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novascharms · 2 months ago

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teach please me — tutor!reader x soccer player!rafe

reader's life is meticulously planned, from high school to becoming president of the country—she knows exactly where she's headed and every step to get there. but her airtight plan hits a snag when the principal ropes her into tutoring rafe cameron, the school’s star soccer player, who’s failing algebra and at risk of being benched next season. the team needs him on the field, and reader needs the principal’s glowing recommendation to secure her spot at her dream school. balancing her ambitious goals with rafe’s chaotic charm might just throw her perfectly crafted plan off track.

a.n — double update cause it's a short one + apology for the contents of this chapter word count — 1.4 chapter index — prev. chap. — next chap. masterlist

seven

wednesday, january 29th

"no, i'm telling you, it's real! i read about it." devon pulls on hazel's arms as the four of you walk toward your school building. "someone talking about it in a tiktok video is not reading about it, devon." ivy laughs and devon shoves her to the side. "you believe me, right, y/n?" she turns to you and you're in this weird inbetween place where you can hear them, sort of but your mind is also in a million other places so you don't immediately answer.

"hey?" hazel rests an arm on your shoulder which halts you, "hm?" you ask and look at your three very concerned best friends. "you know we don't have to go, right? we can just..go to my house, get all the strawberry ice cream from the freezer and have a long discussion about ..cryptozoology. devon can tell us about that time she saw the loch ness monster again." she says and you smile when devon mutters something about her experience being 100% real.

"you have a perfect attendance, hazel. we are not going to tarnish that for..a boy. i'm okay." you try to sound convincing, try to convince yourself even because really, it shouldn't suck as much as it does. you knew that rafe somehow reciprocating your crush was wishful thinking. it was stupid to ever even entertain or let the idea play in your mind.

you'd had crushes before, even kissed two guys. once when you were fourteen and once when you were fifteen but looking at them never felt the same way as looking at rafe and you had never even come close to kissing him.

"but—"

"no. let's go." you force the three girls forward. you were first in your class, first in your entire grade, you singlehandedly organise almost every major and minor event at this school, you process all the complaints and changes students want almost weekly, you help your parents at home, you work at a bakery on saturdays, you volunteer on sundays. you are resilient and capable and rafe cameron is not going to bat his eyelashes and break you in one month of knowing him. it just wasn't going to happen. it couldn't.

you could avoid him, you think as you walk into the school building. right? this school was fairly big and truth be told, before you started tutoring, rafe didn't really stand out to you. things could go back to that time. they had too.

the first four hours went perfectly. you passed by the office and helped sandy with some paperwork until class started, then you went to class and were able to avoid him during the break as well.

you got nervous when lunchtime came around. you and your friends usually stayed in school during lunch which meant rafe could just walk up to you in the cafeteria but there were other places you could go. you could go to the green spaces or the common area. maybe even the bleachers in the basketball court though you never really liked the smell in there.

you eventually chose the green space. it was quiet and calm, just what you needed. you and your friends sat down and when you open your bag you realise you left your lunch in your locker. "i left my lunch in my locker, i'll be right back." you tell them and fish your key out of your bag before making your way out of the green space and down the stairs.

when you made it to the second floor, you walked to your locker, keys jiggling in your hands. "y/n?" your heart stopped at the sound of his voice, and the natural course of action when someone called your name was to stop or at least turn but you just kept walking. "uh huh?" you answered.

"hey, hold on!" he called and you heard him start to jog. you start to walk faster. "i..uhh am kinda in a hurry!"

"just wait." he grabs your wrist and whips you around. he looks unjustifiable good again. you force yourself to not make eye contact. "yes, rafe?" you find yourself saying in the most passive tone and his gaze lingers, filled with worry. "what happened yesterday? i texted you like ten times." he's visibly upset—crease between his brows, soft searching eyes boring it yours and it makes you upset and now you want to pinch yourself for being upset because you've created some kind of fucked up parasocial relationship with a guy who has no real interest in you.

"i..just wanted to go home. so, i went home." is the only thing you can come up with. it's technically the truth too. you pull your wrist away from his hand and he watches the action with a pained expression. "did something happen while i was gone? why didn't you come to me? i was going to take you home."

you shake your head nonchalantly dismissing him, "it's fine. i like walking, i barely exercise so i need it. it's absolutely fine." you're already turning around to find your locker but he's grabbing your wrist again, "why are you acting like this?" he's frustrated with you. you understand. you're acting different but you're frustrated with him too. even if you don't necessarily have the right to be. "you know i'm not that smart so stop playing fucking mind games with me."

you frown at his tone but also his choice of words. "you are smart, rafe. you're very smart." you correct, not liking it when he belittled himself. him not believing he was capable or smart was the whole reason he needed tutoring in the first place.

"yet i can't piece together why you're mad at me." he says, his tone displeased and you shake your head, finding his eyes. you find yourself wanting to appease him, wanting to make him feel better. you hate that he's upset, it coils something deep inside of you. "i am not mad. i'm not upset, i just..i didn't want to—" it was baffling how much you struggled to come up with a lie. you weren't a liar, okay? "i-i saw you, i saw..that you were, you were.. and i j-just—" you stammered and threw your head back in frustration.

he stared at you, eyes wide and expecting. "you just..what? how am i meant to fix it if you won't tell me what's wrong?"

"you haven't done anything wrong; if anything it's me. i—"

"you what? you didn't have fun? did someone hurt you?"

"no one did anything." you murmur and it seems to be what pushes him over the edge, "then what's wrong?" he snaps, his apparent annoyance bursting at the seams.

"nothing is wrong. there is nothing to fix, i just wanted to go home so i went home!" you yelled suddenly and rafe along with the couple of people still in the hallway stared at you in what could only be describe as utter surprise. "sorry..i'm sorry." you tried to collect whatever pride you still had and turned on your heel abandoning your food completely.

it started slowly. just slow breaths as you walked up the stairs, then that pit in your throat when you were on the third floor, followed by tears in your eyes that you were frantically trying to blink away on the fourth floor, and when you finally made it to green space, the tears were streaming down your cheeks and hazel was already standing up before you'd even made it to the table. "oh, no, sweetheart," she's pulling you in your arms and the dam just breaks and you're letting out everything you'd been holding in since that stupid bonfire. "it's okay, i'm so sorry, you're okay." her comforting whispers and gentle kisses are muffled and overshadowed by the way you're crying in her arms.

you feel ivy and devon's hands on your back, rubbing slow circles, "we got you," you feel a warm hug from behind and one on the side. you're completely cooped up, unable to even see anymore light, just little cracks. either way your vision is blurry with tears. "i w-wanna go h-home.." you hiccup in hazel's neck and you can feel her nodding. "we'll go home. we're going home."

hazel's parents are surprised to see the four of you home but when they see which state you're in, they barely question it. her mom orders take out, the junkiest junk food they can find, she calls your mom to tell her where you are, you pile onto the couch and they don't mention rafe once. you have a six-hour-long discussion about cryptozoology and the science behind mythical creatures.

chapter index — prev. chap. — next chap. taglist — @rafeysworldim19 @my-name-is-baby @pogueprincesa let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist & interact with post to remain tagged <3

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solarmorrigan · 5 months ago

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The Pumpkin (Spice) King

For the @steddie-spooktober day 24 prompt: Pumpkin Rated: T | Words: 945 | CW: None | Tags: established relationship, this is very silly, fluff Divider credit: @steddiecameraroll-graphics

The clues had been there all along. Eddie should have paid more attention.

It starts with the candle.

“Why does it smell like a craft store in here?” Eddie asks the moment the apartment door has closed behind him.

Steve, half engrossed in whatever he’s scrolling through on his phone, shoots Eddie a quick, puzzled look. “What?”

“Like cinnamon sugar and spices. Fake fall.” Eddie sniffs the room speculatively. “This is what craft stores smell like every year from September to January.”

“Oh.” Steve rolls his eyes. “It’s not ‘fake fall,’ it’s just the candle I have burning.”

Now that Steve’s mentioned it, Eddie spots the candle on the table, one of the ones you get in a fancy-looking glass jar, the label of which proclaims the scent to be–

“Pumpkin spice?” Eddie utters, nose wrinkled.

“You got a problem with pumpkin spice?” Steve asks.

“It’s–” Eddie starts, then takes in Steve’s single raised eyebrow, registers the catty lilt to his tone, and changes tracks, “–barely September.”

If anything, Steve’s eyebrows get more judgmental, but he looks back to his phone, apparently dismissing Eddie as a threat to his fun, fall-scented good time. “They start selling these things in August," he says. “You should appreciate my restraint.”

“Riiight,” Eddie drawls, deciding to adjourn to the bedroom and leave the living room to Steve and his mass-produced miasma of imitation autumn.

Of course, it doesn’t end there.

Eddie barely notices in time, reaching for the pump of the hand soap by the kitchen sink and stopping just short of using it when the colors register. It isn’t the usual bland bottle with its inoffensive citrus and herb scent, but something brightly-colored, all orange and shiny silver. There are little wheat sheaves and pumpkins on the label, and the scent is, of course–

“Fucking pumpkin spice,” Eddie mutters.

Fine, okay, so there must have been some kind of sale at fucking– Bath and Body Works, or wherever the hell it is that sells this stuff, and Steve had temporarily lost his mind. Or something. Whatever.

Steve can go around smelling like something that wishes it could be cinnamon all he likes, but Eddie will not be joining him. He uses the dish soap to wash his hands instead. His eczema will not thank him later, but he thinks it’s a fair price to pay for his continued dignity.

(And if Steve eyes Eddie’s reddened, peeling knuckles later in the week, and the lemon herb soap reappears next to the pumpkin spice soap, well – that’s close enough to a win that Eddie will take it.)

Then there’s the coffee.

This one is technically the final nail in the coffin, but it takes a bit to really dawn on Eddie. He maintains that he had been understandably distracted at the time – largely because he only finds this one out by drawing the taste straight from Steve’s mouth.

It isn’t unusual for Steve to have been up and about for an hour or two (or three) before Eddie rolls out of bed on his days off; Eddie prefers to keep late hours, and Steve, as much as Eddie loves him, is a morning person. This had caused some friction when they’d first started living together, but it’s been nearly a year now, and they’ve managed to work it out. Often, their first kiss of the day tastes like whatever coffee Steve’s already been drinking.

It’s different today, though. Sweeter than usual.

Eddie hums, licking deeper into Steve’s mouth, trying to place the difference, and Steve groans, tugging Eddie closer by the hips, mistaking his curiosity for passion (and, well – it’s not not passion. Eddie can multitask).

“What’ve you been drinking?” Eddie finally asks when they pull apart.

“Pumpkin spice latte,” Steve answers, and then gives Eddie absolutely no chance to process this information, pulling him back in for another deep kiss.

It’s only later, back in bed when Eddie had barely even been out of it for half an hour, that Eddie has to admit to himself: his boyfriend is a pumpkin spice girl.

And that’s fine! Eddie can be mature about this!

Sure, it’s the sort of thing he’d sneered at back in high school—the conformity of the masses flocking to whatever seasonally-scented item corporations are hocking at the time—but he’s grown up since then. Someone’s preference for a certain flavor or scent doesn’t determine their worth as a person, et cetera, et cetera. Eddie knows this.

But still, he’s only human. He does have a breaking point.

“Oh, baby, no.”

“What?” Steve pulls his head out of the fridge, where he’s been putting the cold stuff away as Eddie unloads the grocery bags destined for the pantry.

Eddie holds up the offending item – possibly the most offending item he’s ever seen.

Pumpkin spice candy corn.

Steve blinks at him. “What?” he asks again after a long moment of loaded silence.

“Oh god, it’s already infected your brain,” Eddie laments, dropping the bag of candy on the counter and reaching for his phone. “I’m calling Robin, we’re staging an intervention.”

“Oh come on, what? They’re good!” Steve insists.

“Objectively, sweetheart, they really aren’t. But don’t you worry,” he leans over and pats Steve on the arm as he searches for Robin’s number in his contact list, “we’re gonna save you from yourself.”

(Later, of course, he’ll find out that Robin has already tried to break Steve of his tendency to buy anything labeled with “pumpkin spice.” His love of the stuff is ironclad. She tells Eddie that he’d better learn to enjoy the taste, or else give up making out with his boyfriend until Thanksgiving.)

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie-spooktober #it's funny because I've written other things for this month that have pumpkins in them #but this one; for which the prompt is actually pumpkin; contains no... actual pumpkin #solar wrote #eddiesteve

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coffeeshades · 6 months ago

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credits to the gif maker!

LOVE IS COMPLICATED - PART VII

—forever winter

summary: the trials and tribulations of falling in love or two idiots who can't get their shit together.

pairing: pedro pascal x actress/singer!reader.

word count: 6.8k

warnings: 18+ (minors dni). angst!!! cursing, age gap, mentions of alcohol and covid. feelings of hopelessness, anxiety. no use of y/n, if i missed something please let me know!

a/n: hello again, here's the next part!! also here are a few songs i listened to while writing this one: salt in the wound - boygenius, flume - bon iver, the gold - phoebe bridgers, for emma - bon iver, forever winter - taylor swift and calgary - bon iver.

happy reading <3

masterlist!

January 19, 2020

Los Angeles, CA

There have always been two versions of you: the person you once were and the person the world has decided you are. The first is the one who existed long before the spotlight, the one with a bit of adolescent angst, dreams bigger than herself, and a heart still learning to shield itself.

This version was taught by her parents that she was special, but the world hadn’t yet caught on. She was the girl who felt small and out of place, who wrestled with who she was and where she belonged.

And then there’s the second version, the one who stands in the center of magazine covers, on the glossy side of fame. She is everything you once dreamed of becoming—and more. You’ve spent the last decade perfecting her image, carving her out of raw ambition and countless hours under the hot glare of cameras. Her Wikipedia page reads like an epic: awards, accolades, achievements—flawless. She’s a masterpiece.

This side of you is never tired. She never shows frustration. She knows how to angle her face when the camera flashes, to smile when the questions sting, and to cry beautifully when accepting awards. She can gracefully discuss the sexism she’s faced in the industry, yet she knows better than to name names or point fingers.

She always sticks to the narrative.

For the longest time, you hoped you wouldn’t need to split into two people. That the version of yourself from years ago would be good enough for the world. But the divide wasn’t gradual—it was sudden. It happened four years ago, the day your ex decided to make you the centerpiece of a bitter, ugly breakup that splashed across every tabloid in the country. Since then, you’ve been caught between these two identities, juggling the woman you once were with the image the world expects of you.

As you sit in the back seat of the car, your eyes linger on your reflection in the tinted window. Tonight is the SAG Awards, another high-profile event where your public persona will take the lead. You watch yourself in the mirror, a familiar stranger, and wonder: Does anyone truly know you? Do you even know yourself anymore?

“There's a line of press when you get out of the car,” Taylor, your manager, says without looking up from her phone. “You know, the usual stuff.”

“Got it.”

You nod, trying to focus on the task ahead, but your thoughts are far away. You look out the window, the city lights blurring into a kaleidoscope of color. No matter how many of these events you attend, it never gets easier.

The car slows to a stop, the muffled sounds of the crowd growing louder through the windows.

“Why isn’t Daniel here?” Taylor asks, breaking the silence.

“He had to fly back to Enstone,” you reply, a pang of disappointment in your chest. “The season starts soon. He’s prepping.”

Last year was a challenging one for Daniel—his racing season wasn’t what he hoped for, and he’s determined to make up for it this time around. His commitment to his craft mirrors yours in so many ways, but tonight, you wish he was here with you.

“Oh, that’s too bad, babe,” Taylor says, her hand resting on your knee in a gesture of sympathy. “When will he be back?”

“I’m not sure; he didn't say,” you murmur. “Hopefully soon.”

The door opens, and the roar of the crowd hits you like a wave. Flashing cameras, the shouting of photographers, and the glittering red carpet stretch out before you. “Looks like we’re here,” Taylor says, stepping out and extending a hand to help you.

You take a deep breath, steadying your nerves. It’s always easier with someone by your side, but tonight you’ll have to do this alone. You follow Taylor’s lead, plastering a smile on your face as you step out into the chaos. The cameras flash, posing and waving, but inside, you feel detached—like you’re watching yourself from afar.

After what feels like an eternity, you finally make it inside the venue, your body relaxing slightly as the noise of the red carpet fades behind you. You’re greeted by familiar faces and smiles, but the exhaustion from keeping up appearances lingers.

“I thought I was going to be the coolest person here, but clearly, you've beat me to it.”

The voice pulls you from your thoughts, deep and teasing. You turn and find Pedro standing there, dressed in a sleek silver suit jacket with black pants, his expression warm and playful.

His presence doesn't faze you; you've been filming for the Mandalorian since November last year, seeing each other here and there, not really spending time together between takes, and not acknowledging what happened at the wedding. You didn't hear from him since production stopped mid-December, only to get back on set early January. Although with everything else he's doing, you barely see him there anyway.

“You look amazing,” he says, his eyes lingering on you.

You glance down at your outfit—a sharp, stylish suit you picked for the night. It fits perfectly, giving you an air of confidence even though, inside, you feel anything but. “Thanks,” you say. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Pascal.” You gesture to his getup, offering a kind smile.

Pedro smirks, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I came over to congratulate you.”

"Yeah?"

“The Achievement Award. That's huge.”

You laugh softly, a little self-conscious. “That sounds like an overstatement for someone who’s only 28.”

He studies you for a moment, his gaze piercing. Pedro has always been able to see through you in ways that others can’t. You can hide from the world, but not from him.

“Don’t do that,” he says quietly, his voice firm.

“Do what?” you ask, but he cuts you off before you can finish.

“Don’t invalidate your accomplishments. You deserve this.”

There’s something in the way he says it—a weight to his words that makes you pause. Part of you wants to argue, to downplay everything like you always do, but his sincerity stops you.

Instead, you nod, offering a small smile.

“Thank you, Pedro,” you say softly. “That means a lot.”

Does it?

He sees right through and holds out his arm, a silent invitation. “Wanna walk in with me?”

For a moment, you hesitate. There’s an unspoken tension between the two of you, a history that neither of you has fully acknowledged. But as your eyes meet, the air shifts. You loop your arm through his, holding onto his bicep as the two of you make your way into the theater together. A camera flash goes off, and you smile. But this time, with Pedro by your side, it feels a little less lonely.

•••

You were sitting at a table when a fellow actor and friend started talking about you on stage. It was surreal, like time had slowed down, and you found yourself lost in thought. You’d been to countless awards shows and accepted more than your share of accolades, but this one felt different. A recognition of not just a role or a single performance, but a lifetime of work—or at least, a decade of it. And you were still young. Too young, part of you thought, for this kind of tribute. Yet here you were, about to be honored in front of your peers, the people who had seen your highs and lows.

The screen flickered to life, and a montage of your work began to play. Scenes from movies that had shaped your career, close-ups of moments that had shaped you. A smile here, a tear there, moments of triumph and vulnerability.

It was oddly like watching your life flash before your eyes—a strange out-of-body experience, as if you were looking back at someone else's journey. The montage moved through the years, capturing not just the characters you played but the changes in you—subtle at first, then more pronounced. The younger you, still full of raw hope and untamed energy, compared to the more seasoned version, who had learned how to navigate the treacherous terrain of fame. It felt like a snapshot of your life in fast-forward, as if you were witnessing your own eulogy.

You breathed in deeply, trying to stay present. It wasn’t the end, you reminded yourself.

The applause was thunderous as the montage ended, and it wasn’t until your name was called that reality snapped back into focus.

You stepped out into the blinding lights, the weight of the moment settling in as you approached the podium. The sea of faces before you blurred slightly in the brightness, but you could make out familiar ones. Peers you respected, younger actors looking up at you with wide eyes, veterans who had paved the way before you. And somewhere out there, you knew Pedro was watching.

With trembling hands, you held the award, the metal cool against your palm. You took a breath, steadying yourself before speaking.

“This is... overwhelming,” you began, chuckling, your voice breaking slightly from the emotion of it all. “I don’t even know where to start. Thank you to everyone who believed in me and to the people who supported me through the ups and downs. This means more than I can put into words.”

You paused, scanning the room, catching sight of Pedro for just a second, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that grounded you.

“When I started this journey, I was just a kid with big dreams and very little understanding of how hard this industry could be,” you continued, feeling the words flow more easily now. “But I learned early on that dreams don’t work unless you do. It’s not just about talent—it’s about determination, grit, and pushing through even when everything seems impossible.”

Your eyes drifted toward the younger faces in the audience. “To the younger actors out there, keep going. I know it can feel like the world is telling you no at every turn, like you’re not good enough or that you’ll never make it, but don’t stop dreaming. Don’t stop working. This industry can be brutal, but it can also be beautiful. Find the beauty. Hold onto it. Work for it.”

A wave of applause broke out, but you weren’t finished yet. You felt a pull, a need to say more, something from the heart. Something real.

“And through all of it,” you said, your voice softer now, “keep the people who truly love you close. In this business, it’s easy to get lost in the noise, in the hundreds of things that try to tear you down or make you feel like you’re not enough. But the people who love you for who you are, not what you can give them, are the ones who will keep you grounded. I’ve met some of my forever people in this industry, and for that, I’m grateful. Despite all the bad and all the heartache that comes with this life, it’s those relationships that make it worthwhile.”

Your gaze wandered again, unconsciously searching the crowd for Pedro, and when your eyes met his, something inside you softened. He knew what you were talking about. He knew the weight of those words better than anyone.

“I’m grateful,” you continued, your voice a little more vulnerable now, “because I’ve been able to hold on to those people. Even when things get complicated even when it feels like the world is pushing us apart. You have to fight for those connections. They’re what make this crazy, beautiful life worth living.”

You felt a lump in your throat but pushed through it, finishing with, “So thank you. To the people in my life who have stuck with me through the good and the bad. This is as much yours as it is mine.”

March 5th, 2020

Calgary, Canada

Life after the awards ceremony didn’t feel much different than before. It was still the same relentless rhythm—work, events, travel, more work. The brief moments of peace in between became rare and fleeting, like whispers in the storm of your career. Daniel’s season was supposed to start soon, and though you’d seen him twice after he flew to France for preparations, something between you felt... off. His distance was palpable, but you hadn’t allowed yourself to dwell on it too much. It was easier to stay busy, keep moving, and brush it off as a phase. After all, the both of you were pulled in so many directions—when was the last time anything felt normal?

A quiet dinner in your NYC apartment, one of the few times Daniel managed to swing by in between training sessions. The table was set with takeout boxes instead of a home-cooked meal—neither of you had the energy for anything more.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you said softly, watching him as he absentmindedly poked at his food with a fork. He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I miss this,” you added.

“Yeah, me too,” Daniel said, but the words were like dust on the air—insubstantial, weightless.

“Is everything okay? You’ve been quiet," you trailed off, unsure of how to breach the distance you felt growing between you.

He hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, just a lot on my mind with the season coming up. It’s…you know, a lot of pressure.”

You reached across the table and placed your hand on his. “You’re going to be great. You always are.”

He gave you that familiar smile, but it still felt like something was slipping through your fingers.

•••

By March, you had flown to Calgary to shoot a horror-adjacent film. The setting—a desolate cabin in the snow, miles from anywhere—was perfect for the kind of chilling atmosphere the director was aiming for. You’d always loved working with indie directors; their stories had depth, innovation, and a sense of grounded reality that the big-budget productions sometimes lacked. It was a reminder of why you fell in love with acting in the first place.

On set, things moved fast. Between takes, you found a quiet corner of the cabin and pulled out your phone to FaceTime with Taylor. She was mid-ranting when she answered.

“There’s a potential shutdown happening, babe. Something about a virus…COVID, or whatever they’re calling it. Have you heard anything about it?”

You’d heard whispers from the crew, but nothing had been confirmed. “I’ve heard some talk around set, but no one knows what’s happening yet.”

“Well, I’m telling you now, it’s serious. This might be the last project you get to work on for a while. Everything else is likely to be delayed. Keep your eyes open.”

You sighed, looking around as the crew moved around with their usual buzz of energy.

“Guess I’ll enjoy this last bit of freedom while I can.”

Taylor chuckled. “Yeah, enjoy it while you’re in the middle of nowhere. Call me if you hear anything else.”

You ended the call and pocketed your phone, the unease settling into your chest. Everyone around the set seemed unfazed, but the air had undoubtedly changed.

By the final days of production, the world was different. Everyone wore face masks, and hand sanitizer became the reigning deity on set.

•••

Reality hit hard. Flights were cancelled. No one could leave. You were stuck in the cabin, snow piling up outside like a barricade against the world, while the virus barricaded you from returning home. You made a grocery run the minute things got a little hectic, filling the place with more supplies than you’d ever seen yourself buy—just in case. The panic in the air was contagious, and chaos reigned for those first two weeks.

You FaceTimed your mom as you unpacked. “I’m stuck in Canada,” you said, laughing softly despite the anxiety that gnawed at your insides.

“Are you serious?” her voice was a mix of worry and exasperation. “You should’ve been back by now. What about New York?”

“I don’t know when I’ll be able to get back. Airports are closed.”

She sighed heavily, the sound crackling through the phone. “Just take care of yourself, honey, alright? Don’t be reckless. Are you alone?”

“Yeah, but I’ll be fine."

Her voice softened. “Be careful, okay?”

“I will, Mom. I promise.”

•••

It was a particularly dark, cold afternoon. The kind where the sky hung low with thick clouds and the cold crept in through the cracks of the cabin no matter how many layers you wore. You had wrapped yourself in a blanket, the silence of isolation pressing down heavier than usual when your phone buzzed on the table.

Daniel’s name appeared on the screen.

You hesitated, thumb hovering over the answer button, but you couldn’t ignore him. Not yet. So you swiped to answer and brought the phone to your ear, forcing a soft, casual, “Hey.”

His voice on the other end was calm, but there was an undercurrent to it—a kind of distance that had been growing for months. "Hey," he replied, his Aussie accent tinged with something heavy. "How’s it going over there?"

You shrugged, even though he couldn’t see it. “You know… same. Snowed in. A lot of waiting.” There was an awkward pause. You filled it with a half-hearted laugh. “How about you? Everything alright?”

He cleared his throat, and you could feel the shift before he even said it. “Actually… I don’t think we should keep this up.”

The words hit you like the cold outside, seeping into your bones, but not with shock—just a kind of muted inevitability. There it is, you thought, the final crack in what was already falling apart.

Your brain hummed with white noise after that. You don’t remember what you said in response, something vague like, “Yeah, I get it.” The words came out on autopilot, and you weren’t really listening anymore. It wasn’t traumatic; it wasn’t the kind of breakup that destroyed you. It was like slowly waking from a dream and realizing it had already ended before you even opened your eyes.

His voice was kind, soft—too soft. “You’re so great, you know that, right? This just… it wasn’t working anymore. For either of us.”

You nodded, though he couldn’t see it. Your mind was elsewhere—on the conversations with Pedro, on the way your heart leaped when you heard his voice instead of Daniel’s. You had known, deep down, for a while now where your heart really was.

“I guess we knew this was coming,” you finally managed, voice steady, as if you were discussing something as simple as the weather.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “But still… I didn’t want it to hurt.”

The niceties and the polite words that followed hurt more than any fight ever could have. It was the kindness of it that made it sting—the acknowledgment that neither of you had it in you to fight for something that had already drifted away. There was no anger, no raised voices, no accusations.

Just two people who had loved each other briefly, now saying goodbye like they were parting ways at an airport terminal.

“Well, take care of yourself, alright?” Daniel said softly.

“You too,” you whispered, already feeling the weight of finality.

And then it was over. The phone went silent in your hand, and you stared at the screen as if it could offer you some kind of closure that you weren’t sure you needed.

•••

The days began to bleed into one another. You were alone in that cabin—snowed in and quarantined from the world. The only connection you had was through your phone, through calls with Sarah and Oscar, who checked in on you daily.

Most days, you found ways to pass the time. You read, you cooked—burned some things, too—and found yourself sitting by the old piano that had come with the cabin. Your fingers brushed against the keys, unsure at first, after so much time spent focusing on acting. But the music came swiftly, like muscle memory. The songs poured out of you, stories in lyrical form, shaped by the silence and solitude around you.

But some nights, the quiet was too loud.

The breakup with Daniel lingered in the back of your mind like a dull ache. You had been okay with it for the most part; you knew it was coming, and neither of you were in it anymore. But there were nights, like tonight, when the weight of it crashed down and the loneliness felt too heavy to carry. You lay in bed, tears wetting the pillow, thinking about how everything had ended in polite goodbyes when maybe you needed the screaming.

•••

One day, in the middle of baking—flour dusting your hands and a bowl of half-mixed batter sitting on the counter—you received a text: “I hope you’re doing okay.”

You stared at it, your heart skipping a beat. You had thought about him every single day and wondered how he was coping and whether he was safe. Anytime Sarah called, you asked about him, telling yourself that it was enough to know from a distance. But now, with that simple text, you caved.

“I’m okay. Are you?”

His reply came almost immediately. “Not really. Mostly lonely.”

Your heart broke for him. You knew how hard it was for him to be alone. He thrived off people, off energy. And now, the world had gone still.

“Wanna talk?” you typed, holding your breath.

“Would love to hear your voice,” came the reply.

So you called him, and the hours melted away as you both talked about everything—about the virus, about work, about how isolating it all was. He asked, finally, “How’s Daniel?”

You hesitated. “We’re no longer together. Haven’t been for a while.”

There was a pause, then a soft, “Oh, I’m sorry.”

You quickly changed the subject, but it lingered between you, the unspoken acknowledgment of what that meant. After that, you spoke almost every day. The isolation became less suffocating, and with each call, you both felt a little less alone.

•••

On Pedro’s birthday, you baked a cupcake in his honor, lighting a single candle before FaceTiming him. When he picked up, he laughed, “You made me a cupcake?”

“Of course I did,” you said with a grin, holding up the tiny treat. “Now, pretend to blow out the candle.”

He played along, puffing his cheeks and making a ridiculous show of it. “Thank you for this. It’s not much of a birthday without people.”

“Well, you’ve got me,” you said, singing an off-key version of Happy Birthday. His laughter filled the space between you.

Later that night, he posted a screenshot of your call on his Instagram story, and the internet lost its mind. Comments flooded in—"Omg, she baked him a cupcake!"—“My favorite best friends!”—and you laughed at the attention it brought.

•••

One evening, as you sat at the piano again, your phone propped up with Pedro on FaceTime, he listened quietly as you played a new melody. “I think the lyrics need work,” you said, biting your lip.

He smirked. “Let me hear them.”

You hummed the first few lines, fumbling over the phrasing. “See, it doesn’t quite flow.”

“Let’s try this,” Pedro suggested, offering a line.

By the end of the night, the song felt whole, and you felt lighter.

The days passed—isolated and cold—but your connection with Pedro was alive and warm again. And as the weeks stretched on, you couldn’t help but wonder: How long until you fucked this up again?

October 5, 2020

Budapest, Hungary

Pedro had always known loneliness. It was a quiet, persistent companion, but in Budapest, it had taken on a new form. The city was beautiful, its streets old and layered with history, but none of it could distract him from the hollow ache in his chest. The early mornings on set, the long hours of filming—the work was steady. But outside of that, the hours stretched endlessly.

He had been filming in Europe for months, and though he loved his job, the thrill of creating something special—the distance—both physical and emotional—was wearing him thin. He had been keeping in touch with you, his constant thread of connection. The texts, the occasional FaceTime calls, were easy and comforting. But he could never shake the weight of what he hadn’t told you. What you didn't allow him to say. It felt like a brick in his stomach.

You lived strangely in his head.

He still hadn’t found the courage to say the words. I love you. They haunted him—a truth he couldn’t bring himself to speak. Every time he thought he was ready, he backtracked, swallowing the confession whole. His cowardice infuriated him. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d been in love with you for years, the feelings growing stronger and deeper, but now… now you were thousands of miles away, and he was stuck in this self-made purgatory.

His thoughts often drifted to his mother lately. She had always known how to comfort him, her voice soothing, her advice simple but profound. What would she have said about you? About his inability to speak the truth? He could hear her in his head, telling him to stop being such a fool, to just go for it. But she wasn’t here anymore, and he felt lost without her, more than he ever let on.

The days on set were repetitive but engaging. The crew was tightknit, and the project was exciting. He threw himself into work, hoping it would distract him. He laughed with the cast, bantered with the director, but when the camera wasn’t rolling, his mind was elsewhere. It was with you.

•••

A few weeks later, after wrapping up in Budapest, he found himself in Switzerland alone again. He didn’t know why he’d come. The scenery was breathtaking, the mountains vast and quiet, but the isolation magnified the emptiness he felt. It was as if everything had come to a standstill.

The stillness weighed on him. The quiet, once a solace, now felt oppressive. He spent his days wandering the small towns, drinking coffee in hidden cafés, trying to convince himself that the solitude was a gift. But he felt shattered, more broken than before.

One night, the loneliness became too much, and he called you. Desperation tightened his throat as he waited for you to pick up, his mind screaming at him to just tell you. The phone rang, and when you answered, your voice was soft, familiar, and full of comfort.

"Pedro," you said, and it was enough to stop him in his tracks.

His breath caught, and the confession lodged itself in his throat again. He had been ready, so ready, but hearing you—he thought better of it. What could he say that wouldn’t ruin everything?

"Hey," he replied, his voice rougher than intended. "Just wanted to hear your voice."

You chuckled softly on the other end. "You good?"

"Yeah, I’m good," he lied, the words heavy on his tongue. "Just…miss talking to you, that’s all."

"I miss you too," you said, and it broke him a little more. The call went on, but he had already retreated into himself, too afraid to say what needed to be said. He listened to you talk about your day, your laugh filling the silence on his end, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was failing—failing himself, failing you.

•••

The next day, he went for a walk. The air was cold, biting, but it didn’t bother him. He needed to clear his head. He walked along the cobbled streets, past quaint houses with shuttered windows, and let the weight of his feelings wash over him. It was overwhelming. His history with you, all the unsaid things, all the moments when he should have acted and didn’t. It crashed over him like a wave, leaving him breathless.

He found a bench and sat, his head in his hands. One day, he thought. One day, I’ll tell her.

December 31st, 2020

New York, NY

The phone call from Oscar came two weeks before New Year's Eve. His voice was warm, as it always was, but there was an unmistakable edge of hope in it, the kind that crept in after months of isolation.

“It’s just something small,” he had said. You could hear his smile through the phone, that charming grin he always wore. “Not a lot of people, you know. Just family and close friends. After the last few months we've had… I think we need this.”

You hadn’t seen Oscar in person in what felt like forever, and the idea of being with people—Oscar’s people, your people—sounded like a balm to the soul. You agreed before he could finish the invitation, the excitement bubbling up despite the world still not feeling quite right.

You got tested later that week, making sure you were safe to attend the gathering.

When you arrived at Oscar’s apartment, the city had an eerie quiet to it. New York was never still, even during the pandemic, but tonight it felt subdued, like it was holding its breath for something more. You headed for the entrance, and the soft sound of music spilled out the moment the doors opened.

Oscar met you with his arms wide open, pulling you into a tight hug. “Look who finally made it,” he teased, his face lighting up in that familiar way. “You look good.”

“You too,” you said, stepping back and taking in the warmth of the room. It was intimate—just the right amount of people to make you feel at home, but not so many that it felt overwhelming.

Before you could take another step, Sarah swooped in, stealing you from Oscar’s embrace with an exaggerated squeal. She enveloped you in a hug so tight you could barely breathe.

“I missed you so much!” she exclaimed, her eyes wide with delight. You hadn’t seen her in ages, and the reunion felt like a weight lifting off your chest. The two of you spent the next few minutes catching up, your laughter blending in with the soft chatter around the room.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw him. He had arrived a little late, typical of him, but the sight of him sent your heart into a dizzying spin. It had been almost a year since you last saw each other in person.

He moved through the room, and when he finally made his way toward you, your breath hitched. He wore a simple black t-shirt, the fabric clinging to his toned chest. His hair was longer, fluffy from the months of lockdown, and his big brown eyes—usually so full of light —looked tired.

But when he saw you, the weariness seemed to lift for a moment.

He said your name softly, stepping close. His arms opened, and you fell into them without hesitation, wrapping yourself around him in a way that felt too familiar, too safe. He held you tight, his grip lingering longer than necessary, like he was afraid to let go.

“Hey,” you breathed against his shoulder, inhaling the scent of him—pleasant, familiar, grounding. The world seemed to fall away for a moment, leaving just the two of you. You pulled back slightly, looking into his face, wanting to say something—anything. You couldn’t live without thinking about him. He consumed your every thought, and somewhere along the way, you had come to terms with how you felt about him.

But the words stuck in your throat.

“At last, we see each other,” he said, his voice quieter than usual, his hand still on your back.

“At last,” you repeated, your heart pounding against your ribs.

You both opened your mouths to speak, then laughed in unison.

"You first," Pedro said, his eyes twinkling with amusement, though there was something deeper there—something lingering just beneath the surface.

But before you could say anything more, Sarah reappeared, her arm hooking through yours as she dragged you away. “Sorry! I need to steal her for a sec,” she said with a laugh, oblivious to the quiet intensity of the moment she’d interrupted.

Pedro smiled at her, though his eyes flicked back to you. "What I wanted to say can wait," he said softly, his voice carrying a promise that sent a jolt through you.

You promised yourself you’d find him later.

•••

In the kitchen, you and Sarah were rummaging through cabinets for more drinks when you heard Oscar’s booming laugh. Turning, you spotted him and Pedro, who now had a ridiculous pointy birthday hat perched on his head. You burst into laughter at the sight, unable to resist.

“Cute hat,” you said, pulling your phone from your back pocket. “Let’s document this moment.”

He grinned, grabbing Oscar by the shoulder and pulling him in for the picture. Pedro tilted his head, drinking from his beer, and Oscar looked up at him with a puzzled expression as you snapped a photo.

“Perfect. That’s going on Instagram for sure,” you teased, and Pedro groaned.

Before anyone could respond, Oscar’s wife walked by, eyeing the hat on Pedro’s head with mock suspicion. Pedro took his cue, unlocking from Oscar and jokingly attacking her with the pointy hat, poking her side with the plastic tip. You snapped another picture, laughing as she swatted him away.

“Send that to me,” she called over her shoulder, and you nodded, tucking your phone back into your pocket just as Sarah handed you a drink.

•••

The night continued, the energy in the room bubbling up as the countdown to midnight approached. Karaoke had started in one of the rooms, and you couldn’t resist.

Pedro avoided it at all costs, standing in the doorway with a bemused expression. After your rendition of Losing My Religion, he caught your eye.

“That was something, huh?” he said, a smirk playing on his lips.

“I was extra terrible just for you,” you shot back, walking over to him. “I know how much you hate this.”

“You’re so thoughtful,” he said.

Just as you were about to respond, a woman’s voice broke through the moment. “Oscar said you were in here,” she said, stepping forward. “Hi.”

You turned to see her approach Pedro, and before you could fully register what was happening, she leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the lips. A casual, intimate gesture that sent a shock of realization through your entire body.

You blink, dumbfounded, as Pedro shifted slightly to make introductions. “This is Julia,” he said, his voice a little too calm for the turmoil suddenly spinning inside you.

Your mind raced, trying to place her. And then it hit you—she was in the group photos he posted from the crew of the movie he was filming in Budapest. One of the producers, you think.

Oh.

Julia greeted you happily, oblivious to the terrible ache now pooling in your chest. You felt your throat tighten, the words you had wanted to say earlier were now swallowed by this unfamiliar wave of jealousy and disappointment. You went mute, unable to find words that wouldn’t betray how much this hurt.

Pedro’s voice broke the silence again, almost too nonchalant. “This is what I wanted to talk about earlier.”

Your stomach twisted. “Oh, great,” you managed to say, forcing a smile that you didn’t feel.

“And you?” Pedro asked, clearly trying to keep things light. “You said you wanted to talk, too.”

Your heart hammered in your chest, and your mind screamed for you to say something—anything—but all you could muster was, “No, um, it was nothing, really.”

Something stung deep inside you. It was a dull ache, gnawing away at your resolve. You needed a way out. Fast.

“It was a pleasure to meet you,” you said to her, your voice tight. “If you’ll excuse me…”

And before either of them could say anything more, you slipped away, making a beeline for the kitchen where Oscar stood.

“Hey,” you blurted, pulling him aside. “He’s fucking dating someone? And you didn’t say a thing?”

Oscar looked at you, taken aback. “I—it wasn’t my news to share.”

You pressed your fingers to your forehead, trying to swallow the embarrassment. “I know. I know, I’m sorry. I just… I can't believe I was about to confess my love for him and make a fool of myself. Again.”

Oscar stared at you, his eyebrows raised. “You were what?”

You laughed, though it was tinged with bitterness. “Yeah. But now? I mean, clearly, it’s just another sign. The timing’s never right. Never.”

Was it punishment? you thought.

Oscar opened his mouth, then closed it, clearly uncertain of what to say. Instead, he walked over to the counter and grabbed another drink. “Here,” he said quietly, offering it to you.

You took it, staring at the liquid swirling in the glass.

"It’s fairly new, you know," Oscar said softly, his voice tinged with hesitation. "Like two weeks or something. It’s not serious yet."

“I just don’t get it,” you muttered, almost to yourself. “I don’t.”

Oscar sighed, his hand finding your back, a comforting weight that helped ground you. “I know. I know.”

You knew there was else nothing you could do right now, so you poured the drink down your throat, feeling the burn as it went down.

•••

“There you are,” Pedro called softly, his voice muffled by the cold air as he stepped through the glass doors onto the backyard patio. The wind hit him immediately, sharp and biting, but the bitter cold felt fitting, almost poetic.

You stood there, your back to him, a silhouette against the frozen horizon. For a moment, he was transported back to the first time he saw you in this very spot, under a much different sky. That night, the air had been warm, filled with the kind of anticipation that crackled with every glance exchanged. You had stood just like this, dressed similarly too, arms crossed against the world, hair cascading down your back like a curtain he desperately wanted to pull aside.

But tonight was different. Tonight, your shoulders were tense, hunched against more than just the cold. When you turned around, your face wasn’t full of curiosity. It was distant, your eyes heavy with an emotion he couldn’t quite name, but that he knew he was responsible for.

"You bolted out of there," Pedro said, his voice strained as he tried to sound casual, but the worry leaked through.

You gave a soft, bitter hum, a sound he couldn’t decipher but felt in his bones. "I was a bit shocked, honestly."

He swallowed, suddenly nervous, fumbling with the words he had rehearsed in his mind so many times but never managed to say. "I know. I wanted to tell you about her, I just... I don’t know. It’s new. I didn’t think it was important enough yet. I thought I’d find the right moment, but it never felt... appropriate. And I didn’t want to make things weird, you know?"

Pedro kept talking, words spilling out as he tried to explain. He mentioned her name—Julia—said they had met on set, that it wasn’t serious yet, that it had barely even begun. His voice grew quieter, more unsure with every sentence, as if he was trying to convince himself as much as you.

See, Pedro hadn't planned on getting into a relationship, not when his every thought was consumed by you, not when he knew he loved you, and yet here he was. He didn't know what he was doing anymore.

But your expression had already changed. He could see the way your face shut down, the way your gaze hardened, and it twisted something deep inside him.

“Don’t apologize to me about your relationship,” you said, the words sharp and cutting. “That’s the kind of thing that makes me feel like I’m some kind of Machiavellian villain.”

Pedro winced, his breath catching in his throat. He hated this. But before he could say anything, you spoke again, your voice lower, more controlled.

"Our time never seems to align, does it? It never has, and it never will. It's funny, even.” You paused, looking away, your voice a strained whisper.

Pedro wanted to scream. He wanted to tell you that he felt trapped between his own heart and the razor-sharp edge of what was right, what was fair. The guilt and longing were choking him, twisting his insides until all he could feel was the jagged ache of wanting something that was always just out of reach.

You took a deep breath, the cold air clouding in front of you like smoke.

"Are you happy?" you asked, your voice barely audible. A mirror of his very own "Do you love him?" from last year.

Pedro looked at you, his heart hammering in his chest. “I’m trying,” he said quietly, the truth in the words landing hard.

You nodded, your lips pressed together in a sad, resigned smile.

“Then that’s good enough for me.”

It was an unspoken agreement—a quiet acceptance that, once again, you were not meant to be. That your lives had written this story long before you’d ever had a say in it.

a/n: enough sadness, their time will come soon ;)

a like, reblog or comment, anything is very much appreciated <3

#pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal angst #pedro pascal fic #my writing #love is complicated fic

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fullsunfilm · 1 year ago

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what svt’s hyung line gets you for valentine’s day

genre | fluff, svt x gn!reader

wc | 440 and then some <3

seungcheol

he’s seen everything you’ve been eyeing since early january. when the 14th rolls around, he showers you in a mountain if gift boxes. each one contains an expensive clothing, bag, or accessory. seungcheol makes it clear that any pretty penny spent on you is worth it to see you smile.

jeonghan

he isn’t sure exactly what you want. he’s not the type to go all out and buy you something super expensive. instead, jeonghan opts for a more sentimental approach; a new disposable camera and two bus passes to the beach. the two of you fill the camera with goofy smiles, clinking glasses over pasta dishes, and calm memories in the sand at dusk.

joshua

joshua’s been planning a bracelet design for you since december. he’s been picking at chains, custom ordering charms, and hand-crafting trinkets. the whole thing really comes together in late january, when he finishes adding the final few pearls and clamps each metal ring closed. it’s not much, but he wears the biggest smile when he hands it to you at his meticulously planned candle-lit dinner.

jun

he’s a bit unsure if his gift is good enough. it’s corny and makes him cringe a little, but he decides to move forward with it. one visit to build-a-bear later, jun presents you an obnoxiously large teddy bear with a recorded voice message he begs you not to listen to when he’s around. despite the low quality speaker, you can make out the words “i love you, forever and always.”

soonyoung

valentine’s has never been soonyoung’s strongest holiday. he’s a practical gift-giver, and his mind goes blank when he tries to think of a gift for you. but, a few phone calls and pep talks later, he finally presents you with a pretty necklace with the initials “KSY” dangling from the chain. you notice his own necklace later, with your initials decorating his neck.

wonwoo

he gifts you a scrapbook full of memories. the tickets from your first date at the local fair, a photo of the abysmal snowman the two of you made last december, a receipt from the burger joint you both frequented on late nights when sleep wouldn’t come, along with candid photos of the two of you.

jihoon

he hates that it’s the only thing he can think of, but he does it anyway. after weeks spent locked in his studio, shuffling through lyrics, melodies, and rhythms, he manages to polish off a song before he plays it for you. despite his usually shy demeanor, he performs it for you at night, acoustic guitar and all.

a/n | back after a while! maknae line should be out soon

#svt x reader #svt fluff #svt drabbles #seungcheol fluff #jeonghan x reader #seungcheol x reader #jeonghan fluff #joshua fluff #joshua x reader #jun x reader #jun fluff #soonyoung fluff #soonyoung x reader #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo x reader #jihoon fluff #jihoon x reader

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voyagerweek · 7 months ago

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VOYAGER WEEK PROMPTS

DAY 1 - JAN. 10: Favorite Episode | Away Missions

DAY 2 - JAN. 11: Favorite Character | Meet You in the Runabout

DAY 3 - JAN. 12: Favorite Relationship | Allies & Enemies

DAY 4 - JAN. 13: Favorite Season or Arc | Time Travel

DAY 5 - JAN. 14: Favorite Quote | Home Away From Home

DAY 6 - JAN. 15: Favorite Holodeck Program | Lost in the Holodeck

DAY 7 - JAN. 16: Caretaker (S1E01) 30th Anniversary | FREE SPACE

Fanwork originally made and posted on Tumblr for this event with the tag #voyager week will be reblogged by this blog. Racism, bigotry, harassment, or discrimination of any kind will not be tolerated. Be respectful of other fans and have fun! FAQs ↴

How do I participate? Make a new post on Tumblr with the tag "#voyager week" during the week of January 10-16, 2025. Crossposting to other sites such as AO3 is allowed, but please also make a new post on Tumblr so this blog can reblog it. If your post has not been reblogged within 48 hours of posting, please send a DM to @voyagerweek along with the post. Submissions will only be reblogged during the event week and for up to two weeks after the event. Please do not post a submission before January 10, 2025.

Why are there two prompts for each day? Do I have to use one or both? There are two prompts to cover multiple interpretations of the event. A prompt that is accessible for a writer may not be for a gifmaker, for example. You may choose to use one or both prompts for each day, or multiple prompts from different days combined in one post, or no prompt! These prompts are being provided 5 months in advance of the event so that there is plenty of time to consider them, but if none of them inspire you, feel free to make a fanwork about Voyager that does not incorporate any of the prompts. The prompts are meant to inspire but not constrain your creativity. You may also submit multiple posts in one day. Participate as much or as little as you would like!

Can I post X kind of fanwork? Yes! If it is made by you (or you have express permission from the original creator) for this event, it counts as a fanwork and will be accepted. The following list of types of fanwork is not meant to be restrictive but to provide examples: fanfic of any length, fanart/comics, gifs/edits/fanvids, playlists, moodboards, meta discussions/essays/headcanons, crafting/textiles, cosplay, and anything else made by fans to show appreciation for Voyager. **Please put long written works below a "read more" cut**

What if my fanwork is part of an ongoing work such as a multi-chapter fanfic or series? That's fine! As long as whatever you post is new and made for this event, whether you use one of the prompts or not, it will be reblogged (i.e. you may not make a post for a previously published chapter of your fic, but a new chapter or installment posted during the event is acceptable).

Can my work include other Star Trek shows/movies/books/etc? Yes, as long as Voyager or its characters are one of the main focuses of the fanwork, you are welcome to incorporate other media properties, Star Trek or otherwise.

Can my work be about an actor or the production/behind the scenes of Voyager? Yes, as long as the work's focus is still on Voyager (i.e. not a gifset solely of the actor in another show/movie).

Are OCs (original characters) allowed? Yes, if a Voyager setting or its characters are included in the fanwork as well.

Are AUs (alternate universes) allowed? Yes. Canon divergence and different settings (i.e. modern AUs) are allowed if the work still features Voyager characters or elements.

Is NSFW/adult content allowed? Yes, as long as you tag appropriately with trigger warnings and follow Tumblr's restrictions for explicit content. Reblogs of works that contain graphic violence, sexual content, strong profanity, or nudity will be tagged #nsfw for filtering.

Threshold Day is January 29 and already a recognized fan event on Tumblr, why are you having a Voyager event that doesn't include this day? The dates were chosen to coincide with the thirtieth anniversary of the original airdate of the first episode of the first season. This event is meant to share enthusiasm for the entirety of Voyager, and hopefully that will continue after the event week is finished.

**If you have any other questions not covered by this list, please send an ask to @voyagerweek.**

#star trek #star trek voyager #voyager #voy #voyageredit #trekedit #startrekedit #voyager week

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door · 1 year ago

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i wanna take a minute and talk about my friend coleman.

coleman and i have been buds for a long time! when we both moved to the same city we achieved a bond that many service workers do: that of mutual discounts. coleman was a barista across the street from where i was a bookseller, and we passed each other as many free/discounted books and coffees as we could get away with. i always felt i had the better deal, however, because while i got cheap lattes i also got a glimpse into what coleman was thinking about and working on.

"do you have any patricia highsmith" he'd text me, and i'd raid the mystery section and think what story is going to come from this? he got very into oskar schlemmer's Triadic Ballet and i started checking any books we got in about the bauhaus for new images and texting them his way, knowing i was going to see it reflected in art someday soon. because the thing about coleman, maybe my favourite thing about him (among many, many things) is the way he will pursue a set of interests and then synthesize them all into a work of art that is entirely new and entirely him and like nothing i've ever seen before.

coleman makes comics. you might have seen his art in steven universe issues, or on tapas, or here on tumblr (like this one, about creating a personal color palette for himself, which literally changed my life). most of them you haven't seen, however, which kills me. i've edited a number of graphic novel pitches for coleman and i can tell you the stuff he comes up with is GOOD. it's weird and queer and earnest and original, all of it, every time. i really hope y'all will get to see some of it someday. but my point is that you can see this one thing right now:

coleman has been working on stone fruits for months and as of january 1st it's updating every day. it's a love letter to newspaper comics and early webcomics. it's about losing the spark of creativity and having to keep going anyway, and queer communities and weirdos and going home. this thing is so lovingly crafted, from the hand-drawn buttons (which change on certain days) to the fact that the website is .net. No element was too small to be considered, and it has been a joy to watch coleman consider them.

i want coleman to find his audience. he deserves it, and so does the audience. read stone fruits.

#tldr COLEMAN RULES. READ STONE FRUITS #friend coleman #stone fruits #this post shows admirable restraint btw #coleman is truly an incredible creator and y'all need to get on this train

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malk1ns · 2 months ago

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january 29 @ utah, 3-2 OT win

hi geno. this was inspo for today's.

sid is rounding into form and had several milestones in this game.

Zhenya understands why sometimes new guys mistake him for part of the equipment staff, or one of the trainers.

It’s been decades since your designation stipulated what types of jobs you’re allowed to have, even in the NHL. There are omegas at all levels these days, and the Penguins hire more than most. With Zhenya’s tendency to mooch around the training facilities in athletic gear, it’s never a surprise when a rookie or a new signing tries to hand off their gear to him, or stop him to ask a question about their rehab plan.

Zhenya’s too nice to turn up his nose and sneer, even though handling sweaty hockey gear even for a second makes him want to hurl. They never make that mistake more than one time anyway, not when they see the symbol on his badge or one of the more established guys comes up to poke fun at them for the misunderstanding.

Zhenya doesn’t mind. He knows he dresses a little untraditionally for a contracted omega; the girls are usually decked out in skimpy dresses that wouldn’t be out of place at a nightclub, and the guys tend to either wear formalwear or mesh. Anything to stand out.

He hasn’t felt a need to stand out in a long time. It’s not like anyone who counts is going to forget what he’s got on offer.

The rest of the team omegas usually watch games from whatever room the team has set up for them. Zhenya goes sometimes, to mingle with the omegas with other teams he’s known for years and introduce himself to the newbies, but most games find him down in the lounge, taking advantage of the quiet and craft services to have some snacks and zone out on his phone.

He usually keeps the game on in the background, just to keep track of what the mood in the room is going to be after.

This road trip has been pretty ugly, but Zhenya’s watching raptly when Sid backhands in the overtime winner, and the manic smile on his face as the players all pile on him says it all.

He’s on the clock now, so Zhenya beelines to the trainers to get his knee looked at quickly and make sure the muscle he strained in the pickup game he went to last week is in good shape. He manages to skid into the locker room just before Sully starts in on his postgame pep talk.

The omegas always cluster at the far end of the locker room, out of the way of the cameras if they can help it. Zhenya ends up standing next to Evelyn, who gives him a pointed once-over, rolls her eyes, and turns to face the coaching staff.

Evelyn’s new, and she doesn’t like him. Zhenya doesn’t take it personally. Whenever the Penguins contract on a new omega, they always walk into the job thinking they’re going to shoot to the top of the pecking order, that the big prize on the Penguins will lay eyes on them and be so overwhelmed by their scent that he plucks them from the crowd and makes them his favorite.

Evelyn does smell nice, sweet and slightly fruity, like the jam Zhenya likes to stir into his tea. She’ll be popular. She’ll never be a threat, though.

Eventually she’ll come around. Zhenya’s charming and funny, and he’s been able to win over every omega the Penguins have hired over the last 19 years. She’s taking longer than most, admittedly, but he’ll figure her out before the end of the season.

Sid gets the helmet tonight, which isn’t a surprise. The commentary from the team is explicit enough that Zhenya can see the cameraman wincing.

Finally everyone calms down enough for the players to pick their omegas.

Zhenya’s never known how they decide who gets to pick one for the night. There are the obvious ones, of course, the game-winner or the goalie that kept them in the game or the guy who scored his first NHL goal. Outside of that, though, the team has some arcane internal system for deciding who gets a reward for any given game.

It doesn’t matter. Zhenya isn’t like the rest of the omegas, waiting to see who picks them, if anyone. A night off isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but an omega who goes too long without getting selected is in danger of getting traded, or sent to the AHL affiliate, or cut entirely.

Sid will pick last like always, so Zhenya watches the rest of tonight’s winners make their selections.

Ned and Petey, both of whom are far too faithful to their wives to utilize a team omega, cede their choices to Rusty, who isn’t. His grin is sharklike when he pulls two omegas along with him to his stall, and Zhenya snorts, loudly enough to distract Evelyn from where she’s staring at Sid to glare at him again.

Whatever psychic summoning she was trying doesn’t work. Karl picks her, which doesn’t surprise Zhenya at all—he knows everyone’s type. He swings her into his arms as she giggles up at him, batting her eyelashes. Zhenya smiles blandly at her when she shoots a poisonous glare over Karl’s shoulder, then moves his gaze to Sid.

“Boring,” Zhenya hears Tanger mutter as Sid gives to the staffer who’s in charge of writing down their choices Geno’s name.

“Smart,” Zhenya corrects, tilting his head just enough so that his scent starts to fill the room. “Sid gets best, he knows this—why change?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tanger says with an eye roll, but Zhenya doesn’t miss the way his nostrils flare.

Zhenya’s scent has always defied an easy description. There’s something marine about it, salt and wind and ocean spray, but with a base note that’s just on the verge of being unpleasantly spicy. It’s complicated, and it turns heads wherever he goes. Some people hate it, but some—a surprising amount of athletes—find it absolutely irresistible.

None more than Sidney Crosby, who’s making his way across the room, a huge grin on his face.

“Did you watch?” he demands, stopping scant inches from Zhenya. He’s still in his base layers, and if it were anyone else Zhenya would wrinkle his nose and step back, but he’s been conditioned into finding Sid hot no matter what state he’s in—and it doesn’t hurt that his own scent is especially sharp right now, citrus and sugar and gin making Zhenya’s mouth water.

“Such good goal, Sid,” Zhenya praises, watching as Sid’s chest puffs. “Best backhand, like, goalie doesn’t have chance. Great win for team, too.”

“Yeah,” Sid says, looking around the room with a fond smile. The guys who got omegas are all happy, of course, chatting with their picks at their stalls before staff shows up to hustle everyone into the showers and out to the shuttle, but everyone else smells happy too, relief and excitement saturating the air. “We needed it.”

Zhenya’s not a part of the team, not like the players are, but he takes pride in their successes and mourns their rough streaks too. A happy, chattering locker room settles something in him, especially after how dire they’ve been the last week.

“You get for them,” he says, redirecting Sid’s attention back to him. “Surprise you let them give you helmet, though.”

Sid shrugs sheepishly at that. The helmet isn’t meant for players like him, he’d explained to Zhenya years ago. For big milestones, sure, but it’s meant to recognize a guy who did a lot of little things right, or someone who’s been struggling and got the monkey off their back. Sometimes, though, the players insist, and Sid almost always gives in when his team wants something for him.

“Okay,” Tags says, popping up at Sid’s shoulder and smacking his arm. “C’mon, Sid, you know he’s a sure thing, you don’t need to flirt. We need to get packed up and get to the plane. You’ll get him back when we land.”

Sid looks ready to snap something unkind, so Zhenya reaches forward and squeezes Sid’s shoulder, and Sid relaxes, heading obediently back to his stall to strip off the rest of his gear.

Tags watches him go, shaking his head. “Pain in the ass,” he mutters, but it’s fond, just like everyone on the Penguins is when dealing with Sidney Crosby. “Hey, did I see JP at UPMC the other day? You thinking of extending after all?”

Zhenya hesitates, and Tags doesn’t push, giving Zhenya a kind smile as he rushes off to start breaking down the room.

Zhenya’s agent had been in town, it’s true. He’s been fielding calls about Zhenya’s contract status for months, now that Zhenya’s eligible to extend again starting in July, and he’d wanted to meet with Zhenya face-to-face.

He’d left their meeting frustrated, Zhenya knows. He’s not being a very helpful client right now.

He brushes those thoughts away and makes his way to the dry change room to throw sweatpants on over his compression shorts and grab his bag. He’s really looking forward to going home.

—

Technically, omegas and players aren’t supposed to sit together on the plane. There’s something about it in the code of conduct contracts everyone signs, to keep any funny business with team omegas away from team property, but when Sid snags Zhenya as he’s walking down the aisle towards the back and tugs him into the empty seat next to him, nobody has much of a reaction except for Ty, who shakes his head at Sid but keeps walking.

“Sorry,” Sid says, not sounding very sorry at all. “I just didn’t want you walking past everyone.”

Zhenya stares at him, unimpressed. He’s never had any problems with any of these guys. The last time a player joked about picking Zhenya before Sid was able to, Sid had practically dropped fang in the locker room and the guy had been traded a week later. Nobody who’s sitting on this plane is going to give Zhenya a hard time or look at him twice, not after a game like that and with the way Sid’s smelling. “Okay,” he says, making sure he sounds exactly as skeptical as he feels. “So, what we do?”

Sid’s eyes drop to Zhenya’s mouth, but before Zhenya can say a word he shakes his head and leans down to dig through his bag, pulling out his iPad. “Want to watch something?” he says, offering the tablet to Zhenya. “I haven’t watched any more episodes of Severance after the ones we watched together.”

“Me too, was waiting,” Zhenya says, grabbing the iPad and scrolling until he finds the right app. Sid’s found Zhenya’s headphones, a too-expensive pair Sid bought for him a few years ago, and when they’ve got the audio figured out so they both can listen they settle into their chairs.

Sid’s warm against Zhenya’s side, and he smells fantastic, strong and masculine and like a winner. Zhenya shifts in his seat and tries to focus on the show, but his mouth is watering and he thinks he’s getting wet. If Sid notices, he’s too polite to comment on it.

They have to wait until they’re back at Sid’s house. Sitting together is one thing; Sid gets rules bent for him all the time. Starting something with the team all around them, though, might actually have consequences, and Zhenya’s not willing to risk that.

He misses most of what happens in the show. From how Sid’s scent grows, though, he’s not doing much better. They’ll just have to re-watch these episodes some other time.

—

Sid’s restless by the time they touch down at Pittsburgh International. Zhenya spends the last hour of the flight with his hand covering the back of Sid’s neck trying to pump calming pheromones at him, but it’s pretty much a lost cause; he even snarls at Kris when he walks past their row.

Kris just rolls his eyes at them. Zhenya grimaces apologetically and thinks to himself that probably this is why omegas aren’t supposed to sit with the players that picked them on the plane.

Sid bats Zhenya’s hands away from his own carry-on and shepherds him off the plane, practically tripping in his haste to get them both to his car. Zhenya barely manages to toss his keys to a staffer; they’ll get his own car to Sid’s house for him to use in the morning.

If Sid lets him leave tomorrow. Sometimes he doesn’t. That’s not technically allowed either; an omega’s obligation ends after twelve hours, but nobody can dictate what Zhenya does in his off-hours—or who.

Sid relaxes once he’s got Zhenya tucked safely into his passenger seat. The further he drives them away from the airport, the more his shoulders come down, and once they’re pulling into his garage and the gate is closing behind them he’s practically jovial again.

“It was a pretty good game, eh?” he says, hauling their bags inside and dropping them unceremoniously in the mudroom. Zhenya considers making a fuss—he’s got a lot of his nice clothes in there, after all—but for all that Sid’s finally stopped looking around for an active threat, he’s still practically vibrating with pent-up energy and hormones. Zhenya can bill him for his dry-cleaning.

“Great game,” he affirms, letting Sid tow him to the staircase. Sometimes Sid gets like this, needs his ego petted before he’ll let the game go and take his reward. “You get team working together, like, everyone on same page. I’m know you figure out what to do.”

Sid sends a smirk over his shoulder, and Zhenya shivers a little at the show of teeth, suddenly aware on a very primal level that he’s alone with a dominant alpha male that’s strong enough to take him down and keep him there without much effort.

Sid’s smile goes sharp at the turn Zhenya’s scent takes, and the click when he shuts his bedroom door sounds final.

Zhenya hasn’t made his living off reading alphas his entire adult life for nothing, though. He knows what it is Sid really wants tonight.

Before Sid can turn around from closing them into his room, Zhenya’s got him pinned against the door, wedging his hand around Sid’s chin and turning his head so Zhenya can see his face. Sid looks like he’s going to fight it for a second, but Zhenya grinds against him, rubbing his dick along Sid’s ass, and Sid lets out a long breath, deliberately letting his muscles go lax.

“And I figure out what to do with you,” Zhenya coos, trailing his hand down Sid’s torso until he can grope Sid’s dick through his jeans. He’s rock-hard, huge in Zhenya’s hand, and when Zhenya squeezes Sid growls, bucking his hips forward into Zhenya’s grip. “Yeah, you want it bad, I watch you all night and I think to myself, he’s play so good, superstar, I get to have him tonight.”

“Fuck,” Sid hisses through gritted teeth, letting Zhenya manhandle him back to the bed and shove him onto the mattress face-first.

Once he gets Sid naked, Zhenya spends some time groping his ass. He doesn’t get his hands on Sid this way all that often, so he ignores Sid’s whining to really appreciate it.

The omegas from other teams always giggle over Sid when they’re gossiping with Zhenya. He’s more than happy to share tidbits—nothing too personal, of course, nothing that would get either of them in trouble or result in bad press if it went public, but enough to make them jealous, make sure everyone knows what they’re missing out on. They couldn’t even dream of anything like this, though. Sid’s ass is everything that’s been said about it and more.

Zhenya reaches down to palm himself, taking the edge off a little. Sid figures out what he’s doing and struggles under Zhenya’s hold until he manages to flip onto his back, propping himself up on his elbows to stare.

Zhenya’s got a big dick for an omega. It’s nowhere near even the most poorly-endowed alpha, obviously, but he’s proud of it, knows how to use it. When he fucks around with betas and other omegas in the offseason, he does his best to leave them panting and bow-legged.

Sid’s bow-legged enough on his own already, but he’s got a perverse fascination with Zhenya’s dick and balls. Has since the beginning, really, the first time he felt comfortable enough to hint around this as something he wanted sometimes. It turns Zhenya’s crank the way Sid practically drools over his dick.

“You want?” he asks, cupping his balls and tugging meanly, watching Sid’s mouth drop. “Yeah, you do. Big strong alpha, big important captain, everyone wants to say how good you’re play—what if they knew, huh? What if they saw how much you like getting fucked by omega dick? What you think they’re say?”

“Oh my god,” Sid whimpers, reaching forward. Zhenya slaps his hands down, baring his teeth when Sid moans and his dick twitches, drooling precome all over his stomach. “G, please, I need it bad.”

“I know, baby,” Zhenya croons, leaning off to the side to paw through Sid’s nightstand until he finds the lube. “I give to you, nice and hard like you’re deserve.”

Sid lets Zhenya turn him back over and tuck a pillow under his hips, spreading his legs obediently when Zhenya tells him to.

“Good boy,” Zhenya says, watching Sid’s whole body shudder. “I take care now.”

He opens Sid up agonizingly slow. Sid shivers and pants and sweats under him, squirming back for more as Zhenya gets one finger, then two, then three into him.

Sid’s always so tight when they do this. It’s a good thing he doesn’t like alphas, not even for an occasional dalliance, because Zhenya’s not sure there’s enough lube in the world that would let another alpha get at his ass.

There’s plenty for what Zhenya’s working with, though.

Sid’s practically incoherent by the time Zhenya takes himself in hand and lines up against his hole. “Take it now,” he mutters practically to himself, pushing until he’s inside Sid’s body.

He can feel Sid squeeze around him, an instinctive rejection, before he takes a breath and relaxes. When Zhenya pushes all the way in with one smooth thrust, they both moan.

Zhenya goes slowly at first, but when Sid fumbles one arm back and grabs his thigh, he tucks his head, braces his palms on the mattress, and starts to fuck him in earnest.

Sid always goes so, so quiet when he’s getting fucked. It had alarmed Zhenya the first time; he’d stopped, concerned Sid was in pain, or had changed his mind and didn’t know how to say it.

As if Zhenya could ever do anything to Sid that Sid wasn’t explicitly allowing.

Now, Zhenya focuses on his smell, the way the citrus blooms so heavy it’s overripe, almost rotten, the closer Sid gets to the edge. He runs his hands over Sid’s back to feel his muscles clenching and relaxing, the way his hips hitch into the pillow as he rubs himself off.

When Sid’s scent is strong enough that Zhenya feels like he’s practically drunk off the gin lacing through the orange, Zhenya slips his hand under Sid’s torso and squeezes hard where his knot would pop if he were fucking an omega.

Sid howls. His back bows to an almost painful angle as he comes. His dick kicks in Zhenya’s hand, pumping come out at an incredible rate, and Zhenya whines at the feeling, clenching around nothing as he fucks Sid through it. He knows what it feels like when Sid comes inside him, and the smell of Sid’s come kicks at something in his brain that makes him want to fawn and beg.

He grits his teeth and fucks Sid harder instead, holding him to the mattress with the full weight of his body until he grinds in one last time and comes with a grunt.

As soon as he’s got control of his limbs again, Zhenya pulls out and rolls to the side, making sure to give Sid space. They’ve learned the hard way that sometimes Sid’s body reacts in the aftermath before his brain can, and Zhenya isn't interested in spending 20 minutes trying to talk down an angry, hormone-addled alpha who’s got him pinned to the floor tonight.

Sid comes back to himself quickly tonight, and it’s not long before Zhenya finds himself in Sid’s arms, cheek rubbing against Sid’s pec as Sid plays with the hair at the nape of his neck. Zhenya purrs, going boneless at the answering rumble in Sid’s chest.

He’s practically half-asleep when Sid opens his mouth and jolts him back to wakefulness.

“Has Kyle talked to you about your contract?”

Zhenya freezes.

Some of the guys, like Tags earlier, have been tiptoeing around asking him outright. Trust Sidney Crosby to just rip the bandaid off.

The truth is, Kyle’s been asking him to sign for at least another year for months now. He wants Zhenya there for Sid, he’d explained; nobody else knows Sid as well as Zhenya does, nobody can get to him when he needs sense talked into him. Nobody could step into his shoes.

It’s the truth, which doesn’t make it less flattering. Zhenya’s still hesitating, though.

Sid clears his throat. “I mean. I know you’re probably…well, this is your fourth contract here, and I wouldn’t blame you if-—you’ve probably got offers from all over the place, right? You don’t need to stay in Pittsburgh.”

“Yes,” Zhenya says warily. There’s no such thing as tampering rules when it comes to omegas; teams are allowed to submit contract proposals whenever they want. JP’s got a filing cabinet in his office dedicated to the most outlandish offers Zhenya’s gotten over the years. The compensation packages aren’t as outrageous as they were a decade ago, but they’re still lucrative, and there are plenty to choose from.

He could go somewhere warm if he wanted. He could walk into a new locker room, one that’s closer to winning the Cup, and relive the manic adrenaline rush that is a run for the championship one last time. There are options that would cater to whatever whim he wants to indulge.

But…

“I figured,” Sid mutters, and his scent goes briefly sour. “I know that Pittsburgh isn’t…there are other cities. But I was wondering, maybe…I mean, I’d never ask you to quit, not if you didn’t want to, but if you’re thinking that maybe you don’t…” He blows a big gust of air out of his nose, laughing ruefully. “Sorry. This is coming out all wrong. But, I wanted to ask…” He tightens his arms around Zhenya briefly before loosening entirely, rolling Zhenya away from him until they’re face-to-face. “I was wondering, would you consider contracting with…with me, instead. Like, as my omega. Not mine, oh my god, you’re your own person, obviously. But—”

Zhenya lets him babble, staring at him wide-eyed.

Sid’s hinted at this for years now. Zhenya never really took it seriously—alphas say all kinds of shit when they’re knot-deep in an omega’s pussy and drunk on pheromones. Before Sid put unofficial dibs on Zhenya and he’d still get picked by others, he’d been proposed to probably half a dozen times. But…

Sid had emailed him this past August, just a few days before his own contract extension went public. They talk pretty frequently over the summers, just to catch up and chat, but this message had gone a little more serious than their off-season conversations usually do.

I don’t know how much longer I’m going to play, not really, Sid had written. I don’t want to be one of those guys that everyone looks at and shakes their head, like, why isn’t he retiring, doesn’t he see he doesn’t have it anymore—you know? I never want to go out that way. I do know that I don’t want to do it without you, though. Even if you decide to hang them up after you’re done, I hope you’re still around with me.

Zhenya can recite that email word-for-word. Sid hadn’t said a thing about it when they both got back to Pittsburgh for camp so Zhenya hadn’t brought it up either. He’s spent the intervening months wondering, though, and avoiding his agent’s increasingly irritated missives about giving Kyle an answer.

“Yes.” Zhenya interrupts whatever no doubt embarrassing nonsense Sid is stammering his way through. “Yes, I want. Want to stay with you. Be yours.”

#sidgeno #hockey rpf #my writing #my fic #24-25 series #oh my god why is this so long. what happened. i think i blacked out.

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strawberrypinky · 3 months ago

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fic recs - best of 2024 ✨🍓

With 2024 drawing to a close, I have decided to do a "best of 2024" fic rec list. I already did a round of recommendations in May of this year and I loved the positivity I was able to spread by sharing a few kind words about some fics that I have read and loved.

2024 was year of immense personal growth and changes for me (though I suspect 2025 will be equally... challenging) and I haven't read as many fics as I usually would have. However, I still came across quite a few wonderful ones, so without further ado here's my best of for 2024!

This is also me making up for the fact that I don't ever comment on fics. Sorry to the authors of the mentioned fics - I'm usually very awkward, but I promise I loved your fics. Otherwise they wouldn't have ended up on here

Baldur's Gate 3 Arguably the fandom I participated in the most this year after getting the game in January of 2024. I think precious little fandom content has stayed with me as intensely as anything Baldur's Gate, and I am so so appreciative of all the wonderful people I have met through this game. I wish I would've had more time for the amazing content people created (and continue to create!) for this game, alas, here's my top fanfiction for 2024:

❦

dealbreaker [A!Astarion x Tav] - @goodgirlgonebard

❦ Plot: "Dealbreaker" explores the dynamic between Willow (Tav) and an ascended Astarion, as they try to navigate their feelings for one another post breakup and post-brain, both with wishes and desires of their own, such as marriage, children and the possibility of an eternity together. ❦ strawberry's thoughts: I’ve only ascended Astarion once (purely for the plot, of course), and I firmly believe it’s his bad ending. That said, when it comes to fan fiction, I absolutely devour the dynamics between an Ascended Astarion and Tav/Durge, because the toxic complexity of their relationship is endlessly fascinating. Dealbreaker does an exceptional job of capturing the push and pull that defines both Astarion and Willow, even though it portrays A!Astarion in a somewhat softer light. It works perfectly within the context of the story, thanks in part to how delightfully idiotic Willow and Astarion can be when it comes to their own feelings. The blend of drama, fluff, and angst is just right, and I absolutely adore watching them navigate their way through it all together. There's also a song rec at the start of each chapter and Ms Ambs has taste 🤌🏻 Definitely my favourite BG3/Astarion read of the year!

❦

Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal [A!Astarion x Durge] - @brain-rot-central

❦ Plot: After becoming the first ever Vampire Ascendant, Astarion begins to forge a new path for himself. Months after the defeat of the Netherbrain he returns to his former lovers life and the two grapple with the changed dynamics of their former relationship. ❦ strawberry's thoughts: "Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal" delves into a darker exploration of the relationship between Ascended Astarion and a redeemed Dark Urge, yet it remains utterly captivating. The crafted narrative feels both believable and seamless, drawing you into Durge's deeply personal fears as she becomes entangled once again in Astarion's life. The portrayal of her anxiety is so vivid that it transfers to you as a reader. The tension between them feels palpable to you - a sort of nightmare fuel that has you anticipating something bad is going to happen at the next second and you somehow know it will. I'm very curious to see this continue, because it's so beautifully fucked up. ❦ Note: This fic contains dark content.

❦

The Last of the Silverboughs [Halsin & Tav, Astarion/Tav] - Stillmaurauding (AO3)

❦ Plot: Halsin, burdened by the weight of his past, encounteres Lythra, a young Drow woman whose nature leaves him utterly perplexed. Meanwhile she is relentless in her efforts to break free from her own trouble history in Menzoberranzan and the two forge an unlikely bond as they navigate a the journey to Baldur's Gate. ❦ strawberry's thoughts: Considering Halsin's character in the game, I understand why there’s minimal exploration of him as a father figure in storytelling, apart from scenarios involving Tav or Durge making him one. That said, he fits beautifully into the role of a quasi-father to Lythra throughout this narrative. The story delves into some very dark themes, but I’ve truly appreciated the nuanced approach to trauma, especially through Lythra’s character. The progression of the relationships, as well as the tensions within the group, feel very natural and there is enough intrigue with every chapter to make you want to continue. I hope the author eventually picks this up again. I'm also fairly certain they are on tumblr, however, I haven't been able to find them. If anyone knows their handle, let me know. I'd love to give credit where it's due :) ❦ Note: This fic contains dark content.

❦

O, Fortuna [Raphael/Dark Urge] - @gufu-vire

❦ Plot: Post the events of BG3, a redeemed Dark Urge and Raphael renegotiate terms to fulfil a contract sworn upon during the crisis of the Absolute. An adventure fraught with tension, frustration, conflict, and more as the reader partners up with the devil you love to hate ❦ strawberry's thoughts: Most biased spot on this list, especially if you've been following me for a while. I do not read Raphael fics, because while I understand the appeal, he's simply not my guy. However, I've been here for "O, Fortuna" since it was still in early development and Gufu said she hasn't got another longfic/slowburn in her, and thus it's ending up on here. It's definitely the longest fic on this list and quite an emotional journey, but I promise it's worth it. ❦ Note: This fic contains dark content, specifically towards the end.

❦

In Another Life, I Knew You [Astarion/Tav] - spaced_egg (AO3)

❦ Plot: After 200 years of believing him to be dead, Tav is once again faced with her ex-fiancé Astarion, who has little recollection of his life before Cazador. Now having to navigate tadpoles, the end of the world and feelings of both the past and the present, Tav and Astarion journey through Faerûn together. ❦ strawberry's thoughts: When I first read the summary of the fic I was quickly intrigued, because the concept of Tav and Astarion having known each other before he became a vampire offers up so many possibilites and adds layers of depth I really appreciate. "In Another Life, I knew You" does a wonderful job of expanding on their past and focussing on their present situation and as a reader you find yourself easily engrossed into the story. The dynamic between the two of them is written in a very believable way and I dearly hope the author is going to continue the story in 2025.

❦

Judgement by the Hounds [Gortash/Dark Urge] - @septembersummer

❦ Plot: A look into the relationship of The Dark Urge (Seren) and Gortash, from their first meeting up to their shared end. "The rise and fall of the worst situationship of all time" indeed. ❦ strawberry's thoughts: "Judgement by the Hounds" is getting a place in my fic recs for a second time, because it is quite possibly the best portrayal of Durgetash ever. It's basically canon to me at this point, because of how realistic their relationship is depicted (as in, realistic for them). I went through all fives stages of grief reading that story, and I so desperately kept hoping for a happy ending, even if Durgetash are the last people to deserve it. 10/10 fic - there's literally nothing else I can say.

❦

Miscellaneous One Shots/Short stories (Includes the ones I already recommended in May bc let's spread some love): legacy with no memory by @discordsmuse on AO3 - Gortash x The Dark Urge The Weight of A Promise by @sserpente on tumblr [Part 2 is equally good!] - Gortash x Tav/OC kiddo. by @avocado-writing on tumblr. - Gortash & OC to have and to hold by @littlejuicebox on tumblr. - Astarion x Tav choices. by @deadtired-highkeyenergetic on tumblr - Astarion x Tav how to win a custody battle in one easy step. by alltears on AO3 - Astarion x Tav Dangerous by NaeveTheWizard on AO3 - Astarion x The Dark Urge

The Ascendant Takes A Bride by @deadly-diminuendo on tumblr - Astarion x OC lilac and gold by @sorceresssundries on tumblr - Halsin x Tav Until We Wake, also by sorceresssundries on tumblr - Gale x Tav pygmalion's folly by AutopsyGarlands on AO3 - Gortash x Tav The Dark Prince by @reverieblondie on tumblr - Rolan x Tav For Old Times' Sake by @sserpente on tumblr - Gortash x Tav Ma'am by @kimberbohwrites on tumblr/AO3 - Rolan x Tav To Care Enough by @locallegume on tumblr - Astarion x Tav colors of the wind by al9ayf on AO3 - Halsin x Tav To Sever the Thread by anotheropti on AO3 - Shadowheart x Tav

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Honourable Mentions: Honourable mentions go out to several artists whose work I have throughly enjoyed throughout the year!

@starrforge - Incredible Halsin x Tav artwork! @lirotation - My favourite Astarionx Tav artwork, including amazing comics! @shellytheleo - Utterly beautiful Bloodweave content @heyitsjaki - THE BEST COMICS. I love how Gale suffers. Immaculate. @infernaldaydreams - Added to the BG3 category for the amazing Durgetash art, but damn if the DA art isn't immaculate as well.

Hogwarts Legacy I left behind Hogwarts Legacy at the start of the year, however one fic has still managed to secure a spot on my best of 2024 list:

merry and bright [Sebastian Sallow x M!MC] - @heyitszev

❦ Plot: Years after having left his magical hometown of Feldcroft, now streamer Sebastian Sallow returns home for the holidays to celebrate his sisters' nuptials. He expects a short visit, until he meets Charlie, Feldcroft's baker and potions master, and realises what he's been missing all along. ❦ strawberry's thoughts: I am a sucker for Hallmark movies - the cliches and predictability are something I eat up time and time again. So when the wonderfully talented Zev decided to write a hallmark fic with a gay couple at its center, I knew I would eat it up. "merry and bright" is perfect in taking itself serious enough yet also allowing for the typical hilarity and easygoing nature of Hallmark movies. The main characters are adoringly clueless yet charmingly witty and I cannot get enough of the dynamics between all of them.

Dragon Age: The Veilguard Having not played the first three DA games, I know precious little about the universe as a whole. I have several opinions on the game/plot itself, but the community has created some incredible content that deserves to be honoured and appreciated!

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Rookie [Viago de Riva & F!Rook, Lucanis Dellamorte/F!Rook] - @marcell-arts

❦ Plot: Rook (or "Rookie") de Riva navigates growing up as a Fledgling of House de Riva as a former slave, before eventually becoming the Hero of the Veilguard. ❦ strawberry's thoughts: Confession time: there’s nothing I love more than a good 'found family' dynamic, especially when it includes a reluctant father/brother figure. That trope alone is usually enough to win me over. I stumbled upon this fic late one night when it had about 15 chapters. Safe to say, I didn’t get much sleep because I was hooked from the very first chapter. The writing is absolutely phenomenal, with pitch-perfect pacing (seriously, it’s masterful) and just the right blend of detail, headcanons, and canon divergence. It manages to stay true to the game while carving out its own identity, and the dynamic between Rook and Viago is equal parts heartwarming and hilarious - ultimate tsundere/reluctant dad meets the kid he practically scooped out of a dumpster energy. Additionally, the relationships Rook forms before teaming up with Varric add so much depth and dimension to her as an original character; they really make her feel alive. This is hands-down one of the best fics I’ve read all year, and I still can’t believe it’s the author’s first.

❦

Misdirection [Emmerich Volkarin/F!Rook] - @jainydoe (AO3)

❦ Plot [AU Setting]: Working for the FBI, being a Professor and a single dad has left Emmerich celibate for years, but the return of his estranged ex wife renders him desperate enough to sign up for a Sugar Dating Website, through which he meets the disaster that is Rook, a broke college student equally as desperate as him. ❦ strawberry's thoughts: The prose of this fic is absolutely fantastic, but what really gets me is the humour. Rook is such a disaster that I can't help but laugh every five seconds and yet "Misdirection" manages to be serious enough that it never comes across as silly or irritating. Emmerich's characterisation, specifically the struggle between his hopeless romanticism and hurt, is written beautifully illustrative and I'm endlessly curious to see where the entire fic will eventually lead.

That's it for my 2024 fic recs! I will definitely be doing this again in 2025, because it brings me a lot of joy to uplift so many fantastic creators and their work. I would love to know what everyone else's "best of" fics were this year, so feel free to drop some wonderful recommendations! Let's create positive and loving spaces for each other, especially in times like these.

For now, Merry Christmas to those celebrating!

Much love xx

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art-time-for-january · 18 days ago

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Ariel embroidery

January 21st - March 5th

I took a lot more breaks on this one than EmbroiderBee.

I definitely need to look into a different type of fabric for any future embroidery projects.

#january’s art #my art #january’s embroidery #embroidery #princess ariel #little mermaid #january does a craft

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thecreaturecodex · 2 months ago

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Swordkeeper

[First new monster of 2025! Which is kind of a shame, because January is almost over. But I have been doing some writing. I'm hoping to get a regular posting schedule going from now on, of twice a week. Key word is hoping]

Swordkeeper CR 10 N Construct This vaguely humanoid construct is made of metal and stone, with four arms and stout legs. Its head is shaped like a helmet and set atop a wide torso. Inside its chest is a blade, chained in place and surrounded with crackling energy.

Swordkeepers are constructs created as both a display case and security system. Each swordkeeper has a component where a weapon can be placed, and the swordkeeper can create force projections of that weapon to use in combat itself. One handed weapons are commonly placed in swordkeepers, the better for the creature to use all four of its arms, but swordkeepers dual-wielding two-handed weapons are not unheard of. Despite the name, a swordkeeper can be used to store axes, hammers, and even polearms. Most swordkeepers store +2 weapons or those of similar levels of enhancement, but even a mundane weapon may be kept in a swordkeeper if it is of particularly significance.

Although they are not sapient, swordkeepers are capable of surprisingly sophisticated tactics, the result of their magical construction. They can respond to changing battlefield conditions by switching from melee to ranged combat, use their raise guard ability to fight defensively if enemies are capable of injuring them, and create a temporary colossal echo to crush massed enemies. Most swordkeepers are given instructions to fight to the death, but some will stand down if badly injured, activate alarms, or even intentionally surrender their central weapons under particular circumstances.

Construction A swordkeeper’s central chamber requires rare crystals for its construction, worth 3000 gp.

Swordkeeper CL 13th; Price 63,000 gp Requirements Craft Construct, geas/quest, mage’s sword, shield, transformation; Skill Craft (metalworking) or Craft (stoneworking) DC 16; Price 38,000 gp

Swordkeeper CR 10 XP 9,600 N Large construct Init +5; Senses darkvision 60 ft., Perception +2

Defense AC 23, touch 14, flat-footed 18 (-1 size, +5 Dex, +9 natural) hp 107 (14d10+30) Fort +4, Ref +9, Will +6 DR 10/adamantine; Immune construct traits Defensive Abilities raise guard

Offense Speed 20 ft. Melee +1 keen longsword +21/+16/+11 (1d8+8/17-20 plus 1d8 force), 3 +1 keen longswords +21 (1d8+4/17-20 plus 1d8 force) Ranged 4 +1 keen longswords +19 (1d8+8/17-20 plus 1d8 force) Space 10 ft.; Reach 10 ft. Special Attacks colossal echo, project echoblade

Statistics Str 25, Dex 20, Con -, Int -, Wis 15, Cha 1 Base Atk +14; CMB +22; CMD 37 Feats Combat Reflexes (B), Improved Vital Strike (B) SQ central weapon,multiweapon mastery, undersized weaponry

Ecology Environment any land and underground Organization solitary, pair or armory (3-6) Treasure double standard (+1 keen longsword)

Special Abilities Central Weapon (Ex/Su) A swordkeeper’s torso houses a single weapon sized for a Medium creature. When the swordkeeper is operational, the chamber can be opened with four Disable Device checks (DC 35), each made as a full round action. A creature that fails this check by 5 or more takes 6d6 points of force damage (Reflex DC 19 halves). If the swordkeeper is grappled, prone or stunned, the DCs of both the Disable Device check and the Reflex save are reduced by 2. If the swordkeeper’s weapon is removed, its echoblades vanish, and it cannot use its colossal echo or project echoblade abilities. The save DC is Wisdom based. Colossal Echo (Su) As a standard action once every 1d4 rounds, a swordkeeper can create a giant force weapon shaped like its central weapon. All creatures in a 30 foot line take 10d8 points of force damage (Reflex DC 19 half). The save DC is Wisdom based. Multiweapon Mastery (Ex) A swordkeeper does not take penalties to attack rolls when fighting with multiple weapons. Project Echoblade (Su) As a swift action, a swordkeeper can create a replica of its central weapon in one of its hands. This weapon acts as its central weapon, including duplicating its magical properties, except that it deals an extra 1d8 force damage and gains the thrown property (range increment 30 ft.). A swordkeeper can have as many as four echoblades at once; echoblades disappear one round after they leave a swordkeeper’s grasp. Raise Guard (Ex) On any round when a swordkeeper makes a full attack action, it can choose not to attack with a echoblade in order to gain a +1 shield bonus to AC (maximum +3). This does not work in conjunction with Vital Strike or similar feats.

#pathfinder 1e #pathfinder 2e #swordkeeper #construct

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emyluwinter · 2 months ago

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Hey honey.

It's been a long time since I've thrown out some theories.

Before the new part is released at the end of January. I want to share a few ideas about what can happen in general in the arc of Dissomnia.

In Riddle's dream, we see that his subconscious (no, guys, Malleus doesn't create all these dreams, he just gives them sand and various shapes and throws them into the sandbox) made his childhood very…Happy? His loving mother, who doesn't treat him like she's cultivating some kind of experiment. On the contrary, she has a big heart with a tender love for his son. Maybe his parents will be one of those sweet romantic couples with a long and strong marriage. A quiet, serene life. The friends who had been with him for all those years that he was actually locked in the house. Lots of hobbies. Lots of fun, lots of childish curiosity, games and adventures. Yes, he is still respected. But he is loved. Love as a friend and an undergraduate who has earned a good reputation.

Well, it can also be as tall as a two-meter-high Epel. Ahahaha.

Or 1.1, as we saw in Leona's dream. For Riddle, the dream is a nightmare where he continued all his mother's instructions and ended up….broke down. When he realized that the world was completely different from the narrow, tiny world in which he was trapped.

Ace's dream is something wild. It haunts me that we didn't see Ace at the very beginning. You see, we met the characters exactly in the order in which we met them. For example. Epel-Rook-Vil, Floyd-Jade-Azul. Jack-Raggie-Leona and so on. The meaning is clear. But in the arch with the dreams of Hearts, everything went topsy-turvy. It's pretty funny if they just switched places for the sake of Alice's chaos theme.

Ace is definitely going to be a wild card in every sense. Maybe his dream is a simple school life? Or is it an endless amusement park?

But you know, I want to see one detail….

What if Ace's subconscious gave Yu and Grimm better conditions? A Loving Family? A house?

I had an idea what he could give to Yu's - parents. Yuu mother, for example, is a famous photographer and artist (Yu's love of photography and art), and Father is an inventor or craftsman (I will fight with anyone who says the opposite, that Yu does not understand repairs and all sorts of things, after so much has been done in their dormitory) Definitely a man who has golden hands, in short. And Yuu will be their favorite child, having inherited their passion for certain crafts. A modest but very very cozy house where you can exhale and leave all your sorrows at the door. Where there is always a smell of something delicious or pleasant.

Grimm is a part of this family unconditionally. Is he also loved, also slightly spoiled?

The reason, which has strong and deep roots in the form of family and home, is that neither Yu nor Grimm will leave college. Yuu doesn't have to go back to his world, Grimm doesn't have to get used to living alone without Yuu.

Maybe Yuu will even have magic in Ace's dream, who knows?

2.2 We turn the chessboard around again and his dream is all his hidden fears. The horrors and nightmares that haunt him.

Riddle remains the same Tyrant, the rules are becoming suffocating in every sense. There is no help from senpai, teachers, or the principal. Yuu either returned to their world, or were injured or died in one of the overblots. Or they were expelled when Grimm's behavior was no longer tolerated.

Consciousness and subconsciousness are very complex things. Therefore, it is difficult to say what can break out and turn into a dream.

The arc of the other characters' dreams will end. Finally, these filler series will end.

The plan of Idia and Styx. Discussing exactly HOW to wake everyone up and reason with Malleus. Most likely, this will again be a division into groups. 22 characters in one scene, it's a nightmare for a screenwriter!

After we wake up the "last one," Malleus decides to make a move. You know, I couldn't help but think that this Dragon, beautiful as a god, was just waiting for a very convenient moment to attack. And this guy, let's not forget, is also smart. VERY Let's say we woke up the whole "gang for a fight". What's not a great opportunity to sneak up and not destroy the entire pillar? My bet is that there will be a repeat of the sleeping beauty scene. Silver started it, so there will be an attack on him. He's the only one who can walk through other people's dreams without Draconia's knowledge. Permissions NOT too.

What is easier to deprive the only chance to wake up the others again than to fix the main problem? We put Silver to sleep, we throw everyone back into their dreams. Voila!

This will most likely happen after Riddle wakes up. It would make sense because we started the game with Riddle (figuratively speaking), and Malleus closes the door back at the very end. They have some similar themes, which would be well reflected by some of their parallels. Both have a theme of roses and thorns. Both follow their own "rules", both have their own "reputational image", both don't know much about the "outside world".

Finally, let's bring Lilia back into the story. Yes, I miss the reunion of the Diasomnia family.

Yuu will see more dreams about "Sleeping Beauty" as a warning that Malleus has been watching them all this time and waiting for the moment to cut down this weed.

7.1. Yuu also sees all the horror, all the nightmare from the prologue.But not fleetingly in a moment like before…..and live every second of this desperate and hopeless situation. It's like they're being burned alive, torn to pieces, and they see each death in slow motion, like an endless torture.

Silver, because of his unique Magic, can see this nightmare too… and they both realize that this is not a dream at all, and not because of Malleus.

Lilia drinks blood. (maybe Yuu, maybe not) LISTEN, he ate frogs and mice, and another Bag knows what else. Technically, he's a flying mouse fairy. Sooo some species feed on blood. What's not a great solution to give Lilia the "opportunity" to regain her powers and magic before completing the entire arc of studies? It might work as some kind of move that just nobody knew about. Let's think that the Senate hated Lilia because his kind could feed on someone else's blood and become stronger? It's not the most pleasant thing, but we have something. It's a good and logical argument why they didn't want him in the capital so much.

So far, these are all the points that I can come up with in my tired head.

and also

Chapter 8!!

Each chapter has its own "theme" that is discussed one way or another throughout each arc. I may be wrong, but I only use the ones that I noticed myself during the passage. Chapter 1. tyranny and despotism, parental overprotection. Chapter 2 other people's hopes, a brick ceiling (I don't know how to say for sure that even if you give it your all, there is something that you can't go through in any way to achieve more) Chapter 3 - bullying, self-doubt. Chapter 7 the inevitability of loss, grief and loss, and so on.

For chapter 8, it could be Loneliness, isolation, and the outsider. Loneliness? It seems that this topic has not been raised in other chapters.

Yuu's loneliness, because they're not from here. Grimm's loneliness, because he doesn't belong to any part of society either. It's possible that the "puppeteer" is so distraught from loneliness and grief from the loss of something.

Hmm. Most likely, I'm wrong, and the topic of chapter 8 will be different.

They are both isolated from the world in one way or another. Remember how in the same novel, everyone kept them at arm's length and a mop, just to avoid dealing with them.

I understand that we still have a lot to see in Chapter 7, but frankly I have no idea what they have in store for Chapter 8!!

Oh, yeah. Most likely, on this anniversary, the 8th dormitory will be made official and they will be given a "badge", the one with the ribbon that students wear on their uniform jackets. In any case, it's very likely. If they also give you a uniform for Grimm, it will be very cool.

That's the end of my brain gum and I'm taking a break from work.

What do you think, dear?

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #disney twst #twst yuu #twst thoughts #twst theory

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