#leave some talent for the rest of us eh

[turtle-named-sheldon]

woah you can sing too? talk about talented

- guy who takes a screenshot of someone’s tags and then rotates it a couple degrees just for funsies. and just to fuck with the ppl who notice such trivial things.

[alwaysmicado]

Sunshine

6.7k | 18+ MDNI | fwb!Joel Miller x f!reader | pt. 7

Warnings: no outbreak AU, implied age gap, alcohol & painkillers, a little kiss, lots of sarcasm, angst, jealousy (reader would never!) Summary: A spontaneous meeting in a bar lays bare some uncomfortable truths. A/N: Why be sad when you can just turn off your feelings and not be sad anymore? It’s so easy. /s I can't tell you how much your messages about this series mean to me!! I love talking to you about it and I appreciate your enthusiasm and support soooo much!! Enjoy this part and let me know your thoughts! 🤍

→ previous part || series masterlist || main masterlist

The Birds Don’t Sing, They Screech in Pain

– Werner Herzog

– – –

You don’t have feelings. You don’t have a heart. The world is a joke and nothing you do matters.

And you got a great ass. 

So fuck it.

You close the mirror cabinet and look at your reflection. The steam from your recent shower lingers in the air, creating a hazy atmosphere around you. With a determined gaze, you meet your own eyes, trying to convince yourself of what you so desperately want to believe. 

You. Don’t. Have. Feelings. 

Sighing exasperatedly, you leave the bathroom to go get dressed. You eye the empty space on the wall where the mirror used to hang in passing and can’t help but smile sardonically at the clean floor below. Who knew you had such a talent for cleaning blood? 

If your current job doesn’t work out in the long run, crime scene cleaner could be a viable alternative.

You rummage through your drawer for a fresh pair of panties, a soft bralette without any bothersome hooks, and a flowy dress you can easily pull over your head. Comfort is key today. Your morning shower proved tricky enough, but you managed somehow, maneuvering very ungracefully to keep your injured hand dry. 

Thankfully, you were smart enough to go to bed early last night and get up in time this morning, allowing you ample time to change the bandages and dress yourself with just one functional hand.

Exhaustion still lingers in every single one of your bones, but you’re determined to not let it get you down. Not again. So, you pour yourself a cup of strong coffee, sit outside on your balcony, pop the painkillers you got at the emergency clinic on Sunday, and browse the internet for a new mirror.

The sun kissing your skin feels nice, and the fresh air invigorates your senses. There’s even a flock of birds doing their choreographed dance in the sky. Just for you. You’re living in a goddamn dream, aren’t you? 

You scoff, down the rest of your coffee, cough when it goes down the wrong pipe, and go back inside once you don’t feel like you’re choking to death anymore. It’s time for work.

Your boss graciously let you work from home on Monday and Tuesday, but since there’s an important meeting scheduled this morning, she’s asked you to come to the office today. The meds should get you through the day, you’ll just have to figure out how to do your job effectively without the ability to type with your right hand.

You could try to push some of your workload onto the new intern who’s been unsuccessfully trying to flirt with you for the past month, but he strikes you as the type to show up with flowers and a teddy bear after you compliment his sneakers once — it’s probably not the best idea to entertain him.

An office romance sounds hot on paper, but your job is the only halfway stable thing in your life, so you don’t want to mess it up for some guy. Especially if said guy looks young enough to get carded in bars.

Why can’t you just not need money and not have to go to work at all? Is that really too much to ask? 

“Get your shit together,” you murmur to yourself as you grab your bag, your keys, and quickly check your appearance in the bathroom mirror. Eh, you look fine considering the messed-up past few days you had. The black wrist brace is kind of derpy—you can already see Kristen giggling at it and very much not believing any excuse you invent for it—but the smile you force onto your face looks virtually natural. 

What a little sunshine you are. 

Sandals on your feet, sunglasses sitting on your nose, wireless earbuds in your ears, your top three songs of the week on a blissful loop, you start your walk to the office. Nothing bad can touch you when the rhythm of your favorite beats courses through your veins, encapsulating you in an invincible cocoon.

For the first few minutes at least.

Your pulse quickens and your chest tightens as the gas station, where Joel could barely wait to pull out of you before gushing about his date, comes into view. And of course, Chris, the clerk, steps outside right as you pass it to inexplicably water the two withered plants next to the entrance.

You attempt to speed walk, hoping to avoid an embarrassing encounter, but where’s the fun in that, right? Sure enough, you hear him calling after you.

You roll your eyes behind your glasses and reluctantly stop, pulling out one of your earbuds as you turn to face him. His eyes fixate on the black brace around your wrist.

“What happened to your hand? Too much fun on the weekend?” he asks, a mischievous grin playing on his lips.

You sigh, not in the mood for a detailed conversation, and also very much aware of what he’s probably insinuating. “Just a little accident at home,” you reply, keeping it vague. “Don’t do yoga if you’re drunk.”

He chuckles. “I’ll keep that in mind.” When he realizes you’re not going to say anything else, he’s nice enough to not keep you any longer. “Well, I hope it heals soon. And let me know if you, uh, need anything. You know where to find me.”

You nod, offering a polite smile, and continue on your way, reinserting the earbud to drown out the world. You turn up the volume, lip-sync, and ignore Joel’s call without missing a beat.

– – –

“Please, tell me. Please, please, please. Come on…you know you’re gonna tell me eventually, so let’s just save us some time and get it over with. You know I can keep a secret.”

As expected, Kristen is very intrigued by your wrist brace. In fact, she has been switching between begging for you to tell her what happened and coming up with some outlandish theories since you sat down at your desk four hours ago. To nobody’s surprise, they all involve some sort of sex accident. 

It’s kind of funny, though, that none of the elaborate stories she imagines come close to capturing the absurdity of your reality. Oh well, you’re used to it by now. And yet, there’s no way in hell you’re going to divulge one of your most vulnerable and embarrassing moments to her. Not a chance. 

“I already told you,” you say without stopping your one-handed typing. “I got drunk watching The Bachelor and then my genius brain decided that was the perfect moment to try out some new yoga positions. It’s a miracle I only sprained my wrist and didn’t break my neck.” You put on your most convincing smile and look at her. “It’s embarrassing as shit, okay? I mean, look at this thing,” you point at your injured hand. “I look like a kid who fell off a swing on the playground.”

Kristen giggles and is about to say something, but right at that moment, she receives a phone call from a client. She sighs, narrows her eyes, and mouths, “This is not over.” You wink at her and go back to typing with your left hand, occasionally swearing under your breath when you hit the wrong keys. This is all so much fun. 

The rest of the day goes by in a blur of emails, phone calls, bad coffee, painkillers, Kristen putting a heart sticker on your wrist brace, another meeting, and your phone lighting up with new messages from Joel. 

By 5:30 p.m. your brain is about to explode, so you decide to call it a day and leave. There’s a frozen pizza waiting for you at home and you can hear your pajamas and sofa calling your name. Sweet, sweet solitude; it’s so close you can feel it. You just have to walk out fast eno–

“Drinks.”

“Did you seriously just hide behind that plant and jump out?” you chuckle, and Kristen’s grin tells you that is absolutely, one hundred percent what just happened. 

“Drinks,” she repeats. And when you open your mouth, she says it again, but this time she gives you her most adorable pout.

“Okay, okay,” you say with a playful roll of your eyes. “You can stop the puppy routine.”

“I love how easy you are,” she beams at you and plants a kiss on your cheek. “Let’s go!”

The warmth of the summer evening envelops you both as you step outside. The sun, still casting its golden hues across the city, paints the urban landscape with a vibrant palette. Kristen, with a fancy sun hat perched on her head that perfectly complements her black hair, looks for bars near you on her phone.

As you try to decide on a bar, the balmy air carries the distant sounds of the city’s summer symphony. The occasional laughter from a nearby cafe mingles with the hum of traffic, creating a lively backdrop to your anticipation.

Amidst the ambient noise, your phone buzzes with Tommy’s name flashing on the screen. You answer, bringing the phone to your ear.

“Hi Tommy.”

“Hi honey,” Tommy’s voice comes through, the background noise indicating he’s at a lively place. “Just calling to ask how you’re doing today.”

“You know you don’t need to call me every day to ask me that, right?” you chuckle, still unable to understand why he even cares. You don’t deserve him.

“Come on, it’s the highlight of my day,” he says in mock offense, and you can perfectly picture the grin on his face. 

“Well, if it’s that important to you…” you say, a smile on your lips. “I’m good. My friend and I are going for drinks. Just need to decide on a bar first.”

“What a perfect coincidence! I’m at this new place right now. They got great burgers and drinks, even non-alcoholic stuff,” he tells you excitedly. “Oh and Joel’s here, too.”

Your heart skips a beat at Tommy’s words. Joel is there, at the same place. The thought of seeing him again stirs a concoction of emotions within you — longing, uncertainty, and a subtle yearning for things to be okay. There’s an undeniable pull. You miss him.

As you take a moment to think of your answer, Kristen mouths, “Who’s that?”

“It’s my friend, and he’s inviting us to join him at a bar,” you explain to her.

Tommy’s voice perks up on the phone, “Come on, it’ll be a blast. The more, the merrier!”

You look at Kristen questioningly, and she gives you two thumbs up and a big smile. 

You sigh and look up at the sky. There’s a big bird chasing a smaller one. “Okay, we’re in,” you say to Tommy, and his excited shouts in your ear make you giggle. He sends you the location and you immediately order an Uber for you and Kristen. You don’t have to wait for long.

Sitting in the car, your initial, albeit reluctant, excitement has turned into annoyance as the hands of the clock seem to move at an agonizingly slow pace. What was supposed to be a ten-minute journey has stretched into an interminable thirty minutes, courtesy of the unrelenting rush hour traffic. 

The air inside the car feels stifling, even with the AC humming, and the incessant chatter about football between the driver and Kristen becomes an indistinct drone. Your lack of interest in the sport combines with the whirlwind in your head, making their conversation an incomprehensible blur.

As your stomach churns, a sense of queasiness settles over you, intensifying the already uncomfortable ride.

By the time you make it to the bar, you’re tired, cranky, and wish you had just gone home after work. You could be lying on your sofa right now, stuffing your face with pizza, watching Netflix, and testing your new vibrator before falling asleep in your soft bed. But no, you just had to be social, hm?

As you enter the crowded and lively bar, the buzz of upbeat chatter, clinking glasses, and the rhythmic thump of music surrounds you. Everyone’s loud and happy, and you’re just not in the right mood for it. Slowly making your way through the sea of faces with Kristen trailing behind, you spot Tommy seated in a cozy booth.

The mere sight of him puts you at ease — for about a second, that is.

Your eyes fall onto Joel and the woman who’s casually touching his shoulder, comfortably nestled against the plush cushioned seats. You’ve never seen her before, but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist or even a sober brain to figure out who she is. What is she whispering into his ear now? He’s laughing. You can see his eye crinkles from where you’re standing.

The sight is like a punch to your gut.

For a moment, you’re frozen in place, and the urge to turn around and run away grips you. Unwelcome emotions and memories surge back, catching you off guard and leaving you breathless. Just as you contemplate an escape route, Tommy spots you from across the room, his face lighting up. 

“Sweetheart,” he shouts, rising from his seat and waving enthusiastically. His excited shout draws the attention of everyone around him, including Joel. Your eyes lock, and for a brief moment, the world around you fades. The corners of his lips instinctively turn upwards as he looks at you, but after spotting your wrist brace and the pained look on your face, he furrows his brow.

What the hell happened to you?

In the blink of an eye, you flip a switch in your brain, put on the most radiant smile you can muster, straighten your shoulders and cross the room. Joel’s concerned eyes don’t leave you for a second.

“There she is,” Tommy says, genuine warmth in his voice as he leans in to plant a kiss on your cheek, followed by a tight, comforting hug. “It’s so good to see you.” 

“You too, Tommy,” you murmur, a sense of momentary relief washing over you in the wake of his presence.

He pulls away from the hug, extending his greeting to Kristen, before introducing you both to the beautiful brunette sitting next to his brother. Draping his arm around your shoulders, he tells you with a smile that, “This is Jan, an old school friend of mine. We actually didn’t plan this whole meeting with everyone, somehow we just all ended up here. Funny coincidence,” he chuckles and you strain the muscles around your mouth so hard it hurts.  

“It’s nice to meet you, Jan,” you say, reaching out to shake her hand. She reciprocates your greeting and gives you a charming smile. 

“And I don’t need to introduce you to this guy, huh?” Tommy grins, squeezing your shoulder.

Your gaze shifts to Joel, who’s caught in the limbo of whether to remain seated or stand up, so he ends up awkwardly half-standing, caged in the narrow space between the bench and table.

“Hi, Joel,” you say, your eyes lacking their usual vivacity—a detail not lost on him.

He settles back into his seat, audibly clearing his throat. “Hi, darlin’.”

He studies your face as you settle down beside Tommy. You look as beautiful and glowing as always, but the longer he looks, the more cracks in the carefully put up facade he can see. Your smile isn’t genuine, your eyes look a bit swollen—like you’ve been crying or not sleeping well—and your body language screams unease.

The others may not notice, but he does. Because he knows you.

Kristen takes a seat beside Jan, seamlessly weaving herself into the ongoing conversation with Joel. Her ability to navigate social dynamics with such ease leaves you marveling – how is she so good at this? Her charm extends, connecting the trio in animated small talk.

Your body eases into a semblance of relaxation as Tommy pulls you closer and presses a kiss on the crown of your head. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” he whispers into your hair, a tender reassurance that brings a sense of solace.

Sitting up straight, you return his smile, gratitude evident in your eyes. “Thanks to you.”

Tommy beams at you, momentarily lost in the exchange, before redirecting his attention to the group. “Are you guys ready for a first round of drinks?” he asks, the unison response from everyone echoing with enthusiasm, a collective “yes” that adds a burst of energy to the already vibrant atmosphere. 

– – –

After three rounds of drinks (you very responsibly decided to change to coke after one mojito), burgers, nachos, sharing the epic tale of how you managed to hurt your hand doing yoga, Jan gossiping about the guy her adult daughter brought home last week, Tommy sharing hilarious stories from his and Joel’s workplace, and everyone seemingly having loads of fun, you let yourself relax a bit.

It’s nice witnessing Joel’s laughter and enjoyment. A warmth spreads through your heart at the sight, a flicker of happiness for him. Yet, the subtle discomfort lingers as Jan’s touch becomes a constant presence on his arm. Rationalizing it as a casual gesture during conversation and under the influence of drinks doesn’t fully erase the twinge of unease settling within you.

But you can handle it, you convince yourself.

Until you can’t. 

You can’t handle it when Jan’s hand finds its way to Joel’s thigh and her lips brush the shell of his ear.

You glance at Joel, searching for a reaction, a flicker of discomfort perhaps, but his response is subtle. A shift in his seat, a movement so slight it could be mistaken for a casual adjustment, yet there’s a discernible change in his demeanor. It’s a momentary pause, a beat in the rhythm of the evening.

The weight of the scene bears down on you, and you feel a pang of vulnerability, a subtle ache in your chest. In that split second, a mix of emotions surges within you – a tinge of hurt, a brush of jealousy, and a sting of betrayal.

Emotions you haven’t felt in years. Emotions you have sworn to yourself you’d never feel again.

Why does it bother you so much? Is it because it reminds you of how you touched him, how you ran your hand further and further up his thigh when he was taking you home for the first time, teasing him until he couldn’t take it anymore, pulled his car over and fucked you in the driver’s seat? Has she done that with him? Is she as addictive as you are?

This close to a full-blown panic attack, you jump up from your seat to the surprise of everyone at your table. You make brief eye contact with Kristen, who shoots you a sympathetic look. 

Excusing yourself, you navigate through the bustling crowd towards the restrooms, located downstairs and accessible via a staircase. There are three separate spacious restrooms, and you choose the first one. Inside, you immediately head to the sink, running your left hand under cold water. The sensation helps to calm you down.

Closing your eyes, you take deep breaths, reassuring yourself that it’s not a big deal, and that it’s exactly what it was always meant to be—probably even for the best.

Then, as you try to find composure, a knock on the door interrupts your thoughts.

“Occupied!” you yell in response to the knock, and then you hear Joel’s deep voice saying, “It’s me.” 

Of course it is.

You sigh exasperatedly and shuffle to the door to let him in. Joel enters, swiftly locking the door behind him.

“There’s two other restrooms, you know,” you murmur as you walk back to the sink and divert your attention to your reflection in the mirror, concentrating on fixing your hair. 

“Yeah, well, I specifically want the one with you in it,” he says with a little smirk, his eyes searching for yours in the mirror. As your gaze meets his, he’s taken aback by the lack of the usual sparkle that used to light up your eyes at the sight of him. The absence of that adoration he’s grown accustomed to leaves a void, and a tinge of concern creeps into his expression.

“Hey,” he says tentatively, his voice softer than before. “Are you okay, darlin’?”

You look at him, and the weariness in your eyes doesn’t escape his attention. There’s a distant quality to your gaze, and it sends a pang of worry through him. The connection he once felt in your eyes seems to have dimmed, and he can’t help but feel a sense of loss.

It’s the same expression you had when he last saw you. He hates it.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you respond, putting on your fake smile again, but the lack of conviction in your voice doesn’t go unnoticed.

Joel’s concern deepens as he steps closer, the teasing smirk replaced by genuine worry. “I’ve been trying to reach you, but you haven’t responded to any of my texts or calls.” He rubs the back of his neck and clears his throat, his brow furrowed. “I was worried something happened, and—he points at your injured hand—my feeling was right.” He tilts his head and studies your face. “What happened?”

You turn around and lean against the sink, holding your right arm with your left hand, your eyes revealing a complex mixture of emotions. “I told you already,” you say nonchalantly. “Getting drunk and trying to do elaborate yoga poses is a dumb idea if you’re as clumsy as me.”

Joel raises his eyebrows, not believing a word you’re saying. “That’s not all, is it?”

“What do you mean?” you say, feigning ignorance.

“You don’t seem like yourself and I’m…worried about you.” Joel’s concern etches lines on his forehead as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. His eyes, usually warm and comforting, narrow slightly as he studies your seemingly cheerful facade.

“But this is myself.” You point at your smiley face with your left hand and tilt your head. “You don’t like it?”

He shakes his head, a subtle sigh escaping him. “That’s not what I said. I just feel like something’s off.”

“Is it because I’m happy?”

“It’s because I don’t believe you’re happy. I know you too well, baby.”

You scoff, a defensive edge creeping into your voice. “Why is it so hard for you to believe that I’m happy? Do you want me to be miserable?”

“No, sweetheart. There’s nothing I want more than for you to be happy. But you’re lying to my face right now and I don’t appreciate that.”

You turn your head to avoid his gaze, your silence speaking volumes, your hand tightly gripping the flesh of your arm as if to contain the emotional turmoil threatening to spill over.

Stop it.

“Darlin’,” Joel says gently, closing the physical gap between you two, and reaching out to place his warm palms on your shoulders. “Look at me.”

A shiver runs down your spine and tiny goosebumps instantly form on your skin. You’ve missed his touch more than you care to admit — to yourself or to him. His touch is tender, a plea for connection, but you hesitate. Reluctantly, you meet his gaze, revealing the deep sadness you tried to conceal.

What happened to you? Whatever it was, it breaks his heart that he wasn’t there to protect you.

“Why didn’t you call me?” he asks softly.

“Not everything’s about you, Joel.”

“I know that. I just…wish you would let me know what’s going on.” His touch becomes a subconscious reassurance as he absentmindedly rubs your arms, as if trying to make sure you’re really there in front of him.

“Why do I owe you that? Why do I owe you every shitty detail of my life while I know virtually nothing about you?” you say a little sharper than intended. 

Joel takes a deep breath. “You don’t owe me anything. I just thought–” he pauses, searching your eyes. “I miss seeing that spark in your eyes when you look at me,” he admits, his thumb gently brushing against your cheek. “I never fully realized how much it meant to me until now.”

You take a moment to process his words and his touch as frustration bubbles up inside you. Your heart aches.

“Why are you doing this?” 

“Doing what? Caring about you?”

“Ruining the mood.” You shake your head, swallowing what you actually want to say, any traces of happiness erased from your face. “If you’re trying to make me feel bad, it’s starting to work.”

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I’m trying to understand what’s happened since the last time I saw you.” He tilts his head and studies your face, genuine concern in his eyes. 

All you can see, though, is disappointment. He’s disappointed in you, you can sense it. And how could he not be? You’re a liability, a mess. Looks like he’s finally seeing you for who you are, and that’s why he replaced you.

“And now’s the best time to do that?” you scoff, averting your gaze and looking around. 

“What am I supposed to do when you don’t respond to me for days on end and this is my only chance of talking to you?”

You look back into his eyes. “How about leaving it alone?”

“I can’t do that. Not when it comes to you,” he says, shaking his head and moving closer, his cologne filling your senses like a familiar embrace. His hands trace the contours of your neck, a gentle and deliberate touch that ignites a cascade of sensations. His thumbs brush your cheekbones with a tenderness that speaks of longing, his gaze dropping to your lips before finding your eyes again.

In that charged moment, the air between you thickens with unspoken desires before you both succumb to the magnetic pull drawing you together. Your heartbeat quickens, matching the rhythm of anticipation. Without breaking eye contact, he closes the remaining distance, his lips meeting yours in a soft yet passionate kiss. The familiar sensation of his lips on yours is both electric and comforting, and you allow yourself to get lost in it for a bit.

As he eases away, his fingers trail lightly down your neck and arms, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake. There’s a soft smile on his lips as he breaks the silence. 

“I mean it when I say I care about you and want the best for you, darlin’,” he murmurs. “And you don’t have to tell me any details about what happened if you’re not ready yet, but I need to know what made you not want to call me. We’ve been there for each other in difficult situations before, so I just really don’t get it.”

You raise a skeptical eyebrow, frustration and anger intertwining with the lingering memory of his lips on yours.

“Why in the world would I ever call you while you’re on a date?” you say quietly, a steely edge in your voice, no trace of a smile to be found on your lips.

Oh. So it did bother you. 

Joel’s expression shifts from concern to a momentary realization, the lines on his forehead deepening. “I would always drop everything to be there for you. No matter where I am or what I’m doing.”

You laugh wryly. “Joel. Seriously. Are you really trying to tell me you were oh so worried about me while you were fucking someone else? And that you’re worried now even though she’s currently upstairs, desperately waiting for you to take her home? Come on, don’t insult my intelligence.”

He stares at you in utter disbelief and takes a step back, as if physically recoiling from the weight of your words. “That’s not what–”

“Look, Joel,” you push yourself off the sink, straighten up, and walk past him towards the door. “It doesn’t matter. You can fuck or date whoever you like. Jan seems nice and like a good match, so I’m very happy for you.”

“Sweetheart, I’m not doing any of that. You misunders–”

You turn around sharply to look at him. “I misunderstood the woman who’s had her hands all over you the whole evening?” 

“It’s not like that,” he insists, trying to get through to you. “She’s drunk as hell and probably doesn’t even realize what she’s doing. And I’m not interested anyway.”

“Sure. That’s why she’s here right now.”

“I had nothing to do with that. Tommy invited her without telling me,” he says, running his fingers through his hair as his stress is mounting. “Darlin’, please. This isn’t even about her; it’s about you and me. And maybe it’s time to stop pretending everything’s okay when it’s clearly not.”

You turn your head, deliberately avoiding the intensity of his gaze as the weight of his words settles in. His plea sends palpable waves of discomfort through your already wounded emotions, causing your chest to tighten further. Why is he doing this? Is this fun for him? 

“So you’d rather keep pretending everything’s fine?” he presses, his tone a mix of concern and urgency, the edges of his patience beginning to fray. 

Okay, now you’ve had it.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Joel. What do you want from me?” you hiss at him, frustration dripping from your words.

Joel is momentarily taken aback, but his own agitation prevents him from fully grasping your distress. A deep sigh escapes him as he props one hand on his hip, rubbing his eyes wearily with the other.

“Since when does it matter what I want?” he murmurs.

Ouch.

That hurt.

Your face falls, and you feel like he just slapped you across the face. The sting of his words cuts deep, causing tears to well up in your eyes.

Joel’s eyes widen in shock when he sees the look on your face. “Shit, no, I didn’t mean it like that,” he stammers, realizing the impact of his words a moment too late. “I’m sorry, baby, I–” his voice trembles with regret, desperate to undo the damage he’s done.

“Is that how you really feel? That I don’t care about what you want?” you ask, your voice shaky.

“No, I shouldn’t have said that, I’m so–”

“But that’s how you feel? Deep down?”

Why are you acting so surprised? Were you really naive enough to believe him when he said he was happy with you? God, you’re dumb.

“Oh, sweetheart…” he reaches out to wipe away the tears that are making their way down your cheeks, but you push his hand away.

“I came here for you, Joel,” you blurt out, your raised voice startling him. “And I–I spent the last three hours making conversation with everyone, including the woman you’re fucking, because I care about you and want you to be happy, even though my hand is killing me and I’m so drained I have to force my eyes to stay open.”

You express yourself with animated hand gestures as you talk through your tears, your voice breaking. 

“I had a horrible weekend and needed some time to recover, but I was so fucking happy to see you tonight because I’ve missed you and I’ve–I’ve never hidden how much I like spending time with you. Why is that not enough? What more do you want from me?”

Your big, watery eyes pierce Joel’s, and the fact that he’s the reason for your tears pierces his heart.

“Darlin’, I’m so sorry. It wasn’t right what I said.”

He takes a step closer to you, the desperation in his eyes matching the pain in yours, intending to pull you into a comforting hug to calm you—and himself—down. However, you immediately take a step back, creating a physical distance between you two.

“Do you want me to cry ‘cause seeing you with another woman breaks my heart? Is that it?” 

Joel stares at you incredulously, your accusing tone making him wince. “No, of course no–”

Your heart is racing, and you can feel the tightness in your chest growing with every second you’re looking into Joel’s eyes. Eyes that—until now—have always made you feel so calm, so safe, so…loved. Your hands tremble slightly, and a lump forms in your throat, making it difficult to speak.

“Do you want me to make a scene in front of everyone ‘cause it physically pains me to think you’re touching her the same way you touch me?”

Joel opens his mouth to say something, a fleeting impulse to express himself and try to console you, but he catches himself, realizing that uttering those words might inflict more damage than repair right now. 

“Do you want me to beg you not to leave me ‘cause I can’t even imagine my life without you anymore? Is that what you want?”

“Sweetheart...” He takes a step towards you, his eyes pleading, but you cut him off.

“No, I’m fucking sick of this,” your words spill out between sobs as tears stream down your face. “It’s always the same. I’m good enough only as long as I act the way you want it, and the minute you get bored or realize I’m not as perfect as you imagined, you replace me with someone better. Everyone always fucking leaves and I’m so sick of it.”

“Darlin’, I swear that’s not what’s happening,” Joel implores, his whole body so tense and hot he’s sweating through his shirt. “I’m not leaving and I really didn’t mean to hurt you.” 

You sigh deeply, grab a paper towel from the dispenser on the wall, blow your nose, and dry your tears.

“I knew this was gonna happen and I still let myself believe I could be enough for once,” you murmur more to yourself than him, your head pounding painfully.

Serves you right for having feelings.

Joel says your name gently, trying his best not to spook you. His words hang in the air like a lifeline, a desperate attempt to mend what is broken.

“You are enough. You’ve always been enough. I’m so sorry for making you feel otherwise.”

Your head is spinning, emotions tumultuous and unyielding. In dire need of fresh air and distance from Joel, you stagger towards the door. His voice follows you, pleading.

“Sweetheart, I promise I’m not going to leave you. And I’m so incredibly sorry for upsetting you, I just–” he exhales deeply and clears his throat. “I wanted you to be honest with me about your feelings, but this wasn’t the way to go about it. I’m sorry.”

The door swings open, and you turn around, the forced smile from before back on your lips. 

“Well, congratulations, Joel,” you say, your tone laced with a mix of bitterness and anguish. “You got what you wanted. I hope you’re fucking happy.”

The door slams shut behind you, leaving Joel stunned, alone with the haunting echoes of shattered trust and unspoken pain, the distant thump of music mirroring the beating of his remorseful heart.

As you make your way back upstairs, the residual heat of the argument lingers on your skin. Taking a deep breath, you enter the lively space once more. Tommy, who’s standing at the bar, notices you, concern etched across his face.

“Hey, is everything okay, honey?” he asks, his voice soft with genuine worry.

You manage a tight smile. “Yeah, I’m okay. My hand’s just hurting really bad now and the meds make me dizzy, so I’ll head home.”

He furrows his brow. “Joel’s my designated driver, but I can take a cab, so he can drive you home.” He looks around, searching the bar for his brother. “Where is he anyway?”

“There’s a huge line in front of the restrooms, he’s probably still waiting. And it’s okay, Tommy, really.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, seeking solace, and bury your face in the crook of his neck. He responds by pulling you into a warm and reassuring embrace, a gesture that speaks volumes without the need for words. Luckily, he’s drunk enough not to smell his brother on you.

“I missed you,” you murmur, your eyes closed. 

Tommy strokes the back of your head and chuckles. “I missed you, too, sweetheart.”

He pulls away far enough to look into your eyes, giving you the brightest smile. “Tell you what. You come over for dinner on Friday — no ifs, ands, or buts. Maria’s been wanting to see you, and we just finished our patio, so it’s perfect.”

You pinch his cheek and shake your head at him. “It’s not fair that you’re this charming, you know? How could I ever say no?”

“Don’t say no, then,” he says playfully,  a hint of worry still in his eyes.

You sigh exaggeratedly. “Okay, okay, I won’t.”

“Attagirl. And you’re sure you don’t want Joel to drive you?”

“Yes, I’m sure. I always find my way home somehow.” You plant a kiss on Tommy’s cheek, and he finally agrees to release you from his embrace after securing a pinky promise that you ‘a hundred percent won’t flake out’.

You walk over to Kristen and Jan, who are still sitting at your table, engrossed in an animated conversation. Observing them for a moment, you find yourself captivated by Jan’s effortless charisma. She’s a real sunshine — and unlike you, she doesn’t have to fake it. Had you met her under different circumstances, you might have liked her. 

Kristen’s eyes meet yours, and her brow furrows slightly, registering the expression on your face for a fleeting moment. Swiftly, you put on a polite smile and step closer, masking the momentary vulnerability with practiced ease.

“Ladies,” you say, a touch of self-deprecating humor in your tone, “I know I’m lame, but I’m actually going home already. Just wanted to say goodbye.”

Jan answers first, surprising you with a warm smile. “Oh, that’s not lame at all! You’re just smarter than us.”

You hold up your injured hand and deadpan, “Yeah, I’m a real genius, aren’t I?”

Jan and Kristen giggle, and you join in, sharing a brief moment of camaraderie. You’re so good at this. Almost believable. 

As you look for your bag on the bench, contemplating the logistics of your departure, Kristen catches your eye and winks at you.

“I’ll come with you,” she says, giving you a reassuring look. “Our boss is gonna have a fit if I fall asleep at my desk again, so…I guess this is what being a responsible adult is,” she sighs. She hands you your bag, downs the rest of her drink, and the two of you say goodbye to Jan, who’s now getting up to search for the Miller brothers.

Kristen takes you by the hand, gently leading you outside. The cool breeze brushes against your face as the sun starts its descent, offering a much-needed breath of fresh air. Settling down down on the curb together, you find a comfortable spot, trying your best not to inadvertently flash someone as you adjust your dress. 

“I’ll call us an Uber,” Kristen says, her tone comforting. You appreciate the warmth of her presence as you wait for the ride, the fading sunlight casting a soft glow on both of you.

“Done.” She wraps her arm around you, providing a supportive shoulder for you to lean on. The two of you sit in silence, the ambient noise of traffic and distant chatter from the bar filling the air, serving as a backdrop to the racing thoughts in your mind. Eventually, Kristen succumbs to her curiosity. 

“So…” she starts, her voice carefully navigating the sensitive terrain. “That’s him?”

You chuckle faintly. “Yup. That’s him.”

“Hmm, I get it now. He’s hot as fuck,” she says, happy that she can make you laugh. “Do you think he’d be up for a threesome?”

“Oh, I’m sure he’d be up for it. I’m just not so sure about his heart being able to take it. Or his back. Or his knees.”

Kristen giggles and then looks at you for a moment, fascinated by this evening’s revelations. “It’s so interesting, I had no idea you were into older guys.”

“I, uh, didn’t know either before I met him.”

“I see,” she nods, a thoughtful expression on her face. Another minute of shared silence passes before she decides to just come out and ask you the one burning question on her mind.

“Do you love him?”

You don’t need a second to think about your answer.

– – –

Thank you for reading!! 🤍

→ part 6 || part 8 || series masterlist

tagging: @koshkaj-blog @paleidiot @pattwtf @tuquoquebrute @witchofthedeepwoods let me know if you want to be added!

[sthavoc]

girl i love your blog

but maybe do you wanna do that enzo and reader meet due to lsdln with reader being the cinematographer for the film do what u want from there lol <3

༘ *🎥𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 | ENZO VOGRINCIC

*๑՞ pairing: enzo x fem!cinematoprapher!reader

*๑՞ summary: Enzo and yours first time meeting on set.

*๑՞ warnings: banter, “pining”.

*๑՞ note: new theme!! thank you so much babes!<3 i’m sorry if I missed any grammar mistakes!

Being in the film industry has always been your dream. The idea that with a camera you could simply create magic. Art.

So being here, in this cast, meant everything to you, big opportunities would start coming your way if you did an amazing job and worked hard. You were never going to stop showering J.A with Thank you’s.

He sees the talent in people, and those exact people go big, they create history. The history of the cinema.

“Eh Bayona, ¿Le puedo preguntar algo?” You called for your boss’ attention.

When he approached you, he came towards you with a small furrow on his brows. “Déjate de la formalidad, J.A está bien. Y tutéame que no pasa nada.”

Your lips pulled their muscles for a smile at the kind gesture. “Bueno, J.A.” The name felt weird on your tongue, but it was just for you to get used to it. “¿Cómo quieres que le demos la toma cuando caen en el avión?” Your hands stayed on the handles of the camera, but your eyes scanned for answers in the director’s lensed ones.

J.A gave you a look, with his finger resting on his lips. “¿Tú que piensas?”

It had you shocked that a director like him was asking for your opinion. That wasn’t something that could happen to just anybody, so you had to be wise with your words.

You bit your lip, gathering all your ideas as quickly as you could. “Pues yo diría que podemos darle un zoom a varias partes de la escena. Darle ese toque para que la persona que está viendo la escena sienta que está ahí en ese momento. Obviamente con tanto metal de los asientos no puedes ver tanto.”

“Eres buena. Me gusta.” His words made your smile grow wider. You felt proud. The sound of his phone interrupted the both of you as he pulled out the device to read the new message. “¿Tú no has conocido a Enzo verdad?”

You knew Enzo was the one that portrayed Numa, and narrated the story but you hadn’t had the chance to meet him. The times he would be around you would be in other places, experimenting with your camera, attempting to get new shots. You were given the chance to meet some of the other boys from the cast, but still not Enzo.

“Eh, no, todavía no.” You passed your hands through your overalls leaving the camera to be. “¿Por qué?”

“Ven que lo vas a conocer.” Bayona motioned for you to walk his way.

The both of you strode across the set, feeling the fake snow crumple and break into millions with every step both of you took. Your eyes were quick to take a glimpse of the ten boys you already knew about. Matias, Juani, Fran, Esteban, Simon, Agus, Valentino, Andy, Felipe, and Rafael. A small wave came their way from your part as your right hand rested on your back pocket.

“Hasta que te dignas dejarte ver.” Fran is the first to speak and give you a hug that swings both of you from left to right.

“Sí, hola chicos.” You rest your chin on Fran’s shoulder to peek at the rest of the guys who have already given you a small wave.

When you pulled away, there was another one, standing with the rest of the guys. Only this time you didn’t recognize him. His skin was toned, hair only resting above his ears, and he wore a plain grey t-shirt with black pants.

He must be Enzo.

And just as you spotted him, J.A’s voice startled you out of view. “Chaval hasta que te apareces.” He walked towards Enzo and rested his arm around him as much as he could.

You stood in your spot as you watched how the both of them walked your way. Your feet rocked back and forth waiting, and you noticed how Enzo had his eyes on you, ignoring everything J.A was telling him as if the sound had gone mute on him.

“Ella es T/N, la directora de fotografía.” Bayona introduced you to Enzo, it still felt weird hearing that title for you. “T/N, él es Enzo.”

Without a word, you extended your hand for him to shake, but you made sure to paint a smile on your lips to not appear serious. “Mucho gusto.”

“Igualmente.” You had already listened to his recorded audios for the film, but oh it couldn't compare to hearing him in person. You could hear the accent painting his words as it refreshed your memory. His voice was somehow deep but raspier at the same time.

It was strange that you had the chance to hear his voice but never see his face.

“¿Sos de aquí?” He questioned, already having an interest in you.

“Ehm no, no yo vengo de Nueva York. Estudio allá.” You informed, there was a soft glance on his part.

“Eh J.A, T/N, tenemos las cámaras listas solo necesitamos que den la última palabra.” A crew member interrupts the scene making all eyes go on him.

“Dale, chicos, nos vemos al rato.” J.A looked at the boys before his eyes landed on you, who gave him a small nod of agreement for the two of you to walk.

Enzo watched you disappear from the scene, where he stood with the rest of the guys. His frame stood still with his eyes focused on your back while you talked to J.A, doing all kinds of motions with your hands to what he thought were discussions from the scenes.

“Miren a este ya embobado con la mina.” Juani teases, his hand interlocked over his neck while he messes his hair up.

Enzo chuckled. “Para.” His tongue dragged the last word. “Que nada mas se me hizo linda.” There was a shrug on his part, but it looked like he had more questions. “Pero que no se ve muy chica?”

“Pues a nosotros nos había dicho que todavía está en la universidad, último año. Solo que J.A le dio la oportunidad de estar en este rodaje.” Matías informed, with a sense of knowledge in his voice.

Enzo kept Matias’ words in his mind. “¿Entonces esta sola acá?”

“¿Qué? ¿Le queres hacer compañía?” Valentino spoke this time, making a burst of laughter from all the guys fill the atmosphere.

Enzo rolled his eyes at all the teasing he was receiving from his part, “Solo estoy haciendo unas preguntas.” He defends, but Enzo knows that no matter how hard he tries to save himself from that position, the boys are not going to let him out of this one easily.

“Aha aha. Preguntas papi.” Pipe pats him on the back before he exits the scene walking toward where you and J.A last walked.

—

“¿Que te pareció Enzo?” J.A breaks all the concentration you had focused on your camera.

You remained your physical focus on the device, but your mind was already wandering towards your encounter with the man.

“Bien. Se ve que es buena persona.” You smiled not having anything bad to say about him, after all, you had just met him.

“Y lo es. Se van a llevar muy bien.” J.A pointed towards you, with his clipboard in hand, his voice was filled with confidence no other could possess.

You gave no response but still offered a kind smile to the man. Maybe he was right, from what you’ve heard about him he seemed like a kind, loving person to be around. Was mostly reserved to himself but was well-loved, and cared for others.

“Puede ser.” You finally spoke up. Your attention fell in the direction of the crowd of boys who were talking about whatever it was that had them arguing around.

Your eyes get caught with Enzo’s and all you can do is gift him a wave while your other hand rests on the handle of the camera. And you noticed that instead of him doing the same thing as all the boys, pushing each other and yelling, he seemed more calm and relaxed.

Maybe after all you guys would get along.

[traintomoon]

Kiss Me Okay

summary; you find a healing softness in your partner.

The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting a warm hue on the walls. Your head throbbed with the persistent rhythm of fever.

Tangerine who had felt low all day because of your pain sighed softly, resting against the doorframe. With a tired gentleness in his voice, he approached you. "Feeling under the weather, aren't we?" A small smile on his lips.

You nodded weakly, wrapped in layers of blankets. "Distract me, please," Your voice barely above a whisper.

Tangerine at this disappeared briefly into Lemon's temporary bedroom, reemerging with a guitar cradled in his arms.

"What are you doing?" You asked as he sat himself on an ottoman nearby.

As the first notes resonated, you were caught off guard by the raw beauty that flowed from him. Your surprise turned into a delighted shock, and you instinctively buried your flushed face in the sheets, trying to conceal the unexpected warmth creeping up your cheeks. Notes filled the room, weaving a gentle cocoon around you.

When Tangerine looked up at you, your heart started to beat faster than ever. You became conscious about the blazing cheeks of yours, hence tried hiding them further, sighing in contentment as the last of tones were strung.

Tangerine gave you a shy boyish grin, as he set the instrument down. "Didn't expect your stoic partner to have hidden musical talents, did you?"

You were at loss of words so you watched him shifting closer to you on his knees. Cupping your face, he planted soft kisses across your blushing features, each touch leaving a trail of warmth and affection. The room seemed to shrink as his closeness enveloped you, a comforting haven in the midst of induced vulnerability.

"Don't. You'll catch a cold too." You whispered, strands of his hair tickling your face.

He held your face in his hands, and pulled you into a long kiss in resistance. "I'm a strong man, y/n. Let me gift you with some immunity, eh?"

You couldn't protest since this felt like the sole moment where you forgot all about the pains.

The rain hummed in harmony at the feelings lighting in the room at that hour. And you made space for Tangerine in the bed, patting the empty space in invitation. He didn't give it a second thought, and instead pulled you closer by the waist, his nose touching your neck.

"I say, if I do wake up sick, let's ask Lemon to babysit us."

^ my fav edit that everyone needs to watch for a good day

[rfxiii]

(First off, a very happy birthday tomorrow to @theawfulwriter !! I’m still a little messed up and ouchy from surgery Tuesday and I really, really hope this makes sense! But more than anything, happy birthday! And if this doesn’t make sense, or isn’t what you wanted, lemme know and I’ll re-write it! 🎉🎂)

Best Birthday Wishes

TW: none

You’re curled up on your couch, sweatpants and baggy hoodie on while you sit with your knees to your chest. You’re barely paying attention to the tv show you’re so absently staring at. And while you’re lost in your own head, you fail to hear your front door jiggle open, or to notice the sound of heavy boots thudding across your floor, until a body hefts itself gracelessly over the back of your couch.

“Why so glum, sugar?” Your recent boyfriend, Trevor, asks.

You snap your head up at the sound of his voice, your eyes narrowing at Trevor as he sits cross-legged on the couch beside you. He's dressed in a pair of worn jeans, a plain white t-shirt, and a beat up old demin jacket, his foot propped up on the edge of your coffee table. His smile is almost mocking, and it takes everything in you not to snap at him. "I'm not in the mood, Trevor," you reply, looking away from him again. "Leave me alone."

But Trevor doesn't seem fazed by your less-than-friendly tone. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and studies your face intently. "Come on, darlin’," he says, his voice softening. "You can tell Uncle T what's wrong. You know you can." You feel your shoulders sag a little at the tenderness in his voice, but you're still not in the mood for this. "I just want to make it better."

You sigh, scrubbing at your face with your hands before looking back up at him. "It's-.. It’s my birthday today," you mumble. "I just... I don't want to celebrate."

Trevor's eyebrows knit together in concern. "Why not?" he asks gently. "What's wrong with celebrating you? You're amazing!" You roll your eyes, even though the words warm you up a little from the inside. "No, really," he insists. "You're perfect, smart, funny, and talented. If it was up to me, every motherfucker would be celebrating you today!”

You feel a little embarrassed by his compliments, but you can't help but smile a little. "Thanks, I guess," you mutter, looking away again. "But it's just... hard sometimes, you know?"

"Yeah," Trevor says, nodding. "I get that. But you know what? Tonight, we're going to make this the best birthday ever. Even if it's just the two of us. We can order some takeout, put on a movie... Whatever you want to do."

You chew on your bottom lip, considering his offer. A small part of you wants to enjoy your birthday with Trevor, but another part of you just wants to wallow in self-pity for a while. "Okay," you finally say, sighing. "I'll try."

Trevor beams at you, obviously relieved. "Great! I'll go get the food and set everything up while you get changed, okay?" He stands up and moves around the couch to lean against the armrest, studying you carefully. "You like Chinese? Italian? Wha’da’ya want, angel?”

You shrug. "Eh, anything’s fine..." You feel a little guilty about how little enthusiasm you have for this whole thing, but you tell yourself you'll try to enjoy it for Trevor's sake. Maybe a night in with your favorite person can make things a little better.

Trevor nods, already heading for the door. "Great! I'll be back before ya know it," he says, shooting you a quick wink before disappearing into the hallway. You hear the front door close, and then silence fills the apartment as you're left alone with your thoughts again.

You decide on taking a quick shower to at least feel a little better, you stand up and head down the hall to your bathroom. The hot water feels good against your skin as you wash away the day's grime and exhaustion. Once you're done, you throw on a pair of comfortable sweats and a soft t-shirt, feeling a little more like yourself again.

When you emerge from the bathroom, you hear the unmistakable sound of a movie playing from the living room. Peeking around the corner, you spot Trevor, and see he’s set up a little impromptu movie theater on the living room floor, complete with big blankets and a bowl of popcorn. The TV is playing an old romantic comedy you used to love, and he's even lit a few cheap candles to set the mood. You have to admit, it's kind of cute.

Trevor glances up at you as you step into the living room and offers you the bowl of popcorn. "I hope you like the movie," he says, actually looking a little nervous. "I figured you could use a laugh." You smile at him, feeling a little guilty about the way you've been acting. "Thanks, Trev. It's sweet of you." You curl up on the huge pile of blankets beside him, taking a handful of popcorn and settling in to watch the movie.

As the movie progresses, you find yourself getting caught up in the story and laughing along with Trevor at all the right places. He slips an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer, and you feel a pang of affection for him. He really is perfectly sweet when he wants to be. You can't help but wonder if this is what it's like to have someone who really cares about you, who wants to make sure you're happy.

As the credits roll, Trevor turns to you with a mischievous grin. "So, what do you say, beautiful? Now what?" You smile back at him, feeling more than a little grateful for his efforts. "I don't know, Trev. I am a little tired."

He laughs, his eyes twinkling. "Come on, let's at least have a slice of cake first. You know, to make it a proper birthday celebration." His enthusiasm is contagious, and despite yourself, you find yourself smiling back at him.

He stands up and disappears into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a small but surprisingly pretty chocolate cake and two candles. "I figured we could share it," he says with a wink, "since I kinda forgot to get food."

You roll your eyes, but can't help but laugh. "You're such a dummy, T."

He grins, setting the cake down on the coffee table. "I know, but you love me anyway." He lights the candles and hands you a lighter, then leans in close, his breath warm against your ear. "Now, make a wish."

You close your eyes, thinking for a moment. It's silly, but you wish that things could stay this way forever. Just you and Trevor, safe and happy like this in your apartment, with nothing or nobody to bother you.

You share the cake and soft laughter, and then, once it's all gone, you find yourselves back on the couch, curled up together. The soft glow from the television casts a warm light over your faces, and you can't help but feel content.

"You know," Trevor says softly, "I'm sorry if today kinda sucked for ya, sugar.. I just want you to be happy, and sometimes I don't know how to make that happen."

You look up at him, surprised. "It's okay, Trev. I've been... kind of a mess lately, and this birthday business didn’t help. But…you really have made the day better." You reach out and take his hand, giving it a squeeze. "I appreciate what you did today- trying to make tonight special for me. It worked, ya know?”

He smiles down at you, his eyes shining in the dim light. "I'm glad you enjoyed it," he says, leaning in to press a gentle kiss against your lips.

You smile back at him, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. Maybe there's hope for better days after all.

[kfkr1ze]

[002-A21] Carpe Diem

Summary — ✈︎ Kaede feels frustrated about the fact that he couldn’t be a good teacher to the rest of the students. However, after being encouraged by Sakujiro, he decides try to do what he can. 

Characters— ✈︎ Akuta, Muneuji, Nanaki, Ushio, Sakujiro

(Egg tapping)

Muneuji: ……take. Isotake.

Akuta: ……Hn?

Location: Otomari Chuuzaemon Inn in Shodoshima

Muneuji: If you fall asleep standing up here, you’ll catch a cold.

Akuta: I wasn’t sleeping. The egg is making a sound, so I’m just trying to focus on hearing it. Also, you’re way too late on coming back y’know.

Muneuji: My apologies. I made you worry.

Akuta: What were you doing up til now?

Muneuji: I went on the 88 Temple Pilgrimage[1].

Akuta: Oh… You just effortlessly challenged the 145 km long and grueling pilgrimage… You must have an unlimited supply of physical strength & a spirit made of steel huh〜

Muneuji: Not quite. I had to stop abruptly since the sun was already setting. I wanted to see everything, butーー

I couldn’t find anything that could help. … I’m sorry.

Akuta: ………

Fufufu.

Y’know, we don’t need to ask the Gods to give us anything. ‘Cuz we already have been given something. I’ll leave it at that for now.

Muneuji: ?

Akuta: Just have some faith. There’ll be a plot twist in our story.

Kaede: Aah… I can’t take this anymore…!

Just what the hell are the students thinking!? Don’t you think this kind of treatment is way too cruel!?

Sakujiro: For the sake of clarification, that can that you are drinking out of is beer that does not contain any alcohol, correct Chief?

Kaede: That’s right, what of it!?

Sakujiro: Nothing, I had no particular intentions with that question.

Andーー As for the weather tomorrow, there is nothing that could be done about it.

When researching the place to hold this study tour, we heard that this area receives little rain. It was truly an unfortunate turn of events that it will rain on the day of the event.

Kaede: … I know that. But.

(In the end, none of the students showed up for dinner tonight.)

(We could check where they are by GPS, so I’m not particularly worried butーー)

(Everything just fell apart right before the actual event… In the end, this is all my fault.)

(I get that, but… What else could I have possibly done?)

(I couldn’t even encourage Akuta-kun properly. Maybe I’m just not fit to be in charge of other people.)

(If I think like thatーー)

If I think like that, I’ll never be a good teacher…!

Sakujiro: Please calm yourself. You are not a teacher, but a tour conductor.

Sakujiro: What a poor thing. It seems as if your mind is becoming muddled. 

Kaede: Y-Yeah, you’re right… Sorry.

Sakujiro: Now, please take this. Please drink some water and gather yourself a bit.

Kaede: Thank you…

Sakujiro: ………

Kaede: You’re right about the fact that I’m a tour conductor, not a teacher. But, to those 5, I’m more older and mature than themーー

So… I was planning on teaching them a lot of different things. But in the end, I ended up learning a lot from them instead.

I didn’t do a good job in this role at all… I’m really ashamed. 

Sakujiro: ………

To live a life without failure… Would be a truly boring life.

Kaede: Eh?

Sakujiro: In a life where you have never stumbled, and without any ups and downs… That is a life without many big emotional attachments. 

In order to truly feel proud and cathartic about an accomplishment, you must first feel that feeling of “failure”ーー

That is a talent in itself, I believe.

Kaede: ………

(He’s wearing such a kind expression… I think he’s trying to encourage me.)

(That’s right… If things don’t turn out the way you want, it’s okay.)

(It’s okay if everything isn’t absolutely perfect…)

You’re right… Whatever the outcome ends up being, I’ll have to accept it.

I’ll be able to accept it after I try absolutely everything I can possibly do…!

Sakujiro: Where are you heading, at this time?

Kaede: I’m going to KOBE for a bit!

Kaede:

I’m gonna go and see if I can borrow the weather controlling device from the special tourist district!

Sakujiro: At this moment? But, as of right now, there are not any ways to get off the islandーー

Kaede: I’ll figure something out!

This is a preparation period so that we can feel cathartic one day… Hearing you say that really lifted a weight off my shoulders. Thank you.

Looking more into the future instead of focusing on the present made me feel a little better. Butーー

I think that’s something we can say just because we’re older. 

When you’re a kid, summers like this pass by before you know itーー This is something they can only experience once.

As the outside club instructor, and as the Tourism Chief of HAMA Tours, it’s my job to make sure to provide the best frame for these 16 year olds’ summer memories!

Sakujiro: ーーChief…

Kaede: Please don’t try to stop me!

Sakujiro: No, I have no intention on attempting to stop you.

Kaede: Eh?

Sakujiro: ーー The last ferry.

My serious driving skills will be able to get you there with no qualms.

Ushio: Ah.

Nanaki: …… Ah.

Ushio: ………

Nanaki: (Ugh, we bumped into each other with awful timing… This is so awkward. I should’ve waited longer before coming out.)

(Actually, why am I the one worrying about this? … This is such a pain in the ass.)

(Just as I thought, it’s so much easier being by myself…)

Sakujiro: Everyone, good morning.

Nanaki: Morning…

Ushio: … Do you know where Muneuji went?

Sakujiro: He already left earlier. Together with Isotake-kun.

Ushio: … Ah, I see.

It’s real impressive that they have so much energy. Considering it’s all gonna go to shit in the end anyways.

Nanaki: Saku-chan-sensei, what about Kinugawa-kun?

When I woke up this morning, he was already gone.

Sakujiro: He had already made his way to the Atelier early this morning.

I believe that Gannosuke-san is assisting him in decorating the rest of the lanterns. 

Which leaves you both.

Nanamegi-kun’s job today is to set up the sound equipment, and Kurama-kun’s job is to help set up the food stallsーー

Today is the day of the festival. It will be a very busy day, so hurry along and get ready.

Ushio: Ahh, yeah yeah.

Sakujiro: One “yes” is sufficient. 

Ushio: Yes sir…

Nanaki: ………

Nanaki: …… It’s really nice out today.

Today, seriously…

Are you really planning on making it rain today…? …God…

Previous — ✈︎ Masterlist — ✈︎ Next

Notes — ✈︎

Shodoshima has an 88 Temple Pilgrimage! If I just made Muneuji say “I visited the 88 temples” I felt it wouldn’t be that clear what he was doing LMFAO

[otomefiend]

Alfons Sylvatica

Collection Event: Absolutely Obedient Maid

I took some liberties in a few tricky places. I just think Al is a shameless tease and will usually lean towards such interpretation. He is definitely pushing the boundaries (or rather stepping over them) in this one, so enter only if you're up for it. Highly suggestive content ahead.

Alfons: "I'm surprised you've never tried this type of situational play..."

Alfons: "What kind of sheltered life have you led before?"

Alfons: "Ah, it's so thrilling to think I can corrupt you."

Kate: "This was not part of the deal... I'll sue you for fraud..."

Unaccustomed to wearing a maid's uniform, I felt my cheeks turn red and glared at Alfons.

Alfons: "Aha! Who are you going to appeal to? It's just a punishment game."

Liam and Alfons invited me to play cards in the common room, and my luck ran out the moment I haphazardly decided to join them.

I was utterly defeated, whilst Alfons was the winner.

As a punishment, I was ordered to be an "exclusive maid for a day."

Alfons: "... now, if you don't mind, please sit here. You're my maid after all, yes?"

Alfons: "You must absolutely obey your master's orders. If not..."

Alfons: "You never know what kind of punishment you might receive?"

(Ugh...)

The thought of sitting with my back turned towards him made me strangely nervous.

Kate: "Hmm, normally the master sits on a chair, and the maid stands beside him, right?"

Alfons: "I'm a kind master who lets his maid sit down."

(It's impossible to have one over Alfons with words...)

Kate: "Hmph...just don't do anything weird."

Alfons: "You're a troublesome maid, giving orders to your master."

Kate: "It's not an order, it's a request..."

I gave him a pointed look before sitting down on the chair.

Sensing his presence right behind me made me restless.

Alfons: "People love to role-play, don't they?"

Alfons: "Do you know the purpose behind it?"

Kate: "Purpose...?"

Alfons: "It's about being liberated. Forgetting your "true" self, leaving shame and common sense behind."

Alfons: "Focusing only on what makes you feel good."

He came around to face me, then rested provocatively against his desk and reached out his hand to me.

Alfons: "Please, take it off. Oh, and don't use your hands, use your mouth."

Kate: "...."

Feeling my face heat up, I bit the black leather glove that was wrapped around his fingertips.

(I decided to play along, I did lose that game after all)

(Besides, it's better than some more objectionable forms of punishment)

Though, why on earth did my chest begin to throb at the sight of his hand that gradually became more and more exposed---?

Alfons: "Heh, what did you imagine being done with this hand to make you look so indecent? What a shameless maid."

Kate: "..... there's nothing shameless on my mind."

Alfons: "Is that so? You're disqualified from being my exclusive maid if you can't even imagine anything indecent."

Kate: "Eh...?"

Alfons: "I have to train you so that when you take off the gloves like this, you won't be able to stop your lewd imagination."

(Are you going to show me an illusion and do something strange again?)

He was able to distort a person's perception simply by touching the nape of their neck with his bare hand.

I couldn't help but brace myself, thinking that his hand would reach my neck ---.

Kate: "Eh........hmm!?"

Unexpectedly, his fingertips were gently pressed against my lips.

When my mouth parted in surprise, I could feel them slip inside it.

(Wh ...... What are you doing ...... )

Alfons: "Heh, what a lovely face."

For some reason, his fingers were slightly sweet, like candy.

Kate: "Nn....., ah....?"

I couldn't control my voice when he started playing with my tongue.

Alfons: "Does it feel good? Haha, you're a talented maid."

He rubbed the sensitive parts of the tongue, then tickled the mucous membrane of the upper jaw,

Thick, watery sound stirred up unexpected images.

Alfons: "Here, please lick it properly yourself."

Alfons: "Isn't it just me doing all the work so far?"

Alfons: "It won't be over until you're willing to get yourself into a dirty tangle with me."

(....what are you like!)

It briefly crossed my mind that if I bit him hard enough, he would pull his fingers out of my mouth,

I could only imagine a future where such a mistake would be used as an excuse to toy with me even more.

Kate: "N......., n........!"

Alfons: "Heh.... yes, you're very good at it."

As I entwined my tongue around his fingers, a sweet whisper came out... I closed my eyes, trying to forget my embarrassment.

(Why am I doing this....?)

Kate: "Hah........, fuh......"

(...now I'm Alfons' maid......)

(Because if I disobey, I will be elaborately punished...)

(Ah......, my head is getting fuzzy. My tongue is.......hot. I feel like I'm going to melt.)

From time to time, his fingers were mischievously drawn in and out, causing my head to go numb.

(When will we be even? Is this not good enough? Is there a different way to do it?)

Growing impatient, I slightly opened my eyes ---

Alfons: "Well done. What a good girl."

My head was stroked with the palm of his glove-wrapped hand as if it were a reward.

(Oh, thank goodness. I managed in the end)

(......!?)

The moment I thought that in my dazed state--I suddenly came to my senses.

(What, "thank goodness"......?)

It was as if I had truly become an obedient maid. I felt my cheeks heat up.

Alfons: "Did you imagine something obscene again?"

He smiled pleasantly and noisily withdrew his fingers from my saliva-wet lips.

Alfons: "It was a rather clumsy service, but a good one for you."

Embarrassment and frustration welled up inside me at being played with and made to imagine all those things, just as he wanted it.

(I won't accept being toyed with like this)

Kate: "... truly loving each other would surely result in an even greater service."

Kate: "This should be enough for the 'play', don't you think?"

Alfons: "....my my."

Alfons: "You can say such provocative things with that pure mouth of yours."

Kate: "Ah......!?"

He rested his knee on the chair, splitting my legs apart.

I pressed my hand against the backrest, feeling trapped with nowhere to run.

Alfons: "I envy those who'd get to enjoy what you call 'an even greater service'."

Kate: "....you don't really think so, do you?"

Alfons: "No, no, I'm serious."

Alfons: "Alas... for me, 'true love' is a bit of a burden to be asked of myself or demand from someone else."

Alfons: "I'll just have to put up with the 'play' quality of service."

He gave me a faint smile and gently stroked my cheek with the back of his hand.

Alfons: "Well, a maid who served you well deserves a reward."

Alfons: "Shall the kind master treat you to a delicious drink?"

Kate: "....is this punishment game still going on?"

Alfons: "Of course, it's an 'exclusive maid for one day' kind of deal."

Alfons: "Since we have this rare opportunity, let's make it even more fun, shall we? My pitiful and cute, exclusive maid."

[juvenillia]

~ Death of Peace of Mind ~ 05: defeat

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!reader

photo credits go to very talented @ave661

a/n: I already have eleven chapters ready of this story and I can't believe that I started it as little collections and now we're deep in a full on fic, always glad to hear your thoughts and thanks for reading

CW/TW: mentions of trauma, loss, ptsd, smoking, guilt, rebuke, death, mental sickness

wordcount: 2.7k

prev | masterlist | next

Simon was already in the shared office working on his reports from yesterday's mission. He had an unpleasant night, and especially weird dreams and for this reason he decided to head to the office rather early. His mind went through the whole mission process from yesterday while working through the report. His thoughts always stopped back at you. The way this mission could've ended in a complete disaster if even one of you messed up, but you were able to hand it down so smoothly together. The way you instantly understood him and the way both of you worked perfectly in tandem. He was impressed, he wouldn’t tell you, but he was indeed impressed. He shook his head and kept writing until he heard a dull clonk in front of him. Johnny placed a mug in front of him, Simon raised his brows at him. "Dinnea gimme that look. Kyle made it.", he chuckled and hold tight onto his own cup filled with coffee and Simon smiled only the slightest and took a sip out of the mug.

Johnny eyed over the already written parts and smiled content. "Lass's fitting in quite good, eh.", he finally said before moving over to his desk. Simon didn't answer. He knew what Johnny wanted to express, but Simon was still so guarded about you. Sure, the stories Price and you shared yesterday helped a lot. It showed him that you could be able to be trusted, but you still had to earn it, and if he was honest, he didn’t seem to understand your behavior around the base. Johnny stirred clearly absent in his mug, rubbing his still tired eyes. 

You, however, were already in the gym running kilometre after kilometre on the treadmill. For a few hours, you could finally find some rest, sleeping without any presence of any images before your eyes. The alcohol provided you some peace, but as soon as you woke up, everything was over. You unlocked your phone and were instantly greeted by a name and realization hit right into your head. You wanted to text her last night. You wanted to apologize for everything. You wanted to be there for her today, but you couldn't. A huge discomforting rage boiled up inside your stomach, and that's why you decided to hit the gym as early as possible to get the frustration out of your system. But nothing seemed to work. After you felt a huge exhaustion creep over your body, you stopped the running and decided to get your reports ready.

After the first smoke, before even hitting the gym, you already mapped everything for the report out. You only needed to write everything neatly down and planned on handing them over to the Lieutenants desk as soon as possible to spend the rest of the day with yourself alone. You couldn't bear anything today. You even thought about asking Price for permission to leave the base for today. Taking your motorbike and just driving around the landside until you forget about this god damn anniversary. An anniversary you never wanted to even have to think of. But as soon as you would've asked Price, he would be questioning it, and you didn't want to talk about it. You didn't want to risk anything. So, you made your way up to the office to hand the files over to just hide yourself away for the rest of the day.

You entered the office, and both Soap and Ghost were already on their desk, greeting you silently. Soap with his signature smirk and Ghost – as always – just nodding along. "Morning."You bluntly made your way up to Ghost's desk and put the files on top of it. He just eyed you and nodded, pleased that you were already finished. He was used to it to run after every bloody report since Kyle and Johnny never had a big interest in getting the paperwork done. "Slept well, bonnie?", Soap's voice caught your attention, and the smile he wore kept it. Soap looked in your face and could suddenly feel a huge urge to wrap his arms around you. You looked miserable. Every glimpse of energy your body had left after that night, was gone after the excessive workout in the morning. The Scot immediately regretted his question. "Yer alright?", he added in a way more concerned voice, standing up and getting a bit closer to you. He would never want to disturb you, to invade your personal space, but right here, right now, he just wanted to reach out and help you.

You immediately stepped back, looking tired at him. You waved it off. Also, Ghost saw that you weren't alright. His attention laid onto you, even putting down his pen to watch carefully. "Just tell me if I can help with something. Eh.", he said while keep standing in place. The urge to just hold you grew with every second. Soap remembered how comforting a simple and honest hug can be. It can help healing and Soap couldn't stand seeing you so devastated.

"I'm fine. Just need some rest.", you lied half-assed with a forced smile. Soap stepped a bit forward. "Just let me know, will ya. We’re team, y’know.", he placed a hand on your shoulder. Just gently brushing over it and you immediately shoved his arm away. "Mind your own fucking business, okay.", you snapped and hissed even sharper than intended. Your eyes looking in completely disgust at his shocked eyes. He only nodded so slightly but with pure sadness written all over his face. Before Ghost could even intervene, you left the office. Your steps carrying you away as fast as possible.

You felt so pathetic. Curled up in yourself on top of your bed clinging onto the little plate between your fingers. It originally shiny metal was used, scratched and there was a huge piece missing at one of the corners. Tears streamed down your cheeks. You weren't allowed to show any weakness, but here within the safety of your own walls you could be vulnerable. You could scream and cry as much as you needed. As much as you tried to block out your emotions, you were only human, and the immense guilt ate you up. You lifted it up, pressed the cold metal against your forehead, just like he always did. You imagined him here with you, his hands caressing your cheeks, teasingly telling you how ugly you looked when crying. A desperate laugh escaped your lungs and you wished for silence. Some peace for your God damn mind. You wished to trade places with him.

All the years of being part of the military taught you many things. How to help others, how to turn even the shittiest situation around, how to read people, how to trust people, but it also taught you how to close off for the rest of the world. It taught you how to isolate yourself, just in case. Because what it showed you, is that even if you tried you best, you could never save all of them. You were just a pawn in a chess match. Completely interchangeable, and nobody cared about the tragic things you had to experience. Nobody cared about the loss you had to process. All the years had built a cold wall around you, forcing yourself to shut down. Shut down your emotions after the first time you lost someone. The first time you had to suffer from this immense guilt.

Afterwards you were not more than a vessel. Send out to kill, living to obey. Your life was nothing more than an order. You saw your days unfold without a meaning. Without a reason to go on. There was just that duty to fulfill. Then, without a warning he came into your life. He took your hand and pulled you up from the ground of the ocean. He literally saved you from drowning. He showed you, how beautiful this life can be even with the job you had to do. He showed you reasons to fight for, to live for. He brought the version of yourself back that was long forgotten and with him you learned a way of living that you never wanted to give up. You learned so much, you felt so much. You were so blind, and he taught you to see again and now, your only wish was to see him again. See his dumb smile again, hear his voice again, but he was gone.

You didn't know how much time went by, but when you stood up once more your glance wandered to the window, showing you an already stained red sky. You were surprised that literally nobody came along. Scolding you for being nothing than a futile, but you didn’t care. You went into the bathroom, splashed your face with some cold water, not even daring to look into the mirror and went outside. Trying to calm your nerves with a smoke before hopefully being able to get some sleep tonight. Exhausting your body as far as possible that it would give in. You put the little plate into the box with your lighter and the cigarettes while sitting on the patio at the very back at the base. Praying that nobody, especially not Soap, would cross your way now. You didn’t care about seats. You just went to the very back, cross-legged leaning against the cold wall. Box placed next to your still trembling body. Lighting one of the cigarettes and let your thoughts roam over everything you gave up and left behind because of your own stupidity. The smoke bringing back a familiar raspy feeling into your throat.

You noticed a few cracks of the wooden floor, means someone walked over it, but you didn’t give it a second thought. Until you heard someone clearing his throat. Your head tilted into the direction, and you were met with a 6'2 huge statue. Your head immediately fell back against the wall while you took a long drag from your fag. He came closer, you could feel the wood beneath you vibrate. “We need to talk.”, his voice was even deeper, rougher than you remembered. “Not interested.”, you breathed it out with a thick cloud of smoke. He was standing right next to you, “That wasn’t a request, Sergeant.”

A sigh escaped your throat with some more smoke. You pushed yourself up, not facing him, leaning against the wall with your back, dragging at the fag again. Ghost could see your exhausted face, he could see your swollen eyes. He knew you were anything but alright, but he wasn’t able to keep himself together, not after this morning. “You stepped a line.”, he exhaled cold, keeping his gaze onto your figure. You put the fag out on the heel of your boot, “Don’t think so.” Your eyes were pinned onto the fence in front of you. “Look at me when we’re talking.”, he demanded cold while stepping even further to you. You bit the inside of your cheek, before pushing yourself off the wall and facing him. Your eyes still burning, you investigated his. “And now?”, your tone was broken bur stern. He bended himself a bit over, to lower himself on eye level with you. “Now you tell me what the bloody hell you think you’re doing.” – “I’m doing my job, Lieutenant.”

He was close, and you could once more feel his hot breath through his mask brushing over your skin. This time was different because his eyes told you something you haven’t seen till now. They hold a death glare, and they wouldn’t let you go. “So, your job is to mess with my Sergeant.”, his voice was cutting right through your mind. Your brows narrowed, and your tongue clicked, “You really have to play babysitter here?” His hands balled to fist, his knuckles turning white. During the training, he was pissed, but this mood was very different. He really could tear you apart, and maybe something inside you just wanted it. That he would punish you the way you deserved it. You deserved to be yelled at. You deserved to be punched. For all that you did, for all that you said. The incident with Soap was just to the top of the iceberg.

“Listen closely.”, he leaned back and straightened up, looking condescending down at you. “I don’t care who you think you are. I don’t care where you came from.”, you could definitely see his jaw clench, even hidden behind the mask. His arms crossed before his chest, “I don’t care how decent the job is you make. I don’t care about your sloppy skills.”; that was an understatement, “and I don’t care what Price sees in you.”, that was straightforward a lie. “If you treat the members of this team like rubbish, it will be my pleasure to show you your place.” His harsh tone sent shivers down your spine. He didn’t yell, but this low, cold voice was worse. “If they decided to trust ya and even help yer pathetic self, then at least be polite with them. Otherwise, I can’t guarantee for anything.” His accent was thick, and you swallowed hard. Still staring into those eyes that could kill you alone with their glance. “I’m not gonna let ya destroy what we built up.”, he added with a hiss through gritted teeth.

Suddenly, it hit you like a ton of bricks. This situation, this conversation, all of it felt too familiar. Another wave of guilt washed over your mind. He is still staring at you, boring daggers into your head, waiting for a response. Tears pricked in the corner of your eyes. That was the moment you broke eye contact. Turning your head back to the ceiling in front of you. Your finger started fidgeting with the hem of your pocket. “Yes, sir.”, you bit your lip, not able to produce more words while the lump in your throat grew bigger and bigger. Ghost only blinked at your response. From all what he learnt about you, he was prepared. Prepared to have a full-on argument, screaming at each other, fighting, but that you would just stand here. Completely defeated, that was something he wasn’t prepared of. Without a word, you left for your barrack and left an utterly confused Lieutenant back at the patio. Just as you walked around the corner, the tears started to run over your cheeks again. Where was the persona that took over to protect you in such a situation? Your ptsd always hitting in the wrong moments, but never when you could really need this different personality.

Ghost was left behind, his eyes followed as you left and went back to the place, he found you. His head started to hurt. “Bloody hell… women...”, he exhaled calm while staring at the now empty place. What he found instead of your figure was a little blue box made from wood. A shark engraved on it. He shouldn’t open it, but it also could’ve been something he needed to know. Something that could help to put you in your place for the next time. He just looked back to the path you just trailed off, just in case for you to grab it, but there was no sign of you coming back, so he decided to open it. In the box, he only found some cigarettes, a brand he was unfamiliar with, a lighter, and something that caught his interest the most. He pulled out a damaged dog tag and observed it. His eyes softened slightly, and he once looked more in the direction you went off. He shoved everything back in the box and wanted to bring it back to you. That was something important to you, and the guilt that washed over him because you left it behind because of him hunted him. He had no right into digging into your private belongings.

“Lt. Ya commin?”, Johnny’s voice brought him back. He stood some feet away from the terrace. Ghost only shoved the box into the pocket of his jacket before he walked over to catch some dinner with his teammates. He would give it back, but without the curious eyes from others. It was wrong enough that he invaded your privacy like that.

taglist: open just lmk

@yyiikes @saffronimagines @originaldeerhottub @illuminwtesz

[dansconcepts]

GI Roleswap AU - Meeting Venti

"I am the last one." The yaksha- who's actually Venti, who knew?- admits. 

You seem pretty lighthearted about it was Aether’s immediate thought, but he noticed the tenseness he doesn’t often see in the bard/yaksha’s eyes, the unnatural glint of a smile that doesn’t match. His tease dies on his tongue.

However, in unsurprising Paimon fashion, she holds no such reservations as she goes, “You don’t seem the least bit upset about that!”

Venti's eyes immediately narrow, but his smile grows even wider, if that were possible. “Don’t tell me how I feel.” He hisses out, words dipped in honeyed poison.

“EEP!” Paimon screeches. The fairy’s head frantically bobs up and down. “Got it! Loud and clear!” 

Yet under her breath, she murmurs, “to think the bard can be so scary like that… what a terrifying change!” 

Venti’s eyes glare impassively at the small being, and she immediately freezes, wondering if he heard. 

The yaksha turns away. He has a more settled gaze, with an actual frown. She lets out a sigh of relief. Aether watches them, calculating. 

“If that’s all you needed, I best take my leave! Oh, to depart from you is quite the relief!"

"HEY! WHAT DO YOU MEAN RELIEF?!"

"Ehe~! Bye-bye Traveler and your little pet!" The bard waves in lieu of answering. Almost like an afterthought, he adds, "You're pretty decent for a human!"

And he disappears with a sudden breeze of the wind.

[Some angsty Venti in the form of the flute scene because Xiaoven under the cut]

Is this how he dies? 

The silence blares louder than his pained gasps of breath. Each sharp intake bleeds out of him like the gashes he's taken. His head pounds to a jarring rhythm, lyrics growled and snarled at him as they take delight in his pathetic attempts to stand up and find his lyre. 

He'd honestly cry out, if his throat was able to. Yet it feels like even that, too, is torn apart, and his tears flow more freely than he'll ever be able to feel. 

It certainly flows better than his rhymes. He snorts.

He honestly could use the rest, eternal as it’ll be. So many of his friends have done so already.  Vennessa… Dvalin… 

He wonders if there will be anyone who would tell the tale of the death of the final, and last, Yaksha. The one who sung lullabies to entrap monsters into eternal slumber. The one who used the winds to carry a voice razor sharp in both wit and piercing with wordplay. The one only seen by a few and trapped by the contract he had signed, dying on the same soil he vowed to protect. 

Voices grow louder with their resentment. Crescendos, really, until everything means nothing. All of it.

He is so tired.

This is what he deserves. He aches to close his eyes.

Yet he doesn't.

A soft melody calls to his soul. To his role. To the body that lays still, so unlike himself who never stops dancing to a phantom beat.

He is certain it belongs to a flute. 

Yet what flute's songs can drown out screams? What flute was a serenade, coaxing the burning of the wounds to soothe, the thoughts in his head to rest, letting himself focus on the forefront of his mind?

A stunning clarity did the flute bring. Even with his... talents, he cannot produce such a sound. Its playing coos at him, reaching out a metaphorical hand from its composer. 

It was unlike any song he's heard before, and he knows so many over the years from purely seeking it out. 

He wants to stand and cry and laugh and cry again.

So unlike his music.

Music acting to save, not to kill. 

He knows not of anyone, either archon, mortal, or adeptus, that plays an instrument like this flute.

However, he's presented the answer when the song reaches a bridge of calm, of promise, and of a cool caress against his cheek. Wind! 

He's taken, higher and higher, and he laughs. He laughs, even with the blood drying on his skin. He laughs, because he is weightless, and has heard the most beautiful thing in his whole lifetime. He doesn't want to let it go. 

The beauty of this world rushes through him, and suddenly he wants nothing more than to experience more of it. To remember it. The now and the then. Maybe even the potential of a future just as beautiful.

And, as if praising him, he feels the wind slowly die down around him, gently setting him back on the ground. 

It spins around him. His braids float with it. His hand trails after the winds with a giggle, before it drops something in his hand.

A Vision.

An Anemo Vision.

He recalls the name from his Lord Tartaglia, mentioned offhandedly with an indifferent shrug, slightly terse on his lips.

"Alatus." He breathes. The name of his saviour. 

And the music stops. Yet the wind- or perhaps it was himself, really- keeps the melody stuck in his head. 

It hasn't ceased. He doesn't want it to.

He doesn't ever try to replicate it. 

[garmgeyr]

A package finds itself in Dreamflux Reef. It is rather large, just about as wide as the space between someone's shoulders, and wrapped humbly with brown paper and twine, with nothing but an 'R' and a 'to Mr. Gallagher' written on it. One might question how or why it got here, but to ask would be a waste. There is no sublime realization or philosophical soliloquy to be had, the package is just there for a very simple reason—someone had wanted to give something to Gallagher, and so they did.

Within this simple package—delivered thanks to a simple wish—one would find a note and a box. The note, scented lightly with lavender, reads:

Dear Mr. Gallagher, I hope this package reaches you. I have been traveling a lot lately and didn't have the time to deliver it to you myself, like I had intended. I wanted to thank you for everything and so thought to send this present. You have been a reliable ally and—if you don't mind me saying—a trustworthy friend. In the near future, I would love to meet with you again! I truly cherish the times we spend together and, beyond that, have missed being in Dreamflux Reef with the children. As I am currently away, though, this will have to suffice. Speaking of which: while this present is addressed to you, please do share it with the good people of Dreamflux Reef—though you have always been generous with your talents, so I am certain you would have done so even without me saying. And let me know if you want more of anything particular—I would be more than happy to keep you stocked up. :) I wish you all the best! Harmoniously, Robin

As for the box: Should its tape be removed and lid be lifted, one would find an array of different ingredients within it, all foreign to Penacony—and some even foreign to this realm (Romaritime Flower syrup? How did that make it through customs…) There are bags of dried leaves and spices, each labeled with a name and a place of origin. There are also small glass bottles of syrups and liquids, similarly labeled and cushioned by shreds of paper. The variety in this collection is very carefully chosen, all in the hopes that it will be appreciated by a veteran drinksmith.

Happy "Birthday," Gallagher!

Deliveries around here usually made a stir, because very few of the quiet city’s residents had anyone left to send them anything. Occasionally letters trickled down from the golden dream, but a package turned heads.

“Who’s that from?”

Everyone in the bar stopped what they were doing to look at the Reef’s disheveled old hound and the wrapped box he braced under one arm as he came through the door.

“Take a guess,” he challenged the breadmaker with a smirk, and went over to the counter to set it down. She twisted her head to read the writing on the front of the letter tucked underneath the twine.

“R…” She gasped suddenly. “This isn’t from… Miss Robin?”

Whispers surged through the room, but the man merely smiled as he began to unwrap the rest of the box. It looked like it’d been opened already, then tied back up again in the same haphazard way the culprit dressed himself. The breadmaker with her hands on her hips peered over the lid to get the first glimpse of the treasure packed carefully inside, just like the pair playing pool in the corner had stopped their game entirely to crane their necks to see.

Her eyes widened. “What a collection…”

“Mhm. Quite the thank-you, eh? And it comes with the night off for you.” He looked up at her and then laughed. “What’s that face for?”

“It really should be us thanking her.”

“Don’t worry about that.” He’d take care of it, in other words. “Just take a seat and let me handle the drink-making tonight.”

“…” The breadmaker’s face softened into a smile, then sharpened up again with a hearty laugh. “Alright, but you’re going to need a few dozen more people in here if you’re planning on making us your taste-testers again. You two.”

She snapped at a pair of teenagers rocking back in their chairs by the door. Both slapped the legs down to the cement floor and sat up, startled straight.

“Drag the extra tables around from the back and set ‘em up outside. And the rest of you— tell everyone you know that drinks are on the house tonight,” a sly smile tossed sidelong at her replacement, “Gallagher’s treat.”

It didn’t take long for the little ramshackle bar and its patio to fill up after that. It wasn’t any sort of grand party or occasion like what one might find in a sweet dream, of course, but there was familial camaraderie and comfortable conversation, a warm hum of talk and laughter under the strings of blinking bulb lights, and the clink of glasses with toasts for nothing but the joy of a special evening shared with a handful of friends. Some of the drinks told stories of distant lands, of a planet in a bubble, of flowers that only bloomed under the sea. Others held the scent of bonfires, the orchestras of crickets, the cool grass of a sunlit morning, and the weighted comfort of a loved one bundled in your arms. For but a moment, life bloomed in the city of the sea.

When the drinks were through, everyone said their goodbyes and went home again. The streets quieted just as they had been, just as they always were. The old drinksmith looked on as he cleaned the last of the glasses and put them away, wearing an expression that was as serene as it was sad.

As all endings are. Once experienced, never again.

And because there is another version of the story.

One that takes place in a lonely old graveyard at the heart of a quiet city where a box has been left at the foot of a canine guardian carved from stone. An offering for a family long gone, whose names have been all but forgotten.

[17-fastest-lap]

Not some Checo fans saying losing the WDC is on Max (???) because RBR haven't listened to Checo saying the car is sh*t.

There are so many things wrong with this, I don't even know where to start...

This has turned out too long so I'll write a summary: Max has gently been vocal for a really long time now about the car being cr*p, defended Checo's performance at every opportunity because the car is sh*t, has been completely ignored by the team when saying how bad the car is, even mocked by some of them coughHornercough, has been tasked with bringing the team to wins with a sh*t car relying only on his talent, Marko and his Verstappen factor, anyone, because his team has ignored drivers' feedback, when he finally snapped and talked back to his team, y'all called him rude, yet now you blame him for not relaying information back to the team about the undriveability of the car, unfuckingbelievable.

Long version below.

1st, where have you been since...hmmm...Bahrain?!?! Max has been saying, for those who actually cared to listen, since the beginning of the season that the car feels off, he has DEFENDED Checo's performances and put it down to the car, he started being more than vocal when the freaking team principal mocked him and went manic with power, "the car is fine" my a**, the only thing fine about that car is the paint, if at the start Max has been gently pointing out the faults of RB20, his voice grew momentum the more the team played deaf to both drivers' pleadings, to the point in the last few races before summer break he has been down right screaming from the top of the factory just how bad the car is and has been totally ignored, apparently not just by the team, but also certain fans, I guess it didn't fit their Max is the villain and hates Checo narrative.

2nd, how exactly is it Max's fault if the car is sh*t?!?!?! You expect him to start designing the car now that Adrian is leaving? Then what's the point of Waché and the rest of the engineers and designers? Hey, if Max designs the car then RB can fire those people and have a bigger budget! 👍🏻

3rd, why is it Max's fault Horner went mad with power and completely ignored feedback from his drivers? Even if RBR did not listen to what Checo was saying, they also didn't listen to Max, please see 1st above, how is Max responsible for it? Do you think Max walks into the factory and everyone falls to their knees going "our lord and saviour, we are at your service, command us"?! They don't or else the points above would have existed. As much influence as you think Max has within the team, he cannot control how other people behave. If Horner didn't take into account Checo's feedback it's because he did. not. want. to, not because Max told him so.

It took RBR's effin rivals laughing at them and pointing out just how bad that car looks for Horner to take off his tinted glasses and realise that he might not have a team to lord over if he doesn't come back from his RB20 is fine shaped cloud to God's not so green earth and the reality that RBR are losing the constructers and are in danger of losing the drivers' too if he doesn't start listening when his drivers, the people who actually drive the sh*t box, tell him the car is UNDERIVABLE.

Note: Not only Checo and Max have been pointing out the faults of RB20, but Adrian had a whole a** list of faults and how to fix them, maybe you should give him a call for that, eh, Christian, but most of RB20's faulty parts were designed against Adrian's advice, the decision to include them being Waché's, who still acts like that was a good idea, it was not, with Horner's blessing approval

Note 2: I am not sure Horner has woken up to reality, might still be floating on the RB20 is fine shaped cloud.

Note 3: There is a lot of drive at the end of the last paragraph.

[honourablejester]

PF2e Character Concept: Graverobber Ghost Eater Rogue

Since I was talking about grave robbers as a character concept and the lovely fact that Pathfinder actually has that as a background option ... I’m gonna build me a grave robber!

We’re gonna go rogue, because, well, criminal. But. I think for this one, we’re going to try a ruffian rogue. They’re lurking in graveyards, they’re lugging bodies around, they’re shovelling dirt and excavating coffins. They feel very physical. So we’ll go ruffian, and have equal Str and Dex, and for a bonus we’ll be trained in Intimidation. Which feels very right for a grave robber who, again, spends a lot of time lurking in graveyards.

They’re going to carry a shovel. This is important to me. Their equipment has to included a long tool (shovel) and a hooded lantern. The shovel can be used as an improvised weapon (1d6) if they want to. For their actual weapons, I think we’re going to go with a good, old-fashioned club, because they’re a very ‘hit them over the head’ sort of character, and a crossbow for range.

For ancestry …

Look. It’s slightly weird, given their views on ancestors and ancestor worship, but I really want a witch gnoll? Because creepy cackling dark-furred hyena rogue lurking in graveyards. You get some spooky occult spellcasting for free, starting with ghost sound, which feels both very useful and very thematic for a criminal trying to sneak into graveyards to loot bodies/graves. Also, seven foot tall creepy person lurking in graveyards with a shovel. The image is what I’m going for here. Heh.

I am wondering how well a grave robber gels with a gnoll’s reverence for the dead. Does it count if they’re not gnoll dead? They’re not this rogue’s ancestors, so it doesn’t count? Gnolls are also very pragmatic, which fits so well with the ghoulish pragmatism you’d get on a grave robber. They eat their dead, they use their bones. Is this particular gnoll just weirded out by putting the dead in boxes and leaving them to rot, and views grave robbing, in its own weird way, as almost a better way to honour the dead? At least they’re being useful. They’re giving strength, wisdom, prosperity to at least someone, instead of being locked in a box underground to just moulder. Eh, I think I can work something there.

And. On the subject of the dead. The thing about being a grave robber in a fantasy universe is that you’re a lot more likely to run into the undead as well. I do want to add something a little bit mystical to this grave robber. I did consider both the ghost hunter and exorcist archetypes, but … they’re both a bit too finicky? This character is not a grave tender, they’re a grave robber. I wanted something a bit more … pragmatic. Enter the ghost eater archetype, which opens, directly at the dedication feat, with the simple premise of ‘if a ghost hits you, hit it back’. Which I think fits much better for our pragmatic ruffian rogue? *grins* Yes. I think we’ll do that.

For stats, I think we can start with a +3 to Str/Dex, a +1 to Con/Int/Cha, and a +0 to Wis. We’re a thug. A slightly smart, somewhat intimidating thug, but we’re not necessarily all that sensible. Would we be in this business if we were sensible?

Because we’re a rogue, we can be trained in a shit tonne of skills, even with only a +1 Int, so we’ll get Acrobatics, Athletics, Deception, Diplomacy, Intimidation, Lore: Underworld, Society, Stealth and Thievery. We’ve got a couple bonus spots as well, so we’ll also pick up a little bit of Religion and Occultism, because when you hang around in graveyards as often as we do, you pick up some things, and we’ll also take a bit of Medicine just because it’s handy to have. To level, we’ll focus on Acrobatics, Athletics, Intimidation, Stealth and Thievery, and maybe divvy the rest between Society and Occultism.

Bundling this all back together … We’re a seven foot tall burly hyena person who’s fallen, by an odd combination of luck, pragmatism, natural talent, and some odd beliefs about the dead even by gnoll standards, into a career as a grave robber and resurrectionist in a non-gnoll society. Possibly we’re an exile from our tribe, possibly related to said somewhat odd beliefs. But we’re pretty good at our happy new career lurking in graveyards and politely thumping both living and undead nuisances over the head with a lovingly-crafted club and/or our shovel, whichever was fastest to hand. We’re enjoying it, honestly. It’s good, honest work!

Gnoll names are often bone-based, which fits so nicely as well. So we’re going to go a little over the top, here, and call her Knuckle the Lurk. A grave robbing, ghost eating, ruffian rogue. Heh.

[orangeinecstasy]

about you ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟryan mcmahon

paring: ryan x reader (no use of y/n)

summary: waking up to one of ryan's late night writing session.

a/n: short ryan blurb because i love him sm and think about him all the time

wc: > 1k

*reblogs, notes, and feedback are greatly appreciated!!

My sleepy eyes opened slowly, my hand reaching for the phone to check the time. I grab it, and the phone's bright light turns on, causing my eyes to squint before they adjust. Two am, the time read. I set my phone down with a huff. I was used to waking up in the middle of the night unannounced, but that didn't mean it was any less annoying. I set my phone down, turning over to cuddle up with my boyfriend but finding an empty bed.

"Ryan?" I say, sitting up, now fully awake. I look around the room, the moonlight peaking through the curtains as the light source. I push back the covers, standing up, the cropped shirt I wore to bed now seeming like a wrong choice as the air of the room presses against my skin. Opening the door, light from the hall spills into the room, the faint sound of a guitar coming down the hall. 

I walk down the hall, leaning against the door frame of the music room, and find Ryan. Guitar lades across his lap as he sings quietly, hands moving effortlessly across its strings. "Late-night jam session?" I say with a small laugh. He looks up at me, a faint pinkness in his cheeks as he sets the guitar on its stand.

"Eh, Kinda," he says, rubbing his nape. I walk over, moving some of his hair out of his face before settling on his lap. "I know this is your job, babe, but you need to rest," I kiss his temple gently. Ryan's arms wrap around me, a sigh leaving his lips.

"I know, I know. I'm just trying to write this song, and I feel like it's coming out all wrong," as he spoke, I watched his eyes cloud with unsureness. "I'm sure it's wonderful. You're the most talented songwriter I know," I say, trying to give him some encouragement and comfort. 

I looked over at the desk littered with crumpled paper and a notepad with what I assumed to be lyrics written on it in Ryan's script. "Here," I get up, pull up a chair next to him, and sit down.

"Why don't you play it for me? That usually helps, yeah?" I rub his arm gently, smiling. He picked up the notepad, eyes moving from it and back to me. "Uhh, I'm not sure," he says with a slight shrug.

"Awe, come on, Ry, there's nothing to be nervous about. It will be wonderful," I kiss his cheek, leaning back into my chair. 

He rubs his hands together, picking up the guitar, fingers plucking the strings to ensure everything was still in tune. Clearing his throat, his eyes scan the notepad before looking at me again. "Promise you won't laugh?" he pushed his hand through his hair. I nod, smiling softly,

"I promise! Seriously," his hands move across the strings, a beautiful tune flowing from the guitar. 

He paused, causing the instrument to make an unusual noise. "Before I start," he took a deep breath, a soft blush prickling to the surface of his skin. "I just want to let you know that this song is potentially... maybe... definitely about you," he says, a mix of embarrassment and nervousness on his face.

My face lit up, lips pressing together, trying to conceal my smile and excitement. "This is going to boost my ego a bit too much," I say with a small laugh. "Please, you're so cute," he says with a smile before playing the song again. 

The song finished, and tears welled up in my eyes. Ryan set his guitar down, rubbing his hands on his thighs. "Thoughts?" he cleared his throat, looking over at me. "Ryan... I... that's the most beautiful song I've ever heard. I really, truly, love it," I blink away the tears in my eyes and take his hand into mine.

"You're so fucking talented," I squeezed his hand gently, watching the worry fade from his eyes. "Thank you, baby," he kissed my cheek gently, "I'm really, really glad you liked it. It means a lot," he squeezed my hand back, kissing my knuckles. 

"Can I take up that going-to-bed offer again?" he stands, stretching his arm above his head, causing his shirt to shift up slightly. "Of course," I stand, wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing him gently. He hums gently into the kiss, letting the tension leave his body. The two of us walk back to the bedroom hand-in-hand, falling asleep in each other's arms.

[paralyze-fic]

Paralyze.

Chapter 67

After all the commotion was over, we had breakfast. I sat next to Katsuki and I refused to look at him. He was chuckling to himself, letting out a few mischievous laughs, and that made the rest of the squad scared.

"W-why are you behaving like this, Bakugou?" Kaminari stuttered whilst staring at him with confusion and fear.

"Yeah, you're being scary, man," Sero said now. Katsuki exclaimed an annoyed 'Eh?!', dropping his arm around my shoulders, and pulling me closer to him.

"I discovered a great talent last night," I could feel the smug smile growing on Katsuki's face, making me scoff. "And we'll kill everybody with our sound."

I saw Mina smiling brightly, jumping in her seat, "This is going to be the best Culture Festival!"

//////

When we finished our breakfast, every team went their own separate way. Without hesitation, I went to the dancing team, but Jiro dragged me with her after she hung the music sheet on the wall, the band team behind her.

"Aren't I... going to dance?" She laughed and nodded, sitting on the couch, I sat with her.

"You'll be practicing the dance too, but when we finish, I need you to come with me and help me write the song," I stared at her in shock.

"Write the song...?" She nodded smiling.

"Well, more like, I need opinions, I already have the melody but now I'm not the only one singing, so I wanna know what you think," I hummed in realization, and something behind her caught my attention.

"Um... I think Katsuki is going to murder Kaminari."

Jiro flinched and turned around, yelping and getting up. "Bakugou, don't do that!" Jiro looked at me over her shoulder for a split second, "I'll call you over later, (L/n)!"

"Yeah, sure..." I trailed staring at the current situation.

"(M/n)-kun!" I flinched and turned to the voice. Izuku was standing at the door, smiling brightly at me, "Mina is calling for you!"

Sighing, I got up from the couch and walked to him, "Let's go."

As soon as Mina saw me, she ran towards me, grabbed my arm and pulled me with the rest. "Okay, everyone!" She stood in front, dragging me beside her. Everybody stared at her, "I'm still deciding the choreography, but!" I jumped at her sudden loud voice, "I've got a cool idea!"

And a light chorus of 'what is it?' was heard.

"When (M/n) starts singing, he won't be right beside Jiro, he would move towards her!" I frown at her words.

"Could you explain it better, Mina-chan?" Tsuyu asked and Mina happily nodded.

She explained it with some classmates as an example. Mina made Izuku, Uraraka, Tsuyu and Shoji stand next to each other, "Now, (M/n) would be in some place like..." She held my arms and moved to stand on the far end.

Right between Izuku and Uraraka.

"If the band is in the middle," she made hand motions to Shoji's right, "(M/n) would walk out," Mina grabbed my hand, pulling me forward, "And as he moves to stand next to Jiro," now I was walking towards my right, "All of you," she gestured to Uraraka, Tsuyu and Shoji, "Would make room for him, covering his spot."

And she made me stay next to Shoji. After she did this, an understanding 'Ahh' was heard and she giggled, clapping her hands.

"Well, let's get to the choreography!"

///////

In the middle of our practice, I heard some shuffling of leaves around, I ignored it for a bit, but-

"Ah! Togata senpai!"

-Izuku's voice made me stare at him, following to where he was looking.

That is...

"Eri-chan!"

She was standing there, staring at us with a lost look in her eyes, gripping the strap of her little bag.

"(M/n)-san... Deku-san..." She said in a low voice.

Aizawa explained to us that she was brought here so she would get used to it. Iida walked up to her and introduced himself. Then Mineta made an inappropriate comment about our little Eri, so I activated my quirk to shut him up, deciding to paralyze his entire body while I was at it. He was struggling to talk again, but I didn't let him. Togata senpai stood in front of Eri, protecting her from our perverted classmate.

"Anyway, I'll be showing U.A. to Eri-chan." He turned to Izuku and I, "Midoriya-kun, (L/n)-kun, why don't you come too?"

Right as we were going to answer, the dorm door was opened, "Hey, dance team, we want to talk with you..." Eijiro poked his head out, but he stopped when he saw Eri. He came to her, while Mina said something about drinking tea.

And, yeah, after Izuku and I said we would be going too, we headed back inside to put on our uniforms.

As we walked out of the elevator, we caught the attention of the band. Katsuki stared at me with narrowed eyes, getting up from the drums and walking towards me. His right hand gripped my left forearm, pulling me close to him. We were literally pressed up against each other, Katsuki looking up at me and our breaths colliding. He didn't seem to mind the stares on us, but I did.

"Katsuki, what-?"

"Where are you going?" He growled in a whisper, side glancing at Izuku and his scowl deepened. "And why are you going with Deku?" I sweatdropped, and I glanced at Izuku briefly, doing hand motions for him to go ahead. Over Katsuki's shoulder, I locked eyes with Jiro, and she immediately understood.

"Well, we can practice without Bakugou, so... from the top!" She exclaimed in a nervous tone, making Kaminari, Tokoyami and Yaomomo listen to her.

Letting out a heavy sigh, my (e/c) eyes looked at the crimson ones staring up at me with anger... Well, thinking of the current situation, the anger was probably more like... jealousy?

I had to bite down on my tongue so I wouldn't smile brightly like an idiot at how fucking cute Katsuki seemed.

"We're going to walk around U.A. with Togata senpai and Eri-chan," Kaminari perked up at what I said.

"Oh, isn't she the girl you guys rescued?" I nodded at him a couple of times and a tsk made me look down at the jealous porcupine. He had a blush on his cheeks, and his eyes were looking away from me.

I smiled at him and leaned down when the band and the stage team weren't looking, "You'll have me all to yourself later, puppy."

He groaned and pushed me away from him, turning around and walking to the drums while growling like a wild animal. I just chuckled at him and walked out of the dorm, going to stand next to Izuku, Togata and Eri.

"Here I am," Eri looked up at me and extended her hand out to me. I smiled at her and held her small pale hand in mine.

"Let's go."

[oceansprompts]

𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕧𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕦𝕒𝕣𝕕 𝕠𝕡𝕤 // 𝕕𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕪 𝟚 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤

this dialogue taken from destiny 2's vanguard ops strikes; the lightblade, proving grounds, fallen saber. . . . adjusted for general use. . . . change as needed for usage

The only way in is through some old canals, which means we need a boat. Leave that part to me.

Hey, hey, hey, hey, that's our guy! The one guarding the temple! What's he doing away from his post? This could be our chance.

There's your ride. You just hop on, and I'll handle the rest.

Uh, these weird controls… I mean, how does this… Ah! There it is- Here we go! Boat's moving!

Uh… I don't know. I didn't expect this. Just a… little hiccup! Heh. You can get that barrier down, right? Sure you can.

Hey, hey, you did it! Good job. Boat's on the move again.

Seriously? But I did the thing… it's just this tech, it's so archaic… ugh, just give me a sec…

Okay, we're getting close to the swamp now. Temple's not far from here.

These two killed each other about a million times over, but she dedicated a temple to him. Eh, it's funny how that works. Now be careful here. Something happened to this place.

I just can't see it. Maybe there's a safe path through…

I was right? I was right! I knew it. I knew they were involved somehow…

Ah, contingency plan. They're learning. Trying to stay a step ahead of you. But you got it. That's the important part. That gets us one step closer to taking them down.

The challenge is met. Our blood flows together. May it tend to unity.

I welcome you, but my forces… they do not.

You honor me. May you meet a glorious death.

She breathes, she moves… and she will spit out your bones.

My war machine purrs. She hungers for battle. Have you the same appetite?

Do what you came for — fight well or die quickly.

You fight well. A shame you must pay the price for your pride.

They kneel to no one… not even me.

All feel fear. Some learn from it, while others are ruled by it. Which are you?

I refused to bend the knee. What does that tell you?

Why will you not stand with us?

We sign no treaties at the end of a gun.

Join me and let our alliance armor the stars.

We could work together. But as equals, not your vassals.

All swore their lives to me. They can use them as they wish.

If it must be done.

I have prepared further challenges for you. A banquet of combat to test your resolve.

And my father said you were such fun.

Do not expect gratitude. Those you leave behind will grow. They will learn.

Good. If our foes are capable of growth, let us be the catalyst that forces them to change.

We eat the mountains; we drink the seas!

Yes. And we are here to stop you.

I know stories of fiends who cut at the legs of powerful heroes. I will not be felled so easily.

We do what they must. Today, we must be champions.

My warriors do not die easily. They fight because I gave them their freedom.

Imagine if they fought because you gave them hope.

Such strength. Look what your power can do. I seek that power — not for myself, but for my people.

How selfless. Perhaps we can discuss this further after your people stop trying to kill us.

I see now how you fight. Your potential is wasted running errands for your Commander.

There is no pleasure in killing. If this one act of barbarism will force peace… so be it.

Hold strong. One final victory is all I ask.

I yield, I yield! Let us meet and discuss this treaty. You may be a soft, small person but you hide some powerful tusk!

We take nothing but your word. Tend to your people… but break our agreement, and we will be back to finish what we started.

You have honored our traditions… and I must honor yours. I will see you soon… to "bargain."

I am glad to hear it. You will find our talent for diplomacy matches our skill in combat.

I pride myself on seeing the strength in others, and yours can no longer be denied. When can be discuss this treaty of yours?

I hope the blood spilled here today will be the last.

I… did not imagine this outcome. You have powers told of in the old stories.

Our vaults are full of relics from those who underestimated us. If you ever cross us again… bring a bigger weapon.

You fought with honor, and you accept defeat in the same way.

I am in danger, the systems are damaged.

If I'm understanding correctly, it's a distress call! There are so few ballet fans left, it'd be a shame to lose them.

Sorry, just a little longer--I think they are testing me.

It worked! Maybe too well. Hmm.

[sam-glade]

Cooking lesson

For @flashfictionfridayofficial's prompt: #FFF203 Yes Sir!!

Characters: Lissan, Gullin, Ianim Setting: Sunblessed Realm WC: 590 CW: swearing and innuendos

Context: in Gifts of Fate, the main trio and their mentor hide in the servants' quarters of a dilapidated manor for a few months.

“While I'm out, Lissander, teach these two to cook,” Master Varré said, eyeing each of them in turn.

Gullin’s snort died in his throat when he realised – two. That included him. Fuck.

“Yes, sir!” the kid answered cheerfully.

Master Varré nodded their approval and stormed towards the door, leaving the three younger Swords on their own. Gullin crossed his arms and watched Lissan’s expression fall. 

“All right.” Lissan ruffled his hair and looked around the kitchen. “We’ve got what, three hours until they return? We have pork trotters, we could simmer them and use the broth for jelly.”

Gullin shrugged and glanced at the Princeling. Ianim was listening to Lissan with a polite smile. Of course he would be. 

“We need some carrots and parsnips, an onion…”

Gullin leant back on his stool, letting Lissan’s voice fade to the background. He tipped it back, amusing himself by balancing on it.

“Gullin?”

As soon as he looked up, two carrots were tossed in his direction. He scrambled to catch them, and rocked the stool, regaining his balance. Ianim chuckled, earning himself a well-deserved glare.

“Please peel those,” Lissan said matter-of-factly. At least he wasn’t rubbing in his temporary authority. “You know how to handle a knife, right?”

Gullin sighed and looked around for a knife. There was a vast difference between a normal knife and his Weapon, but he bit his tongue instead of pointing it out. He found a sharp paring knife and picked up a bowl, both of which he’d seen Lissan use. Now what?

He angled the knife this way and that, trying to skim off the skin of a carrot and not cut into it too deeply. Well, this was embarrassing. He let his hands drop and checked what the other two were doing. Lissan was talking through how to control the temperature of the hearth, how to adjust the trammels to simmer the contents of the pot without them boiling over. Ianim listened to it with his usual polite interest. When asked to do it himself, he took a step back.

Gullin snorted.

Lissan glanced at him, then at the carrots.

Gullin sighed and tried again.

He was almost relieved when Lissan came over, because he was this close to asking for help. He’d lasted as long as he could, but the resulting cross-section of the carrots was very much a square. Lissan huffed looking at his handiwork.

“You know, I expected you to have less trouble with both a knife and elongated objects.”

Gullin glared at him.

“I’m quite glad I didn’t see him put the two together sooner,” Ianim chimed in.

Lissan put a parsnip in his hands.

At least Ianim didn’t show any natural talent for cooking either. They exchanged self-pitying glances as Lissan walked them through preparing the vegetables, then cleaning the trotters. Thankfully, once everything was put into a pot, he let them be, and only talked through what he was doing as he set the groats to boil and chopped the cabbage to bulk up the meal.

The results were perfectly edible, in Gullin’s opinion. Master Varré didn’t say a word of complaint either, which took a weight off Gullin’s chest. They probably weren't going to ask them to repeat this silliness.

Once Master Varré cleared their plate, they leant back and smacked their lips.

“Delicious.” Their eyes rested on Gullin. “I’m sure you can handle dinner tomorrow, eh? I need Ianim to do more longsword drills with Lissan.”

Gullin stared at them, waiting for them to take their words back. They didn’t. He worked his jaw, before uttering a resigned ‘yessir’.

Days of Dusk taglist (please message me to +/-): @acertainmoshke @another-white-hole