#i hesitated to do this meme with Silence and it just says “silence” but i was scared it wouldnt be funny

[arkiwii]

i have the cognitive capacity of a goldfish

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

Phone Password

Pairing: Dark Tangerine x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

SUMMARY: Tangerine can be quite the pushy boyfriend when he wants too.

WARNING: Toxic Relationship; Manipulation.

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback.

--

You stand by the closet door, silently watching as Tangerine violently rips the rings from his fingers, a scowl in his face and his anger palpable even though he doesn't say anything. The rings are aggressively thrown into his jewelry box and you press your lips together, holding back a wince.

Hesitantly advancing a step, you rub the back of your neck, unsure of what to say.

“Tan… he’s just a friend.” you timidly say but you get no response in return.

Tangerine removes his golden watch, throwing it to a shelf without even looking at you as he storms off the closet, bumping his shoulder into yours as he walks by. 

Your heart drops to the floor but you still follow him back to the room, wanting to make things right. You somehow feel like it’s your fault. 

He’s standing in front of the mirror as you stand behind him, his back muscles tense as he struggles with the buttons, muttering curses as he attempts to unbutton them, ending up breaking some of them. 

“We’re just friends, I swear.” you try again and this time, he finally looks at you through the mirror, glaring at you. The look in his eyes almost makes you go back a step. 

“Oh really, darlin’? Well that’s a fuckin’ suprise cause you definitely fooled me back there cause it fuckin’ looked like the two of you were datin’.“ he grits his teeth, spitting the words. 

“You’re getting it wrong, babe.” you plead. 

Tangerine turns around, shirt half-opened. His eyes narrow, arms tightly crossed across his chest. 

“I don’t think I am, no. That explains why you’ve been so secretive with your phone.” he snarls, and your jaw goes slack with surprise. 

“What? No! I did no such thing, Tan.” 

“Then you won’t mind lettin’ me check it, right?” he immediately shoots back, his hand reaching out in your direction and you can only look at it, rapidly blinking.

“You want…my phone?” you hesitate, thinking about the private messages between your friends and you, your social media.

Your silence is all it takes for Tangerine to scoff, an incredulous twisted laugh coming from him. 

“I knew, didn’t I? You’re screwin’ him, I fuckin’ knew that.”

“I’m not.” you defend yourself, quickly taking the decision of pulling your phone out of your back pocket. You lit up the screen when the device gets snatched from your fingers. 

“The password.” Tangerine orders, entering the code as you unwillingly blurt the numbers out. Your fingers itch as you watch him go over your phone’s content.

You feel exposed like this, all the private chats between your friends and you, all of your photos and memes, your social media accounts, all of it now available to your boyfriend’s eyes. Not that you have anything to hide from him yet you value your privacy very deeply. 

It barely takes 2 minutes before Tangerine is returning your phone, a satisfied expression taking over his face. 

“I trust you, love, but don’t change the password.” he demands, pressing a small kiss to your forehead. 

[vroombeams]

Listen i want all of the kink meme prompts with Oscarmark, but I'll limit myself to asking for 8. Collar and 32. Bredding, please.

In all of Mark's years, he's never considered this. Never thought of himself as the type, really, to let himself be claimed. Too alpha for it. Different generation, different time, he's explained to Oscar about a thousand times, to varying intensities of unimpressed expressions.

But here he is, an alpha in his late forties. Here he is, with his omega between his legs, grinning. Beaming, really. His knuckles are cool, tip-tapping at the underside of Mark's chin. His fingers are nimble and quick, fastening the collar at his throat.

"There you are," Oscar says. He doesn't go far when he's done, only leans away to really get a good look. Mark won't let him go far, anyway, squeezes him between his knees just in case. "Looks good."

Mark makes a noise that he hopes comes off as more neutral than he feels. His brain just feels a bit fuzzy, is all. Admittedly his grasp on language had started to slip the second Oscar looped the collar around his neck.

Oscar gives it a little tug; one finger hooked under it, pressed snug up against Mark's Adam's apple.

"Feel alright?" For all Oscar's got a world class poker face, he's doing a bit of a poor job hiding how excited he is about this. Shifting his weight side-to-side, nudging Mark's knees with his bare thighs. Absently biting at his own lip.

And he's wet enough that Mark can smell it. Already, without a single touch, no kissing, no nothing. Just this.

Mark nods, belated. Oscar's giddy smile snaps sharp like a switchblade.

"So," Oscar says, tugging the collar again. "Gonna do your job, alpha?"

Dirty trick. Dirty boy.

When Mark grabs him around the waist and flings him across the mattress he yelps but he's delighted and he's obvious about it. Where Oscar's wet enough that Mark can feel it against his knee when he gets between his thighs, Mark's gotten so hard so fast he's gone a bit lightheaded. Something strange in the fuzzy silence in his head. Something that coats his brain and only gives way to instinct.

Oscar moans when Mark gets a rough, perfunctory hand between his legs. Feels the slick wet of him and groans back, hips twitching uselessly. He needs to be inside. Nothing else matters.

"Aren't you—"

Mark doesn't let him finish. He rears back and twists Oscar onto his front where he wants him, where an omega belongs; face down, ass up, ready to be filled and claimed.

The collar is still tight around his own neck, though. He's been claimed too, he thinks, and then stops thinking.

Faced with Oscar's wet hole, any other time he might have had a difficult run of it deciding what he wants. If he wants to stuff Oscar full of fingers. If he wants to eat Oscar out until his face is nearly as slick as Oscar's thighs.

There's nothing today. Nothing but the need to mount and fuck and breed.

There's no pause when Mark fucks inside, no hesitation; just an all-at-once thrust so hard that it splatters Oscar's slick over his pelvis.

The noise Oscar makes is muffled by the mattress. Mark hauls Oscar's hips up and folds himself over his body, chest to sweaty back, wraps both arms around his waist and holds him tight. He ruts into him like that, animalistic, brutal.

"Oh god," Oscar says. "Oh fuck. You're s—oh fuck."

Mark mouths wetly at Oscar's shoulder. It doesn't matter what he's saying, really. All that matters is that he fills his omega properly. Flood him with come and keep him full, knot him and breed him and keep him.

Oscar's muttering, back arching, insides clenching around Mark's cock. He's so deep that his knot doesn't even catch on Oscar's rim when it starts to grow. So deep and rutting against him so closely it's more of a grind than a proper fuck.

Mark bites down, catches pale flesh between his teeth and doesn't let go as his knot pops. And Oscar, usually so quiet, is keening.

"—so big," he's saying, over and over. "Feels so big, why is it—oh god, oh fuck."

Mark comes inside of Oscar with so much force that his brain can't quite grasp it. So hard and so sudden that his balls actually hurt, drawn up tight, pulsing with every gush of come he pumps out.

He feels a bit like a dishrag. Being wrung out for all he's worth, being twisted and squeezed dry.

He's still wrapped around Oscar, holding him tight enough that he's gone a bit wheezy. He's still making noises, Mark notes. Moaning long and tortured, body seizing up as he claws at the sheets. He's coming too, Mark realizes. His body reacting and responding and trying to drag every drop out of his alpha.

Mark makes a noise caught between a whimper and a growl. Oscar's insides contract around his knot again and again and Mark rubs at Oscar's belly, soothing. He imagines that he can feel it, the bulge where he's filled him up so good. A threat or a promise of what's to come; what his alpha brain wants most in the world.

"Collar—good idea," Oscar slurs into the mattress. His face is red his mouth is gaping, gasping for air.

Mark nods along obediently, rubbing his face between Oscar's shoulder blades.

now on ao3

[thyln4gf]

505

✞ Once again, Im back with the short little blurbs! This time, theyre rather cute and adorable, and are about some of my favourite drivers, a song assigned for each. (I have synesthesia).

✞ Word count - 2,8k

✞ Drivers included - Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Max Verstappen, Daniel Ricciardo, Logan Sargeant, Charles Leclerc, Carlos Sainz, Lewis Hamilton, Sebastian Vettel, Jenson Button.

✞ (P.S. - lemme know if you dont see any of your favs. Im more than happy to write something <3)

Lando Yeswins - 505, arctic monkeys

"No!" Your shriek rings out through the air of the somewhat empty room, quickly followed by both of your giggles, as Lando has launched himself into you, picking you up. The man has missed you so, so much. He didnt even think it was possible. Hed spend his free time with looking at pictures of you, wishing that he could feel that skin against his, and... smell it, really. Now, that he has finally gotten the chance...

Your back makes contact with the couch, Lando still clinging to you tightly, and just plopping on top of you. He buries his face into your chest, drawing a deep breath to take in your scent... But you smelled like... him??

"Baby... have you been living in my clothes?" He asks, amusement laced into his tone. His face was still buried right where his favourite place was, though.

Silence from your end. One awkward chuckle later, you burst into another fit of giggles, followed by the heat that rose to your cheeks. You werent so sure if it was the man making you blush, or him being a damn human radiator doing the trick. Either way, you didnt mind - the golden retriever goofball of a man was excited to close the distance between you two again. A little too excited, even.

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

Oscar Leclerc Piastri - teenage dream, katy perry

Him. You. Both of you. A lot of people have called you the dream team, and you have seen a lot of jealous tweets. Posts about your relationship in general - people seemed to be suckers for the childhood friends to lovers trope. So much that you could barely keep track of them anymore.

You have incorporated scrolling through the socials, and hunting for cute memes to annoy him, straight into your routine. His dms from you were filled with various kinds of those, mostly a spectrum of cat memes. Yes, a spectrum. You seemed to be unhinged enough to even ask for fun time alone through those. And, to be honest? They always worked on him. Always.

This time, it was no different - you were curled up on the couch, Oscar laying his head on your stomach, trying to nap. You could be seen scrolling, and... yep. Looking for some memes.

You find something else, though, your heart melting at the sight. You cant even hold the 'awwww' in, as much as you wanted to...

"Huh?" Oscar croaks out, rising from his slumber. All he heard was you making some sort of noise, and he instantly realized that he was about to get a phone right up his face. However... he slowly looks up and sees you... crying?

He doesnt say anything, but scoots up slightly instead, his face landing right by your neck. He looks at the little screen... Only to see a picture of two small children, both in race suits, both giggling on a makeshift podium. He quickly comes to the realisation that hes looking at both of you, at one of your first karting competitions together. And its all it takes to make a tear roll down his cheek as well. A happy tear. Hes quick to start kissing yours away, not even hesitating. Your skin tingled at the gentle contact, and you softly chuckle. Thats exactly what he wanted to achieve. A laugh out of those pretty lips of yours.

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

Max Verstappen - im yours sped up, isabel larosa

As tough as this man looked out there, in the face of the cameras... he turned into a whiny puddle whenever he was wrapped in your arms. Something about you made him melt each and every time, making him feel safer than ever. Is that because you usually used rather masculine fragrances and smelled like a dad that he never really had? Maybe, maybe...

He was getting his daily dose of cuddles in. This time it was more of a comfort than it has ever been - he didnt do good, and didnt even finish the race. He felt awful.

"Are you going to leave me now?" You suddenly hear a muffled voice, coming from a certain mans face, currently getting buried into your chest.

"Pardon?" You respond, a confused chuckle following the single-word sentence. He wasnt insecure... as far as you knew.

"I said what i said, Liefje... now answer." the man groans, almost making you chuckle again - he was awfully adorable at the moment.

"No, baby, im yours. For life. Have you forgotten?" your voice reminds him, as you slip one of your hands away from his waist, wiggling the fingers not too far from his eyes. He feels you pulling your hand away, the action making him look up slightly, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. That quickly melts away as he sees the engagement ring on your finger, one that he proposed to you with a few days ago.

"Right... i still havent gotten used to that. Sorry, mijn mooie vrouw." He responds, a small, tired smile slipping onto his lips, and you cant help but give him a small peck. You might be a master at making this man blush, but he had the exact same effect on you as well.

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

Daniel Ricciardo - Iris, the goo goo dolls

Evenings spent with him on the porch were your all time favourite, easily - especially if it included watching the sunset. In that case, you had two incredibly gorgeous views to rest your eyes upon. And he definitely knew you were staring at him, instead of the pretty orange colours dancing across the sky - he just pretended not to see.

You two were cuddling on the beach chair - your body in his lap, your back to his chest. Hes currently zoned out just a little, honestly. He has adopted the habit of adoring the pretty clouds from you, and pointing out all the interesting shapes. This time, though, you were quicker than him, and an excited 'ooohhh!' coming from your mouth lets him know exactly that.

"Look! That one looks like a honey badger!" you excitedly blurt out, trying to point at the shape with your finger. He follows, and quickly sees what you wanted to show him. The cloud, indeed, is honey badger shaped. You earn a hearty chuckle and one of his grins that you loved oh so much. Yes, those grins.

His arms tighten around your waist, his lips not being able to resist from leaving a trail of kisses on the back of your neck, eventually landing on the back of your head. And you didnt need much more from him - you knew that it was his way of thanking you. By making you feel all warm and giddy inside.

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

Logan Sargeant - american teenager, ethel cain

Spring has just started rolling around, leaving you to deal with your allergies. Its not like it was something new, or something serious, but it annoyed you nonetheless.

You two had a date that you were looking forward to all week, but suddenly, you felt like you couldnt live two minutes without having to blow your nose. Great. Logan noticed your mood immediately, so he had offered to watch a movie at home instead. You didnt resist much - you wanted to spend some time with your man, after all.

After cuddling up to him on the couch... You silently thanked for the ridiculous misery of your fate - feeling his body right by yours felt way better than spending time outside. Hearing him quietly breathe by you left you almost ecstatic, the warm air brushing by somewhere on your body, and as of the current case, your hair. Speaking of hair - he liked planting those little kisses to the crown of your head whenever you had your back to him. Almost just as much as looking at your backside.

These little moments reminded you just how far you two have come - it sometimes still felt like you were a pair of awkward teenagers, trying desperately to get over yourself to talk to each other. You still tease him about it, honestly - watching the popular guy at the school blush and giggle was the favourite sight of many.

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

Charles Leclerc - k., cigarettes after sex

"Chéri, look! Thats cute, no?" You heard Charles come into the kitchen, cooing at something on his phone. You didnt have the time to turn around and look at him, honestly. So he was forced to come up right behind you to wrap his arms around your waist, his palm softly brushing by your stomach while in the process. You couldnt help but wonder...

1...

2...

Yep, here it is. A gentle kiss to the corner of your jaw. You cant help but chuckle as his lips make contact with your skin, pleasure shooting down your spine almost immediately. He usually stops at one, but he seems to be in a playful mood today - because he doesnt, and continues to trace a line, almost connecting the dots on all your little moles and freckles.

"What is it?" You ask him with a chuckle, trying to distract him. However, you just dont get an answer. Just a phone getting shoved almost right into your face. The video that he wanted to show unpauses, and a scene of a cute puppy running around could be seen. Your heart instantly melts.

Charles seems to notice, because he already looks like a kid on christmas morning.

"Can we... adopt him? I even have a name!" He blurts out excitedly, making you chuckle again. You knew of his passion for dogs... so one wouldnt hurt, right?

You didnt even get to reply before he launched himself into a rant about why getting a dog right now would be a great idea. You just knew that you were going to spend like an hour, just listening to him talk. But you didnt mind - you enjoyed the sound of his voice, and watching the way he speaks with his hands whenever hes excited. It was truly an awfully adorable sight to witness every time.

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

Carlos Sainz - good luck, babe!, chappell roan

He had a small ritual of hugging you before his races - he fully, firmly, and truly believed that hes not going to achieve any good results if he doesnt. And, look - it was true, so far. The win in Singapore? In his head, it was all because you initiated a hug that day. His arms had lingered on you for a little longer than they should have been for you two being just friends, but its not like you two minded, at all. You actually craved him and his touch. You craved to feel those hands around you, and to hear his voice murmuring something into your ear. You wanted, no, needed to feel the scent and the warmth of him being so close.

So you never really protested against his idea. In all honesty, it was the most desperate move that someone has ever tried to hit on you with. The most adorable one as well.

If you thought that you were going crazy from him invading every single nook and cranny of your mind... You should have taken a look into his. You and him both knew of the rumours floating around the internet, and all the fans almost straight up telling you two to just make out already. And that has almost happened, and multiple times - one of you always ended up awkwardly pulling away, though. Having him as a friend felt good, but you were sure that having him as a lover would feel like heaven.

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

Lewis Hamilton - older, isabel larosa

"Thank you, love." His voice floats through the air of his drivers room, effortlessly reaching your ears, making you blush. Just a little. You had passed him his water bottle - his hands were far too busy with your hips, caressing and squeezing them with great care. His legs were spread a little, you positioned in between them. Yet, it still didnt seem like it was close enough for him - he kept trying to pull you closer, almost desperately tugging on the material of your jeans. A hand of his was now occupied with the water bottle, so he finds that as an opportunity to wrap the other around you fully, bringing you closer, once again. You almost fall over, but you catch yourself with a hand on the wall right besides his head. Helping Lewis train sometimes did help, huh?

"Hey there, easy! I couldve fallen right on top of you!" You had mentioned out loud in mock annoyance, trying hard to keep a chuckle at bay. It was hard to do so, though, because you could see a grin appearing on his lips. No, onto his whole face - the entirety of it would light up whenever he smiled or laughed, melting your heart each and every time.

"Do you prefer to be under me then?" He murmurs as a tease, leaning in to give you a chaste kiss on your neck. He knew that it was one of your ticklish spots - so he had adopted the habit of placing the gentlest kisses of them all right there. They never failed to make you feel flustered and giggly, making sure to spread a blush all over your face. Lewis was just secretly happy that you never seemed to notice his own blush, just like right now.

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

Sebastian Vettel - too sweet, hozier

You were sat at your desk in your home office, working late. Again. All sorts of papers were scattered all around you, a pretty decent amount crumpled up and thrown aside as well. At first, youd aim for the trashcan, getting all giddy whenever youd make a shot. But the more time passed, the more you didnt care. You found yourself thinking of the fact that your husband wouldnt be really pleased at your current decision, and you being grateful that hes currently away for a few days. And you just happily continue focusing on your work.

You had focused a little too much, perhaps. Because you didnt hear Sebastian returning home, didnt notice him opening your office door either. You only did that when he spoke up, startling you a decent amount.

"Brought you coffee, schatz." He said, quietly walking to appear by your side, placing the mug down. You smiled at him in appreciation, tilting your head up to look at him. Right as you do so, you get surprised with a forehead kiss. You cant fight the smile that wanted to appear onto your lips, going back to your work. You fully expect Sebastian to protest, to go ahead and try to pull you away from the work. But what does he do instead? He lets his hands meet with your tense shoulders, and gets to gently massaging them, slowly kneading out the knots. No words said. A quiet hum escapes your throat. You two didnt need any words to communicate, really. He understood you on a deeper level, just like you understood him. Isnt it sweet?

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

Jenson Button - one of the girls, the weeknd

"Twirl around again?" Jenson requests, making a spinning motion in the air with two of his fingers. You had decided to make him watch your fashion show after the shopping spree of today, just like you usually did. Every time. You thought hed be a little annoyed at you for forcing him to sit down on the couch, basically pushing him backwards right onto it. It was far, far from it - hed even encourage you to go shopping sometimes. 'Honey, its our anniversary next Saturday. Dont you want a new dress?', 'Go get something new, we're going out tomorrow', and 'i think you need to refresh your wardrobe' were phrases that you heard pretty often. And not for the reasons youd think - this man just truly and genuinely enjoyed seeing you smile, and the enthusiasm that would possess your whole being when it came to showing him. You liked to call him a simp, but in his books, that was just being reasonable.

You gladly fulfill his request with a giggle, spinning around to let the skirt of the dress flow around. This one had a great score on both of the 'spinny' and 'shiny' scales, which he learned from you pretty fast. However, he sees you suddenly stop. The surprise on his face is almost as big as yours. However, you quickly gasp and start giggling again, shoving your hands into... some pockets?

"It has pockets!" You excitedly blurt out, turning both of the pockets inside out to show him. That earns a chuckle out of him. You play around with the pockets some more, and start spinning again. As much as Jenson adored your silliness, sometimes. Hed worry about you bumping into things... and it would happen pretty often. But he was always there to baby you, placing gentle kisses around the spot you had just hurt yourself.

[mamawasatesttube]

a snippet of chapter 2 of androecia, complete with meme accompaniment:

“Coffee sounds great.” Tim hesitates, hovering awkwardly just out of arm’s reach. He hates this. He’s not supposed to feel awkward around Kon. “Need me to do anything?”

“Uh…” Kon glances up, clearly searching for a task to assign Tim. “Well, you could take the coffee over to the table if you want, but I got it, honestly, so you can just go sit down if you want.”

Tim likes to feel useful. He takes the coffee to the table.

Kon follows him with the plate of artfully-glazed cinnamon rolls. He doesn’t bump Tim’s shoulder with his own as he passes him, or playfully nudge his shin under the table once they’ve sat. It’s almost like… he doesn’t want to touch him at all. Guiltily, Tim wonders if Kon did notice how rapidly he pulled his hand away after waking up.

But… the cinnamon rolls. His mouth waters. He’ll worry about that in a minute. First, there’s some beautiful pastries on a plate calling his name. His stomach rumbles again, and he stares as Kon pushes the first one onto his plate.

Shit, they really do smell heavenly, and they look it, too; they’re the perfect golden-brown color, drizzled with a tantalizing vanilla topping. Holy shit, Kon is spoiling him.

They sit in silence for a minute or two while Tim ravenously inhales his first cinnamon roll. It tastes like heaven on his tongue—what little of it he actually tastes in his haste to scarf it down, anyway. He doesn’t even bother with utensils; he just grabs that shit with his bare hands and dives right in. By the time it’s gone, his fingers are sticky with cinnamon-sugar and vanilla icing, and he pauses briefly to lick them before he snatches the next cinnamon roll from the serving plate.

Kon eats at a more sedate pace, chuckling as Tim continues stuffing his face like some kind of feral raccoon. “I take that to mean you like ‘em?” he asks, sipping his coffee.

“Howy fuckin’ shi’bawws, yeff,” Tim says, as best he can manage through a large mouthful of cinnamony-sweet goodness.

Kon laughs. “Ma’s astrally projecting through me to tell you not to talk with your mouth full, bro.”

Tim flips him off with a cinnamon-sticky finger, and Kon grins back at him. This, at least, feels normal.

By the time he’s on the third roll, though, he’s much more sated, and his thoughts start to wander from the realm of holy fucking shitballs, yum, get in my mouth forever. He eats more slowly, watching Kon finishing up his second one; the silence is companionable, but not as easy as it should be.

That’s when Tim finally notices that both his coffee and Kon’s are rapidly stirring themselves in their mugs, sitting on the table. That’s a huge red flag that Kon’s nervous. He’s probably so busy trying to keep himself from fidgeting with his body that he’s not paying attention to the outlet his TTK found, or else he was banking on Tim being too distracted by his brunch to notice.

Tim bites the inside of his lip and stares down at the cinnamon roll in his hands. It’s really, really good. Kon made him a scrumptious breakfast after everything he did for him last night. He’s still taking care of him even now. And he’s nervous.

kon: malewife mode engaged tim:

[unformula1]

sadly this is how we end (LS2 x OP81)

oscar misses their meetup again and logan breaks down. w/c: 1425 day 38 of LOSCAR posts until we get a loscar podium!! (series masterlist) masterlist TW: swearing

—

SHIT. Oscar quickly manoeuvred his way through the crowd. He can’t miss this again. He missed this for the previous two months, and rescheduled this one. He can’t believe he forgot it again. 

How would Logan feel? Oscar feels like giving himself a slap across the face. His stupidity is about to ruin everything

—

Oscar laughs till his core starts to hurt. He clutches it while leaning forward.

“Mate- it’s not that funny…” Logan says, a smile forming on his face seeing Oscar absolutely lose it over a slightly funny meme.

Oscar gasps for air as he struggles to form words, “No… you… you don’t…”

“Okay Osc, breathe…” Logan says while patting Oscar’s shoulder gently.

He can’t help but smile more seeing Oscar this happy. Honestly, when he first met Oscar, he never thought that he’d ever see Oscar smile, yet alone laugh.

Oscar finally breathes in and stops laughing for a while, his cheeks are red and his eyes have tears of joy in them. He laughed really hard.

“Was it that funny?” Logan says, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes. Absolutely.” Oscar smiles while responding, clearly holding back more laughter.

“Well… I’ll keep that in mind… yea?” Logan chuckles.

This is amazing. It’s just him, Oscar and their emotions. Logan feels loved.

This will never end.

—

This will never end.

Logan sits on the bench near the beach. He holds onto a sandwich, one which he bought from the convenience store across the street. He bites into it while watching into the sunset.

He shuts his eyes tightly to prevent the tears from spilling. A sting strikes his throat as he holds it in. He stuffs part of the sandwich into his mouth in a solid attempt to stop his tears.

Osc🐨

[Logan] I'm here

[Logan] 10 missed calls

He turns off his phone and continues eating his sandwich. He picks out a few vegetables which he doesn’t like and places them into the plastic container which came with the sandwich.

It starts to drizzle, Logan sighs, picking his things up and shifting to outside the convenience store, under shelter.

“Logan!” Oscar's voice rings through.

Logan turns his head to the side and sees Oscar running over.

Logan lowers his head and stuffs the final piece of sandwich into his mouth, chewing it silently as Oscar walks over.

There’s an ache in his heart which threatens to spill out as tears.

Oscar stands next to Logan, who’s sitting on the bench.

“Logan, I’m sorry. I was so caught up in everything, I had my phone silenced. I didn’t mean to miss it.” Oscar says, almost pleading.

Logan just subtly nods and dusts his hands, standing up to face Oscar.

“Really?” He questions.

“Yea- I mean, seriously, I wouldn’t miss our meetups, you know that.” 

Logan scoffs, “That’s starting to not be the case.”

Oscar hesitates.

“Sorry. I really…” Oscar sighs, “I- I know it seems really bad on me right now-”

“It does. It really does.” Logan musters out amidst his stinging throat and burning lungs.

Oscar stones, a look of surprise crosses his face, like he didn’t expect Logan to say that.

“If you don’t want to do this I’m fine with not doing this again.” Logan says, his voice sounding eerily calm.

“No- that’s totally not what I want. I really want to continue-” Oscar tries.

“Then why’d you miss it three times…” Logan’s voice cracks, “Three times you left me alone.”

Once is a mistake. Twice is a coincidence. Three times is a pattern.

Oscar freezes almost instantly, worry laced in his voice, “Logan- man, I’m seriously sorry for those times, I really had to skip them.”

“And what happened this time? Lando’s party? Another last minute meeting? Training session?” Logan knows he’s being pretty annoying right now but he can’t stop. A burning sensation fully takes over his lungs.

Logan takes a deep breath and tears brim in his eyes, which he wipes away immediately. 

Thunder roars in the background. A pretty suitable backdrop for this.

“I’ll make this right. I promise Logan, I will.”

“You missed your chance to do that.” Logan grits his teeth in a last ditch attempt to not cry, “Should’ve done that months ago.”

“Logan c’mon man, you can’t just say that.” Oscar tries again, “I mean- we’ve been friends for this long- can’t just be a few times right?”

He sounds so manipulative right now.

“It isn’t just those few times Oscar.” Logan says, his fists clenching up, “It’s been too long. Every single time I needed you, you weren’t there. Every single time I asked for you, you didn’t deliver. Every. Single. Fucking. Time.”

Oscar wants to say something but nothing comes out.

Oscar takes a step closer to Logan and Logan flinches, quickly backing away.

“Logan- I’m sorry. I’m sorry, please… you know-” Oscar stutters.

“I used to know you… then you changed… everything changed.” Logan scoffs, stuffing his hands into his pockets as more tears surfacing and one of them flows down, tracing his cheek to his cheekbones.

Oscar runs his hand through his hair, his voice pleading, “We’ve been friends for years Logan, you know I won’t just throw that all away.”

“Would you though?” Logan questions which silences Oscar again, “You threw it away in seconds… seconds… when you chose something else over me. Your career over me. Your reputation over me. Everything over me.”

Logan knows how dramatic he’s sounding but he can’t take it anymore. The words just spill out his mouth, his filter disappearing and the words all coming out like a rapid fire machine, unfiltered, pure rage.

“You placed me at the very bottom of your list Oscar.” Logan’s muscles tense up, turning his head away.

“No-” Oscar replies, “No. That’s so not how I see you-” 

Oscar clears his throat, “I- I mean you have always been my best friend, a priority. I’ve never seen you as anything less.”

Logan finds that harder to believe, increasingly harder as the months went on.

Logan feels all the rage in him build up, Oscar’s gaslighting him. Oscar’s trying to make Logan come back, like he’s been doing all those years, just fishing out Logan’s pity all those years.

It was a sick joke.

They used to be everything, they used to be each other’s worlds.

Then Oscar walked out. 

Liar. 

“Liar. You’re a liar.” Logan lashes out.

“Logan-”

“NO! No more of your bullshit. I’m done-” 

Then, Logan turns around and storms off into the thunderstorm, he’s drenched but Logan refuses to look back, he doesn’t want to be lured back into Oscar’s sick mind-fuck, he doesn’t want to be Oscar’s little pity puppet. 

He hears Oscar calling out for him. Logan! Logan please come back. He shuts his eyes tightly and wipes off his tears, which don’t really help since he’s wet already.

Logan quickly runs off before he changes his mind or Oscar does something.

He hates this.

He falls to his knees in the middle of an alleyway. The rain beating down mercilessly onto him.

Why can’t he ever have one good thing in his life? 

Nothing ever works out.

He walks into his hotel lobby, the judgmental stares of the people around him as he trudges across the marble floor, leaving a wet trail. He gets to his room as quickly as possible.

Even the one thing he put all his hard faith into.

Logan sobs violently, bawling his eyes, all his tears spilling out. 

He punches the floor and his fist turns red. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. FUCK.” Logan swears. He covers his face, his wet hair is in a disgustingly stale position and his entire body feels heavy. His legs don’t want to support his body so he stays on his knees for a while.

He feels it all crumbling down, like waves crashing against a sandcastle. That felt real, their relationship was built on sand, that would eventually fall to the elements. Was it?

Was he being too dramatic?

Logan shakes his head violently, the tears rolling down his cheeks endlessly. Anything else would be better right now, he’d even rather be in training right now. Not alone, in his hotel room, feeling trapped by the four walls.

He cries more.

He chokes on more tears.

He hates this. He hates everything. He hates Oscar. He hates himself.

He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to hate.

“fuck.” Logan whispers softly, dragging his body so he’s leaning against a wall, tucking his head in between his knees.

Wishing everything would be different.

[blackjackkent]

Prompt fill for @astreamofstars from this ask meme: Lord Huron Lyric Prompts

Khalid (and Jaheira) - "watch for a sign in the midnight sky"

My first attempt at proper writing of Khalid! Deeply enjoyed this and I hope you do too. :D

-----

Khalid fidgets aimlessly with one sleeve of his armor, trying in vain to get the leather greaves to settle more comfortably in place. It is all new equipment, purchased out of his scant funds on his arrival in Baldur's Gate, and it has not yet had time to become fully broken in. 

Had he been able to bring his amlak armor from home, perhaps he would feel more comfortable now. Miserable though he was in Calimport's city guard, his armor at least had been very good, carefully polished and molded to his body from months of hard use. But it has been left behind, along with everything else about his old life - the corruption of his superior officers on the one hand and the disinterested cruelty of his father and half-brothers on the other. 

So here he is, for better or for worse - half a world away in ill-fitting armor, chasing rumors and wild hope. He has heard the tales of an institution where his skills would go to better use, a group of warriors who fight not for power and coin but for balance. Perhaps the Harpers will prove to be the true family he has been searching for.

The recruiter he spoke to - a furtive, laconic fellow with a hand always on his dagger - said Khalid measured well in conversation, but that the only real test of a new Harper was action. “Wait tonight in the square in Norchapel,” he had said with the ghost of a smile. “I will have some of my people find you near midnight. Identify yourself to them, and they will have a task for you. Prove true in that business and there may be a place for you among us.”

It's a cold night. The Norchapel square is empty and lit only by the ominous flickering light of the single streetlamp under which Khalid is waiting. Privately he is starting to wonder if this is part of the test - to hold to his patience in spite of the chill and silence - and if the task that lies ahead could in truth just as easily be done in daylight. But nevertheless he waits, just as instructed, as the clock in his mind slowly ticks from midnight on towards one o'clock. 

“Watch for a sign in the midnight sky,” growls a voice almost at his elbow, making him jump. He hadn't heard anyone approach. 

Then he steadies himself, swallows nervously, and gives the counter-phrase without turning around. “F-f-for by the m-moon's light, we unearth all s-secrets,” he says earnestly. 

His new conversational partner emerges out of the shadows and into the light of the streetlamp where Khalid can see him. He's a big, bulky human with dark skin and hair, broad and muscular, which makes it all the more impressive how silently he moves, his feet rolling heel to toe across the cobblestones.

On his left is a brass dragonborn with a pair of lethal-looking katanas and an incongruous cocksure grin. On his right is a young half-elven woman, about Khalid's own age, with a quarterstaff in one hand and an expression as unreadable as the stone wall behind her. All three of them wear the subtle silver pin of the Harpers at the fastening of their cloaks. 

“By the moon's light indeed,” the human says pleasantly, reaching out a hand for Khalid to shake. “You'll be our new recruit, then? Khalid yn Munir?”

Khalid hesitates as he releases the handshake. “J-j-just Khalid,” he finally says quietly. 

“As you wish,” the Harper agrees. He doesn't seem surprised; Khalid is no doubt not the first initiate to be leaving something behind. “My name is Vartan. This is Kambas and Jaheira,” he explains, gesturing at each of his companions in turn. “We are to accompany you on a test of your skill and commitment. Hold true and the Harpers shall welcome you.”

“Y-y-yes,” Khalid says earnestly. “I am ready t-to assist in any way I c-c-can.” 

He gets rather stuck on the last word and Kambas laughs softly, a rumbling noise like an avalanche. “Twitchy little thing, isn't he,” the dragonborn says. 

As mockings go, it’s far less malicious than the ones Khalid is used to; indeed, the Harper doesn’t seem to be saying it with cruelty. It’s just an observation, as if he was commenting about the weather. Khalid is already shrugging it off automatically - but to his surprise, the half-elf, Jaheira, stirs suddenly. She’s been watching Khalid in silence with deep, appraising intensity, but now nudges her companion with the butt of her staff.

“Do not be unkind, Kambas,” she says sharply.

The dragonborn’s grin widens and he lifts his hands defensively. “Just messin’ around, Jay,” he says with an air of affable mischief.

“Choose your targets with more care,” she says firmly, “and while you are at it, do not call me that.” She rolls her eyes and catches Khalid’s gaze; a subtle smile twitches her lips up at the corners. “You see you should not take it personally; he is a little shit to us all in equality.”

“So is maintained the balance,” Vartan intones, and Kambas laughs again.

Khalid feels himself start to relax, and smiles back at Jaheira. “I th-thank you for the s-s-support,” he murmurs.

For just a moment - almost as if in spite of herself - her smile settles into something less sardonic and more genuine, and he finds himself struck to inner stillness by the way it lights her eyes. She is a few years his senior and her face already bears the marks of whatever violence in which the Harpers have employed her, but the smile does a great deal to soften it, to show an edge of kindness beneath the cool front. She looks at him and seems pleased with what she sees.

After so many years flanked by various flavors of cruelty, he finds himself utterly captivated by that soft edge, that approval. He stares back at her and feels heat climb up his neck. His tongue, already given to betraying him, feels heavy as lead in his mouth and in that moment he’s not sure he could speak at all.

Then it’s gone. The moment passes; her eyes hood over again and she looks away from him towards Vartan. “Well. Shall we be about it, then?” she asks briskly. “Let us see what our new Harper can do.”

[fantasticsandwich]

yandere influencer x fem! reader (pt 7)

The art studio’s door chimed as you, Rian, and Blaise stepped through, their shadows merging with the eclectic hues that bathed the interior. Canvases stood around the room, each blank face awaiting the touch of inspiration. The scent of oil paint hung thick in the air.

“This place has got a nice vibe, doesn’t it?” Rian's voice, soft and lilting, cut through the quietude of the studio. His eyes sparkled with a childlike excitement that was contagious. “So cool that you got the owner to let us have the place to ourselves. We’ve been here before, with Connor, but it was for a class and tapas.”

Blaise shrugged, snatching a waxy apron off a peg. Draping it over himself, he quickly tied it, cinching his waist. “It’s just as fun when others are around.”

“Yeah, no thanks. I’d rather not embarrass myself again. Everyone who saw my art said it looked like one of those Chinese memes.”

“Then I can’t wait to see what hellish creation you dredge forth today.”

You forced a smile, nodding along to their enthusiasm. You should have been brimming with anticipation, eager to let your emotions spill onto the canvas in a riot of color, but your fingers instinctively sought the hem of your shirt, tugging at the fabric in uneven rhythms. The voices of your friends became muffled, as if you were underwater, their excitement drifting away from your reach. You glanced around the studio, feeling oddly detached from the vibrant scene unfolding before you.

“Y/N? You alright?” Rian’s concern laced his words, drawing you back to the surface. “You haven’t said a word,”

Catchphrase of the century, you scowled.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine,” you stammered, pushing your glasses back up. “Just thinking about... light composition and stuff.” Needless to say, you weren't an arts major, and within good reason.

“Composition, huh?” Blaise remarked, one eyebrow arching skeptically. He leaned against a nearby easel, crossing his arms as he studied you. “It’s only for fun. Don’t overthink it. Let the brush do the talking.”

You nodded, though your mind was elsewhere. You pulled out your phone, a nervous habit, thumbing through messages that didn't require a response. Each vibration against your palm was a hopeful pang, but his name never lit up the screen.

“Come on,” Rian coaxed gently, touching your arm with a warmth that contrasted sharply with the coolness exuded by Blaise. “Let’s start painting. It'll take your mind off things.”

“Sure. Yeah, it’ll be a good distraction.” You agreed, pocketing the device.

You followed Rian’s encouraging lead, picking up a brush with a hand that trembled slightly. As you dipped the bristles into the paint, you hoped the colors would be kind enough to drown out the noise in your head, to silence the persistent whisper of Cillian's absence.

The sun's gentle warmth filled the art studio, its rays spilling across the room and casting a soft glow over the blank canvases that awaited the trio's touch.

Blaise's suggestion hung in the air, delicate yet decisive. “Let’s paint each other. Y/N, let me have you.”

“H-huh?”

“I paint you, and you paint Rian. Rian gets me.”

You hesitated, fingers tightening around the wooden handle of your brush. You felt exposed under the weight of his gaze. The idea of being observed, of being immortalized. Portraits were more intimate than photos.

"Okay," you acquiesced with a small nod. You settled yourself onto the stool, perching on the edge as if ready to flee at any moment.. Your hands lay folded in your lap, one thumb rubbing over the other in a rhythmless caress.

Blaise watched you for a moment, his pale eyes tracing the lines of your face, the slope of your nose, the curve of your chin. In his gaze, there were no traces of judgment, only the silent gathering of details, like a poet collecting words for his verses. He picked up his brush, and you found yourself holding your breath as he approached the canvas.

The first stroke of color seemed to break a spell, and you released a shaky exhale. Blaise worked methodically, the bristles of his brush whispering against the stretched linen. There was a concentration to his movements, a focus that belied the icy aura he often wore like a cloak. His dark hair fell forward, casting shadows over his features that you tried to memorize, to recall later when the silence between them would stretch too thin.

You could hear the soft scuff of Rian moving about the space, the occasional clink of glass as he mixed his paints, but it was Blaise’s presence that consumed your attention. With every mark he made, you felt a strange sense of unfolding, as though he was peeling back the layers of self-consciousness that clung to you like the ill-fitted clothes you often wore.

“Stay still,” Blaise murmured, almost absently, and you realized you had been fidgeting. The words should have felt like a command, but they came out as nothing more than a gentle reminder, a tether to keep you grounded in the moment.

“Sorry,” you whispered, though you weren’t sure what you were apologizing for—the movement, the anxiety that buzzed beneath your skin, or the fact that Cillian's ghost lingered in your thoughts, an unwelcome specter.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he replied without looking up. As his brushstrokes continued to shape your likeness, you allowed yourself to be drawn into the slow rhythm of his work, the practiced ease which he captured you.

As the gentle scrape of Blaise’s brush against canvas faded into a soft rhythm, Rian picked up his own palette with an eagerness that seemed to push away the heavy silence of the studio. You watched from the corner of your eye as he studied Blaise, his brows knitting together in concentration. The delicate lines of Rui's fingers moved with a surprising grace, coaxing shapes and shadows onto the stark white canvas before him. He worked quickly, yet with precision.

“Try to get my good side, if you can find one,” said Blaise.

Rian’s laugh was a light sound, almost musical. “Every side is your good side.” he replied, the warmth in his tone wrapping around the chill of Blaise's humor. He dipped his brush into a pool of blue, the same icy shade as Blaise's distant gaze. With each stroke, he added depth to the painting, the cool colors a stark contrast to the warmth that perpetually emanated from Rian himself.

You turned back to your own canvas, where Rian's image awaited your hand. You willed your thoughts away from Cillian and the tightness in your chest, focusing instead on the gentle curve of Rian's lips, the way his hair fell across his forehead. There was a kindness etched into the lines of his face, a tender-hearted openness that you yearned to translate into your art.

Your brush danced lightly over the canvas, tracing the contours of Rian's cheeks, the softness of his eyes that always seemed to offer comfort, even when he couldn't find the words. As you painted, your phone buzzed incessantly on the table beside you, silent messages piling up.

“You’re making me look too nice,” Rian chided gently, peering over at your progress.

“Maybe because you’re too nice,” you countered with a small smile, though it didn't quite reach your eyes.

“Or maybe you see the best in people,” Rian suggested, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary—a silent acknowledgment of the burdens you carried in your quest to please.

“Sure, let’s go with that.”

The last brushstroke fell, a gentle whisper against the canvas, and Rian set down his paintbrush with an air of finality.

“Done,” he announced, his voice a mix of pride and trepidation. The room, once filled with the soft shuffling of feet and the swish of brushes, settled into anticipatory silence.

You stepped back from you own easel to join Blaise, who was already waiting with a curious tilt to his head. Together, they moved towards Rian’s workspace, where his painting stood covered by a sheet of thin muslin, like a secret waiting to be unveiled.

“Let’s see then,” Blaise said, a smile playing on his lips. Rian hesitated for a heartbeat before pulling the fabric away with a flourish that felt more dramatic than he intended.

Laughter erupted almost immediately, echoing off the high ceilings of the art studio. The portrait was unmistakably Blaise, but with an exaggerated scowl etching his brows and eyes that sparkled with a mischievous glint not typically found in their usual cool depths.

“Is this how I look to you?” Blaise teased, though his voice betrayed a hint of amusement.

Rian’s cheeks colored, a soft bloom of pink spreading across his fair skin. He shuffled on his feet, looking down at the caricature he had created. “I—I thought a little humor might be nice.”

No, you just can’t paint, you sighed.

“It’s perfect,” you said, your laughter subsiding into a warm chuckle. You reached out to squeeze his arm reassuringly, trying to quell the small storm of insecurity you saw brewing behind his eyes. “His nose is a little wonky, so it’s fairly accurate.”

The tension eased from Rian’s shoulders as his friends' affectionate ribbing washed over him. He smiled, a genuine and heartwarming expression that made the earlier disquietude fade. It was in moments like these that he could forget the nagging fears of inadequacy, the pressures that often weighed heavy on his tender heart.

“Let’s snap a pic,” Blaise suggested, his voice unexpectedly light as he pulled out his phone, a device that often lay forgotten in the depths of his pocket. His usual icy facade melted into a rare, soft smile that brightened the dim studio.

You nodded, and together with Rian, they huddled close, their painted canvases cradled in their arms. The camera clicked, immortalizing their lopsided grins and awkward posture. You were glad neither of them requested a redo of the picture.

“Look at us," Rian murmured, his gaze lingering on the digital image, a stark contrast to the raw emotion captured in paint. “Who would’ve thought none of us could pose for a picture?”

“Speak for yourself. I’m photogenic,” Blaise quipped, though the twinkle in his eye belied his sarcastic tone. Moving toward the exit, he held the door open, gesturing for you to go first.

“Thanks for bringing me out,” you quietly said. “Between studying and all the drama, I really needed the distraction.”

Stepping out into the waning daylight, the air held a crisp promise of the evening to come. They lingered on the sidewalk, reluctant to part ways just yet.

“What are we thinking? Takeaway or my place?” Blaise asked, tilting his head towards the street lined with twinkling restaurant signs. “I could do with a change from my own cooking.”

“Your cooking has more character than most things I’ve eaten out here," you replied, though your stomach protested with a quiet growl, betraying your desire for something different—a meal without the bitter aftertaste of solitude.

“I do hope that’s a compliment.”

Rian glanced between them. His eyes, wide in realization, reflected the fading sunset. “Maybe your place? It’s cozier, and we can hear some of your music.”

“Escape it is,” Blaise decided, the decision lifting an invisible weight off their shoulders.

Just as he turned away and began walking, a shadow loomed, briefly eclipsing the glow from a nearby streetlamp as a figure approached. Your heart hitched, a premonition prickling under your skin like static before a storm.

It was a young man, his leather jacket creaking softly with each step. His dark hair hung over his eyes in a fringe. His expression was an unreadable mask that did little to hide the tension in his jaw.

Squinting at him, you stifled a gasp. “Connor? What are you doing here?”

“Just running some errands in the area.” He said, oddly cheerful. As if to prove his point, he waved around a humorously large croissant. The sleeve crinkled as he waved, shedding crumbs. “But while you’re here, what's this I hear about you and Cillian?"

“Odd seeing you around.”

“Errands, like I said. We’re having Italian tonight.”

You quirked a brow. “Baguettes aren’t—”

“Try telling Cillian that.”

The words hung in the air, a challenge wrapped in concern. You felt the eyes of Rian and Blaise on you, a silent plea to ignore him and not engage. Nevertheless, you drew in a deep breath and sighed.

“Right,” you dryly said, brushing it off. “And about your cousin… He’s being insufferable and needs to apologize to Rian,” you responded, voice firmer than you felt. “Only then will I consider speaking to him.”

Connor’s eyes flickered with something akin to surprise, a crack in his bad-boy facade revealing the boy who still sought approval, still clung to the safety of being Cillian's cousin. His phone vibrated in his pocket, a reminder of the modern world's persistent intrusion, but he ignored it, his gaze locked on your determined stance.

“Y/N,” he started again, but you cut him off, unwilling to be swayed by sympathy or guilt.

“I’m really not mad.” Your words tumbled out, echoing the countless conversations you’d had in your head. With the cooling evening air brushing against your skin, you felt the weight of his judgment pressing back. You feared it. You scorned it, but you wouldn’t suffer needlessly from it. “He just needs to know what he did wrong.”

“And what was that?” asked Connor, hopeful.

“The fuck if anyone knows.” Blaise interjected. Pushing past, his shoulder knocked against Connor’s. “C’mon, Y/N. Let’s not spoil the evening.”

You nodded, grateful for the escape. As they turned to leave, you couldn't help but glance back at Connor, whose slumped shoulders spoke volumes as he watched them walk away, his conflicted loyalties clear even in the dim light of the city's restless pulse.

Connor’s sigh hung heavy in the street-lit dusk, intermingling with the city's symphony of honks and chatter. “It’s just… I’m stuck between you guys,” he muttered, a hint of vulnerability seeping through his usually assertive tone. A frown creased his youthful face, casting shadows that flickered like the uncertainties playing across his thoughts. “Cillian is family, but you’re a good friend, and I don’t know who to stand by.”

Blaise stepped forward, the pale glow from the studio windows illuminating his sharp features. His icy aura felt almost tangible, a frosty shield against the chaos of emotions swirling around them.

“Look, maybe I’m overstepping,” he began, somewhat hesitant, “but why are you acting so spineless? There’s no side to pick, only a friend to support. You’ve known her longer than I have, but you can’t see how harmful Cillian’s accusations were? Maybe you’d see that if your head weren’t so far up his ass.” Blaise said, his voice low and steady. Turning away with a sense of finality, he reached out, his fingers brushing against your arm. “How about we head back to my place? My housemates and I were planning a casual hangout.”

His touch was comforting, a calm anchor in the storm of your thoughts. You nodded, feeling the tremble in your limbs settle as you focused on Blaise's offer.

“Sounds good,” you murmured, numbly following along.

“Great,” Blaise’s lips curled into a half-smile, his eyes reflecting a glint of mischief. “You and Rian have got to try my barbeque. I’m doing everything from scratch. I can’t get the sauce right, but hopefully, your input will help.”

“What would either of us know about barbeque?”

“Dunno. Couldn’t be any less than me, though.”

From a few steps away, Connor’s shoulders slumped as he watched the exchange. With another deep exhale that seemed to surrender all his protests, he pulled out his phone. His fingers tapped against the screen, sending a message into the void.

a/n: not much Cillian this chapter but you know he can't stay away for long. next chapter's a good one i promise ^^

[screams-in-writing]

This was actually written for my fic right before the most recent episode, which is kind of funny, as it is the start of mr puzzles trying to apologize/explain things to smg4.

Mr. Puzzles waited for Smg4 to be alone before he approached, well aware that this situation could quickly go wrong.

Smg4 tensed up when he a) saw Mr. Puzzles, b) noticed that they were alone and c) Mr. Puzzles is between Smg4 and the exit of the room.

“I would like to talk.” Mr. Puzzles held his hands up in a placating gesture. “Though if you don’t, I will leave.”

“…really.” Smg4’s expression was understandably wary.

“Really.” Mr. Puzzles confirmed.

“Then…then leave.” Smg4 said, though clearly wondering what kind of a trick this was.

Mr. Puzzles turned to do just that; this was much too soon, just as he’d told you before he approached Smg4’s home. Mr. Puzzles made his way out of the castle before quietly meandering his way through the showgrounds before reaching the wooded area. He paused upon hearing Smg4’s voice.

“Wait.”

Mr. Puzzles didn’t turn around.

“You meant it.”

A statement.

“As much as I do love to go on and on when I am able, I have learned that my…past actions may have been much too extreme.” Mr. Puzzles twitched. “The meme factory stunt you subjected me to was, shall we say, an eye-opening experience?”

“You don’t have any eyes.”

“I do, they’re just digital ones.” Puzzles retorted.

There was a long silence.

“What did you want to talk about?” Smg4 asked.

“Perhaps ‘talk’ isn’t so much the term.” Mr. Puzzles fidgeted, stopped, but kept his back to Smg4 as he continued. “More apology, and an explanation”.

“Apology.” Smg4 said flatly. There was an incredulous pause. “Are you serious right now?”

“I am leaving, as you asked, if you’re not ready to hear me out.” Mr. Puzzles said.

“And if I don’t want to hear your apologies or excuses?” Smg4 sounded nervous, as though Puzzles might push the issue. Or maybe, the man thought Mr. Puzzles might try to take him into his television mindscape like before.

“Then I will simply have to accept that.” Mr. Puzzles responded after a moment. “As I just told you before, I’ve become well aware of just how much my actions, both directly and indirectly, have caused.”

“Do you actually understand?” Smg4 sounded angry, but there was fear just below it. “What you put all of us through, for your own gain?”

“Just as you did in the meme factory?” Mr. Puzzles couldn’t help but retort. “To Meggy and myself?” When Smg4 didn’t respond, Puzzles took the opportunity to address Smg4’s first question. “No, I do not understand, so much as I can surmise what happened. I can’t understand how badly things affected you personally. How it affected Meggy, and your other friends. And that’s because I’m not you.” Mr. Puzzles hesitated. “But we’re not so different, you and I, so may I wager a guess?”

Smg4 continued to be silent, but doesn’t tell Puzzles to stop talking, or leave.

“Nightmares.” Mr. Puzzles said simply. “A replay of nightmares of those events happening, or occurring, again.” Puzzles’ shoulders dropped, his voice dipping to a softer tone. “The feelings of inadequacy. The idea that no matter what you do, eventually, no one will like it. You feel like a failure, even if there are many they still support you. The fear of losing everything you hold dear, unless you can recapture that feeling you initially had. Of doing what you love, and sharing it with others. To enjoy the satisfaction and happiness that comes from sharing those creations with others.”

Mr. Puzzles didn’t realize that he’d sat down on the grass, not that his screen had settled onto a miserable, teary eyed expression. Not had he noticed that Smg4 now stood in front of him, but a good distance away with a curious look on his face. Mr. Puzzles looked away, so he was surprised to hear Smg4 settle down on the grass as well, about ten feet away.

Smg4 was quiet, then raised his gaze to Puzzles. “Let’s hear it, then.” Smg4 eventually said.

“I-“ Mr. Puzzles felt a strange relief that there was no hostility (for the moment) in the smaller man’s voice. “All right.” Mr. Puzzles exhaled with a staticky sound. This was an opportunity he likely wouldn’t l get again, so Puzzles knew that he had best get this apology and explanation right.

[theink-stainedfolk]

Writer Questionnaire Tag

Thank you @drchenquill @the-golden-comet and @paeliae-occasionally for the tag

how long have you had your writing tumblr/writeblr? a fast and loose estimate is fine!

It's been at least 6 months or more I believe.

what led you to create it?

I actually had it from before but i never really posted anything. The thought that there might be people willing to read my works more than my own family and friends led me to create it. I was done shying away.

what's your favourite thing about the writeblr community?

I absolutely adore the supportive and inclusive nature of the writeblr community! It's a space where writers from diverse backgrounds and genres come together to share their passion for storytelling. I love how everyone encourages and uplifts each other, offering constructive feedback and celebrating each other's successes. The community's enthusiasm is infectious, and it motivates me to keep writing and improving my craft. I also appreciate the wealth of resources and knowledge shared within the community, from writing tips and prompts to editing advice and publishing insights. It's amazing to see how writers willingly share their expertise and experiences to help others grow. Most of all, I cherish the sense of belonging and connection that comes with being part of this community. Writeblr feels like a virtual writing group, where we can discuss our projects, share our struggles, and rejoice in our triumphs together

what's one thing you'd like your mutuals to know about you?

That i really love talking about my WIPs and OCs aand everything related to my story. I feel happy, seen and appreciated. If you like anything i woorte, please don't hesitate to ask or just tell me how you feel.

is there anything you'd like to see more of on your dash?

Uh..memes? More aisan drama related things? More HSR stuff everything about my interests etc.

which wips or writing projects are you noodling about, lately?

Very wrong question lol. I've been going back and forth between my WIPs. But the most recent one I've done, or am thinking about is The Masque of Murder .

how long have you been working on them?

Hahaha.... Since months, years and i still haven't even written a chapter for some of them. I hate myself for that. But since The Masque of Murder is recent, it's been a week or so.

do you remember what inspired them/ what got you started?

Yeah i remember reading a manhwa which had this crazy but mad genius doctor as a minor villan. It got me thinking that it was a waste of his abilities and damn good looks and he would have been surely protected by the plot armour had he been the main character instead. This forced me into making it lol.

how much time, in your best estimation, do you spend thinking about them?

🎵Every hour, every minute, every second. And night after night, I'll thinking 'bout you right, 7 days a week.🎶

name any characters you created. side characters, protagonists, antagonists, characters who've never been written, the first original abomination you ever pulled from your ass; whomever you'd like!

Uh... every single one of them? I created everyone, if that's what you're asking haha.. I'm not sure if i understand it correctly but i created everyone on my own. I'll mention the one that comes to my mind first then.

Side character- Emrys from In The Silence, Strength

Protagonist- Dr. Phineas Abel Thorncroft from The Masque Of Murder

Antagonist- Dante from Beyond The Pages (but he is also the protagonist)

And i can't really remember the last two.

when someone asks the dreaded, "what do you write about," question, what do you usually say?

Yknow, fantasy stuff with magic and murder mystery with actual murder and blood and stuff and all that hahah none of the stuffs that you like or understand or are interested in right? Hahah it totally doesn't have queer peoples. Just fictional stuff you don't wanna know hahaha.

Deadass.

who's the most unhinged?

Dr. Phineas Abel Thorncroft (from The Masque Of Murder), Acheron (from Legacy of Creation), Dante (from Beyond The Pages) and Eitenne Lumiere( from Wicked Games, Wicked Fates) from what i remember .

who comes the most naturally for you to write?

Vesperine, Cleo, Pareen

do you ever cringe at them?

Hahaha... sometimes..

how much control do you feel you have over your characters? do they ever "write themselves," refuse to cooperate, or do things you didn't expect? to what degree? are some less cooperative than others?

I feel like i have 70% control and 30% is something they do it themselves because i give them the freedom to do so. Because that is the story of my character and not of me, even if I am the one who wrote it. Sometimes the decision i make for them is not what they'd do.

do you enjoy people asking questions about your characters? and do you have a preferred means of receiving said questions? for example, as asks, as replies, as reblogs, as tag notes, as comments on ao3, etc.

Yes i absolutely love it please ask. Doesn't matter how just ask♡♡♡

what makes you want to follow another writeblr account? do you follow 'em as you see 'em, or take time scoping out the blog to make sure you align with its content? do you follow based on wips, or vibes?

I take time scoping out the blog to make sure i align with it's content. And i follow based on both, wips and vibes but mostly vibes.

what makes you decide against following?

If i don't align with the content or i don't fond the story interesting, i don't follow.

do you interact with non-mutual often?

Not often but i do.

do your mutuals' characters occupy space in your noodle?

There are so so many characters of my mutuals that i love love loveee but my memory rn isn't functioning at its best so i will just write whom i can remember rn.

The Madness, the lady and that guy from Foliè written by @drchenquill, my friend. Whose writing always leaves me with surprises and cliffhangers. She supports me so much i almost feel guilty 💕💕💕💕 i love you so much💖💖💖

@paeliae-occasionally Xanren, Marsh and Paeliae. I love their stories it captivated me. I hope you can tag me on their journey 👍, @cssnder, my first mutual whom i talked with so much courage that i almost didn't open tumblr the next day due to embarrassment and nervousness. Her works are like renaissance paintings, truly mesmerizing and beautiful. Thus Saith The Lord is truly a work of art and i hope i get to read it soon.😭 And also, @roarintheheavens , my new friend, I'm so happy. Vron Carson, he is very interesting and i can't wait to know more about him. And of course, @the-golden-comet, I'd very much like to read more about peter hart.

Just because i didn't mention everyone doesn't mean i don't appreciate your works, it's just that i haven't read them yet. I hope you all can send it to me. I'll definitely read it.

I'll tag @finickyfelix @willtheweaver @ascotwriting @agirlandherquill @leahnardo-da-veggie @illarian-rambling @winglesswriter @graveyardshift111

[oldiesstationlover11607]

🎶Oh my God, we’re back again🎶

Well hello….it’s 💛. You said that my requests make you happy and that you don’t mind them so I have returned. By the way, if this ever changes, do not hesitate to tell me. Even if you just don’t want to write TØP anymore. I’m a fan of a lot of fandoms you appear to write for, so I’d probably be able to request other things (again, only if you don’t mind me doing so). For what it’s worth, your stories are the highlight of my day. I frequently reread them when I’m feeling down or in need of an escape.

Alright, enough with my sappiness. You know that meme of the girl explaining something to her mom and the mom is just like 😐 (google “Me explaining to my mom meme” and it should be the first pic that shows up)? I was thinking that a fun story would be Josh trying (and maybe failing) to explain TØP lore to the reader. It doesn’t have to go super in depth to things by any means. I just can imagine that such a scenario has happened before and, quite honestly, half the time I don’t even know the lore. As always, if you hate this idea, no pressure to do it. ❤️❤️

Lore - Josh Dun x Reader

Pairing: Josh x Reader

Warnings: None :)

Word Count: 1374

A/N: I love that you re-read my stuff. It makes me so happy that it’s the highlight of your day. Getting your requests is the highlight of mine, writing helps me relax at the end of the day-especially with how rough it is being in senior year (I’m in the southern hemisphere and finish school late November so exams are imminent 😭). I actually re-read some of mine quite a bit. Honestly I’m so proud of the number 16 cotton candy. The way part 2 ended made me want to cry - I believe I ATE that if I do say so myself 🙌. It makes me want to add more parts, like the reader watching Clancy perform on Good Day Dema and seeing how upset/zoned out he looks and being hurt by it, the conversations they have after reuniting, more of that series’ torchbearer bc he’s funny af, and more! Literally love this request btw bc I tried explaining the lore to my mom and she pulled the exact face in the meme. 

Tyler and Josh were always on social media. It had always been a key part of their relationship with the clique, and I’d noticed it more and more when they started tagging me in memes and pictures that I didn’t know the meanings of. 

“Josh?” I asked. We were sitting on the couch under a blanket in our apartment, the weather outside cold and rainy. Josh looked down at me, I’d planted myself in his lap, my head resting perfectly on his thighs while the rest of my body stretched out across the couch. 

“Yeah?” I brought my phone up to his face. 

“What’s a forest fic and why are the clique tagging me in memes saying you don’t exist?” His face dropped, mouth open wide in shock. “Tyler reposted something about it earlier and I don't get it.” He said nothing, the silence in the room growing with every second. “What?” I could tell he was trying to frame a way to tell me the truth, surely it wasn’t that bad.

“It’s a uh….uhhhh, like a fan fiction. And like….uhhh… I’m like not real in it… like a figment of Tyler’s imagination. Uhh and then a treehouse burns down THE END,” he mumbled, stumbling through the words and giving the worst plot description I’d ever heard. I was still confused. “That’s all you will EVER need to know… no need to look it up or mention it ever again.” He flashed me a quick smile before going back to his phone. I sat there for a few moments trying to understand his words before continuing. 

“But how is that relevant to whatever Tyler posted this morning?” 

He let out a loud sigh, telling me I was starting to get on his nerves. He put down his phone and properly sat up, giving me his full attention.

“It’s related to the lore of the new album, the whole Dema thing,” he explained. I knew that over the last few albums the boys had been telling some big story but that it was too complex to just google and learn about in five minutes. 

“Like how your character is the Torchbearer?” I asked and he nodded in response. “But how is that related to you not existing?”

“Do you really want me to explain the whole lore to you?” he laughed. 

“Yeah, I guess today’s the day.”

Josh had tried to explain everything as clearly as he could but it still didn’t make any sense. He explained that he was called the Torchbearer–which I’d proudly already known–and that Tyler was called Clancy. He also said that Clancy was trying to escape Dema because of the Bishops–I still didn’t really understand the concept of the Bishops… or Dema for that matter. 

“Wait, wait, wait, so you’re saying that there’s like… nine different Bishops?” I asked, trying to get my head around it. 

Josh nodded, “And they’re in charge of different sectors of Dema where the citizens live.” 

“If I’m being 100% honest, I have no idea where we are on the timeline or what the difference between Trench and Dema is,” I laughed. Josh covered his eyes and shook his head. He grabbed his phone, sending off a couple of texts before continuing trying to explain the lore. After about an hour, we both had our computers out, Josh was on the clique side of reddit and I was taking notes, typing frantically. A loud knock sounded from the door and I got up to answer it. It was Tyler, standing in the doorway with a large blanket with ‘twenty one pilots’ printed on it, snacks–including my favorite candy, the mask he’d worn during all the Clancy promotional stuff, a roll of yellow tape, and a stuffed animal which looked like a fat goat. 

“Where’s Josh? I heard there was an emergency and I came prepared,” he spoke, running inside and jumping on the couch next to my boyfriend. Closing the door I chuckled to myself and walked back over to the boys. “Josh said you wanted to learn the lore.”

“Well I tried explaining it to her myself but she wasn’t getting it,” Josh claimed. 

“That’s because you don’t get the lore yourself, come on,” Tyler laughed. He grabbed Josh’s computer and switched the tab to YouTube. “To start with, watch this.” He started playing the band’s ‘The Story’ playlist which featured all of the lore-related music videos. We started with Heavy Dirty Soul–which I’d seen before–and then went on to watch the videos from Trench. 

“Okay so Tyler’s character, Clancy, basically tries escaping Dema but then gets taken back. Josh’s character, the Torchbearer, is in charge of the Banditos–the rebellion group–and gets Tyler–sorry Clancy out of the city and takes him to the camp but then he gets captured again?” 

Tyler nodded, confirming my understanding. We continued watching the music videos till we got to ‘The Outside’. Josh  pulled out the stuffed animal and passed it to me before pressing play. I watched the video, Josh leading Tyler through an island and into a cave. A small gremlin with black eyes, gray horns, and white fur popped onto the screen, the exact same creature the stuffed animal was modeled off of. He jumped about the dark cave mysteriously, leading Tyler to a larger group of them. “Oh my god what is that thing?” I moved into Josh, cuddling up to him, completely stunned at this creature who was both cute and terrifying at the same time. 

“It’s Ned,” he smiled, “it stands for Neuro-Expansion Device.” I nodded and continued to watch the video. Tyler had gotten the horns from Ned and was able to control the dead bishop I’d learned to be Keons. When we finally reached Navigating, Josh paused the video. “This is the video those instagram memes were referring to, the ones Tyler has been reposting.” Tyler pressed play and we sat through the entire thing. The song was catchy and the video showed Josh leading Tyler through the forest and back into Trench after leaving the island Vøldsoy. What I didn’t expect was for Josh’s character to be a figment of Tyler’s imagination and the real Torchbearer to be the Bandito one from the Trench videos. 

“WHAT?!” I gasped, “NO WAY.” There was no way this whole time the Torchbearer was not there for Clancy. I wanted to cry from how sad it was and I had to find out how the story ended. “Wait so what happens next?” 

Tyler sat up and put the computer away, “Well basically we have another music video for Paladin Strait but that’s not coming out for a while. We’ve also got some lore stuff planned for the tour so I’ve got to finalize that soon too.” 

I nodded listening to everything he was saying and trying to remember the few follow up questions I had. “So, the bishops,” I started. 

“Yeah, what about them?” Josh asked, wrapping his arms around me. 

“So I get that Keons and Nico are the main ones but what about the others? Like what kind of a name is Nills?” Tyler laughed loudly, bringing a hand up to his chest.

“They’re from the songs off Blurryface, like Sacarver, “she’s a carver,” he explained. 

“Oh so you went through the lyrics and highlighted things that sounded vaguely like names?” Josh seemed to find that hilarious because he nearly fell off the couch. Tyler however, found it less funny and rolled his eyes. 

“Okay, I think that’s enough for today,” he got up and packed up the blanket. “You can keep the Ned by the way.” I grinned and cuddled him closer to me. 

“Thanks for the help Tyler,” Josh held me against his chest. 

“No worries,” he smiled before leaving the apartment. Josh and I were left to ourselves, the rain still pattered on the roof and I could hear the occasional grumble of thunder. 

“So Torchbearer, what’s the plan for dinner?” I asked, getting up off the couch. I got up, put away all the snacks and drinks while Josh folded up our blankets. 

“You’re never going to stop calling me that are you?” he laughed. 

“What’s that? I can’t see you, maybe you’re not really here.”

//

Hopefully this is good, I wasn't too sure about it but I think it's worth publishing. I'm so glad that I have 💛 anon bc their requests are awesome and I love hearing their feedback. I felt guilty last night about declining a Joshler fic but bc of 💛 saying I should write what I want it felt okay.

[leo-in-the-clouds]

So, I finished a New Spring like a week ago and am just like... how can anybody not see that Moiraine and Siuan are more than friends?? I literally marked some sentences where I was like bffr this shit is so gay....

Suianraine moments in New Spring:

(disclaimer: I'm too lazy to properly quote, but the quotes are in order of appearance in the book, also spoiler for New Spring obvi (also starting at 0. cause I'm too stupid to count...))

0. "Out of the corner of her eye, Moiraine saw Siuan smiling at her. That smile turned Siuan’s face from handsome to pretty and made her clear blue eyes twinkle."

-> so that could still be platonic, but no...

1. “I should have expected to find you two together,” she said coolly. There never seemed to be any heat in her. “I can’t understand why you don’t just move into the same room. [...]"

-> everyone is saying that they're always together and noving/acting in "Lockstep", only one of many examples, like she's literally telling them to move in with each other cause they're always together anyways...

2. "[...] Do you want me to come with you, Moiraine?” Moiraine wanted nothing more.

-> (thinking of the "Do you want to stay for dinner?" "Do you want to stay forever?" Meme)

3. "Last night, revealing her woes had seemed out of place, a trifle compared to what they knew the world faced, but Moiraine had no hesitation in telling her now. Before she finished, Siuan enveloped her in a strong, comforting hug. They had wept on each other’s shoulders much more often than either had availed herself of Merean’s. She had never been as close to anyone as she was to Siuan. Or loved anyone as much."

-> I don't have anything to add. She said it herself

4. once the pair of them were naked and she was opening the jar, all the gasping over their welts and bruises finished.

[...]

Only Verin’s vile-tasting concoction let them sleep, huddled beneath the blankets in Moiraine’s narrow bed, and it was the grim reminder of that jar sitting on the mantel that warred with sleep as much as their welts and bruises.

-> they might be injured, but they're also naked and sharing a bed (which previoisly was described as even more narrow than Siuans, meaning they're even closer together)

5. Moiraine leaped to her feet, and laughing, they danced hand in hand for joy. She ached to ask what had happened in Siuan’s test. That furious blush—from Siuan!—begged intriguing questions, but…. To be shared in silence, and only then with the women who had shared it with you. How long since they two had failed to share everything? Even here, the shawl brought separations

-> that's kinda sad actually, but also mentions them sharing everything again

6. perhaps they had never expected the two of them to march this far in complete lockstep

-> they are literally swearing their oaths together....

7. they answered together. Breach of the proprieties or not, they intended to do everything together this morning insofar as possible.

-> as seen above...

8. Hand in hand, they entered. Together.

-> ....

9. she went in search of Moiraine rather than dinner, to let her know she would be searching by herself. The sight of Moiraine always made her smile. Cetalia had been wrong in one particular. She was not a pretty little porcelain doll; she was a beautiful little porcelain doll.

-> same as 0. tbh.

10. Siuan could have kissed her. In fact, she did.

-> Do I need to say more???

11. There was no point in waiting, so Moiraine changed into a riding dress, with Siuan’s help to make the changing faster.

-> I have not once helped my friends change their clothes.... ("faster" sure honey, whatever you say)

12. "Except for her pillow-friend Siuan. Of course, pillow-friends frequently get into tangles together, but with those two, one was never sent to me without the other. The last time the very night after passing for the shawl.”

-> what she says basically

13. Moiraine reminded her of their pledge during their first months in the Tower, that what one owned belonged to the other as well,[...]

-> like fr, thats basically what a marriage is supposed to be (*cough* Mandalorian Marriage Vows (mhi me'dinui an)*cough*)

14. Siuan settled cross-legged on the bed, yet she all but bounced. [...] They were going to be sharing that bed, and Siuan knew exactly which ticklish spots could reduce her to helpless laughter and pleading.

-> i know it's meant in the context of pleading to stop the tickling, but it definitely can be interpreted another way...

15. Doing up Siuan’s buttons in turn, she tried distracting the other woman by telling her how much the cut of her dress molded her hips and bosom. Well, for a little more than distraction. Siuan deserved a bit of snippiness back. “It does attract men’s eyes,” Siuan replied. And giggled! She even gave her hips a twitch! Moiraine thought she might spend the whole day sighing.

-> yeah....

Not included: all the hugging (literally all the time) and mentions of previous bed sharing

[vickyvicarious]

The bracing breath Jack takes before beginning his entry.

also, starting with Jack? I'm quite curious what the reasons for the various reorderings are throughout re: Dracula. Sometimes it seems to try and more accurately reflect timing or for dramatic effect, but not always. here seems to be pretty neatly divided by timing but it just reminded me

"I fear that in some mysterious way poor Mrs. Harker's tongue is tied. I know that she forms conclusions of her own, and from all that has been I can guess how brilliant and how true they must be; but she will not, or cannot, give them utterance." MINAAAAA

oooh the dual voices on "vampire's baptism of blood" is great

"The same power that compels her silence may compel her speech." my brain is rotted by too many memes, I pictured among us and Jack and van Helsing agreeing that Mina seems 'sus'

the slow music as van Helsing talks about Mina changing...

I hate Mina being left out again ughhh

the ominous music fading out into the lighthearted music as Quincey talks of wolf-hunting, and then back into ominous as

"We four?" this delivery is SO GOOOOOOOD. and the way Jack says "Harker was silent for a while" gave me chills imagining him. ohohohoho I love it

he sounds so clipped when he says they'll talk in the morning as well. he's going to talk privately with Mina first and foremost, and they will both decide what to do after that.

Jonathan's great upset at Mina being left out and people being somehow fine with that??? after how it turned out last time?!?! ...it's so good

I love van Helsing being the one to describe all this. Quincey and Art and Jack were all there too. They could perhaps correct some stuff, like Quincey saying he gave him tobacco or money or whatever, or explaining what "much blood and bloom" mean, but... nah

van Helsing's accent makes it sound like he keeps saying "the sin man" and I'm like, yeah, fair enough

the captain assuming Dracula is French is so interesting/weird

god I love the music

"for we have seen the owner of the ship, who have shown us invoices and all papers that can be." ~document supremacy~

the way Mina says "oh! I dread Jonathan leaving me" :(

And the delivery of those three "necessary"s is soooo good.

Man, the building energy of van Helsing's speech leading to "And now this is what he is to us!" and "shall make you like him! This must not be! We have sworn together that it must not!" also how he sounds like he is choking back tears when he says "to live in your own old, sweet way" and "men for whom His Son die"

His laugh is so wounded sounding

the drum as van Helsing describe what Dracula did to prepare

I love the sigh and refocusing in "But we are pledged to set the world free."

god, the way Mina says "unclean" with such disgust

"How strange it all is" Jonathan sounds so miserable

the music as Mina asks for his promise <3

Jonathan's hesitation to promise to deny Mina in the future.

How gentle their voices are

"I promise!" and as I said it I felt that from that instant a door had been shut between us." god this line. this delivery. agonizing...

the plea for a dreamless sleep is so sad. he sounds almost on the edge of choking up on the last word

[novelmonger]

Hiya! It's Windmill from Discord! Saw the prompt meme - could you do Obi-Wan and Qui-Gonn with "I love you. You know that, right?" If you're up for it! Thanks <3

Hi Windmill!

Let Me Count the Ways ask game

(Note that this follows the canon of the Jedi Apprentice books - set right after #8, The Day of Reckoning - but I tried to make it still understandable for those who haven't read them.)

Obi-Wan had already powered down the lights in his room in the Temple and lain down on his sleep-couch when someone knocked on his door. He'd felt a pulse in the Force a moment before, and instantly knew the person on the other side of the door was Qui-Gon.

Strange. They'd seen each other not long ago, for a time of meditation in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. And they were due for a training exercise at 0600.

Slowly, Obi-Wan sat up, pushing aside his blanket. “Enter,” he said, reaching over to turn on a lamp.

The door slid open and Qui-Gon stepped inside. “I apologize for disturbing your rest,” he said stiffly.

Obi-Wan shook his head, shifting to sit cross-legged on top of his sleep-couch. “I wasn't asleep.”

Qui-Gon nodded, then paced back and forth across the small space, hands clasped behind his back. He'd left his cloak behind, Obi-Wan noticed, and his dark hair fell loose about his shoulders. It was as though he'd been in the process of turning in for the night, then realized he'd forgotten something and come directly here.

Tentatively, Obi-Wan quested out towards him in the Force. Their bond had been damaged, fractured, since everything that had happened on Melida/Daan. They were in the process of mending it, and their unofficial mission together on Telos had taken them a good distance down that path, but Obi-Wan knew it would still take a long time before they could restore the deep trust that had once existed between them.

Qui-Gon paused, gazing down at the workbench where Obi-Wan had left his lightsaber after cleaning it moments ago. As he stood there, an answering thread in the Force touched Obi-Wan's, like fingertips brushing against each other. Obi-Wan was surprised at how hesitant it felt as well.

“Tahl reminded me today,” Qui-Gon said slowly, absently straightening the tools on the workbench, “that we cannot simply return to the way things once were. And nor should we. We are not the same as when we first met.”

“Master Yoda said something similar to me,” Obi-Wan said with a wry smile. “'Expect not to tread the same path twice, for a path through sand it is, washed away by the tide.'”

Qui-Gon snorted, but he looked amused rather than annoyed. “And Tahl spoke to me of pottery. We're being conspired against by poets.”

Obi-Wan grinned, just as Qui-Gon glanced up with a twinkle in his eye. Their gazes connected for only a moment, but it was one of those moments Obi-Wan had learned to prize above all else in recent days. It was a moment that reassured him that, however else their relationship might change going forward, the bond between them was still intact.

After a moment of silence, Qui-Gon left the workbench and sat down at the foot of the sleep-couch. There was a deliberate quality to his movements, as though he were about to say something of vital importance. Obi-Wan found himself straightening attentively. This was why Qui-Gon was here.

“Tahl also counseled me to be more open with you, Obi-Wan. Too often, I fall into the trap of thinking that, because I can see a path forward, you will also see it and agree with me.” He shook his head. “It is dangerous when a master forgets that his apprentice is also a being with wisdom to contribute.”

“But I was wrong!” Obi-Wan blurted out, his hands curling into fists on his knees as shame pooled in his gut—just as it did every time he thought of that day. “I was wrong to...to defy you, and steal the ship, and....”

“Yes.” Qui-Gon reached out a hand, settling it on Obi-Wan's shoulder. “You were wrong. And so was I, Padawan. I was the one who put you in a position where you felt such actions were necessary. But perhaps, had we taken the time to communicate more openly...some of that could have been prevented. You are my apprentice, Obi-Wan. Not my servant. We are meant to be a team.”

The warm, comforting weight of Qui-Gon's hand on his shoulder somehow made the shame break apart and fade away into nothing, like mist on a warm morning. Obi-Wan looked into those wise blue eyes, full of the esteem and respect he'd been afraid he would never see again. So unlike that day on Melida/Daan when they had turned icy and forbidding, as Qui-Gon had held out his hand for Obi-Wan to give up his lightsaber.

Confusion. Betrayal. Outrage. That was what they'd both been feeling, on the day their bond had shattered. Neither of them had been able to understand the other's decisions, and neither had been willing to explain or ask further questions. They had each known they were right, and the very thought that the one closest to them could possibly disagree was unfathomable.

And that had made their relationship brittle, too easily broken. Maybe this was what Qui-Gon had been talking about, when he'd said on Telos that he looked forward to their next disagreement. If they argued, that meant they both knew they weren't of the same mind, and they could work together towards a solution. It didn't have to mean they would abandon each other again.

“I'll try to live up to that,” Obi-Wan said quietly, as Qui-Gon's hand slipped from his shoulder. “I want to earn your trust again. I want to be worthy of it.”

Qui-Gon sat quietly for a moment, then got to his feet, his back to Obi-Wan. At first, Obi-Wan didn't think he would say anything, but finally he said, in the softest voice he'd ever heard from him, “I love you, Obi-Wan. You know that, right?”

Obi-Wan stared at him. “I...yes. Yes, I know.”

It wasn't exactly that Jedi didn't speak of love. Attachment was forbidden, but the entire Order was built on a foundation of love—the selfless kind of love that led to thousands of beings devoting their entire lives to aiding strangers across the galaxy. And of course every Jedi had special affection for their closest friends and teachers, not to mention the deeper-than-blood bond between Master and Padawan.

But Qui-Gon had never been one to speak openly of his feelings. His first thought was always for the mission, or for a lesson to pass on to Obi-Wan. He was foremost a Jedi Knight, and secondly a teacher—as it should be. But underneath it all, he was still a man. A man with emotions and cares and, yes, affections too.

Of all people, Obi-Wan shouldn't have been surprised to see evidence of that. He had seen evidence of that, plenty of times before. But it was still strange to hear Qui-Gon speak of it so bluntly.

Qui-Gon was almost at the door by the time Obi-Wan realized he was leaving. Apparently, he'd said what he'd come here to say. “Master, wait!” Obi-Wan sprang to his feet.

Pausing with his hand on the door, Qui-Gon looked over his shoulder.

Nervously, Obi-Wan swallowed hard. He'd never said this to anyone, but when he instinctively reached out to the Force, it rang with the chimes of a hundred golden bells in his heart, and he knew it was the right thing to say. “I love you too, Qui-Gon. I always have. Even then.”

Even when he was angry and hurt. Even when they were shouting at each other. Even when Qui-Gon left him on a war-torn planet. Even when their connection in the Force frayed and snapped, and it seemed pointless to hope they could regain even a fraction of what they'd once had.

Though Qui-Gon didn't move, it felt to Obi-Wan as if he had reached out his hand and grasped his. The Force wrapped around both of them like a warm blanket, and Obi-Wan found himself aware of Qui-Gon's breathing and heartbeat, in a way that normally didn't happen except sometimes in the heat of battle, when all of their focus centered on their movements synchronizing and complementing each other.

For a moment, Obi-Wan thought he caught a glimpse of the future. All of his worries about whether they could mend the rift between them faded away, because he knew they would be together. Perhaps not always—eventually, Obi-Wan would grow up and leave Qui-Gon's side. One day, he would become a Jedi Knight. One day, he would take on a Padawan of his own.

But nothing would come between them like this again. Not really.

“Yes, my Padawan,” Qui-Gon murmured, turning once more to the door. “I know.”

[blackjackkent]

Ask prompt fill for @thedarkstrategist for this ask meme: The Deeper the Water Sentence Prompts Lae'zel - "I didn’t know how else to be." A little gith philosophy and conversation for you. XD TY for the prompt - hope you enjoy! :D

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“Your goddess. Vlaakith.” Rakha speaks up abruptly after a long period of silence as she walks through the South Span at Lae’zel’s side. “Why did you follow her?”

One of Lae’zel’s eyebrows twitches in muted surprise. They are all familiar, by now, with Rakha’s tendency to chew on questions for long periods of time before voicing them without preamble, but Wyll is the usual recipient (or, more recently, Jaheira). A little flicker of warmth goes through her, unbidden. 

Even after all this time and everything that has passed between them, part of Lae’zel still craves the attention she knows the half-orc is unable to give her. This is only a fragment of it, but it is still something.

The question, though, leaves something to be desired.

Your goddess. Vlaakith. Why did you follow her?

"I do not understand it," Rakha goes on, when Lae'zel doesn't answer immediately. "Gods. Vlaakith, Shar, Mystra - all of them seem cruel. Uncaring. What is the purpose of devotion? Why did you follow her?"

Lae'zel frowns, carefully considering her words before answering. “To be born a githyanki is to be born into certainty,” she says. “From the first cracking of our egg, we are blessed with purpose, role, and destination, all granted us by Vlaakith in the service of Mother Gith. I felt no call to question it, for she was infused into every facet of my life. She shone out from the faces of my kin. She was the strength in my sword arm and the keenness of my blade.”

Involuntarily, one of her fists clenches at her side. “Ch’mar zal’a Vlaakith, we are taught. Vlaakith’s will above all. It is the guiding principle, the protocol eternal. It shuts out all fear, all doubt.”

She looks sideways at Rakha. “You, even more than most istik, would have trouble comprehending that certainty, t’rac’shka. How impenetrable it can seem. The safety in it, and the fear beyond it.”

She doesn’t mean it as an insult, simply as fact, and Rakha doesn’t take it as one. “I have no memory of certainty,” she agrees in a low voice.

Lae’zel grunts. “You served Bhaal. Perhaps he--”

“I do not remember it.”

“No.” A pause. Then Lae’zel continues, almost to herself, “It shames me to look back upon it. I was blind to the truth, a willing pawn in her quest for immortality. It drove my every action, my every thought. I was used, and gladly.”

Rakha hesitates. “You were a child,” she says cautiously.

“That is no excuse.”

Rakha doesn’t answer for a moment. Then she shrugs. “I was also a child, no doubt,” she mutters. “I remember… only flashes. But I am sure I was trained to kill from the moment I could hold a blade.” Her mismatched eyes track to Lae’zel’s face. “As you were.”

This gives Lae’zel pause, and a flicker of something like sympathy touches her face. “Do you regret those lost memories?” she asks, unusually soft.

“No,” Rakha says - just slightly too sharply for it to be unmitigated truth.

“Chk. Then I envy you,” Lae’zel mutters. “In spite of myself, I find that what has been taken from me is a terrible thing to lose. I am adrift. Unmoored.”

“And yet you did not return when she asked. You did not become Baht t’Vlaakith.”

Lae’zel flinches. “Voss was clear. You were clear. It would have been to put my neck back into the yoke and become cattle for slaughter. Certainty is not worth dignity. It is not worth honor and self-respect.”

Rakha considers this. “But you now seek to follow Orpheus. To pledge yourself to him. A new certainty. Is that not also a new yoke?”

Lae’zel stiffens. Her head snaps back and her eyes flare defensively. “I follow the Prince of the Comet because he carries truth. He will be freedom and honor for the githyanki people, a path forward for all my kin. I will see him freed from the Astral Prism in service of a glorious future.”

Rakha blinks at her slowly. “I see,” is all she says in response. “Ch’mar zal’a Orpheus, then.”

Lae’zel relaxes - though her troubled expression remains, her eyes narrowing in disquieted thought. “Yes,” she agrees curtly. “His will be done.”

[reiiishii]

@hxbiris said: ⏰ (For Noah when the trope was found ) Past Memory Meme // Accepting!

Her legs were practically aching and the rain hadn't stopped. A 15 year old girl wandering the sides of a dirt road, one would think to stop for her but she wasn't even sure where she was...

Did her shoes have holes in them? Was it midnight? What time WAS it...?

A bunch of questions swirled in her mind but she simply held onto the shawl around her shoulders tighter as she continued walking, hopefully there would be another village around here somewhere for her to take up shelter... maybe sanctuary in a church?

She didn't even know where to start...

...and she just abandoned Bazzard... right after they lost Jugram to Yhwach... The guilt Noah was feeling in that moment was eating her alive aside from the nauseating feeling of her fear and anxiety mixed with adrenaline.

Not paying attention to where she was walking, Noah was snapped out of her thoughts when she heard horses, falling backwards onto the hard, wet ground and holding up her hand in an attempt to keep them from hurting her.

"Penelope what is goin on out there?!" An older woman's voice sounded from within the wagon, it surely wasn't the one at the forefront of this ride but a head of red hair poked out into the rain with a lantern, frowning and getting out of the wagon to approach.

"I dunno Missus Wheth! They got spooked!" The girl, Penelope, answered when the woman revealed herself. Hopping off the driver's seat and approaching with her, she pulled her hood down and let blonde curls get soaked in the rain.

Noah could feel her heart race at the sight of them before she slowly got to her feet and tried to dust herself off. Cold, scared, and confused, she remained quiet as the two spoke among themselves until she felt the older woman's calloused hands grab her wrist.

"H-Hey--" She started only to be silenced by a stare.

"I'm cold, it's too damn dark out, and I don't need a brat getting killed. Get in and get dried. Caleb might have towels for you to dry off." The older woman, who was called Florence (she overheard Penelope call her that.) looked at her and helped her into the wagon. Setting the Lantern down and getting settled on a box. "Where the hell did you come from? And who are you?"

Noah was hesitant before she just looked at her skirt, tightening her hands as her voice caught in her throat, cracking with emotion before she put her head in her hands and began crying. The group of people hidden inside the wagon moved to give her a bit of room as Noah tried to formulate words and calm herself down, her tears only stopped when she felt a gentle hand on hers. An older woman & one to be about in her early adulthood (she couldn't tell in the light) simply moved to dry her hair off and warm her up.

"...Birdie, Paloma I leave her to you two. See what she can tell you..." A sigh from Florence, rubbing her forehead, "We'll stop somewhere in Marseille to get some supplies, maybe some money too." A chorus of 'yes missus wheth' sounded from the group as they all returned to either sleep or what activities they were doing beforehand.

Noah just looked between them in confusion before finally finding herself leaning onto both Birdie and Paloma, her adrenaline drifting off and her soon drifting to sleep, a quiet and gentle lullaby filling the air. She noticed a girl with bright red hair poking out over Birdie's shoulder when she started drifting off but she didn't say anything, she just fell asleep without a word to follow.

When Daylight rolled around, she'd tell them who she was. When Daylight came again, she'd explain her situation... but they were all already so welcoming... they'd understand.

She didn't have to be scared of them... for now she just needed to sleep...