#there should be more glitter emojis

[rye-meadow-watchdog]

💀😭✨😅

I mean, art is just a creative way to dig up old personalities in ur mind’s graveyard ig lol

your first column of emojis describes your personality! what’s yours?

[mariasont]

House Rules - A.H

summary: bimbo!asssitant!reader hasn't been answering her phone all day, hotch needs her to clarify something about a case report, or at least that's what he tells himself when he shows up at her house

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

warnings: reader wearing some skimpy pjs, pre-relationship pining, hotch trying to act like he's not madly in love with reader

wc: 3.3k

Hotch wasn't sure why he'd expected your house to be normal. He chalked up his misjudgment on the haze of old injuries, the kind of logic that gets muddled when you've bled out on too many occasions. Because standing on your porch, staring at the pale pink door with a glittering Home Sweet Home sign dangling from the handle, he realized how spectacularly wrong he'd been.

It suited you, he realized. He could almost picture you hanging it there, humming to yourself and adjusting it three times before deciding it was just right.

It wasn't a social call. At least, that's what Hotch told himself repeatedly, as though the words might drown out the irrational knot of worry in his stomach. You hadn't answered your phone all day, and that was strange for you. It was your day off, yes, but normally you were over-communicative to a fault, texting emojis when a simple yes would have sufficed, or leaving voicemail messages that somehow turned into tangents about your neighbor's cat, your favorite polish color, or the iced coffee you'd spilled that morning.

But today? Nothing. No texts. No calls. Nothing.

His rational mind told him you were fine. Phones die, phones get left behind, people turn them off to take a break. But when it came to you, the rational part of him always seemed to lose ground to the side of him he didn't care to admit existed—the side that careful just a little bit more than he should have.

He knocked.

After a second, he heard the unmistakable sound of your voice yelling a muffled coming!

The door opened, and there you stood, wearing something that could only be called pajamas by the loosest of definitions—shorts that left far too much skin exposed and a matching top that hugged your chest like it was afraid to let go. Your hair was loose and slightly messy, framing your face, and your bare feet peeked out from under the door.

"Oh!" You froze and looked at him like he had fallen from the sky. "Hotch! What are you doing here?"

Hotch cleared his throat and he tried, tried, to keep his eyes glued to your face. It was harder than it should have been—his brain wasn't helping, already memorizing every detail of your appearance that he knew he shouldn't have noticed.

"Do you always answer the door like this?"

"Like what?"

"Dressed like..." He hesitated, jaw clenching as he searched his vocabulary for a word that wouldn't sound entirely inappropriate. "Dressing like that. Without knowing who is on the other side."

"Hotch," you said, smiling slightly. "I could tell it wasn't a stranger."

"How?" he asked flatly, raising a brow. "Because if you tell me it was a feeling, I'm going to be very disappointed in you."

"So what are you doing here?"

You ignored him, smiling innocently as though he hadn't spoken at all.

He almost started to lecture you—about answering doors, about caution, about everything—but the words died before they reached his tongue. You were fine. Perfectly fine. Not injured, not in danger, not lying in a hospital bed or worse—just standing there, unharmed, while he tried to shake off the residual tension of imaging all of the worst-case scenarios he'd been wrestling with the past hour.

"You weren't answering your phone." His voice came out sharper than he meant, but he didn't correct it.

You stared at him before letting out an incredulous laugh. "Okay, but like... that's usually not cause for a wellness check."

"It's unusual for you."

His own voice sounded defensive in his ears, and he winced inwardly.

Your lips shot upwards as if you had discovered his game, leaning on the door frame with your arms crossed. "Aw, were you worried about me, bossman?"

His response didn't come as quickly as it usually did, his eyes scanning your face like he was trying to decipher something. "I needed to confirm something about the case report."

"Sure, you did." You tilted your head, smile widening as you let the words linger. "Well, since you're already here, might as well come in. I'd hate for you to leave empty-handed."

Hotch hesitated. The professional part of him—the one that lived and breathed protocol—told him to stay outside, finish his excuse, and leave. Normally, he wouldn't have thought twice about saying yes to an invitation like this. He'd done it for Morgan, for Emily, even Spencer without a second thought. But this wasn't them. This was you. But then you gave him that look— raised eyebrows, half a grin, daring him to prove you wrong—and against better judgment, he stepped inside.

The inside of your house was... well, it was you.

It wasn't messy, but it wasn't neat either. It was softer than he expected. Fluffy throw blankets over the couch with heart shaped pillows. On the coffee table, a collection of framed photos—pictures of you with friends, family, and even what looked to be an embarrassing prom photo.

"So?" You moved across the room, draping yourself onto the arm of the couch like a cat in the sun, one leg swinging lazily. "What's the big emergency, Hotchner?"

"I told you," he replied, squinting his eyes at you as if that would somehow change your attitude. It wouldn't. He knew from experience. "The case report. You stapled the wrong attachment to it. I need to know where the correct file is."

"Uh-huh," you said, squinting your own eyes back as if to mock him. "And this couldn't just wait until the morning? You sure you didn't just miss me?"

His brow furrowed. "Why would I--"

You were on your feet in an instant, wagging a finger at him like he'd crossed a sacred line. "Don't you dare finish that sentence, Hotchner!"

He blinked, staring at you like you'd just started reciting Shakespeare for no reason.

"You'll hurt my feelings," you said matter-of-factly. "And then I'll have no choice to pout. You'll feel guilty, you always do. And to make it up to me, you'll bring coffee tomorrow. So honestly, let's just skip all that and pretend you never wanted to finish that sentence."

He exhaled through his nose. "I was going to say, why would I miss you when I see you nearly every day?"

"Good." The smile was back on your face in a way that, annoyingly, made him feel better. "Because it's my day off, and you're forbidden from being mean to me on my day off."

"Are you implying I'm mean to you on your regular days?"

You tapped your chin as if seriously considering it. "Not mean, exactly... maybe a little grumpy sometimes."

Hotch huffed. "I'm grumpy with you?"

"Sometimes," you said with a shrug. "But it's okay. I like all your sides—even the grumpy one."

"I'm not grumpy with you," he replied, shaking his head. "If anything, I'm nicer to you than I should be."

"You big softie."

Hotch felt his lips twitch, and he hated how much effort it took to keep from smiling. He was not a soft person. He wasn't the type to let people get under his skin, and yet here you were managing to do it with a single sentence. Worse, he didn't exactly dislike it. In fact, it felt... oddly welcome.

It was different from how you were at work—though, in fairness, you weren't exactly buttoned-up in the office, either.

"Did you make those?" He glanced briefly at the tray of cookies in the kitchen.

Your face lit up and you practically bounded over to the counter, grabbing the tray and holding it up like a trophy. "Yep! Chocolate chip. Want one?"

Hotch hesitated for a second, then followed you into the kitchen, his gaze sweeping over the space despite himself. He didn't mean to do it—it wasn't intentional—but the part of him trained to notice every detail, every inconsistency, was already at work. Old habits die hard, or something like that.

The kitchen suited you. Soft pastel hues and floral details everywhere. Pink pots and pans hung along the wall, a lace-trimmed over mitt dangling from a hook shaped like a star. Fresh flowers—peonies or roses—he wasn't sure, sat in a vase on the counter.

He shook his head, trying—and failing—to shut off that instinct to analyze. But it was almost automatic, his mind piecing things together, like the organization of the baking tools and the open cookbook, pages slightly smudged.

"Are you just gonna stand there, or are you gonna grab one?"

He looked at you, then at the cookies, and finally took one with a small nod of thanks. "You bake often?"

He didn't really need to ask—you felt far too comfortable in this space for the answer to be anything but yes.

"Oh, all the time," you said, turning to put the tray back down. "It's, like, my stress reliever. Plus, it makes the house smell amazing. Not that I'm, like, stressed or anything--just saying. It's a hobby. A cute hobby."

He bit into the cookie, ignoring the sweetness for a second as he glanced around again. The pink gingham tablecloth on the island, the mugs arranged by color.

"Anything else you need? Or can I get back to my cookies and reality TV?"

He glanced toward the TV, where some kind of dramatic argument was unfolding on screen, and then back to you. "You should charge your phone."

"Yes, Daddy," you said, before going stiff. "No! I didn’t mean—like—not that Daddy. Just… regular Dad."

His body went rigid, his jaw tightening as he forced himself not to react, shoving the thought out of his mind before it could take hold.

"Right," he said finally, voice rougher than usual. "Charge your phone."

Hotch stepped toward the door, his hand already reaching for the handle when your voice stopped him.

"No, Hotch's don't leave!"  you said, your voice dipping into a whine that should've been annoying. "I'm bored!"

Keep word—should.

He turned back, brows lifted. "Bored?"

"Yes, bored," you said, flopping back onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. "I've already watched two hours of reality TV, ate like, five cookies, and had an entire conversation with myself while I folded laundry. And now you're here, and I haven't had company in forever, and you're just gonna leave me all alone?"

“Forever,” he repeated dryly. “So the 24 hours since I saw you at work?”

"That doesn't count. Work doesn't count as, like, real social interaction. It's work."

He gave you a look—one of those deadpan, unreadable stares that was meant to shut down further argument. That obviously didn't work.

"You're really going to leave me all alone? In my time of need? I thought you cared about me, Hotch."

"You're not in your time of need."

"Emotionally, I am," you said, crossing your arms and leaning back like you’d just made the world’s most convincing argument. "Please, Aaron? Just hang out with me for a little bit. One show. It'll make my whole day."

The way you said his name—Aaron—hit him in a way that felt decidedly too intimate, too casual, too... something. He clenched his jaw briefly, trying to shake off the sensation as he shot you another look.

"Since when do you call me that?"

"Since now," you replied with a shrug, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "It suits you."

His brows furrowed. "It's my name."

"Exactly," you said, leaning forward. "We're not at work. You came into my house. It's all casual here. You're Aaron now. Just go with it."

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works,” he replied, though his voice lacked conviction.

"It does now," you said, patting the couch beside you. "So, Aaron, are you gonna sit down? Just ten minutes."

With a reluctant sigh, he lowered himself onto the couch, his posture still stiff.

"Wow," you said, scooting so close that your thigh pressed against his. "I didn't think that was actually going to work."

You leaned across the coffee table to grab a blanket, shorts riding up with the motion. Hotch's eyes darted away immediately, landing on the far corner of the room as though it held something deeply fascinating.

His hand clenched into a fist on his thigh, nails pressing into his palm. His knuckles whitened slightly as he tried to force his thoughts back into neutral territory, focusing on his breathing instead of the shape of your ass.

By the time you turned back, oblivious, and tossed the blanket over both of you, he'd managed to school his face into its usual unreadable expression—though he couldn't quite fix the pressure building in his chest.

"So," you began, holding up the remote, "what's it gonna be? Reality TV? A baking show? Or, oh, those ones where they renovate houses, but everything goes horribly wrong."

"You pick." He shifted, trying to put even an inch more space between you, but you didn't seem to notice, too preoccupied with tucking the blanket around you both.

"Okay, but don't blame me if you get hooked. I'm just saying, this stuff is addictive."

He leaned back shaking his, but his focus never really landed on the TV. Instead, it stayed on you—laughing at the wrong moments, gasping dramatically at plot twists, and making snarky commentary under your breath.

"You know," you said suddenly, glancing over at him with a sly smile, "you're kind of cute when you're pretending to relax."

"Do you ever stop talking?" he asked, though the lack of bite in his tone made it sound almost too fond.

"Nope," you said cheerfully, pulling the blanket tighter around you. “Consider it part of the package.”

Hotch didn't respond, his attention shifting back to the screen—or at least, that's what he told himself. But as the minutes stretched into fifteen, then twenty, he realized he wasn't in any hurry to leave.

You fell asleep thirty minutes later.

Hotch wasn't surprised. Between the pile of blankets, you'd wrapped yourself in and the way you'd curled up on the couch like it was your safe haven, it was a miracle you'd lasted that long. He'd noticed your eyelids drooping about five minutes earlier, your commentary fading into soft hums of acknowledgment as you sank deeper into the cushions.

The room was quiet now except for the sound of the TV. He shifted in his seat, glancing over at you. You were entirely still, your breathing slow. Your hair had fallen across your face, and the blanket had slipped off your shoulder, leaving your tank top askew.

It was weird, seeing you like this. You, who were always moving and talking and saying things he never really knew how to respond to. Now you looked so soft, completely oblivious to how much space you were taking up in his head. 

He told himself to leave. Just slip out, lock the door, and let you sleep. That would’ve been the smart thing. The right thing. But he didn’t. Maybe it was the thought of you waking up, groggy and alone, wondering where he’d gone. Or maybe it was the realization that you were still his responsibility, even outside of work.

He leaned forward reluctantly, one hand brushing the blanket back over your shoulder. He told himself it was just a gentlemanly gesture, the kind anyone would do, but the second his fingers grazed you, he froze.

You murmured something under your breath, unintelligible really, your head shifting as you face turned toward him. He snatched his hand back like he'd touched something scalding. 

"Come on," he muttered under his breath. He slid one arm beneath your knees and the other around your back, lifting you easily.

Your head fell against his shoulder the second he straightened. He swallowed. Your bedroom. Where was it? He glanced down the hall. Left or right? The door slightly ajar felt like the most obvious choice, and sure enough, when he nudged it open with his foot, he found himself standing right where he anticipated.

Pinks, florals, lace-trimmed, well, everything. The bed was covered in more pillows than he could count in every possible shade of pastel. It smelled like you—roses and vanilla, with something sweeter lingering underneath, like sugar from a bakery.

But then his eyes snagged on the rack of nightgowns against the far wall, like it wasn't about to cause an existential crisis. 

Lace. Sheer. Satin.

He shouldn't be looking at them. He knew he shouldn't be looking at them, and yet... he couldn't stop. The imagine of you wearing one slipped into his mind before he could stop it. That was a problem—he could see you in them, and now he had to wrestle with that mental image while pretending to be a gentleman.

He bit down on the inside of his check, hard enough to sting, and forced himself to look back at the bed. This wasn’t the time—or the place—for thoughts like that. Hell, there wasn’t ever a time for them. 

He eased you onto the mattress, his hands far softer than he thought himself capable of. He straightened, watching as you instinctively curled into the covers, your hair fanning across the pillow like some picture-perfect cliché.

Then you stirred, eyes fluttering open just enough to meet his. 

"Hotch?" you murmured, your voice thick with sleep.

"It's okay," he said softly. "Go back to sleep."

You blinked slowly, gaze still hazy. "You're still here?"

"I didn't want to leave you on the couch. You looked too uncomfortable."

Your lips curved into a small, sleepy smile as you sank back into the pillows. "That's... sweet. I didn't think you did stuff like that."

He huffed softly, shaking his head. "There are a lot of things you don't know about me."

Your smile widened lazily, your half-lidded eyes sparkling with amusement. "Mysterious and chivalrous. You’re gonna ruin my whole perception of you.”

"Sleep," he said firmly, though there was no real heat behind the command.

Your gaze shifted past him, landing on the rack against the wall.

"Did you see those?" you asked. He hesitated—too long for it to go unnoticed—and your grin turned sly. "You did see them, didn't you?"

"They're hard to miss," he admitted, his voice carefully neutral.

"Bet you weren't expecting that, huh?" you teased, leaning your head against the pillow. “So? Thoughts?”

"I think," he said evenly, "you ask too many questions when you’re supposed to be sleeping.”

You laughed softly, the sound trailing off like a dream. “You’re dodging, Aaron. I didn’t know you could dodge.”

He sighed, stepping back as though the distance might save him. "You're good at this."

"Good at what?"

"Pushing buttons," he replied. “You’re a natural.”

"And yet, you're still here."

He didn't have the words for that. Because you were right, and he didn't know what to do about that.

Your eyes fluttered closed, your body slackening into the bed, and he thought you were asleep.

Then you spoke again, quieter this time, as if testing the words before committing to them. “Why’d you really come here?”

He stilled. "I told you. You weren't answering your phone. The case report."

The explanation felt flimsy, even to him, and he hated how obvious it sounded.

"That's not it," you whispered, your eyes still closed. "You could've just waited until tomorrow. You didn't have to check on me. But you did."

Hotch didn’t move, his breath catching as he studied you. Your face, relaxed and peaceful, gave no indication whether you knew what kind of mess you were making of him in that moment.

“It’s okay,” you mumbled, the faintest hint of a smile brushing your lips. "I think I like it when you worry about me. Feels nice."

You didn’t say anything else, your breathing softening as sleep took over again.

Hotch stayed where he was, rooted to the spot. Your words replayed like a deadly loop in his head.

He finally tore his gaze away, stepping back and slipping out of the room with careful movements. He closed the door behind him as softly as he could, but even then, the sound felt too loud.

For a second, he lingered in the hallway, staring at door like it might offer him some form of an answer. He'd drawn a line with you a thousand times in his head, a boundary he vowed not to cross. And yet, like you said, he was still here, standing in your home.

He shook his head and turned toward the front door. He wouldn't cross the line—but gods help him, staying on the right side of it felt harder every time.

taglist: @readergf @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @broadwaytraaaaash @sunfyyre @sleepysongbirdsings @trulycayla @crouchingapple @navia3000 @aaronlovesava @bakugocanstompme @pansexualhailstorm @averyhotchner @looking1016 @everythinglizzy @sky2nd @alexxavicry @spencerssatchel @candyd1es @storiesofsvu @pleasantgardenwitch @kodzukenmaa @hiireadstuff @dilflover-3 @spennciesslut @phoenix-le-danseur-de-pole @jstcln @just-here-to-read13 @c-losur3 @wondergal2001 @oliver-1270 @ssahotchbabe @savagemickey03 @justanotherbimboslxt @imoonkiss @estragos @khxna @de-duchess @raysmayhem-72 @piinksdoll @justyourusualash @whimsicalpolitical @kcch-ns @cool-light32 @reidfile @sugarbutterbailey @ssamorganhotchner @persephonestears @moonyxstars @spookyysinsanity @proxxyshouse @spoolsofgreenspoolsofblack @imsonotweird @jungchloe @she-wont-miss @duchesz @may-machin99 @historicallyweirdandqueer @in-the-kosmos @lcvealwayss @p13rc3-th3-m4tt13 @babyhoneybyhs @reire11

[skyrigel]

GIVE ME MORE BENEDICT SHORTS NOWWWWWWWWWWWWWW 😖😖😖😭😭😭 I BEGGGGGG 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🧎‍♀️‍➡️🧎‍♀️‍➡️🧎‍♀️‍➡️🧎‍♀️‍➡️🧎‍♀️‍➡️🧎‍♀️‍➡️🧎‍♀️‍➡️

Just like that | B.B

Warning: 18 +, handjob, cock worshipping, first time, inexperienced!reader ( lemme know if any other ) words : 1k

Rigel's note 🪩 : just because you begged ;) [ nah, ily ] got the idea from the emoji btw, thanks for being cute Mic <333 My requests are open everyone :)

" Like this ? "

He shaked his head and in swift soundless movements, he was behind you. His whole body was pressed to you and his face just mere inches away from caressing your cheek. He was quite amused when your dropped your brush.

" Here—" Benedict picked it up and his fingertips lingered more than it should before a cocky smile made it's way to his beautiful face.

" No, no." He pouted and took your wrist, his chin resting on your shoulder as he guided your stance, " like this, see, now—" He began moving his hand that armoured around yours, the soused brush stroked against the canvas in smooth easy way.

" Is this good ? " You made the mistake of turning your face to him, he smiled when your cheeks flushed pink, a shade your brush withheld but not as bright as it glittered you. Benedict made no effort to back away, his breath mingled with yours as his mouth lowered carefully, slowly and slowly, his fingers brushed against your face, thumb caressing the colour he had painted you in.

" This is very good." He whsipered on your lips breathlessly, taking the brush away from your hand and you gave in, his eye's never leaving yours, he enjoyed it very much.

" Benedict...." You gasped when he held your waist, pulling you closer, your eye's widened and he exhaled delightfully, you could feel his hardened desire against you.

His nose nuzzled on your hot skin and you crumbled against his proximity, he was hardening more, his erection was shooting shivers down in your bones and flesh.

" I am out of my mind." He breathed sharply as he withdrew his hands, shaking from holding back from you.

His expressions were pained as he closed his eyes, what you wouldn't give to see him smile, to take this pain away.

Your eyes, shameless as they got, stared at his crotch, Benedict's jaw slacked when he caught you red handed and you looked up, too dazed.

" Funny isn't, the thing you do to me." He laughed but it was humour less, it burned with longing and want and accusation. He ran a hand through his hair, biting down his lower lip.

" Benedict I..." He looked up, you stumbled on your words, your hands trembled, you were always a curious one, but it was more than curiousity. It was desire and passion.

" Can I touch you ? " Your heart was racing so fast that you wouldn't be surprised if it broke out of your ribs and fell, instead you would pick it up and give it to Benedict, it belonged to him anyway.

Benedict blinked, once and then the corner of his lips quirked, he cleared his throat and his adam rippled, it amazed you how beautiful and rhythmic everything about him was.

" Are you...are you sure ? " He all but groaned, his eyes were twinkling, like a dream come true, you nodded.

Your hands were getting sweaty as Benedict removed his breeches, he chuckled when you stared, no, you were gawking at his length.

Benedict was well built, everything about him was big and loud and as it felt, there was no exceptions.

And the next you knew was that, he was beautiful, nerves pulsed rhythmically as his eyes dazed, his mouth curved when he sat on the couch, you were standing in front of him, still gawking.

" You are...you are beautiful." You said looking up from your lashes, realising you had said it out aloud. Benedict's grin was splitting his whole face, reaching ear to ear.

You moved slowly and carefully, wiping your hands on your satin clothes, he was too beautiful and precious, you were afraid to leave marks.

You tips touched the head of his cock, and it twitched at the contact, Benedict huffed a strained breath, he was smiling. A electrifying force jolted from the touch, shooting in your whole body, you buzzed inside out, when you looked up at him, you smiled too.

" It's... it's wet." You said, thumb caressing his tip as if it were his cheek, sticky silvery fluid beaming it up.

" Uh huh." Benedict shifted, a gasp escaped his lip as he tried to bite it down when you held him in your fist, he liked that, you could that tell behind the pain, there was pleasure indeed.

You applied pressure, Benedict's eyes softened, " move, " he moaned, cupping your hand and guiding it up and down in smooth strokes, he was being so needy and it drived you crazy, how much you wanted to please him.

" like this ? " You asked, a playful smile playing on your lips.

He nodded languidly, eyes blown when you increased your pace, he was panting and his throat started making sounds that came deeper from his body, your palm were slippery with his fluid as you were breathing hard, your stomach clenched to think how beautiful a naked Benedict would look, how perfectly you would paint him, just for yourself, your own masterpiece.

You felt your thighs tightened at how big he was, how beautiful, how soft and how warm. Benedict's head was thrown back as your heaving increased, the side of your hand hitting his groin, skin against skin as Benedict rolled his hip, he was majestic and magnificent.

" I will...I am gonna—" whatever he was going to say was drowned in a sharp cry as waves of white silvery cum flashed in a joltic eruption, it got on your face, your hands, your chest, your whole body.

Benedict was chanting your name as he came, his cheeks flushed, lids blown.

He looked wide, he couldn't hide how much he liked the sight of you like this, dripping in his cum as he tucked a strand of your hair back.

" Baby, just like that." He smiled, kissing you hard and soft, all glitter and confetti.

[fallinallincurls]

The Moment I Knew

a barzy fic!! i had the best time writing this for the eras tour challenge hosted by @wyattjohnston and @comphy-and-cozy! getting to combine two things i love (hockey and taylor swift) made this fic so much fun to write and i hope you love it as much as i do.

hope you enjoy!! feedback is always appreciated! xx

song: the moment i knew (taylor's version)

word count: 2.4k

This was not how this night was supposed to go.

Your friends decided to throw a huge party at one of the most popular rooftop bars in Manhattan for your birthday this year. They promised the view of the city was gorgeous, the drinks were amazing and the night was sure to be one to remember for years. It was the perfect excuse to finally wear the stunning dress you’ve been saving for months so to say the least, you were beyond excited to celebrate turning another year older.

What you didn’t expect, however, is the text you sent to Mat hours ago to go unread. It was just a reminder that the party started at eight and that you couldn’t wait to see him. But instead of receiving a message back that he would be there or even a simple red heart emoji, you got silence.

And that’s all you can think about now even though you’re surrounded by your closest friends who couldn’t be happier to celebrate you.

Despite the drinks that are flowing, the glittering New York City skyline and the hundreds of pictures that have been snapped to remember the night, you couldn’t focus on anything but the fact that the person who matters the most isn’t here.

He promised he would be.

Your eyes remain glued to the door waiting, hoping, to see him burst through the crowd wearing that signature “baby, I’m right here smile” he reserves just for you. Friends ask how you’re doing and you nod along, faking the happiness you should be feeling at the moment. But every time someone says his name or goes “Where’s Mat?” that sinking feeling in your stomach becomes more and more obvious because as the minutes tick by, it’s clear that he isn’t going to show up.

How could he? How could he forget?

Yes, Mathew Barzal may be the face of the New York Islanders franchise and one of the best players currently in the NHL, but outside of hockey, he’s yours. Your boyfriend, your light, the person who makes you feel at home no matter where you are as long as you’re with him. 

You vividly remember him grinning when he found out about the plan your friends put together. In your mind, you see the moment when he said “I can’t wait to celebrate my girl,” before he pulled you in for a deep kiss. It’s unlike him to just bail on something especially when he promised he’d be here and he knows how much this night means to you.

Yet, here you are, standing in your sparkly party dress with red lipstick on searching for the one thing missing from this perfect night. The man who holds your heart.

“Hey,” your best friend slides up next to you, gently shoving a rum and coke into your hand. With just a glance at her, you notice her smile isn’t as bright as usual. She must know something is up. “How are you holding up? Having fun?”

“So much. Thank you again for putting this together.” You say, hoping you disguise the sadness well enough she doesn’t pick up on it.

“It’s what you deserve.” She replies honestly and despite everything, you couldn’t be more grateful for her. Before you can express that feeling though, she continues speaking and what she says next breaks your heart a little bit more. “Is Mat coming? I’m surprised he isn’t here yet, but the night is still young.”

Tears prick at your eyes and it’s then you realize you aren’t the only one painfully aware of the handsome Canadian’s absence from the party.

“He said he would be.” It’s the only response you have. Deep down you don’t even know if he will actually be here tonight even if you’re holding onto every shred of hope. Maybe he’s running late and hasn’t looked at his phone in a long time. Maybe his phone died after he left and he’s on his way right now but you have no idea. There are a million excuses you could make, but something tells you that none of them are the reality of the situation.

What do you do when the one who means the most to you is the one who didn’t show?

Feeling the overwhelming heartache well up in your chest, you excuse yourself from the conversation and head right toward the bathroom. That’s the one place you can fight these tears off and regain your composure without anyone else around. 

When you look in the mirror and stare down your reflection, another stab of pain shoots through your heart. The woman you’re looking back at should be so happy she can’t stop smiling, eyes full of wonder and nothing on her mind but having fun with the people who she loves so dearly.

Instead, you’re trying to stop the tears from falling so your makeup stays intact and hoping you can enjoy even a second of this fantastic party. This isn’t how tonight was supposed to go. 

And that’s when the anger sets in.

You and Mat may have only been together for six short months, but in that time, you have fallen head over heels in love with him. He’s been the most incredible boyfriend and you haven’t regretted giving your heart over to him. He hasn’t ever broken a promise or lied or did anything to make you feel unloved.

Until tonight.

And how dare he ruin something that was meant to be full of joy and unforgettable memories? How dare he do this to you and ruin a night that was about celebrating you? You shouldn’t be crying over him at your birthday party.

You deserve better than that.

Taking a deep breath, you freshen up your makeup and recite a pep talk in your head. This might be the worst pain your heart has ever endured, but you deserve to enjoy the night no matter what and that’s exactly what you’re going to try to do. 

Starting now.

As you step back out to the bar, you focus on everything but the gaping hole Mat has left on the night. The closer you get to where your friends are gathered, you spot a beautifully decorated cake sitting on the tabletop. 

“Y/N!” Your best friend calls out, waving you over with a beaming smile. It all happens in slow motion. Taking your place behind the cake with the candles lit waiting for you to make a wish. Everyone circling around and singing happy birthday to you. As you blow out the candles and make a wish amid the loud roar of applause, all you can think about is what’s missing. About who is missing.

The tall, brunette hockey player whose hazel eyes are always soft with admiration around you. 

You miss him even through the pain he’s caused tonight. But you savor every moment with your friends until it’s time to go home. After all the hugs, happy birthday wishes and goodbyes, you check your phone before gathering the gifts everyone brought. Still not a single text or call from Mat.

That’s the moment you know.

This is it.

You can’t dedicate yourself to a relationship just to not be cherished by a man who is too caught up in his own world to remember something as simple as your birthday. You deserve a better love than this.

The moment your apartment door closes behind you, a ringing fills the silence. Your phone. The screen is lit up with a picture of you and Mat after an Isles game, one of the first you attended as his girlfriend. You don’t overlook the fact that it took him all night to call. The party's over now and you know answering this call is going to result in him apologizing for not being there.

“Mat,” You say curtly when the call connects. Tears prick at your eyes again, but you push the emotions back in an effort to get through this conversation without breaking down. 

“Y/N,” Mat breathes out, his tone heavy but you can’t identify with what emotion. “I’m sorry, I didn’t make it.” 

“I’m sorry, too.” 

And that’s when you told him. Even though he was the right person, it was the wrong time and you couldn’t do this anymore. If you happen to run into him at some point in the future, the door isn’t closed on the possibility of being together again. 

For right now though, you bid the great love you had with Mathew Barzal goodbye. 

~~~~

It all happens in slow motion.

The DJ’s voice booms through the speakers in the ballroom announcing for the crowd to welcome Mr. and Mrs. Barzal to the dance floor for their first dance as a married couple. The fairy lights twinkle while the sound of steady applause and loud cheers erupt all around you. The familiar feeling of another’s hand, his hand, in yours somehow makes the smile on your face even brighter. 

You know this is the moment. The moment you’ve been dreaming of since you were a little girl, planning out the perfect song selection and wondering what your future husband would look like. The moment you watched in countless movies with stars in your eyes, waiting for the day you would get to experience that magical occasion.

Never in a million years would you have thought a professional hockey player with a heart of gold would’ve been the man you fall for and decide to spend the rest of your life with.

Yet, it feels like each step you take towards the dance floor hand in hand with the love of your life is slower and slower.

“You okay, love?” Mat whispers, pulling you in towards him as the soft notes of the carefully selected song begin to play. Your arms settle over his shoulders as you meet his gaze that’s full of nothing but adoration.

“More than okay. Just can’t believe today is real. That this dance is really happening right now.” You admit as a blush spreads across your cheeks. 

The smile that blossoms across Mat’s face is a sight that you never ever want to forget. He’s looking at you like you hung the moon and stars, pure happiness on display across his handsome facial features. For the millionth time, you wonder how you are lucky enough to be the one who gets to love him for the rest of your lives. 

“Well, I can confirm that today is very real and we are in fact dancing to our dream first dance song in front of everyone who cares about us.” Mat says happily, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he continues to lead you around the dance floor. “But I can also confirm that it’s a little unreal that we’re married now and I love you more than anything else in this entire world.” 

Without either of you saying a word, you both know why this feels unbelievable. That fateful night a few years ago where Mat missed your birthday celebration and everything came crashing down in an instant. Then, you never could’ve predicted this is where you’d end up in the future. But you’re so grateful that it worked out the way it did.

You’re married to Mat. The man of your dreams. The one who has won your heart and made your life brighter by just existing. It’s both a shock but the best thing to ever happen to you. 

“What are you thinking about?” Mat asks softly, lips brushing your temple as you continue to sway together. 

“This used to feel like a distant dream after everything that happened. But I’m so glad everything worked out in our favor because this is all I’ve ever wanted since we met.” You whisper, looking up at him. His hazel eyes are soft with love and your heart skips a beat just looking at him. Your husband.

“I never told you, but that was the moment I knew.” Mat replies, voice quiet but full of emotion. “That was when I knew you were the only one for me. I had a pretty good idea before everything happened, which was all my fault, but losing you like that was the worst pain I’ve ever felt in my life. Not having you by my side was my new worst nightmare and my heart was completely broken. But I knew when you ended the call that night, you were my everything and I was an idiot for messing it up. I knew being with you after that would be a stretch, but I am still eternally grateful that we found our way back to each other and are here right now.” 

Shock ripples through you as Mat’s admission processes in your mind. Through all these years, he’s never given an inkling that he went through all that pain after the breakup that night. But knowing that moment was when he realized he loved you more than anything and would do anything to get you back made a wave of emotions hit you all at once.

You raise a hand to his cheek and gently rub a thumb across his skin. Tears prick at the back of your eyes as you gaze at him. How lucky are you that the love of your life came back to you? After all the pain that happened from that one night, he learned from it, became a better person and brought the love you both deserve to life?

“Me too, you have no idea.” You murmur, an adoring smile blooming across your lips before leaning in to kiss Mat as if no one was watching.

Cheers erupt from the crowd watching the two of you dance which pulls you back to the present. The last notes of the song fade out and Mat spins you around just to finish the dance with a dramatic dip before kissing you once again. Nothing but pure happiness and love surrounds you as you try to commit every detail of this moment to memory.

“Want to know something?” You ask Mat while reaching for his hand to continue dancing as the space around you fills up with the guests who want to join in on the fun.

“Always, baby.” 

“This is the moment I know that I will be incredibly happy and loved for the rest of my life. Because I’m with you.”

And there you are, standing in your wedding dress with red lipstick on and everyone around you singing along to the song blasting through the speakers as the person who means the most to you stays by your side all night. The gold band on his left hand glittering in the light is a constant reminder that nothing is missing. In fact, it couldn’t be more perfect. 

[myechoecho]

When the Phone Rings, ep 5

I genuinely loved this episode.

Sa Eon is slowly piecing together the reasons behind Hee Joo's mutism and knowing that mom had something to do with it. We finally get to see some of Hee Joo's relationship with her sister. Hee Joo was basically kept as a slave to interpret for In A in the accident. In A, apparently, did not learn bother to learn sign language. Based on what little we've seen of In A in the present, I am nearly positive that she is not deaf. She may have been at one point but I don't think she is now. It would be properly soapy if she went away to have some operation to regain her hearing.

Back to Sa Eon, while he wants her to talk, he's also not pressuring her all that much. He keeps encouraging her and he's already figured out that there must a massive secret that she is terrified to reveal. Even with all his power she does not feel safe enough to talk. Plus he clearly has his own secrets that he is not ready to reveal.

What will get Hee joo to talk? Screaming Sa Eon's name and pushing him out of the way of a moving car. Yes, we love to see this. And we love to see his coat on her and him taking care of her. Once he comes to his senses more, he remembers that she screamed his name. But he just says that he wants to hear it again and that she should let her voice be heard. It's not entirely unlike what he told her when they were kids and he saved her from the dog.

I love how both of their minds break when she accidentally sends the smiling heart eyes emoji. She's mostly panicking about what to do. He literally cannot process it. The man has to take off his glasses to look at it. The little heart emojis swirling around his head was unexpected for this type of drama but I liked it.

The best think is Sa Eon is actively trying with Hee Joo. I get the sense that one of the reasons he never tried before is because he didn't think she would want him to since was the replacement bride. But the phone calls have changed that and he is really trying. He asks for outside advise and is following it. He's learning sign language. He recognizes that she underestimates herself and wants her to stop.

I will say that I liked the blue dress far more than the black and white one. I don't even think it was all that flashy? It's a light blue and somewhat form fitting, but the only somewhat flashy part of it are the sleeves. The dress is nearly full length and has no open back or glitter or jewels.

As for Sa Eon learning that Hee Joo is the one on the phone, I think he knows there is more to it. Where would Hee Joo even get that technology?

I also have a good idea of who the blackmailer is but it is based off one of the only spoilers I've seen of the web novel so I'll put it behind a read more since at this point in the show it's only hinted at:

So a couple episodes ago Sa Eon said that his parents were the type of people to replace their children and I speculated that he was a replacement for a brother. Turns out Sa Eon IS a replacement but was some random kid and not related to him at all. The real Sa Eon is probably that psycho kid Sang Woo saw . Real Sa Eon wanting to slice up a cat is probably why he was replaced. And is now back as the blackmailer to get revenge. Our Sa Eon is likely one of the missing kids that Sang Woo is talking about.

Random, but Yu Ri seems kinda pointless. I don't hate here but have no clue why she is there.

[radioactivedotcom]

SpookGames is recruiting!

If you’re an aspiring artist dreaming of making your own character designs for video games, you’ve undoubtedly heard of our company before. We’ve made classics such as Spooktacular Extravaganza and Once Upon a Spook. Who hasn’t spent hours in those games?! This is the opportunity of a lifetime to get your foot in the door of the gaming industry!

To apply, please fill up the form linked above and attach your portfolio.

Now, we don’t want your old and dusty art. No, no, no. Since we’re a game company, we’ve decided to make it a little more fun than that. Each answer you give in the form should be your prompt to create a character! This way, we get to know your personality and your creative talent all in one fell swoop! (And we will not be arbitrarily judging your answers as ways to extrapolate how this would translate in the workplace and throw away your application should we dislike said answers. Though we welcome essay-andying your answers to explain why it should get you the job.)

As you've surely noticed, there are 31 questions to fill out. You do not need to create a character for all of them (but you certainly can if you wish to!). We ask for a minimum of three designs to whichever prompts inspire you most.

Having doubts about applying? There are many advantages to working at SG! Such as:

Meager pay below industry standard; unpaid overtime; no sick leave; no vacation for the first 3 years; a boss who only cares about margin profits; mandatory team-building exercices every weekend; no promotion for the first 20 years; no private life allowed; SG will be your new family so make sure to ditch the old one!

Apply now, what are you waiting for! You have from now until October 31st to send in your application through either using the tag #spookapplication OR tagging us @radioactivedotcom !

Psst, by the way, don’t worry about about doing better than the other applicants. The CEO’s nephew is the one getting the job, he'll get a promotion after three months.

Yes, all this just for a CAS challenge! Listen, I wanted to have fun. You don’t have to roleplay in order to participate, you can just make your cute little simmies and hit post, no pressure whatsoever. But I certainly ain’t stopping you if you did want to roleplay. winkwink.

ALL PROMPTS UNDER THE CUT

 What is the halloween costume you loved wearing the most?

 What is your favorite horror movie?

 In your humble opinion, which is the best magical creature™?

 Choose... Glitter or blood?

 What is the kind of villain you aspire to be?

 Tell us of the best horror character archetype!

 If YOU were a horror character, what archetype would you be?

 Are you... cute spooky or scary spooky?

 The fantasy ennemies-to-lovers you can’t get enough of is...?

The ONLY post-apocalypse setting should be?

What was the monster under your bed?

How would you personify your zodiac sign?

Who are you in an alternate universe?

Who's the stranger you’d flirt with in a fantasy setting?

What is your go-to DnD character?

If you were an alien... what kind would you be?

What is the best year to time-travel? (past or future)

What is a monster you’d adopt in a heartbeat?

Make disney princess you'd have loved as a kid!

Or a disney prince you'd love to hate.

If you were to have a sidekick, who would they be?

Who would you want haunting you?

Choose... Science or magic?

What is your favorite halloween-themed emoji?

Are you more of... An evil witch or a benevolent healer?

What is your go-to song for halloween?

Choose... Earth, wind, fire or water?

Would you more... Growl or Purr?

What's a creature you’d have as your BFF?

What is a futuristic trend you would love?

What is the best candy? Wrong answers land you in jail.

+ dl the .word application form if you'd like!

[kathlare]

sweet distraction

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Lando, still feeling the tension of a race that didn't go as planned, finds a distraction in a message from Amelie.

Wordcount: 1.1 k

Warnings: kinda suggestive content, fluff

full masterlist // request over here!

June 23rd, 2024 - Barcelona, Spain

Lando leaned back in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to shake off the exhaustion from the race. The meeting was dragging on longer than it should have, as usual, with endless discussions about tire management and pit strategy. He had finished second at the Spanish Grand Prix, which, on the surface, should’ve been a solid result. But it didn’t feel like enough. Not for him. Not today.

The team had made some strong moves, but he couldn’t shake the bitter taste of that final lap. Max had taken the win, of course. He always did. But it wasn’t even that—he wanted to win, but the way the race had unfolded, the way he’d fought to stay in that second spot… it just didn’t sit right with him. He felt like he could’ve pushed harder, done better. A familiar knot of frustration twisted in his gut, a feeling he couldn’t seem to shake.

As his team continued to talk about the finer points of tire wear and car setup, Lando’s attention started to wander. His phone buzzed once, then twice. He glanced down to see a message notification from Amelie, and instantly his mood lifted a little. She was in LA, doing her photoshoot for her Short n Sweet album. He hadn’t been able to catch up with her properly after the race, but he knew she’d been busy. The message was a welcome distraction.

Amelie had sent him a few of the final shots from her shoot—she was wearing a skin-tight, sparkling silver dress that glittered like diamonds under the soft studio lighting. Her hair was styled in loose, soft waves, and her makeup was flawless—bold eyes and a soft nude lip. But it wasn’t just the clothes or the styling that grabbed his attention—it was her. The way she looked at the camera with that sultry, confident expression. Her lips slightly parted, her gaze as sharp and intense as ever, her curves accentuated perfectly.

His pulse quickened.

He didn’t even care about the fact that he was still in a team meeting. He could feel his cock start to stir in his racing suit as he scrolled through the pictures. Fuck, she looked unreal.

—Everything alright, Norris?— One of the engineers called out, but Lando didn’t respond. He was too distracted by the photos.

In one, she was leaning against a pillar, the soft light catching the curve of her neck and the line of her jaw. Her pose was effortless, almost too natural for someone who was still so young. But it was the way her eyes locked onto the camera that had him biting his lip, the heat in them unmistakable.

He slid his phone back up and looked at the next photo. Her body was turned slightly to the side, the dress hugging her figure so perfectly that it looked like it was painted on her skin. A subtle smile danced on her lips, and he could almost hear her teasing him.

You’ve got no idea how much I want to fuck you right now, he thought, his fingers itching to reply. He quickly swiped through the rest of the photos, each one more provocative than the last. His hand gripped the edge of the table, trying to keep himself composed, but it was getting harder by the second.

The sound of his phone buzzing again broke him from his trance. He grabbed it eagerly.

Ames💛: Congratulations on second place, baby. I know it’s not the win, but I’m still proud of you. Enjoy the distraction.💛

His lips curled into a cocky grin, and he could practically hear her voice in his head. "Enjoy the distraction."

With a quick glance around the room, making sure no one was paying attention, he sent her a quick response.

Lan🧡: Distracting me with your sexy ass again? It’s working.

He added a few cheeky emojis, then waited, anticipation growing with every passing second. He could almost hear her laugh, could picture her smirking at the phone screen, that confident, playful energy she always had.

The phone buzzed again within moments, and he eagerly unlocked it. Her reply made his stomach twist with excitement.

Ames💛: You wish you were here right now. Bet you could use a little distraction.

Lando chuckled to himself, feeling his arousal pulse stronger with each text. He couldn’t resist. The thought of her, all glammed up and looking so goddamn gorgeous, just a few time zones away, was enough to set him on fire.

Lan🧡: You don’t even know what I’d do to you if I was with you right now.

He hit send before he could stop himself, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. The tension in the room seemed to disappear as his mind drifted back to Amelie, back to the thoughts of her body against his, the way her lips felt against his skin, the way she made him forget everything else.

Another few minutes passed. Lando leaned back in his chair, trying to focus on the meeting, but all he could think about was her—how much he wanted her, how much he needed her.

His phone buzzed again, but this time, he didn’t open it immediately. He waited, savoring the moment.

Finally, he couldn’t resist. He glanced at his screen. Amelie had replied with something that made his heart race:

Ames💛: Tell me when you’re free and I’ll show you exactly what I’d do to you.

The words hit him like a shot of adrenaline. His cock was already half-hard, straining against his racing suit, but now he was dangerously close to losing his composure in the middle of the meeting. He had to bite down on his lip to keep from groaning.

—Lando?— His engineer snapped his fingers in front of his face. —You with us?—

Lando looked up, forcing himself to focus on the meeting, though it was clear his mind was elsewhere. He just needed to get through this, get through the race weekend.

—Yeah, yeah,— he muttered, leaning forward. —Just... just give me a sec.—

He swiped his phone to the side, hiding it under the table, but it was hard to focus on anything other than the fire building in his gut. The meeting felt endless. Every second, he was thinking about her, imagining her in that dress, imagining the way she would tease him with that mischievous smile.

As the meeting continued, Lando’s thoughts were a constant whirlwind of desire. Every glance at his phone only made it worse—more photos, more teasing messages.

Finally, the meeting ended, and he was free.

Without wasting any time, he headed straight to his room. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, and as soon as the door clicked shut, he pulled out his phone again, opening the last message she’d sent him.

“Tell me when you’re free and I’ll show you exactly what I’d do to you.”

Lando smirked. She had no idea how badly I want her right now. He quickly shot a message back.

Lan🧡: I’m free now. And I’m going to make sure you’re free later.

[3-2-whump]

Caretaker Ask Game!

I thought I’d try making an ask game list of questions, focused on those who fulfill the caretaker role in whatever story you’re working on

Special thanks goes out to @whumped-by-glitter and @generic-whumperz for helping me come up with questions for this list!

Who 👤

Who are you?

Who are you taking care of?

Who is whumpee (to you)?

Who do you turn to when you need caretaking?

Is it just you taking care of whumpee, or do you work with a team or a support network (doctors, therapists, kindly neighbors, etc.)

Who is whumpee more likely to turn to when they need help: you, whumper, or they try to figure it out themselves?

What ❓

What is your caretaking style? (Permissive, tough love, smothering, etc.)

What were your initial impressions of whumpee? Have those changed in the time you’ve gotten to know them?

What is the worst thing whumpee has gone through?

What is something your proud of whumpee for?

What is something you wish whumpee would improve on?

What would you say to whumper, if you could say anything to them without consequence?

When 🕒

When did you realize you were a caretaker?

When did you first meet whumpee?

When did you realize something was going on between whumper and whumper that wasn’t entirely consensual?

When did you realize you cared enough for whumpee to do something to help them?

When did you begin to loathe whumper for what they’d done to whumpee?

When have you ever lost patience with whumpee?

Where 🌎

Where do you live? (House, spaceship, tent, etc) Does whumpee live with you?

Where can you find whumpee on a bad day?

Where is whumpee’s favorite place in your home?

Where do you think whumpee will end up once you part ways, if applicable?

Do you know where whumpee is right now?

Where do you see you and whumpee’s relationship 1, 5, 10 years from now?

Why 🤔

Why are you doing this? (Caring for whumpee)

Why is whumpee staying with you, if applicable?

Why is whumper entrusting whumpee to you, if applicable?

Why does it have to be you taking care of whumpee?

Why do you think whumper did what they did to whumpee?

Why or why won’t you get revenge on whumper, if applicable?

How 🛠️

How do you calm whumpee down after a nightmare/panic attack/whatever is applicable in your case?

How do you cheer whumpee up when they’re having a bad day?

How well do you think whumpee has adjusted to normal life?

How do you live with the guilt of what happened to whumpee?

How do you show compassion and patience when whumpee lashes out and seems to have given up hope?

How do you take care of yourself?

Y’all should not let me pick out emojis lol

But anyway have fun, and pls ask away! These are questions I either want to ask other peoples caretakers, or questions I want people to ask my caretakers, so go ahead 😊❤️

[crashlanding-skywalker]

[The 212th and the 501st relaxing after a mission]

Rex, rubbing his temples: I am not proud of what I am about to say, but someone get me a cigarrette.

Fives: But Rex, we don't smoke.

Cody: Cut the crap, Fives. We're not idiots. We know that at least one in five people smoke.

Rex, pointing at Dogma: one *then at Trapper* two *then at Wooley* three *then at Longshot* four *then at Fives* five.

Cody: Now, I am going to close my eyes, and when I open them, there better be a cigarrette between these two fingers.

Trapper, puts a cigarrette in Cody's hand: here, sir

Cody: Thank you.

Fives:

Wooley:

Dogma:

Trapper:

Longshot:

Cody: Light?

(all of them simultaneously pulling out lighters)

——————

Crys: Time freezes for everyone but you one day. What do you do?

Fives: Oh… We’d mildly trouble everyone.

Crys: Alright, so what would you do?

Fives: I’d shave a one-inch thick line in every thick beard I saw.

Echo: I’d twist all the lightbulbs just a little bit so no one would know when they aren’t working.

Fives: I’d make every wing on girls eyeliner just a little bit higher than the other one.

Echo: I’d tie everyone’s shoelaces together.

Echo & Fives: And then lastly, We’d snip a little hole in every tea bag.

Crys:

Echo & Fives:

Crys: Remind me to never allow you to have power.

——————

Kix: How does one turn their emotions off?

Longshot: Okay, so first go to settings.

Hawk: I'm a fucking idiot, I thought that said emojis at first.

Kix: No, I'm still willing to try this, go ahead. I'm at settings, what do I do next?

——————

Echo: On a scale from “damn Daniel” to “fre sha vaca do”, how are you feeling?

Waxer: In between “it’s an avocado, thanks” and “how did you defeat Captain America”, but as a solid answer I would say “I don’t need a degree to be a clothing hanger”. How about you, Echo?

Echo: Probably “road work ahead”.

Switch, about to bang his head into a wall: I speak many languages...

Switch: this one is definitely not one of them.

——————

Gearshift: Sometimes I drink milk straight out of the container.

Hawk: The cow???

Jesse: What?

Oddball: Hawk, W H Y?

——————

Appo: So, what's it like living with Gregor?

Trapper: He once referred to sand as "heterosexual glitter."

——————

Hardcase: I made tea.

Longshot: I don't want tea.

Hardcase: I didn't make you tea. This is my tea.

Longshot: Then why did you tell me?

Hardcase: It's a conversation starter.

Longshot: It's a horrible conversation starter.

Hardcase: Oh, is it?

Hardcase: We're conversing, checkmate.

——————

Echo: Rules were made to be broken.

Gearshift: They were made to be followed. Nothing is made to be broken.

Striker: Uh, piñatas.

Trapper: Glow sticks.

Vaughn: Karate boards.

Wooley: Spaghetti when you have a small pot.

Waxer: Rules.

——————

Echo: What is your favourite mythical story?

Boil: The Story Of My Will To Live.

Echo: I don’t think I’ve heard of that one before.

——————

Axe: I'm not sure what you mean

Axe: I am socializing.

Gregor: Standing there ominously doesn't count as socializing

Axe:

Axe: Since when?

——————

Crys: I was arrested for being too cool.

Vaughn: And the charges were dropped due to a lack of supporting evidence.

——————

Hil: I’m going to get so much done today.

Jester: I’ll hold you to that.

*8 hours later*

Jester: So how much did you get done?

Hil: One thing.

Jester: Well, that’s one more than usual.

——————

Switch: Who ate all my cookies?

Tup: Bounty hunters

Switch, confused: I didn’t see them

Tup: No one ever does :)

——————

Fives: The how the fuck’s and why are you so dumb's don’t matter. All that matters is that I have a new gun.

——————

Tup: Why is it called "oven" when you of in the cold food and you of out hot eat the food?

Crys: What???

——————

Boil: FIGHT ME, YOU NERD ASS SLUT!

Fives: At least try to sound slightly more sophisticated when you threaten someone.

Boil: Oh, I'm sorry. should I ask; dost thou want to engage in a duel, my good bitch?

Fives: That's somehow worse.

——————

Cody: When Fives & Echo were born, the gods said, "They're too good for this world."

Jesse: Please. When they were born, the devil said, "Oh, competition."

——————

Gearshift: You know, I used to play back in my gory days.

Appo: You mean glory days?

Gearshift: Ah, that too.

——————

Fives: I’m an idiot.

Boil:

Jesse:

Waxer:

Echo:

Trapper:

Fives:

Echo: If you’re waiting for us to disagree, this is going to be a long day.

——————

Kix, looking at both batallions: Okay, so I need to become a therapist faster.

——————

Boomer: It’s funny how well you and Longshot get along. Didn’t he hate you at first?

Hardcase, nodding: Longshot hates everybody at first. It’s his way of reaching out to people.

——————

Waxer: Are you reading fan fiction?

Denal, reading an article about a extremely rare diseases: Wh- No.

Boil: Oh, is it on AO3?

Denal, ready to punch one of them: This is BBC.

——————

Oddball: Hey, thanks for checking in, I’m ✨still a piece of garbage✨

——————

Sterling: You could be nicer.

Spark: I am.

Sterling: You threatened Wooley with a cooking knife.

Spark: But I didn't actually stab him!

——————

Redeye, about Gus: Is he a freak (derogatory)?

Redeye: Or a freak (affectionate)?

Slick: Why not both?

Redeye: You’re so right, a freak (double-edged sword)!

——————

Hawk: Protip is you do not feel good about yourself after eating tomato sauce on iceberg lettuce.

Barlex: What's wrong with you??

Hawk: I literally JUST said I ate tomato sauce on iceberg lettuce?? Pay attention.

Wyler: No, he means other than that.

Hawk: Ohhhhhh.

Hawk: I haven't slept in 4 days.

——————

Jesse: Self-care is suppressing all your trauma until it comes back and hits you in the face with the force of 7 very large ships.

——————

Fives: Why do humans have different blood groups?

Longshot: So mosquitoes can enjoy different flavors.

Dogma: Really guys? Now?

Dogma: I'M TRYING TO SLEEP!!

——————

Fives: Can we go out to get icecream?

Cody: Did you ask Rex?

Echo: He said no.

Cody: Then why are you asking me?

Echo & Fives: He aint the boss of you.

Cody, internally: It's a trap, it's a trap, it's a trap.

[thiriann]

Ink - Chapter 3 out of 5

You can also find me on AO3

Link to Chapter 1

Rating: Explicit

Words: 4.6k

Pairing: Astarion (Baldur's Gate)/Original Female Character

Warnings: Named Tav , Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon Divergence,Eventual Smut,Lawyer Astarion ,Astarion Being Astarion, Flirting, Getting to Know Each Other, Smut in later Chapters

A prequel to my Eggplant Emoji adult mini comic

Summary:

When he reaches the table, she’s leaned forward slightly, her posture relaxed yet deliberate. He notices the first two buttons of her shirt are now open, revealing a tantalizing line of cleavage. He’s certain they were closed before he left to order. The subtle change doesn't escape him, stirring a mix of curiosity and frustration. She wants him, he’s sure of it. Yet she doesn’t respond to his flirting or try to initiate anything. Instead, she beckons him with these quiet, calculated gestures, her body inviting while her tone remains polite, formal, and utterly composed. The contrast is maddening. It makes him want to push, to see how far he can go before her mask of propriety crumbles.

On a much-needed day off, Thiriann luxuriates in the rare treat of sleeping in, waking up well past noon. 

The sunlight filters lazily through her curtains, casting golden streaks across her room. For once, she allows herself to savor the quiet stillness of the morning—or rather, the afternoon. There’s a local book fair in the center of town today, and the promise of fresh air, a taste of civilization is too tempting to pass up. 

She dresses quickly, throws on a light jacket, and heads out, the crisp autumn breeze brushing against her skin like a gentle reminder that the world is still alive and moving.

The fair is a riot of color and sound, a vibrant tapestry of stalls and vendors stretching across the town square. The air is thick with the mingling scents of rain-soaked pavement and old books, a nostalgic combination that makes her wish for nothing more than to curl up in a cozy café with a good read for the rest of the afternoon. She wanders aimlessly through the stalls, her fingers trailing over stacks of weathered paperbacks and hand-bound journals, her mind pleasantly adrift.

Then, something glitters in her peripheral vision. Instinctively, she turns toward the light, her gaze drawn to an old, forgotten bookstall tucked away in a corner. Unlike the others, this one is shrouded in neglect, its merchandise covered in a thick layer of dust. Mold creeps along the edges of some books, while others are draped in delicate spiderwebs, as if the stall itself has been abandoned for years.

But her eyes land on one book in particular, and she can’t look away. It’s grotesque, its cover made of what looks like leather—or perhaps even skin, if such a thing were possible. The cover bears a face with two piercing purple eyes and a gaping, empty hole where a mouth should be. It’s both fascinating and repulsive, and she feels an inexplicable pull toward it.

Kneeling down, she reaches out to inspect it, her fingers brushing over the binding. As soon as she makes contact, a faint tingle runs through her fingertips, like static electricity.

Magic.

The realization hits her like a jolt: this book is a magical artifact. Quite a powerful one at that if the lingering pain in her palm is anything to go by.

She picks it up from the basket, turning it over in her hands. The weight of it feels unnatural, as though it’s heavier than it should be. She tries to open it, but the cover doesn’t budge, no matter how hard she tugs. The face on the cover seems to mock her, its hollow mouth a silent reminder that something is missing. A key, perhaps? Or some kind of ritual? Whatever it is, the book isn’t giving up its secrets easily.

“That looks awfully heavy. Why don’t you let me carry it for you?”

A smooth, familiar voice breaks the spell and Thiriann nearly jumps out of her skin.

“Astarion?” she blurts, her voice tinged with surprise.  

This is the first time she’s seen him in daylight, and somehow, he looks even more radiant. His hair is a halo of soft curls, glowing in the sun, a stark contrast to his ruby-red eyes that seem to promise nothing but sin. The day is unseasonably warm, and he’s dressed impeccably in a burgundy turtleneck sweater that clings to his frame, paired with black khakis. A matching blazer is draped over one arm, a briefcase in his other hand. He looks like a model in the midst of a photoshoot, entirely out of place in the dusty bazaar of secondhand books.

“You seem surprised, my dear,” he says, his tone lightly accusatory. “Didn’t expect to see me in the light of day?”

Shame floods her as she realizes he knows about the rumors—the whispers she’s foolishly believed.

 “A little,” she admits guiltily, her cheeks warming. “What brings you here?”  

It’s a clumsy attempt to change the subject, but he lets it slide, his smile widening as if amused by her discomfort.  

“Just had a meeting with a client in the area,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. “Terribly tedious. But that's about to change now that I've run into you."

His gaze shifts to the book in her hands, and a flicker of interest crosses his features. “I see you’ve been busy,” he remarks, his voice low and almost husky. He leans closer, his curiosity bordering on intense fascination. The scent of bergamot and rosemary fills her senses—soft, inviting, with a subtle spice underneath. It’s intoxicating, and she can’t help but take a small, discreet inhale, savoring the way it seems to suit him perfectly.  

As she hands the shopkeeper a few crumpled bills with shaky hands, Astarion’s eyes linger on the grotesque cover, tracing the lines of the disturbing face with a strange intensity. 

“Just doing some book shopping,” she replies, trying to sound casual. “Looking for something I could take to bed—I mean, read in bed.” ��

She stammers, heat rising to her cheeks. To her horror, his eyes sparkle with mirth, clearly enjoying her slip. 

He leans in further still, his voice dropping to a low, teasing purr. “Well, darling,” he drawls, the word dripping with seduction, “perhaps I can help you find something you can take to bed.”  

Thiriann swallows, her throat suddenly drier than a desert. He’s mocking her, simply toying with her, reveling in how easily he can fluster her. The bully. As if she isn’t already making a fool of herself quite effectively on her own.

“You… uh, you still want to help me carry this?” she asks, desperate to move on from the moment.  

“Darling, it would be my pleasure,” he answers cheerfully, his tone light but his gaze sharp, as if he’s savoring her discomfort.  

Astarion’s fingers brush against hers as she hands him the bagged purchase, and she feels a jolt run through her at the contact—partly from the fact that it’s him, and partly from the shocking coldness of his skin. Reflexively, she wraps her hand around his fingers, the instinct to warm him up overpowering her for a moment. He startles but doesn’t pull away, his crimson eyes widening slightly in surprise.  

“You’re freezing,” she says, the words slipping out before she can stop herself. Realizing what she’s done, she releases him immediately, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment at the casual intimacy of the gesture.  

“Just poor circulation, dear,” he replies smoothly, though there’s a faint tremble in his voice, a crack in his usual composed facade. He adjusts his grip on the bag, his expression unreadable,but before she could question it a voice interrupts them.  

“Mister, over here!”

Thiriann’s salvation comes in the form of a small, scruffy tiefling child. The boy stands a foot away, waving enthusiastically—more at Astarion than at her.

“Hold out your hand, mister. Let me show you something,” the boy says, his voice brimming with excitement.  

Astarion raises an eyebrow but obliges, his expression a mix of amusement and skepticism. The child waves his hand dramatically in the air, and a shiny trinket appears in his palm, glinting brightly in the sunlight. It’s a cheap-looking ring, its surface polished to a deceptive gleam.  

“Go on, take this ring. It’s lucky,” the tiefling urges, holding it out to Astarion with a grin that’s equal parts charming and rehearsed.  

Astarion plucks the ring from the boy’s hand with two fingers, examining it with a practiced eye. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he makes it disappear into thin air, his movements smooth and effortless. Unable to resist, he glances sideways at Thiriann, a smirk tugging at his lips as he notices the awe on her face. For a moment, he preens under her gaze, his confidence radiating like a second skin.  

“Weeping, bleeding hells,” the child exclaims, his eyes wide. “Okay, maybe you don’t need extra luck. But since you’re already holding the thing…” He pulls out a coin. “Call it. Heads or tails?”

Astarion’s smirk sharpens. “You can drop the act,” he says, his tone cutting through the boy’s bravado like a knife. 

The tiefling freezes, his grin faltering. “I, uh, I don’t know what you mean.”

Thiriann feels a pang of sympathy for the child, but Astarion isn’t swayed. “Come on. This is a Tinker’s Trash scam. A clumsy one,” he says, his tone dripping with mockery. For a moment, Thiriann wonders if this is how he is in court—confident, collected, and cutting straight to the throat. 

“Hey, that hurts!” the tiefling protests, though his voice wavers. “I’m running an honest—” He stops, realizing he’s not going to convince Astarion, and tries to save face. “Look, I swear to you. These rings are the real deal. I promise I’m not running a scam.”  

Astarion turns sharply, his movements almost too quick to follow. Behind him, a second tiefling child freezes mid-step, her hand hovering near his pocket. 

“Well now, someone’s starting young,” Astarion says, a teasing smirk on his lips. “Who taught you that?”

“One of the big kids,” the girl answers shyly, her voice trembling. “How… how did you catch me?”

“How else? You’re clumsy. A dead man could’ve caught you,” Astarion replies without hesitation. Thiriann watches the exchange, her curiosity piqued. Astarion’s street smarts are unexpected, clashing with the image she’s built of him in her mind. He gives the impression of someone who grew up with a trust fund—or even noble blood—but now she’s second-guessing that.

“I guess I’ll try harder not to get caught next time. Bye!” the child says before darting off through the book stalls.

Suddenly, Astarion hisses and flinches, his hand flying to his arm. “Ah!” he winces. “What the—?”

They both stare in shock as his skin begins to flake rapidly, cracking and splitting like dried clay under the sun.

“No!” he snarls, his voice furious but tinged with unmistakable fear. “This can’t be happening.”

Before Thiriann can react, he turns on his heel, his movements quick and panicked. “I’m sorry, I have to go,” he says, his tone clipped and urgent.  

With that, he bolts, weaving through the crowd with surprising speed, his figure disappearing into the nearest cafe. Thiriann hesitates for only a moment before hurrying after him, her heart pounding in her chest.  

Inside, she finds him in a far corner, his back to the room as he frantically examines his hands. His shoulders are tense, his breathing uneven, and for the first time since she’s known him, he looks genuinely rattled.  

“Dammit,” he mutters under his breath. “That thieving rat.”  

“Astarion,” Thiriann says, approaching him cautiously. Her voice is laced with worry and confusion. “What happened back there? Are you hurt?”

He turns to face her, his expression softening slightly at the concern in her eyes, though his anger still simmers just beneath the surface.

“I’m fine, dear. Just that street urchin robbed me of something rather valuable. She was too slow to take my wallet but apparently fast enough for other things,” Astarion says with a grimace.

“What? The one just now?” Thiriann looks out the window, but the children are long gone, along with any trace of their belongings.

“We should make a police report,” she suggests, though even as she says it, she knows how unlikely it is to lead anywhere. 

Astarion snorts. “Yes, darling, I’m sure it’s on their top priority list to pursue thieving children,” he mocks sarcastically. “The rat can keep it. I should give her credit for managing to take it without me noticing in the first place.”

“What did she take?” Thiriann presses, her curiosity piqued.

 Astarion pauses, his crimson eyes locking onto hers. For a long moment, he seems to weigh his options, his expression unreadable. Then, with a sigh, he makes a decision.  

“I suppose there’s something I should tell you,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “It’s nothing big or terrible, just a small detail about me that hasn’t come up naturally. I happen to be… well, a vampire.”  

He laughs awkwardly at the end, the sound high-pitched and startling, as if he’s trying to downplay the weight of his confession. Thiriann blinks, processing his words.  

Her heart begins to race as the pieces fall into place. But instead of fear, she feels a strange sense of relief—as if she’s finally seeing the real him. His glinting fangs, his ruby-red eyes—there was never any room for doubt, was there?

Vampires aren’t exactly unheard of. Not since a group of monster hunters freed thousands of them from their tyrannical master centuries ago, allowing them to walk freely among the living. There are even entire cities and villages populated solely by vampires. Still, they aren’t exactly liked, and most people still fear them. His apprehension is understandable.

Gods damn it, she mentally groans. I owe Shadowheart a twenty.

“Yes, I suppose it’s obvious,”she says, her tone dry but not unkind.

Astarion looks taken aback for a moment, as if he’d been bracing for a very different reaction. His eyes flicker with something—relief? Or is it fear? —before his usual mask of confidence slides back into place.

“Right. Well then,” Astarion replies, clearly relieved she isn’t screaming or running for the door.

“But how come you were walking in the sun up until now?” she asks, tilting her head in a way that looks oddly adorable.

“That’s the thing,” he says, looking mildly embarrassed. “I had this ring—enchanted to allow me to resist the sun’s rays. And now it seems that street urchin’s made off with it.”

Thiriann raises an eyebrow. “A Ring of Resistance? You had a Ring of Resistance? Isn’t that incredibly rare?”

“Maybe a hundred years ago,” he scoffs, waving a hand dismissively. “Now you can find them in almost every city in the Underdark. The drow started mass-producing them once they figured out it stops them from getting irritated by the sun.” He omits the part about the massive vampire population from the Underdark that also benefited from them.

“I have more at home,” he continues. “But for now, I’m forced to huddle up here until nightfall.” He grimaces, clearly unhappy with the situation.

Thiriann nods, glancing around the café, her expression thoughtful. “Alright then. Where should we sit?”  

Astarion stares, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. For a moment, he looks genuinely confused, as if suddenly remembering they’ve been having this rather revealing conversation in the corner of a public establishment. To their credit, the baristas are studiously avoiding eye contact, pretending they haven’t overheard every single word.  

The creak of a chair draws his attention, and he sees Thiriann setting her purse down on a small table tucked into an inner corner of the café. She looks up at him, her smile warm and unbothered.  

“As much as I appreciate self-sacrifice,” he says, his tone laced with sarcasm, “this isn’t your problem, darling. You shouldn’t waste your precious daylight hours skulking about in the shadows with me.”

“Is that your way of weaseling out of buying me that coffee you promised?” she asks, a teasing smile playing on her lips.

He huffs, a sound that’s equal parts disbelief and amusement. “Well, since you’re so earnestly seeking my company, I suppose I’ll just have to allow it,” He strikes a pose, ever the picture of condescending magnanimity. 

“How do you take it?” His question, as always, carries a salacious undertone, but Thiriann is getting better at ignoring it. Mostly.

“White, two sugars. Please,” she adds quickly, her politeness almost endearing.  

The word please lingers in the air, and for a moment, Astarion can’t help but picture her saying it in a myriad of entirely different contexts. He smirks, shaking off the thought as he heads to the counter to place their order.  

On the way back to their table, Astarion feels a pang of trepidation. He’s prepared for the inevitable barrage of vampire-related questions. Over the years, he’s automated most of the answers in his head, but he still doesn’t particularly like them. Each question tends to dredge up a myriad of miserable memories—an old, tedious, uncomfortable routine he’s learned to live with.  

When he reaches the table, she’s leaned forward slightly, her posture relaxed yet deliberate. He notices the first two buttons of her shirt are now open, revealing a tantalizing line of cleavage. He’s certain they were closed before he left to order. The subtle change doesn't escape him, stirring a mix of curiosity and frustration. She wants him, he’s sure of it. Yet she doesn’t respond to his flirting or try to initiate anything. Instead, she beckons him with these quiet, calculated gestures, her body inviting while her tone remains polite, formal, and utterly composed. The contrast is maddening. It makes him want to push, to see how far he can go before her mask of propriety crumbles.  

He catches her watching him, her gaze lingering on his crimson eyes, which burn with a hunger he’s all too familiar with. 

“You’re staring, darling,” he says, his voice low and teasing, as he slides into his seat.  

“So are you,” she counters, refusing to be the only one flustered. Her cheeks flush faintly, but she maintains eye contact, her lips curving into a small, defiant smile.  

He smirks, leaning back in his chair, there’s a flicker of something deeper in his expression, something that makes her heart skip a beat.  

“I can’t help it,” he admits, his voice softening. “You’re… intriguing.”  

His fang catches on his bottom lip as he speaks, and for a moment, she wonders if she’d be able to feel them if they kissed. The thought shocks her, and she shakes her head, trying to push the unexpected, intrusive image aside. 

To fill the silence, she asks the first thing that comes to mind. “So, what made you pursue law?”  

“What?” he replies, caught off guard.The question is so far from what he expected that it takes him a moment to process.  

“You’re a lawyer, right?” she asks, a flicker of confusion in her eyes.  

“Ah, well. I used to be a magistrate, a long time ago,” he starts, a shadow passing over his features. “But then I had to… retire. Rather… forcefully.” 

He pauses, his crimson eyes flickering with a distant thought. “I suppose returning to law felt like reclaiming something I’d lost.”

There’s a melancholy in his tone that he doesn’t bother to hide, and for a moment, the mask slips, revealing a glimpse of the man beneath.  

She nods, taking a sip of her latte. “So, do you enjoy it?”

“Gods, no.” His abrupt answer makes her snort with laughter into her cup.

“The paperwork never ends,” he continues, his voice dripping with mock despair, “and neither do the ceaseless grievances over the smallest things.”

He leans back in his chair, his smirk returning. “But I suppose there's a certain satisfaction in taking down corrupt, abusive bastards.

“And every now and then, someone’s ready to fight to the death over something trivial,” Astarion says, his smirk widening. “So that makes for a fine entertainment.”

He snickers, and Thiriann silently questions exactly what kind of lawyer he is but decides not to voice it. Instead, she takes another sip of her coffee, her expression thoughtful.  

“What about you, darling? How did you end up… where you are?” he asks, smoothly redirecting the conversation.

“I went to a wizards’ academy,” she begins, her tone matter-of-fact. “Graduated and enlisted in the army.”  

“The army?Really?” He scrutinizes her, a judgmental eyebrow arching high. “You’re hardly what I’d picture as the soldier type.”

She’s small, slim, and while she seems fit, she’s not muscular by any standard.  

“And the everyday lawyer is not how I pictured the vampire type,” she counters, her tone dry. “But here we are.”  

“Touché,” he concedes with a mock bow of his head.  

“I traveled all over the world while deployed,” she continues, wrapping both hands around her coffee mug, savoring the remaining warmth. “Then I came back home and needed a job.”

“And you chose… office supplies?” Astarion asks, his bewilderment slipping through despite his efforts to mask it.  

“I needed any job,” she says, taking another sip. “I was down on my luck, running out of savings, when I ran into an old acquaintance, Minthara. She hired me immediately.”

“Ah, good old-fashioned nepotism. Nothing like knowing people in high places,” he comments dryly, a hint of amusement in his tone.

“It does have its perks,” Thiriann admits, her smile turning devilish before her eyes sadden. “No one is dying to hire a ‘devil-kin,’ especially one with no experience in their field.”  

Astarion’s smirk falters for a moment, but he doesn’t press further.  

“Don’t take me wrong, it’s a very good job,” she adds quickly, “There’s something very peaceful about working around all those books. And I’m always learning something new. About history, about different cultures… even about obscure magical theories. You never know what you might stumble across in the back room.”  

“Doesn’t it ever get, oh, I don’t know… tedious?” he asks, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips, knowing full well the answer.  

Thiriann smiles, batting her eyelashes innocently before her expression shifts into one that clearly says, You fucking bet.

The two of them linger in the café for a while longer, their conversation meandering from work to travel to the absurdities of life. Astarion finds himself surprised by how easily the words flow between them, how her laughter,soft and genuine,draws him in. He hadn’t expected to enjoy himself, not truly. Yet here he is, leaning forward in his seat, a smirk playing on his lips as he recounts a particularly ridiculous story from his earlier centuries of existence involving three minotaurs and a spectator. Thiriann listens intently, her eyes sparkling with amusement, and for the first time in what feels like an eternity, he realizes he’s actually having fun.  

By the time they part ways, the sun has dipped below the horizon, and the streets are bathed in the warm glow of streetlights. 

“And then what? I want all the juicy details,” Karlach asks, plopping a glass of wine on the bar counter with a grin that could only be described as trouble.  

“What details?” Astarion asks, feigning ignorance as he picks up his glass of wine. He swirls it delicately, breathing in its deep aroma. It tastes like vinegar, it always does, but at least it smells nice.  

  “Come on, fangs,” Karlach presses, beginning to dry some washed mugs. “What happened when you walked her home?”

“I, uh…” Astarion pauses, his usual confidence faltering. Despite Thiriann’s obvious interest in him, he isn’t sure if his advances would truly be welcomed. For the first time in a long time, he feels uncertain—unsure if he still has the charm he once relied on so heavily.  

“Oh, Astarion,” Karlach groans, her face etched with deep disappointment. “Don’t tell me you didn’t walk her home.”  

He remains silent, unwilling to admit the truth: that he hesitated, that he second-guessed himself.  

“You can’t be serious,” she continues, her voice rising in exasperation. “When was the last time you actually went on a date?”  

“I fail to see how that’s any of your business,” Astarion grumbles. He crosses his arms defensively, avoiding her gaze.  

Despite Karlach’s obnoxious nosing into his affairs, she manages to make him pause and think. When was the last time he’d been on a date? The last time he’d walked someone home? Once upon a time, he’d been compelled to take everyone home with him.

Lost in thought, he barely registers Karlach hissing angrily under her breath.  

“That’s it,” she declares, tossing the dishrag onto the counter with a sharp flick of her wrist. She plants her hands on her hips, her fiery eyes locking onto his. “We’re doing a romcom marathon this weekend at mine. And you will be bringing beer.”

Astarion grimaces, his nose wrinkling in annoyance. “By the gods, you have no manners at all,” he mutters, though there’s no real bite to his words. “But fine, if you insist on wasting my weekend, at least turn on the heater this time. It’s always freezing at your place.”  

“Oh, boo-hoo,” Karlach shoots back, rolling her eyes. “Maybe if you bring a date, you’ll have someone to keep you warm.”

“Charming,” Astarion responds flatly. “But I’d rather not subject anyone to your taste in ‘entertainment’.” 

“Hey!” Karlach barks, pointing a finger at him. “My taste is impeccable, thank you very much. And don’t think I won’t notice if you try to sneak out halfway through ‘Love Actually.’”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Astarion replies, though the mischievous glint in his eyes suggests otherwise.  

—--

Thiriann walks out of her shower, her hair damp and tangled as she towels it dry. Her eyes land on the bag she’d carelessly tossed by the couch earlier, and she feels a familiar pull of curiosity. With a heavy sigh, she sits down and pulls out the book, turning it over in her hands.  

In the dim light of her living room, the book looks even creepier than before. A faint purple glow oozes from its edges, like tendrils of smoke curling into the air. The face on the cover seems to watch her, its hollow eyes and gaping mouth unsettling in the stillness of the night.  

She grabs her laptop and quickly logs into the university’s database. By now, the list of known magical artifacts is practically public knowledge, and it doesn’t take long for her to find what she’s looking for. The image of the book matches perfectly: ‘The Necromancy of Thay’. According to the records, it can only be opened with a Dark Amethyst.  

Humming to herself, Thiriann wonders if she might still have one tucked away in her attic. Gods know she’s collected every trinket and oddity during her travels—surely a Dark Amethyst isn’t out of the question.  

The book is listed as one of the more dangerous items, but without a codex to fully unlock its power, it’s considered only a minor threat to civilians. It mainly teaches its owner to speak with the dead. It is supposedly useful in the medical field, criminal investigations, and… law, apparently.

Her thoughts drift to Astarion, and how his eyes had lit up when he saw the book. Did he know what it was? Was that why he’d shown such interest? She isn’t sure, but she wishes she’d asked. Then again, maybe she should stop thinking about Astarion altogether.  

But that’s easier said than done. He has a way of worming into her mind, lingering there. They’d talked for hours today, long after the sun had set, discussing everything and nothing. He’s charming, of course,that’s no surprise,but there’s more to him. He’s also witty, funny, with a dry, sharp sense of humor that could slice through a grown man like a blade.  

Thiriann can’t help but feel drawn to him. She wants to get to know him further. Despite his air of confidence and charm, there’s a certain strain about him, a lingering sadness he carries and it pulls at her in ways she doesn’t fully understand. 

 It’s in the subtle shadows that flicker across his eyes, the tremble in his voice when he speaks of his past. She finds herself wanting to understand the complexities that lie beneath his carefully constructed facade.

 But a nagging voice whispers in the back of her mind that it’s unwise to get romantically interested in a client.Crossing such boundaries is a dangerous game to play. Still, as she lies awake, her mind keeps circling back to him, to the way he makes her feel both intrigued and unsettled. She tells herself to focus, to stay professional, but the pull is there, undeniable and growing stronger with every passing moment.

[heygirltimeformorning]

@playinginthunderstorms tagged me in wip Wednesday so here’s something I’m working on that is, incidentally, all her fault.

(if I owe you emoji responses, I promise I’m working on them, but sweaty crop top Buck currently takes up all the real estate in my brain, so if you’re mad about it, you should talk to Charlie bc it’s her fault.)

Putting most of this under a cut 😌

It was the crop top’s fault. That’s what Eddie’s telling himself, two beers and a shot deep, Buck’s arms around his neck, hips moving. He doesn’t know how he ended up here, but he does know that Buck -- Buck can’t dance. He can move, but he can’t dance and there’s a fundamental difference, but Eddie stops caring (he barely cared to begin with) when Buck drapes his long arms around Eddie’s shoulders, dimples out in full force, curls sweaty and tumbling over his forehead, and Eddie’s hands go automatically to Buck’s waist, bracing himself. To Buck’s bare waist, bared by the crop-top he’d shown up to Eddie’s house in, glitter on his cheeks, curls loose and wild. Eddie hadn’t wanted to go out. He’d been in sweats when Buck showed up in jeans and a fucking crop top and glitter, but Buck had refused to take no for an answer, herding Eddie through getting dressed and then dragging him out: C’mon, Eds, it’ll be fun, we’ll have a good time, it’ll get your mind off things - we both need this and if Eddie had, at any point, told Buck no and meant it, he knows Buck would have backed off, but he also knows that Buck is (at least partially) right - Buck needs this.

Things with Tommy had ended relatively calmly - according to Buck’s retelling, they’d ended over coffee when Buck had asked Tommy to move in and Tommy had declined. But Eddie knows Buck’s always felt like too much for anyone to hold - like the weird detour people took to figure out their forever - and this was just confirmation of that. Eddie’s seen it in the set of his shoulders, the way he carries it around too much, too much, too much. So Buck needs a night where he can wear glitter and a crop top and not think about Tommy Kinard, and he wants Eddie there, so Eddie will be there. Eddie is there, smirking a little as Buck does whatever he considers to be dancing, sweaty arms around Eddie’s neck, smelling like bodywash and sweat and deodorant and something distinctly Buck.

Buck’s smile turns a little wicked at the brush of Eddie’s fingers against the bare skin of his waist, and something about the bar, about the buzz of alcohol, about the way the music curls into his spine, about Buck’s arms, heavy, around his neck makes him brave, and Eddie tightens his fingers against Buck’s sides, pulling him in a little closer. Something shifts in Buck’s expression, changes a little, and his eyes are on Eddie’s lips, and Eddie’s eyes are on Buck’s lips and -- maybe --

“You can.” Buck’s voice is surprisingly quiet in the din of the bar. Eddie isn’t sure if he feels it or hears it, eyes flickering up from Buck’s lips to meet his eyes. “If you -- I -- you can -- you can kiss me if you want.”

Eddie knows he shouldn’t. He knows this is a terrible idea, driven at least 50% of the way by the crop top and the glitter -- black and sleeveless, baring Buck’s stomach. Probably more like 75%, but if Eddie’s being honest, he’s wanted to kiss Buck much longer than just tonight - the crop top is just making those thoughts a little louder.

There’s something a little vulnerable in Buck’s expression, something a little wounded and unsure, not unlike when he’d come out to Eddie and Eddie, like an idiot, had encouraged him to call Tommy. Buck is confessing something, is coming clean, is opening himself up and saying will you love me just like this, and Eddie isn’t sure he has the capacity for that, isn’t sure about dragging the ragged corpse of his heart back into this (his heart is already in this, but things are only real in the naming) and it’s just a kiss. What’s a little making out between friends?

They aren’t moving to the music anymore. Buck is so still under him, and it would be awkward if either of them were aware - they’re just standing in the middle of the dance floor, the rest of the bar dancing, moving around them- and then, before he can think his way out of it, Eddie leans forward and presses his lips against Buck’s.

Buck tastes like whatever he’d been drinking - something sour - and Buck, and it takes Buck a minute to react, like he’s surprised Eddie had actually taken him up on the offer, but then Buck shifts, his hands cupping Eddie’s face, sliding his fingers into Eddie’s hair, gasping into the kiss, and Eddie takes the moment to tilt his head, deepening the kiss, and maybe it would be gross - maybe it should be gross - they’re both slick with sweat and he’s pretty sure the glitter on Buck’s cheeks is actively transferring to Eddie’s, but he’s overwhelmed with the Buck of it all - with the smell of Buck and the bar in his nose, with Buck’s tongue in his mouth, Buck’s fingers in his hair, Buck’s body pressed up against his on the dance floor, the music pounding through both of them, or maybe that’s Eddie’s heartbeat, or Buck’s, or maybe it’s all of the above.

(more coming to ao3 soon!)

[ref pic for the crop top if you’re a visual learner like me]

ETA: @oshaskell DREW BUCK IN A CROP TOP & Buck and Eddie being FREAKS on the dance floor????? this is actually legitimately insane.

ETA: now on AO3!!

Not tagging anyone like a party pooper but if you wanna do it, you can say I tagged you - I won’t mind!!!

[hippolotamus]

I am here to yell 📢 🧜🏻‍♂️🧜🏻‍♂️🧜🏻‍♂️🧜🏻‍♂️🧜🏻‍♂️🧜🏻‍♂️🧜🏻‍♂️🧜🏻‍♂️🧜🏻‍♂️🧜🏻‍♂️🧜🏻‍♂️🧜🏻‍♂️🧜🏻‍♂️🧜🏻‍♂️

(I don't count emojis I sent them from the heart 😁)

And I adore every single one of them! For you, dearest 💖

“Oops,” Evan schools his expression immediately into something more neutral and less toothy. “I have to remember you don’t have those.” “Definitely not. Why do you?”  Evan looks around, nervously checking for something – Eddie has no idea what – before he tilts backward with ease, pillowing his hands behind his head.  It takes a moment to register what’s different about him. The question is on the tip of his tongue to ask when it sinks in. Starting at Evan’s hips is a glittering blue tail and translucent fins where legs and feet should be. No way. “You’re a-” “Merperson,” Evan finishes, tucking his lower half out of sight again.  “But, how? They aren’t- that’s not-” Eddie stumbles over his words. “Did I hit my head? Is this a dream? It has to be.” He pinches his skin, surprised when it actually hurts.  “You didn’t hit your head. That I know of. You did hit mine, though.”  “Sorry again about that.” Evan frowns for a moment before grinning brightly again. “Just be more careful next time.” “Yeah, I can do that.” Eddie studies the boy, who isn’t really a boy, floating effortlessly in the water. “So, you’re real. I had no idea, I thought it was all supposed to be fairytales and made up Disney stuff.” “Disney stuff?”  “I guess you don’t have that down there. No King Triton and talking sea creatures or princes and all that.”  Unsurprisingly, Evan cocks his head, looking increasingly confused the more Eddie talks. “Anyway,” Eddie continues, “Disney is a company up here. On land. They make movies, well they do a lot more than that, there’s theme parks and all kinds of stuff, but movies is one thing they do. There’s one about a mermaid who really wants to explore outside the ocean. She’s friends with a flounder and a crab, and strikes a deal with a sea witch. It’s a whole thing.”  Evan stares, dumbfounded. “Uh huh. I’ve never seen anything like that down there. And who makes friends with a crab or a flounder anyway? Wouldn’t you want, I don’t know, a shark or whale or something?”  “The shark tries to eat her, and I don’t think the movie had whales.” Eddie shrugs. “All I know is my sisters like it and if I never have to hear ‘Under the Sea’ ever again I’ll be okay.” “You have sisters? That’s so cool. I have Maddie, my older sister. We’re super close and she takes really good care of me.”  “She takes care of you? Did something happen to your parents?” The beaming smile on Evan’s face fades. It reminds Eddie of when the sky becomes overcast and the sun gets hidden behind the clouds.

np tagging the mer!squad @diazsdimples @daffi-990 @theotherbuckley @spotsandsocks @dangerpronebuddie @tizniz 🫶

[introjis]

we wanted to join @lvrboynet 's sticker event but our displaying of stickers varies to "not-notebook" notebooks so we made some in hopes anyone who might want these options for them too!-

1: we tend to do them on the fronts of sketchbooks and they vary a lot but figured a compose notebook might be well!

2: our "more common" display method is via our phone and a somewhat-transparent phone case(sometimes with glitter or designs) so we made a plain phone + a customizable phonecase (and one with "rainbow sprinkles") (we plan on making more throughout the event but figured two might be enough for now!! if anyone wants to request any different cases please do so!!)

(we plan on adding a tablet + laptop and such too soon but for now figured these were enough)

the stickers offered (and these can all be used as emojis!!! we just ask you keep all but the phone/phone cases separate or put in a request instead of editing them unless for the event!!)

(quick disclaimer that you should check the runner of the event for more information and such!!!!!)

(bonus note: you might want to size up the bases because of the 355x355 canvas these are all done in, will try to size up but might take a good while since we do the 355x355 canvas to prevent detailed perfectionist brain from going haywire)

this is our phone "notebook" atm and will likely be altered later as the event goes on!! and our compost notebook (black cat in honey pot and emotional support strawberry mimic!!)

[kipperlillycopperkettle]

💥

word count: 1,684 words (+ 407 new).

it would've been more if i hadn't had to look up the warlock spell list in the middle of my sprint. sad!

send me an emoji to make me write!

+ excerpt under the cut!

“he said it, not me,” porter says, his tone dismissive. he doesn’t refute jace’s [order of events].

she can’t help it. she lunges for jace.

jace throws up a shield spell, a thin bubble of glittering red energy, and zara slams into it. it feels like what she imagines hitting a glass door would be like — the slam of something solid where she’d expected there to be nothing but air, the smart of her lungs where she'd had the wind knocked out of her.

“i know your tells,” jace says, and he doesn’t sound smug, the way he usually does when he’s taunting someone in battle — and hadn’t [name] always told him that he was going to piss off an enemy too much one of these days, always taunting and teasing their opponents in that smart-ass tone of his — no, his tone is flat and dull, like an old blade that hadn’t been sharpened in years. 

“fuck you,” zara says. she’s desperate and panting, her words more gasps for breath than words at all. there’s blood — or, as close as vampires have to blood — leaking from her nose. her blood, after she’d turned, had turned black and coagulated. it didn’t flow anymore when she was hit, it leaked, slowly, as though someone had tried to patch a leak but it hadn’t worked. “fuck you.” she wipes the blood away with the back of her hand.

jace drops the shield. “look, zara,” he says, and his tone is soft and comforting, as though he’s talking to a small child or an injured animal. zara thinks the only soft and comforting thing jace should be associating with is a pillow that she’s smothering him with.

[fiyaerrigan]

Re: this post

"Reply with an emoji and I'll dedicate a post to the corresponding fic! [...] Don't feel like typing in an emoji? Just type in what the emoji represents and I'll count that as the emoji! Searching for emojis can be a pain in the ass, so no worries if you'd rather not! <3"

👨‍👧 (Postcanon Kid!fic)

@sherlockismarvelous9-1-1

I love this fic, and the anxiety/stubbornness I have over wanting to make it fit ambiguously in "canon" (i.e. an "[x] years later" post-show epilogue) is killing me! I have the direction I want the characters to go sussed out, but my brain keeps nitpicking stupid stuff like "what if Buck doesn't live in his loft when all is said and done?" which then (ofc) spirals into a whole other tangent from hell. TL;DR, this fic kicks my ass but I am so attached to the idea of Buck coming from a place where he's had all the (questionable canon) development he can get, and then using said development to raise a kid best he can that I refuse to let it go.

Anyways, say hello to Bethany!

He finally spots her near one of the giant planters, right on the edge where there’s just enough room to sit. She’s all statue-like—eerie still apart from where she grips her lunch in fists. It almost makes something in Buck halt to an eerie stop, too—Only Buck can’t afford to freeze up now. “Hey!” he says, plopping down next to her with a grin. “D'you, uh, wanna go find a table?” Bethany’s head snaps over to him with her trademark glare that could level mountains, and the paper bag is clenched just a liiiittle bit more. Buck wouldn't be surprised if she's imagining twisting his neck in her tiny seventh-grade hands. Nor would he blame her for it. Her glare abruptly hardens, though, and suddenly the objects of Bethany’s paper-bag wrath are crystal clear. Glitter Yogis One and Two are pretty damn loud where all the other kids are eating, practically cackling from their spot beside the little shits who made fun of Bethany earlier in the day. The ones Bethany called her friends. “Why don't you go sit with Madison and Chloe and their stupid moms?” Bethany says through grit teeth. “At least they’d actually want you around.” They don't want me around, Buck hears instead of the thinly-veiled insult—her poor attempt at saying, you're not wanted here, like Buck hasn't heard anything else from her  in the past few months. Like it has any chance at keeping Buck away.

For some reason, squeezing anything out re: this has been hell on earth for me? I hope this itty bit was, like, maybe nice to read and possibly a good primer for the tone I want to set for the rest of the fic, which I should say now is more vibes than plot lol... More than that, I hope you like what little I wrote of Bethany! She's a good kid, I swear!

If you want to be put on a tag list for this fic, let me know by dropping a like! Always happy to hear any thoughts people might have, including constructive criticism or whatever! If you want to say anything, use the reply box to your heart's content <3

[realmackross]

PARTIES: @contemporarybardess, @realmackross TIMING: Early May SUMMARY: Elora comes to tell Mackenzie goodbye. :( WARNINGS: Gun mention tw

It wasn’t going to be easy. Elora knew that very well. But she had to do what she needed to do in order to keep the ones she loved safe. And the first on her list was one Mackenzie Ross. As she approached where she lived, she sent her a very simple text. “Come outside. I need to talk to you”. 

There was no flirtation, no excited exclamation points, not even a single emoji. The words were plain and to the point. A bit of guilt gnawed at her, knowing that this would worry Mack. But on the other hand, she needed to be worried. For all she knew, Jake could already know exactly where she lives and exactly how to hurt her. She needed to know where Elora was going and why. More importantly, she needed to be warned, for her own safety. 

—

Mackenzie had been hanging out at home mostly since the fight with Jade. In fact, she had failed to tell Elora about it, because she had always felt like the woman was saving her. It was Mackenzie’s turn. She had at least owed her that much. But what she would be saving her from, she wasn’t quite sure yet. She was sure something in Wicked’s Rest would come out of the woodwork someday soon, but until then, she’d just cherish the time they had spent together. Like their Twilight date and the body glitter that was incorporated into the remainder of the night.

When the text came through, Mack had been eating a bowl of ice cream covered in cinnamon and watching some documentary about llamas that Kaden told her about. And as she sat down the bowl, she noticed the text and the lack of flirtiness or really any emotion to it. Had she done something wrong? Had Elora found out about the fight and was upset?

Pausing the movie, Mackenzie got up and limped outside, “Hey Babe, what are you doing here? Is everything okay?” She moved forward and reached out and gave Elora a quick kiss on the lips before pulling back with an uneasy smile on her face.

—

It didn’t take long for Mack to make her way outside to Elora. Was she limping? Mack gave her a quick peck which Elora tried to savor as much as she could. She didn’t know if she’d ever feel her kiss again. 

“You look like you got beat up! I should ask you the same thing, but…” Elora took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves as much as possible. “I have something more important that I need to talk to you about. You remember the story of where I come from right? My colony, my family, and what happened to them? Well…the guy who orchestrated the whole thing knows where I live now, and seems very dead set on setting his goons after me to finish me off”. 

She swallowed hard, trying to keep talking so she wouldn’t lose her momentum. Trying to get everything out before Mack convinced her to stay. “He’s been stalking me. Or at least having people stalk me for him. And I don’t know how much he knows about me. But I do know that as long as I’m here, you’re not safe. I don’t think many people are. He’ll hurt others to hurt me, and then he’ll kill me after I’ve lost everything. I know how he works, and I can’t let you get swept up in that. I can’t…be in town anymore.”

—

Mackenzie looked down at the ground at the mention of being beat up, but remained quiet. Elora had needed to talk about something important. Mack could hear it in the tone of her voice, and as she listened, she slowly raised her head to set her eyes back on her girlfriend. She could feel the heat, what little of it there was, rising in her cheeks, and when Elora had finished speaking, Mackenzie stayed quiet for a minute.

This couldn’t be happening. Elora had come here for a fresh start. For a safe place to live, “Elora…” The knot forming in Mackenzie’s throat was threatening to choke her out, “Let me help you with this, okay?” She stepped forward and gently put her hands on Elora’s face and rested her forehead on the redhead's, “You have helped me so many times. Saved me. Please let me be the one to save you. You don’t have to leave. You can move in with me? I’ll upgrade the security. We can fix this. We can solve this together.” Mackenzie was pleading with her. It had felt like it had come on so suddenly, and Mackenzie didn’t know what to do, but beg.

—

Elora had to admit that the thought of moving in with Mack was a tempting one, but it wouldn’t make the men that were after her go away. They’d find a way in. Find a way to strike when she least expected it. That’s what they were trained to do, and they were very efficient at it. She thought back to her parents, all of her friends and colleagues who were murdered. Murdered due to her carelessness. 

No.

She couldn’t let it happen again. Not to Mack or anyone else. If anybody was going to be hurt as a result of this it would be her and her alone. 

“I’m not losing anyone else. I’m not going to be the reason anyone else dies. I’m done with running. I’ve spent the last 4 years of my life on the fucking run. It ends now, and it ends far away from anybody I care about.” Her tears were flowing freely now, completely unable to hold it together in spite of promising herself she would try to. “I love you so much…you have no idea how much this destroys me. But it would destroy me more to see you die. I need to do this…I need to put an end to this.” 

She took a moment to catch her breath. Between her talking and sobbing she was starting to feel her lungs empty out and start to hurt, but she had to keep going. She didn’t want to leave anything unsaid. “I can’t guarantee when I’ll be back. If I’ll be back. But if I do, you’re the first person I’m running home to. I’ll be fighting for you. For our future.” 

—

This was like a nightmare. It couldn’t be real. First she had lost Brody, and, now, when she had finally managed to open her heart up again, she was losing Elora. Tears were streaming down her cheeks as she watched the woman she loved breakdown, but even worse, refuse to let Mackenzie save her. It was like one thing after another, but this was the shitty cherry on top. And the more Elora cried, the more Mackenzie started to sob.

Listening to her stand firm and not give into Mackenzie’s offer left the zombie speechless. But when Elora said ‘if’ instead of ‘when’, she lost it, “Elora, baby. Please, don’t do this. Please don’t leave me. I’m dead okay? They can’t hurt me. I can’t lose you. I’ve already lost one person I gave my heart to. I can’t lose another. I can’t…Please, please, please. Don’t do this…” She gently wiped away Elora’s tears and then let her arms fall where she latched herself onto her girlfriend and pulled her in just to hold her; not wanting to let her go. Not wanting to feel the warmth of the woman she loved gone, possibly forever.

—

For a long time, Elora said nothing. She just wanted to be in the moment and enjoy Mack’s embrace for as long as she could. She wanted to stay in her arms forever, to never leave her comfort and relative warmth. She didn’t want to do this. She didn’t want to reduce Mack to begging for her to stay. Her despair turned to anger. For the first time in her life, she wanted to kill someone. She wanted to kill Jake for everything he’d done and everything he’d put her through, and was still putting her through to this day. 

“They can hurt you. You know that, and they do too. These aren’t just some random thugs, these are hunters. They know what we are, and they know exactly how to hurt us. I don’t know what his resources are, I don’t know how many goons he has in his circle. But I do know I killed two of them. After one of them did this to me” She said before pulling her shirt sleeve down to show her the now bandaged bullet wound in her shoulder. “They’re not just going to let it be after that. They’ll send more. The whole town might be in danger, I have no idea how many they’ll send. I don’t want any more of them to die either. I need to cut it off at the head. I need to find Jake…and do what needs to be done.” 

A heavy silence fell between the two of them, Elora unsure of what to say for a while. 

“It’s him or me, at this point. I’m doing everything in my power to make sure it isn’t me.” 

—

Every time Mackenzie tried to pull away, she couldn’t. She didn’t have it in her. She couldn’t make that first move. She just wanted to linger in this moment forever with the woman she was falling madly in love with. So when Elora pulled away first, the jolt of it all had almost felt like a shock that could restart her cold, dead heart. But it didn’t. Instead, it just felt like a sharp pain that left her wanting to curl up in the darkness of her house and never leave again. It would’ve been so much easier right now if Jade had just killed her.

But when she saw the bullet wound, Mackenzie let out a growl of frustration and could feel her eyes clouding over in anger. With a quivering breath, she slowly released it hoping the anger would dissipate. She didn’t need to zomb out at this moment. This moment was Elora’s. Instead, Mackenzie gently ran her thumb over the bandage, before leaning in to kiss it softly. Pulling back, she quickly let out another quivering sigh as tears quietly rolled down her cheeks.

Mackenzie wanted to beg some more. She wanted to ask if she could come with Elora, so she wouldn’t have to face her demons alone, but the zombie knew the answer. She knew this was something that her love had to face on her own, just like Mackenzie had her own things to face, “I want to beg. I want to beg with all of my heart, because that’s all I can offer you at this moment, is my heart. I know however much I plead will be shot down, but if I can just ask…can we have one more night together. Just…I want to hold you, and I want to look into your eyes and tell you how much I love you. And what you’ve done for me, because I’m afraid I’ll never get to do it again, and I didn’t get that before…with Brody. I didn’t get that. Please. Please don’t leave me without one more night.”

—

Elora had felt her heart flutter as she felt Mackenzie’s lips press against her bandages. She wanted to say yes and move in with her. She wanted to stay. She wanted it to be just the two of them against the world. But she knew that’s not how reality works. She knew that the fairy tale would have to end at some point and she’d need to venture back into grimy reality to silence her demons once and for all. 

“One night… one night sounds really nice actually” Elora said, letting out some mixture of a sob and a laugh. “I want as much time as I can possibly get with you. You’re all I’ll ever think about. When I fight, I’ll fight for you. For the life you and I want to have together. I love you Mackenzie Ross. I love you with every fiber of who I am. And no matter what happens I’m fighting until I can’t fight anymore.

One night. She willed for the sun to never come up again.