#no luck with the other two though...it is what it is :(

[randominchident]

the good luck charm

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. max vertsappen x reader ⋆ 𐙚 ̊.

you kiss max's forehead one race morning "for luck". he wins. it becomes a thing.

It started as a joke. As most things do.

You were both exhausted and half-dressed in a hotel room in Monza, Max trying to stretch out sore muscles while you searched (unsuccessfully) for your other shoe. Something about the early morning, the nerves, the jetlag, the weird sleepy love you always carry for him—it made you lean in, cup his face in both hands, and press a long kiss to his forehead.

"May your tires be warm, your brakes be cool, and your competitors forget how to drive," you said solemnly, eyes still half closed.

He gave you the flattest look imaginable, though the end of his ears blushed a faint pink from the kiss. As they always did. “What are you doing?”

“Blessing you,” you replied, as if it was obvious. As if it had happened a hundred times before. "So you win."

Max snorted, jokingly thanked you for your wise words, and then won the race.

The next weekend in Baku, just before he headed back into the garage, he stopped in front of you. Didn’t say anything. Just stood there with his helmet under one arm, brows raised. Waiting.

You blinked at him. “…Yes?”

Max looked around and then lowered his voice. “Aren’t you gonna do your weird blessing thing?”

You smiled. You were obnoxious about it. You made it a whole scene. Two hands to his cheeks, a huge dramatic smooch in the exact middle of his forehead, a made-up chant about tire degradation and curses upon the other drivers' decision making capabilities. He pretended to hate it.

He won again.

Now it’s a ritual. It practically part of his warm up routine.

He always finds you. Doesn’t matter if it’s Silverstone or Suzuka, if you're sitting quietly in hospitality or standing in the garage trying not to get run over by a mechanic on a scooter. He finds you. Every single race.

Helmet in hand. Suit half-zipped. That laser-focus look on his face until he sees you. Then it softens—just slightly. His jaw unclenches. His hands flex like they want to hold something. You.

You rise on your toes, brush your lips across his forehead, whisper the familiar words: “For luck.” Because sometimes he doesn't need the big speech, the dramatic show, the curses upon the other cars—he just needs you.

He never says much. Just nods, or gives you the tiniest smile. Once, after a win, he muttered “works better than pole” with a blush he tried to pass off as heat exhaustion.

You didn’t tease him for it. Much.

One day the camera's pick it up, and suddenly it becomes clear that your little tradition is not a secret and private as you once thought. Even the Sky Sports commentary team has something to say:

“And there’s Max Verstappen’s girlfriend giving him—what’s clearly become—a bit of a pre-race tradition. Can’t argue with results.”

It's nice. You like being part of the flow of race day. Its nice to be relied upon, even for something as small as this.

And then… one weekend, you’re not there.

You tried. You really did. But your flight got cancelled, the backup was overbooked, and Red Bull’s private jet was full of engineers and people who don’t think “I give Max forehead kisses before lights out” qualifies as essential personnel.

You call him from the airport instead, bags at your feet, coffee in hand. Max offered to send his own jet back to pick you up, but it would never have arrived in time.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I really wanted to be there.”

Max is quiet on the other end. “You tried.”

“I’ll scream your blessing into the sky from here, okay?”

He huffs a laugh, but it sounds tight. “Might need it. Grid’s a mess.”

“You’ll handle it. You always do.”

You want to say more. Something sappy. But you can already hear noise in the backgorund of the call. He's being pulled away by Christian or Helmut or someone asking about tires. So you settle for, “I love you. Drive safe.”

His voice softens. “Love you too.”

Back at the track, people notice something’s… off.

He’s still fast—because of course he is—but there’s a tension in his shoulders. The calm, razor-sharp version of Max that usually shows up on race day feels thinner, more like a mask.

Christian corners him right before the anthem. “You good?”

“Fine,” Max says. Short. Clipped. Cold.

But his eyes keep scanning the garage, looking for something—or someone—he knows isn’t there.

The race goes okay. Not amazing. A few things go wrong. His start is messy. Pit stop’s a second too slow. He finishes second, which for anyone else would be great, but for Max it’s a shrug and a “whatever.” Second place always hurts. Always has for him.

After the cooldown room, after media, after debrief, he ducks away from everyone and finally calls you.

“You cursed me,” he says.

“Sorry?”

“I had no forehead kiss. And now look. P2. Disaster.”

You smile, curling up in the airport lounge chair. “Guess you need me, huh?”

He exhales like he doesn’t want to say yes, but then, quietly: “Yeah. I do.”

And then impossibly quieter: "I always do."

The next weekend, you’re definitely there.

He doesn’t even say hello when he finds you sat in the garage. He just walks up, stands in front of you, and tilts his head down expectantly.

You blink. “Wow. No ‘how are you,’ no hug—just forehead service?”

He glares at the ground, but there is a small smile on his face that you can just barely see. “Do the thing.”

You grin, place your hands on his cheeks, and kiss him gently on the forehead.

“For luck,” you murmur.

He exhales. Content. “There it is.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“Says the one casting spells on my head.”

You lean in a little. “They work, don’t they?”

Max just smiles. The small, secret one. The one he saves for you. Then he nods.

After he wins that race, he dedicates it to the team. Then, on the radio, voice quieter:

“Tell her thanks. It worked again.”

You hear it. Of course you do. And when he lifts the trophy, champagne flying, there’s a tiny smile on your face that says yeah. you’re welcome.

[radioactive-alien-thing]

Wowz,im pretty early XD,Anyways uhhh,What are the survivors reactions when killer!Reader only becomes passive/non agressive when theyre favourite survivor is in the round?Even following them around and guiding them to medkits and bloxy colas,However when their not in the round they become EXTREMELY aggresive???

romantic if ya want:3

꒰ ❤︎ ꒱ forsaken survivors x killer!reader . *

!! thank youuu so so much nonny for the first request!!! yay!!! i love this trope SO much… RRRAAH!!! cheers to the first post guys 🍻 by the way, i only chose a few survivors, so if you guys enjoy this maybe there’ll be a part two!!! 👽

noob 👻

at first noob was very, very confused by your behavior. they mistook your mercy for a cruel trick to try and hurt them— but when they saw your passiveness around the other survivors, even when they tried provoking you? they started to grow… curious, rather than scared. it took a lot of time and effort to actually get to where you’re at now

considering all of the bloxy colas you’ve helped noob find, even medkits and other useful supplies, it’s no surprise that some of the other killers are starting to get annoyed by your favoritism for noob… but you just can’t help it, the spectre hasn’t COMPLETELY taken away all your humanity just yet. plus, you finally got to see them smile for once,, which was a strangely warming feeling.

most of the other survivors are… reasonably pretty terrified of you without noob there to pacify you, and that’s because of your less-than-gentle reputation,, but all you wanted to do was see your adorable favorite survivor!!! the others didn’t matter nearly as much, so why should you force yourself to treat them similarly?? though noob does get a little uneasy hearing the whispers around the campfire about the things you’ve done… it’s honestly a littleee hard for them to believe any of it. you just seem so different when they’re around. almost like you were just another survivor.

builderman 🧱

okay!!! so!! this one’s a little more complicated. builderman was never really scared of you, if anything he was more so intrigued. you weren’t like the others, ruthlessly aggressive and unrelenting. you were calm,, and almost… polite? and that just weirded him out a lot. his big question was simply, why? why not chase the innocent down, guard the generators, or even flinch when you’re stabbed. twice!! you didn’t fight back at all- he was skeptical. but builderman wasn’t afraid to come up and ask. still a little cautious, you know, just in case

your straightforwardness is what slowly made him start to trust you. maybe it was a mistake. maybe it was just a flicker of misplaced hope. because if you were so kind to him, and never laid a finger on the others, maybe… maybe he could save everyone. maybe they could all make it out. but when the others started whispering, warning builderman of what you were like when he wasn’t looking, how your disinterest shifted into a thirst for blood, he just couldn’t believe it. it didn’t make sense. and that was when it got dangerous. because he cared too much. far too much.

it put builderman in a very tough spot. he wanted to save everyone but you were such an anomaly. he knew you had nothing to gain from being so sweet to him, giving up easy kills just to let him walk free. so why would you go savage the moment his back was turned? obviously he didn’t want to lose the other survivors’ trust, but he didn’t want to lose yours, either. and, no, those sentries builderman sets up during your matches never really work. they’re always defunct. but nobody’s really caught on yet somehow.

chance 🎰

it was just his luck. a killer who latches onto him and becomes totally passive whenever he’s around… honestly? chance finds that amusing. maybe even a little flattering, considering how strong you are. but that didn’t mean he was totally comfortable, definelty not at first,, you were still on the other side. and that was a problem… then again, how much harm could a little chat with the weirdly friendly (and kinda cute) killer really do?

okay. welllll. turns out it was going to be KIND of a problem, because now you were practically clinging to him,, and it’s not like he was just gonna tell you to back off! chance sorta fed into it, actually. little flirty comments here and there, which usually caught you off guard. chance couldn’t understand how the others still didn’t trust you. to him, you were harmless, sickeningly sweet, even. the truth of it all was entirely obscured

and even when the other survivors pulled him aside to warn him about you, chance just laughed it off. you… bloodthirsty? and brutal? no way! honestly, they were probably just jealous. chance always had the best supplies, after all, thanks to you. which sort of gave him bragging rights. you had them right where you wanted.

divider by @/strangergraphics ^.^

[dannitarot]

May 2025 *Pick a card*

Pile 1

Hello Pile 1. I’m seeing you could have gone through a break up or heart break of some sort. You could go through a break-up this month if you haven’t already. Please don’t be alarmed if you’re in a good relationship. This could be a friendship breakup or deciding to go no contact with someone you know. This could be a divorce for some of you. A relationship of some sort is coming to an end. This break up will be or would have been sudden. Some of you will find out you’re pregnant or your partner is pregnant and it’ll be a shock to you. Some of you may have family members who are traditional and/or religious and are against the pregnancy if you’re not married. Your career/schooling will be going good. I see you’ll be saving and budgeting really well. If you’ve been suspecting someone close backstabbing you, the truth will be revealed this month. This may cause some shame. You will find happiness and peace in what you do for work or your hobbies. Some of you will turn a hobby into a business. You’ll buy something you’ve really wanted this month. This could be something you find while thrifting. Something unique and rare. You may gain some kind of fame or recognition. You could post a photo/video and get a lot of likes. Some of you are getting a key to something. Especially if you’re looking for a new home. You’ll get luck in finding a nice place. You’ll be going out more at night and having a good time. This will help keep your spirit up. You’ll be ok.

Pile 2

Hey pile 2. I’m seeing you could be someone who feels uncomfortable relaxing. You always need to be productive. You will be treating yourself this month though. I see you’ll be taking more breaks. Your relationships will be good especially with a sibling or cousin. You’ll be letting go of all that no longer serves you. You’ll be going through a rebirth. You’ll be evolving in every aspect; physically, mentally, spiritually, etc. I’m seeing an ex may reach out to you and it’ll feel out of the blue. This could be someone you’re manifesting contact with. You’ll be really desirable. You could travel this month. For some, this could be very impromptu. I’m seeing esp in mid may towards the end of the month. Finances will be so good. if you have your own business, you’ll be getting lots of sales. If you provide a service, you’ll be booked and busy( while still find time for rest and relaxation). You could start a new book. Some of you might hook up with someone who is currently lurking around you whether physically or virtually. You’ll be invited out to a party or event. Some of you could be learning a new language. Possibility of pregnancy this month btw.

Pile 3

Hey pile 3. Someone is coming to you with a love offer. You could have to choose between two people possibly more. Some of you could move suddenly. This May, you’ll be focused on your spiritual goals. Some of you could join one of the more traditional religions. Or just go to their place of worship. I’m heavily seeing marriage proposal for some of you. If you’re single, someone wants to pursue a relationship that leads to marriage. Some of you could actually get married in May. This person could be a business person or just well off financially. You may feel like it’s time to leave your job. You’ll feel happy and at peace emotionally and mentally. Your home life will be great. You could get some new decor items or furniture for your home. You’ll be well rested and relaxed and it’ll show on the outside.

Pile 4

Hey pile 4. You might get some shocking news this month. This news may come in the form of a text/phone call. This is about an ending of some sort or will lead to one. I see your finances and romantic relationships will be going great though. I’m getting a few scenarios. Some of you could have been in a third party situation where the person you were talking to was seeing someone else. Whether you knew this or not. I see you’ll get news of them breaking up. For others it’ll be you cutting someone off . The situation may not even involve you. This could be about a friend or family member. Either way, you’ll hear all about it. Now, I see money will be going good for you. You could win some money. Some of you are getting more hours at work. You will be maintaining balance though. Working but finding time to rest. For singles, you can expect someone coming in. You’ll be really attracted to this person. A lot of your desires will manifest this month. Now is the time to get into action especially if you had a project in mind that you’ve been wanting to start. Don’t put it off any longer. You may have started something in April/ Aries season and will reap rewards from it. This could even be about plants blooming.

[blackbat05]

Opposites Attract

Congressman Bucky x Library Staff Reader

Plot: You were never really one for politics, but when Congressman James "Bucky" Barnes and an Avenger comes to grace the library for work, he may just prove you wrong...

Genre: PG-13

A/N: Super self-indulgent (yet again). Watched Thunderbolts over the weekend and despite being very partial to the MCU, this movie seriously impressed me! I love my rag-tag team~ Please excuse the subpar writing as I feel like I'm still in a funk.

He absolutely regrets this.

Yeah he should have never agreed to this.

���Congressman Barnes?”

The secertary snaps him out of his anxiety hazed stupor. “Sorry Linda, you were saying?”

“As I was saying, your appearance at the public library has been shifted up to 2pm. There’s a kid’s program and they’re hoping you’ll be able to grace them with your presence.” Linda informs.

“Thank you.” Bucky dismisses the secretary, immediately taking out his darned notes that Gary insisted he had to read.

“New York Public Library recently had their children’s library go under redevelopment…”

***

“Y/N!” Darcy rushes over. The young girl drags a chair to sit beside you as you’re pouring over the story time you planned for the kids coming in for the reading session at 2pm.

“Someone’s awfully cheery after lunch.”

“Congressman James Barnes is coming! To our library!” She hisses with excitement. “Gosh he’s so cute, I hope he gets to interact with the kids because that would just make me explode!”

“Okayyy, someone needs to calm down on the caffeine.” You swivel your chair to face her. “First of all, he’s doing his duty Darcy, second of all aren’t you being too vocal with your fantasies?”

“A girl can dream.” Darcy singsongs. “Good luck!”

You sigh at her enthusiasm that was bordering on naivety. The congressman was probably going to be the same as the rest, they always are. They’ll come and show their faces for photos and leave without truly understanding what they had to be here for.

Though a part of you can’t help but to agree with Darcy. Those good looks are wasted in politics.

The clock read 1.15pm. You should start getting ready for the session.

***

“You seem very engrossed in that packet, sir.”

“I find it tough how we can fund billions for weapons and nuclear warfare but it takes almost six years to refurbish the children’s section of the New York Library.”

“I can’t say anything else apart from my need to agree with you, sir.” Linda crisply responds.

Bucky stays silent, thinking about his own memories as a child in the library. A library was meant to be a safe space, away from the ruckus of life.

The car rolls to a stop and Bucky gets out with two guards trailing behind him.

“What am I? An invalid? I don’t need bodyguards, Linda. This is a Children’s Library. I don’t need them to have more things to be scared of.”

“Apologies sir. I’ll speak with the Director and make other necessary arrangements after the event.”

“Yeah, you do that.”

The trio departs from Bucky who decides to take the chance to explore the library that was as every bit as he remembered it.

He takes a random book and finds a spot that is hidden away from the public eye to do some people watching at the Children’s Library.

Mothers take this chance for a reprieve and catch up with their friends while the little ones try to flip big picture books with much effort. The older children roam around the series section, discussing in excited hushed voices the latest book that they had each read. Bucky’s heart oddly feels satisfied when he sees a little boy nose deep into a Geronimo Stilton book. Ah, a timeless classic for kids.

“Congressman Barnes?”

Bucky turns around, slightly apologetic that he had been people watching for too long.

“I’m the children’s librarian- well, technically support staff. I’m working towards becoming a librarian but of course you didn’t need to know that.” You inwardly cursed at yourself. He’s definitely going to think you’re bonkers.

Then, he chuckled.

Actually chuckled.

“I’ll be sitting in your session later? I promise not to stare as much.”

Before you can get a good word in, the charming congressman strolls away, leaving you in a mess.

***

"Good afternoon children!" You put on your best enthusiastic voice, as you greet the crowd.

"Good afternoon Ms Y/N!"

Even after doing this for too many times to count, being in front of children who were waiting to be impressed still gave you the jitters. Nevertheless, you were proud to say that you had build rapport with them steadily over the past six months.

"So, we've been reading books about values and I thought we could continue our discussion with a short but humorous story that I know will promise a good laugh." You show the book, eliciting a couple of giggles from the children.

“Today’s story is by Jon Klassen and it’s titled - I want my hat back…”

***

By the end of the story, the children were throughly amused at the simple but larger than life visuals that told a clear message. You were also glad that all that practice of different animal voices came in handy.

“Thank you for listening so well! For the last part of our session as we won’t be seeing each other for two weeks, we can do something fun! We’re going to create our very own paper hats!” You continued. “That’s not all, we’ll be doing it with a very special guest so I want all of you to help him along okay?”

Once you introduced Bucky, you offered him to roam around the tables where the children were already planning how to design the best hat.

As you helped a boy add stickers to his hat, your attention is diverted to a mini commotion at the table ahead.

“What’s all the buzz about?” You moved closer, almost bursting into unruly laughter yourself when you see the Congressman sitting in tiny plastic chair wearing a red cone hat similar to the character while the kids fluttered around to add sparkles and glitters, blissfully unaware of your presence.

Not Bucky though as his eyes widen at the sight of you. You give a slight cough to get the attention of the children.

“Alright now, let’s not crowd around Mr Barnes.” You ushered the children away, giving a couple of soft apologies on their behalf.

“Don’t be. I enjoyed it.” He appeared to have snapped out of his momentary embarrassment of being covered in glitter, back to his charming self that you had the privilege of experiencing firsthand.

The rest of the session went smoothly (and glitter free). Bucky watches you bid goodbye to each kid in a unique and special way, from fist bumps to hugs and sometimes just a simple wave of the hand to the quieter kids. The children's section is quiet once more and he is amazed how you flutter around the tables, cleaning up effortlessly.

"Can I help?" He finds himself speaking up.

"Oh, that's alright. Wouldn't want to get your suit all messed up." You respond airily, trying to ignore the close proximity with Bucky.

"I insist." He says firmly and starts helping you to gather the scissors. You can't help but to notice how there's a butterfly sticker on his metal hand.

"A little girl - Lucy, she put this on me." He explains fondly. "Can't bear to take it off, at least not today."

Lucy. She never failed to turn up for every library session. Although she wasn't the loudest in the room, she participated with a quiet determination. Which was why you found this revelation particularly surprising.

"That's amazing. She takes a while to warm up to strangers. Well, not that you aren't a complete stranger. You're an Avenger- oh I'm doing it again aren't I?"

"That's okay." Bucky reassures you calmly. "I like it."

His straightforwardness throws you off, leaving you flustered but oddly pleased.

"Hey-"

"No, you go first."

"Do you want to get a drink?" Bucky asks. Before you could respond, loud voices could be heard from the adult's section, slowly becoming much louder.

"Oh no..."

"There you are!" Bucky spots Alexi from a mile away with that strikingly bright red suit. The rest of the team hushes him collectively, with Yelena attempting to make herself as small as possible.

"We've been trying to call you! Then your assistant- and she said you were in this place of knowledge! Oh, and who is this lady?" Alexi stares at you, intrigued. Bucky steps in front, feeling protective.

"Alright, can we focus, please?" Bucky shoots you an apologetic look that you clearly understood.

You'll have to reschedule.

***

“So! Are you not going to tell us who she is?” John is the first to broach the topic. Bucky gives him one of his famous death glares. However, this only encourages him and the rest of the team more.

"She seems lovely." Yelena teases, "Though I'm not sure why she would be attracted to a grump like you."

"Opposites attract." Ava adds helpfully (or unhelpfully in Bucky's opinion).

The jet flies across the ocean, making its way back home. Bucky taps his foot impatiently. Any longer with this group and having to endure their teasing might just make him commit daylight murder.

Bucky feels a buzz in his pocket and he fishes out his phone to read the message.

"Oooooh! Someone's texted back!" The team is in sync with their onslaught on their leader.

"Someone just kill me now." He mumbles under his breath.

*** You tug on your cardigan, waiting for Bucky on the steps of the library.

"Doll!" You hear a familiar voice that made your heart skip a beat. Though you must say, you were a little shocked to find out that he wasn't alone.

"Hello! Miss Librarian!" Alexi booms.

"Oh my god Dad she has a name." Yelena groans.

"Yes but she is proud of her job no?"

"Sorry about these idiots. Hi, John Walker." The man extends his hand for a handshake before being brushed aside by Bucky.

"Hi," you decide to make yourself known. "Bucky's told me about all of you."

"Whatever he's told you, don't believe all of it. The man's too grumpy for his own good." Yelena pipes up as Ava nods.

"Ok! And it is time for you to all go. The jet does not need a parking ticket." Bucky interjects pushing his teammates away from you. "Bob's waiting!"

With a couple more goodbyes, the jet zooms away, leaving the two of you still standing on the steps of the library.

"Not everyday my date is late because he's keeping the world safe from bad guys and outer space threats." You joke.

Bucky doesn't say a word and you're suddenly afraid that you may have fried his internal circuits.

"Sorry, I wasn't mad-"

"I'm your date?" He says with a grin and your words slowly sink in.

"Oh, well... I thought... um..." You scramble for words much to Bucky's amusement and he takes a step closer towards you.

"Would it be weird to say right now that I was thinking exactly the same thing?"

The both of you laugh and your stomach takes this moment to grumble loudly.

"Someone's hungry. I know a good Japanese Restaurant."

"I'm always down for good food."

He slots his fingers in between yours, holding on to your hand firmly.

"Great, then Sushi awaits."

"You are a god send."

[sugarcherryrobbing]

Hello! Could I request yandere Chance (forsaken) headcanons?

Yandere!Chance General Headcanons

❂ Warning(s): Yandere, Obsessive & Unhealthy Behavior

❂ Type of Writing: Headcanons

❂ Fandom: Forsaken

❂ Word Count: 852

A/N: Never stop gambling, never stop gambling… I know their lore is being remade as of right now (?), so I will try my best to write and maybe rewrite in the future? I’ll make another post perhaps. Apologies, been having troubles writing often. This is very disorganized 😭.

❂ When they first laid eyes on you, or if you ever met them in their dangerous adventures in childhood or the Forsaken Realm, Chance was smitten with a golden arrow, with a little spade on top.

❂ They always believed in Lady Luck; they couldn’t believe that she allowed them to meet you! Mayhaps a more ‘hidden feelings’ kind of yandere unless with their person of admiration.

❂ With others, it’s all chummy and good-spirited. When they are in some space of being alone with you, they melt into their feelings. If you two aren’t in a relationship yet, it takes all amounts of energy to not squeal and be overly admiring of you.

❂ Hell, even if you met them at their parent’s casino, through ITrapped, or within the Forsaken Realm, it seems like they struck gold. They’d follow you to the ends of the earth.

❂ Clingy to the extent? They can play it off as watching you play slots or fixing the generators. Saying they are watching if you are doing it right, jokingly, of course. That or the excuse of wanting to learn from you (generators). 

❂ Lazily, drapes an arm around you. Around your neck, shoulders? Body? They like to hold you warmly. Hinting to others that you are with Chance.

❂ While so, they are happily affectionate and friendly with you. At times they forget they are a jokester, what can we say? They hold you in such high regard that forgetting their own words is common.

❂ Always by your side, as your personal purse, or as protection from the abnormal monsters that hunt you down. Hovering around you casually, fueling their heart with just the proximity.

❂ They can always be a sentinel for all of the survivors, with you always on their mind. Wishing to team with you always. Hogging any items they can get to give to you. Running towards you if there is any distress or just if they are bored.

❂ It’s clear that they seek your attention and time, but the intent is always hidden under. They never planned to kill the survivors, but if their admired person focuses their attention on them… Maybe if the survivor/killer pisses them off or tries to have your hand, they may expect an ‘accidental’ shot?

❂ Before the both of you (if it happens) arrive in the Forsaken Realm, they could spoil you dozens of times with no limitations. It’s an act of love for Chance. They always wanted to impress you with their skills more though.

❂ After falling and awakening in the dark world (let’s say before you), they could lay there for hours, dealing with the thrust of air that ITrapped missed with the swing of the Darkheart. Feeling their body for any wounds, slashes, stabs. A numbness of what almost happened (trying to feel if the reason for being here is death, or worse). They can still move, there was no bleeding, still able to see, small, labored breaths showed that they were alive.

❂ Panic and realization. ITrapped was gone, they were trying to kill them. Where were they? What was everything around them? 

❂ Sure, they kept their persona of the calm, smirking risk-taker to the rest of the survivors, almost nearly fooling all, once they get to their cabin, they falter when they take their glasses off.

❂ They felt broken, the string of his mind was not yet snapped.

❂ If you guys knew each other before entering the realm, Chance would weep quietly in their cabin. Grasping at the pillows and fabric pilling of cotton to remind himself of your clothing. Makeshifting memories or even scenarios themself to soothe their mind. Waiting. Endlessly.

❂ When you arrive, to this dark hell, to this ruinous realm, it was hard to believe that. Guest 1337 found you first, taking you in the main cabin to settle.

❂ News reaching to the other cabins. Their cabin. Chance was one of the first to approach. Cool-toned, always there for you, trying to answer better than the other survivors your questions, like its competition. If you two knew each other beforehand, it allows Chance more of the medal to show you about and to be with you more intimately. 

❂ As time passed, hanging by you, they cling more heavily. He never wishes to see you perish during rounds, hell, willing to shield you from anything that tries to fly against the both of you.

❂ Jealousy weakens his ego at times if you’re with others, (tries to, maybe) openly flirts or place his body weight on you as a joke to hold them up. Anything for your time, anything if it means they have your attention.

❂ Dreams for them to shoot their shot with you. Let’s hope Lady Luck is on their side! … Or not..?

❂ If you denied them… it’s all on a coin flip on what Chance’s reaction would be.

❂ If it’s heads, it may end up in tears and begging you.

❂ If it’s tails… Well, let’s hope it's not.

[furiouslysleeping]

Hello esteemed mutual. If you are reading this, then that means my propaganda is working. But you might still have questions, so I am here to answer them.

What is Spatort?

Spatort, aka that show about the Sad Gay German Cops, aka Tatort Saarbrücken, aka 90% of my blog over the past month, is a German detective show. It's about the latest Saarbrücken team within the tv show Tatort and can be watched completely separately from the other Tatort teams. It features a team of four homocide detectives (Leo Hölzer, Adam Schürk, Esther Baumann and Pia Heinrich) who solve murders amidst all their personal drama in the city of Saarbrücken in the South-West of Germany. It's a murder of the week style show, but with personal drama of the protagonists as an overarching plot line.

Our dream team posing with a very dead girl and Rechtsmedizinerin Henny Wenzel.

Why should I watch this?

Because it's gay. There are a few canonically gay side characters, but the real meat is the relationship between Leo and Adam. They are childhood best friends who went through some rough shit together and are reunited after having spent 15 years apart. They like to have sleepovers, stare deeply into each others eyes, have dramatic break-ups and tell each other how much they mean to each other in convoluted ways. They are two co-dependent wrecks and I love them with all my heart. Will they ever become canon? We don't know. The canonically bisexual Tatort Berlin protagonist Robert Karow was allowed a gay sex scene on primetime German television though, so there is hope.

Because it's gay 2: ESTHER! As soon as she gets more than two lines of exposition (Episode 3), she starts flirting with every living woman in sight. I love her.

Apart from that, it's also just a good show. Speaking as someone who isn't overly fond of detectives, I think it has a good balance between murder mystery and character drama. The actors have great chemistry and are just so much fun to watch. There has been some criticism claiming that too much time is spent on the lives of the protagonists instead of on the murder cases, but that's exactly what makes me like this series.

This series made me fall back in love with the German language again and I heard multiple people saying the same thing.

Why is it called Spatort?

Because "Die letzte Reihe von Tatort Saarbrücken" takes too long to say and there's this shovel (in German: Spaten) that plays an important role in the first episode. (And Spaten + Tatort = Spatort).

Are there any content warnings?

Murder, violence, some episodes get pretty bloody (not quite gore but @yuespropagandablog don't watch it), abusive parents, intravenous drug use (one shot in episode Der Fluch des Geldes), overdose, and of course they're all cops.

Are there German characters in this German show set in Germany?

Yes :D

Do they all speak German?

Yep, the show is in German but there are a few scenes where some French is spoken.

But Furious, I don't speak German. How on Earth am I supposed to watch it if I can't understand it?

THEN LEARN The lovely Tumblr user @nerd-on-duty made subtitles for the first 5 episodes. You can DM them (or @krukel or me) for a link.

If I know German well enough to watch German television with German subtitles or no subtitles at all, where can I watch it?

At the moment of writing this, the ARD Mediathek has most of the episodes with German subtitles, but these are only available for a period of time. You can pay for ARD Plus for access to all Tatort episodes ever made, or you can put on your pirate hat and scourge the internet. (All the episodes are on the Internet Archive as well.)

I'm not fully convinced yet, but I do like men's tits. Is there anything you can show me to convince me to watch it?

You're in luck! This is our protagonist Leo Hölzer:

(GIF credits to @thisfeebleheart, more in this post. Also thanks to @krukel for helping this lesbian select these tits for this propaganda post.)

I'm still not convinced by the men tits. I do like pathetic blond men being put in Situations though.

You're in luck! Meet Adam Schürk:

(GIF credits from right to left, top to bottom: @thisfeebleheart, @leoholzer, @vaschbaer, @a-way-we-go.)

Okay. I've started it. Why does this intro look like it's from the 70s?

Because it is. Tatort started airing in 1970 and they just. Never changed the intro. Don't worry though, the rest of the show does reflect the time the episodes were made in.

I watched it and I love it! I need to know what happens next! When will the next episode air?

At the moment of making this post, the next episode is set to air January 2026. The one after that in 2027. Yes, you read that right, there is one episode per year.

PER YEAR????

YES. JOIN US IN OUR SUFFERING.

[sirxlla]

New Beginnings

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

Warnings: 🌸 fluff

Prompt: meeting the 118 for the first time (requested by @camilaguayo6789-blog )

Notes: female reader, italics are actions and thoughts. (I know what happened to Bobby, but he will be in my stories forever 🫶🏻)

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

Everyone knows just how important the 118 is to Evan, so it took a long while before he was comfortable, and for sure, he wanted to bring you around there. He had had some bad luck in the past with his exes and bringing them around too early, like Taylor, so when the day came, he was incredibly nervous.

He helped you up into the Jeep after an injury you got at work, thankfully, though you had plenty of time now, while not working, to meet everyone. That had been an issue he'd been working out in his mind for months, timing. He'd rather not have you hurt, but you have time now. Evan knows you don't always wanna be home, so he asked Bobby. Bobby immediately said yes cause he's heard for nearly five months how amazing you are, and he trusts Evan like he's his own son.

Eddie watched Evan help you out of his Jeep and was surprised at how beautiful you were, not that all of Evan's exes were ugly, but your pretty seemed to match Buck. Like you two, look great together in a way none of his exes ever did.

Buck helped you get steady on your crutches; he knows you really don't need the help all the time, but it's just second nature to him. This entire relationship has been like second nature, you move, he moves. He moves, you move, Like you both learned each other so easily.

They whistle and cheer as you come in, they've learned a lot about you cause it's all Buck talks about.

"You didn't tell us she was a model." Hen compliments and teases Buck. Evan guides you to sit on the couch so you don't have to be stuck on your leg for an extended period of time.

"You should hear him gush about you; He doesn't even shut up about you." Hen continues.

"I wish she'd call me." Chim does an impression of Buck to tease him. "Like he wasn't on the phone with you an hour prior."

Bobby comes in the room to see what all the commotion is cause he didn't know when Buck would be bringing you in exactly. He sees you and greets you with a smile and extends his hand for you to shake, which of course you do.

They all treat you like family instantly, joking with you and teasing Buck, all Buck's worries had been for nothing cause you merged in like you'd known them forever.

After a while, Bobby has them disperse to get things done around the station, and he talks to you the way any parent would talk to their child's girlfriend. He really saw Buck as his son and wanted the best for him. He asks you stuff like 'Are you prepared to handle his recklessness, he gets sometimes, and how dedicated to the fire department he is?'

Of course, your responses are all yes when necessary and no when not. Bobby senses your attachment and the way you and Buck move around each other like you two had been together forever. Better than him and either of his wives. You seem to get Buck and his jokes, and both of you seem to flourish in each other's presence, which is something Bobby hadn't ever seen to this degree with Buck's exes.

Overall, it was great, you got the metaphorical stamp of approval from his coworkers, if you could call them that, with how close they are, more like a family. He's happy with you, and they are too.

-> Masterlist

-> Send me prompts if you'd like

[gooner127]

back 2 u - lee jeno

word count- 861

summary- you and jeno dated for about three years. broken up multiple times, he says he’ll change but never does and everytime you take him back, not this time though!!! you’re tired of his lies and his bullshit so you finally stand up for yourself in hopes that he’ll move on and finally give you the peace you’ve been needing.

w- cussing, angst and idk

authors note- hai guys i tried angst also based it off back 2 u one of 127s best songs of course!!! jeno take the damn hint bruh🥀 but uhm enjoy please😛 also for @neogotmysam who requested jeno for angst!!!

01:27 AM

you wake up to the sound of your phone ringing for the 5th time that night. you sigh and reach for your phone about to decline until you read the contact name ‘jeno.’, with slight hesitation and a groan you answer the call rubbing your eyes and running your hand through you hair.

“y/n plea-“ jeno opens his mouth to speak but you quickly cut him off. “jeno, don’t do this.” you manage to say with a groggy voice.

jenos voice is shaky, sounds like he has been crying. “baby, please. i can change for you i swear just give me sometime to get everything together then it’ll all go back to normal yeah? sounds good right? that’s what you want for everything to be ho-“

“jeno stop.” you cut him off once again. “you say that every single time. when have you actually changed? no, no, when have you actually put the effort into changing? you always say “oh baby i’ll change i swear” but you never fucking do. it’s the same bullshit over and over again and i am tired, exhausted of letting you walk all over me.”

that’s when he finally stays quiet. “..i..” “you what jeno? what’s your excuse this time? is it finally something different and believable or is it the same bullshit you’ve fed me the past three years? i’m serious jeno i’m not doing this anymore, i’m not going back. not to you.”

pushing through sniffles and shakiness jeno opens his mouth again. “please just he-“

you groan loud enough for him to hear you, holy shit he can’t take a hint. “stop calling me. stop coming by my place. stop looking for me. you have to let it go jeno. you’re making this worse for the both of us. move on. let me go. you’ve done this way too many times and i fall for it each time. every single fucking time i’m left hurt and feeling like shit, i don’t want that anymore. stop trying. i’m not letting the cycle repeat itself again. this, us, it’s already over. there is no place left for you.” you managed to choke the last part out, this hurts to say the more you think. one little part of you wants to take jeno back but you know you shouldn’t, it’ll end up like every single other time. he wont change. so you need to.

silence after that. you can hear a pin drop kind of quiet. after multiple calls every night, hundreds of desperate messages, showing up at your apartment about two times a week, he’s quiet. his mouth is shut. he has nothing left to say. it breaks your heart a little feeling as if you were too harsh, well then you get out of that haze and remember the hell he put you through.

the next thirty seconds are in silence just you, your mind and jenos shaky breathing. you’re pulled out of your thoughts when jeno opens his mouth to speak, his voice cracking.

“..i..i..i-i’m.. s..sorry.” took him about 10 seconds to just say those two words. “i..i’m sorry for pushing my luck. i should’ve backed off the second you told me to…stop.”

you immediately talk after him. “you’re hard headed. one thing that bothered me about you at times. i get that..you want us to give it another try but that’s not going to happen jeno. i’ve given you so many chan-“

he cuts you off this time. “and i’ve fucked them all up i know. i’m the dumbass but i can’t help how i am no matter how hard i try.”

you sigh. “which is why i’m not taking you back jeno. you never actually change. you don’t try to and you don’t want to. you saying ‘i can’t help how i am’ doesn’t help your pleas. you could’ve put an effort into wanting to be a better person but you never have. what we used to have is no more. it’s gone. it wont happen again. you need to let me go and go our separate ways. stop contacting me jeno. please.”

like always jeno opens his mouth and you’re back to square one. “please i’m serious i can change, were so good together and you know it too. i can’t live without you i love you.” you can hear him crying more as he continues to speak “please y/n just once more, i can’t do this i need you here with me i wont be me anymore without you. i’m sorry for being a dick take me back, one more chance i’ll do anything i’ll put an effort into changing just like you want i swear. please i don’t know what more you want fro-“

you can’t handle it anymore, you grab your phone and hang up the call. hearing him saying the same phrases that you’ve been an idiot to and believed made you so fucking irritated.

he calls you again. you decline.

he calls you again. you decline.

once more jeno calls. you decline, you click his contact and block his number. maybe this way you’ll finally get the peace you’ve hoped for because one thing is for sure, you’re not going back.

[fatphobiabusters]

Artist who draws question: what's the best tag to use for fat positive drawings, or just drawings of fat people so that someone who would like to see them can find them? I was thinking the tags you use on your blog are pretty good - "fat art" and "fat character" are two that spring to mind - but are there any other tags you would suggest?

It's sadly kind of complicated because if you use tags like "fat art" specifically, most of that tag has become fat fetish art. Which also means that your drawing would be shared by a lot of people in that community, and you probably don't want that if your art isn't fetish art.

Because of this, it's sadly a better option to use the euphemism "plus size" when tagging. Some examples are:

plus size

plus size oc

plus size art

plus size character

plus size representation

I think I've also sometimes seen people write "plus sized." There's also the option of using the tag "body positive." I personally don't look at that tag at all anymore because the tag is now mostly thin people wanting attention for their selfies, thin people porn, and even people promoting weight loss, the last one being the complete opposite of "body positive." That's what happens when a movement is taken over by the people that the movement wasn't for. Anyway, you may have luck using that tag since it's more mainstream. I also will sometimes search that tag on people's blogs to find fat positive posts even though I don't search the tag itself on Tumblr.

Some other options include tags like "fat positive" and "fat liberation."

I hope this helps. I would so appreciate if more artists started tagging their art of fat people this way so I and other fat people could actually find art of ourselves.

-Mod Worthy

[spencersmopbucket]

(Un)Reciprocated | Cedric Diggory

Pairing: Cedric Diggory x Reader Summary: You and Cedric were childhood best friends – growing up side by side, close as can be. When 5th year came around and Cedric began dating, you watched but never picked up the same habits, preferring a more independent life. When you begin developing feelings for your best and closest friend, after he goes back on an important promise, its nothing short of complicated.

Your childhood was amazing.

It was full of candy, toys, love and affection. It was full of luck, good marks in class, and playing tag until you were utterly breathless. And mostly, it was full of Cedric.

You did everything together – you had the same classes, the same goals, played the same sports, even had the same bloody wand when you got into Hogwarts. You were inseparable. You were never seen without the other, and every sentence where one was mentioned, the other was too.

"Yeah, Ced and Y/N.."

"Well, Y/N and Cedric were.."

You were certain it would last forever. You were certain that the two of you would never separate, even into adulthood.

When you got into your 5th year, you accepted peacefully that your thoughts were simply based on comfort, not reality. Cedric began to take a different path – girls, parties, popularity. You were very different, though you never resented him.

You were quiet, kept to yourself, and stuck to Quidditch and your studies. You had no use for the company of boys or the consumption of Firewhisky. You preferred a quiet life, wrapped up in a blanket by the Hufflepuff hearth and reading a book.

The first time you noticed the shift, it was a Tuesday.

Cedric had always been the type to linger after Quidditch practice —helping to stow brooms, chatting with teammates, tossing an arm around your shoulders as you both trudged back to the castle, still buzzing with adrenaline. But that evening, he’d disappeared before you could even unbuckle your knee pads.

You found him in the courtyard, surrounded by a gaggle of giggling fourth-years, his head thrown back in laughter at something you hadn’t heard. His hair was still damp from the showers, curling slightly at the nape of his neck, and his cheeks were flushed from the cold. He looked happy.

You turned on your heel and left before he could spot you.

Not because you were bothered by it, but because you had no interest in interrupting.. whatever that was. You blew your hair out of your face, walking to your dorm.

The common room was quiet when you arrived, the fire crackling low in the hearth. A few first-years huddled near the warmth, whispering over a game of Exploding Snap, but they paid you no mind as you trudged up the stairs to your dorm.

You told yourself you weren’t bothered.

So what if Cedric had ditched you after practice? So what if he’d rather entertain a flock of admirers than walk back with you like he always had? It didn’t matter. You weren’t the clingy type. You had better things to do than stand around waiting for him to remember you existed.

(Except you had waited. Just for a minute. Just long enough to realize he wasn’t coming back.)

You shoved open the door to your room harder than necessary, startling your roommate, who glanced up from her Potions essay.

“Rough practice?” she asked, eyeing the dirt smudged on your knees.

“The usual,” you muttered, tossing your gear onto your trunk.

You could still hear the echo of his laughter in your head — bright, carefree, so different from the way he laughed with you. With you, it was softer, quieter, like he was letting you in on a secret.

The jealousy you felt (you were very emotionally aware) confused you. So what if Cedric was entertaining girls? You didn't have to be into the same exact things anymore. It wasn't your scene. Doesn't mean it wasn't Cedric's, you rationalized.

Biting your lip, you gathered your toiletries and clothes and went to shower. The hot water ran over your sore muscles, but you couldn't even acknowledge the pleasurable feeling.

You couldn't ignore the burning feeling in your chest.

Groaning, you just washed up and got out.

—

Dinner in the Great Hall was a subdued affair.

You sat at the Hufflepuff table, picking at your shepherd’s pie, half-listening to the chatter around you. The seat beside you — his seat — remained conspicuously empty.

“Diggory’s late,” someone remarked.

You didn’t look up. “Not my problem.”

But then the doors swung open, and there he was, striding in with that effortless confidence that made half the Hall turn to look. His hair was still slightly damp, his cheeks pink from the cold, and he was grinning at something one of his teammates had said.

You tried to keep it down, you really did. You knew it wasn't right to be irritated. You didn't even know why you bloody felt this way.

He spotted you almost immediately, his smile flickering for just a second before he made his way over.

“Hey,” he said, sliding into the seat beside you like nothing had happened.

You didn’t answer.

He nudged your shoulder. “You okay?”

“Peachy,” you said flatly.

A beat of silence. Then, quieter: “You left before I could find you after practice.”

You finally turned to look at him, arching a brow. “Oh? I figured you were busy. I wasn't going to sit there and look stupid while you giggled to your posse.”

His expression faltered. “It wasn’t—I didn’t mean to—”

“Relax, Ced,” you said, forcing a smirk. “I’m not your keeper. Do what you want.”

His jaw tightened, but before he could respond, a group of fourth-years called his name from further down the table, waving him over.

He hesitated, glancing at you.

“Go on,” you said, shoveling a bite of pie into your mouth. “Wouldn’t want to keep your fans waiting.”

For a second, you thought he might argue. But then he sighed, pushing back from the table.

“We’ll talk later,” he murmured.

You didn’t watch him walk away.

Your fork clattered against your plate, the sound sharp in the hum of the Great Hall. You stood abruptly, ignoring the curious glances from nearby Hufflepuffs as you carried your half-eaten dinner toward the enchanted trash bins at the end of the table.

You knew you were being ugly.

The thought gnawed at you as you dumped your food, the remnants of your shepherd’s pie vanishing with a soft poof. That wasn’t you —snapping at Cedric, tossing out petty jabs like you were trying to wound him. You weren’t the jealous type. You weren’t.

(So why did it feel like your chest was full of broken glass every time he laughed with someone else?)

You exhaled sharply through your nose, pressing the heels of your palms against your eyes.

“You’re being ridiculous,” you muttered to yourself.

With that, you left the Great Hall and headed straight for your dorm. Without a word to anyone, you changed your clothes and headed straight to bed, throwing the covers over your head frustratedly.

Maybe some sleep would curve whatever the hell was wrong with you. Jealousy? Over Cedric?

You scoffed to yourself under the covers.

It wasn't like you loved him or something. Well, you did, but not like that.

Did you?

A pang of anxiety hit your stomach.

You rolled over and forced yourself to sleep before you could throw up.

—

You woke to the sound of hushed whispers and the rustling of robes. Sunlight streamed through the windows, far too cheerful for the storm brewing in your head.

Your roommate peeked over at you as you sat up, her eyebrows raised.

“You look like hell,” she said bluntly.

You groaned, rubbing your face. “Feel like it too.”

She tossed a piece of toast at you, which you caught on reflex. “Eat something. You’ll feel better.”

You doubted it.

The Great Hall was already buzzing when you arrived, students clustered together in excited chatter. You hesitated in the doorway, scanning the Hufflepuff table for a familiar head of tousled dark hair—

No.

You weren’t doing this. You weren’t looking for him.

You squared your shoulders and marched to the opposite end of the table, as far from Cedric’s usual spot as possible.

“Have you heard?”

A third-year leaned across the table, eyes wide with gossip. “They’re announcing the Triwizard Tournament today!”

You blinked. “What?”

“It’s true!” another student chimed in. “Dumbledore’s making the announcement after breakfast. They’re bringing back the tournament!”

A murmur of excitement rippled through the Hall. You barely registered it.

Your gaze flickered, against your will, toward the other end of the table — where Cedric sat, surrounded by friends, his face alight with the same eager curiosity as everyone else.

Of course he’d want to compete.

Your stomach twisted.

The entire school had gathered, students packed shoulder-to-shoulder as Dumbledore stood at the top of the marble staircase, his arms raised for silence.

“This year,” he began, his voice carrying effortlessly through the crowd, “Hogwarts will play host to a event not seen in over a century…”

You barely heard the rest.

Your attention was fixed on the back of Cedric’s head, just a few rows ahead of you. He stood tall, his posture straight with anticipation, his fingers tapping absently against his thigh.

You knew that tell. He was already planning his entry.

“—the Triwizard Tournament!”

The crowd erupted into cheers. Cedric turned slightly, scanning the sea of faces behind him — searching.

Your breath caught.

Then his eyes found yours.

For a heartbeat, the noise around you faded.

He grinned — bright, boyish, yours — and your traitorous heart stuttered in response.

You looked away first.

After the festivities, you almost floated out of the castle, moving too quick for anyone to notice. Or so you thought.

You needed air.

The pitch was empty, the stands silent, the only sound the wind whistling through the goalposts. You sat on the grass, your knees pulled to your chest, watching the clouds drift lazily across the sky.

“Knew I’d find you here.”

You didn’t turn. “Go away, Cedric.”

He ignored you, dropping onto the grass beside you with a huff. “Not until you tell me what’s going on with you.”

“Nothing’s going on.”

“Bullshit.” He plucked a blade of grass, twirling it between his fingers. “You’ve been avoiding me for weeks. And don’t say you haven’t,” he added when you opened your mouth to argue. “I know you too well.”

You swallowed.

Tell him.

Just say it.

But the words stuck in your throat.

Instead, you nodded toward the castle. “You’re going to enter, aren’t you? The tournament.”

He hesitated, then sighed. “Yeah. I think so.”

Of course.

The tournament was unsafe. In some cases, it could be fatal. You and Cedric had both agreed that if you were presented the chance, you wouldn't enter. You'd stay safe, side by side.

You forced a smile. “You’ll win.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” you said softly. “Because you’re you.”

Cedric studied you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, quietly: “Would you hate me if I did?”

The question caught you off guard.

“What?”

“If I entered.” His voice was careful, like he was treading on thin ice. “Would you hate me?”

Never, you wanted to say. I could never hate you.

But what came out was: “I don’t know.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Then Cedric stood, brushing the grass from his robes.

“Right,” he said stiffly. “Guess I’ll find out.”

And just like that, he walked away.

You wanted to slap yourself. Why were you being such an asshole? You didn't know.

Yes you did.

You loved Cedric. The thought made you want to jump into the black lagoon and be eaten by mermaids. Or admit it right away to Cedric, like one of the secrets you'd never been able to keep from him. Or hide it forever and live in misery.

You chose to hide it.

The days blurred together after that.

You threw yourself into classes, into Quidditch, into anything that would keep your mind off the growing chasm between you and Cedric. It was easier this way—safer. If you didn’t think about him, you wouldn’t have to face the truth.

(But you always thought about him.)

The night of the selection came quickly.

The Great Hall was packed, buzzing with anticipation as the Goblet of Fire flickered in the center of the room. You sat with your housemates, your fingers drumming restlessly against the table, your gaze fixed stubbornly on your lap.

You hadn’t spoken to Cedric since the pitch.

“Champions will be chosen momentarily,” Dumbledore announced, his voice echoing through the hall. “Once selected, please proceed to the adjoining chamber for further instructions.”

A hush fell over the crowd.

The Goblet’s flames flared—once, twice—then spat out the first name.

“The Durmstrang champion is Viktor Krum!”

Applause erupted as Krum stood, his expression unreadable, and disappeared through the side door.

Another burst of fire.

“The Beauxbatons champion is Fleur Delacour!”

More cheers. Fleur rose gracefully, her silver-blonde hair shimmering under the candlelight as she followed Krum out.

Then — silence.

The Goblet flickered, the flames licking higher, twisting violently as if struggling with its final decision.

Your chest tightened.

Not him. Please, not him.

The fire roared, and a third slip of parchment shot into Dumbledore’s waiting hand.

“The Hogwarts champion…”

A beat.

“Cedric Diggory!”

The Hufflepuff table exploded. Whistles, shouts, the thunder of hands pounding against wood — all of it faded into white noise as you watched Cedric stand, his face a mix of shock and dawning pride.

He didn’t look at you as he passed.

You weren’t sure why you’d expected him to.

The rest of the day was a blur, until the party.

The party had been going all afternoon, but later into the night, it became alcoholic.

Only 16 and older were allowed — you came with your roommate. You don't know why you allowed her to convince you. Maybe you wanted to torture yourself with seeing Cedric. Maybe you just wanted to drink the pain away. Both probably.

When you got there, uncharacteristically of you, you immediately dove into a shot of Firewhisky.

"Damn! L/N is finally loosening up?" One of your classmates whooped. You managed a halfhearted smirk as cheers erupted.

Another shot. Another. After another. You were encouraged, cheered on by your roommate and your friends. They'd never seen you like this — but they couldn't detect the inner turmoil. Only Ced could. And he was nowhere to be found.

You were probably just too drunk to see him, to be honest.

The world had taken on a hazy, golden glow — the kind that made everything feel slightly unreal, like you were floating outside your own body. The firewhisky burned its way down your throat, settling warm and heavy in your stomach, but it did nothing to dull the ache in your chest.

“Another!” your roommate crowed, slamming a fresh shot in front of you.

The crowd around you erupted in cheers as you threw it back without hesitation. The taste was sharp, bitter, but you welcomed it. Maybe if you drank enough, you could forget the way Cedric’s face had looked when he walked away from you at the lake. Maybe you could forget the way your heart had splintered when he didn’t even glance at you after being named champion.

Pathetic.

You reached for another shot, but someone snatched it away before your fingers could close around the glass.

“I think you’ve had enough.”

The voice was low, familiar, and it sent a jolt through you despite the alcohol clouding your senses.

You turned your head — slowly, too slowly — and there he was.

Cedric.

His grey eyes were dark in the flickering candlelight, his jaw set in a hard line. He looked unfairly good, even now — his hair slightly mussed, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the faintest flush high on his cheeks from whatever he’d been drinking.

You scowled. “Since when do you care?”

His expression tightened. “Since you’re about two seconds away from passing out.”

“I’m fine,” you slurred, waving a hand dismissively. “Go back to your adoring fans, Champion. And give me my fucking shot back.”

The word came out sharper than you’d intended, laced with a bitterness you hadn’t meant to let slip.

Cedric’s gaze flickered over your face, searching for something. Whatever he saw made his shoulders tense.

“We need to talk,” he said quietly.

“No, we don’t.” You pushed yourself up from the table, swaying slightly as the room tilted around you. “I’m going to bed.”

You didn’t make it two steps before his hand closed around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

“Y/N.” His voice was rough, urgent. “Please.”

Something in his tone made your breath catch.

You turned.

For a long moment, you just stared at each other — the noise of the party fading into the background, the world narrowing to just the two of you.

Then, without a word, Cedric tugged you toward the door.

The cold night air hit you like a slap, sobering you just enough to realize what a terrible idea this was.

You yanked your arm free. “What the hell, Cedric?”

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “You’re drunk.”

“And you’re ruining my buzz.”

“Because you won’t talk to me!” His voice cracked, raw with frustration. “Merlin’s beard, Y/N, what do you want from me? You’ve been pushing me away for weeks, and I don’t even know why!”

The words hung between you, heavy and suffocating.

You opened your mouth — to snap, to deflect, to lie — but the alcohol had stripped away your defenses, leaving nothing but the truth.

"Something's changed. With me, with you, I don't fucking know." You cracked, eyes welling up with frustrated tears. You fought the slur in your words. "I can't stop being an asshole."

Cedric stared at you, stunned into silence.

The kind of silence that wasn’t angry or judgmental — just broken. Hurt.

“You think I care about that?” he finally said, voice quieter now, almost a whisper. “You think I haven’t noticed something’s been eating you alive? You think I’d ever walk away from you just because you’ve been… distant, or angry, or—”

“Cold?” you cut in bitterly. “Sharp-tongued? Emotionally stunted?”

“Human,” he said firmly. “And scared.”

You laughed — a bitter, ugly sound. “Don’t flatter me.”

“I’m not.” He took a step closer, voice cracking just slightly. “You’ve been different, yeah. But I stuck around because I know you. And I care about you. And it’s driving me mad that you won’t just tell me what’s wrong.”

You could feel it bubbling up — all the confusion and pain and fear — the thing you hadn’t dared to admit even to yourself.

"Look," you said, squeezing and loosening your fists, "I'm drunk. I'm tired. I'm going back to the dorm."

With that, you tried to march away.

But you didn’t get far.

Cedric caught your wrist again — not hard, not forceful, just enough to stop you, just enough to make your breath catch.

"Please. Don't walk away from me. Not again. You're my best friend and you're treating me like a stranger."

You froze.

The words hit harder than they should have — best friend — and yet, they cracked something deep inside you. Not because they were untrue, but because they used to be everything. Because somewhere along the way, being his best friend had stopped being enough, and you’d hated yourself for it.

You didn’t turn around. Couldn’t. Not yet.

"Maybe that's the problem." You almost sobbed out, looking up at the sky. "I don't want to be your best friend, Cedric. Not anymore. I fucking love you, okay?!"

The confession tore out of you like a storm — raw, unfiltered, soaked in every ache you’d tried to drink away.

Silence fell.

The kind of silence that made your ears ring, that made the world feel like it had stopped turning.

A tear fell from your eye. You sniffled.

"I'm so stupid. And so drunk. Goodnight, Cedric."

You marched away. You didn't hear him ask you back. You didn't hear a response at all. Just pure, blank silence.

When your reached the dorm, you cried yourself to sleep.

The weeks that followed were hollow.

You avoided him at all costs — skipping meals if he was in the Great Hall, changing routes between classes, ducking into alcoves or behind statues just to avoid seeing his face.

And the worst part?

He let you.

Not once did Cedric chase after you. Not once did he corner you in the hallway or try to pull you aside after class. No notes. No explanations. No apologies.

It was like you’d ceased to exist.

Your friends didn’t understand. Hell, you didn’t understand. You’d confessed your feelings, humiliated yourself — handed your heart to him — and he hadn’t even had the decency to break it properly. Just silence. A gaping, agonizing silence.

You buried yourself in schoolwork, tried to find distractions, but nothing stuck. Nothing made the ache fade. You’d never felt so invisible.

Not even Firewhisky could touch it now.

You'd even tried. You were drunk at every party, desperately trying to forget how embarrassed you felt and how much you missed Cedric.

And then came the day of the final task. The Maze.

The air was electric, thick with nerves and anticipation. Everyone buzzed about Cedric and Harry, Fleur and Krum — four champions entering the unknown. You stood on the edge of the crowd with your arms crossed, shoulders tight with dread. You hadn’t spoken to Cedric in weeks, hadn’t even looked at him if you could help it… but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t terrified.

He might not care about you anymore — if he ever did — but that didn’t stop you from caring about him.

The Maze loomed like a breathing thing, its hedges impossibly tall, its rustling leaves whispering secrets. You watched him walk toward it, flanked by cheers and camera flashes, and for a moment, just a moment, he looked back over his shoulder.

At you.

Your breath caught.

Then he was gone.

The chaos came later.

Screams. Shouting. Rumors flying like hexes. Harry was back, clutching the Triwizard Cup and Cedric’s arm — but something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

Cedric wasn’t moving.

You pushed through the crowd, frantic, not caring who you elbowed or stepped on. Harry was screaming something about Voldemort, about portkeys, about Death Eaters — and all you could see was Cedric lying in the grass like a discarded doll.

But then — then — he moved.

A shallow breath. A twitch of his hand. A groan.

You fell to your knees beside him as Madam Pomfrey and the professors swarmed, your shaking fingers brushing over his cold one before they ushered you back.

He lived.

Barely, but he lived.

You didn’t sleep for two nights.

You hovered outside the Hospital Wing, waited for word, snapped at anyone who told you to rest. You weren’t sure why — he hadn’t spoken to you in weeks — but some part of you needed to know he was okay. Even if you’d never speak again.

It was late when Madam Pomfrey finally relented and let you in.

He looked pale, drawn, but awake. Eyes open, hazy with potions and pain, but still that same warm, stormy gray.

You stood in the doorway, frozen.

He blinked. “Y/N?”

You hated that his voice still made something deep in your chest crack.

“I… shouldn’t be here,” you said. “I just wanted to see if you were—if you—” You turned, heart hammering, already retreating.

“Don’t,” he rasped. “Please. Don’t go.” His voice cracked. Tears glossed his eyes over — not quite gathering, but still there.

You hesitated, back still to him.

"I'm begging you. I just want to hold your hand. To touch you. Just for a second, yeah? Please, Y/N."

The rawness in his voice undid you.

Not the words — those you could have ignored. But the way he said them. Cracked and trembling, like a boy clinging to a ledge by his fingertips. Like saying your name was the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely.

You turned, slowly.

Cedric looked so unlike himself it hurt — his golden skin washed out, the sharp cut of his cheekbone shadowed and sunken, that usual quiet confidence gone. But those eyes…

They were still his. Still stormy. Still yours.

You came back slowly. His pale hand outstretched — you placed yours into it, like he'd asked. The entire room flooded with the aura of relief. Cedric squeezed his eyes shut, an exhale leaving him.

He didn’t say anything right away.

He just held your hand like it anchored him. Like it was the only thing tethering him to the moment, to the world, to you. His fingers were cold — not deathly, just lacking the usual heat you remembered so well. But they wrapped around yours with the same gentleness you’d missed more than you could bear.

When he opened his eyes again, they shimmered.

“I thought I’d dreamed you,” he said, voice low, rough. “That night. After the maze. I thought… maybe I’d imagined the sound of your voice.”

Your throat tightened. “I was there.”

“I know that now,” he said, giving your hand a light tug, just enough to pull you closer to the bed. “You were always there. Even when you weren’t.”

You were silent again. Then you spoke.

"What the hell happened?"

Cedric’s jaw tensed. For a moment, he didn’t speak. His thumb kept brushing over your knuckles — a grounding motion, or maybe just something to do with his hands so he wouldn’t fall apart.

“I don’t remember all of it,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Not clearly. The maze — it was dark, and twisted. Everything felt wrong. Like it was watching me.”

You moved closer without thinking, perching on the edge of the bed now, still clutching his hand.

He swallowed hard, gaze distant. “There were enchantments, creatures, traps… things meant to disorient us. I was doing okay. Then—” He paused, breath catching. “Then the Portkey. I didn’t know what it was, just that it wasn’t part of the maze.”

You nodded slowly. “We were all watching. Then you vanished.”

“I landed in a graveyard.” His voice went flat. “I wasn’t alone.”

You felt your heart stutter in your chest.

Cedric looked at you now. Not through you. Not around you. At you. “There was someone there. Someone powerful. Masked. I—I couldn’t fight him. He cursed me. Said it was a warning, not a killing. Said I was just the ‘first stone in the avalanche.’ Then he left. Just like that. Like I was… insignificant.”

Your breath shook. “Cedric…”

He gave a small, humorless laugh. “I wasn’t brave. I just got lucky.”

You touched his cheek before you could stop yourself. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Downplay what you survived. You weren’t lucky, you were strong. You’re here, aren’t you? You made it back.”

“Barely,” he murmured.

“But you did.” Your voice cracked now. “And I’m so—so glad. I was terrified. Every day you didn’t wake up, I thought…” You blinked rapidly, unable to finish.

His hand covered yours now, anchoring it to his cheek. He leaned into your touch.

“I’m sorry you went through that,” he whispered. “Alone.”

“You’re not alone now.”

He nodded. “Neither are you.”

You sat in that fragile stillness for a long time. No longer strangers to the silence, but companions to it. Letting it speak where words couldn’t.

Finally, Cedric shifted slightly. “Stay?”

You looked at him — pale, trembling, but alive — and nodded. “Of course.”

You curled into the chair beside his bed, still holding his hand.

He didn’t let go.

Hours later, Madam Pomfrey returned. Surprisingly, she went into a soft smile when she saw you sleeping silently in the chair — arm still outstretched to Cedric, who was sleeping soundly finally — his hand clutching yours tightly.

She didn’t wake you.

Madam Pomfrey, for all her grumbles and strict rules, had been at Hogwarts long enough to recognize the kind of sleep born from exhaustion and heartbreak. The kind of sleep that stitched two fractured souls back together, thread by trembling thread.

With a gentle flick of her wand, she dimmed the lights and conjured a blanket, draping it over your shoulders. She didn’t touch Cedric — just checked the potions levels, made a quiet note on her chart, and slipped out of the room.

When you stirred hours later, it was still quiet. The world hadn’t ended, though it had come close. You blinked slowly, adjusting to the gray morning light streaming through the hospital wing’s tall windows.

You were still holding his hand.

More importantly — he was still holding yours.

You turned your head, just slightly, and saw Cedric watching you. His eyes were clearer now. Tired, yes — but calm. Solid. Real.

“Morning,” he whispered.

Your voice came out hoarse. “Hey.”

“Didn’t think you’d still be here.”

“I said I would be,” you replied quietly. “You really think I’d leave again?”

“No,” he said, his thumb brushing over your hand again. “But part of me’s still scared I’ll wake up and this will be gone.”

You sat up straighter, brushing the sleep from your eyes. “It’s not.”

A long pause.

“I thought about you,” Cedric said. “When I was stuck in that maze. When I was hurt. When I woke up alone in here. I kept thinking—‘I didn’t tell her.’ Not really.”

“Didn’t tell me what?” you asked gently.

“That I love you.”

Your breath caught.

“I love you,” he repeated, firmer this time. “And I’m sorry it took almost dying to say it. I should’ve said it that night. When you did. But I panicked. I—I couldn’t believe you’d actually—”

“I did,” you whispered. “I do.”

Cedric’s expression broke into something fragile and luminous, something that made you feel like you could finally breathe after weeks underwater.

He squeezed your hand again.

“I think we’ve wasted enough time, don’t you?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

Soft sunlight broke through the clouds beyond the windows, casting a pale gold glow across the room. And as Cedric smiled up at you, tired but whole, you realized this wasn’t the end of your story.

"You said you'd never date. Now look at you.. Loser." Cedric snorted weakly.

It was true. You'd said that at the beginning of 5th year.

Rolling your eyes, you smirked.

"I wouldn't call it dating. I'd call it unlabeled, pure devotion."

Cedric laughed, a low, broken sound that still somehow managed to sound like music. His thumb brushed yours as he held your hand a little tighter.

“Oh, that’s what we’re calling it?” he murmured, smile lazy, eyes gleaming just a bit. “Unlabeled, pure devotion?”

You shrugged, that smirk playing on your lips again. “It’s more romantic that way. Tragic. Poetic.”

“Right,” he said with mock-seriousness. “So when people ask, I’ll just say I’m in a deeply emotional, undefined entanglement with a sarcastic cynic who pretends she doesn’t love me stupid.”

You shot him a glare, but your heart fluttered.

“And I’ll say I’m spiritually tethered to a bleeding-heart Hufflepuff who almost died just to make me realize I’m in love with him.”

Cedric’s eyes locked with yours then — no teasing now, just a quiet, overwhelming sort of tenderness. Like everything had shifted and finally, finally landed right where it was meant to.

“Then I guess we deserve each other,” he whispered.

You nodded. “Unfortunately for you.”

He thought for a moment.

"C'mere." He muttered, opening his arms.

You raised an eyebrow. "But Madam Pomf—"

"She'll be fine. She loves me."

You huffed a laugh, trying to hide the fact that your chest had just caved in a little.

“She loves everyone,” you said, but you were already rising from the chair.

Cedric gave a weak but triumphant grin as you carefully slipped into the narrow hospital bed beside him, minding the bandages and bruises. His arms wrapped around you the second you were close enough — warm, shaky, and maybe a little too tight, like he still didn’t quite believe this was real.

You melted into him anyway.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t comfortable. The mattress was stiff, your knees bumped, and his shoulder was still sore — but somehow, it was perfect.

“You smell like antiseptic,” you muttered into his collarbone.

“You smell like regret and firewhisky,” he murmured back.

You snorted. “Fair.”

For a while, you both just lay there, tangled in silence. His hand moved slowly across your back, your cheek pressed against the beat of his heart. There were a hundred conversations left to have — about the maze, about what came next, about the weeks of silence and the confession you still weren’t sure he’d heard properly.

But for now, this was enough.

Safe. Warm. Alive.

“I’m not letting you go again,” Cedric whispered suddenly, so quietly you almost missed it.

You lifted your head. “Then don’t.”

He looked at you like you’d just given him the answer to every riddle he’d ever been asked.

It happened without fanfare.

No dramatic music. No roaring winds or trembling ground.

Just the two of you, breathing in the same space, your foreheads touching as the late-afternoon sun traced gold across the white sheets and Cedric’s bruised knuckles.

He looked at you like he had all the time in the world — like he was memorizing every curve of your face, every flicker of doubt behind your eyes. His hand came up, fingers brushing your cheek, reverent. Almost disbelieving.

“I'd like to seal our 'unlabeled, pure devotion'' with a kiss, yeah?” he murmured.

You swallowed, heart thudding. “Then do it.”

His lips found yours gently — not rushed, not hungry, just soft. Certain. A question and an answer, all in one breath.

It was warm and a little shaky, a kiss you could feel in your ribs, in your fingertips, in every inch of skin that remembered what it meant to be close to him.

When he pulled back, barely an inch, his eyes were still closed.

“I'm an absolute fool for you,” he whispered, voice a little hoarse. “But it was definitely worth almost dying for.”

You laughed, and then you kissed him again.

[randominchident]

it's been a long time coming

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. max verstappen x driver!reader ⋆ 𐙚 ̊.

hotel booking mishaps. shared hotel room. late night conversations. one bed. long held feelings. (no smut)

You find out at check-in. It’s already been such a long day. You're tired from the flight and are just so desperate to crash into the hotel bed at the earliest convenience. But luck is never on your side with this stuff.

“Sorry,” the hotel concierge says with a polite smile that does not match the chaos she is about to reveal. “It seems the reservation system glitched during your bookings. It only saved one room under both your names.”

You blink and state the obvious. “There should be two.”

Max, standing beside you in a hoodie and travel sweats, glances up from his phone.

“No other rooms in the whole hotel?”

"No, I'm sorry. As you can imagine with it being Grand Prix week, we are entirely booked."

“Just one room,” you mutter. “With one bed.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then Max shrugs. “I don’t snore. Do you?”

The room is ridiculously nice. Huge windows. Minimalist furniture that somehow still looks cozy and warm. The kind of place you could actually relax in—if it weren’t for the single, crisply made king-sized bed in the center. A bed that looked so inviting it was actually laughable.

This would all be fine if it weren’t for the massive, high-school level crush you were hiding. Because he was Max—the guy who always knew what to say, the guy who knew how to make you laugh even when you wanted to cry, whose smile lit up the whole room—and how could you not fall madly in love with him?

You stare at the bed.

He stares at you.

“We can rotate,” he offers. “Bed for one, couch for the other. Switch tomorrow night?”

“I’ll take the couch first,” you say automatically, dropping your bag.

He hesitates, as if about to say something, but then nods once and disappears into the bathroom to shower. You exhale like you’ve been holding your breath for a year. God. You just had to keep yourself in check for a few nights—at least until another hotel room opens up.

Later that night, you lie wide awake on the couch, arms crossed tightly over your chest, listening to the silence. Except it’s not silent. You can hear Max breathing, the rustle of the sheets when he turns over, the soft buzz of the aircon. And you can hear your own thoughts, which is argueably worse.

You've been teammates with him for years. You've seen him through every mood imaginable—victory highs, press drama, 3 a.m. debriefs, hungover morning flights. And somewhere along the line, your chest started tightening every time he looked at you. And somewhere else along the way he started to look at you like you were the only person in the room, though you were sure you were imagining that. You'd hate to ruin it, this perfect racing partnership you have, by bringing emotions into the mix. Emotions he probably didn’t even reciprocate.

Sometime aroun 2am, a soft voice breaks the quiet: “You okay?”

You sit up slightly on the couch, eyes fluttering open. “What?”

“You’ve turned over like, forty times,” he murmurs.

“Oh. Sorry.”

You expect him to go quiet again.

Instead: “You can sleep here as well..”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re obviously not. We are adults, we can share and not kill eachother.”

You glance toward him. His face is barely lit by the city light slipping through the curtains, his hair a mess on the pillow in a way you only ever see after a race. It’s annoyingly cute and insanely attractive all at once.

“You know, I wouldn't mind.” he adds softly. “You being here, I mean.”

It shouldn’t make your chest ache. But it does.

“Okay,” you whisper, and get up before you can overthink it, dragging your pillow and blanket with you.

You lie down as close to the edge of the bed as possible, teetering on falling off. Max stays perfectly still beside you, like if he breathes too loud, he’ll ruin the truce you've both settled on.

A few minutes pass.

Then he speaks again.

“It’s weird.”

“What is?”

“This. Sharing a space with you.”

You stiffen. “We share space all the time. The garage, debriefs, flights—”

“This is different,” he says, cutting you off. “You’re in my space. I’m in yours.”

You don’t respond.

Then, quieter: “It doesn’t feel wrong, though.”

"But weird?" you ask, confused.

"Good weird."

Your heart kicks up a fush at that, beating fast and loud. The silence after that feels heavier than before, your own breath too loud and obtrusive.

You try to keep your voice light. “Well. Don't worry. It’s not a permanent situation.”

“Yeah. I know.”

He sounds… disappointed?

You swallow. “Max?”

“Yeah?”

“Why aren’t you asleep?”

He pauses long enough that you think he won't answer. “Because you’re next to me.”

That does something dangerous to your heart.

Slowly, you roll over to face him, careful not to close the distance but desperate to see the look on his face when he answers your next question. “That a bad thing?”

He’s already facing you. His expression is soft, eyes drifting over your face like he is trying to memorise every inch of it—as if you'll disappear if he doesn't.

“No,” he says quietly. “That’s the problem.”

Your breath catches.

He keeps talking, voice lower now and accent heavy over his words, like a confession he’s not entirely sure he wants you to hear but is desperate to say.

“I’m just saying… I’ve been in a hundred hotel rooms and this is the first one I don’t want to leave.”

Your stomach flips and you open your mouth to say something. But nothing comes out.

The air stills. Like time holds its breath for the two of you.

The matress dips slightly as he inches towards you. There is a faint brush of his knee against yours. His hand—slow, deliberate—finds yours between the sheets. His fingers graze the inside of your wrist before they settle, not lacing, just there. Anchoring. Asking.

His voice, when it comes, is hushed and careful.

“I want to kiss you,” he admits, “but I don't want to ruin what we have.”

Your heart stutters. Your whole body goes still, except your heart rate, which you're sure Max can feel on your wrist.

You swallow, eyes not leaving his.

“Kiss me. Please.”

His breath catches—just barely. Then he’s leaning in, slowly, giving you a chance to stop him. To pull away, to laugh and pretend you were joking the whole time. To pretend this moment never cracked open.

But you don’t move.

His hand lifts to your face, fingers brushing your jaw, and you tilt toward him without thinking. Without fear.

The kiss, when it finally happens, isn’t rushed or feverish. It’s careful. Like he’s afraid of breaking something sacred. Because what the two of you have is sacred. There is a slight hesitantion to his touch, he’s tasting something he’s wanted for a long time but never thought he could have.

Your eyes flutter shut. The world narrows to the weight of his mouth on yours, the way his thumb drags softly along your cheek, the breath he exhales into the kiss. You can't ignore how soft it all feels, how careful, how serene.

When he finally pulls back, he doesn’t go far. Just enough to press his forehead against yours, resting there like he needs the contact to stay grounded. To remind himself this isn't all a dream, it's real.

"We—We have to sleep." He says, and for the smallest moment you think he regrets the kiss, until he adds, "But I'd like to kiss you again tomorrow. I don't want to forget about this."

You smile. "I'd like that."

He looks down at your now interlocked hands. "...one more kiss tonight?"

And as you lean in to kiss him once more you know that this, whatever this becomes, is perfect. Falling asleep, curled into his chest, feels like finally coming home.

[the-sparrohawk]

Between the Grave and the Garden

I am so excited to share the first chapter of the story I started working on with @sharpest-tongue over four (!!!) months ago. It's been a labor of love, and we hope you enjoy it as well! The fic is finished, and we'll be posting chapters every Thursday and Sunday.

Chapters: 1/9 Relationships: Lucanis Dellamorte/Emmrich Volkarin Rating: Explicit (reflects finished work) Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Grief/Mourning, Angst, Humor, Romance, Sexual Content, Canon-Typical Violence ~~~~~ * ~~~~~

"We're gonna need that end of the table," Taash said, looming over Emmrich with a platter of sliced fruit.

The necromancer looked up wearily from the disorganized pile of papers. "Of course, Taash. Rook and I are nearly done in any event. We only need a moment longer."

"Oh, it's all right, Professor. Dinner won't be ready for another..." Bellara lifted the lid off a pot, letting a cloud of steam escape. "Ten minutes? Or... maybe five? The rice just has to cook and then I need to make sure the carrots are cooked through and—"

"And we're gonna need that end of the table."

"All right, all right, Taash." Rook reached out one long arm and scooped the papers into a slightly more cohesive pile.

Emmrich looked chiding as he eased the papers out of Rook's hands and spread them out again. "We all know you hate paperwork but if we don't reply to Archon Pavus in the next two days, we'll lose our opportunity to set that trap for the Venatori we discussed and then you'll be disappointed. We have ten minutes. That's all we need."

"Bet you never thought you'd be corresponding with the Archon of Tevinter," Davrin said from his supine position on the couch.

"I never did," Rook agreed with a sigh. "Never thought I'd be co-parenting a griffon either, but stranger things have happened." He turned back to Emmrich. "Couldn't you just draft the letter and have me sign it? I'm a simple man. Warden training never covered this sort of thing."

"Ah, yes," Emmrich said, his voice dry as dust. "The position to which I've always aspired: the puppetmaster behind the throne. It sounds intensely rewarding and not at all like a significant amount of unappreciated work." He tapped the half-finished page in front of Rook. "Focus, please. You'll be done before Bellara if you put your head down."

Rook obeyed, and while he was not actually done before dinner was being set on the table, he managed not to spill any of the stew onto his letter to Thedas's newest head of state. Seeing Rook start to sweep the other papers onto an empty dining chair, Emmrich collected them and set them in a prominent spot on the coffee table. He suspected Rook might try to escape with Davrin after supper, but with luck he could coax another twenty or thirty minutes of work from him before he disappeared.

They all sat in their usual places; unspoken agreement usually left Harding's and Neve's places empty, though Taash took Harding's from time to time.

"What do you think?" Bellara asked after they'd all eaten in silence for a few minutes. "It's pretty simple, I know, but I thought we've all been working so hard and we could probably just use something hearty. Not that I think simple is bad, it's just—"

"It's good, Bellara," Rook said, giving her a wan smile. "I like the herbs." He glanced down the table at Emmrich. "And it's better than toast."

"Good toast is all in the quality of the bread," Emmrich sniffed. "And it is a perfectly healthy and substantial breakfast, especially with jam. Which I did provide."

"It was good," Taash said, stirring their rice into their stew. "I like burnt toast."

"It wasn't all burned," Davrin said, glancing at Rook. "There was a whole range of doneness to choose from."

"Don't listen to them, Professor," Bellara said. "It was really nice of you to make breakfast for us. The stove here is just really tricky. I think Lucanis was the only one who really mastered it."

There was a long silence. "Anyone heard from him?" Taash asked.

Continue reading on AO3

[imfierylilac]

Accident

Duke x reader

You immediately knew it was a bad idea.

Being a calm person who didn’t like getting into trouble or causing chaos, you somehow ended up befriending one of the biggest troublemakers in the Academy. Your friendship with Duke surprised even the two of you, but despite your differences, you managed to build a strong and trusting bond.

And even though you liked Duke, in many ways he was too much.

Like tonight, when he dragged you out to “explore the Academy grounds,” as he put it. In reality, he brought you to some old basement, where, being luck’s favorite target, you twisted your ankle.

Now, gritting your teeth, you mentally cursed Duke for this adventure, yourself for agreeing, and the stupid old basement for causing your injury.

“Mon chéri, are you okay?” Duke asked, with a bit too much concern for his usual cheerful tone, hurrying toward you.

He crouched down to your level as you lay stretched out on the dirty floor after the fall.

“Do I look okay to you?” you snapped.

You nearly lost your temper, but seeing the genuine worry on Duke’s face, you tried to calm down. After all, it wasn’t entirely his fault you got hurt. Well… partially, since he brought you to this cursed place. But then again, you agreed and weren’t exactly careful when walking. So, you exhaled and said through clenched teeth:

“Not sure. Something’s wrong with my leg. I think I twisted it.”

A frown formed on Duke’s tanned face. He leaned closer to examine your injured leg.

“Can you stand?”

You wanted to say no but decided to try standing up with Duke’s support. That was a mistake.

The moment you stepped on the injured leg, a sharp flash of pain shot through you. It was impossible to put weight on it without burning pain, and you felt yourself falling again. If it weren’t for the arms wrapping around your waist, you would’ve hit the floor.

“You definitely need the infirmary, chéri,” Duke said, far too obviously.

You let out a shaky breath and nodded, taking a step and clenching your teeth in pain. Duke tsked and shook his head.

“This won’t do, chéri. You’ll only make it worse.”

You exhaled sharply at his words. He still had the nerve to give advice when he was the reason for your injury. You turned to him, eyes flashing angrily, your irritation rising again.

“Oh, and what do you suggest? What, in your opinion—”

You let out a small squeak when Duke suddenly picked you up bridal-style. One of his arms was under your knees, the other supported your back. He seemed completely unbothered, and you immediately felt a blush creeping up your cheeks, though you didn’t quite understand why. It wasn’t like no man had carried you before, but… this was Duke.

Duke with the damn charming and irritating smirk.

Duke with the mischievous nature and reckless ideas.

Duke who now carried you effortlessly in his arms.

“What… what are you doing?” you asked in shock, making Duke smirk.

“Carrying you to the infirmary, ma belle, so you don’t stumble into anything else,” he said lightly, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“I didn’t stumble into anything,” you grumbled. “You’re the one who brought me here, remember?”

“Then I’m just fixing my mistake. Either way, all you need to do is be pretty and stay still.”

You blinked, your mouth snapping shut at the word pretty. For some reason, it sounded especially nice coming from Duke.

Your hands found his shoulders and wrapped around his neck to make it easier for him to carry you. As he walked, you studied him curiously, though a bit shyly.

Surprisingly, Duke didn’t look like he was struggling at all. In fact, it seemed quite the opposite—like he didn’t even notice your weight. Still, you decided to ask.

“Isn’t it heavy for you?”

“Not at all. Why would it be, mon cher?”

“Well,” you muttered, glancing at him, “you’re kind of skinny.”

Duke chuckled softly at your comment and looked at you, his eyes gleaming.

“I’m wiry, mon cher. That’s different.”

You raised a brow at his response, once again glancing over him. Duke was tall and slim, and you were just worried he’d strain his back while carrying you. Though honestly, that would be fair considering it was his fault you couldn’t walk now.

“I’m just not sure it’s good for you to carry heavy things.”

You gasped as Duke suddenly stopped, and for the first time during the whole conversation, his wine-red eyes locked onto yours.

“What exactly do you mean by ‘heavy,’ mon cher? Don’t tell me you meant yourself.”

“Well, I’m not exactly light,” you mumbled, looking away.

Duke narrowed his eyes at your flustered reply and raised a brow. He looked at you for a moment before replying.

“You know, I’m convinced that no matter what weight a girl is, she’s beautiful. But you, mon mignon,” — his voice dropped a tone lower, and then Duke said something that completely threw you off — “you’re perfect just the way you are.”

Your gaze snapped back to him, and he looked at you in return, smiling. And that smile was so gentle and soft that it smoothed his features and made him look almost devilishly handsome. You considered that the greatest injustice of the evening.

“Don’t forget that, alright?”

Duke’s soft request, paired with his French accent, hit even harder than the words themselves. Your heart gave a traitorous jolt, your chest tightened in that pleasant way that made it hard to breathe. Blush spread across your face, neck, and ears, and you quickly looked away, nodding.

Seeing you too flustered to answer, Duke gave you one last glance and continued walking.

“I’m never agreeing to your crazy ideas again,” you muttered quietly, looking away to hide your embarrassed blush.

Duke smirked.

You both knew that was a lie.

[theallianceofcelestials]

Could we have a small drabble of ETD Ruin meeting SEA Mirror! Solar, and SEA Eclipse?

I feel as though the interactions might be intriguing.

I'm not gonna lie, I really love this concept.

So as set up, Eclipse and Solar know each other and are in shared custody between the two SEA fams, so they're technically brothers even if they don't refer to each other like that. And Ruin is already back on the mainland with his Eclipse, and they're living the life, but he's also taking over rigs still

"It's fascinating for me how much more you can handle. Me leaving this place was the best thing in my life"

Eclipse raises a brow, eyeing Solar quite obviously. The other animatronic scowls at him and punches his shoulder lightly. It's probably moreso because of his condition than any kindness towards Eclipse.

"Maybe you are just a snowflake"

"And you are a shortie, but you don't see me antagonizing you over it"

They glare at each other for a bit more, only to burst out into grins.

It's good to have someone to be a dick with

"But really, I could swear my experience with this place was cursed, what with getting torn apart and damaged and all that, but you seem to have it much bette-"

The floor disappears from under them, and the only reason he doesn't scream is because he's too busy grabbing at the damaged animatronic beside himself. With their luck the poor sod might just break his legs apart, and his Moon is terrifying.

The world breaks apart, rebuilding itself in rapid colours and sounds, and then they're landing with Eclipse taking the brunt of the impact.

He groans, wheezing when his technically brother pushes himself up on his stomach, and he doesn't exactly realise why the fucker is freezing at first. In this moment, all he knows is this piece of shit crushing him

And then something fleshy touches him, and he jumps, knocking Solar off of him.

When he turns to look, he freezes too. He doesn't know how, but some sort of primal fear overtakes him.

They're on some sort of oil rig, but that's not what has him start shaking. That would be the towering wall of glowing, pulsing flesh monstrosity that's crawling up towards the sky.

"What the fuck"

He barely hears the other animatronic beside him, too busy staring at this-this thing

"Eclipse- Eclipse it's moving!"

He snaps back to attention, noticing a tendril like thing that's too close to them raise itself, others following it. It doesn't take a genius to figure out they're going to grab them if they don't run

But where the fuck are they supposed to run? It's everywhere!

"My, oh my, I did not expect visitors to fall out of the sky!"

Is that fucking British?

"And especially not a version of my dearest treasure! Ah, but the other one with the pretty, rosey cheeks is also familiar!"

Wait a minute

"Ex-fucking-scuse me?!"

"What!?"

This thing, still in that same British accent, which might just give him malfunction on the spot, chuckles, and then from the tentacles a more animatronic like form manifests, one that reminds him of their family with its clothes. Only, this one doesn't really seem to want to know if he's a solar, or a lunar model

"How lucky can one be? Not one, but three Eclipses in the same world? I'm being spoiled!"

His brother shifts next to him in discomfort, and Eclipse bears his teeth in a grin. Mismatched red and blue eyes flash at it, especially when he stands up finally, towering over the much smaller avatar.

"Don't call him that"

The being's head tilts, and it holds its hands up in surrender.

"My apologies, what are you called then dear?"

"Why don't you start?"

That surprises it, but its face breaks out into delight, and it cackles. When it looks at him again, it's with a hungry look that makes his casing crawl

"You are feisty aren't you darling? But very well, my name is Ruin, and it's a pleasure to meet you"

That name doesn't spell anything good for them

"You seem to know my name pretty well"

Solar has since gotten to his feet, but Eclipse can see his knees are trembling, ready to give out at any moment. The fingers on his left hand seem to be spasming, and he winces in solidarity. That looks painful

"I'm Solar"

Ruin nods, continuing to eye them heatedly. He does seem to get himself back under control once he notices the same issues Eclipse is seeing. Something in his expression shifts to cold

"Is everything alright with you dear?"

"Just a malfunction"

One that's not going away. But this thing doesn't need to know that

"A malfunction caused by humans mayhaps? Are there people you need gone dear?"

Eclipse can't help it, he snorts. The horror's attention is on him immediately for it, but he doesn't care.

That just reminded him a bit too much of their family

"Like a human could tear him apart! Nah, it was something more like you.'

"Something... like me?"

"Yepp, anomalious, unexplainable for humanity, that sort of gist. Maybe not something exactly like you, don't have too much access to eldritch horrors, but close enough"

Glowed hands grab onto him for support, and he reaches up to give one a squeeze. Solar takes it as invitation to lean more on him, and he doesn't mind.

Even if he can feel a couple dents on himself, he's fine. He's had worse than a bad landing.

"Is that why you two seem so calm? You've seen something like me before?"

Ruin prowls closer to them, and Eclipse eyes him distrustfully. He doesn't trust the flirty attitude, the playful winks, the nothing. It honestly makes him want to gag.

"Buddy, my job is to study the anomalious. As was his before he moved into the wilderness with his family"

One of those tendrils sneaks closer to them, and he backs away. His claws are itching to exit their housing, ready to tear into soft flesh. He feels more on edge the longer they're here.

"Oh? That's interesting! Say, don't you want to... learn a bit more?"

He doesn't like how that world is emphasized. He doesn't like how that predatory look is back. He doesn't like any of this. His involuntary shudder of disgust is second only to Solar's.

"Ew, I'm not into that, thanks. Also, romance is not my thing"

"Same. You go have fun with yourself tho!"

And then Solar begins dragging him backwards, towards a door, and the eldritch horror lets it happen with an indulgent smile.

"Those are more than fine my dears! But I'm here if you want to study!"

Eclipse slams the door shut behind them, ignoring how they're still surrounded by those glowing tentacle-tendril things. At least whatever this is doesn't bring its avatar out again.

"So ugh, how likely it is that your family will get us soon?"

Given how it's shopping day today, how Moon fucked off to work on some invention and how Sun's doing the big cleaning right now-

"Almost zero"

Solar groans, flopping down uncaringly onto the floor, hiding his head against his knees.

Eclipse wholeheartedly agrees with his annoyance

[itspikamefan]

FINAL SET OF TETRO PINK QUOTES CAUSE THE SEASON'S ENDED LETS GO BABY (We shall most likely included spoilers. Also potentially 18+)

Okazaki: Yeah, a partner sounds nice... But a supreme enemy you can make out with in secret sometimes sounds a lot more hardcore!

Yanagi: "What are you into?" is such a broad question, like do I reply with a TV series or choking?

Hiroaki: LIFE KEEPS FUCKING ME AND I CAN'T REMEMBER THE SAFEWORD!

Hiroaki (Again): I'm the sexiest Bitch in the Therapy Waiting Room.

Okazaki: If I'm extra sarcastic with you it probably means I'm flirting with you or you really annoy me and I can't handle your crap... have fun figuring out which one~

Harada: I love saying 'fuck me' because it can either be sexual or self-loathing and those are two things that describe me perfectly.

Hiroaki (Putting on his new fit): There, how do I look? Ojima: Like a Cheap French Harlot... Hiroaki: FRENCH?!

Kamimura, getting dressed for graduation: Hey, do you think I can hang myself with this tie? Hasegawa: Oh no no no no! You are NOT getting out of this the easy way!

Harada: I don't need to go to bed. I'm not tired, I'll be fine. Hama: But, bro, I'll be so lonely without you. Come curl up in my arms so I can feel whole again. Harada: O-oh. Well... Wait. Are you trying to seduce me into healthy sleeping patterns? Hama: ...Is it working?

Hiroaki: Is this mistletoe? Ojima: No... It's Basil... Hiroaki: Well too bad, cause if it was mistletoe I was going to kiss you. Ojima: Yeah no... It's still Basil.

Hiroaki: I hate to disagree with you but- Tamba: Please, you LOVE to disagree with me. Its your favorite thing to do.

Kamimura: Snow's got me feeling a certain kind of way. Hasegawa: ...That's Hypothermia. Kamimura: Damn, the paramedics told me it was the magic of Christmas.

Tsuno, blushing: Okay, but what if we went to dinner not as friends this time? Okazaki: AS ENEMIES?! :D Tsuno: ...

Ojima: ...Hey... Wanna take a shower with me? Hiroaki: I have a gun in that nightstand beside the bed. If I ever say no to that question, I want you to take it out and shoot me because I’ve obviously gone crazy.

Tsuno: Hey, check out my Spongebob Umbrella! *Holds open her Spongebob Umbrella from the Storage room* Kamimura: Dude, that's bad luck... Tsuno: Chill out, Toshi! Okazaki, bursting into the hall: WHO SUMMONED ME?! Kamimura and Tsuno: *SCREAMING*

Tamba: I'm gonna go eat some Chicken Breasts. Hiroaki: *Snickering* Yeah... Eat what you lack. Ojima, deadpan: Maybe I should ask Monomoko to order you some Brains on Delivery.

Tamba, bursting into the room: YOU TWO ARE HAVING SEX!! Hayashi, looking up from her novel: Really? Shigeki, why didn't you tell me? I would've put my book down.

Chiba: And now for a Gay update with Harada and Hama! Harada: Getting gayer. Chiba: Thank you Harada!

Isono: What do you guys want for breakfast? Okazaki: I WISH TO DEVOUR THE UNBORN!!! Hama: ... Hama: She wants Eggs

Hiroaki, wearing Silk Pants: How do they look? Ojima: Like they slip on and off really easily. Hiroaki: *Stunned* Ojima, blushing: Wait no I didn't mean it like tha- Hayashi: We know what you meant.

Harada: Your boyfriend doesn't have the mental capacity to caramlize Onions. Hiroaki: Your Boyfriend thinks it takes 5-10 minutes to Caramlize Onions. Tamba: Who the hell is Caramelizing Onions?! Have none of you sociopaths heard of APPLES before?! Hayashi: ...Do you think Caramelizing Onions means putting Caramel on Onions?

Tsuno: I spy with my little eye, something that begins with... S! Wada: *Spots Hayashi and Yanagi* Wada: Is it sexual tension?

Watari: *Looking at Kamimura and Hasegawa* They sure make a cute couple, huh? Okazaki: They certainly are standing next to each other...

Tsuno: What's you guys favorite thing to wake up to? Chiba: Breakfast in bed! Wada: Emails from AO3 Okazaki: My favorite thing to wake up to is not waking up at all. Okazaki: ...Though the screams of my enemies are a close second.

Okazaki: Who would you swipe right for? Hasegawa or Ojima? Watari: I'd delete the app.

Wada: Hey, what have you two been doing? Yanagi: We were helping Ojima with his wedding vows... Aaaand Tamba got us kicked out of his house for making it Inappropriate. Tamba: How is "Nice ass, Hiroaki" inappropriate?!

(StT Au Post yay) Okazaki: You really put aside everything and came all this way for me? How did you even get here so fast? Hayashi: Several Traffic Violations Ojima: Three counts of Resisting Arrest Yukino, in on the whole thing: Roughly thirteen cans of energy drinks. Harada: Also, this isn't our car.

Tsuno: What do Rainbows mean to you? Hiroaki: Gay rights. Kamimura: There's money. Hama: The sign of God's promise to never destroy the whole Earth with a flood. Sasaki: It is an optical phenomenon that separates sunlight into its continuous spectrum when the sun shines on raindrops.

Hiroaki: Ojima is too tall for me to kiss him on the lips. What do I do? Hayashi: Punch him in the stomach. When he doubles over in pain, then kiss him. Watari: Tackle him! Kamimura: Dump him. Chiba: Kick him in the shins! Ojima: NO to all of this! Just ask me to lean down!

Tamba: A mouse! Okazaki, holding a knife: Go back to where you came from or I'll stab you~ Sasaki, holding a Frying Pan: You'd make a nice meal. Harada, holding a piece of Cheese with Sawa on the Prowl: You deserve a treat little guy~ Watari: ITS RATATOUILLE!!! Hasegawa: It's Remy... Dumbass... Tamba: I was just gonna ask one of you to trap it and-... What the hell is wrong with you people?!

[nauschka]

“Jazz?” “Hm?” “Show me your servo, please?” This time, Jazz did look up from tinkering with the metal bars of a puzzle wheeljack gave him. They were interlocked in a way you couldn’t easily separate them, though it was possible without bending them. So far he hadn’t had any luck. “Sure.” Putting the puzzle down, he held out his palm. Taking it in his own servo, Prowl placed a small data stick on his. “This is for you.” Jazz stared at the datastick as if it was something foreign.. “Thanks..?” Lifting his helm, he gave the Praxian a questioning look. “Prowler. What is it?” Prowl let go of the other, smiling self confident. “It is a collection of earth-based Jazz music. Well, the only Jazz music I know originates from earth, but still. Since you mentioned you wanted to listen to more of it, or earth music in general, I took the liberty and put this together.” His doorwings flared proudly as he finished. He had spent quite some time on it, sorting them to hopefully navigate through the terabytes of data. When Jazz didn’t answer right away, staring now slack jawed at him, he grew a bit confused. Was it that much of a shock? Surely not… right? However when Jazz set his jaw, gripping the datastick, corners of his mouth pulled down, and cheeks getting redder by the nano-klik, he had the inkling of having overstepped. Did Jazz perhaps not want his gift? Had he wanted to explore earth's music by himself? Oh, what a disas- Two servos clutching at the side of his audials pulled him forward as derma claimed a surprisingly tame and sweet kiss. Prowl’s optics went wide, a force blush creeping up his faceplate. Pulling back, Jazz smiled cheekily. “Thank ya, Prowler. Yer the best.” — — — 

He didn’t know where everything he found came from. But this time, he deliberately went out in search for any kind of string, wire, or anything flexible, bendable and sturdy. In the end, Carly helped him. Instead of braiding a huge thread out of tiny string, she had proposed using ropes from fishnets.. Those came in a few different colors as well. The pair set out to a fisherman who Carly snuffed out on the “internet”, and he had some ripped fishnets he had no use for anymore.

It was the perfect thing he needed.

In his habsuite he went to work, cutting the net into single strings. Then, he sorted them by length, putting the shorter ones aside, or knitting two together to make a longer one. When the prep work was done, he began braiding them for real.

The result were two almost identical red bracelets. Now he only hoped Prowl would like it.

The next cycle, Prowl strode into the rec room, intending to get his first ration of the cycle. EVen though it was early and not many bots were around, almost everyone turned to look at what the 2nd in command was wearing around his wrist.

A bright red bracelet adorned his black plaring, a stark contrast and not to overlook. The ones openly staring quickly busied themselves with string at the surface of the nearest table. Once Prowl had left, murmurs started up almost immediately.

Later that cycle, Jazz was walking down the corridor, servos interlinked behind his helm and on the way to his favorite bot to annoy. Everyone he passed did a double take at his wrist, where they spotted a similar red bracelet.

The office doors swooshing open and closed announced his arrival to the Praxian working diligently at the stack of datapads, the red bracelet still around his servo. Jazz smiled. Walking up beside him, he placed a kiss on his cheek. "Hey Sweetspark, miss me?”

Prowl and Jazz give each other a gift. What do you think they would give each other? (Anything goes but it can't be a datapad or flowers)

I thinkkk Prowl would give Jazz a recompilation of Earth's music but does so once in a month, and he does it by genres. First it was jazz, then rock, pop...etc. Since I think Jazz would've have mentioned he would like to hear it but hasn't got the time to really look into it.

As for Jazz- I have this hc that he likes to do lil crafts, small gifts that little by little are taking over Prowl's daily space (bracelets, cups, pots for Prowl's crystals, you name it!)

...Also lol I suck ass at writing dialogues because i'm such an indecisive person and I don't leave any space to write one anyways. So yall can imagine/interpret the dialogue as you please 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️