#i know that i was lazy about the tagging again but in my defense i DID do this specific challenge like 5 times already

[doctahchang]

would like to know the lore of my own oc that i have had for like ten years

edit: found an old sketch of her... i basically drew her for the first time eons ago and haven't changed her design ever since (sad that i won't be able to find those drawing again)

[lupinqs]

FOCUS ━━ paige bueckers x reader

☆ ━ summary: practice gets a little steamy…

☆ ━ word count: 3.1K

☆ ━ warnings: smut (p eating, fingering, kinda public sex but ig not really)

☆ ━ links: my masterlist

☆ ━ author’s note: okay so this is SUCHHH a scrap, i have not proofread it either, it’s just not great, i’m not very happy with it but i wanted to post something so here it is i hope you all like it more than i do LOL

YOU’RE in Maryland, visiting Paige’s family. You and her got here a little under a week ago following the first round of Geno’s summer sessions. It’s been a lazy few days so far, full of long mornings spent in bed, video games on the couch with Drew, and afternoons tanning in the summer sun. It’s been nice; a solid break that the both of you need before what Paige has dubbed her “world tour” of the summer. You’re tagging along for parts of it—though not all of it—and it’s safe to say you’re not excited for the amount of plane rides and jet lag you’re about to face.

However, you and Paige both decided that a week of sitting on your asses might do more harm than good, so you’ve gathered yourselves at the local high school gym, getting some hoops in.

A few buddies of Paige’s, as well as Drew, tagged along in the beginning, but as the hours grew longer, they began to fizzle out. Drew is the last to leave, heading to his actual basketball practice with his own team.

And then it’s just you and Paige.

The two of you could leave now; you’ve certainly been here practicing long enough. However, you can see the itch of a smirk in Paige’s face and you know what she’s going to say before the words even leave her mouth.

“1v1?” she asks, a playful challenge in her eyes.

You smirk, taking the challenge as you always seem to do. “Not too scared you’ll lose again?”

Paige rolls her eyes at the reminder of the two of you’s last one-on-one game. She waves a hand, saying dejectedly, “You cheated.”

“Nope, you’re just a sore loser.”

Paige just shakes her head, grinning. “I’m not a sore loser because I didn’t lose.”

You decide that you’re not entertaining this. You’re well aware that she will continue bickering with you about it until you give in, admitting that she’s right and you’re not. It’s always this way; she will literally go on for hours if you let her. But, nonetheless, you both know the truth—which is, you definitely beat her in that game.

And, when you begin the game, the way the first few minutes are going makes you believe you may win this one, too. You’re up a good few points—Paige has been slacking on defense and you’ve been picking up the pace on offense. When you get another bucket on her, you grin widely, calling to your girlfriend, “Gee, you a little rusty, P Boogers?” You add the nickname KK’s created, knowing how much it annoys her.

However, Paige doesn’t bother responding, instead abruptly ripping her white long-sleeve over her head and tossing it across the gym on the other side of the court. Your grin falters at that, eyes soaking up Paige’s body. Jesus. Already, you can feel your heart start to race (and it’s not from the basketball game). Paige is wearing a Nike black sports bra, and, with her shirt now shed, the silver chains are on full display along her chest. Her basketball shorts are also rolled down, so that her whole torso is practically exposed, abs included. You feel your mouth salivate at the sight of Paige’s skin glistens with sweat, the way her abs flex, the way her arms look (you seem to grow fonder and fonder of them every day, especially since Paige has been in the weight room more often).

A small smirk paints Paige’s face as she takes in your surprised expression. She just raises her eyebrows, saying with a shit-eating grin, “What? It’s hot in here.”

You roll your eyes at Paige’s obviousness, opting to resume the game rather than respond to her. She’s back on offense, you on defense. You defend as you always would, hands raised, feet tracking your opponent’s, eyes flitting between the ball in Paige’s hand and Paige’s face. However, as your eyes trail between the two, they can’t help but track Paige’s abs, the sweat shining on her porcelain skin, the way her chains go with her every movement. You swallow thickly, doing your absolute best to concentrate on the game instead of your extremely sexy girlfriend.

“Focus, sweetheart,” Paige teases, dribbling the ball slowly. The nickname makes your heart stutter. “You’re gonna lose if you keep staring.”

And then she powers forward, scoring a layup with no hesitation. She grins and cocks her head at your bad defense, tsking as she asks, “Where’d that focus of yours go, hmm?”

Your cheeks flush at her words, and you grab the basketball, doing your best to lock in. “Nowhere, I am focused,” you argue, trying to get past the blonde’s defense.

“Oh, sure,” Paige murmurs in your ear, now with her front pressed flush against your back as you dribble, attempting to find a hole. She catches the way your face turns, looking to get through, but instead your eyes once again catch the chains that have begun to stick to her skin due to the sweat. Her smirk only grows, and she adds slowly, mockingly, “You are focused. Just… not on the game, yeah?”

“Shut up,” you grunt against her, trying to get a shot in. She doesn’t let you, blocking it. You groan a little as her hands snake around the ball, effectively stealing it from you.

“I will once you tell me what you’re so focused on that has you distracted from the game. You were just doing so well, beating me for once,” she says, egging you on.

You scoff, snapping, “You know damn well what I’m focused on.”

“I wanna hear you say it, baby,” she taunts, blue eyes squinting with mischief.

You hold her gaze for a long second. You could give her what she wants, say that the only thing you’re really able to focus on right now is just how fucking sexy she looks and how much you’d love to rip her clothes off right here, right now and fuck her. But, of course, you don’t. You’re just as stubborn as Paige is, so you simply utter, “No.”

A look of annoyance—that satisfies you very much—flits across her face. She shrugs, saying, “Fine then.”

You continue the game, but things seem to only be looking worse for you. No matter how much you try to fight it, try to focus on the basketball and the basketball only, it’s like your eyes have a mind of their own, and they seem to stay locked on Paige’s body. And, of course, Paige takes every opportunity she can to flaunt it, knowing full well the effect it has on you. Her smirk never fades, especially as she gets closer and closer to winning.

However, it seems like Paige has finally had enough with the teasing. She drives to the basket, right past you (you let her; you’re done with this game), making a final layup. She then turns to you, catching sight of the way you stand there watching her, having not bothered to defend that final play. “Game over,” Paige announces. You can’t help but notice how her voice is lower, more huskier than usual. It means you’re probably going to get what you want.

You step closer, eyes darkening with pure want. You’ve given up pretending that you don’t. “You’re such a tease, Bueckers.”

Paige raises an eyebrow, her smirk turning into a full-blown grin. “Oh, yeah?” She steps closer, her body almost brushing against yours. “Maybe you just needa learn to focus better.”

The air between you is charged, and before you can even respond, Paige has you pushed against the wall of the gym, her chest pressed against yours, her face so close her nose nearly touches your own. The sound of the both of your breathing fills the space, heavy and expectant.

Paige’s eyes lock onto yours, and—without an ounce of hesitation—she leans in, her lips capturing yours in a heated kiss. It’s almost instinctual at this point, the way your respond to it. Your hands find their way to Paige’s back, pulling her closer as the blonde’s tongue traces your lips slowly, seeking entry. You willingly part them, allowing Paige to explore your mouth passionately. She’s going fast, and if you weren’t so used to it, it might’ve been hard for you to keep up. Nevertheless, you do, albeit with a couple teeth clashes.

Paige’s hands slide from their spot on your hips up to cup your face, angling your head to deepen the kiss. Your own fingers trail from her back, tracing her sweaty skin, until they thread through Paige’s hair, effectively ruining the once slicked back bun (not that either of you care much).

Paige breaks away from your mouth, trailing a series of hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jawline. You can’t help but tilt your head back, granting the blonde better access to your neck. You can hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears and the shallow pants escaping your mouth as Paige’s lips find the sensitive spot just below your ear.

And then you feel her teeth biting. It’s not enough to truly hurt, but it’s enough to elicit a whimper from you—a sound that Paige loves. She does it again, gets the same reaction, and then soothes the area with a flick of her tongue. Paige’s kisses trail down the expanse of your neck, surely leaving marks that you know you’ll have to cover up tomorrow. But you don’t have it in yourself to care much about that because each press of Paige’s lips, each gentle scrape of her teeth, each soothing lap of her tongue, sends shivers down your spine and heat through your core.

Your hands tighten in Paige’s hair as she reaches the hollow of your throat, sucking hard. You feel your hips involuntarily arch toward Paige, seeking more contact. The blonde smirks against your neck, pleased with your reaction. She moves lower, kissing along the line of your collarbone, hands sliding under your tank top to caress the soft skin of your stomach.

You feel your breath hitch as Paige grows more insistent, tongue darting out to taste the salty tang of sweat that permeates your skin. Her hands travel upward beneath your shirt, fingers brushing the underside of your breasts. Your eyes flutter open at that, remembering where you are.

“Paige, we really shouldn’t,” you say, but your voice shakes and your hands find their way to the blonde’s abs, tracing the defines muscles and betraying your words. “Anyone could walk in,” you add, attempting to keep yourself composed.

Paige’s lips capture yours in a fierce kiss, silencing your protests. Her hands are cupping your breasts through your sports bra now, and she manages to reassure you between kisses, “No one’s gonna walk in.”

And, just like that, your resolve seems to crumble. That always happens with Paige—it’s so easy with her, and, though, sometimes it does frustrate you, you usually don’t regret it. “Fuck, P,” you gasp, fingers digging into your girlfriend’s skin.

She grins against your lips, and her right hand slowly but surely trails its way from your chest to the waistband of your shorts. It slips beneath them and you feel yourself growing hotter—and wetter—with each passing second.

Paige’s fingers slowly begin to tease your clit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles that make your knees go weak. It’s in stark contrast to her kisses, so fast-paced you can hardly breathe. Eventually, you manage to break the kiss, gasping raggedly, voice a mix of desperation and need, “Quit teasing.”

Paige’s smirk only seems to widen, and her pupils—which are blown so much that her blue eyes look nearly black—are full of lust. “Am I teasing?” she asks, fingers sliding through your slick folds.

You feel your heartbeat stutter and your core pulsing with utter need. “You know you are,” you mutter, glaring. She presses her thumb harder against your clit, though it’s not in the way you need it (and she knows it). “Quit it.”

“As you wish,” she murmurs, lips ghosting along your earlobe. Without hesitation, she dips two fingers into you, the sudden intrusion causing you to gasp loudly, arching against Paige’s touch.

“Shit,” you breathe out, hands gripping Paige’s sides for support. Your head leans back against the gym wall, and Paige resumes the kissing on your neck, marking it up even more. Her fingers continue inside you with a steady rhythm, each thrust drawing out sharp gasps from your lips.

“So wet for me, baby,” Paige says against your skin, biting your shoulder lightly as she curls her fingers. You outright moan at that, and she asks, “How long you been dripping like this, waitin’ for me?”

“All day,” you admit between whimpers, practically shaking against Paige. Her fingers go deeper, fucking up into you harder. “Paige, please,” you beg, eyes squeezing shut.

Paige’s lips curve into a knowing smile. “Please what, baby?” she teases, fingers hitting that spot inside you that makes your legs feel like jelly.

“Fuck, your mouth,” you manage to gasp out between moans, body heating up with each passing second. “Please, P, I want your mouth.”

You watch as Paige’s eyes darken with hunger at your words, and you feel your heartbeat begin to quicken. “Whatever you want,” the blonde murmurs, voice filled with promise. She pulls her fingers out of you, savoring the way you practically whimper at the loss. Then, with deliberate slowness, she sinks to her knees before you, her hands sliding your shorts down with her.

Paige glances up at you, blue eyes full of a mischief and a smirk that you’ve had a habit of kissing off her face. You can’t help but think about just how fucking good Paige looks like this, cheeks rosy, lips kiss-swollen, sweat shining along every expanse of skin that’s exposed—which is a lot. Your eyes wander from her face to her chest and shoulders to her abs and back. And when your eyes meet hers again, the look in them… Jesus fuck. The sight is genuinely almost enough to make you come right then and there.

And you know that Paige knows the effect she has on you. You can tell in the way her smirk sits on her face, the way her eyebrows raise slightly, the way she leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your inner thigh—so close yet so far from where you really need her.

But she doesn’t tease for long, because when she finally reaches your core, she wastes no time, her tongue flicking out to taste you.

She starts with long, slow licks, gradually building the tension in you. Each stroke of her tongue makes you feel like you’re on Cloud 9 and about to have a stroke all at once. Your fingers tighten in her hair, hips arching toward Paige’s mouth, seeking more contact.

Paige understands—truthfully, she’s so familiar with your body at this point, that you can’t remember the last time she didn’t understand what you wanted—and she dips her tongue into your entrance. Her fingers trail from their grip on your hip to your clit, rubbing in firm, quickening circles. The dual sensation makes you cry out, your nails digging into the skin of your palm, your other hand tightening in Paige’s hair, pulling slightly. She lets out a satisfied hum against you at that, and the vibrations send a new wave of pleasure through you.

Paige knows exactly what you like, and she certainly uses that to her advantage. She curls her tongue inside you, seeking out that one spot that makes you see stars. The noises coming from your mouth begin to grow louder, your hips grinding against Paige’s face, still desperate for more.

“Fuck, Paige— God,” you moan, voice breaking. “I need… I need more.”

Surprisingly, Paige doesn’t make a comment about how needy you are, instead opting to do as you say. She pulls her tongue out, replacing it with two fingers, thrusting them deep inside your cunt. At the same time, she focuses her mouth back on your clit, sucking and licking so fervently you fear she might make you faint from her head game.

Paige can feel your legs trembling, the strain of standing becoming too much. Without breaking her rhythm, she throws one of your legs over her shoulder, giving herself more leverage, her tongue and fingers continuing their relentlessness. You can feel the pressure building within you, threatening to snap.

“God, you taste s’good,” Paige murmurs against your wet pussy. You catch the way your arousal is coating her chin and the sight of it—along with a deeper curl of her fingers—makes you moan loudly. “So sweet. ’Could do this all fuckin’ day, if you let me. ’Would make you come a million times over, baby.”

You cry out again, both at her words and the pace of her fingers curling and thrusting, the wetness of her mouth on you. Your body tenses, every muscle coiled tight as you hover on the brink of release. Paige senses how close you are and doubles down, adding a third finger and sucking hard on your clit.

That’s all it takes. Your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, your entire body shuddering with the force of it. You moan out Paige’s name, your fingers gripping her hair so tightly that it has to hurt (though Paige doesn’t mind). She helps you ride out your high, her fingers and tongue working together to prolong your pleasure.

Finally, when your body goes limp and your breathing begins to slow, Paige pulls back, planting soft, soothing kisses along your inner thighs. She looks up at you, her lips glistening with your arousal, a satisfied grin on her face.

“So fuckin’ perfect,” Paige says, eyes trailing all along your body.

You can only nod, still too breathless to form a coherent response. Your heart swells as Paige stands, pulling you in for a kiss. Her tongue slips in your mouth, letting you taste yourself. You moan against her lips, your hands wrapping around her neck, pulling her closer. You stay like that for a moment—you savoring Paige, Paige savoring you—before finally breaking apart, both of you breathless and smiling.

“I love you,” Paige murmurs, planting a short peck on your lips. Then your nose. Then your forehead. “We should probably put your clothes back on, though, before someone does walk in on us.”

[ladybyakuya]

| I WISH YOU ROSES + KAIJU NUMBER 8.

+cw. —f!reader, smut headcanon + scenarios format, sort of exs to lovers, mature content, angst and hurt, comfort, alcohol consumption, established relationship

+syn.— making amends after the fight. who apologizes first? does it always end up with sex? or is he sleeping on the couch tonight?

+wc. —1.5k

+notes. — wanted it to be super smutty but ended up with angst instead. enjoy and scream in tags if you like it| redirect to blog navigation.

→ [ ICHIKAWA RENO ]

reno would stare at the screen of his mobile phone opening your message box yet not send a single text to you. he is a little stubborn. in the spur of the moment, he said, “maybe we had nothing, to begin with in the first place.” those were some heavy words. he won't disagree. even liquor isn't enough to drown his feelings about you. why do people drink to forget their love anyway? it's stupid. it's so stupid. he locks his phone and then buries his head in his hands murmuring, “god why can't I just call her?" the rusty fizzy flavor is threatening his throat again. his phone starts to vibrate and rings a little later making him jump a bit but his reflexes were quick enough not to get you a first full ring. “hello? babe? is that you?”

“just call her man.” Iharu drawls from the other side and disconnects the call even though he sits opposite him. Reno looks at him ungodly pissed until the prior speaks up, “don’t waste your anger on me, dude.” Reno’s phone rings again.

“you’re doing this on purpose, aren't you picking on me?” Reno tartly responds holding his phone towards him so sure about that Iharu is doing it again but that dimwit is so drunk that he has to lean forward, squint his eyes at the screen.

“no dudee. It's your girl—” Reno picks up the phone but he doesn't speak.

“are you at a bar right now? i just finished my work.”

“yes, I’m. can I go pick you up?”

“of’course you can but I got a cab. bye. text me the address.”

When you reach at the bar you could easily spot him. He is sitting at the corner in a secluded area. Ofcourse he is. Then, there is Iharu practically drooling on the table.

“why are you here?”

“what do you mean why I'm here? You texted the address.”

“yes but aren't you angry? At me?”

“yes but I know better than to take you seriously when you are that angry. ” he looks away from your face. “we can talk about it if you are still upset.” he shoots you a lazy smile and gets up.

“what about him?”

“what about who?” reno asks with pinched eyebrows.

Iharu’s snores are quite loud by now. You look at Reno holding your hand out. He doesn't protest. He gives you his phone and says his passcode. He gets you. His words are not drawly but rather slower than usual. At first, you intend to call Kafka but both of them being a pain in the ass you texted his vice-captain.

The can ride from bar to home was silent. Reno was laying his head down on your shoulder, eyes closed but a little fidgeting was there every now and then. As soon as you reach your apartment complex he got out, even leant against the wall while being on the elevator. He's sulking. It's adorable sometimes. When you reach your shared apartment he doesn't come in stands outside until you ask him to.

“i’m sorry.” reno says loud enough to kick out the drowsiness out of his body. “i'm sorry, babe.”

“well, it was partly my fault too but —” you grab his collar and pull him towards yourself. his defense system is useless against you. “but I'm going to make it memorable.” you say unbuckling his pants. As soon as his trousers hit the floor Reno closes the door with a kick while you go to your knees. “perhaps we should fight more,”

With his member in your hand you look up at him and then blink. once. twice. thrice. And then get up and walk inside your room. A few seconds of silence and then Reno is walking on your trail left by you apologizing for a few more times until you just shut him up with the most sloppiest toe curling blow job.

→ [ GEN NARUMI ]

“do not walk away from me. I'm not done talking yet.” Narumi's voice is perfectly flat devoid any splotch of anger or even frustration. he is leaning against the door as you move from kitchen counter to the dinning table carrying the dishes, then cooked meals and a water bottle. his eyes are going back and forth waiting for you to say something, anything or just yell at him. he can handle your blood and tears, not this silent treatment.

“well, don't treat me like I'm one of your missions and we are good.” you exclaim with a low voice while waving a hand as if you were talking to yourself but actually you just wanted to beckon him for dinner.

“i don't us to be just good. I want us to be better, to be comfortable in each other's presence, even in thoughts. . .” and now he is going to lecture you, like one of his subordinates. there is an agonizingly awful silence filling the room as you wait for him to continue but he is just there, standing, still silent.

you turn your chair to spare a look at him. his stance is still the same, lazy and nonchalant. he isn't mocking you or your love for him. he genuinely cares for you.

“i mean it.” he starts walking towards you in faster pace than usual. “and you know that.” he stands in front of you looking like a kicked puppy. the moment you leave your seat he is going to pounce on you like a wounded animal. this has happened before and last time it hurt a lot. so you don't get up instead just turn around to eat.

He grabs your wrist before you can even touch the food. “I said we’re not done talking.” he almost yells. seeing you flinch he sighs deeply before he gets on his knees and rests his head on your lap. “we submit are phones after turning it off. that's why I didn't know— that you were coming early from work. we work in different departments so we have different rules too. you can ask around. they'll tell you.”

“why didn't you say that earlier? was the whole fight really necessary?” you said with utter frustration laced underneath your voice.

“shouldn’t i at least get the benefit of doubt?” he looks at you placing his chin on your thighs.

you stroke his hair and he closes his eyes. “yes but — umm— never mind.” you say running your thumb over his lips. he graces a glance at you before running his hands on your back tracing up to your shoulders, he is crouching now and then pull away your top. now you're naked and sitting on a chair as he is standing. he throws the top away and sits on his knees again. hooking his arms around your calf muscles he licks in between your legs. “this is payback.” he whispers. your panty is still on and all Narumi is doing is licking slowly over the cloth, sometimes barely touching but if this is the payback you don't mind it at all, unlike last time.

→ [ HOSHINA SOSHIRO ]

Hoshina is the one who gives you the silent treatment even if he is at fault. He doesn't want his anger to harm you in any way, be it due to you or due to himself. He is not much of an angry person to begin with but somehow he just loses it for you. Maybe that's his protective instinct for you or the fear of melting the cocoon he created for his own protection. Either way, it's frustrating. It's frustrating enough that he keeps telling you how you should not put yourself in danger to protect him in a field mission yet you keep disobeying him at every mission. Either you are mocking him or trying to take his position which by the way both are wrong given the fact that you are his subordinate. He sat on one of the benches in the training room. he is too frustrated to concentrate on training.

“you know, you can let your anger out right? on me?”

Hoshina looks at you, pupils ever so still like a moonlight pond on a windless night. That's exactly what he doesn't want. don't you get that? you're wearing your night dress not your suit, which means you were either waiting for him or going to bed.

“i'm not mad at you.” he sighs. “not even myself. just at the situation in general. i know it's your instinct to protect people but sometimes . . .” he trails off looking at his fisted hand. he unfists his hand again.

“i can take it all, you know?. be it your love or anger. . .” Hoshina looks at you keeping his bottle aside. he swallows before leaving his place and dragging you inside the training room, the door still not closed.

“are you sure about that my love?” he graces his hands in between your thighs while whispering. you give him a nod. “let's see how long you last.” as his hand rubs against your entrance his mouth starts to suckle over your nipples as his other hand pins both of your hands above your head. the night suddenly feels long and breezy.

[xlatrina]

(Pt. III) Friends to Lovers HCs w/Homicipher x GN!Reader

Tags: Platonic + Romantic HCs, Friends to Lovers trope for basically every LI, Likely OOC for some LIs*, Mini Scenarios (so HCs are kinda plot-driven), *Multi-Part Series, entirely SFW

Also, changing tenses in some cases + not proofread again... sorry!

*Some of the LIs are likely written OOC (Out Of Character) mainly due to a lack of substantial in-game appearances (at least in my opinion!). 

*Split into multiple parts because I’ve come to realize that these HCs are muuucccchhh too long 😅 BUT!! I’m too lazy to shorten them sooo… YEAH lol

Part I (Big 🙆‍♂️)

Part II (Mr. Chopped 🪓)

Part III (Mr. Crawling 👣)

$$$

Mr. Crawling

This man is in love with you.

Lowkey could stop right there.

Well, anyway…

Mr. Crawling is a GREAT friend, actually.

Like he’s the kind of buddy that’s —first of all —down for whatever.

You said you tryna go walk through an unfamiliar part of the Apartments to try and find a mysterious elevator?

Well…

YEAH SURE HE’LL TAG ALONG

I MEAN… WHY THE HELL NOT, Y’KNOW??

“Me know place here,” He’ll say. More or less: I know this place!

And he’s so damn chipper about it, too!

He’s just an overall helpful guy.

He seems to have an intrinsic protective streak in him, too.

Which is interesting, ‘cause it’s like…

While it’s obvious he’s been in the Apartments for a long time, it’s clear that he hasn’t completely lost his sense of humanity.

I mean, trust —it’s definitely worn in some ways.

Like, he eats people bruh.

Trust, his sense of humanity is def gone in some ways...

But!! At least he's not as violent as the other ghosts can be!!

Like, generally speaking, you’ll find that he’s a pretty admirable dude.

He doesn’t hurt other entities for the pure sake of hurting them.

Defense, and alternatively —for food or other resources like clothes or tools.

Those would probably be the only reasons Mr. Crawling would ever just… attack someone, especially unprovoked (unprovoked, but not necessarily without reason).

That being said, he’s a social butterfly!!

He’s literally a professional yapper in every sense of the word.

Like… he could start a podcast LMAO

Podcast Bro!Mr. Crawling…

Anywho, he’s genuinely a people person and he likes being in good company.

Whether it’s you, Mr. Silvair, Mr. Chopped, Mr. Stitch(?), the Nurse, Mr. Wheelchair, the Hairdresser, etc…

He’s genuinely the type who could talk to literally anyone about anything for any amount of time.

If you’re a yapper too, this’ll probably be fun for you!

And hell, you may very well have met your match, LOL.

If you’re more introverted or quiet —no matter.

Mr. Crawling, being the professional he is, knows how to fill up any awkward silences with banter.

He doesn’t judge you at all on the basis of how you react to his yapping. Truly.

At the end of the day, he just enjoys sharing your company and getting to hear your voice, as little or as often as that occurs.

Hopefully, you don’t find his constant need for company annoying.

… Do you find him annoying?

At some point, Mr. Crawling begins to realize his feelings for you have changed…

In the case you accept him as a partner, he’s absolutely OVERJOYED.

Not only have you promised to indefinitely keep his company, but you also accepted him as your better half!

“You enjoy me?” He’ll ask, pulling himself over your curled-up form beneath the thin white sheets of the hospital bed.

“Me enjoy you,” you’ll say. You might even pet his head a few times, and he’ll giggle maniacally before dropping his head into your neck.

As Mr. Crawling’s fondness for you intensifies, so does his protective streak.

This guy turns into Papa Bear when it comes down to protecting his better half.

What Megan thee Stallion said??

“Three things I don’t play about: myself, my money, or my man!”

That, but more like: “... my friends, or my partner!”

Something like that, LOL.

Mr. Crawling’s sweethearted, bubbly, outgoing, protective, and quite affectionate. Intimacy is a language he speaks as fluently as his otherworldly one.

As we know, he’s very much the “high-maintenance” type.

He’s just super affectionate overall —and Mr. Crawling just wants to know that you’re always on the same page!

Tell him you love him. 

Tell him how fun it was exploring the same old dreary halls with him. Tell him how relieved you felt when he swooped in to shield you from danger, even though you could handle yourself just fine. Run your fingers through his hair and massage the nape of his neck as you tell him how much you’ve come to enjoy —and maybe even crave —his company.

And when you’re done…

Tell him you love him. Yes, again. Again and again and again and again and again…

He could never get enough. Truly.

He could never get enough of you.

With a boyfriend like Mr. Crawling, you’ll never have to fear a lack of comfort, protection, friendship, or intimacy…

Because he’s constantly giving it to you. 

You don’t even need to ask for any kind of intimacy —again, he’s giving it to you anyway.

And whether you’d like to shack up in a nearby spare room beside Mr. Silvair and Mr. Chopped’s loungeroom (of the sort) or if you take him with you to the surface world…

It makes no real difference in the way Mr. Crawling clings to you.

All he knows is so long as you’re both finding yourselves tangled together beneath the sheets each night, all is right in the world!

Mr. Crawling just wants to spend his evenings at home, and if home is where the heart is, then…

Well, you know how that goes!

[Part I (Mr. Big 🙆‍♂️) | Part II (Mr. Chopped 🪓, First Half/Second Half), Part III (Mr. Crawling 👣)]

[bennyboyfics]

Soft spot || Ben Shelton x tennis player!reader

Summary: After a brutal night on the court trying to outrun heartbreak, you’re confronted by Ben Shelton—not with smugness, but unexpected empathy. What begins as sharp banter unravels into raw vulnerability, and for the first time, you let someone see the pain you’ve been hiding.

Wc: 1,478

Warnings: slight angst

MASTERLIST

-

The court lights buzzed overhead, casting long shadows across the empty arena. It was nearly 9PM, but you were still out there—sweat-soaked, tense, and utterly relentless. Pop. Slam. Pop. Slam. Pop. Your racket met the ball with such force that it echoed, sharp and jarring in the still night air.

You hadn’t said a word in nearly half an hour. You didn’t need to. The language of fury was universal, and right now, you were fluent in it. You’d lost track of how many serves you’d taken. How many times you’d cursed under your breath when your shots weren’t precise enough, brutal enough. It wasn’t about practice anymore.

It was about pain. Quieting it. Outrunning it. Hitting it until it bled out onto the court. Behind you, a voice broke the silence. “Jesus Christ. That poor tennis ball.” You didn’t even need to turn around to know who it was. Ben Shelton. Always perfectly timed. Always with that goddamn voice that grated on your nerves like sandpaper—smooth one second, cocky the next.

You tossed the ball in your hand high and served again, putting everything behind it. The net quivered. “I’m flattered you stayed to watch,” you called out, breathless. “Or do you just enjoy seeing me kick ass?” Ben chuckled, the sound light but hollow. You could hear it in his tone—he wasn’t here to trade jabs like usual.

He wasn’t laughing with you. He wasn’t even smiling. “I’m not here to watch,” he said, stepping closer. “I’m here because I heard.” You turned, expression stiffening. “Heard what?” Ben gave you a look—steady and unreadable. You rolled your eyes, wiping sweat off your brow with the sleeve of your shirt. “If you’re talking about him, save it.”

He said nothing. You walked past him and into the lounge room, each step weighed down with an exhaustion that wasn’t physical. You slumped down on the edge of the couch, dropping your racket with a loud clatter that made a few players at the far end glance up before quickly looking away again. Like they knew.

Like they’d been talking about it, too. Ben followed you in, lingering by the door. Arms crossed, jaw tense. “Let me guess,” you said with a smirk, pretending to fiddle with the cap of your water bottle. “You came to gloat? Tell me I should’ve seen it coming? You have been waiting for me to get knocked off my pedestal.”

“No.” You looked up. The way he said it—it wasn’t defensive. It wasn’t smug. It was simple. Honest. You raised an eyebrow. “No?” “I’m not here to kick you while you’re down. Even if you are a pain in my ass.” You barked out a laugh. “Wow. A genuine moment of concern from Benjamin Shelton? You feeling alright?”

Ben stepped forward, and for the first time, you noticed how serious he looked. How tired. His brows were furrowed slightly, and there was a quiet weight in his eyes. “I heard what he did,” he said softly. “And… I’m sorry.” You blinked. That wasn’t what you expected. From anyone, let alone him. You sat back, crossing your arms in a lazy shrug, forcing the smile.

“It’s not a big deal.” “You don’t have to pretend,” he said. “I’m not pretending.” “You’re smashing balls like they slept with your boyfriend. You’re definitely pretending.” You laughed again, high and dry. “Well, one of them did.” You met his eyes. “Or, I don’t know—was it two girls? Three? I lost count after the second tagged photo.”

Ben didn’t react to your snide tone. He just stood there, hands on his hips, watching you like he was trying to figure out how you were still standing. You hated that. Hated the way he looked at you like you were breakable. Because you weren’t. You couldn’t be. “What’s wrong, Benny?” you teased, voice light, laced with that familiar mocking tone.

“Gone all soft on me?” Something flickered in his face. You expected him to roll his eyes. Throw something cocky back. But he didn’t. Instead, he exhaled slowly, like you’d taken all the wind out of him. “Maybe,” he said. “But I’d rather be soft than pretend like I don’t give a damn.” You swallowed hard. There was a long silence between you.

The kind that presses down on your chest, that pulls at the cracks in your foundation. And maybe it was the stillness of the room. Maybe it was the fact that you’d run yourself into the ground trying not to feel anything. But something gave out. Your voice dropped. “He made me feel like I wasn’t enough.” Ben’s brows pulled together. “You were.”

You shook your head, throat tightening. “Then why did he cheat on me like it meant nothing? Like I meant nothing?” He stepped closer but didn’t sit. Just stood over you, eyes dark with something more than frustration—frustration at him, maybe. Or at the world. Or at himself for not knowing what to say.

“You don’t deserve that kind of hurt,” he said, his voice low. “No one does. Least of all you.” That did it. The fight left your body all at once. You curled forward, elbows on your knees, head in your hands as tears burned hot and fast down your cheeks. It was humiliating. You didn’t cry. Not in public. Not in front of him. But right now you couldn’t stop.

“I hate this,” you choked. “I hate feeling like this. I hate him. I hate everyone knowing—” You broke off with a sob, hands shaking. And then, gently, Ben knelt down in front of you. He didn’t speak. Just reached for your wrists and slowly, carefully, pulled your hands away from your face. Your breath caught. He was close. Too close.

And you were sure he could see everything now—your blotchy cheeks, your red eyes, your mess. But he didn’t look away. He rested one hand over yours, firm and warm, grounding you. “Then hate him,” he said. “But don’t hate yourself.” You let out a shuddering breath and closed your eyes. “Why do you even care, Ben?” There was a pause. A beat. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “But I do.”

You leaned forward, your forehead bumping softly against his shoulder, and he didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. His hand moved to your back, tentative at first, then solid. And for the first time all week, you let yourself collapse. Just for a moment. Just long enough to feel like someone had your back. Even if it was the last person you ever expected.

[potteraep]

Hey 👋 how are you. I have a question: Do you take requests??

If yes:

Can you do a fic with Soft! Golden retriever Slytherin! Reader x an Overprotective! Black cat! Regulus. Where he probably thinks, where did they come from ?? (im a girl but i want other people with different genders to read this) and reader is like" if you don't accept my friendship bracelet, I'm gonna curse your family for seven generations." kinda person. And Regulus is like oh they feisty, i like that. And that's.. the idea.

If not: have a great day 😁😊

REDAMENCY ౨ৎ R.B

౨ৎ: regulus black x slytherian gn!reader

౨ৎ: hi! Sorry this took like a while.. to be released but I hope you enjoy it

౨ৎ: @reggieswriter I thought I’d tag you because you also requested something similar! I hope you like it :)

౨ৎ- regulus black found himself immersed by you, perhaps for some reasons even he didn’t have the heart to answer tho to say you weren’t in his head would be a stupid lie.

he wouldn’t say it was a crush, god no or atleast he wouldn’t admit it. His excuse was that you being a slytherian, he didn’t understand your attentive and caring attitude for those around you

in his defense his experience with his other house mates was that it was better to ignore them even if they were infact similar in many manners.

to say you shocked him was a slight understatement, well it didn’t exactly blow his mind but his gaze lingered for few longer seconds then he would for Anyone else

his eyes looking around as other slytherains rolled there eyes at you, and hufflepuffs wondered why you weren’t sorted with them

everytime you talked to him he was kind but quite not sure of how open to be but he made a note to try and be open as well when you asked how he was and ran off to go talk to anyone else about it

The “ friendship” obviously didn’t start like this tho at first you tried speaking to him as he looked at you and back at his work before you huffed and walked off

the next day he was a bit shocked and annoyed to see you keep trying to talk to him as he ignored you again

tho he was a bit interested and found your personality.. attractive?

this went on for a week.

Until he finally decided that he’d speak back to you when you tried, of course you spoke to him again but you were the shocked one when he replied with a full sentence

he found himself a bit happy seeing you so excited over a reply but brushed it off and continued his work as you waved walking away to your seat

After a week or so you became “friends” waving at each other in the halls, tho his wave was a lazy excuse of one but still a welcoming one.

he would walk into class and smile softly at you and every time you stopped him in the hall to talk your opposite demeanor seemed to bounce off each other, his blank but attentive gaze colliding with your excited attitude

as the months went on you grew closer your short hellos going to full fledged conversation and he felt a little thankful to know you, as in his words you were a breathe of fresh air

His friends often teased him a bit at the fact he’d roll his eyes and make a snarky remark when his house mates talked bad of you telling them they were stupid and couldn’t hope in a million years there brains could function enough to understand your honorable personality

he denied all the fingers his friends pointed at him saying it was only because you were very nice and a good person and it’s quite insensitive to take your kindness for weakness and that was it.

tho he of course wouldn’t admit to his friends or even himself that his heart skipped seeing you in the halls or when your hand would rest on his shoulder when you pasted him at his desk.

tho maybe soon his feelings could be put out, or at least deep down he hoped he wouldn’t have to feel such a feelings in the pit of his stomach in secret much longer.

@- likes and reblogs appreciated! As well as any other feedback :>

[scoobydoodean]

Hello<3

I was wondering if you had any thoughts on how fandom misconstrues Dean's relationship with alcohol?

There is so much emphasis on making him out to be a violent mean drunk, but I mostly remember that he drinks and like passes out when he's grieving or stressed (iirc) (s6 PTSD, Soulless sam, when Cas dies, etc.)? It's weird to me because Dean isn't the only character to go through this. Bobby relies on drinking too. He's exactly as gruff as Dean can be. He also had an abusive father. Yet I don't usually see people judging Bobby for that (if they exist, I haven't seen them at least thank God).

I get frustrated when people say things like the MoC was a direct metaphor for alcoholism just because it made Dean sooo violent and angry, etc. And, it's like an unrealistic understanding of alcoholism irl and also of Dean himself and his actual actions and context. I just get weirdly defensive of him over it lol.

If you've already hashed this out I'm sry! At the end of the day, it's all just interpretation ig, but I wanted to know your take on it cause ik you'd look at dean with a good faith lens.

<3

One could say I have had thoughts on how fandom misconstrues Dean's relationship with alcohol. One could even say I have spawned extremely funny multi-day fandom-wide disk horses on this subject simply by giving my opinion on my own blog when an anon asked me to.

I'm tracking Dean's relationship with alcohol (and other substances bc I was too lazy to make two separate tags) through #dean and drugs during my rewatch if you care to peruse, but I think you and I are of a similar mind on this.

Prior to season 4, Dean has a very average relationship with alcohol. In season 4, Dean starts using alcohol as a coping tool to help him fall asleep because he's having nightmares about hell. By season 6, alcohol is also a coping tool for depression and stress. He drinks to deal with nightmares, he drinks to cope with hell trauma, he drinks after soulless Sam watches his sexual assault with a smile, he drinks after Cas swallows all the souls and Death blames Dean for everything, he drinks throughout season 7 to cope with Cas's death and Bobby's death. I'm up to 8.01 and have yet to see a single occasion where Dean drinking and Dean being violent co-occurred. What I do see is Dean drinking when he is sad, alone, or scared.

I'll continue tracking—I'll eventually get back into the MoC arc where Dean is drinking heavily again, and obviously Dean + drinking + anger + violence are all going to happen at the same time in MoC seasons. However, correlation does not equal causation, and while someone can choose to believe that Dean's drinking causes him to be angry, I think the literal answer in season 9/10 is that Dean's been cursed by the father of murder, and on a more metaphorical level, the Mark of Cain quite overtly represents Dean's resentment toward Sam which Carver spends his entire run laying out in great detail. This is why the whole Carver run culminates in Amara (a Dean parallel) being unleashed to take revenge on her brother, and why the MoC is a brother murderer curse to begin with. Alcohol is set dressing. It shows us—just as it did in the past—that Dean feels sad, alone, and scared (in this case, of what the MoC could lead him to do—which also isn't dissimilar from the original reason Dean started drinking—after hell to cope with the trauma of not just being tortured but torturing others—the fear that he'd been made into a monster).

Looking at the matter holistically, I don't personally see Dean as an angry drunk. I see him as a sad drunk. If anything, I think he hopes that alcohol will drown his anger and violent urges in the MoC arc, or at least slow him down, while also being the traditional tool he uses during boughts of depression (which he is very much experiencing during the MoC arc to the point of suicide). I also think outside the outlier of season 9/10, the narrative supports sad drunk Dean far better than angry drunk Dean.

[eliteseven]

BG3 Oneshot: Jealous Tav

Pairing: Shadowheart x (named) F!Tav

Words: 10.8k

Tags: Fluff, jealousy, romance, humor, slight angst

The seasons continue their constant dance of change as the group continues a steady path along the Chionthar, and to Baldur’s Gate itself. Marpenoth ushers in bright and sunny days, melting away slowly into cooler evenings that- whilst still tolerable, require perhaps a coat, or a scarf, to better enjoy. Uktar follows, and brings with it shorter days, bouts of rain, and the promise of an end: both to the warmth of summer, and to a journey that no one could have anticipated. 

The dreaded heat of Eleasis and Eleint is behind the group; each step brings them closer to what will almost certainly be the final leg of their journey: confronting the Elderbrain.

They come to Baldur’s Gate changed, in some way; Shadowheart’s newly silver hair reflects her recent departure from Shar’s ideals, Serena carries fear to return to the city of her nightmarish youth, Karlach seems to know her engine burns hotter with the minute; the list is endless. 

Anticipation weighs heavily in the hearts and minds of each and every member in camp. 

And already, the group’s proximity to the city has brought about several new conundrums to their attention, one of which Jaheira aims to bring to a close. 

After all, it’s why she’s called this meeting today, in camp, with only a select few.

Amber liquid steams in Jaheira’s cup, handle clutched tightly between a pinched thumb and forefinger; she’s careful not to spill a drop onto the parchments on the table directly below. 

“Thank you for joining me.” Jaheira rasps, clearing her throat after a sip of her tea. 

She glances along the table she’s set up, and the eyes that follow her gaze, flitting back from the parchments to her own eyes every now and again. 

Serena- the cub, Shadowheart, Gale, Lae’zel, and Astarion. 

A ragtag group, to be sure, but perhaps just the talent Jaheira needs for a mission requiring such…finesse. 

“...Is there a reason the others aren’t required to do Harper charity work?” Astarion sniffs, rubbing his nails against his doublet in a lazy show of disinterest. “...Assuming that’s what this is.” 

His gaze flits across camp to Karlach, Wyll, Halsin, Withers, and Yenna- the latter a temporary addition to their overflowing camp. 

They cheer and sing as they prepare breakfast (Withers aside, of course). 

Astarion rolls his eyes skyward and returns his focus to Jaheira. “...Nevermind.” Astarion adds with a sigh. 

Jaheira sets her tea aside and rubs her temples, noting the way Lae’zel bounces impatiently on her heels, the way Serena and Shadowheart brush against each other awkwardly and seem to pull apart, the way Gale seems transfixed on the parchments before them rather than their conversation. 

Wonderful. 

Silvanus, guide me. 

“Let her speak.” Lae’zel cuts in, narrowing her eyes at Astarion. 

It’s a nice enough gesture, before Jaheira realizes she’s only staunchly in defense of getting back to training immediately. 

“Recently, my Harpers have caught wind that a suspected criminal will be approaching the city.” Jaheira begins. “He is a renowned wizard, suspected of many crimes: trafficking refugees, the sale of illicit materials and dangerous potions, and bribery…to name a few.” 

Shadowheart’s eyes narrow. “Quite the suspicion…” She points out. “...And still, he walks free?”

Jaheira nods curtly. “Yes, the reason he has not been brought to justice is because he shares a name with one of the longest standing patriar families in the city. His own brother holds a position in the Duke’s council.” 

Astarion lifts a brow in curiosity. “Anyone I would know?” 

Jaheira shakes her head. “...I think not, unless you were acquainted with some of the worst, lying, cheating criminals in-” 

“Oh, I know this one!” Astarion claps, grinning. “Don’t tell me it’s Adrian Caldwell, is it?”

“...Indeed.” Jaheira mutters. “The very same.”

This name seems to finally wake Gale from his reverie, and he wears a scowl that deepens with each word.  “That old charlatan? I can scarcely believe he’s still parading about, peddling his putrid illusions and cheap parlor tricks under the guise of true magic. A fraud, through and through! He sullies the very art with his gaudy nonsense! And yet, somehow, the masses continue to hang on his every word, as if he were a sage of the Weave itself!”

“...You’re familiar, I take it?” Shadowheart scoffs at the sudden outburst. 

“...And we are to kill him? Many words to call a dead man.” Lae’zel shrugs, rather unimpressed at Gale’s description. 

“We can’t kill him-” Jaheira’s correction is cut off in favor of yet another realization. 

 “-Caldwell?” Serena finally speaks up from her end of the table, brow furrowed as she studies the information at hand. 

“You know the name?” Shadowheart nudges her curiously. 

“Everyone does.” Serena admits. “They own more than half the city, and have for generations.” 

“...I…can’t say I’m familiar.” Shadowheart admits softly with a shrug. 

“...Not that you’d remember, anyway.” Astarion smirks. “Those honey traps they had you mastering in your cloister were suited for just his type.” 

“Astarion.” Serena utters the name once: a warning. 

Astarion’s loose tongue has a tendency to take a turn for the careless, and Serena will be damned if she just sits here and allows him to jab so freely.

…Especially not at Shadowheart, though she’s more than capable of defending herself.  

“...You laid traps in honey?” Lae’zel questions in utter confusion. She nods to herself as she seems to build the idea within her imagination. “...Curious.”

“...Astarion may be right.” Shadowheart settles quietly. 

“What help do you require of us?” Lae’zel demands, turning to Jaheira with little patience for group antics, anxiety-fueled, or otherwise. “And why is this at all important when we have so much at stake already?” 

“...Adrian Caldwell has so far evaded arrest because he is protected.” Jaheira explains. “My spies tell me he will be at Fraygo’s Flophouse in two days. He comes to the city to make a handoff.” 

Astarion makes a face of disdain, and Shadowheart seems to mirror his expression. 

“The Flophouse?” Astarion grimaces, nose scrunched up in distaste. “What’s next, we chase him into the sewers?” 

“...It’s certainly not the first place you’d expect to find someone of such…status.” Shadowheart agrees. 

“No, and that is almost certainly why he chose it.” Jaheira nods. “Sharess’ Caress has too many eyes, the Elfsong is even worse. You see, my Harpers cannot make an arrest without evidence of his crimes in hand. The family is too powerful. We need…ledgers, correspondence, something to unmistakably show his doings to the city. And he has just the evidence we need. The only problem? Everything he travels with is sealed within a trunk, by magic.” Jaheira explains. 

“...Well, don’t we have a spell to open things?” Astarion throws his hands up in exasperation.  

Gale shakes his head. “Not if the chest is bound to open for an item instead.” 

“...A key, then.” Lae’zel points out as if it’s the most obvious solution in the world. She truly doesn’t understand their incessant need to complicate everything they touch. 

“...In a sense, yes.” Gale explains. “It’s a safety precaution. Chests can be sealed with magic and may only open for the item they’re magically bound to. It’s…rudimentary, really, but effective when concealing information from prying eyes, especially in the magical world.” 

“...So you want us to break into it.” Astarion sighs. “Really, we’re the best the fabled Harpers can do?” 

“I can scarcely believe it myself.” Jaheira snorts, folding her arms. “But…yes. This is a mark we have pursued for some time now. It would be…a shame, to let him slip through our fingers without an attempt. That is why I have selected you. You are all capable of operating quietly, yes?” 

Jaheira glances back at Wyll, Karlach, and Halsin, hooting and hollering as they set Yenna atop their broad shoulders, causing the little girl to shriek with laughter, much to her cat’s dismay. 

“...They are not.” Jaheira adds mildly. 

“...I’m not certain I understand.” Serena interrupts softly. “You…are we...to sneak into the Flophouse and try to break into this…chest?” 

“Yes- Caldwell has claimed the entire upper floor for himself and his guards.” Jaheira explains. “But- while his mind may be sharp, his eyes are known to wander…if the reports are to be believed, he can be…easily distracted. I believe we can use this to our advantage.” 

“Distracted how?” Astarion scoffs. “Have you arranged a dance for us to perform? Or shall we invite him to circus of Last-” 

“Not you.” Jaheira rolls her eyes. “...This requires…a delicate touch. Perhaps…someone with experience…Someone who can hold his attention.” 

All eyes settle on Shadowheart, who blinks rather owlishly at the sudden turn of events.  

“Oh, this is just delicious.” Astarion grins, gaze jumping from Shadowheart to Serena and back again. 

“...You mean…” Shadowheart’s eyes narrow as she tries to understand Jaheira’s meaning. 

“...Trap him with honey.” Lae’zel nods, eyes narrowing to near slits. By the way she smirks, it’s clear she’s envisioning quite a different meaning than what was intended. 

“You…” Jaheira gestures to Shadowheart. “Would be a sufficient distraction, yes. Perhaps even enough to isolate and draw the truth from him.”  

Serena doesn’t know why her heart suddenly feels like it’s dropped into her stomach, or why she’s suddenly broken out into cold sweats. 

“Absolutely not.” 

“...Alright.” 

Serena answers at the same time as Shadowheart, and they both pause, glancing at each other in surprise. 

It’s bad enough they haven’t truly spoken after Shadowheart abandoned Shar, with a whole host of unanswered feelings lingering between them. 

Now they’re flat-out disagreeing, to boot. 

“...I’m sorry?” Shadowheart blinks, and if Serena’s not mistaken, there’s a hint of a challenge in the question and her tone. “I don’t recall Jaheira asking you.” 

Okay, definitely more than a hint of a challenge. 

Serena’s brow furrows. “I-you can’t. It’s a terrible idea.”

“...Thank you.” Jaheira mutters wryly. 

“You don’t think me capable?” Shadowheart jabs. 

“I can’t condone putting Shadowheart in danger.” Serena shakes her head, addressing the group with an air of finality. “Even if it is to apprehend a known criminal.” 

The entire table laughs at Serena. 

“Did you hear that? She can’t condone it.” Astarion dabs at the tears forming in his eyes, further irking Serena. 

They think her incapable of protecting Shadowheart? Incapable of protecting the very same group that left her no choice but to step in as the even-keeled leader and voice of reason? 

Even Gale, bellowing, his shoulders shaking as he covers his mouth. Lae’zel mutters something that sounds a lot like Istik, Astarion has nearly doubled over in his seat, and Jaheira guffaws worse than the lot of them. 

“He’s a criminal!” Serena points out in irritation. 

“And up until two tendays prior, she was a Sharran.” Astarion points out, still overtaken with glee. 

“...He’s not wrong.” Gale muses aloud. 

“What if she doesn’t wish to-” Serena trails off when she sees Shadowheart’s calm expression. 

Shadowheart gives Serena a hint of a sympathetic glance before schooling her features entirely.  

It’s eerie how she can do that. 

Her eyes are vibrant with emotion one moment, and then wiped clean the next, without any intervention from Shar. 

“...I’ll be fine, Tav. Thank you.” Shadowheart amends quietly. 

“More than fine, I’d say.” Astarion quips with a cheshire grin in Serena’s direction. “It’s not exactly her first attempt.” 

“...A fine thought, Cub.” Jaheira answers, finally. “But she will not truly be in danger, not with my Harpers posing as staff and patrons. And not with you all there, ready to help the moment it becomes necessary…if it becomes necessary.” 

“-And while she’s alone with him?” Serena presses, adamant on the subject. Shadowheart is not a tool, not a weapon to merely be deployed at their disposal. 

She is a living, breathing, marvel of a soul, and Serena cannot fathom any quest, any task at hand, that could ever be worth endangering her so. 

“...You insult her skillset.” Jaheira narrows her eyes at Serena. “...Unless there is another reason you feel this is ill-advised?” 

Jaheira’s pointed question is too close for comfort. 

Serena stiffens under the collective gaze of the group; Shadowheart bores holes into her very soul with that piercing gaze of green, studying her every movement intently. 

But what is she to say? 

In truth, Serena knows they’re correct; Shadowheart is every bit as deadly as they come. She does not need a fabled knight in shining armor, nor does she desire one. She is capable, ruthless when necessary, and far too sharp to be deceived easily. 

Serena is in love with her; a fact that terrifies her inwardly, because Shadowheart has simply become detached, after completing Shar’s gauntlet and sparing Dame Aylin in the process. 

It’s been like this every day after their victory at Moonrise; there are brief moments in which they connect. A stolen slice of the day spent quietly tending to each other’s hair, quiet dinners shared hip to hip in amicable silence. 

Shadowheart is at war with herself; she struggles without a goddess, questioning her gifts from Selûne with a healthy dose of skepticism. Her smiles come rarely, her laughter even more so. Every attempt Serena makes to bridge the sudden chasm between them has been in vain; and she dares not press the matter. 

Shadowheart deserves a lifetime of healing, and Serena has just recently come to terms with the fact that Shadowheart’s apparent feelings for her might not have been anything more than a matter of proximal convenience. 

She was simply there, and Shadowheart needed anyone. 

There’s nothing more to it. 

“...Of course not.” Serena bites down, relaxing her shoulders and trying to sell the cool, unaffected act she desperately hopes she’s channeling. “I apologize if you felt I was underestimating you, Heart-Shadowheart. That was never my intent.” Serena amends. 

Shadowheart glances away at first, curiously, but nods in a quiet show of acceptance.

Her brow carries the same furrow Serena has kissed away many a time, but Serena keeps a respectful distance, hands folded awkwardly in her lap. 

It will be difficult to acclimate to the notion that Shadowheart wants nothing to do with her romantically, anymore- but perhaps this task of Jaheira’s will set the process in motion. 

“Very good.” Jaheira nods. “Then it’s settled.” 

                 :•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•

The Flophouse seems every bit as busy as it normally does- only today, everyone inside, save for three individuals, belong to Jaheira’s network of eyes and ears. 

Harpers blend in as patrons- some carrying rusty swords and patched up scabbards, leaning them against the tables as they stop in for a drink. Others flit in and out of the kitchen as servers, and despite the fact that they play a role, the scents coming from the kitchen are nothing short of tantalizing. 

The group takes up residence at one of the long dining tables; Gale and Lae’zel to watch one side of the room, Serena and Astarion to observe the other. All in all, a sound disguise; they appear to fit in perfectly with the refugees and travelers passing through Wyrm’s Crossing. 

Shadowheart awaits her mark at the bar, draped in a simple but beautiful white dress, exposing long, chiseled legs from the thigh-high slit. 

Serena almost cannot look upon her; she is radiant, so breathtaking that her thoughts become jumbled whenever Shadowheart catches her gaze. It has little to do with the dress, in actuality- Serena feels this way every time an amber gaze meets the soft green pastures of her eyes. But the fact that she looks like a goddess given mortal form certainly doesn’t hurt. 

It’s more of Shadowheart than Serena has ever seen, save for perhaps a few accidental glimpses at her form while bathing simultaneously. 

Serena tries to school her expression, sternly giving herself a mental talking-to. Shadowheart is not hers. Shadowheart is not anyone’s - but she no longer desires Serena’s attention especially, if her change in demeanor is anything to go by. The few times Shadowheart does catch Serena’s gaze, she seems to linger, driving Serena mad with confusion. 

Jaheira sees all from her perch behind the wooden bar, in a frilly little suit that contradicts everything one would come to learn about the High Harper. Posing as the hostess and barmaid, Jaheira’s eye seems to twitch every time Astarion summons her, requesting yet another chalice of wine. 

It would be something Serena would normally laugh at, perhaps until tears formed in her eyes- something she’d snicker about with Shadowheart for days afterwards. 

But the fact that they are on duty seems to sully Serena’s spirits, and she watches with pursed lips as she approaches the bar, arms folded. 

“Weary traveler.” Jaheira greets aloud, and Serena can hear the sigh of resignation in her tone. “What can I get you?” She leans in as Serena approaches the others at the bar, nodding her head. “Do not look now- but the one in the fine robes is Caldwell.” She mutters under her breath. 

Shadowheart and Astarion drink their wine, slowly turning their heads to catch sight of the subjects. 

“...Well, he hasn’t aged badly, for a human.” Astarion notes quietly. “Do you like them grey, Shadowheart?” He glances at her newly changed hair and chuckles, amusing himself. “It would be rather hypocritical of you not to.” 

“Old…young…it matters little.” Shadowheart shrugs coolly. “The approach doesn’t change.” Shadowheart exposes a touch more skin on her shoulder, adjusting the wrapping neck of the dress. 

“I’d imagine it doesn’t.” Serena mumbles, earning a pointed glare from Jaheira and a cross look from Shadowheart. 

“The sooner you manage to get him alone, the better.” Jaheira informs Shadowheart, ignoring Serena’s dumbstruck expression. “The Klauthgrass will take effect soon after he takes his first sip of wine. Let us be sure you have him to yourself-” She nods towards the two large, armed guards loitering by the entryway. “-before he confesses anything to you.” 

“Something tells me the truth serum won’t be necessary.” Astarion drawls. “You’re so…convincing as it is.” 

Shadowheart snorts a dry laugh in response, though it’s clear her focus is on the task at hand, rather than Astarion’s senseless quips.  

 “Well, your prince awaits.” Astarion smirks. “Ready, Shadowheart?”

Serena’s lip curls in disdain at Astarion’s choice in words. 

“As ever.” Shadowheart sniffs. “How do I look?” She asks, more a formality than anything else, because she knows she’s breathtaking. 

You’re always the most beautiful sight I’ve ever laid eyes upon, and I don’t think that should ever change. 

 Serena shrugs, heart in her throat. “...Good. Fine. White is…fine on you, I suppose.” She glances away and reaches for a chalice of wine, plucking it off the wooden bar top. 

Shadowheart does not respond with a quip, with a laugh, or even a challenge. Her eyes widen slightly, glassy as they take in Serena’s response. Her mouth opens and closes without her uttering a sound, and she blinks once or twice. 

“…Oh.” 

Serena doesn’t know why it hurts as much as it does; she wants to tell Shadowheart she has never seen anyone so stunningly beautiful in her pathetic existence of thirty-one years. 

“Now…” Jaheira scowls at Astarion and Shadowheart. “Go and be patrons. Let Shadowheart work.” 

“...Right.” Serena mumbles. “Please, be safe.” She pleads, and makes herself scarce by returning to the group’s table, forcing her gaze away from Shadowheart. 

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“...You know that’s not water, yes?” Astarion muses aloud as Serena downs her chalice of wine and slaps it atop the wooden table they occupy rather unceremoniously. 

Serena lets her forehead rest atop the wood as she mumbles a response, trying her best not to glance in the direction of the bar. 

The bar: where Shadowheart is being courted by a wizard that appears twice her age- though he’s likely only a decade older, at best. 

It’s in full effect now; Caldwell has sidled over to the beautiful stranger at the bar, as anticipated, leaving his armed guards behind at a table to pursue her.

He is every bit as showy and gaudy as Gale described him to be, but it’s not his demeanor that makes Serena’s stomach churn in agony to watch. 

It’s Shadowheart.

Serena can only witness the events unfold in quiet horror; lest she wants to dismantle Jaheira’s grand plan entirely. 

Shadowheart plays the part like an expert, a seasoned actress who leaves no room for doubt in her performance. She sips delicately at her wine, tosses her plait off her shoulder, laughs softly at what appears to be an attempt at flirtatious banter, and she’s handsy, to boot. 

Caldwell looks like he isn’t certain if he wants to devour her or simply bask in the presence of her light; a look Serena knows all too well. 

She hopes she’s never looked at Shadowheart like that- Gods, the man reminds her of the many potential suitors she had before fleeing to Cormyr. 

There is admiration in Caldwell’s gaze, yes, but more than that- he leers. 

It makes Serena’s fists clench under the table, and the only solution is to drink more wine in an attempt to silence her own vile thoughts. 

“Is it customary to intoxicate, when one loses their mate to competition?” Lae’zel scoffs. “Truly weak. My people would demand a battle to the death.” 

“She’s not my mate.” Serena grumbles. “And that would be preferable, right now.” 

“...You’re right about that.” Astarion lets out a low whistle when Caldwell’s hand grips along Shadowheart’s hip, pulling her closer. “What a large staff he has. Surely she’s noticed by now.” Astarion’s words drip with pleased amusement as he stirs the pot. 

Serena chokes on the air in her lungs. 

In all fairness, Caldwell does wield a quarterstaff that nearly scrapes the ceiling in its impressive length, glowing gold.  

Jaheira works behind the bar, keeping a keen eye on each drink and their respective owners. It can’t be long until Caldwell succumbs to the klauthgrass in his wine. 

“Don’t mind Astarion’s ill-natured grumbling.” Gale offers Serena, wearing a sour expression himself. “Minds such as ours are built to withstand such gaudy displays, meant to lure in the vapid.” Gale nods, as if convincing himself of the fact. “...Even if he does wield one of the finest quarterstaves in the land.” He adds bitterly. “...And apparently, has quite the following of young scholars in Waterdeep, many who claim his hands have guided them on the blissful path to enlightenment-” 

Serena uses the last of her strength and willpower to glare at Gale, hopefully silencing him for the next few moments. “Gale, please.” she adds, for extra emphasis.  

It’s bad enough watching Shadowheart practically throw herself at the man, she doesn’t need Gale fawning over him in her other ear. 

“...I do hate to see you like this, Tav.” Astarion tuts.

“My respect for you grows thin.” Lae’zel adds.  

“You’re enjoying this more than you can put into words.” Serena accuses sharply, and then sighs. They aren’t worth the trouble; not when they’re right.  

“...True, but I’m always here for those I call friends.” Astarion pats her on the back once, twice, rather awkwardly, and then snaps his fingers. “Oh, Barmaid!” He grins at Jaheira. “A fresh round for my good friend here, please! She’s come all the way from Cormyr, you know!” Astarion calls, making a show of it for himself, mostly. “...And someone made off with her horse, if you’d believe it.” Astarion riffs now, enjoying the way Serena shrinks lower into her seat. 

At the mention of Cormyr, Shadowheart’s gaze flickers back, but she does not let it linger upon the group, for fear of giving them away. 

Jaheira looks as if she wants to murder him, but manages to school her expression long enough to bring a new carafe of wine to the table. She sets it down in front of Astarion with a clunk. 

“Keep your wits about you.” Jaheira announces rather sternly. “Too much indulgence often makes one ill.” 

The veiled threat is clear as day, but Astarion shrugs and pours Serena another chalice. “Too right!” He calls after her retreating form, indulging entirely in the advantage of their roles as patrons. 

Serena finds herself gazing intently at Shadowheart, listening into her conversation as best she can from afar. 

“-common rabble we’re forced to travel alongside, these days.” Caldwell mumbles with a judgmental chuckle, swaying slightly from the wine, leaning into Shadowheart’s space. 

Shadowheart feigns a laugh- Serena can tell it’s feigned- she knows all of Shadowheart’s laughs. Nothing makes her smile wider than Shadowheart’s boisterous, gleeful laugh when she finds something truly funny. 

Serena wonders if she might ever hear the sound again, now. 

“You’re certainly different from the usual patrons.” Shadowheart drawls in a teasing whisper; Serena can barely hear the words, but she reads Shadowheart’s lips. 

“I can imagine. Do they bother you often?” Caldwell puffs his chest, gaze raking over the entirety of the room with disdain. 

“You wouldn’t believe it.” Shadowheart scoffs, louder this time. “Every bright-eyed and eager knight that comes along.” 

Caldwell chuckles, believing this to be his moment to strike. “Not very fond of the chivalric type, my dear?” 

Shadowheart’s eyes flash dangerously, a mischievous grin tugging on her lips as she leans closer, squeezing Caldwell’s arm as she does so. “Hardly- with their oaths and their promises. I’m certain you know the type- overly kind, more concerned with morals than results…” she trails off, batting her eyelashes. “...Nice becomes boring rather quickly, I’ve learned.” 

“Was she describing you on purpose?” Gale’s whispered question earns a quick glare and hushing for the interruption. 

“Shh!” Serena can’t take her eyes off the conversation, despite how it tears her inside to hear the truth. Even if it’s merely an act- which Serena is beginning to doubt- Serena cannot deny how well Shadowheart sells it. 

Serena begins to wonder if Shadowheart ever held her in regard, after all. 

“How dreadful. A sorry lot, most who pass through here…” Caldwell agrees, but his eyes have found their way to Shadowheart’s lips, the dip of her chest, the exposed thigh-high slit in her dress. “But you’ll find nothing nice about me.” He promises, eyes fixed on Shadowheart’s gaze. 

“Is that so?” Shadowheart breathes, and tilts her head slightly. 

Serena watches the way Shadowheart angles herself, and knows instinctively what’s going to happen next, because she used to be on the receiving end of this, at one point. 

Caldwell kisses her, then- against the bar, in front of all the patrons, and Serena feels as if she’s been stabbed right through her beating heart. 

Repeatedly.

She finds that she cannot look- suddenly, the very pattern on the wooden floor seems to be fascinating to her, and she swallows back the bile that rises in her throat. 

Those should be her hands, she should be kissing Shadowheart, she should be the one Shadowheart looks at like that, she should- 

It’s agonizing- not because Shadowheart chose someone else over her, even, but because she couldn’t even be bothered to speak the truth etched into her heart, her mind, her very soul: She is in love with Shadowheart. 

Eleasis, Eleint, Marpenoth, Uktar- not yet one hundred twenty days, and yet, enough time for Serena to realize she will never cross paths with someone as captivating, as remarkable, as inspiring. In less than four moons, the vines of Serena’s heart have twined themselves around Shaowheart’s presence, her very being. 

And she never told Shadowheart; she was near inconsolable after the loss of Shar’s presence in her mind. How selfish it would be, to demand Shadowheart’s attention to something so trivial in such a time of uncertainty for her. 

Apparently, it might have been the correct decision, too, if Shadowheart’s impassioned speech to Caldwell is any indication; let alone the way he grabs her. 

“Well, no one mentioned she would be that good at playing the role.” Astarion looks genuinely impressed, keeping his voice in a low whisper. 

“It is not too late to demand a blood feud.” Lae’zel advises Serena with a little nudge under the table. 

By the time Shadowheart and Caldwell part, Serena sees that he’s fully under her spell- logic replaced by pure physical need. Had he not a long list of despicable crimes, perhaps Serena might even empathize with the man. 

The truth of the matter is that she wishes to tear him apart limb from limb. 

“I must have you.” Caldwell utters, forehead pressed against Shadowheart’s. 

“Apologies.” Shadowheart sniffs, slowly retracting from his grasp. “But I don’t make a habit of fraternizing in an establishment so….” Shadowheart’s upper lip curls in distaste. 

“Neither do I, assuredly!” Caldwell rushes to explain. “Perhaps this will sway your stance, however, the entirety of the upstairs portion is mine.” He lowers his voice, glancing left and right. “The spells I could show you…” he drawls. 

Shadowheart plays the part incredibly well; she pretends to weigh the scenario, and then sighs in disappointment. “Your companions will want to retire for the evening soon, surely?” 

Caldwell immediately glances at his guards from across the room, snapping to get their attention. “We are not to be disturbed, under any circumstances.” He barks, grabbing hold of Shadowheart’s hand. 

When one of his guards opens his mouth to protest, he seems to double down with his threat. “Even if you hear something, which you most certainly will, do not disturb me unless I summon you.” 

Serena snaps the handle of the carafe, sending shards of glass across the table. 

“Istik.” Lae’zel mutters, dodging a stray piece of glass as it sails past her head. 

“Oh dear.” Gale frets, sweeping several shards from under his sleeve. 

“My lady…” Caldwell drawls, drawing Shadowheart closer once more, as they ascend up the stairs around the corner, leaving the din of the tavern level behind. 

Serena can only watch, heart pounding, never feeling more pathetic in her life than she does at this very moment. 

How many can say they’ve had Shadowheart and lost her? 

In all honesty, right now, Serena isn’t certain she’d be able to even stomach the answer to such an inquiry. 

“...Well that went well!” Astarion whispers as he claps his hands together, watching as Serena winces and retracts a shard of glass from her now bloody palm, shaking her head in a mixture of disgust and self-loathing.

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Jaheira makes them wait for some time before they’re allowed to slip around the rear of the building and pursue Shadowheart, as planned. 

Caldwell’s guards remain fixed in place at the table they occupy, happily indulging in the free rounds Jaheira so conveniently offers them. The other patrons seem to sell the act well enough, and the noise from the tavern is almost enough to cover up several loud thumps from the upper floor. 

Caldwell’s guards do look up occasionally, and then laugh and smirk about the entire ordeal, doing little to ease Serena’s rising ire. 

One by one, they slip away from the table they occupy- Serena first, of course, not willing to spare even a second of delay in reaching Shadowheart. 

Serena’s heart pounds as she approaches the upper floor, her companions in tow. She isn’t certain just what she’s expecting to find when she turns the corner to the sleeping quarters, but she finds herself grinning momentarily at the sight. 

Shadowheart looks almost feline-like in her grace as she leans over the crumpled, unconscious body of Caldwell, somewhat amused by the way his head lolls slightly. Her dress is slightly disheveled, but other than that, she bears no other sign of a struggle. 

Serena cannot help but feel a sense of pride surging through her at the mere sight of Shadowheart, so majestically perched above her prey, never once in danger. 

Shadowheart’s eyes twinkle as they meet Serena’s gaze. 

“Took you all long enough.” Shadowheart huffs as she regards the group’s wide-eyed stares. 

“...Told you it wasn’t her first.” Astarion quips. 

For a moment, Shadowheart has that look of pride in her own gaze, but she seems to swallow it back down at his words. 

“The noises?” Gale inquires, glancing around the room. “We worried you were caught in a physical altercation, Shadowheart. Though…it appears you’ve since handled the matter.” 

“...Of sorts.” Shadowheart offers curtly. “...This.” Shadowheart holds up Caldwell’s hand, and a golden ring with an embedded silver stone glints even under the dim light of the room. “Is what opens the chest.”

“You beat the answers from him?” Lae’zel folds her arms and nods in approval. 

“He told me.” Shadowheart corrects. “The klauthgrass took effect soon enough. I needed only to ask. And then I incapacitated him to prevent him from catching on. If we make haste, he might never realize what we’ve taken.” 

The way she delivers the words is almost chilling, Serena notes mentally. 

Jaheira is the last to approach, slowing as she lays eyes on Shadowheart and Caldwell’s slouched form on the floor. “Excellent, Shadowheart.” She praises. “Gale, your spell can modify his memory, yes?” 

At the mention of memories, and the notion of stripping them, Shadowheart appears to stiffen, standing up as she dusts her dress off. 

“...Yes, but only ten minutes’ worth.” Gale winces. “I can’t strip the entire evening from his mind without potentially catastrophic side effects.” 

“That will be all that is necessary.” Jaheira nods. “Clear his mind of the struggle with Shadowheart. He will merely think he is intoxicated and fell asleep afterwards. Shadowheart, be sure there is not a single scratch upon him. He or his guards may notice, foolish as they are.” 

“Right.” Shadowheart nods, eyeing the body on the floor with mild disdain. 

“The rest of you- to work. Find the chest. Lae’zel- you keep watch outside the room.” 

“There are no doors.” Lae’zel points out dryly. “It is one large room.” 

“All the more reason to keep watch.” Jaheira retorts, shaking her head. “Gale, assist Astarion in opening the chest.” Jaheira turns to Serena and Shadowheart, awkwardly standing hip to hip. “You two- ensure he does not wake. The entire plan fails if he realizes what’s being done to him. I will keep his guards busy. When you find the ledger, take it and quietly return to me in the tavern. If you do not give anyone reason, they will not suspect you. Understood?” 

The soft chorus of “yes, Jaheira” almost reminds her of her family; only these children she’s gained recently are far more troublesome than her own. 

…And she owes them all more than a few rounds after this. 

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“Not this one…not this one…why are there so many bloody chests in this room?” Astarion grimaces. “Shouldn’t it look magical?” 

“Not necessarily.” Gale rubs his chin in thought. “It likely resembles any other piece of furniture. The more unremarkable, the better, I’d say.”

“It’s the glowing, diamond-encrusted chest in the corner.” Shadowheart rolls her eyes as she folds her arms. 

They’d all be dead, if they were back in the cloister under Viconia’s watch. 

“...Ah.” Gale nods, eyes widening. “Shadowheart appears to be correct. The ring, please.”

As Gale begins to crowd the chest, with Astarion knelt at the foot of it, Shadowheart breaks the silence that’s settled rather heavily between her and Serena. Standing shoulder to shoulder as they watch over Caldwell’s unmoving form, Shadowheart notices the cut on Serena’s hand. 

“...Tav, you’re bleeding…Gods, what happened to you?” Shadowheart inquires with a furrowed brow and an otherwise unreadable expression. 

Serena blinks in surprise, glancing at the slice in the palm of her sword hand, and turns beet red, immediately looking away. “Oh. Odd. I…haven’t a clue.” She lies pathetically. 

Better than telling her she snapped a wine carafe at the sight of her holding hands with someone else; Serena realizes how unhinged it sounds as she recites the fact to herself mentally. 

Shadowheart scowls this time. “What’s gotten into you today?” She hisses.

Serena looks affronted, hands finding her hips. “Me?” She challenges. “Nothing at all, why do you ask?” 

“You’ve been…Gods, you’ve been nothing like yourself.” 

“Well, I wouldn’t want to bore you!” Serena retorts in a sharp hissed, hushed promptly by Lae’zel after the fact. 

“You what?” Shadowheart sputters, so utterly lost and infuriated by Serena’s demeanor all at once. “What the hells are you on about-” 

“Shh!” 

Serena hears a faint groan from her boots. 

Glancing down, Serena watches as Caldwell’s head lolls to the side again, his body beginning to stir. 

Serena exchanges a wide-eyed look with Shadowheart. “He’s waking.” Serena hisses, crouching in front of Caldwell in a panic. 

“Not done yet.” Astarion drawls, without ever turning away from the chest. “Do something.” 

“Mmmm.” The sound is unmistakable, even in the heat of their heist. Not to mention Caldwell’s dreamy, idiotic smile as he turns over, eyes still closed. “That feels…” he mumbles the words, slurring to the point where his words are nearly unintelligible, but not quite. 

Serena wishes she didn’t understand him. 

“Is that…” Astarion trails off, turning away from the chest this time at the lewd moan that fills the air. Gale’s eyes widen, and Lae’zel turns from her post rather uncharacteristically, glaring at the disturbance. 

“Does he think you’re still…” Astarion grins now, cheshire and predatory and absolutely relishing in the hilarity of something so absurd. “My, Shadowheart, but you must have done a number on him to haunt his dreams.” 

Shadowheart’s cheeks turn red and she glares at Astarion. 

Caldwell stirs again, and Serena exchanges a look of panic with Shadowheart. He blinks his eyes open hazily, and the first thing he sees is Shadowheart’s face; he is too far lost in his stupor to recognize the panic in her eyes. 

“You are…enchanting…you nearly put me to sleep…” He mumbles as he reaches for her blearily, and- 

-His head falls back to the floor with a violent thunk as Serena retracts her fist, wearing a look of split rage and disgust. 

Shadowheart gapes at her. “Did you just-” 

“-Yes.” Serena’s tone is clipped, and Shadowheart lifts a brow at her curiously, as if seeing her in a new light. “Open the bloody chest, Gale.” She snaps, and it appears any semblance of patience has well and truly left her body. 

“...Right.” Gale clears his throat, and turns his attention back to the chest, while Astarion snickers himself into tears. 

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They file downstairs one by one, flitting in through the rear entrance of the building and slowly blending back in with the crowd of patrons. 

Gale comes first, ledger under his robe, followed by Astarion, lamenting the fact that he could have pawned Caldwell’s ring for several gold pieces, at the very least. 

Lae’zel huffs and puffs her discontent and boredom at the lack of blood being spilt, but she quietly returns to the table without an argument. 

Serena appears next, exhausted, clutching her right fist, wordlessly joining the table with nothing but a scowl. 

Gale’s tampering with Caldwell’s memory is in full effect; as far as he knows, he is merely waking after a romp with a beautiful half-elf stranger, none the wiser about what’s been stolen from right under his nose. The first thing he sees upon waking is Shadowheart, adjusting the haphazard strap on her dress as she gives him a charming smile before slowly slipping out of his room (Lae’zel was right- it really is one floor), Caldwell in tow. 

Jaheira’s years of experience prevent her from grinning as much as she would like to for such a clean, successful operation- so she reels it in, knowing she must thank her team profusely, back at camp. 

The Harpers sorely needed this win, and in an ever-corrupt world, Jaheira is happy she can deliver this to them; A High Harper’s shoulders are constantly weighed down by expectation, by responsibility. 

Shadowheart appears around the corner first, Caldwell in tow, so obviously enamored with her (or, perhaps, his idea of her). 

Shadowheart approaches the table, standing near it, and Serena finds she cannot look away, despite how much she wishes she would. 

“So hasty to leave…” Caldwell speaks, and though Shadowheart has meticulously healed any evidence of any physical damage he’s taken, his words still come a little slowly from Gale’s tampering in his mind. 

“A perfect end to a perfect evening, my lord.” Shadowheart purrs, and Serena has to hand it to her- anyone would fall for her. 

Serena tries not to blame herself as much as she does; it’s not her fault she fell head over heels for Shadowheart. It is her fault for deluding herself into thinking Shadowheart harbored the same feelings for her. She rises from her seat, white-knuckled grip on the edge of the chair unnoticed, for now. 

“Why should it be the end?” Caldwell presses, and though he keeps his voice in a low whisper, Serena is close enough to hear his words. “Come with me to the city, and whatever you desire will be yours.” His words drip with promises of a life of comfort, ease- built on the backs of the destitute refugees just outside the door. 

“Charming, but I should think not.” Shadowheart sniffs. “I have business to attend to. My travels will take me elsewhere.” 

“And who will tend to you?” His words drip with lust, as his gaze does. His stare is not reverent, not holy. He does not look upon Shadowheart like she is a goddess given mortal form, nor does he appreciate the slight furrow of her brow, or the way her eyes light up when she sees a passing animal, or a good book to add to her collection. 

Serena knows this is all an act; nothing more than ruse from either of them. Shadowheart’s seduction is a means to an end, yes, but so is his.

She’s just another object to be collected, an accolade to wear on his arm, not unlike the gaudy outsized quarterstaff he wields, only to strike jealousy in the hearts of others. 

“A delicate flower such as yourself…” Caldwell smirks, and Serena feels white hot rage burn in the pit of her stomach, swelling into an inferno in her chest. “Even if I have tasted a petal or two-” 

Serena doesn’t realize what she’s doing, in all fairness. Her body moves of its own accord. Shadowheart does eye her curiously as she approaches, without a single falter in her step. She balls her right fist- the very same bearing a cut on the palm and a bruise on the knuckles. 

She drives her fist viciously into Caldwell’s jaw from underneath, the uppercut sending him a few inches off the floor with a sickening crack. His body crumples by her boots, and the entire tavern falls silent. 

The so called patrons stop their contrived conversations, Jaheira glances up from the bar counter in horror, and Caldwell’s guards remain stunned for a moment, inebriated and slow to react. 

“We were nearly done!” Jaheira all but wails, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “You could not wait a moment more?!” 

Serena’s shoulders heave as she slowly refocuses on the faces of her companions. Astarion looks positively thrilled. Gale appears to be in shock- as does Shadowheart- they both wear stupefied expressions, Shadowheart covering her mouth in shock at the sudden outburst. Lae’zel nods her support immediately, mouthing the words “blood feud” with a heavy look of approval. 

Caldwell’s guards scramble out of their seats in an attempt to subdue Serena; Jaheira waves her hands and suddenly, every patron in the building is armed, cornering the guards. 

“...Arrest them. All of them. Take them to the city.” Jaheira sighs, rubbing her temples as her Harpers move on her command. “And you.” She turns around to Serena, still reeling from her own violent misstep, blinking owlishly and staring at her own hands. “Do not move. I would have words with you.” 

Serena tries to remember the last time she felt like a child scorned; she’s reduced to a shamed little girl again, before ever becoming a knight, before ever learning discipline. She nods once, curtly, and turns away from her companions, unable to face them. 

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“Sit.” Jaheira demands as she kicks out a chair for Serena to sit upon. 

The Flophouse sits empty now, save for a few Harpers moving in and out to do damage control and prepare a case to present to the council. 

The others have all returned to camp; for the better, Serena wagers, because she’d make foul company right about now, as if she hasn’t all day. 

Jaheira sighs as she leans against the table Serena sits at, shaking her head as her pacing comes to a stop. 

Serena awaits her first words of derision with a funny feeling of shame rotting deep in her chest. She isn’t accustomed to such a reprimanding; since moving to Cormyr, she’s always tried to do the correct thing, in any given scenario. 

Gone are the days of her mischievous youth, when she’d sneak out to the docks and try to board one of her family’s ships in a misguided search of adventure. 

So why does she feel so similarly guilty now? 

“...Do you ever wonder why some trees fall, and others stay standing?”  Jaheira finally breathes. 

Serena wagers she’s in for a Druid’s speech anyhow, so she simply shakes her head and accepts her fate. “I have an inkling you’re going to tell me.” 

“Ah, still have some of your wits about you, then.” Jaheira rolls her eyes, but smiles wryly for a moment before continuing. “It might surprise you- but some of the mightiest trees are the ones that succumb to nature first.” 

“Am I the tree in this analogy?” 

“Yes.” Jaheira frowns. “Heed my words, Cub. Even the strongest tree can be hollowed out from within if left to rot. You must confront what’s eating away at you, before it makes a home in you.” 

“...What if it has already?” Serena whispers, and Jaheira laughs, shaking her head.

 “You are not rotten, Cub. But you are afraid.” 

Serena looks as if she wants to protest, and Jaheira motions to her knuckles, bruised and resting on the table, fist clenched. 

“Why else would you choose to endanger yourself, your companions, hm? You fear losing Shadowheart- so much so that you refuse to have her.” Jaheira accuses calmly, rationally. 

Serena glances around, just in case. She’s had enough embarrassing public revelations for one day. 

“I…don’t own Shadowheart.” Serena huffs angrily. “No one does! And that vile man made her feel…” Serena trails off. “No one should address her in such a manner. Even if it’s all a ruse. She’s endured more than enough cruelty for one lifetime-” 

“And yet you refuse to tell her your very heart beats for her.” Jaheira points out. “Instead you chose to withdraw. Tell me, Cub, did you feel better? Was it easier to watch her in the arms of another, even if only for show?” 

“I loathed every second of it.” Serena answers bitterly. “I…I don’t know how to be around her and not be in love with her.” Serena whispers shakily, and Jaheira pats her hand softly, in a moment of sheer sympathy for the poor girl. “But if she doesn’t want…I just want her to be happy, Jaheira. With or without me.” 

Jaheira barks out a laugh, shaking her head as she draws glances from several of her Harpers. “Even you do not believe such empty words. Your very bruises beg to differ. You let a known criminal go-”

“We arrested him-” 

“-And surely, with the connections he has, he will be released by tomorrow.” Jaheira shakes her head, waving it off. “A problem for another time…But an interesting development- I chose you because you are mostly rational.” 

“I’m sorry.” Serena whispers, shaking her head. “I know it was unacceptable. Something within me…I…just…I snapped, and-” 

“Fear leads us to commit acts we did not think ourselves capable of.” Jaheira begins softly. “But it also stops us from speaking the truth of our hearts, and that is how the rot begins to fester within.” 

“I…I’m afraid, Jaheira, what if she doesn’t wish to-” 

“-I know what love looks like.” Jaheira cuts her off with a fond whisper. “Your tree is not yet hollow, Cub. Do not allow it to fall so easily.” 

:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•

It’s understandably difficult for Shadowheart to pray to her new goddess at all, let alone with the constant clanking of swords, not six meters away from where she kneels. 

As the sun begins to set over camp, it’s still bustling with life and activity- and, granted, a lot of gossip-laden chatter about Serena’s egregious mishap. 

Gale and Astarion regale Karlach and Wyll with tales of the day; they leave no detail out, and Karlach hoots and hollers loud enough to carry across camp. 

Normally, it’s enough to make Shadowheart smile, but today, she’s simply exhausted.

Nothing has been easy in her life, but it’s been especially true since exiting the Shadowfell. 

Shadowheart is lost. 

Tossed about in a sea of emotions; there’s anguish, guilt, confusion, anger- everything boiling under the surface, reaching a fever point and taking over her every thought. 

She is without a proper deity- her relationship to Selûne is a new and timid one, at best. Her powers are still intact, thanks to her new lady, but Shadowheart hesitates in using them to their fullest extent, just yet. 

In a matter of tendays, everything about her life has changed. Every pillar upon which she’d built a foundation for herself has crumbled, reduced to ash and dust. 

Shadowheart has nothing, now- no home, no family, no light. 

The only person standing between Shadowheart and certain death is Serena Tavyndír, and Shadowheart is terrified of losing her- though she already may have started to. 

Serena has slowly but surely become everything to Shadowheart over the course of the last few moons- from their contentious beginnings to their moonlit trysts. Shadowheart hasn’t always been fair, or even kind to her- not at the start, anyway. 

But Serena’s persistence, her heart, Gods, her heart…the way she’d always bring by spare food to Shadowheart’s tent, gifting her books, night orchids, and extra helpings of food, when the rations were good…

Serena, who touches Shadowheart as if she’s made of porcelain, who knows just how to do her plait the way she likes it, who always defends Shadowheart in the occasional group argument. 

Shadowheart knows she plays coy, at times- it’s part of her facade, of course. Leverage and power comes from being the desired party, and not the pursuer, Shadowheart knows as much from her time under Viconia. 

But Serena’s persistence shatters even that measure in Shadowheart’s defenses, and she knows without an inkling of a doubt that she is the latter, now.

She wants Serena in more than just moonlight-soaked trysts and secret stolen kisses. She wants Serena in the daylight; she wishes to hold her hand and stroll the markets in Wyrm’s Crossing, and just for once- to feel normal.

To feel beloved.

Shadowheart is terrified.

This was all before the loss of her goddess, and though Serena is fully in favor of Shadowheart abandoning Shar and her ways, it is Shadowheart, who carries the doubt now.

Who could ever want someone unfinished as she is? Someone who does not know their own name, who cannot speak to her own past? 

Serena has eased off since the gauntlet, and it only confirms Shadowheart’s deepest fears to be true; she has little interest in pursuing a relationship with someone so broken.

Shadowheart cannot blame her; Serena has worked painstakingly to accomplish everything she has. She is Shadowheart’s polar opposite; she has dedicated her life to defending the defenseless, to noble causes, while Shadowheart served Shar. 

She should not want her, and yet, she consumed every thought that crosses Shadowheart’s mind. It should be enough to have a friend so dear, after all she’s endured, but Shadowheart cannot help the way her heart quivers and stutters when she looks upon her. 

It’s no different, even now, after her failure of catastrophic proportions, according to Astarion telling the story across camp. 

Shadowheart cannot take her eyes from Serena’s form as she spars viciously with Lae’zel across camp. 

Sparring, perhaps, is not the proper term to use; Serena hardly defends herself from Lae’zel’s blows. 

Her footwork is laughable compared to the finesse and grace with which she usually moves, and her grip on her dulled sword is clumsy.

She is nothing like herself today, Shadowheart continues to note, even as she admires the way her leather grips muscled arms. 

Shadowheart still feels the sting of rejection, the way Serena dismissed her so easily in the Flophouse, when she’d been fantasizing about how Serena would react to the dress all the while, when donning it. 

Yes, they’d practically ceased their sweet back and forth since exiting the Shadowfell, but Shadowheart had hoped against hope that Serena might find her way back to her. 

How wrong she was…

Shadowheart watches as Lae’zel mercilessly dominates Serena- swing after swing, Serena stumbling to keep up, until she’s struck with a decisive blow to the back, crippling her. 

Serena’s sword clanks to the floor as she writhes in pain as her body endures another bout of self-inflicted torture. 

Shadowheart watches, heart in her stomach, eyes wide as Serena falls to her knees. Lae’zel shakes her head and mutters something about focus, retiring to her tent after ensuring Serena has the strength to stand. 

Shadowheart makes eye contact with Serena for merely a second; something crackles between them, even now. 

Serena quickly drops her head and limps away, her face bloodied, her body exhausted and filthy from their makeshift battle. Shadowheart recognizes the signs of self-flagellation anywhere. She tries to call out to Serena, but the name dies on her tongue as she watches her retreat out of sight, likely to bathe, and wallow some more

It is entirely unlike Serena, just as everything else has been today, and Shadowheart feels a sense of determination settling into her bones. 

:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•

The moon bathes the docks by their campgrounds in a beautiful silvery glow, illuminating several ships and their sails, reaching high to kiss the few clouds in the sky. 

Nightfall brings with it a sense of peace; for once, the camp is mostly quiet on this end, with most gathering around the fire for supper and perhaps a spot of wine. 

Shadowheart has been beckoned many times over to tell her recounting of the day’s events- they’ve already spent the day laughing uproariously. 

Shadowheart cannot bring herself to join them; not when her person is not seated around the fire, inviting her to join. 

Shadowheart finds Serena sitting atop the steps descending to the docks, her outline lit up against the dark blue expanse before her. The way she sits belies her calm expression; she is tense, knees curled up to her chest, chin resting on her knees. 

Her expression is one of deep sorrow and reflection; she almost does not hear Shadowheart approaching, lost in her thoughts as she is, but her training seems to take over. 

She turns around and gasps softly when she takes in the sight of Shadowheart approaching. 

Shadowheart wears her new camp outfit; she feels the chill of the evening breeze against her exposed arms, but presses on, regardless. She feels different, doing away with all of her Sharran garb. 

It is a time of metamorphosis for Shadowheart, perhaps for them both. Shadowheart realizes, perhaps foolishly late, that every step bringing them closer to the heart of the city is likely to put fear in Serena’s heart, too.

 It is the home of her abuse, after all, and all the memories of it, of course. 

“Heart.” Serena croaks the word, and clears her throat. “Shadowheart.” She amends softly, and Shadowheart frowns at the correction. 

“I prefer the former.” Shadowheart whispers, and Serena looks up in surprise, an amber gaze reflecting a glint of what appears to be hope, for the first time that day. “May I join you?” She asks, just to be sure. Serena has never invaded her space or time in isolation without asking, first. 

“I…You still want to?” Serena sputters. “After today?” 

“Well, yes, you didn’t knock me out…” Shadowheart laughs curiously. “Though you looked as if you wanted to, several times.” 

Serena’s brows furrow adorably and she scowls. “I would never-”

“Jesting.” Shadowheart pokes her side playfully, and Serena finally relaxes. “I’m only jesting.” 

“I ruined the plan.” Serena whispers, gaze downcast once more. 

“Quite spectacularly.” Shadowheart agrees with a nod. 

“I…behaved irresponsibly, today.” 

“Infuriatingly so.” Shadowheart sniffs in agreement. 

“My tree…is hollowing.” Serena murmurs. 

“...What?” Shadowheart is lost, now. 

“And, in truth…Gods, there’s no easy way to tell you this…” Serena sighs. 

Shadowheart steels her heart for what’s coming next. She can hear Serena uttering the words, and she clenches her fists against her lap. 

I don’t feel the same way about you anymore. 

You still have parts of Shar within you. 

“...I was…I am…so deeply jealous.” Serena whispers shamefully. 

Shadowheart looks as if she’s been slapped. “You what?” she sputters without any of the grace she intends to impart into the question. 

Serena buries her face in her hands over her knees, shaking her head. “I know you aren’t mine and I would never…I…He was…” 

“Jealous of him?” Shadowheart utters, blinking in confusion as her mind fuses the truth of Serena’s words with the day’s events. 

“Well I certainly didn’t envy you.” Serena mutters sympathetically. “That foul, vile man, and you…you had to…” 

“Is that why you’ve been awful all day?” Shadowheart demands, and she’s laughing as she says it. In fact, she’s grinning. She can’t help it. This is perhaps the greatest news she’s received in tendays. 

“You aren’t upset?” Serena gasps. 

“Upset that you’ve been acting a jealous fool all the while? ...I’m flattered, if anything.” Shadowheart admits, and the relief is palpable in her tone. She thought she’d nearly lost this. 

“I’m sorry.” Serena pleads. “I thought…if I could keep you at arm’s length, that it might…Gods, please, this is mortifying. I just want to apologize. Profusely.” 

“I can’t believe this.” Shadowheart whispers, shaking her head in disbelief. 

“I’ve never felt this way…I…I didn’t know how to control it. I only saw him, and you, and the first thing I could think to do…” 

“All this time, I thought you…were judging me…I thought you didn’t like these parts of me-” 

“Judging you? For putting your training to use helping the Harpers catch a known criminal?” Serena sputters. “I’m so sorry, Heart, but I would never-”

Shadowheart grins. 

There she is. There is the Serena she is so hopelessly enamored with. 

“And..there is no part of you I’m not in lo- that I don’t like.” Serena amends, blushing furiously. 

In love with. 

Shadowheart hears the slip before Serena’s amendment, and her heart flutters like a butterfly’s wings, beating rapidly against her ribs. 

Shadowheart feels a million times lighter; in fact, her heart sings within her chest at Serena’s confession. She is wanted. She is beloved. 

And then, another realization occurs to Shadowheart. 

“Why didn’t you say anything, you idiot?” Shadowheart scowls, slapping Serena softly on the arm. “I…had hoped that you might say something…the dress…” 

“Gods, it was impossible not to gawk at you.” Serena confesses, the truth flooding out from her lips, now. She bites her lip, shaking her head and blinks away the tantalizing memory in order to better form words. 

“So you did like it…” Shadowheart bats her eyelashes, every fiber of her being charged with excitement. 

“At risk of sounding like him…I don’t think I’ve ever managed to draw breath correctly in your presence, but that certainly didn’t help.” Serena laughs softly, and the sound makes Shadowheart smile. 

“No one has ever looked at me like you do.” Shadowheart rests her hands atop Serena’s bruised knuckles, shaking her head. “Don’t ever make that comparison again, understood?” She demands, and Serena nods slowly, meeting her gaze. 

“So…” Shadowheart drawls loftily, wearing an impish grin. “You were jealous?” 

“We’ve been over this, Heart.” Serena groans, but grins behind her hands, because Shadowheart is happy, and it’s palpable from her tone alone. 

“You know it’s merely a task to be accomplished?” Shadowheart whispers. “That I didn’t…I don’t feel…” 

“I know.” Serena answers softly. “But…what you said, earlier, about…being bored…” 

“Serena.” Shadowheart laughs in soft disbelief, but there’s an air of desperation in her words. “My entire life has changed around me. I have no home, no goddess, no family-” 

“You have me. Whatever that’s worth.” Serena nudges her softly, and Shadowheart pauses, tears in her eyes. 

“...Yes.” Shadowheart answers in a whisper. “And it means everything to me. You mean everything to me. You have been the one constant in my life. Without you, I’m…” Shadowheart’s lip wobbles. 

“Without me you’re still everything. You’re brilliant, Heart. And…you know I’ll always be here for you?” Serena promises softly. “I..don’t want you to feel obligated to-” 

“Shut up.” Shadowheart whispers against her lips. “Gods, the only obligation I feel is to tell you how much of a fool you are.” Shadowheart tucks a stray hair behind Serena’s ear, studying the bruising on her face. “A beautiful fool.” She adds fondly, taking Serena’s long, sweeping eyelashes, and full lips. “Why did you allow Lae’zel to do this?” She asks, reaching for Serena’s cheek. 

She cups Serena’s face as if she’s the one made of porcelain this time. Her eyes nearly water with tears at the anguish she feels whenever Serena is hurt. 

“It felt…I’m not certain, but…Cathartic?” she tries. 

“Doesn’t this feel better?” Shadowheart whispers, kissing the corner of Serena’s mouth. 

“Yes.” Serena hisses, melting in Shadowheart’s grip. 

This is all she’s wanted for moons, now. Shadowheart’s scent is intoxicating, her touch is feather light, and she looks like Selûne herself with the way her hair glows in the silvery moonlight. 

She is by far the most exquisite soul, both inside and out, that Serena has ever crossed paths with. A simple touch from her is enough to leave Serena reeling with a feeling of light in her chest. 

“Then that’s what you should do, next time.” Shadowheart advises, standing up slowly. She reaches for Serena, helping her to her feet, and instantly draws her closer. 

With Serena, nothing feels terrifying. Shadowheart finds herself eager to utilize Selûne’s power to heal her; she wishes to see the bruises melt away, and the cut on her palm recede into nothing once more. 

Shadowheart lays a palm against Serena’s cheek, and Serena closes her eyes, pressing further into it. 

They are simply two soulmates, two lovers whose lives are forever twined. It is both impossible and ridiculous to expect themselves to resist such an intense pull to one another. 

Serena’s heart beats for Shadowheart, and hers for Serena. 

Shadowheart whispers healing words, the spell illuminating them both in blue as the magic tendrils wrap around Serena, slowly fading away any signs of her injuries. 

It is Serena’s heart, aching and tender, that heals the most under Shadowheart’s loving hand. She feels safe, secure, wanted and cherished, just as Shadowheart feels with her. Serena feels the weight of the day floating away with each touch, every laugh and smile of Shadowheart’s. 

“Better?” Shadowheart whispers dotingly. 

“Yes, thank you.” Serena whispers, turning her head to kiss Shadowheart’s palm. 

“Always, for you.” Shadowheart promises softly, sighing at the press of her soft lips. 

“I…I wanted to say this to you under different circumstances.” Serena begins softly. “But…I…Heart, I want you, I want…” she stumbles over her own words. “You mean…everything to me, and I can’t…” Serena shakes her head. 

Shadowheart knows exactly what she wants to say; but she gives Serena grace, in this moment. 

Serena is a romantic; she’ll want to plan the moment, to ensure everything is perfect, to give Shadowheart the first of many good memories, with her new clean slate. 

She is not one for rushed, mumbled confessions of love, despite how her eyes scream the sentiment to Shadowheart. 

“Me too.” Shadowheart answers the statement Serena never has to utter; it’s simply understood. “Now…” She pulls Serena closer, losing herself in her gaze. “I believe you have some apologizing to do.” Shadowheart teases, tapping her lips. 

Serena smiles, and it warms Shadowheart’s entire being. Her arms slowly wind around Shadowheart, pulling her ever closer, and Shadowheart finally sighs in bliss. She’s waited all her life to be held like this, to be loved in this manner. She never thought it real, let alone possible. 

“My Heart…” Serena whispers fondly, closing her eyes as Shadowheart moans softly, meeting her halfway for a sweet kiss. 

“Yours.” Shadowheart agrees gently, every fiber of her being radiating pride, safety, happiness.

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[mackwin]

just wanna say that i cannot stop thinking about your tarot post and the recent thing you reblogged with those tags about sheriff rick really took me out laughing. i can’t STAND these two (affectionate). i would love to read any other insight reflection etc that you’d like to share (ik you said you could talk about which cards you pulled). just know at least one person out there (me) would eat it up!!!! hahaha 🩷

omg i’m so happy you enjoyed the reading and that i could provide some laughs!!! 🥰💕💕 and god same…they are crazy frfr

i’m so glad you would eat up more of the tarot tea bc i am more than happy to share!!!

cards pulled for the willmack reading:

mack’s feelings

six of cups 🥹 (healing from an old connection, childlike joy, nostalgia, courting)

five of swords (conflict and jealousy that has not been spoken)

ten of wands (burden, overloaded)

knight of wands (excitement, passion, confidence, adventure, indicates romance sparked through work)

the hanged man in reverse (boredom, stagnation, struggle with surrender, need for patience)

ace of wands (horny…flirting, passion, extreme attraction & sensuality)

fell out of deck - knight of cups (very charming, emotionally attuned & sensitive suitor, desire, affection), the hierophant (safe, traditional, stability) , the emperor (strong, authoritative, protective figure)

🤦🏼‍♀️ oh macklin…..listing and reviewing all these cards again i’m sitting here like. this is so embarrassing

- mack’s feelings for will are so strong. like he rly thinks will is one charming mf. and these feelings are lowkey bordering on idolization…. which can suggest he has felt attracted to will for quite some time

- after reviewing my notes and doing some more research, six of cups and the hierophant are known as soulmate cards 😭😭😭

- this is mostly on the light-hearted side, but the ace of wands is known as the ‘dick card’ in tarot. mack at the very least believes will has big dick energy

will’s feelings

five of cups reversed (acceptance, forgiveness and healing)

the wheel of fortune (luck, fate, destiny, unexpected events)

seven of wands (protectiveness, defensiveness of position/beliefs to external opposition)

knight of pentacles (diligence, stability, reliable, commitment to goals)

two of cups (SCREAMING) (unity, partnership, perfect harmony, mutual love & respect)

page of pentacles in reverse (laziness, immaturity)

fell out of the deck: the star (hope, healing, strong devotion), queen of pentacles (beauty, deep affection, nurturing, compassion)

oh will and your very Loud pieces sun….sighs…

- will is just so soft for mack it hurts me…and what especially strikes me is how sweet and nurturing he finds him

- will thinks mack is beautiful 😩😩😩😩

- i don’t even really know what else to say for will…like he is just such a fan of mack and their partnership, he feels so uber lucky to have him by his side….

some more random notes:

- their reading is full of cards that suggest romance: two of cups, six of cups, the hierophant, queen of pentacles, ace of wands, the star, the knight of cups

- it is Very Interesting to me that there is no confusion, insecurity or shame whatsoever within their cards. they are completely confident in one another and do not question how they feel

- you may have noticed the strong themes and mirroring in their readings….such as mack having a plethora of male figure cards vs will with female figure cards. this is a wonderfully complimentary balance…but also. healing each other’s daddy/mommy issues lol?

[momodita]

snapshots. [—gokudera hayato]

TAGS / WARNINGS: tyl setting, male reader, reader       wears a suit, gokudera being gokudera, reader       provokes him, suggestive themes, kissing WC: 1,000 NOTE: he's so stupid i have to kiss him

✗ MINORS / AGELESS / BLANK BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED.

“Aren’t you done yet?”

Your eyes locate Gokudera easily. “Oh, you found me! Did Tsuna send you? Is he worried?”

Gokudera scoffs. “As if. We’re supposed to gather after everyone leaves.” There’s a severe twist of his mouth—his default reserved for everyone but Tsuna. “Hurry up. You’d better not keep the boss waiting.”

You tut, do a lazy half-turn in front of the mirror. “A little patience would do you some good, Gokudera.” There’s no hiding the wet patches on your suit. “Well?” you prompt, raising your arms. “Did I miss any spots?”

“There’s nothing.”

“Okay. What about my pants?”

His jaw tics. “No.”

“And my back?”

“Enough fooling around! There’s a damn mirror right there.”

You smile, gleeful. “What if I just wanted to monopolize your time?” A blush bleeds into his throat. It’s one of your favorite games: to test him—to see what breaks that hostile stoicism. Laughter escapes, splayed hands go up in surrender. “Just kidding! I’ve got a rendezvous and I wanna look my best.”

Gokudera scowls. “You’ve been hanging around Shamal too much.”

Your head tips. “Not all of us are as sexless as you.” He splutters, embarrassment giving way to anger as you adjust your tie. “Unfortunately, it’s not like that.” You lock eyes in the mirror. “Though, if you think about it, everyone outside probably thinks we’re having our own little rendezvous right now.”

Gokudera’s fists clench. Baring his teeth at you—defensive, ready to snap. “Idiot. Don’t be stupid.”

You turn on your heels and advance upon him. To your delight, he stands his ground. “Everyone’s looking at you, Gokudera-kun,” you murmur, examining how the bathroom light reflects in the bright green of his irises. “They want to know your next move. They want to know if you’re gunning for anyone.” The corners of your mouth pull up. “Why don’t we give them something to whisper about?”

This close, you can smell his cologne—warm and unobtrusive. Painfully suitable despite his prickly disposition. This close, the crease in his brow is deep.

You step back, smile widening. “Kidding again! But if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

Gokudera covers the distance in one long stride. He drags you forward by the lapels of your jacket. Your spine aches in protest as he wrestles you against the granite countertop.

“Quit fucking with me,” he growls, eyes narrowed and furious. “You’re always jerking me around. Don’t think I won’t put you in your place.”

An eyebrow lifts—your amusement obvious. You speak in a low purr: “Be careful with that temper, Gokudera-kun. You’ve always been too hot-headed. It’s why you’re fun to provoke.”

He snarls, pushes you harder into the sink. “Bastard, I’ll kick your fucking ass.”

You sigh, relaxing into his grip. Your fingers spider up the front of his chest. He’s gone rigid, tendons taut, his suit pulling tight over muscular biceps. “You’re just so easy to fluster, Gokudera-kun.” His nostrils flare when you coax his tie free from the confines of his jacket, the material sliding between your fingers. “Easy to tease, easy to rile up; it’s no wonder kid Lambo liked messing with you.”

His face is centimeters away; each puff of breath brushes your cheeks. Lingering cigarette smoke clings beneath his cologne. “There’s no one around,” you continue. “You’re welcome to start a fight. I’ll even let you hit me—if you can.” Your gaze drops to his mouth, the pink fullness of his bottom lip. An erotic sight, really. It would be easy to tip your face and kiss him. To close the distance like you always teased.

But then the moment passes. His grip loosens, and you extract yourself, using a single hand to give a light push. He goes unexpectedly easy as you create distance. “Don’t worry your pretty head. I won’t cause Tsuna any trouble. Why don’t you return to him, hm? Lambo’s probably done getting cleaned up.” You step back.

Gokudera lunges. Hauls you bodily against the door at the same time his lips meet yours in a bruising kiss. It’s clumsy—your mouth aches from the force of it. His inexperience comes with tightly coiled aggression as he manages to kiss you senseless, body pressing into yours.

Air tears from your lungs in a gasp when he pulls away, meeting your gaze only briefly before bending to latch scalding lips on your neck. Your eyes flutter shut. It’s your turn to hold onto him, the thick material of his suit crushed in your fingers as your heart catches while his mouth drags along the hot length of your throat.

“This is all it takes to shut you up?” Gokudera rasps against your throbbing pulse point. Euphoria radiates behind your ribs as you go boneless on weakened knees.

Laughter escapes in a breathless rush. You squint against the bathroom light. “If you wanted to kiss me, all you had to do was ask.”

“Shut up.” The wet press of tongue is all the warning you get before teeth: he bites down firmly, drawing a squawk of protest as you tug the short strands of hair at his nape. His thigh nestles tightly between your legs: an anchor that makes your lungs squeeze.

“Gokudera—” Your eyes fly open when the door creaks and pushes into you, someone on the other side attempting to enter. The flat of your palms find his chest, shoving him back. He collides with the opposite wall as you spin to yank the door open.

Yamamoto blinks, looking between Gokudera—quietly victorious, swearing, stumbling over his own feet—to you: fighting the urge to cover the stinging spot on your neck, embarrassment causing the fine hairs to stand. Gokudera’s teeth must taste like your skin. The thought makes you dizzy.

“He slipped,” you say without letting them get a word in. “I’m going to find Mancini. Ryohei must be talking his ear off.” You weave around the stunned Rain Guardian, leaving the other men behind.

[qin-ling]

paved in gold - excerpt

sequel to as lions. as lions tldr: time-travel fix-it in which TGM mav wakes up in 1986, relives TOPGUN, and makes some distinct changes to certain fates. paved in gold is set approximately a year later.

i’ll preface this to say aug/sep has been hellishly busy for me and i’ve been having enormous difficulty finding free time to work on this—but i’m too excited by the premise not to share a little of what i have. 😔

—

It’s too warm.

Maverick wakes in darkness. For a second, he’s groggy, slow, lost, surrounded in unfamiliar shadows, unfamiliar shapes, dimly lit in the amber bars of the streetlight beyond the blinds. The nightstand is strangely bare. No phone, no tangle of cables. Just a watch and a pair of dog-tags, glinting.

Then he remembers, and—oh. Notices the weight of the arm around him. There’s the culprit.

The arm loosens as he shifts, as he settles down again, before drawing him into a firm chest and the cradle of another body atop the sheets. Maverick grumbles, but soon sighs, mollified, when a large hand charts a lazy path beneath Maverick’s cotton tee.

Blearily, he asks, “Time?”

“Five,” says Ice, sounding far too lucid for what just came out of his mouth. Maverick feels the gentle drag of his nose against his ear; despite Ice being a veritable hot water bottle, the tip of it is slightly cold.

He smells like mint and Maverick’s shampoo. Already up and about, then. Nothing new. Their circadian rhythms are so rigid that Maverick only checks the alarm clock before bed out of sheer habit.

He closes his eyes again to the gentle press of lips against his nape. His heart thumps against Ice’s palm; something Ice clearly catches, because his mouth curls against Maverick’s skin.

A year now, and Maverick’s still not entirely used to the affection. A year, and Maverick still starts, sometimes, when Ice leans in.

“Rise and shine,” says Ice, a soft gust of breath against Maverick’s ear, raising gooseflesh up and down Maverick’s arms.

“You were the one who climbed back in.”

“Couldn’t resist.”

“Little old me?” says Maverick playfully. He rolls backward just as Ice sits up—carefully. In the muzzy darkness, Maverick can just barely make out the shape of him: already dressed, his khakis perfectly ironed and creased in all the right places.

“Calling yourself little, are you?” And old, Ice doesn’t say, but Maverick hears it anyway.

He stretches out into the warm spot Ice left behind. “Nothing wrong with it. Works in my favor.”

“Only in the cockpit.”

“Only place that matters,” says Maverick, with a breezy smile.

Ice returns it. He gets to his feet. “1100 hours,” he says. “Don’t forget.”

Maverick slaps a hand over his heart. “I’ll always be where the captain wants me to be.”

“Is that so?” says Ice, who was present when the base commander visited the TOPGUN complex that spring and Maverick was nowhere to be found. In Maverick’s defense, he’d been helping Stomper with a family emergency. Easier to ask for forgiveness than for permission, all that. Viper had nearly popped a blood vessel.

“You know it,” he says.

Ice only shakes his head. He reaches over to pat the hand still on Maverick’s chest, and Maverick grabs it, hangs on. Ice smiles. “See you in a few.”

“See you,” says Maverick. Reluctantly lets go.

He watches until Ice disappears from sight. A moment later, the front door opens and closes with a quiet click.

It’s still dark outside. The days are getting shorter and shorter, and in a sense that’s a blessing. Ice doesn’t like to linger—especially in the summer, when daylight stretches long and neverending.

He loiters a few minutes longer in bed, seeking the elusive peace of earlier. The duvet is still warm, the pillow next to him sweet with the familiar scent of Ice’s cologne. It melts something in him, even after all this time. Reminds him of a tidy home office, well-lit and welcoming; of an arm around him on the flight deck, steering him through the crowd; of a glaringly bright ready room twenty-odd years ago, Ice asleep against Maverick’s shoulder.

The ceiling fan whirs over his head. It’s the only sound in the silence of the early morning. It clicks with every rotation, lists slightly to one side.

Maverick gives himself one more moment. Then he gets up.

[damthosefandoms]

my outsiders essay i wrote in eighth grade on "what is a hero? who is the hero in the outsiders? why?" (236 words, all quotes from the book):

my outsiders essay now (2k words, all nonsense but there’s a point in there somewhere):

Juliette Damthosefandoms

Transcribed by Mage Mutopians (because I’m lazy but I still edited it after. if there's typos blame mage they just typed every word i said)

12/23/2024

Hero Essay 2.0

Way, way back in spring 2014, when I was thirteen years old, I was tasked with writing an essay about what the definition of a hero is and who I think the main hero of the Outsiders story was. I said that there was only one character in that story and his name was Johnny Cade and he was “defiantly” the hero. After submitting that essay, there was a day where I was in a PPT meeting (because if this doesn’t make it clear that I have ADHD I don’t know what will), and I have a very specific memory of it being brought up to give me more instruction in adding detail to my writing. Now, I have spent way too much time putting entirely too much detail into my writing to the point where I do not believe in anything that is not a run-on sentence. (I am sorry for making you type this @mutopians.) (It’s okay @damthosefandoms <3) Anyway. In this essay, I will explain what I think the definition of a hero is after having spent many years obsessing over superheroes, which doesn’t apply to the Outsiders, but it could, if you write a 22k fic and not post it. (Drop the fic Julie-) (NO.) Anyway. Again. 

A hero….What’s a hero? A hero is (I think I stand by whatever my original definition was) probably somebody who helps people who are in need or go out of their way to do things to do-Fuck it. I don’t know. If you’re going for the Batman definition, it’s Darry, because he’s taking kids off the street. This also works for Johnny because he took kids out of the building. To quote my essay from almost eleven years ago, “To start, Johnny ran into the church after Ponyboy.  “‘Hey, Ponyboy.’ I looked around, startled. I hadn’t realized Johnny had been right behind me all the way.” (Pg.91-92) He wasn’t afraid to go into a fire to save those kids.” (Me, 2014). (insert Mage and Julie argument over the appropriate way to cite an essay from 2014 in MLA while Julie pets Mage’s cat) If we’re talking about saving people, Johnny fits the bill. 

Moving on, I was rereading that essay and laughing at it so I posted it on Tumblr the other day and did a poll and you guys decided that, as of December 23rd 2024 at 3:18 PM EST, Johnny is defiantly the hero at 65.2% of the 23 votes. Soda and/or Darry have 21.7% of the vote. Other has 13% but nobody actually put in the tags who they thought the other heroes would have been so. I don’t know what was going on there. Ponyboy, I guess it’s my fault for making it biased because I called him the boring answer. But he didn’t do anything heroic so I stand by it. He has 0% of the vote. Not even zero point something. Just zero. So that’s apparently what the internet thinks. There’s five days left on the poll if you want to vote on that, but I don’t think that’s going to change. My theory is that the Johnny thing was winning because I made the joke about the typo earlier in the post and I think Soda and/or Darry are just because of musical fans bias, which I’ll get into in a minute. 

(Right now, at this point, I asked Mage to put in a word count, because I’m having fun.) (Counting this part, there’s 601 words.) (I had to teach Mage how to enable the word counter on Google Docs just btw.) (In my defense it intimidates me when I’m staring at an already blank page) 

What was the point of this again? (Julie then paused to pet my cat and say he was cute.) Where am I? We need to figure out who the hero is. In the musical, let’s talk about that, there’s a lot of bias. Giving Soda and/or Darry as an option didn’t help because I kinda knew that, as we’ve all grown up and reread the book in a different point in our lives and listened to the musical on repeat for six months straight and nothing else and except Christmas music recently and and the occasional One Direction song back in October (RIP Liam Payne), we all know how the story goes. Now that we’ve seen a point of view that’s not just Ponyboy’s and we’ve accepted he’s an unreliable narrator and we’ve all listened to “Finale (Tulsa ‘67)” we know what Ponyboy’s point of view is: “And now I look at what my brothers do for me. They’re the reason that I’m standing here right now. One thing’s for certain, I can say without a doubt. Those heroes paved the way so I could finally make it out.” (Outsiders Musical) (I’m not doing any other in-text citations now because I hate them and they’re stupid and if you’re reading this you know where it’s from. Goodbye.)

Anyway, Ponyboy sees his brothers as heroes at the end of the story. I think that now that we’ve all grown up enough to realize that Darry isn’t abusive and was just scared and that hitting Pony in the face wasn’t intentional, it’s just what siblings do, and if you’ve never slapped your brother before, you’re lying. Obviously in the context of the situation, it wasn’t cool, but sometimes the Cain instinct just takes over. Johnny even says I think later on in the musical that Darry probably didn’t mean it, and if the kid who consistently is getting abused is saying that Darry didn’t mean it, then Darry probably didn’t mean it. It’s also interesting that after it happens, during all of “Far Away from Tulsa,” Darry is still on the stage literally just sitting there on the floor staring into nothing like “what the fuck did I just do.” He did not mean it. Thirteen year old me did not understand this but I grew up and I get it now.

We can talk about Darry a little bit because I do actually think that maybe it could be him who’s the hero because if you think of it from a grown up point of view and not a thirteen year old point of view, he has so much going on and they don’t even realize how much shit he gave up for them. Some of them might, but they don’t appreciate it and should appreciate it more. Ponyboy realizes it at the end and that’s kind of the whole problem of their relationship. It took the whole plot for him to realize it. But, like, he literally could have gone to college and didn’t. To be fair, in the book canon, he didn’t get that scholarship, but in the musical he did. He had to drop out of school, he probably lost a lot of friends in the process, everybody is giving him shit and calling him a soc and being shitty to him and he’s just like…no wonder he’s no fun now, when he’s worried about Ponyboy running around and getting in trouble and risking social services getting called on him. Give the man a break. He’s twenty. He should be at the club. He got punched by his ex-boyfriend because Pony was out past curfew. So let’s say Darry is the hero of the story, and needs a break, and. You know. To not live in 1960s Oklahoma where if he’s gay, his brothers will get taken away. 

Soda’s probably also got a little bit of hero in him, but didn’t get the opportunity to show it much. He probably had his big hero moment way earlier closer to when their parents died but that’s not explained in the book so yeah.. Rigjt now he’s  just there for hugs and to keep his brothers from killing each other. Also maybe for sending that letter? But otherwise if you think about it, what does he do? And I’m a Soda stan, so I can say that. Although, I will give you, that the ADHD/dyslexia combo really does give demigod vibes and by the Percy Jackson definition of the word  that makes him a hero. So. You know. Yeah. Also, he’s like the only thing keeping Pony from total self-destruction. He did step up a lot, too. He dropped out of school and got a job to help Darry pay the bills. He does so much for their family and is very underappreciated, and I say this as someone who only writes fics based  around Soda. I’m just having trouble coming up with examples off the top of my head. This is hard. We’ve just written a 1300 word essay in under half an hour and I’m just talking off the top of my head while Mage types this for me so please excuse me for being stupid. Sodapop Curtis. I fuckin love that kid.

 Let’s talk about Johnny again. Because he…what does he do? Johnny stabs Bob and Bob had it coming. I think in the book Cherry says that Bob had it coming. And I quote, “Maybe Bob asked for it. I know he did. But I could never look at the person who killed him.” (Julie gave in and checked for quotes but still will not put actual citations in.) (I wanted to read that line is my excuse.) It was gayer in the musical. That’s a lie, actually. Johnny and Dally were gayer in the book, but Johnny and Ponyboy were gayer in the musical. We all listened to “Faraway from Tulsa” and “Death’s at my Door.” You know.

BUT. However. I don’t care if I get crucified for this by musical stans. There is something to be said about the part in the book where (and I specify in the book because the book characters are very different than the musical characters and that context is important. It’s a different universe. Pay attention) they’re driving back from the Dairy Queen and it’s not just that, yes, Johnny stood up to Dally at the drive-in and told him to leave Cherry alone because frankly Dally was being a gross piece of shit to her (men are disgusting <3). Dally got mad at him because “I went out of my way to get you this and Johnny was like we’re going to turn ourselves in and didn’t care what Dally thought blah blah blah”. Johnny is a lot braver than we think and they argue like an old married couple (DALLY BEGS AND TALKS TO JOHNNY IN A VOICE PONY HAS NEVER HEARD BEFORE?). And Dally said that they were going to get in so much trouble, and Johnny said it was the right thing to do. He didn’t want Ponyboy to get in trouble. He knew going back and turning himself in was the only way to ensure that he didn’t screw things over for the Curtises. 

Which, kind of the whole idea, is that everyone is trying to do what they can to keep the brothers together. Maybe the real hero was the rest of the gang. Like maybe that’s why Steve didn’t want Ponyboy to ever tag along if he knew there was a chance he and Soda would get in trouble. (Soda’s a lot closer to being an adult than Ponyboy is, so if he got in trouble and taken away and had to be on his own, he could, but Ponyboy’s got a lot longer until he turns 18. It would be a bigger deal for him to be put in a boys’ home than Soda, who is almost 17 and has a lot more freedom and would only be there for a year.) There’s this one part that, it’s in the book and movie where Two-Bit checks if Ponyboy has a fever by putting his hand on his forehead. It’s like they’re all watching out for them because that’s rule number one of being a greaser: stick together. That, and don’t get caught. They do that, help out, because that’s what the brothers do for them, like when Dally calls for help at the very end of the book, and Darry and the gang drop everything to go get him (and just to see him die, but, you know). That’s why Darry keeps the door unlocked. Pony says he could call Two-Bit to come pick him up in his car, but Pony decides to walk home alone anyway. But they’re always around. It’s about COMMUNITY!!!

In conclusion, I still don’t believe in conclusion paragraphs, the only one who’s not a hero is Ponyboy because he didn’t do jack shit. (I guess he did run into the church to save kids. And other things. But. You know. I don’t feel like talking slash writing about that right now.) Want a conclusion? Read what I wrote. The end. 

[storiesofleftoverghosts]

dating the batboys... and their Taylor Swift songs | (1.5/2)

pairings: Jason Todd x GN!Reader

warnings: angst, mention of death, arguing

requested?: kind of! @igotanidea asked to be tagged for a part for Jason so here you go!

a/n: THANK YALL SO MUCH FOR THE LOVE ON THE FIRST PART!! it truly means a lot to me! I’m also sorry it took SO long, I’ve been testing. I decided to split this into parts just so I could get something out for y’all. It also is a bit longer than others so I hope y’all like it!

its so hard only choosing two songs but if I didn’t this post would be going on foreverrrrr.

Jason Todd

i'd like to establish this by saying Jason Todd is NOT the angry Robin

but like with all of the boys, he is traumatized

like extremely traumatized

if he was to get with you, he'd have to know you for a long time

even then it's iffy

he has a lot of trust issues

and abandonment issues

issues in general

if he knew you before his death, I feel like you’d have a higher chance of him trusting you

(the angst potential here…)

but don't get me wrong

he’s the type who once he loves someone, he loves them with every ounce of fiber he has in his body

I’d like to think of him as a secret hopeless romantic

just has a hard time showing it

he would be the type of boyfriend to tease you about you wanting something badly and then go behind your back and buy it for you

this man would die (again) for you

you ask him to jump and he’ll say how high

in the beginning he would be anxious about doing mundane things with you (not that he would ever admit)

but once he gets used to it, it’s his favorite thing

do not fold laundry with this man because he’ll definitely make into a war and start throwing clothes at you

favorite pass time would be to cook with you

YES I HEADCANON HES A GOOD COOK SHUT UP

being lazy on the couch together, reading books and enjoying each others presence

as much as Jason loves touch, I feel like he would love spending quality time with you more

especially given his busy life style with being Red Hood

would keep you away from that life

he’s like Bruce in that aspect and will not risk getting you involved

especially because being Red Hood is more dangerous and he has a LOOOT of enemies

encouraging him to open up about his emotions

he’s better than Bruce about talking about his feelings, but he still has issues with it

comforting him through nightmares

also comforting him through panic attacks and whatnot

understanding his complicated relationship with his family and trying not push him about it

still developing some what of a relationship with his brothers

if you knew him before his death, definitely having that fear of losing him again

you never recovered from the loss of him and even to this day, it haunts you

having arguments about it because Jason insists he’s careful and you won’t lose him

having arguments in general because he struggles with trusting people and is paranoid

those arguments do not last long because as much as he is stubborn

he doesn’t want to lose you

longest it will last is a couple of days

staying up late waiting for him to get home

LATE NIGHT CUDDLES

I would also like to argue that Jason lives for playful wrestling

he loves making you smile as it’s his favorite feature on you

late night motorcycle rides

he is such a mother hen when it comes to you

“did you eat today? have you had any water? what time did you go to bed?” “okay mom,”

teaching you how to use specific weapons and self defense because duh, it’s Gotham (part two)

at the end of the day, Jason Todd is a traumatized man trying to love you the best he can.

Me being me, I’m going to have to say Afterglow (from Lover) would be my number one choice for Jason. It actually inspired me to even start this! I think Treacherous (from Red (Taylor’s Version)) would be so Jason too.

Bonus: Sparks Fly (from Speak Now (Taylor’s Version)) is also a very Jason Todd song. No I will not elaborate.

“Tell me that you're still mine

Tell me that we'll be just fine

Even when I lose my mind

I need to say

Tell me that it's not my fault

Tell me that I'm all you want

Even when I break your heart”

It didn’t take a genius to realize Jason Todd had messed up. He knew it as soon as the words that had tasted like poison left his mouth. All of the melting hot rage he had felt reached it’s boiling point, and it finally blew up.

“What do you know, you don’t even have a family!”

It seemed to echo throughout your shared apartment. The deafening silence that slowly poured in after made him feel incredibly nauseous. Your face slowly contorted from one of shock to one of a statue. Stoic and cold. The only sound to be heard was the incessant rain pounding against the windows.

You had slowly made your way over to the couch. For fifteen minutes you sat on the soft leather couch. Fifteen fucking agonizing minutes of nothing but Jason trying to somehow make it right. He apologized many times. He tried comforting you. But you just sat there, eyes closed and ignoring everything he had done. His side of the couch seemed to grow heavier and heavier with every attempt.

It made him feel like a child again. When his mother would get upset with him, she would give him the silent treatment. It would go on for days on end, and he would beg and apologize for forgiveness.

He never told you that though.

What you guys were arguing about seemed so small now. Jason was always one to blow things out of proportion. At one point in time, it had been about you going out with Dick and Tim for the third day in a row. He was a bit envious of your relationship with the aforementioned. He just didn’t know if it was Dick and Tim he was jealous of or you.

Instead of trying to talk to you about staying home and spending time with him or hell, even inviting him out with you, he took out his irritation you. It had been a long day, and this had been the cherry on top. He made a snarky comment to try and start a fight. Unfortunately, you were one to try to talk it out. It only added fuel to the fire. It escalated to the current situation. He hadn’t meant for it to end up like this.

Why’d he have to break what he loved so much?

Finally, you made a noise. You took a deep breath in and bore into his eyes. Tears were threatening to spill from them any second. It felt he had been burned, and he had no one to blame but himself.

“Before you say anything, I am incredibly sorry. It was all just me in my head. I should have never said those things, and I don’t want to lose you over this. Please, please, please let me make it up to you.” He has never sounded so desperate before. But then again, he’s never cut you this deep. Your eyes had travelled down away from him. The lump in your throat was hard to swallow.

“Jason. You’re not going to lose me over this. You’re still all I want,” The tears had started to roll down your cheeks by now. Seeing you cry made his heart crush, and he couldn’t stop himself from scooting closer to you.

“But what you said had really hurt my feelings. And if you ever say something like that to me again, I’m going to leave and take some time for myself.” You warned through the tears. Seeing your lip quiver as you spoke was enough for him to engulf you in his arms.

“I promise if I ever say that again, you could smack me as hard as you can. I deserve it.” You let out a tearful laugh and shook your head. However, he was being dead serious. You buried yourself in his embrace.

“I forgive you this time. Just next time communicate with me. We’re partners. It’s me and you against the problem.” Hearing how sincere you were made his heart swell. It made him feel even more guilty for starting the argument with you. But if you could forgive him, then maybe he can forgive himself too.

“You’re right. I’m sorry for everything. I just…” He paused. It was difficult for him to talk about his feelings, but he trusted you. You were his whole world after all. “I just wanted to spend time with you alone. I had a hard today today, and you always manage to make me feel better.” He murmured. His cheeks were a soft pink color. No matter how long you guys had been together for, it was awkward for him to tell you about how he felt.

You pulled away from the embrace to look him in the eyes. A small smile was on your face and your cheeks were tear stained. Your eyes had never had more of a soft look in them as one of your hands cupped the side of his face. Your thumb had slowly grazing his cheek.

“Why didn’t you say so? I don’t mind canceling my plans for you.” The smile on your lips grew, and you leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek. The rain had seemed to turn into a soft sprinkle. You got up from the couch and made your way to the kitchen. His eyes followed you, clearly confused on what you were doing.

“Come on, let’s just cook and watch something.” You called. A bright smile spread across his face as he followed your voice. It was simple idea but it meant the world that you had decided to forgive him. He wouldn’t say that arguing with you will never happen again, but he knew that no matter how frustrating the situation was, he’d never utter an insult to you again.

He loved you too much, after all.

[totaldramafan-lauri]

Make Use Of Me (chapter 1, preview)

2025 EDIT: PLEASE STOP LIKING THIS OLD PREVIEW!! This doc has NO reason to be read anymore! I posted this over a year ago to gauge interest in my fic, and now, well.....THE WHOLE FIC IS COMPLETE! The whole thing! I got it all done, and it's big! You can find it here! Read that if you're interested, rather than giving attention to this post, please! This is SO outdated now!

O-OK...here goes....

First thing's first: I am not expecting a lotta people to read this. I'm not asking people to read this. At this point, I'm making this mostly as a passion project, and if anyone enjoys it, it'll be a really cool bonus. My writing style isn't gonna be for everyone, and the characters I write aren't the most....popular characters in the CRK X Reader community, and I imagine this isn't really something a lotta fans'll be demanding more of.

This is LONG. This one chapter is 56 pages long. I am a VERY wordy writer,

So......why'm I posting this preview? Well....partially as an interest gauge for people who WOULD wanna read it, but...mostly as a motivator. As something to remind myself of whenever I get lazy. After all....I can't quit after I made the first chapter public, right? By doing that, I put myself out there...And, hey, I even tagged it, so, if by the off chance, someone did read it, I'm basically promising them more eventually.....

But, again, I'm not forcing anyone to read this.

Not only is it long, but.....This first chapter is probably my least-favorite thing I've ever written. By posting this chapter by itself, I'm testing to see if it does its job of making people wanna read the rest, cuz....right now, I'm not so sure how well it succeeds at that.....

This is the boring part of the story. It's a bunch of setup, and me jumping through hoop after hoop after hoop to just get everything started. I know setup is important and all, but....I'm already a very wordy writer, so....oof....There is some interesting stuff that happens, but it takes a while to get there.

I-I....kinda hate it, actually. The only reason I didn't scrap it is that I didn't realize I hated it until I was about halfway through it and the "good part" hadn't started yet. And I still spent a month writing the thing, so....I finished it.

I'm tagging this...as an experiment. If you wanna read this, go ahead. W-well, read my tags first, THEN go ahead. XD

All I can really say in this chapter's defense is that....I do try my best to salvage it. It's just setup, but I TRIED to make it interesting. And everything that seems like it didn't go anywhere, will later. This isn't the whole story, it's just the beginning of what's gonna be a BIG story. Anything that seems weird in this chapter, gets explored in the other chapters. This does set up a bunch of stuff that becomes important later (The friend character shows up later, the Colosseum becomes relevant later). This chapter is boring, but I tried not to make any of it pointless.

For the future: I'm aiming for five chapters. Chapters 2 and 3 will be a series of smaller vignettes that take place over the course of a few years, chapter 4 will be the climax, and chapter 5 will be something of an epilogue. After that, there will be two endings to choose from (which will make sense when we get there).

This probably won't be my favorite thing I've ever written, but it will be the most ambitious thing I've ever, and probably will ever, write. I haven't written something like this before, and it's all to flesh out this story and make it believable.

Right now, I.....I want to finish this. I'll probably still be writing this in February at the rate I'm going, but...at this point, I've put too much into it to give up on it. However, I'm STILL not completely ruling out the idea of my motivation dying before then. It COULD happen. So, what I'm planning to do is...setting a short-term goal of finishing chapter 3. After I do that, I'll post the first three chapters on AO3 together, and work on the rest. That way, even if I don't finish it, I'll at least have it over half done, and chapter 3 will end on a somewhat high note.

So, yyyyeah....Not a lotta people will read this preview. Overly wordy writing style + boring setup part of story + 56 pages long + assumed lack of interest for X Readers of this character (At least, I haven't SEEN many simps for her, m-maybe I'm wrong, I might be, I-I haven't checked any tags cuz I've been nervous, b-but it doesn't make my writing any better. In that case, this is my first time writing her so I'm trying super hard to do her justice >//////<)

I-if you wanna read this, and see if this first chapter does a good job of making you wanna read the better chapters, then...Go ahead.....

Some notes:

-This is still not the final draft. It's finalized enough for me to share, but I'm still not considering it finished. Even tho I'm working on chapter 3 right now, I STILL go back and edit this, even very recently. So, chances are, even if the story is finalized, small details and sentences are still subject to change. I know for a fact that there are still SOME placeholder bits in here that will change after I get some stuff cleared up. Recently, I even considered chopping off an entire section to make it shorter. I decided not to, but hey, it could still happen. I don't wanna waste anyone's time. The first chapter of a story, even if it's boring, is still very important, and I wanna make sure it's the best version of itself.

(A-and yes, this means that I've finished chapter 2 as well. The reason I'm not sharing it is that, unlike chapter 1, it was finished VERY recently, so I might still need to give myself time to edit it. From what I have, tho, I do like it a LOT more than chapter 1. There are some parts of chapter 2 that I'm legit proud of.)

-Even tho this first chapter is completely clean, I-I should mention that....this fic is for adults. The full version, at least. Chapters 3 and 4 are gonna contain some light N/S/F/W moments (the "fade to black" variety, so nothing explicit) and there'll be other slightly racey comments here and there. Just a heads-up. I'm gonna be uncomfy with minors reading this.

Th-that's all? I-I think that's all.......O-OK, so......h-here goes..... E-enjoy....

[ariparri]

The Soup Fairy stands on your window sill, hair tousled by a spring storm and drenched in rainwater. She got sidetracked by the weather, but she's here!

•°☆TIS I YOUR FAIRY SOUP MOTHER!☆°•

Your character is considering the person who has harmed them the most in life. Write a line of dialog from your character, describing them.

What do they think of forgiveness? What do they think of reconciliation?

Happy Worldbuilding Wednesday! 🎉

We'll go with Taira Matsubara, Saian's sister in the Azure Bloom universe.

I went a little overboard with this one but it’s a good way to show how the two will never be sisters anymore ˚✧₊⁎❝᷀ົཽ≀ˍ̮ ❝᷀ົཽ⁎⁺˳✧༚

Warnings: Blood, stabbing, Saian referring to their mother as an incubator

@chrystabelleblaumferge @dollystarz tagging you two because I know you’re both interested in any Azure Bloom content (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)

Taira finds herself caught in a complex web of emotions as she considers the possibility of reconciling with her older sister, Saian. The wounds of betrayal inflicted by her sister run deep, leaving Taira grappling with conflicting feelings of forgiveness and lingering resentment.

On one hand, Taira yearns for closure and healing in her fractured relationship with Saian. Yet, beneath this desire for reconciliation simmers a potent undercurrent of bitterness. Taira can still vividly recall the pain of the blade piercing through her skin, damage dealt by the one person she trusted most. The memory of Saian's abandonment during her time of need haunts Taira, fueling her resentment and distrust.

"Saian Fujino? Is that the name people call you now?" Taira's voice was sharp with accusation, her eyes fixed on the figure before her—a familiar face, half of it hidden by a mask, now seemed like a cruel distortion of the sister she once knew. Saian shrugged nonchalantly in response. "What's wrong with it? It's certainly better than the name our incubator gave me. My wife, in fact, loves it." A lazy grin appeared on her face as she shot Taira a knowing look.

Taira's jaw clenched at the casual disregard in Saian's tone. The use of the term "incubator" being used rather than referring to their mother struck a nerve deep within her. "You're sick," Taira spat, her voice tinged with disbelief and anger. "Is everything just some sick game to you?!" Saian's grin widened, unbothered by Taira's accusation. "Call it what you will, little sister. Just remember, that woman would have sold you off if you weren’t obedient. And I must say, obedient you are, it’s almost annoying really.”

"Even now you're not taking this seriously!" Taira's words cut through the tension. "I should have known, when you left me behind, when you left me for dead, you never truly cared about me." Her voice cracked with emotion, raw and unfiltered. The words hung in the air, charged with the weight of years of hurt and disappointment. Taira's gaze bore into Saian, searching for any semblance of remorse or recognition. But Saian's expression remained inscrutable, a mask that revealed nothing of the sister Taira once loved.

Taira's eyes flickered with conflicting emotions as she stared at Saian. Seeing the turmoil in her sister's eyes, Saian reached out and offered her hand, a gesture filled with tentative sincerity. Her gaze softened, and a small, apologetic smile appeared on her face. "Hey, alright I’m sorry, okay? I know I'm not the best sister in the world," Saian began, her voice tinged with remorse, "but I promise... I'll do whatever it takes to make things right by you. To have you trust me again, to have you in my life again. Hanamaru told me you have spent years trying to find me. And I’ll be damned if I let you slip through my fingers again."

Taira's defenses wavered as she looked at her sister's outstretched hand and the genuine vulnerability in Saian's gaze. Could she dare to believe in the possibility of reconciliation? Slowly, cautiously, Taira reached out and took Saian's hand, her grip tentative yet filled with unspoken yearning for closure and healing. For a fleeting moment, hope fluttered in her chest, the possibility of forgiveness and reconciliation tantalizingly within reach.

Taira's guard momentarily dropped as she found herself enveloped in her sister's arms. For a fleeting moment, she dared to believe that maybe, just maybe, Saian was truly willing to mend the fractures between them. The embrace felt foreign yet strangely comforting, stirring echoes of a time when their sisterly bond had been unbreakable.

But in the next breath, everything shattered.

Taira's breath caught in her throat as she felt the sharp pain in her side, the cold sharp blade of a knife leaving her gasping for air. Saian's voice, devoid of remorse, delivered the final blow—words laced with disappointment and disdain.

"That's twice you fell for that, Taira," Saian's voice was cold and calculating. "I can't help but be disappointed in you."

The last shards of Taira's shattered hope fell around her as she crumpled to the ground, her trust in her sister obliterated by the cruel reality. Tears mingled with pain as she gazed up at Saian, the sister she once loved now a stranger—a haunting reminder of irreconcilable wounds.

Taira looked up angrily at Saian, clutching her bleeding side. She staggered, struggling to hold herself upright, her glare hard and almost threatening. "I should have known..." Taira's voice was filled with bitter realization, the pain evident in her eyes. "You really are just cruel…” Taira's words echoed in the empty space, a defiant declaration of the shattered bond between them. But Saian had already turned to walk away, leaving behind another painful memory of the past. "No hard feelings though, right sister dearest?" Saian's voice, tinged with mockery, floated back to Taira. "It's nothing personal, really, it's just business."

Taira's heart sank as she watched her sister's retreating figure, “Sister? You may share the same face as her, but you are no sister of mine!” The casual dismissal in Saian's tone cut deeper than any blade, leaving the hope she had dared to cling to lay shattered at her feet, replaced by the harsh reality of her sister’s true nature.

With tears mingling with the blood on her hands, Taira faced the bitter truth—some wounds ran too deep to ever heal, and some betrayals cut too close to ever be forgiven.

“You really are just some monster impersonating her for your own sick game…”

[psalacanthea]

WiP Wednesday

this one’s for all my slutty friends out there.  Some second-round foreplay from the Baldur’s Gate 3 fic.  I shan’t tag anyone but if you would like to be tagged let me know and I shall from here on in!  fandom doesn’t matter :D

...

“No,” Zynatheri denied lazily, releasing Astarion.  As he peered at her with half-lidded eyes, she pushed up over him again, arms draping over his shoulders.  Zyn had a bit of an inkling she knew how to deal with him now– a new tactic to get what she wanted.  It’d taken her long enough.

In her defense, she usually didn’t have to try very hard to get what she wanted.

His hand idly lifted, knuckles dragging down her shoulder and upper arm.  “You have a very intent look on your face.”

“You’re so selfish,” she pouted, tangling her fingers in his hair as she slung her knee over his waist.  “I behaved so nicely for you, but you won’t even let me have a little in return.  It’s just not fair. You’re so pretty but you won’t be my toy.” 

She wasn’t sure if she’d get an immediate rejection and annoyance, or something that left her a little wiggle room.  Either was fine.  Part of her really wanted to see if he would do as she’d asked and kiss her when she made him angry.

“It depends entirely on your games, my little fox, and how you intend to play them,” he replied lazily, but with a hint of caution.

A promising response.  And a little surprising.  “Your hands only do what I tell them to,” she said, leaning down until her nose nudged his.  “Because they’re very naughty, bad and selfish hands, and last time I was trying to have my fun they ruined it.”

“Darling, lest you forget, you still enjoyed yourself so intensely that you passed out,” he replied, not bothering to hide his wicked amusement.

She glared.  “It was blood loss.”

“Hmmh,” he agreed with a supremely smug air.

“Hands.  Above your head,” she snapped, annoyed with his superior attitude.  Malice and misfortune, he would never let that one go, would he?  Well, if she’d been in his position, she wouldn’t either, quite honestly.

“I don’t like that voice,” he said instantly, expression cooling off.

Zyn fought the urge to roll her eyes.  If she was going to push boundaries, she really should be careful about it, but he was so frust– right.  Oh.  Of course he was frustrating.  Relaxing, she glanced down at him and her frown turned into a slow, amused smile.

Zynatheri had dealt with a brat before.

And she did already know what voice he did like, didn’t she?

“Fine,” she agreed lazily, reaching up and catching his chin lightly in her fingers.  Not a caging grip, just a possessive caress.  “I’ll spoil you, then.  If you behave, that is.”  Lowering her voice, she let it slide into that lazy, sexual purr she knew he enjoyed so very much.  “As long as you do, I’ll talk to you nicely.  Don’t you want to be good for me?  I know you can be…”  Her lips caught his ear lobe, a teasing little bite and a caress of the tip of her tongue.

“Don’t you dare,” he denied, but she could hear it was strained, strength in his voice stolen as she bit his earlobe again.