his hair.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” A thought forms then, and, however cheesy it might sound, she voices it out. “That’s Armin, the star that lights my way.”

[aceingonthecake]

Good Omens Rant!!!

(And a pretty long one too)

I swear, if I read another comment about how stupid Aziraphale's final decision was and how some people hope they'll be CrAwLiNg BaCk To Crowley and beg for forgiveness, I'll fight them (verbally, no violence here).

I get that in the final 15 Aziraphale could have worded some things better, but the same can be said for Crowley, plus, that's beside the point. THE point is that there was no wrong or right choice in that situation.

Crowley has every right not to want to go back to Heaven and I'm very happy they stood by their decision. However, Aziraphale has the exact same right to make their own choice and try and make Heaven what it's supposed to be.

They're not stupid and they're not naive, we literally watched their character grow more and more conscious of Heaven's toxicity and we watched them defile it with the means they had. Now, they're offered a position to try and change things from the inside and to protect Earth, the same Earth they fought for in s1. Aziraphale knows the other Archangels and the Metatron are against them, but there are other angels up there. We saw Muriel and we all found them adorable. How many other angels like them are there in Heaven? Are they not worth trying to change the system for? And do we really expect Aziraphale to pass up an opportunity to protect like that? Please.

I absolutely get we all wanted a happy ending and a romantic getaway like Crowley suggested. But if we think about it, how realistic is it? Let's say Aziraphale accepted and went away with Crowley. Heaven would have moved on with the second coming and Earth would be destroyed. What was the point of s1 then? Did they fight then just to give up later? No, they fought because their love was born and grew on Earth and they're too fond of it and its humans to let it be destroyed. What would they do in Alpha Centauri? With no books, no plants, no food, no music, no car and so on? It would be just them and eternity. Not so tempting, mh?

And finally, while I see a whole lot of people analysing every single word Aziraphale said (and some of them were wrong, I have no problem admitting it), I don't see them do the same for Crowley.

I love Crowley, I relate to them a lot, but some things they said in the final 15 didn't sit too well with me. They got mad and, while I know it was out of heartbreak and fear, in the end they downright said that Aziraphale is not able to make choices. That they don't understand enough to make them consciously. That they're an idiot just because they made a decision Crowley doesn't agree with. And I repeat, I KNOW it comes from a place of protection and love, but that doesn't make it right.

They both said things that have been totally misunderstood by the other and that's on them. But I love them both and all I want for the final is for them to be together and happy. I just really can't understand how someone might watch this show and hate Aziraphale, like they didn't understand their character at all. And let me tell you, I strongly doubt Crowley would appreciate such mean comments on their angel.

With that, I'm done. Sorry for the length of my rant. These are actually just some of my thoughts on everything that happened, but I believe it's quite enough for a single post 😅.

[royal-chandler]

inspired by TZP's appearance at the premiere of Queer 💫

grammar and i really couldn't mesh well today, i'm sorry.

--

The car slows down and the bounce of Alex’s knee speeds up in the backseat. It’s stilled when Henry’s hand folds over it, easily stealing Alex’s attention from the reel of landmarks that lead to the DGA Theater Complex. Henry’s smile is a private and small curve that crowds out everything else. 

Henry comments, “You look like you’re about to leap out of your skin, darling. We can still wait, if you’d like. There’s no pressure.”

Drifting a hand down, Alex threads his fingers through Henry’s and admires the warm and perfect fit of them. “I’m not having a record-scratch moment. And we’re not postponing or calling this off. Or, fuck even worse, appearing as friends to have the internet continually mislabel us as a bromance. It’s not nerves or cold feet, it’s anticipation.”

“An incredibly vibrant anticipation.”

“And your subdued energy, I should take that as?”

“Barely restrained excitement.” 

“Oh, yeah?”

“Of course,” Henry says with a mock-serious nod that he might as well have patented, "I'm going to be sharing the same space as Luca Guadagnino. As a massive fan, that thrills me to no end.”

Alex laughs out of surprise and plays along, leaning in. “Wow, he rates higher than Daniel Craig?”

“Alex, honestly. You think that I haven’t already met the most recent iteration of James Bond? Me, a son of Arthur Fox? We’re well acquainted, love. He’s been at my dinner table quite often,” Henry divulges.

“Huh.” Alex's curiosity is genuine now. Clearing his throat in an attempt to sidestep an embarrassing needy tone, his question still comes out clumsy, words tripping over gravel, “No, uh, farther than the dining room? Uh, just dinner.”

“He’s rather happy with his wife and I’ve never been...courted as a supernumerary,” Henry says thoughtfully. And then with his free hand, he’s carding Alex’s hair, pulling on an end in a way that makes Alex’s toes curl in his shoes. Showing off his cheekbones, Henry grins wide when Alex hisses between his teeth. He's generous with his touch, his fingers slipping down to Alex’s mouth and skipping over its opened seam, pausing at the pout of his bottom lip. Henry’s voice drops in volume as he adds with a sweet kiss, “Plus, he’s not my type whatsoever. Far removed from it and no one fills out a tux better than you. Even James Bond. So, there’s zero reason to be jealous.”

“What? Who’s jealous? I am not jealous.”

“I’d hope not. Soon enough, the whole world will know that I’m yours.”

To the left of his sternum, Alex's heart gallops. The same wild pick-up from weeks before when he’d first held the invite to the premiere, the title of the film brash and defiant across the top. Unapologetically Queer. Over the sloping script encouraging a plus-one, Alex had rubbed his thumb back and forth, like he could wear a patch into the parchment. He hadn’t been able to let it go until he had Henry on the phone, tears swelling and unsteady as the black and white of the invite blurred and the choice became clear.  

“And that Henry fucking Fox calls me his boyfriend. Kind of insane,” Alex remarks, remembering the Melbourne Climate Conference and literally running into the Prince of England. Getting to his feet with a two-inch advantage and still feeling like he didn’t measure up and never would, gutted by Henry’s refusal to take his hand. Later, in a hospital closet, he’d find out that Henry had been hollow that day as well, pitted by fresh grief.

“Good insane?” Henry asks.

“Always. I like the kind of crazy you drive me to,” Alex admits and sees happiness light in Henry’s forest eyes. He sees forever. Alex wants it so badly, he has to dip his gaze lower before he loses himself there completely. He loiters at the necklace that hangs from Henry’s neck, its silver pendant resting against the notch of his collarbone like an ornament. A gift from Alex that the public has been speculating the origins of since it first appeared on a beach trip Henry had taken with Bea and Pez—noteworthy for the simple fact that the Prince never wore jewelry aside from his signet ring. “I mean, let’s get started on this fucking outfit, baby.”

“Alex, enough.”

“You’re in a cardigan that’s barely holding on! What am I supposed to do with that? I’m merely a man.”

Paired with dark grey pants, the cardigan is powder blue and delicately knitted with a lace pattern, see-through over a black tank and even softer than it looks. It’s a formal contrast to Alex’s dark denim jeans and wool workwear jacket but together, the intent behind the ensembles will be undeniable—that, like any other couple, they’re meant to match.

Fondly, Alex shakes his head. “When the big headline reads ‘Prince Henry, finally saved from drowning as First Son ACD yanks him out of oversized double-breasted suits’, I’ll get my gratification. You’ll see.”

“They are not oversized,” Henry argues, a blush across his face.

Alex tells him, “If you didn’t bare your chest every once in a while, your shoulders would be your best kept secret. Forget about me.”

“Not ever,” Henry answers.

As if cued, the car rolls to a stop and a silhouette appears outside the window. They’ve got thirty seconds and, in a deliberate callback to the moment he realized saying anything less than love to Henry felt like lying and asked him out on this date, Alex wonders, “Are you ready?”

“So fucking impatient,” Henry says with a laugh and Alex is head over heels for all of him.

When the door is opened, Alex doesn’t let go of Henry’s hand. He carefully waits for Henry to climb out behind him and then places his proud smile to the skin of Henry’s cheek—what he had wanted and wished to do at the charity polo match in London and every other public appearance that followed after.

Ahead of them is a long, loud line of press and chaotic bursts of blinding lights. A shit ton of questions and a sprawling red carpet that they won’t be able to walk back.

They move forward with purpose, together every step of the way.

--

i'd like to kindly thank @caressthosecheekbones for telling me that Henry should wear Nick's iconic cardigan 💛

and @mylucayathoughts , here you go! 🤍

[flyingwargle]

sakuatsu week day 5: college

sakusa is browsing the available courses for next semester when, on a whim, he clicks on the language courses, and notices a particular offering: jsl for beginners.

students will receive a cursory introduction to jsl, says the course description. they will learn the basic alphabet and how to sign simple phrases and sentences. this course meets three times a week. there is only an oral final examination, not a written exam.

his own understanding of jsl is limited to several youtube videos and whatever that his partner taught him. he remembers bits of the alphabet, signs for love you and see you later, but that’s about it. atsumu seldom signs, anyway, since he has hearing aids, but…

there was one time when they went for lunch with osamu. sakusa excused himself to use the washroom, and when he came back, he noticed the twins signing to each other, rapid hand movements that he could barely keep up with. he would never forget atsumu’s expressive face, the way he silently laughed, his eyes crinkled and lips upturned. although he became verbal the instant that sakusa sat back down, the feeling of being left out never left him, fuels him to learn jsl when he can.

and if he can take an entire class for it, why not? he adds it to his schedule.

he doesn’t tell atsumu, wants it to be a surprise. still, when they meet in osaka between semesters, he asks him for another lesson. “i didn’t know ya were interested,” atsumu drawls. sakusa sits between his legs, head rested on his chest.

“i want to be able to communicate with you.”

“aren’t we doin’ that right now?”

“i want to do it in a language that you’re comfortable with,” he amends, tilting his chin upwards to look at him. “i know you get overwhelmed sometimes, but you keep your hearing aids in, for my sake. i don’t want you to sacrifice your comfort for me. plus, jsl is just another way to connect, just like writing or talking.”

atsumu returns his gaze with such softness that sakusa fears his partner might cry. “aw, omi. i think yer the only person i know that’s willin’ ta learn.”

“not even your brother?”

“ma forced us. i become non-verbal without my hearin’ aids, an’ ma wanted a way fer all o’ us ta communicate when that happened.” atsumu kisses his forehead. “d’ya still remember the alphabet? i’ll teach ya how ta sign yer name.”

when the next semester starts, sakusa sits among his peers, watching and listening their instructor sign her introduction. “my name is taniyama kaede.” her gestures are fluid, similar to atsumu’s. “i’m a certified bilingual translator for english, japanese, asl, and jsl. let’s have everyone else introduce themselves and share their reason for learning jsl.”

sakusa waits for his turn. “my name is sakusa kiyoomi. i’m a sports medicine major. i want to learn jsl because my partner is hard of hearing and i want to be able to communicate with him.” it’s a similar reason to many of his peers, with a few simply interested in learning for the sake of knowing another language.

they start with the alphabet, which sakusa has reinforced while with atsumu. after that comes fingerspelling, stringing the individual letters together. it’s easy for him to do, but difficult to interpret, especially if it’s fast. he’s tempted to ask atsumu for help but refrains, wanting to savor the look on his partner’s face when they meet and he can sign a conversation with him. instead, he returns to youtube, watches countless clips of interpreters using fingerspelling to practice differentiating between the signs.

after fingerspelling comes fundamental signs that would help them create sentences. sakusa finds himself in a study group with his classmates so they could practice, and with each passing week, he finds himself in awe of atsumu, who learned such a complex language along with japanese. “i didn't get hearin' aids ‘till elementary school,” he told him once. “i had ta learn jsl and how ta speak at the same time. it wasn’t easy, lemme tell ya. if i didn’t have ‘samu, i woulda broke down cryin’ every day.”

sakusa practices with his study group, in front of the mirror after showering, while watching tutorial videos before bed. a semester is barely enough for him to grasp the basics, but when he sits in front of his instructor for his final exam, she tells him that he did well. “we only have an introductory level here,” she says, “but if you’d like to learn more, i teach classes at the language center not far from here.”

"i'd like that." he bows his head. “thank you for the semester. i learned a lot.”

as soon as his last exam is finished, he boards the shinkansen to osaka. atsumu waits for him on the platform, as always, greeting him with open arms. “missed ya, love,” he murmurs in his ear.

“i missed you, too.” sakusa hugs him tightly.

he can tell that atsumu is overwhelmed, from the clammy hand that envelops his, the way he winces at every noise that crosses their path. he starts mumbling and sakusa has to lean closer to hear, or ask him to repeat himself, to which atsumu would apologize and say it again. by the time they reach his apartment, his partner’s face is shiny with sweat, biting his bottom lip in pain.

“atsumu.” sakusa steps closer in front of him. “you can take your hearing aids off.”

“but i wanna hear yer voice,” he tries to argue, but sakusa shakes his head.

“i’m here all week. if you aren’t feeling well, you shouldn’t push yourself. besides…” he raises his hands, speaking as he signs, “i’m here for you.”

atsumu stares, flabbergasted. he instinctively raises his own hands, hesitates for a moment, and then signs and asks, “when did ya learn that?”

“i took a class to learn jsl. i intend to continue learning.” sakusa feels heat rush to his cheeks as he adds, “i love you, and i want us to communicate, no matter the language. i’m not very good yet, but i’ll learn and improve.”

tears form at the corners of his partner’s eyes. sakusa panics, closing the gap between them. “i’m sorry, i should’ve gotten you some medicine first. here, let’s–“

“nah, it’s not from that. i…wasn’t lyin’ when i said yer the first person that wanted ta learn.” atsumu sniffles, tears rolling down his cheeks. “ya’d really learn a whole ‘nother language, just fer me?”

“of course. what kind of partner am i, if i don’t?”

atsumu gives a tiny shake of his head, leans in close. “i don’t deserve ya, omi. i really don’t.”

sakusa lowers his head over his, stroking his hair. “you deserve the best. atsumu.”

he orders takeout while atsumu takes his hearing aids off, joining him on the couch. even though they’re silent, his partner is expressive as ever, from his grimace when sakusa tells him about his exams, eager nods when he describes the practice match against chuo, quiet chuckles when he critiques motoya’s newest hobby of mixing drinks. their dinner arrives, and they watch a movie with subtitles, cuddling for the rest of the night.

as they fall under the covers to sleep, atsumu taps on sakusa’s shoulder. “thank you,” he signs slowly for him to follow. “i love you, omi.”

“i love you, too.” sakusa doesn’t even need to think, the signs already engrained in his muscle memory. no matter the language or the circumstance, he’ll do what he need to, in order to tell his partner just how much he loves him.

[mollfie]

I took notes while playing and I've tried to edit them into something that makes a shred of sense.

Things I like in Veilguard:

Banter can be interrupted, and they'll continue talking. If you repeatedly interrupt, they'll start over from the beginning later on.

The banter also actually made me laugh, especially with certain companion combos. Not always but more often than not.

The companions aren't stuck in their room. You know when someone wants to talk to you or has a cutscene, but you'll also see them hanging out with other companions or just checking out places around the Lighthouse. Makes them feel like actual people with their own stuff going on outside of Rook. But I do wish you could talk to them more. I like bothering my companions. I'm fine with them repeating themselves. Just let me smooch my love interest or chat with my friends and get random flavour text. Is that so much to ask?

I like the orb and smashing enemies in the face with it. I actually prefer it most of the time to using the staff.

Can wear casual clothes instead of armour with no repercussions. Finally, some cute outfits. But not cute enough. Need more. I also miss dying outfits in different colours and dressing up my team.

It's not my fav but it's fine:

I miss being able to smooch my love interest whenever I wanted to. Let me bother everyone more. The romances are fine but I expected more in comparison to previous games.

Everyone hangs out with each other or all together (eat together, bookclub etc) but is Rook even involved? The camping trip scene was so weird. Ferelden is overrun. Where are you going? Why would these two even want to? I could maybe believe Taash being interested because they're adventurous and might be hoping to see a dragon, but even then it's so weird.

Semi related to Taash's personal storyline, I did not appreciate having words put in my Rook's mouth re: her feelings about her gender and I have seen others saying that when they play as an enby Rook it's very "third gender" rather than having any sort of nuance. This is why I'm always hesitant when companies are so proud of being inclusive, it's often so clumsy.

References:

Mage/Templar war was in the South but no one mentions really mentions much about the South. Varric?? Morrigan?? Inquisitor?? There are some letters and a few lines about what's happening but not much. Who got to be Divine, again more of a Southern issue but you think it would come up when talking to Harding or Varric. Drinking from the Well of Sorrrows. Morrigan's son. King Alistair or Grey Warden. Hawke in the Fade. Varric, my man, are we not friends? Harding, you were there even if you were just a scout! Surely you got the hot goss hanging around outside the tavern at all hours.

Surely even people in Tevinter would be talking about how the Inquisitor's old spymaster became the Divine?? Harding sort of mentions it but no one else. The Inquisitor coming along to be like "oh it's a shitshow in the South right now that's why I'm not helping you or trying to find Solas" is so stupid.

The references you do get are fine but some feel strange because they're specific enough for a fan to get them but vague enough to feel pointless because they abandoned the Keep and tracking everyone's choices. I know it's complicated because we've all played the games in a variety of ways but they started it!

I wish we had seen more of the countries. I liked the places we saw and I really enjoyed exploring them, I would have liked to see more though which is a good thing in a way? I wasn't bored by the places we got, more than they were intriguing and I wished to go further. I would have liked to see more of Minrathos outside of Dock Town, for example.

Cameos:

Re: cameos. Dorian's model looks like he got bad cosmetic surgery and veneers. What did they do to you?? However, I also hate how Alistairs looks in Inquisition so maybe I just don't like when they try to update old characters? Morrigan looks fine, but her outfit is ugly. Isabela is fine. Varric and Harding look good.

Are we unable to have cameos of characters (or references), such as Merrill, because the team are blood magic flip-floppers? She knew so much about Eluvians, blood magic, Dalish nonsense etc. She would have been a fantastic edition to the team in Inquistion and in Veilguard but apparently I can't have anything nice.

Romances:

The romances are good but once I picked my person it was weird seeing how Lucanis switched to Neve almost instantly AND how their chemistry was so much better just through banter and listening to their chats. Almost like that's what the writers intended originally and then made Rook an option later? Davrin has a sweet romance and I have heard good things about Emmerich.

Companions:

Still think I should be able to have three people tag along. Yes, it makes them just talk to each other for banter but I liked having three people.

I wish they would bicker more. Some characters are supposed to not like each other (at least for a while) but they really could have leaned into that more. Be meaner. However, saying that some fans couldn't handle Vivienne...

My main issue with all the companions is that they're really good but don't get the change to be great. I'm assuming because of development issues. Any decent writer would want to make the most of a character. You can see what they wanted to do and what they managed is good. I feel like the writers pulled their punches too much. They could have really leaned into some ideas and expanded on some aspects so much more but didn't. They all needed an extra ten minutes to fully bake.

Taash's personal stuff is fine. It's a little awkward in places but it's nowhere near as awful as people are making it out to be. It's no worse than anyone else's personal storyline or dialogue. A lot of the criticism is over-dramatic HOWEVER I do feel like their struggles were more with their upbringing as the daughter of a strict mother (who says herself that she was never supposed to have that sort of role within the Qun) in Rivain and those two identities cause conflict, and that was really overshadowed. A lot of Taash's struggles with gender make sense when you consider how gender roles function under the Qun (how their mother would have raised them) versus how they are in Rivaini society (what she was exposed to outside of the home). That's not to say they aren't nonbinary otherwise, just that the conflict could have been woven together better.

I also didn't really like the binary choices you were presented with - why do I, a stranger, get to tell any of these people what to do with their lives? I think Rook can have an opinion but there should be a third option for the character to make their own choice, perhaps based on their approval level with you or something to at least feign free will. This felt particularly insensitive when talking to Taash.

I also think some people are forgetting or deliberately ignoring that Taash is not the only lgbt or nonbinary character in the game or the series as a whole.

But, I do also think there are awkward moments (for all the characters too) where I understand what the team was going for but it doesn't quite land right. I would have actually liked a little more focus on what it's like being a qunari in Rivain etc.

Lucanis is supposed to be a big scary mage-killing demon-possessed assassin but once you recruit him he's practically shuffling about in his fuzzy slippers making coffee at 4am. I really like him but I can't help but wish they hadn't sanded down the edges. Having the Crows fight for the little guys is certainly a choice. I would have preferred them go down more of a "these Crows in this particular family think this way" so as not to undermine everything about Zevran.

Other thoughts:

It feels like the backgrounds don't really matter, they're not referenced much anyway. I was a veil jumper so you'd think Bellara would want to chat to me about that sort of thing more but no, not really. Same with race choices. It does come up but not as much as I had hoped. I also miss the tension between races, backgrounds etc. Why am I, a Dalish elf, wandering around Minrathos unchallenged?

Where's Meredith??? We had that final shot in the animated series but that's it???

What happened to Solas' agents and the uprising? I know years have passed but you'd think there's been more turmoil considering 1. the gods are real and 2. they suck

TL;DR

I had a great time playing, and it was really fun. I actually really enjoyed the finale and the game overall. But, I am concerned that this was essentially a soft reboot and so now what? What about everything we did before? What about all those other characters we cared about?

I also think I got lucky by choosing to have my Solavellan Inquisitor and romancing Davrin, just judging my chatter online.

I think if they didn't want those choices to matter then they should have had this game hav a protagonist who has no connection to Southern Thedas at all. No Varric or Harding. Have them being a literal nobody who doesn't know anything about what's going on outside of what they've directly experienced or it's very vague. They were affected by Solas' actions. They're an elf who was an agent until they realised what he was doing. Something. I just... if you don't want to make a game where choices matter then you shouldn't be working on Dragon Age. You should make something new. This was always Bioware's whole selling point and they've just tossed all that work to one side. Who made that decision?

Imagine if we'd been forced into being a specific character, similar to Hawke in DA2, and had to actually decide whether or not to support Solas as we learned about what he was actually intending to do? Imagine.

Origins still has the strongest writing. DA2 is still my favourite. But I do think Veilguard is a good sequel to Inquisiton. Unfortunately for Bioware, this is the fourth game in a series not the second. As a fourth game, there are some really weird choices. On it's own, it's a really good game. I'm still going to get my partner to play some of it to see what they think as an outsider who only knows about Dragon Age via my chit-chat and reblogging.

[yukirayu]

hii! i am absolutely blown by your analysis of Taku and Madarame: To Heal and To Hurt, and it gave me alot more insight into how Taku is a great foil for other characters. i kept thinking about the CG artwork of Taku's painting. it seems like the vacancy of the center square might represent the removal of a webtag or even the eventual disappearance of Towa's past trauma which Taku tried so hard to suppress. do you have any thoughts on the painting as a whole?

Hi, I apologize for replying to this several months later. Sorting through my drafts/WIPs or the things I need to do in general got me rather distracted, to say the least, but I am committed to seeing this through.

Thanks so much of course for reading and liking the metas. I'm always glad to hear that others like it and that I've managed to get the message through.

Now as for my opinion, I will give the disclaimer that said opinion is greatly inspired by what this person said in their breakdown of the paintings, as well as an art I saw that did their own breakdown about what the red square represented.

If anything, I may as well be parroting what they said in the site, albeit with different wording; since as someone who has no experience in art, analyzing paintings isn't exactly what I'd call my strongest suit let alone something I have confidence in.

But true enough, the image does really give off the image of a medical patch that Taku is trying as hard as he can to keep intact by either reapplying or patching over with a new one... even if he can't keep truly contain the "blood" that is the pain and trauma left by Towa's past, or even Taku's own hurts that are both connected to Towa's ordeal and the tragedy that he had contended with alone (his mother and the debt he had accrued as a result of his family situation) even before Towa came along.

It might even represent how Taku has a hard time keeping his own troubles in check and is better (or at least more proactive and willing) at doing the same for others. Because try as he might, the cracks start to show (or bleed, in this case), partly because he's not good at lying or hiding things, and partly because there's only so much he can handle until he finally snaps from it all; hence why he has a darker side that manifests in his route, where the way the plot progresses makes things reach a breaking point for him.

That aside, from purely aesthetic point of view, it is relatively simple looking, especially when you compare it to the other paintings. Like I've said, I'm no artist myself, so I can't really give a good description of what I think of this and that painting without risking coming across as pretentious and such. But at the very least, I find it pleasing to look at because of its simplicity.

One other thing about it that I think is rather understated (as well as incredibly touching) is how it's the only painting that gets featured in the cover for the AfterStory drama CDs. I think that this is becase while it's a very apt visual reflection of Taku's guilt and burdens, which Towa knows very well with how perceptive he is (and it's even the focus of his Interrogations with Taku), it is also a representation of Towa's own longing for Taku the entire time the latter was in prison.

Heck, it even becomes a topic of conversation in the first track, which leads to one of my favorite moments between them:

Towa: You’re not going to ask me who’s the inspiration of those paintings? Taku: …No…  Towa: You’re not interested in knowing?  Taku: That’s not it…! But… Towa: But?  Taku: (slightly insecure) Of course I’m curious. I mean… who were you painting?   (Towa says nothing and simply chuckles at Taku’s cluelessness.) Taku: (flustered and annoyed) Hey…! Towa: (still a hint of laughter in his voice) Oh, sorry. I had a feeling you wouldn’t be able to figure it out, so I just…  Taku: …What do you mean by that? Towa: (moves closer to Taku) All those paintings, who do you think they are of? (leans even closer and answers in an affectionate whisper) Murase… Takuma.

It's really telling that after Towa paints something, he no longer really cares for it and doesn't mind whatever anyone else does to it. But this painting, he treasures it enough to keep it in Taku's apartment (or rather, their home, together).

That, and one other significant detail: when it comes to Towa's modus operandi regarding his painting, he only ever paints each model once, no exceptions. Why? Because he wants to capture the very first time his model's innermost desire is fulfilled; in other words, when their euphoria is at its apex. It's why he won't agree to a second time, since the impact is no longer the same.

However, the narration for Taku's Euphoria ending as well as some other lines from Towa in the drama CD made it apparent that while that painting with the white splotches and the red square is his magnum opus of Taku, there were countless other paintings and sketches that he made of the man.

His way of coping, of waiting for Taku to serve his time, to reflect and come back a changed man, was to reflect his memory and feelings for him on paper and canvas, over and over and over, each one definitely distinct from one another (even if we never get to see those other artworks).

So... there. I hope that I still made sense at the end of this post, and I really hope it was a satisfactory answer for you. Again, I am so sorry for the delayed response, but I really appreciate getting this ask. 🥺

[timemachineyeah]

I think in the next Animal Crossing, you should have to earn your control over the environment. And I don’t just mean working to get terraforming, I mean, like, earning it before getting to decide where other people’s homes are and stuff.

Idk, the deserted island is fun but I kind of hope in the next one we’re back to being a new face in an already established rural community. And you can still progress to moving absolutely everything on the map and decorating each square foot and flower to your liking, but, like… these other people have lives of their own.

I like knowing a rando isn’t gonna move onto my carefully curated flowerbed and ruin my path, but I don’t like how much the villagers in ACNH feel like fashion accessories rather than neighbors.

[binders-and-beanies]

Doin bad again folx

[linoguy]

i like that they view the songs and performance as one because again, the reason im here to begin with is because i wanted to watch cool dancing that fit my taste and they did the trick, and then i loved their music so v much. but i do wish they viewed their music as stand alone too <3 they have intense and intricate dances that they're not gonna be able to do once they hit their later years (if they're still together) so its like -.- look out for our own backs boys, pls

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

argh. i sorely miss writing as much as i used to, but the flow of it feels all wrong since i started having to do it exclusively on mobile and it sucks. maybe it's just time-and-distance-from-old-works goggles, but it feels like there's a noticeable difference for the worse since my hands went fuck and i hate how clumsy my writing looks to me now.

granted, maybe part of that is because i haven't written nearly as much in a long time and i just need to get back on the horse and shake off some rust, but man. doesn't feel good. i miss keyboards so much. :(

[ame-to-ame]

Rereading ayaka is in love with Hiroko senpai!!! Last time I read it I don't think it was finished/I didn't finish it but ack. Now I also want to be in love 😭😭😭