#i could not pick a single person for the first

[bangaveragewhitewine]

⋆⁺₊❅ meet the parents

single dad Eddie Munson x single mom Reader

Word Count: 4.7k

Summary: For my fourth and final fic of @littlexdeaths The Twelve Days of Promptmas, I bring you a romcom-worthy meet cute! A one-night stand in a small town is always a dangerous game.

Content: Eddie and Reader are both single parents. Modern AU. P in V and oral sex. Too many feelings for a one-night stand. Reader’s shitty ex mention. Small town dynamics. Light on Christmas, heavy on Eddie being a sexy menace. If you see any typos/messy sentences lmk!!

Just an extra little note to say the biggest THANK YOU to @littlexdeaths for putting together these wonderful Promptmas ideas, and for just being completely lovely and amazing too. I have had such a fun few weeks working on writing again, it’s been a crazy few months for me personally so this has been the best way to get back into writing and feeling creative again!! I’ve loved every minute ❤️

✨bang average festive fics✨ Eddie Munson fics ✨Dividers by @strangergraphics✨

It has been quite a few years since you woke up in a stranger’s bed. 

More used to the morning time routine of trying to get a sleepy six-year-old up and ready for the day, or the heartwarming feeling of said six-year-old making her way into your bed to cuddle on sleepy Sundays, you feel a little out of your depth this morning.

And some degree of hungover. 

But it could be worse, you supposed. The stranger’s bed was comfy and he had plenty of pillows for you to sleep on. His sheets were clean and he had not totally smothered you like a limpet all night, nor had he expected you to get up and leave while you were still catching your breath. He was a fairer bedmate than your daughter, and it was pleasant to wake up with the warm weight of his inked arm around you rather than a kid’s-size-twelve foot digging into your ribs, or her hair in your mouth. 

You sink into the comfort of it all, relishing that long-forgotten post-great-sex ache all over and the feeling of waking after a deep and dreamless sleep. You had not been this well-rested in almost seven years.

Next to you, he is asleep on his stomach with his arm across your middle. The room is dusky dark, but you can still make out the tattoos along his pale bare body and the glint of his nose ring, the spill of long dark hair piled up on his head. He is much softer now than when you met in the bar last night, no coy smirk or wolfish grin, no deep dimples on his cheeks. His whiskey eyes are still shut, and you feel warm all over when you remember how he had looked at you like you were the only woman in the bar, in the world, last night. How he had taken you home and taken you apart right here in his navy sheets. 

Carefully, trying not to wake the man next to you, you ease yourself up to check your phone.  It’s far too early to worry about picking Hazel up yet.

Not for the first time, you say a silent thanks to the universe for your neighbour for agreeing to babysit Hazel so that you could have a well-deserved Christmas night out with the friends you had made at work. You will bring her a nice hand-tied bouquet from the shop next week, just because. Without Claudia and her kindness to lean on, you know that going it alone in this small new town would so be much harder. It had been serendipitous really, moving in next door to an older and wiser woman who had been in the very same position as you when her son was not much older than Hazel. You begin piecing together the perfect bouquet for her, eucalyptus and rose and red ribbon, distracting yourself briefly from the dull ache in your head and the dry feeling on your tongue.

He brought you a glass of water before you fell asleep together. It’s cool in your throat, though it barely touches the sides of the discomfort pressing behind your brows. When the glass is mostly empty, you settle back next to him and let yourself doze for a little longer.

Eddie instinctively pulls you closer in his sleep, his warm morning breath tickling your shoulder and neck. You know it is just temporary, he is still a stranger, but let yourself enjoy the fleeting comfort while it lasts.

“Morning.”

His voice is rough and smoky, and there’s a tired smile waiting for you when you open your eyes a while later. You are struck by how pretty he is, handsome and hot but pretty with it; long dark lashes and doe-eyes, cheekbones to die for.

“Hi,” you whisper back. You feel yourself smiling back at him, feeling dreamy and oh-so-comfortable. You stretch your body out, relishing the rush of blood and oxygen to your muscles and your eyes drop closed again at that so-good feeling.

“Sleeping Beauty.” 

When Eddie kisses your hair, you miss how he closes his eyes and savours the moment; you are too busy basking in the unexpected tenderness of this one-night stand, the easiness of waking up slow with a man you met less than twelve hours ago. Even if it is just for this morning, you soak it up. 

“Mhmm. You have a comfy bed,” you whisper, looking up at him again. 

You brush your fingertips along his silver chain before tracing up to his jaw, past the tendrils of hair escaping his scrunchie. You know the feeling of that dark grown-out and nicely-maintained stubble, how it brushed and burned so good on the inside of your thighs, how it feels against your lips. 

Tentatively, bravely, you press your mouth against his and feel his smile. It’s sweet, slow. Intimate and lovely.

“Yeah? M’glad you think so,” he murmurs and steals one more kiss before pulling you against his body. 

Last night as you basked in the afterglow, Eddie asked so quietly if he could hold you and you almost teared up about it. It had been a long time since anyone had held you like that, like he is holding you again this morning.  It has been a long time since anyone has been sweet to you, shared closeness and intimacy like this. Not since the man you loved upped and left, leaving you and one-year-old Hazel with only each other to love. 

You feel the strength of his arms and the softness of his belly. There’s a stirring, hardening interest against your thigh and yet he’s not being too forward or pushy. He’s just holding you, just ‘coz. 

“I don’t… S’a while since I had a sleepover,” he admits, running his blunt nails over the small of your back. “You didn’t hog the covers, and you didn’t sneak off without saying bye…”

Eddie pulls back a little, wearing that small flirty smile that made you swoon last night. His voice is so playful, even though it is deep with morning huskiness. 

“Still here,” you whisper back, “I… It’s been a while for me too. I don’t usually… Yeah.” You shrug, you know he gets it. 

There is a glint of something in his eyes before he looks up at the ceiling. “I’m glad we did. I had fun.” 

The dimple in his cheek is beautiful and bashful, and when he looks at you again his eyes go right to your lips.

“Me too.” You touch his chain again and tug gently to bring your lips together again, putting you both out of your misery.

No one has ever kissed you like Eddie did last night, with all-consuming lust that made you feel electric. He is a blend of rough and smooth, a firm guiding hand followed by a gentle caress. You have never felt so wanted, so craved.

The way he kisses you this morning pushes aside the thoughts of all you need to do today. All you know is want, the cloying feeling of wanting to touch and be touched, craving pleasure. With his hands to guide, you straddle his lap and lean into the feeling of his fingertips wandering past the hem of the t-shirt he loaned you last night. 

Eddie looks up at you like you’re some sort of deity, his eyes and lips shining as you peel off the t-shirt and throw it behind you, leaving yourself bare in his lap. He was not put off by the stretch marks, or the Mom Body you felt so self-conscious about sometimes. Nor was he put off by the fact that you are a Mom. Eddie had simply smiled when you briefly mentioned your daughter, told you he had his own little girl without giving too much away. With that fresh layer of yourselves on show, you could understand each other just a little bit more without going full gushing-parent mode, sharing pictures of your little angels or ranting about who loved Bluey and loathed Peppa more. 

His fingers run over the stretch marks on your hips, starting up a slow grind as he kisses your neck (remembering your ‘no marks’ rule). There is a slight chill in the air to remind you that beyond this liminal bliss, it is a frosty December morning, but Eddie warms you up and distracts you without second thought. 

In the gauzy light, you see touches of fatherhood around his room, easily missed in the passion of last night - a framed drawing on his bedside table, a kiddie hair clip in his ring dish. You smile to yourself and shiver when his warm breath skates over the damp trail of kisses.

“Pretty smile,” he murmurs, needing to taste and feel it again. 

Hands wander and squeeze and you get drunk on each other all over again in the cocoon of Eddie’s bed. You blindly follow his dark treasure trail before taking him in hand, hot and diamond-hard, and savour the taste and sound of his moan. Your aching need for him is tempered and satiated by his fingers and you flush hot all over when he encourages you to scoot up and let him taste you, almost begging for it. Dazed with want, you find yourself clinging to the headboard with white knuckles and his name spilling from your lips. 

Eddie could die a happy man with your thighs bracketing his head. The taste of you makes him feel drunk as you take your pleasure from him; the needy roll of your hips is encouraged by his greedy hands in contrast to how cautious and careful you had been not to trap and tug his hair beneath your knees. 

When you are sufficiently dumb with pleasure, he lays you back against the pillows and lays out his desire for you in between messy kisses, losing his train of thought when you get your hand back on him and whisper back your need for him to fuck you now. Eddie reaches blindly for the (blessedly still-in-date) box of foil-wrapped packets in his drawer, not wanting to look away from you for even a moment.

He holds your hand as he makes love to you and you have to remind yourself not to get too caught up in how sweet Eddie is, even when he his making you feel like you have never been so full; sweetness and filthy words wound together so sweetly. It’s overwhelming and he catches you fighting tears when you feel too good. 

“Hey,” he whispers, wearing too much worry between his brows. “Do you want to stop, sweetheart? Am I hurting you?”

A guy being decent should not make your heart swell like this, and yet it does. You shake your head, tears spill over and he brushes them away with care.

“No, no. You’re not hurting me,” you promise. “I feel really good. S’just a lot.” 

Your voice wobbles and he smiles fondly against your mouth, relieved and happy to be wanted in return. 

Eddie has this magnetism, warm and cloying and a little mysterious; it makes you feel comfortable even when he’s teasing you and making you flush hot all over. 

“Yeah, baby? That’s what I’m here for,” he whispers, and kisses you slowly, sweetly. “Let me make you feel good.” You feel like your heart could beat out of your chest. He can feel it hammering against him as he starts up a slow roll of his hips that fills you completely. 

Your fingers clutch at the sheets as Eddie fucks you into his mattress. Nothing else matters in those moments, only pleasure. You fight the urge to sink your teeth into the meat and muscle of his arm, lick the drip of sweat from his neck. Instead, you taste the way he moans your name and cling to him when you come just moments apart - you first, then him.

He shares his water with you afterwards when he sees your empty glass; you are both damp with sweat and lying side by side with your heartbeats pounding in your ears, the lingering taste of each other on your tongues.

When he kisses you again, his lips are water-cooled and tender.

“Can I make you some coffee? I have to pick up my little terror in a bit…” he says, already cringing at himself. “She’s great, I swear. I promised her diner pancakes for brunch.”

Reality trickles back in, a not-unpleasant cooling off of your morning together.

“Yeah, I should probably not show up in last night’s clothes to pick my kid up. Coffee sounds good.” 

There was always an expiry date on this; the boundaries of a one-night stand were set and familiar, despite how long it has been and despite how easy and intimate this morning has been. You’re both adults, both okay with it. 

“Cool.” He smiles and hauls himself out of bed, stepping into his lost and found again boxers before he doubles back to kiss your cheek. 

When your legs are steady enough he shows you how the shower works, leaving you to it with a new toothbrush, fresh towels and a familiar squeeze to your bare hip. There’s a little part of you that wants him to join you, waste hot water and let him press you against the cold tiles. Eddie wants that too, to delay your inevitable parting of ways and return to reality.

When you look in the mirror, you see a well-fucked woman; kiss-bitten lips and that long-lost post-sex glow. 

“What the fuck,” you murmur to yourself, giggling a little when you think over the last twelve hours. 

You had not gone out looking for a hookup last night, but you made the most of the festive excuse to go for drinks with the few friends you had made since moving to Hawkins six months ago. Catching Eddie’s eye at the bar had been a happy accident. A happy accident that lead to letting him buy you a drink, and then buying him one back. Your friends had wholeheartedly encouraged it, knew him to see around town and vouched for him as a mechanic. Good with his hands, they had teased. Oh, how right they had been.

The water is hot and Eddie’s shower gel is the typical ‘for men’ scented sort of thing. You feel fresh and clean when you step back into the bedroom, finding sweats and an Iron Maiden hoodie on the bed for you, alongside your clothes from last night (which Eddie has attempted to fold neatly, instead of leaving you to pick them up from the floor).

It should not make you smile so much, but your cheeks ache pleasantly as you dress yourself, opting for last night’s jeans with Eddie’s sweater. It’s washed-soft and smells like the detergent you have at home with a hint of his cologne.

You follow the scent of coffee and the sound of music downstairs, finding more traces of parenthood on your way - a purple fairy door on the baseboard,  a washing basket full of clean kids' clothes outside a closed bedroom door, light-up Skechers and silver glitter rain boots in the hall. There is something familiar about them, but brush it aside as something Hazel probably asked for in Target.

Eddie’s unbuttoned jeans hang low on his hips as he makes coffee in mismatched mugs, his hair is down tickling against his bare shoulders and back. There are drawings on the fridge and a Christmas tree peeking out from the living room. It feels like a happy home.

His eyes light up when he sees you, looking as hungry and enamoured by you in his hoodie as he had been when you were wearing nothing at all. 

“Do you take sugar, or are you sweet enough?” he asks, wearing a softer version of that panty-dropper smile from last night. He smells clean, minty and masculine, after a quick whore’s bath in the other bathroom.

“Just one,” you say, resting your hip against the kitchen island while you watch him fix up your coffee. “You’re smooth, huh?”

“You tell me.” He slides the mug across to you before blowing on his coffee, taking a still-too-hot sip that he tries and fails to cover. For a moment, you think he might be doing a bit, alas he is simply endearingly clumsy.

You feel bad laughing, but Eddie only pouts a little bit before grinning at you. There’s a faint blush on his cheeks and he ducks his head to hide behind his hair. 

“Real smooth.” 

Exercising patience, you decide to let your coffee cool a little.

“I’ll give you a ride home if you like?” he says, hoping it’s not too forward. 

He wants to be more forward, ask for your number and ask you out. He likes how his clothes fit your body, and how you looked blissed-out in his bed. While Eddie’s trying not to come off too strong, you appreciate his sweetness and fight your own internal battle of trying not to fall for your one-night stand.

“Yeah, that would be great. Thanks, Eddie. I’m over on Cornwallis, is that out of your way?”

He smiles a little, “I don’t mind a little detour, sweetheart.”

You pointedly blow on your coffee, learning from his mistake, and savour the made-just-right coffee in a Snoopy & Woodstock mug.

Over his shoulder, you spot a photo of a familiar man on the fridge, bookended by two heads of dark curly hair. There’s a handpainted fridge magnet with ‘Fae’ written in childishly charming pink writing, and you feel your cheeks flame.

He watches your face change, looks over his shoulder to see what you’re looking at. 

“Ah. That’s my Uncle Wayne, and Fae. My daughter. she’s six.” He unpins the picture and thumbs over it gently before turning it around to you.

You know exactly who they are, but take it anyway.

When you moved your life to Hawkins, Indiana six months ago, you would never have believed that you would make friends with a grandfather in his sixties outside of Curtain Call Dance Studio while you waited for Hazel. Making friends as a single Mom in a new town was not easy, you had little time outside of work and parenting for yourself, let alone socialising (and god forbid, dating). And then you parked next to Wayne one Thursday. He was a little quiet but had warmed up more each week; now he smiled when he saw you, asked how your job at the florists was and how Hazel was doing in school.

Even though they were in different First Grade class groups at Hawkins Elementary, Hazel and Fae had become almost inseparable in their dance classes and on the playground. 

You knew Fae’s dad worked late some evenings, so Wayne helped him out. Hazel had told you that she had seen Fae’s dad once when he picked her up early to go to the dentist, and that he had hair just like her friend.

“She looks just like me, it’s crazy - poor kid. I can’t believe she’s six. She’s supposed to be three, max. Y’know what I mean?” He says, showing you more of his proud Dad side before realising that your confusion is not because you’re looking at a picture of two clones. “You okay?”

“You’re Fae’s Dad? Fae Munson?” you ask, watching his shoulders tense a little as he nods. “Eddie. Our kids know each other. I’ve met Wayne.” 

He scowls slightly beneath his bangs, confused and a little worried that he hooked up with the mother of one of the kids who was mean to Fae in school, who told the teacher when she was ‘too chatty’ or when she stood up for herself.

The words spill from you untempered, unrestrained to clear it all up. “They’re at dance class together. They’re in the same grade. Hazel and Fae are friends, Eddie…”

He visibly softens, drops his shoulders, and even though he still looks confused he melts even more when an involuntary nervous laugh bubbles from your chest. 

“Seriously? No… You’re Hazel’s mom?” His eyes blow wide. “Fuck.” 

Eddie puts his head on the counter with a thunk, and you’re left with the photo of three smiling Munsons. Fae has her Dad’s eyes and hair, his impish mischief that had endeared you to the little girl. They really are alike.

“Wayne was right,” he says, muffled beneath his hair before peeking at you, “You are cute.” 

It makes you laugh more, though your cheeks feel like the surface of the sun.

“Wayne thinks I’m cute? Huh…”

“No. Nope,” he yelps, head flying up like a wild thing. “Oh my goddd.”

You feel a little spacey as the pieces fall into place. Wayne’s nephew Ed worked at Thatcher Tyre as a mechanic, and Fae had told Hazel her Dad looked like a rockstar. She wasn’t wrong…

“He was totally going to try and set us up or somethin’.”

“He did say I’d finally get to meet you at the Winter Performance…” you say, feeling fizzy-all-over as you come to terms with the shock of it all. “Guess we bet him to it.”

“Told me you were real sweet too.” Eddie smiles, his cheeks are pinker than ever.

Part of your brain berates you for hooking up with a stranger in a small town - a small town where everyone knows everyone else. But when Eddie reaches his hand out across the island and says, “Good to finally meet you, Hazel’s Mom,” with that flirty smile and his whiskey eyes, it melts away and you’re not really that sorry at all.

You take his hand, mug-warmed and adorned with silver rings. 

“Nice to meet you at last, Fae’s Dad.”

Neither of you is too embarrassed by the revelation, though you both circle back to how fucking crazy it is at least twice. Even though you still feel gooey-warm under his attention, you don’t want anything to get in the way of your daughter’s friendship, of your new start in Hawkins, and feel selfish for wanting more than the taste you have already had of Eddie Munson. You both know your time together is drawing to an end, the bubble is about to burst, and a little part of you wishes that the illusion of being strangers could have lasted a little longer. 

With your coffee consumed and your coats and boots on, Eddie takes your hand and pulls you against his body before you step outside of the door together. 

“Hey, gorgeous. One more kiss?” he asks, head tilted to the side. 

You don’t need to think about it, and take his stubbled jaw with both hands as he holds your hips. Kissing him makes all the tension roll away once more, and you hope it is enough to help him remember you as more than just some other Mom in the First Grade Parents Group Chat (which you both have muted). You have to savour it, remember his taste and touch.

Eddie is not shy about kissing you, he slides his tongue against yours and moans ever so quietly when you push your chest against his. He is also the one to slow it down, makes it sweet and tender and you would dare say romantic, even with his hands on your ass. 

“Can I ask for one more thing?” he whispers, nudging his nose against yours. 

Right now, you would consider giving him a kidney or a blow job if he asked nicely. 

“Mhm,” you whisper, giving nothing away just yet. 

“Can I get your number? I wanna take you out properly,” he says, his thumbs play with the belt loop at the back of your jeans. “Like a date.”

Feeling hot all over, you try to play it cool and not nod so eagerly lest you headbutt him and leave him bloody-nosed. 

“Yeah. That would be nice, Eddie.” 

He watches how your teeth sink into your lip and has to kiss you once more, just because. You take his phone and add your number and name, adding a little sparkle emoji before deleting it. Then you add it again and hand it back before you can change your mind.

“Cool. And, um maybe the girls could have a play date sometime? I was gonna ask for your number anyway, so y’know. Two birds, one stone and all that. Silver linings?” Eddie does a jazz-hand-flourish thing before he shakes his head at himself and tucks his phone away. “I had a good time with you. A great time. And I know what you might be thinking, I don’t want this to get between the girls either. But I’d love to see you again.”

You are even more endeared by these glimpses of how sensible he is as well as his goofy awkwardness beneath the leather jacket and bad boy stare.

He is as gentlemanly as he had been last night, opening doors for you, though he is less handsy in the bright morning light (he does give your knee a squeeze at the stoplight). You feel safe with him as he navigates the frosty roads of Hawkins, talking about music, what concerts you had been to before becoming parents, and where to get the sparkly tutus for the Winter Performance. 

All too soon he pulls up outside your house, spotting the red door with the handmade wreath that you had described.

“Next to Henderson’s?” he asks, brow raised.

“Yep. Do you know Claudia, or is this town just too small?”

He laughs, tilts his head against the headrest. “It’s way too small. Her son, Dustin? One of my best friends.” 

You tip your head forward, smiling even as your head shakes. “I’ve heard so much about Dustin. We’re having Christmas dinner with them.”

Eddie's dimpled cheeks crease even more. “Damn. Well, I can’t wait to hear why you picked Hawkins of all places to move to. You can tell me on our date.”

Proud of how that flusters you, he presses a kiss to your hand and winks, “I’ll text you later, sweetheart.”

You want to kiss him again, but you manage to restrain yourself, remembering the nosy neighbours on Cornwallis. Instead, you let the flickering fire inside you flirt back, hoping to fluster him too.

You place your hand high on his thigh and squeeze. “You better, Eddie. Drive safe.”

You can feel him checking you out all over again, the weight and warmth of his gaze, as you make your way up the path to your door. Once your key is in the lock, you part ways with a wave and a wink, lingering just a moment more to watch his car peel away from the curb. 

Left with a fluttering feeling in your tummy and warm cheeks that ache from smiling, you take a moment for yourself in your hallway. 

It is time to go back to being Hazel’s mom. You can’t wait to hear about her sleepover with Ms. Claudia and the cats, bask in her brilliance and take every hug and smooch she will offer you (or let you take for yourself). Inspired by Eddie and Fae’s breakfast date, you think of taking your girl to the diner for dinner later on, maybe watching a Christmas movie before bed. 

In the mirror above your sideboard, hanging above the key dish and the thrifted lamp and a photo of you and Hazel in matching sunglasses, you catch sight of your smiling reflection once more, enveloped in a dreamy daze and borrowed hoodie. Your phone buzzes in your pocket and your smile becomes bigger, brighter, brimming with hope. 

What did you think? Do we want more of these two? 👀 Thank you so very very much for reading! Your comments, reblogs and likes are incredibly appreciated and adored!

Whether you're celebrating or not, I am wishing you the cosiest and most wonderful holiday season filled with peace and love and every good thing you deserve ✨

[cliosunshine]

𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐇𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐯𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐭 🐾

or how the first time your boyfriend meets your cat doesn't go as planned (he survives don't worry)

Jason Todd x gn!reader

Warnings: none, reader is a doctor and Norbert is a chunky boi

After successfully taking down another trafficking ring, Jason was ready to head back home.

As he helped the last person out of their restraints, shots got fired from behind him, causing him to promptly duck by the nearest car. He went to take his guns into his hands, but quickly realized he must've threw them earlier when approaching the little girls kept in the warehouse, trying to appear as little intimitanding as possible.

"Shit," he muttered, searching for a way out. Without thinking, he grabbed the body of one of the men he had shot and used it as his shield until he got to the other side of the street, where he could see one of the men's rifles.

Quickly discarding of the corpse, he took the weapon into his hands, muscle memory kicking in as he fired at the sniper perched by the window of an abandoned building.

Retrieving his guns, he managed to run a few blocks towards his bike before more shots were being fired at him, certainly from Black Mask's goons.

As he fired back, one of the bullets from the aggressors pierced throught his left thigh, making him grunt in pain.

The adrenaline in his body was too high for him to fully comprehend the situation. Ultimately he managed to kill some of the goons before storming off on his bike.

While skimming trought the desolated streets of Gotham, Jason knew he needed medical attention asap, but his apartment was too far away and in no way in hell was he going to the manor, so he opted for the only other option he had.

Your place.

Now, you and him had been dating for quite some time, but he had never been to your apartment before. It was mainly to keep you out of harm's way, were someone to see a vigilante coming every night to your window and associating you with him.

The other reason was your cat, Norbert.

He had seen pictures and videos of him, but had been warned by every single one of your friends and apparently Dick as well, that he despised men.

Dick had learned it the hard way when he was passing throught your neighbourhood and saw you desperately trying to coax Norbert back into you apartment, since he somehow got himself on the fire escape and had no intention of budging.

Imagine your horror upon seeing Nighwing picking up your cat and trying to pet him and coo at him.

"Aw, what a cutie, what's his name-"

"Nighwing, no!-"

But it was too late: your cat had already scratched the man's cheek. Dick screamed as he let the cat go and almost tumbled over the fire escape. Now everytime somebody brought Norbert up in conversation, you could alway hear him cussing out your cat under his breath.

But Jason's mind was too far gone to fully underatnd what was happening, all he was thinking of was to get to shelter, to find a way not to bleed to death in the middle of the road, so up your building's fire escape he went.

He had made it to your window and knocked on it lighlty, knowing you'd be up reading a book before going to bed.

As if on cue, you arrived jogging with a toothbrush in your mouth, hastily sliding up your window upon seeing your boyfriend's doubled over figure.

"Oh my God, love, are you okay?" You hadn't spotted the gunshot yet, too preoccupied to bring his massive frame into your home.

"Hey, sweetheart," He said, taking his helmet off. Sweat made his hair cling to his forehead, a groan leaving his lips as he tried his best not to put his weight on the injured leg, "Sorry if this is the way I visit your place for the first time."

You gave him a worried look as you assessed the wound before running to the bathroom, getting rid of your toothbrush and pulling out the first aid kit. You thanked every entity in this universe for making you choose to go to medical school as you quickly returned to the living room, where you found Jason slumped against your coffee table.

You quickly began working on his leg, giving him a gauze to bite into.

"Tahnh yuh babh"

You tried to suppress a chuckle as you finished wrapping up his leg and gave him a glass of water and osme painkillers. You kissed his cheek, "No problem, love, I'm literally doing my job"

Jason gave you a lopsided grin both from pure exhaustion and sleepiness, and he felt his eyes begin to droop.

You shook him lightly, afraid to injure him further but definitely not wanting him to worsen his conditions.

"Hey, baby, you need to stay awake for me for a bit, yeah?"

"Mh-I knoww...I just-"

"Meow."

You stared at your boyfriedn with an horrified expression, eyes wide as your fingers grazed his bandages.

Jason seemed to have lost every single ounce of sleep in his body, matching your expression.

"Meow."

Uh oh.

"Don't move," you pleaded with him, taking his hands in yours, "I'll bring him here, just- holy cow!"

Just as you begun to turn, you spotted Norbert, your cat, in all his chunky orange glory, staring the two of you down - or better, zeroing in his amber eye on Jason, who for the first time that night, felt true fear.

"What do I do?" he whispered to you as he held eye contact with your cat, both of his hands tensing up under your grip.

You sighed, standing up, "Just stay there," then you went over Norbert and picked him up.

The feline instantly melted in your hold, purring slightly and nuzzling into you, but you could tell he wasn't fully calming down. He was still looking at Jason and his tail was swaying from side to side.

You just hoped you wouldn't have to stich Jason up again tonight.

You made your way over, taking small steps towards your boyfriend, who was still laying on the ground with a cautious look on his face.

"I made him smell some of your clothes the last few months," you started to explain, "and he even cuddled up to me in bed while i was wearing your hoodie, you know, the black Metallica one..." you took a few more steps, now directly in front of him.

You kneeled down, your arms tightening slightly around Norbert, "I really hope that did the trick,"

The cat sensed your nervousness and thinking it was due to Jason presence, hissed at him, swatting a clawed paw in his direction.

You closed your eyes, taking a big breath and trying to calm your nerves. This was a big deal for you and you cared bout both of them just as deeply, so you really hoped Norbert learned to accept Jason.

"Outstretch one of you hands towards him," you instructed Jason, "let him sniff you."

You loosened your grip on your cat and he jumped out of your arms, cautiosly making his way to Jason's hand. He let a low grumble as a warning, but upon sniffing his hand, he took a few momwnts to assess the situation. Nornert looked at you and you muttered a good boy to him, stroking his back in praise. He meowed and turned back to Jason, looking at him and then, and only then, he softly bumped his head on his hand, his fluffy tail up as Jason run his hand over his back. You both let out a relieved breath in unison, your shoulders visibly relaxing.

You watched the scene in awe, you eyes starting to well up with tears.

Jason sensed the mood switch and turned his head towards you. He was still smiling for not being smacked or bitten by your cat yet, so he scooted over, daring to do the impossible: hugging you in front of Norbert.

He had heard the stories: your guy friends and most importantly your ex boyfriend had tried to do so and had eneded up being chased around the house by a raging murderous orange ball of fur. They lived to tell the tale, but had since refused to step foot into your home ever again.

He hoped it would go differently for him.

Taking a leap of faith, he swung his arm around your shoulders, you thighs barely touching as his other hand cradled your chin.

"Hey," he looked into your eyes with worry, "you okay?"

You nodded with wide eyes, your left hand cupping his cheek with a relieved smile.

"Yeah, I'm happy he didn't attack you, it's all," you said but then your expression faltered as you heard another meow and saw Norbert staring menacingly at Jason's hand on your chin, then at Jason and then at the hand again.

He quickly dropped his hand and chuckled in apology, but you decided to see just how far you could push your luck and decided to pick Norbert up and place him onto your lap so he'd be between you two.

He unsurprisingly loafed up on you immediately and rested his chin on your right knree, staring up at the two of you.

"Try again, love," you said to Jason, who didn't need to be told twice as he eagerly tilted you chin up and leaned down for a searing kiss, his lips moulding against your own. You melted at the way his slightly chapped lips seemed to slot perfectly against yours, sighing in contemptment as your fingers twiddled witht the damp strands of hair that were stuck to his nape. You slightly tugged them and that earned you a mewl from Jason, the sound vibrating in your own mouth and making you smile in satisfaction.

Eventually pulling away to catch your breath, Jason chased your lips again but you playfully swatted his chest chuckling, "Don't push your luck, Jay. Norbert's patience runs out very quickly," you whispered as you looked down, petting the cat on your lap, "Aren't you a good boy, uh? Letting me kiss my boyfriend without drawing blood,"

Jason let out a whine, glaring at the cat and then making puppy eyes at you, "Wasn't I your good boy?"

"Jason, oh my god-"

[starlightsuffered]

My Girl

A/N - wrote this bc I’m cold and I miss the sun also I had a dream about it

Info - fingering, friends to lovers, pda, a little sex, getting caught in heavy make out, tasting pussy juice, finger sucking

I popped a cherry into my mouth and noted how Timothée looked at my lips. The air was thick, though humidity was low. My ponytail brushed my shoulder as I turned to grab another piece of fruit.

I felt a tentative hand on my bare ankle. I pretended I didn’t notice. His thumb moved slowly over my skin.

Since winter, things had been very different. Timothée and I had been friends forever, but in December he’d become single again. On new years, he’d decided that we would kiss to usher it in. At that moment, everything had changed.

His moustache was gone, and his hair was now fluffy and tousled like it used to be. He’d been home spending time with his niece for a while. He hadn’t taken a new project for a while and I wished desperately that even a little of it was for me.

We’d reconnected in a heavy way. We spent days and nights together. He seemed to always be inviting me over. We shared bottles of wine and late night confessions. The alcohol always had us falling over each other with giggles. Then we’d take a moment and stare into the others eyes. Our friendship wore thin as one of us would inevitably push a lock of their out of the others face.

That was how we had lived for months. We’d walked that edge of the precipice so many times. I wondered if we were both waiting on the other to make the final move. I wondered if he’d find me less desirable if I broke first. I wondered what was taking so damn long.

“Would you rather,” he mused, picking up the game again.

We were having a picnic in the park. I wore a new sundress that he had barely removed his eyes from the entire afternoon. He was in jeans and over sized t-shirt. The sun had finally begun to warm New York City and he’d eagerly called me, begging for a picnic lunch in the fresh air.

“Kiss someone, or hug someone?”

“It depends,” I said, tilting my head to the side.

“Oh?” He asked as his fingers drummed on my leg. I wanted to pounce on him.

“Hugs are almost always good, kisses are only good with some people,” I shrugged. I threw a blackberry in my mouth now.

“Yeah?” He asked.

“What makes someone the right person?” Timothée asked in a dangerous voice. I gulped and looked up to meet his gaze.

“Someone who is kind, sexy, matches your energy, knows you well, cares for you the correct way…” I trailed off. I felt a burning between my legs even though this was just a conversation about kissing. He always launched me into neediness so easily.

“And am I-“ he sucked in a deep breath. If he was breathing harder, I wasn’t breathing at all. He was preparing, I could tell. He was closer to that precipice than he’d ever been. He was going to jump.

“Am I the right sort of person?” He whispered.

I leaned back on my elbows. Ever so slightly, I spread my legs. His grip became tighter on my ankle. His eyes darkened and he watched me as if I were stripping instead of leaning back casually.

“Yes,” was all I breathed.

He lurched forward, a desperate hunger in his eyes. My back hit our fuzzy blanket. His mouth was glued to mine. His large hands held my face. I was hot all over as our tongues danced together. I couldn’t have cared less who would see us.

His hand moved to my thigh and went up, lifting up my dress. I gasped into his mouth.

“I love you, fuck I love you, I’ve wanted this so long,” he heaved, he was panting as he grabbed at every bit of my skin. My leg wrapped around him. I pressed myself into the feeling of him, memorising it.

“I want you, I need you,” I repeated myself over and over. He mouthed over my neck. His long fingers crawled to my pink panties.

“Shit!” He sucked in a breath when he felt my wetness.

“You’re perfect, I can’t breathe, I don’t want to,” he told me. I was keening and arching as his deft fingers plunged into me. He curled them in my wet heat.

“You’re so pretty in this dress. I can’t keep my eyes off you,” he whispered, kissing the hot skin of my clavicle.

I loved how he worshipped and praised me, as if he hadn’t been around a million celebrities. He could see me as less or not be interested at all. Yet, he touched me like one would touch a deity. I was in heaven.

“Mmmmm,” Timothée moaned as he lifted his digits to his mouth. His fingers were so slick. I watched him mesmerized by the beauty.

“Baby, you’ve got to taste yourself. Come on pretty girl, it’s ambrosia,” he coaxed. He looked love sick and hazy. He smiled dreamily as his finger were sucked by my needy mouth.

“Atta girl,” he whispered. He was kissing me again now. My bottom half was almost completely bare. The grass was on my ass and my dress was hitched up around my waist. Timothée’s hands dipped into the cups of my bra. He massaged as he kissed me and kissed me and kissed me.

“What are you two doing,” asked a harsh voice. A park ranger took in our heady gazes and the tent in Timmy’s pants, and the way I was scantily clad.

“Get up!” He snapped gruffly.

Timothée had Trouble moving from his hard on. He was pulling me along desperately. He’d left behind the blanket, the lunch, all in an effort to get to his car.

He whips open the door and pulls me on top of him in almost one movement. Out kisses are sloppy and hot. His hands are up my dress again. I could hardly catch a breath.

“Fuck me, there will be pictures everywhere,” he said, but he didn’t sound like he actually cared that much.

“Fuck that,” I giggled as I nipped at his lip.

“Fuck me,” he moaned, a request.

“Absolutely,” I agreed. I pushed my panties to the side and he pulled out his cock. I sunk down and settled into the place I was meant to be.

“My girl,” he groaned as I began to bounce and he began to thrust.

“My girl forever.”

@pmak2002 @softhecreator @plutoispurplw @sp1deyyf4ngz @seungcheol17daddy @jesschalamet @vvsdreaming @lovelyrocker

[gaywarcriminals]

YQY getting hit with truth serum so he has to confess The Secret to SJ is definitely a thing, because jesus fucking christ ANYTHING to make that man talk, but I think the potential for an even larger audience is fantastic.

A scenario like SQQ's trial. Things are dug up. Other things are implied or even fabricated. YQY is on trial. He's presented with some kind of truth serum. He refuses to take it until it's clarified that it won't compel him to speak, just prevent him from lying. He takes it.

They were lying. It absolutely does compel him to answer any questions asked of him. And the results are completely unhinged.

The Xuan Su thing doesn't even come up. It doesn't need to. In an attempt to paint him as scheming and ambitious, he's asked why he became sect leader.

"So I can give Xiao Jiu whatever he wants."

The assembled crowd: ?????

Is this Xiao Jiu a....mistreess? A son? What the hell. Questioning continues, and Yue Qingyuan's insanity is put on full display.

"What if 'Xiao Jiu' wanted to be the sect leader?"

"I would make him the sect leader."

"Surely the other peak lords of Cang Qiong would object. What would you do, then?"

"Whatever I had to."

Whatever they were originally asking about gets seriously derailed as they realize that this guy, arguably the most powerful cultivator in the world, is singularly obsessed with a person he calls 'Xiao Jiu.' Why did he seek power? Xiao Jiu. What is his ultimate goal? Xiao Jiu.

It's also starting to seem like maybe Xiao Jiu isn't exactly a willing participant.

"What does Xiao Jiu ask you for?"

"To leave him alone."

Okay. So his attentions are unwanted. Yikes.

Further questioning reveals that this mysterious person seems to hate Yue Qingyuan, but is regularly subject to his attentions anyway.

The one question he won't answer is 'who is Xiao Jiu.' He's bleeding from the mouth and eyes, but he just shakes his head or says, "He told me not to call him that."

In the audience, no one noticed Shen Qingqiu's total bluescreen, because honestly? All of the peak lords are feeling pretty lost for words right now.

I dunno, I just think it's specifically interesting to a) have a public reveal that this man is a lunatic, and b) have SQQ find out the depths of YQY's devotion without being able to get the answer he wants most.

This would drive SJ absolutely insane. On the one hand he’s happy that YQY isn’t spilling every little detail of their past for these vultures to pick through, on the other hands where the fuck is this coming from??? What sense do these answers make in the mouth of the man who abandoned him? If it was anyone else saying these things he’d be wildly uncomfortable, but this is just confusing (if he were to really sit with his feelings, he might realize that any immediate sense of revolution was swept away by a long-dormant sense of possessiveness). He intends to grab YQY and shake him as soon as YQY stops giving the OPM grounds to charge him with stalking or harassment or something, and YQY will just give him guilty eyes because he things SJ is mad about every he said on the stand 😔. Actually scratch that for qijiu’s benefit the potion should still be in effect, so the moment they’re behind doors SJ can furiously ask why, if YQY doesn’t despise him, he saw fit to abandon him back then and every day since their reunion. YQY can try to hold himself back from speaking to the point of coughing up blood again, which only enrages SJ further, and eventually YQY is forced to speak his explanation through his rough and bloodied throat. SJ is have every single emotion today and has a 50/50 chance of learning what YQY’s blood tastes like (for normal kissing reasons. Normaler than usual).

On a different note, I felt palatable anxiety reading the first part of the ask because I thought you were going to say that YQY confessed about Xuan Su in public, his greatest weakness and a questionable/unnatural feat of cultivation that he could well be criticized for. I legit think that if that happened SJ would consider killing everyone else in the room to stop the secret from getting out— he doesn’t have time to process all the complicated emotions from what YQY just told him, he only knows that’s it’s intolerable for YQY to be this vulnerable in front of people SJ distrusts or despises.

[sirxlla]

In Times Of Need

------------------------------------------------

Warnings: My distaste for Tommy slips through quite a bit. Other than that? Fluff.

Prompt: After Tommy breaks up with Buck. Buck calls you to get comfort

Notes: Female Reader, italics are actions and thoughts.

-With that said it's all under the cut-

The last thing you thought you would hear when you picked up the phone to him with him crying, you never heard him sob to this degree before and he sounded very upset.

"Ev, Hey. What's wrong?" Your mind immediately filled with the worst because of the fact of the matter was that his job was extremely dangerous and if not that you knew that there were days that were extremely hard as a first responder.

"I just- We were planning on going on a date tonight and he just dumped me." He's sniffled trying to keep this snot from running down his face.

"What? Tommy, broke up with you?" You tried to swallow the irritation that you felt rising in your throat. You really didn't like Tommy in the first place but breaking up with Evan seemed very out of the blue.

"Would you like me to come over or anything?" You asked with concern the both of you had keys for each other's places because the way the both of you saw it was that you had a home in each other, whenever you guys needed each other the answer was never no.

"Yeah...please?" He asked as his voice shook. Buck was so brave and he was so excited about this relationship because he never been with a guy not longer than a one night stand anyways and Tommy was supposed to be different.

As much as you understood that Evan cared about Tommy you could not stand him, not only because he seems like a self-absorbed asshole every single time you came around even though Buck tried to destroy you he wasn't....but it was also because somehow he almost inspired Eddie to be an asshole as well which was so out of character for him but it was almost like he was peer pressured into it... don't even get me started on Halloween because we be here all day.

The only reason that you were nice to Tommy is because of Evan if buck wasn't there it would be an entirely different story or if Buck wasn't dating him it would be an entirely different story because it was so hard to keep your mouth shut. It was even harder when Tommy was being an asshole especially to Buck... it also wasn't that he was overly an asshole, it was these passive aggressive and snide comments that he made twords Evan that taken out of context could slightly sound like it wasn't being rude but put in the context sounded extremely rude...

You tried to push all that aside because right now the only person that needed you was your best friend. You arrived to his place fairly quickly and gave him a hug as soon as you saw him... Buck was still understanably a complete mess and you can barely make out what he was saying but you started to piece things together after a few minutes.

"He said that 'he was your first but he's not going to be your last?'" You asked him as you tried to keep the clear irritation out of your voice. Evan nodded, his eyes were red and he was just completely distraught over this.

"With that mentality why would you ever get in a relationship? That sort of ideology completely negates the entire purpose of one." You asked him as a bit of anger slipped into your voice.

"I don't know." His voice cracked as he sat on the couch and pulled you into his lap like a kid holding a teddy bear. You rubbed his back and tried to soothe him, pushing that anger away to focus on the most important aspect of it all right now, Evan.

"You know this isn't your fault, right?" You asked quietly as you tried to reassure the sweet man infront of you.

"I don't think it's anyones fault."

'No, it is. It's Tommy's for being so insecure he didn't think your relationship with him would ever last. An asshole like the rest of your exes' You thought to yourself, you'd never say that to him, especially not right now when he already felt really shitty...

A bit if time past and Buck's crying had made him tired and he just picked you up and took you to his bedroom like a kid holding onto their stuffie for dear life. You wrapped your legs around him, this wasnt the first time he'd carried you to bed like this.

He placed you down on the bed and turned out the light before crawling into the bed next to you, he wrapped his arms around you. You hugged him back and just wished to take all of his sadness. His hand found yours and your thumbs brushed against his knuckles as the pair of you laid in the dark bedroom under warm sheets. Slowly he started to calm and slipped off into a peaceful sleep followed by you. You'd always have Evan and he always had you, always...

(Send me prompts if you want)

Masterlist

[mumms-the-word]

Notes on a Caretaker

I find something about this note so fascinating. Every time I pick it up or scroll back around to it I have to sit with it and just...linger, trying to understand it.

So this is my attempt to break it down and sort through my thoughts about this note, which I think is so obviously from Solas. I think it hints not only to his spirit background, but also his perspective on the path he feels is set before him. Which, idk, is cool!

Mini analysis under the cut! Also a lot of Veilguard spoilers!

This note has a smear of paint on one corner: Have they always been here? There are beings in the Crossroads unknown even to the wise, though the most ancient ones make any domain their own. Certainly, this Caretaker belongs here now.

We’re led to believe this note must be from Solas because of the smear of paint. And I would argue the paint perhaps clues us in to when this might have been written. No doubt Solas was painting murals when he was running around as the Rebel Fen'Harel, since we see some of them in Trespasser, but I think he painted the murals in the Lighthouse after he left the Inquisition (in part because we have that last mural where he kills Flemythal, and he left his paint pallet in the music room after recreating the Inquisition murals there). So it could go either way, but...

I can just imagine Solas, lost in the throes of his regrets, painting his sins on the walls of the library and his memories of the Inquisition in the music room, finally noticing the Caretaker who has arrived, or perhaps was always there. Perhaps he pauses to consider the nature of the Caretaker, and the mystery of when it arrived. We find this note in the kitchen/dining area, where Solas still has a single place setting laid out for himself. So perhaps the Caretaker arrived to take care of him?

Or maybe this is a really, really old letter from when Solas first retreated to the Lighthouse and began to use it as his base of operations. How ancient is the Caretaker? Did they arrive to see to the Lighthouse during the days of the rebellions against the Evanuris, or did they arrive later? Did they arrive because they were drawn to the needs of dozens, hundreds of rebels and refugees, or drawn to its echo after they were gone? Which is it?

I personally go back and forth about it, but it's fascinating that the letter subtly supports both perspectives. Anyways!

I wonder what we look like to them. Need is a scaffold, and the needs of the living ever rise and fall upon it. Hunger, thirst, sleep... imagine the constant cacophony to one sensitive to such things.

The "we" suggests maybe this is a much older letter. I can see a much younger Solas leading his rebels to the Lighthouse and contemplating the nature of this Caretaker, worrying about how so many physical bodies in one space might affect a spirit sensitive to physical needs. But I can also see a much more recent Solas pondering this new (or new to him) creature, so I don't know.

Either way, "we" vs. "them." Solas is well and truly part of the living here, as opposed to viewing this all entirely as a spirit. It's like he's wondering what these spirit-born elves, or even mortals in general look like to a spirit like the Caretaker. A spirit whose focus is on needs, surrounded by these elves with physical bodies who now have very real, tangible needs. Hunger, thirst, sleep, things a spirit does not feel. But the Caretaker does, at least, sense these things in others.

The chorus of one person's needs must be a lot, but the cacophony of dozens, hundreds, as there would have been when the Lighthouse was in its prime? No wonder Solas has a moment of concern for this benevolent spirit.

Or am I too simple? Wants are fleeting; needs have deeper roots. Perhaps that's why I find this particular spirit's presence both comforting and disconcerting. The prospect that our heart's desire and our truest need could differ—or are even at odds—is hard to contemplate.

This. This is the most fascinating part of the note.

Or am I too simple? I think this is a hint, super early in the game, that Solas is a spirit. Spirits are the pure manifestations of emotion and thought. Complexity comes with personhood, with being part of the living in the tangible world. But spirits in the Fade (even before the Veil) are always pretty simple.

Solas is grappling with his nature here.

Wants are fleeting; needs have deeper roots. Perhaps that's why I find this particular spirit's presence both comforting and disconcerting.

I wonder if this is Solas struggling a bit with the unique experience of being both spirit and elf, undying but also very much alive, originally intangible but now physical. Wants come with being a spirit—spirits want to see beyond the Veil, if they're curious enough, or Cole as Compassion wants to help, he wants to look like the boy who died in the Spire. But here it's like Solas is suggesting that need is an intrinsically mortal or at least physical thing���something he didn't need to consider much before he had a body.

After all, spirits who don't have purely physical bodies don't seem to have the same needs. Like when Dorian talks with Cole about having a body, despite him not seeming to have physical needs:

Dorian: Do you need to eat, Cole? Or sleep? Cole: I thought I had to. But I don't. The Old Songs can pull me.

Or Blackwall suggesting that now that Cole is more human (if you take that path) the physical needs will likely come up:

Blackwall: So now that you've dealt with the templar, you're a real boy? Cole: Realer. Blackwall: Good enough. I suppose you'll stop looking into people's heads soon? And you might want to look into, I don't know, eating. Cole: Blech.

Often I think Solas struggles with where he stands, what he is, what he can be, what he should be as someone whom was first a spirit and then a person with a physical body. Short of dying, it sounds as though the process of going from spirit to elf is irreversible. He cannot return to the Fade as a pure spirit anymore. After the Veil, he can only return in dreams, at least until he finds ways of tearing through to the Veil to enter physically again.

But time and again he thinks and acts like a spirit with a simpler, focused nature rather than a complicated nature like a person might have. When he asks, Am I too simple? it feels like he’s acknowledging this. Is he too simple, too focused, too spirit to understand the experience of being fully, complexly mortal or physical?

The Caretaker’s presence is both comforting, because Solas knows that his (or others’) needs will likely be tended to, and yet disconcerting because it’s probably weird to even have those needs.

Ah but here we come to my favorite part.

The prospect that our heart's desire and our truest need could differ—or are even at odds—is hard to contemplate.

I’m sure this is hard to contemplate even for a normal person. How often do we struggle with knowing what we want isn’t always what we need? We may want the sugary cake, for example, but our bodies may need the healthier vegetables or fruits instead.

But going deeper, it’s easy to conflate needs and wants when it comes to abstract things. Like, say, vengeance, penance, atonement, or restoration.

Solas wants to repair the mistake he made thousands of years ago by creating the Veil, but he doesn’t need to do that. Yet in his mind, he treats it like a need, with roots so deep he can’t escape being bound up in them.

He wants to honor Mythal, who died because of his mistakes, who died again at his hand, but he doesn’t see that he can let go of that purpose, because somehow this want isn’t fleeting or fading like wants normally do. It sticks around. Therefore it must be more than want, right?

His heart’s desire is for the elven people to be restored, immortal, free, prosperous, and he throws his entire being into making that goal come true, that dream a reality. But he doesn’t see that his truest need is actually to be freed himself. Free from the purpose he’s given himself in the wake of Mythal’s death. Free from a path of vengeance that no one asked him to take, but that he feels obligated to walk.

His truest need, which he can’t see, because he can’t seem to sort through what is more want versus what is more need (and who can really, when they’re in the thick of things?), is not to cling closer to Mythal and honor his friend (or whatever it is they were), but to be freed from any and all entanglements with her.

He doesn’t want to let her go, but he needs to.

But without her around to release him, he clings to his plans to restore the elven people, restore her people, and hope that that will be atonement enough.

I think that’s why in the redemption ending, when we do see Mythal release Solas, he nearly collapses with this mixture of grief and relief. When he finally straightens up again, yes he’s hurting, but he’s the calmest he’s ever been in the entire game. As in, not tense, not plotting, not agitated. You get the sense that he can see or think with clarity now. Perhaps even breathe freely for the first time in ages.

And he finally sees that what he needs to do is not fix his mistakes, if doing so only causes more chaos and heartache and death for thousands or millions around him, but to seek atonement.

I love the line Rook can say when they’re trying to talk him down and make him bind himself to the Veil.

“[Making the Veil collapse] is what you want. Making amends isn’t about what you want.”

It doesn’t convince Solas, because he still doesn’t see removing the Veil as a want. He views it as a need. Not his need, but the world’s need. The world needs to be restored to the way Mythal would have wanted it, or so he believes.

I think that’s why Mythal has to release him before he can see everything clearly. She is the only one who can give him what he needs but does not what—freedom from her service.

It may not be everyone’s favorite choice, but I understand how we get here, especially since we find this letter so early in the game. Whether this letter is Solas from the distant past or the more recent past, it sets up a trajectory that we can trace all the way to the end of the game. And I just find that fascinating.

[blood-red-hummingbee]

Young and Dumb

NOT TWST, THIS IS FOR MY YOUNG JUSTICE DC SONA

She’d known him her whole life. They’d lived in the same shitty, run-down apartment building, and become fast friends, bonding over their propensity for fist-fighting at school and love of books. Riley had been the first and only person Jason had told about his home life. Her family may have been just as poor as his, but their door was always open to him, a warm meal and love waiting. When Willis got hauled away and Catherine OD’d, they’d tried to take him in, but he didn’t let them, despite how he obviously wanted to. They were living on a single mother’s minimum wage budget. Even in Crime Alley, that wouldn’t support five people. He was still over as often as they assured him they could afford though.

Then it happened. He got picked up by Bruce Wayne. He’d called them from his own phone, explaining every detail. Riley found it suspicious, but he’d promised that he’d tell her if anything bad happened. He never broke his promises.

A year after Jason got taken in by Gotham’s sweetheart, a new Robin showed up. She’d read about how he was violent, more so than the last Robin, not hesitating to shatter bones and wreck people’s shit. She liked the new Robin more, to be honest. She met him for the first time when she was fourteen. She’d stopped by a cafe on her way back from a binge at the library, and of course, that’s when someone chose to hold it up. Minutes after the man in the ski mask had burst into the building, Robin was charging through the doors, dealing with the robber with a few well placed kicks.

The room was silent after watching the brightly colored teen wipe the floor with the man with a gun - except for Riley. She’d laughed, drawing attention to herself, though she didn’t particularly care. Even with the whited-out lenses of his domino mask, she could feel Robin’s eyes on her, his lips curled up into a smirk. She matched it, meeting his gaze - as best she could anyway.

After that, she’d kept an eye out for the boy, not that she expected to run into him again for real. Until, one night.

She was out on her apartment’s small balcony, just enjoying the fresh air (well, as fresh as Gotham air could get), when across the street, she spotted a figure. She cocked her head, glancing around for anyone, before indulging her intrusive thoughts, and waving at the silhouette. After a moment, the figure jumped to another roof, seeming to ignore her. If it’d even noticed her in the first place. She should probably be thankful if it didn’t notice her. It was Gotham after all, and no one wanted attention from random people on rooftops if they were sane.

She shivered, pulling her small blanket around her and turning to go inside.

“Cold?”

She jumped, turning and whipping her fist out at the sudden voice. Robin just barely avoided her hit, leaning back just out of reach, perched on the small railing. She had two thoughts at that moment and voiced both of them.

“You’re an asshole, that was rude. And get off of there, it’s old and flimsy, and we can’t afford to replace it!” She waved her hand at him angrily, while he gaped at her slightly. “I mean it, off! You break it, you buy it!”

He plopped onto the balcony, crowding her slightly. She narrowed her eyes at him. “What are you doing?”

He smirked mischievously, leaning back on the railing. “I dunno, you’re the one who invited me over. That’s a bad idea, by the way. There’re weirdos out there. It’d be a shame for a pretty lil’ thing like you to pique their interest.”

She raised her eyebrows at the compliment, noting the distinct Narrows accent. “Says you.”

He clasped his hands and brought them to his chest, then down to his waist, swaying slightly and grinding the toe of his boot against the concrete. She’s sure that he was fluttering his eyelashes under his domino. “Aw, you think I’m purty?”

She snorted, resisting the urge to punch him in the arm. “No, you’re a weirdo. You go around flirting with every chick that waves at you? You should know I’m a minor and have lots of pepper spray.”

He half-laughed half-squawked, an action that seemed very familiar to her…

While he spluttered out a defense - ‘Wha- I’m not- I don’t-’ - she studied him a bit closer. She sucked at names, but she never forgot a face. Not in Gotham where seeing a person more than once was most likely evidence of something bad.

The slope of his nose, the shape of his jaw and the chubby cheeks peeking out from under his mask. His wavy black hair, and the way his left front tooth stuck out just a bit farther than his right…

The realization struck her abruptly, and she didn’t quite know how to feel. Several things made sense suddenly, though. 

Her best friend was Robin.

… Was she gonna have to tell him about her powers now?

Part Two!

[ranticore]

im so curious about the kitchen nightmares au, is félix a waiter? are erica and jean creating crimes against the culinary arts in the back? why is esk of all people gordon ramsay

relevant background info was that when i first got my ipad and was getting to grips with procreate, i was also drafting the first go at mvf so i was drawing mostly refs and character designs, and while i was doing that on an ipad i realised that i could, for the first time ever, watch something on another screen while drawing. guess what i watched

this super old art was one of my first paintings all in procreate and i did it while watching kitchen nightmares. love the show (uk version only), it's absolutely terrible and fake and ramsay sucks but something Compels me

i drew a series of fake interview portraits for all main characters of mvf, as different staff members in a failing restaurant on the show. esk who was kind of the straight man/critical voice of the group ended up being the celebrity chef

anyway the basic plot is they work at a tacky outdated italian trattoria with all that entails, that serves french cuisine, in the year 2005. the restaurant was a money laundering front owned by helena but she was an absentee owner who would deny any claim over the restaurant flaws and be generally away & uncooperative

the restaurant was failing because it looked awful and the food was not good but also because the staff could not work well with one another and the constant arguments that customers would overhear was turning them off

the person who called in gordon ramsnake was the restaurant manager, Félix, in a very roundabout attempt to try to bring heat down on Helena

general overview of the staff & their flaws

Manager (Félix) - actively embezzling from the business, basically a middle manager tyrant trying to control everyone else, ambition of becoming the owner one day (and then they'll ALL see). Would deflect the blame for the restaurant's issues onto every single other person except Francis because he can do no wrong ever. Aw jeez guys we just don't know where the money is going!! Don't look at his meticulously-kept, well-hidden balance books or his incongruously nice car. He looks like the sleaziest businessman you have ever seen.

Head Chef (Jean, you guessed right) - confrontational and rude, could not accept criticism no matter what and would pick fights with customers who sent the food back. He could cook decently but only to his own schedule and preference. The type to go "my food is perfect and nobody can teach me anything" before esk convinces the owner to hire a new head chef who can actually listen to feedback. His prized menu hasn't changed in 7 years.

Front of House (Islin) - zero charm or charisma but otherwise pretty sincere, though it IS weird that an ordained priest is working here and not in a church somewhere. He explains in an interview around the back of the restaurant that he's identified a new route to finding converts because just knocking on people's doors hasn't had a good return. He has zero interest in any aspect of the restaurant experience. Attempts to preach to most of the diners.

Head Waiter (Erica) - he's clearly had no training and is never where he's supposed to be at any given time, and it almost looks like he's ambushing the diners while they're mid-bite on purpose. Calculated bare-minimum work while spending most of his time in the kitchens for some reason. In the course of the episode it's discovered that he makes a decent cook and gets relocated. He had a habit of telling customers that the food was bad even if it wasn't.

Barman (Francis) - eager to please and maybe the only truly friendly face in the restaurant, he's the only reason anyone comes back. But he has an inconvenient habit of giving steep discounts to women, so the bar almost never turns a profit. There have been a few complaints about Barman's inappropriate advances from diners & the fact that his shirt is always a little bit too open. He seems to believe that there's nothing wrong with the place and it's a perfectly legit successful business, so it's hard to get through to him to change his behaviour. Won't hear a word of criticism against Félix or Islin.

Sous-chef (Léá) - hates it here hates every second of every day can't stand anyone wants to be out of there asap but she knows she lacks the experience to actually be a sous-chef in a legitimate restaurant, which means she'd take a pay cut if she tried to find work anywhere else, so she's trapped. She has a habit of throwing parsley garnish far too liberally over every single dish because she read in a book from the 90s that this is how you get a Michelin star

Rival Restaurateur (Senca) - she runs an equally tacky fake unpopular italian trattoria across the street and she's been trying to get Helena's one shut down for years by doing various etsy badluck curses and getting the hygiene inspectors called on them but it hasn't worked yet. She suggested to Félix that maybe trying to get the restaurant on TV would draw enough negative attention to get it shut down (and then he could reopen it of course). She's a bit surprised he actually went and did it even though the show could not have been less flattering towards him and he's essentially turbo-nuked his own reputation into the dirt forever. But she's waiting behind the scenes to make an insultingly-cheap offer and then they'll ALL see

over the course of the episode the above flaws are identified. esk attempts to propose a remodel of the tired décor which is fiercely resisted by Félix because he kind of likes the fake tuscany look but eventually he gives in and the place is given a modern and fresh feel. it draws a crowd on its reopening night but the staff struggle to meet the demand, unused to such numbers, and it ends up with Jean refusing to cook and walking out (he's fired shortly after).

they regroup and organise a charming promo event where they serve real french cuisine in a stall outside (oysters mostly) to draw customers for a new lunchtime service. this is well-received because new Head Chef Léa (now even MORE trapped in a role she has no real claim to) doesn't have to cook the oysters so she can't fuck them up. Félix actually tries to be receptive to the staff he's managing, for once, and he does a good job of supporting them and finally effectively managing the floor.

episode ends with Esk walking away and wondering if it left the restaurant in good hands, concluding that "only time will tell". there's a sequence of the restaurant's one successful lunch service, everyone smiling and working well and diners happy, with the text "RESTAURANT closed its business in August 2005, three months after the filming of this episode".

Esk goes back to interview the owner and ask why it failed, and Helena just explains that she sold it and moved on while dodging every other question. Esk berates her for having no passion for the business, calls her lazy and immature, and she simply walks out of the interview.

[melissa-titanium]

i think your art is very beautiful //. !!!!!!!!!!!!!uhm what app slash program do you use or recommend ..

EV E Y BOD Y SAY. THAAAAAAAAANK UOU <33333 HELL O U SWEE TBEAUTIFUL THANG. IIIIIIII!!!!!!O K OK.

iam severely biased because i use csp and i Fucking Love CSP but. i have used lots of different art programs & can just share my experiences. my choice from top being first to bottom being absolute last

CSP ; i mean, like, legally speaking -- it costs money. but. like. you know. arr mateys and all that. smirk. VERY good program, super extensive & i believe its industry standard? one downside for most people ive seen is that it is. like. incredibly complicated & visually overwhelming. like this is my personal setup

BUT ALSO GOING INTO THIS MORE.,.. the interface is like. 100% customizable. you could completely get rid of every single thing on here except for the brush and colorpicker if you wanted. like it is completely customizable just do whatever the fuck u want forever ALSO ANIMATION FRIENDLY BLESS i do all my animations here!!! . i really like it because there is an entire asset store with people making dedicated brushes and models and textures etc etc & also its just. it has a nice feel to it :)) its hard for me to describe well but i love csp. my babygirl

MEDIBANG PAINT: i have not used this in . quite some fucking time so forgive me if some of this is outdated. its not like. NEARLY as customizable as something like csp or photoshop (ewww) but it works like. pretty fucking well honestly. the brushes all have a very nice feel to them and it's a very far far reach from csp in terms of like. Set up BUT its free and has a lot of pre-made brushes to pick from :) ... unfortunately theres no way to import stuff unlike csp and ps so ur stuck with things made within the app or downloaded from the cloud i think otherwise tho i think it has a very nice interface :)) NOT animation friendly tho. sigh

FIREALPACA: FREE... also you can animate in it but its fucking insane. better selection of brushes than medibang but im not a big fan of how it feels + it was super laggy for me when i used it....

KRITA: same as above p much but a smaller brush selection ... IBISPAINT: free! big fan of the brushes (+ theres a LOT of them) & even if the interface is a little confusing for me its pretty simple & would be good for sum people i think :) PROCREATE: $5 last time i checked? fuck procreate honestly. one of my least favorite programs & i used it for 2 years so i would know. it gets a LOT of popularity because its aesthetically pleasing and. YES the feel of the brushes is nice i will not lie but the shit hiding behind such a simple interface is the fact that there is literally. so few options/so little customization. very laggy, brushes are EXCLUSIVE to procreate & even if there's a wide selection if you want to move to a different program its gonna b a nightmare having to use totally different brushes. animation feature is fucking terrible, there's a seperate app made by the same people i think? and i havent tried that one but ive heard its good :)) regardless. procreate isnt BAD but it has an incredibly simple interface, ipad/iphone exclusive, only really works well with an apple pencil (which is already pretty fucking expensive on top of an ipad if you dont already have one LOL !?!?!?!?!?!?)

PHOTOSHOP: fuck adobe! expensive as hell + ia m generally just not a big fan of it or its interface... its not bad per se but i wouldnt reccomend it to anyone who hasnt Already Used It

THERES . PROBABLY MORE IM FORGETTING like i could say sony sketch & gimp and shit but i dont have enough experience with them 2 really say. regardless i hope IHOP;E ANY OF THIS MADE; SENS;E[ ;34TEORTUDOIG

[pomogando]

hiii hehehe :3!! may i resquetttt maybe a medkit and child reader ehe write whatever ya likeee just idk i just want parental love for onc- that isnt important but i would be very happy if you do it!!have a nice day or night.

Medkit and a child Reader

Word count 800+, short and sweet, one-shot, platonic !!!!!!

Medkit is trying his best.

Medkit never considered himself the type to ever have a family in his lifetime. He never considered himself good with kids. Hell, he struggled to be the right person a kid could look up to. That's what Medkit thought, at least. He was pathetic in many people's eyes, a fall from grace from the scientist he could be. He felt aimless.

Hurrying back home to his apartment, he picked up cheap fast food. It was definitely not his favorite, but to survive till the next day, it was good enough. It was too late to plan a meal and he couldn't exactly cook in the first place, but he hoped one day he could make you something at home you'd actually like to eat.

The bus stop was far from the church, so he had to cover the food bag as he ran from the ever increasing intensity of the rain. The umbrella in his free hand wouldn't open. He grumbled as the rain wet his uniform.

He had meant to get a new one, but on the days he remembered, it was always too sunny for an umbrella to be needed.

Still, despite his impatience at the bus stop to get home, ignoring the odd looks from civilians, his thoughts drifted to you as they always did. His new responsibility on top of an already large enough list.

Sometimes, he wondered if he was doing the right thing for you by taking you in. It's not like the place was exactly grand, and you were a bit of a money drain through no fault of your own. It was his, actually, he found he liked spoiling you the little he could.

He got home late, the damned bus had taken forever, and then the bus driver drove everywhere but to you. He watched others leave to their homes with an annoyed look. He's pretty sure someone looked back, but he was more focused on the food that was definitely getting cold. He wrapped it in his jacket, putting the bag close to his chest.

The bus came to a rough stop as the driver told him to get off. He nearly dropped the bag.

He hurried upstairs, struggling to put his keys in the keyhole due to his own eagerness to get home.

He opened the door with a click, closing behind him and locking it. "I hope you don't mind, it's the same as last time." He announced, hearing your footsteps as you ran down the hall to see him. He dropped the food on the counter, watching as you ran to his side with bright eyes. It was your favorite for whatever reason. Despite his own disinterest in the food, he felt like he owed you. For everything, he didn't have a specific thing in particular, maybe for not being able to do enough.

Medkit couldn't help but look at your bandages on your thin arms as you dug through the bag for your usual. When he found you, you were covered in bruises and scratches. Your horns chipped with one almost in half. It'll thankfully heal with your young age, but he wondered how that could've happened, not that he would ask. You never mentioned it, so he wouldn't.

It was something he could piece together anyways, Playground was dangerous. How you got here, though, was something he couldn't figure out.

"Did you get me a milkshake?" You asked. He paused to think. "I left it on the bus.." His eyes widened, quickly running to grab it. He heard you giggle as he ran out the door. Thankfully, the bus hadn't pulled away yet, but the driver still wasn't very happy to be flagged down for a single milkshake.

Medkit came back to you eating your fries. He had told you before to slow down, which you obviously didn't listen to. "Come sit!" Your food was spread out on the table and his neatly placed nearby. He was intending on eating in his own room, but he couldn't exactly refuse you.

"Here." He put the shake down near you, watching you perk up. "I didn't forget, like I said I would." You smiled, taking it eagerly. He sat next to you. You've had this meal day after day, yet you still ate it. He wasn't even sure if it was actually your favorite. You didn't seem very picky.

"Slow down, you'll get a brain freeze." He stole one of your fries, making you huff.

You finished it all way too quickly for his liking. He hadn't even unwrapped his burger, but he couldn't even scold you before you got up. Already running back to your room to create a mess.

"Thanks, dad!" You called out as you were already closing your door. Medkits eyes widened. He wasn't sure how to feel. Him? You considered him your dad? He always felt as if he didn't do enough, or maybe he was too strict. Maybe he was too lax.

.

.

.

He scoffed at the wrappers on the table. You always 'forgot' to clean up after yourself, leaving him to do it instead.

But, he'd let it slide, just this once.

[whatspastisprologue-blr]

I stayed up far too late last night to watch S1E1 of The Newsreader on AMC+ because I'm making it my mission to watch other things IWTV actors have done and...

I love it! I was so disappointed there was only one episode so far because I NEED MORE! I think I went through the full range of human emotion at least once in that single episode. I was laughing, cheering, yelling profanity and creative threats at some of the characters, hugging my pillow, collapsing sideways onto the couch. My heart broke. I kept pausing it to appreciate a detail I'd noticed. I was a mess!

Like, the show is set in the 80s but the show itself has a very 80s vibe, so I was just taking in the costuming and set design. These characters go through, or watch, very real things (like the Challenger explosion) and then go report on it, proud they've done a good job doing so (which, yeah, it's their job; I just found it jarring). The old has-been reporter complaining about glamor in the news to the old boss guy while Helen's absence from the screen results in a severe ratings drop. The has-been reporter dude's wife so far seeming like a "pick me" and so far not getting any praise for it. Modernizing the way the news is presented and the folks holding it back. Helen is amazing.

But Dale.... Like, Dale and Lestat are played by the same person, so of course there's going to be similarities in appearance. There were definitely a few expressions I noticed that were the same. And while I'm keeping in mind keeping in mind that we've barely seen the real Lestat, I had fun seeing all the differences as well as the things that could be shared. At first, I just really wanted to know what made the IWTV casting director look at him, playing this awkward dork with questionable singing ability, and say, "Ah, yes, this guy should be the Vampire Lestat. The vampire. The one who becomes a rock star."

And then I realized that he spent a good chunk of the episode's start running around on the verge of a panic attack, he cried multiple times, and he just has major heart eyes for Helen, who I assume is his love interest. Like, I think he'd do whatever she told him (at least for now). And suddenly things began to click into place.

I just remember sitting there listening to Dale sing in the car and being impressed that the same actor, a few years later, would do, "Long Face".

Anyway, that's my rambling for now. Can't wait for more episodes!

Oh, actually, one more thing, because I'm curious. Is anyone else ever surprised by how deep Sam's voice is? It's happened to me a few times when I've done IWTV rewatches: I get caught off guard because his voice is always deeper than I expected. And then it happened again with S1E1 of The Newsreader. And it's not that I expect him to have a high pitched voice or anything; I just forget it's *that deep*. I don't know why. Is it just me?

[tmrwsuns]

(❆⋆.˚) secret ingredient !

✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ [hirota riki x reader] ...୨♡୧... wc. 2.3k w. curse words! fluff ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

maki was slightly upset.

well, slightly wasn’t the right word, but he would never admit how upset he was at the fact that his sister had somehow managed to be stuck in the middle of nowhere during christmas eve when they were supposed to carry out their tradition and make their infamous christmas cookies. had she no respect for the art of baking yummy cookies and decorating them like they were being judged by pierre hermé himself?

he scoffed as the thought crossed his head, his arms securely crossed against his chest as a sign of annoyance as he sat on his bed, a random show playing on his screen as he awaited for the only person who could cheer him up at the moment.

you.

maki believed you were some type of magical being, maybe an angel of some sorts. it was the only explanation his mortal little brain could come up with, really. there was nothing else that could make sense as to how much better he felt immediately after seeing you. no matter where he was, the cause of his annoyance of how upset he was, the moment you walked into the room everything banished. his world was suddenly tinted pink, he could only hear your voice and smell your exquisite cinnamon perfume that matched every single season of the year as if the world only changed in order to not be left behind by your constant, beautiful, evolution.

hell, even thinking about it had already made him feel better.

he hummed softly as he tried to erase the smile off of his lips, the image of your smile that wandered around his head almost making him forget why he was so upset in the first place. what was it about christmas cookies? oh, right! his stupid sister and her abandonment tendencies.

the boy tried to focus back on the show after checking the time on his phone for the eleventh time in the last five minutes as an excuse to look at the pretty picture of you that adorned his lockscreen. how much longer would it take you to get there? he was having withdrawals, and it was his fault for listening to you and not going to pick you up himself like he initially planned.

he should just text you, right? you always said you loved when he was clingy anyways.

just as he picked up his phone again, there was a knock on the door that could not be anyone by you. he stood up a little too fast than he should have, but still ran towards the door as fast as his socked feet allowed him too without slipping even if he was currently seeing colored dots in the air.

“hi babe” you laughed softly as his body practically slammed into yours, his arms enveloping you and pressing you to his chest in a bear hug. maki swore he could cry when his senses were filled with your scent and your hand tangled in his hair like it always did when he hugged you like that.

“hi, pretty” he smiled once he broke away from the hug, taking your face in his hands and peppering kisses all over, making sure not to leave a single centimetre unkissed.

“what’s up?” you asked after leaving a small peck on his lips, getting into the house and closing the door behind you. maki almost forgot to answer as he watched you slip off the various layers of clothing that were unnecessary in the heated ambiance of his apartment.

“my sister is still stuck, but outside of that everything is fine” he muttered, a lovesick smile on his face as he watched you.

“that sucks, i’m sorry” you sympathized as you took your hand up to his face to caress his cheek, feeling your heart melt at how adorable he was.

“it’s fine, i’m just annoyed that i can’t show you how good our christmas cookies are” he pouted, looking even more like a puppy than he always did.

“are you sure that’s what you’re upset about?” you asked, an endeared smile adorning your pretty lips.

“what else would it be?” he asked, genuinely confused as he furrowed his eyebrows.

“maybe, just perhaps, you’re upset because you might not spend christmas with your sister this year? you’ve never spent it without her and you have been missing her a lot, haven’t you?” you suggested, looking at him with that softness in your eyes that was characteristic of them when looking at your puppy like boyfriend.

maki thought your words over for a few seconds. you were right about him never spending christmas without his older sister before… also about missing her more lately….

“no, it’s about the cookies” he concluded, making you roll your eyes affectionately.

“you’re impossible” you commented, and he felt his heart race at the thought of being able to see the love your eyes harbored everytime they were looking at him.

“but you love me, don’t you?” he asked, even when he knew the answer.

“more than anything” you smiled and left a quick kiss on his cheek. “now, can we go watch a christmas movie? i’m thinking the grinch” you said after moving away from him and beginning to walk towards his bedroom. 

maki stood there entranced by the way you walked around his house as if you owned it, as if it were your home, too. it made him think of the future, when his house would have you in it permanently and the aroma of cinnamon lingered naturally in every place you went, not only on the side of the bed you took every time you slept over.

he shook his head softly and followed you into his room, cooing at the sight of you already settled on his bed, remote in hand as you browsed through his tv.

“do i have to send you an invitation through mail or are you gonna join me already?” you asked as you raised your eyebrow, making the boy roll his eyes before jumping into the bed and tugging you close to his chest.

…

“no way you’re crying, we’ve watched that movie so many times” you laughed as maki wiped the tears that ran down his cheeks.

“it’s not my fault you’re heartless, you know” he complained, playfully pushing you from your shoulder, his strength making you fall on the bed with a laugh.

“aww, my baby is just sooo sensitive” you cooed teasingly while you moved up, grabbing his face and squeezing his cheeks together.

“you’re so annoying” he laughed affectionately as he let you squish him as you pleased.

“you love me” you smiled and kissed his nose “what do you want to do now, my love?”

maki thought about it for a few seconds, weighing his options in his head. “do you want to make cookies?” 

you felt your heartstrings being pulled at the way his eyes softened slightly as he asked. maki was such a gentle soul, and even if he tried to mask it, the fact that his sister wasn’t there to continue their lifelong tradition was breaking his heart a little.

“of course” you smiled like what you hoped would be reassuring “i might not be as good as your sister, though”

“don’t even worry about that, i’m the secret to why our cookies are so good, she’s just there for moral support” he said cockily, making you roll your eyes humorously.

“sure, mister baker” you patted his head as you stood up, walking to the kitchen and knowing he would follow.

“i’m completely serious” he insisted, starting to prepare all the materials needed to bake as soon as he got to the kitchen. “the cookies would be nothing without me”

“whatever floats your boat, maki” you said, knowing that it annoyed him when you agreed with him like he was a little kid.

“whatever floats your boat, maki” he mimicked you with a stupidly high pitched voice and a silly tone, sticking his tongue out at you like the child he was.

“you’re so childish” you muttered, trying to bite back the smile that fought to take place on your lips.

“and what does that make you, huh?” he teased, looking at you with a raised eyebrow “i bet you didn’t think about that one”

you groaned lightly and decided to ignore him, partly because you had no comeback to that and partly because you were unable to act annoyed when even the slightest thing he did elicited a giant smile from your face.

“let’s start, do you have a recipe?” you asked as you tied your hair up to avoid its intrusion on your field of vision and possibly in the batter you were about to make. you were concentrated in your actions, which led you to miss the way maki looked at you, with a lovesick smile and shiny eyes.

“of course, first we need some flour…”

…

maybe baking wasn’t your strong suit as a couple.

you had never been very good at the art of baked goods. your skills were limited to measuring the ingredients and maybe cracking an egg that would most likely end up going into the mix with some eggshell along with it. your lack of talent was an issue for the given situation, but at least you had the decency to admit your own uselessness. 

on the other hand, your boyfriend claimed he could make christmas cookies that would join armies, even without his sister being there to “aid him with the utensils”. there would be no issue with him recognizing his skill if he actually had one, but based on the current lack of perfectly shaped cookies and the dough that looked a little too gooey to be edible, maybe he was stretching it a little when he called himself a god.

“you have to trust the process, baby” he said, for what seemed to be the nine hundredth time in the past hour as he kneaded the slimy dough with his hands. “see, the flour is preventing it from sticking to my hands” 

the flour wasn’t preventing jack shit, but who were you to tell him that?

“hmm, i see” you hummed as you watched the dough move along maki’s fingers as if it was store bought slime that had been overused. “and at what part does the dough actually form?”

maki glared at you playfully before sticking his tongue out to you, taking his hands out of the slimy mixture and heading straight for the sink to remove the rest of it off of his hands. “we just need to add more flour, that’s it” he assured.

once he finished with his hands he turned back around to face you, already aiming to try and salvage the cookies (along with his pride) when a splash of white powder landed on his chest.

“is that enough flour or should i add more?” you asked with a playful smile, and if maki wasn’t too thrown off by your action he would have probably taken his time to properly gush at how attractive you looked in that moment.

“no way you just did that” he breathed out, still shocked as he watched you with his mouth slightly agape. 

“i’m sorry, mister baker, i misunderstood what you meant by putting more flour into the mixture” you played innocent, feeling way too smug at your own joke. if you hadn’t been so busy gloating, you would’ve predicted the fist full of flour that collided with your chest a few seconds later. “oh, you’re so on!” you exclaimed as you charged at your boyfriend at full strength, looking for things to throw at him without a single care in the world apart from beating him. the kitchen had already been a mess even before your little food fight had started, and the eggs and cocoa that began being thrown around didn’t help much either.

whatever, you would clean it up later.

…

“i’m sorry to say this, but those are the fugliest cookies i’ve ever seen in my life” you commented once maki had taken the batch out of the oven. 

you both stood in front of it, staring wordlessly at the deformed, broken and slightly burnt cookies that rested on the pan. 

“there is no way we did that bad” maki muttered, more to himself than to you as he reflected on what went wrong in the process. he had followed every single rule and instruction perfectly like he had done for years on end, and there wasn’t a single batch that ever end up like this one.

“i’m sorry to break it to you, but we did do that bad” you chuckled softly.

“maybe the decorations can salvage it?” the boy asked, pointing at the many different candies that stood waiting on the counter to be used as christmas decoration.

“i don’t think anything can salvage them at this point” you defended, your nose furrowed at the smell of the burnt cookies.

maki sighed in defeat when he heard your words. he knew there was nothing left to do, and now he had to accept that he was not in fact the secret master of the recipe. 

“i´m sorry we couldn’t get them to be perfect." you mumbled, getting closer to him and hugging his torso.

“there’s nothing to say sorry about, baby” he smiled and hugged you by your shoulders, not caring how dirty your clothes were because of the earlier incident, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. “now we know baking isn’t our forte” he chuckled and leaned down to steal a quick peck from your lips.

“definitely not, imagine if we had agreed to do the stupid gingerbread house competition…” you giggled as you left a kiss on his shoulder, making maki laugh softly and shook his head.

that’s a disaster waiting to happen.

★ blue's corner ;; my first ever andteam work ! i know many people follow me for xikers content and i promise i will keep it coming but still, the andteam boys deserve it too. this is a part of the love actually series that i'm doing with both my blogs, so be sure to check it out ! ★ taglist ;; @tiramisumin @astrasng @chiiyuuvv @nicholasluvbot ★ back to the masterlist. ★ please do not copy, adapt or steal any of the content !!! ★ divider by @fairytopea

© tmrwsuns, 2024

[reaganwnicole]

Addressing Addiction (Wicked)

After watching Wicked three times in theatres I think I am now safe to say I have a problem. This movie has actually ruined my life.

Before I even address the reasons why, I need to confess that half of my waking thoughts are spent thinking about Wicked. I smile to myself just thinking about it. My TikTok has been completely taken over, the songs are always in my head, and I can't even look at anything remotely resembling pink or green without saying "this is so Wicked" out loud. I genuinely cannot state my love for this movie enough.

Skipping over the obvious: Cynthia Erivo, Ariana Grande, and literally everybody else were the perfect picks for this movie and I refuse to hear anybody else's fan castings out. Every time I see somebody hate Ms. Grande and say "It should've been Dove Cameron or Amanda Seyfried" I die a little inside. Which of y'all really give a fuck about Dove Cameron? And Amanda Seyfried, I love you queen, you have had your moment. Sorry that Les Mis did you dirty. Jeff Goldblum, I can admit I was confused at first but, If he is 72 and is still that limber, then he deserved it (and he delivered). Even Ethan Slater has almost convinced me to believe he is a real prize. Lastly, Fieryo being played by Jonathan Bailey was the most perfect pick of them all. Fieryo needs a gay flamboyant man to play him and nobody else, and I fully stand by the fact that only Jonathan Bailey could bring so much sexuality to him the way that he did. You could make him flirt with a literal rock and it would be the most beautiful, playful, romantic thing you've ever witnessed.

The only negative thing I can say about this movie is the inability of people to act normal while watching it. Maybe every time I've seen it somebody is acting a fool singing, talking, and way too many gasps but I have never been so gagged by a movie that I do not even care like I have this one. Also, every single time I've watched this movie I never fail to think the ensemble talking is somebody behind me being the worst person ever. But no, they really just ate it up that much.

Right from the beginning "No One Mourns The Wicked" has almost brought tears to my eyes every time I watch it in its entirety. I knew Ariana Grande and her infamous whistle notes but holy shit. It's so good I can completely ignore her "blackiana" phase. Maybe I'm biased as my love for Ariana Grande stems back to third grade, but I'm even more of a fan now. When I saw it for the third time and my friend was underwhelmed I took it personally and felt as though my heart had been split in half. "Defying Gravity" has never failed to get me so fucking pumped. This is definitely how millennials felt with each new Harry Potter movie, and I'm thankful I can finally tap in and ride that high.

Overall, the movie was so good half of the cash grab merch has almost gotten me. The seven reprises of "Defying Gravity" never fail to excite me. My Tumblr is now entirely gay Wicked fan art. The only thing I can find that could make this movie better is if they share a little kiss at the end of Act 2.

[mahoyaku-incorrect-quotes]

Mahoyaku Incorrect Quotes #85

Any sane wizard: How do you just eat when there's a dead guy laying there?

Mithra: What, is that rude? Am I supposed to share?

[lae-zels]

all i will say about dav is that this shouldn't be the same as this 💀

[theflyingfeeling]

yes it's just me whining about the same thing for the billionth time, pls just scroll past nothing new to see here 👋