#title from the wonderful Hozier song

[spaghettificationandpretzels]

Let There Be Hotel Complaints

Based on a post request by @rayslittlekitten I really hope you like it, I have no idea if it fits but I tried hard.

Title based on: Hozier - Dinner & Diatribes

Contains: Fluff, Ray being Gomez Addams, mentions of periods/period symptoms, smut (fingering, oral sex M and F receiving, P in V, breeding kink, possessive Ray, scents and smells, aftercare) Not beta read.

3.5K words.

Ray's feelings for you are as wide as the ocean, and his love is second only to his desire.

The hand that wrapped around your body felt like hot coals on your already heated skin, and you fought the urge to shrink away from Ray. "Raymond, I've been put in the garden working, can you let me shower before you hug me?" His arms only tightened around as you felt his chest expand against your back as he pressed his nose into your sweat-damped neck. "Ray! I'm covered in sweat."

He checked, and the sound reverberated through your body like the first rumbles of a thunderstorm. "I don't mind, Dear, you smell wonderful." His face moved to the top of your head as he took another breath, admiring how your conditioner mixed with a hard day's work. It drifted into his mind like the reaching of a siren song, slowly bleeding away his other thoughts.

His lips found your neck, and he smirked against your skin as your head tilted to make room for him. A quick glance at the clock let him know you'd have enough time to enjoy each other before the fancy business dinner tonight, and he found himself slowly unlacing from the hug as he brought one hand to your breast.

He gained more access to your skin, and you rested your head back onto his shoulder and pushed yourself into his touch, but he was pulling his hand away a second later when he felt you stiffen as he tightened his grip around your soft flesh. "Sorry, Love."

"It's ok, I'm just a little sore." There was no explanation needed as to why, you knew he knew why, he always seemed to know.

His hand moved lower, rubbing the skin of your ribcage in long, soothing strokes as his lips moved from the dome of your shoulder up your neck. "Allow me to make it up to you?"

The offer was the definition of temptation, but there were things to be done and places to be. "Tonight, if all goes well at the dinner. I have to finish with the garden and then get ready for tonight."

The teeth against your skin were not in retaliation for your conditional refusal but a promise of things to come. "Then let me help you?"

"Of course." Your reason was wholly selfish, motivated by rolled up sleeves and rippling muscles at his instance of lifting heavy bags of soil. You finished your glass of water and went back outside, not missing how Ray's eyes followed your arms as you placed your sun hat back on your head. He smiled at you, it was earnest and filled with warmth. "What do you need me to do, Gorgeous?"

You couldn't help yourself, there was something in his desire to aid you in every need that sparked something in you. "Many things, My Darling, but right now, I need help with the tea roses."

He smiled and took two steps to close the distance between you before brushing his lips on your ear. "Your wish is my command."

****

The rest of the afternoon swam by in a haze for Ray. It was the kind of torture that the training he had received many lifetimes ago could not prepare him for, and with each passing moment, his thoughts grew more debauched until he was waxing poetic in his head like a madman.

As you finished your makeup, he could not get the image of you licking the strawberry juice from your lunchtime dessert off your lips out of his head. Breathing through his nose had become an affliction; top notes of your shower gel and the underneath of you were one thing, but there was the faintest hint of him there that made him want to sink his teeth in your bare skin so many times that the hotel's tofts would look away in shame the moment they saw you.

By the time you slid into the car, pressing your legs to his as Bunny drove you to the hotel, he was afire with need. He laced his hand with yours as the vehicle travelled down from the lush countryside to the bright lights of the city and leaned in close, his nose brushing your temple as he told you more about the guests at the party you were heading to.

There were already people milling around when you arrived, handing their bags off to the Bellhops so they could enjoy their complementary night in luxury. Ray was less willing to relinquish the bags and simply blinked as the hotelier became insistent. Nevertheless, the man still walked to your room on the sixth floor, smiling saccharinely as he told you to enjoy the complimentary champagne before the party started.

The opulence of the room and the expensive champagne sat ignored by you and Ray as he steeled himself for a night of making nice and glad-handing when he would rather be doing something far more enjoyable. He took your hands and drew you to the middle of the room, wrapping his arms around you as his nose returned to your hair for the millionth time that day. "You look beautiful as always."

You smiled and placed your hands on his chest. "And you keep sniffing me like some weirdo."

He took it in stride, chuckling softly as he yanked you to his chest. "I can't help it, you smell exquisite, it's driving me insane."

You sighed, enjoying the warmth of his arms around you. "I know what you're thinking, but we promised Mickey."

He mirrored your sigh as he broke the embrace and extended his hand. "I know. We should head down there now, the sooner we go down and mingle, the sooner we can leave."

His hand found your lower back as you took the lift to the grand hall and stayed there as you met up with Mickey and Rosalind and made introductions with the upper class lucky enough to receive invites. Of course, the reason for your invitations was the massive underground white widow super cheese farm under the hotel's private golf course.

It was painfully dull, standing around making small talk about the weather and wallpaper while eating tiny pies that only served to make you more hungry. Ray stayed stuck to your side, practically dragging you around with him while he did business for his boss.

"Your wife looks lovely tonight." Ray's arm tightened around you as you spun towards the voice.

"She looks lovely every night, Dave." If Dave had plans to say more, they were defeated by Ray's harsh glare as he pulled you away.

He moved to a quiet corner of the room and placed your hand on his ample bicep. "What's gotten into Ray? You've just about ripped the heads off anyone who's talked to me tonight. I get Dave, but the Simon's are nice."

He moved into your space, pressing you against the window as he took your chin between his thumb and forefinger while he leaned in close enough that your noses were brushing. To outsiders, it would have looked like a private moment between lovers, but Ray's eyes were fixed on with a look so lustful it would have made the whore of Babylon blush. "What's gotten into me? I have spent the last two hours watching these pigs look you up and down while acting like I don't want to rip their arms off for even daring to speak to you."

You blinked, he was in a mood tonight. "Well, Dear. How about you stick it out for another hour so we can eat dinner from this stupid menu then, I'm all yours for the night?"

He swallowed and exhaled before pressing a quick kiss to your lips. "Of course Darling." His tone had shifted; it had taken on that gravelly tilt that created a flutter of excitement in your chest, and you eagerly headed back into the fray as Ray finally composed himself.

You pressed a kiss to his cheek as he leaned into your touch. "Thank you, Dear."

****

The dinner was the typical mess of rich people's food that had too many flavours and not enough on the plate, but Ray gave you all his cheese twirls and made sure to pick you the biggest slice of chocolate cake off the platter when dessert came around. All was going well until the tables were cast aside again for the wine course, and you were split from him as one of the tofts Mickey looked after pulled him away to talk about security.

His eye kept drifting over to you, and he grew ever more aggravated as he watched the sommelier try and fail to flirt with you. He dismissed the man he was talking to with the promise to call later, that he was tired and wanted to enjoy his hotel room and all but stormed over to you. "Are you enjoying the wine, Dear?"

You shook your head. "I've told the sommelier that I'm not interested in that variety, but he's being very insistent."

The man smiled and turned to Ray. "We have some of the best wine in the country here, your girlfriend…"

If looks could kill, Ray would have ended the man there and then. "My wife isn't interested, and I don't appreciate your tone or your attitude. I will be speaking to your employer in the morning to deal with this in full."

His hand was back on your lower back as he marched towards the lift, and between his puffed chest and his expression, no one dared to join you as the doors opened. The second the doors closed, he was on you, pressing you against the wall as his lips found yours. The grip he had on you was almost painful, his fingers digging firm into your skin as he held you in place for a searing kiss that stole the air from your lungs.

He finally allowed you to breathe when the doors opened on your floor, and he all but dragged you to your room as he shut the door and pressed up against it. His lips were on yours again, and his hands slid around your body until his fingers were curling around the fabric of your evening dress and ripping it open with the pop pop of fancy buttons.

He shoved the dress down, breaking from your lips for a moment to take in the lingerie you were wearing. "Fucking hell y/n." That went next, and his lips didn't give you the chance to admonish him about what he had paid for the now ruined fabric lying at your feet.

He once again broke from you and knelt on the floor, removing your shoes one by one before kissing his way up your legs, swapping legs with each kiss, getting closer and closer to your centre with each one until he slowed at the crease of the thigh. He was once again inhaling like he was suffocating, and you wove your hands into his hair as your frustration grew. "Can you do something instead of sniffing me?"

His teeth sunk into your skin in retaliation, and he was standing up to his full height with eyes full of threat. "Don't rush me." His hand cupped you, his fingers running your rapidly gathering wetness as he all but growled at you. "This cunt is mine, I get to take all the time I want, understand?"

You almost wanted to act out to see what it would make him do, but the poor man already looked pained enough. "Anything you want."

He locked you in another kiss, his teeth smarting at your lip as he made his wants known with a gentle pressure on your shoulders. "Get on your knees."

He kicked your ruined dress under you to soften the ground as you sunk down, and you pulled at his belt to free him. He helped you, shoving his trousers and boxers down in one go just far enough so his cock could spring out and you could grab his perfect ass unencumbered by fabric.

He looked down at you as you kitten licked around the head and felt another rush of this heated primal positiveness that he had been feeling the whole night. A hand found the back of your head as you took him into your mouth, and his free hand shot out to rest on a side table to steady himself as pleasure filled his senses.

He stopped himself from bucking his hips in order to focus on the vision of you sucking him like a lollipop. It was outright pornographic, and all he could think about was that you were all his and his alone. "Fucken 'ell, Love." You moaned around him, and he used every ounce of self-control to pull you off of him and to your feet. "Get on the bed."

His hands were all over you as you made your way to the bed, and he ran his hands up and down your sides while you spun around to face him so you could lay on your back on the plush mattress. You settled on the pillows as his lips met yours, and he finally began to remove his clothes.

Bare skin hit bare skin as his lips started a journey down your body until he was lifting your legs over his strong shoulders and onto his solid back. He kissed the bend of your knee, his lips soft as his beard brushed your skin. He locked eyes with you and smiled softly as he continued his journey upwards, finally arriving with barely there kisses that had you pushing your hips towards him. "Tell me you're mine."

"I'm yours." A hot, wet heat enveloped you as he licked you from the entrance to clit in one firm, wide lick before sealing his lips around your clit. Ray had always been a man who prided himself on his attention to detail, and your bedroom was no different; it was like he had committed precisely what you needed to memory so well that he didn't even need to try, and tonight was no different.

He seemed more desperate tonight; accuracy swapped for the burning desire to consume your whole, and it didn't help that he was moaning against your flesh like he could somehow feel what he was doing to you in his own body. The chorus of his name from your mouth only served to spur him on, and a forearm pressed your hips down so you couldn't move away from him as he used his free hand to slide two fingers inside you.

With his rough fingertips bullying your G-spot, you didn't stand a chance, and he was far too strong for you to twitch away for a reprieve as the waves of an earth-shattering orgasm took you like the undertow of a raging river. Your chest heaved as he pulled away, and he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand before bringing his soaked fingers to your lips. You licked him clean only to have him kiss away the taste like you had slighted him by taking him up on his offer, and then he was slotting himself between your spread wide legs and grinding his cock against your sensitive skin. "Tell me me you're mine."

"I'm yours." You marvelled at his self-control, his face buried in your neck as he continued teasing you. "I'm yours, please Ray."

He took his cock in hand and notched it at your entrance. "Who do you belong to?"

"You." Your reply was desperate, your hands on his heated chest with fingers curled in a threat should he persist in his game, but he didn't, and seemly satisfied with your declaration, he slid inside you with one confident push. The fullness of it stole the air from your lungs, and you lifted your hips up to take him in faster as he bottomed out.

His hand found your hip, and his fingers dug in with force as he began to move, taking a steady pace that had the head of his cock brushing your G-spot with each pass. One of your hands wove into his hair while the other clutched at his back, and he pressed his lips to yours in a scalding kiss as he picked up speed. Mercifully, before he suffocated in the air stealing a kiss, his lips moved to your neck, and then his teeth were out, marking your skin like he was trying to prove a point about his ownership over you.

He pulled away for a moment and took in your blissed out face, faltering as the vision brought him teetering to the edge of oblivion far sooner than his ego would allow, so in a mix of the desire to uphold his pride and the need for more skin to mar he pulled out of your for a fleeting moment only to flip you over then slam back home as his teeth found more skin. He was overwhelming at this angle, and your fingers curled around the pillow as he slid a hand between you to rub your clit.

Ray would often tell you that you were good for his ego, that he could walk into a room where all the men would turn their heads to look, and he could smile knowing you were his alone. But this was something different, you writhing under him, stuck between frantic begging and breathless need made him feel like a God with you as his ever willing offering.

He captured you in another kiss as the edge neared, and you shuddered as, with one more precise circle to your clit, you fell over it. His hips didn't slow, and he growled into your mouth like a hungry animal as he chased his own high. "You're mine, I own you, understand?" All you could do was nod as your vision began to grey at the edges, but he must have accepted your answer because he all but roared as he came inside you.

His strength failed as it hit him full force, and the possessive beast inside him was finally satiated, knowing he had marked inside and out. He was mindful not to crush you, but he couldn't find it in himself to move away just yet, he couldn't let his hard work slip from you just yet. His lips were once again gentle as they kissed the marks his teeth had made, and you sighed as he brushed the stray hairs from your face.

His nose found its family home on the back of your neck, and his chest expanded against your back as he inhaled. "You must be intent on trying to kill me, My Dear."

You didn't have a clue what he was talking about, and rather than ask, you kissed him in hopes he would tell you anyway, but he didn't, and the weariness in your bones forced you to speak. "What do you mean?"

He finally rolled off you, and you laid on your sides facing each other as his hand ran up and down your side. "I can't understand how someone can smell so intoxicating, it truly is torture."

You reached up to lay a hand on his cheek, and he tilted his head to press his lips to your palm. "You get like this every month, I thought you'd be used to it by now."

He shook his head, sleepy. "Never, how can someone get used to being on fire."

"I suppose that's fair." There was more you wanted to say, but it was getting hard to keep your eyes open, and he could tell. Despite his own feelings, he was getting up to clean himself up before returning with his arms loaded. He brought you a glass of water and used one of your damp face cloths to cleanse away your makeup before using another damp cloth to remove the mess from between your legs, although he did pause to watch the evidence of your shared sin drip from your body and onto the expensive sheets as another wave of possessive filled him.

With his duty done, he disposed of the unclean fabric in a pile and climbed into bed next to you, wrapping you in his arms as he pulled you to his chest. "I love you y/n."

You relaxed into his arms and dropped a kiss on his chest where his heart lay. "I love you too, Ray."

In the morning, he would awaken you with ginger tea, a heating pad, and ibuprofen before climbing back into bed with you and soothing away your aches and pains until check out finally came. Room service would find no evidence of the mess Ray had left in the aftermath of your coupling, just a pile of towels already in the dirt laundry bin when they collected the cart at the start of their shift. He did, however, get a dirty look and a snide comment from the hotelier about what kind of establishment he was running. As you checked out, Ray took it in stride.

Fin

[noyaspeach]

first light

Summary: Could this be how every day begins?

After a long and restless night with no sleep, you go looking for something to while away the hours. As it turns out, Astarion is just as much of an insomniac as you are, and the two of you spend the early morning together.

Pairing: Astarion x Gender Neutral! Reader

Word Count: 4,334

Tags: Fluff and Light Angst, Pining, Feelings Realization (Kinda?), Second Person POV, Soft Astarion, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Insomnia, Watching the Sunrise

Author's Note:

not me returning to fic-writing over 3 years later with an astarion fic of all things. i can't even guarantee i'll write another one considering i'm about to start college again, but i would sure like to!

i was heavily inspired to write this because of the release of hozier's album. it perfectly aligned with me becoming obsessed with baldur's gate 3, and astarion is just so hozier-coded, how could i not? as the title suggests, i was inspired by the song "first light" which is the last song on the album, based on dante's ascent out of hell and his first taste of light and freedom. i imagine it's how astarion must have felt when he was no longer forced to do cazador's bidding and when he could finally experience sunlight again.

obligatory disclaimers: i haven't actually played the game yet, so this fic is informed by clips i've seen online, gif sets, the baldur's gate wiki, and other fics. if any details in this aren't chronologically sound or if anything seems a little non-compliant with the canon of the game... now you know why lol.

still, i hope you enjoy it! this is also posted to ao3! read here!

///

You stare up at the ceiling of your tent, frustration rolling in your chest as you struggle to rest. Your eyes are beginning to sting with the lack of sleep, but simply closing them does nothing to help. You’ve gone through all of your belongings twice already, looking for something to ease you into slumber, but no amount of reading or alcohol seems to do the trick. It certainly doesn’t help that the weather has been oppressively humid all night, leaving you coated in a thin, sticky layer of sweat that doesn’t seem to leave you no matter how many layers you shed.

You can’t bear to lay around in the thick air of your tent, so you decide to sit out by the extinguished campfire in the hopes that it will do more to relax you.

You quietly open your tent flap and emerge into the mild morning air. It’s much cooler outside, and a light breeze tickles your arm, already doing wonders to dry your sweat. It’s still too early for daylight, so the camp is only dimly illuminated by the moonlight. With the lack of light, you listen out for the sounds of the forest around you: the chirps of insects beneath you, hooting owls in the distance, and a trickling stream not too far away. Focusing on these scarce sounds, you already feel much calmer.

After a moment of peace, you hear a rustle to your right. You whip your head toward the sound, hands ready at your weapon, when you see a familiar face emerge from the trees. You let your hands drop to your side again. It’s just Astarion. He appears to be returning to his tent, noticeably empty-handed. You wonder what he’s up to this early in the morning, and he seems to be wondering the same thing, eyeing you with an inquisitive raise of the eyebrow.

“Restless sleeper, are we?” He remarks.

“Something like that,” you reply. “Just needed some fresh air.”

You notice that Astarion is still in his sleepwear, the sleeves of his white undershirt pushed up above his elbows. “And what are you doing out?”

“Oh, you know. Searching for a midnight snack, so to speak.” He gestures to the woods behind him. “Unfortunately, there isn’t a very fine selection tonight.”

You grimace at the thought of Astarion catching an innocent woodland creature between his teeth. It’s a less-than-flattering image, one that’s informed by the memory of the boar he drained a while back, and one that you’re eager to dismiss.

“Is that all you’ve been up to?” You ask.

“Why? Were you getting lonely without me?” He teases. You can only roll your eyes in response. When he doesn’t receive a retort, Astarion sighs and continues. “Right, if you want an honest answer, I was going for a stroll to pass the time.”

You tilt your head to the side. “Wandering about on your own while everyone’s asleep isn’t a very good idea. If something happens out there, none of us will be able to save you”

“Trust me, darling, I can hold my own just fine. But I appreciate you worrying about my safety. It’s almost touching.” He smirks. “I would appreciate it even more if you would refrain from telling the others about my… routine here. I don’t exactly want the company.”

“Routine? How long have you been taking these walks?”

“Since the day I joined you all, I would say.” Astarion’s eyes move to the entrance of his own tent. “I haven’t been able to get much sleep myself, and I figure there isn’t much use laying on my bedroll if I’m not resting or satisfying… other needs. So, I walk. And occasionally feed.”

You search Astarion’s face for any sign of deception, but he’s being surprisingly truthful, if a little bashful. You resonate with his sleeplessness, being something of an insomniac yourself. Despite the immense toll your travels have taken on your body, you can’t seem to rest very easily at all, especially when you need it the most. Whether it’s the vivid memories of past battles replaying in your dreams, the smothering climate of whatever campsite you’ve picked out that night, or the relentless wriggling of the tadpole in your head, there’s always something keeping you up.

“I’m surprised I haven’t caught you earlier, then,” you say. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”

“Thank you,” says Astarion. He smiles, and it seems he means it too. “Well, seeing as neither one of us will be getting to bed anytime soon, would you care to join me?”

You cross your arms. “I thought you would have preferred to be alone.”

“Misery loves company and all. I think I can make an exception for a fellow night owl,” he drawls.

You agree to walk with him then and quietly head in the opposite direction of both tents. You’re sure to bring your weapon with you in the off chance that something—or someone—attacks the two of you. A very small part of you still garners some suspicion for Astarion himself, especially considering that night in which he tried to feed from you while you slept. Perhaps that’s another factor in your insomnia; although you let Astarion drink his fill that night, you can’t be entirely sure he won’t try it again. That he won’t succeed in creeping up on you and draining you completely.

You shiver at the thought, but pass it off as a cold chill from the wind. As the two of you slowly move from the campsite, your surroundings become even quieter. The chirping insects from before are silent now, and the nearby stream is barely a whisper. You can hardly hear either of your footsteps. It’s at once peaceful and unsettling.

After a few short minutes, you’re the first to break the silence. “What do you usually do when you’re out here?”

Astarion thinks for a moment, and hums. “Hmm. Aside from hunting, I suppose I just sit with my thoughts. There isn’t much else to do, is there?”

You nod, but somehow you don’t think being left with one’s own thoughts is particularly relaxing for anyone in your party. You can’t imagine it’s any good for Astarion, especially.

“And what do you think about?”

“So much,” he says. “Plans, mostly. Where our next destination is, where I’ll find my next meal, what I’ll do when we reach Baldur’s Gate, how to get rid of this wretched parasite…”

“Do you ever think about your past?”

Astarion’s gaze is a bit distant until you ask that. He slows his pace and turns to you, looking unusually serious. “I prefer not to.”

He leaves it at that, so you decide not to push further. You only know a little about Astarion’s life before the tadpole entered his mind. You know he’s the spawn of an even more powerful vampire, a master to whom he was a slave for nearly 200 years, and you know he’s lived in the shadows up until now. It isn’t lost on you that this entire adventure is his first taste of freedom in centuries. You understand why he would rather focus on the future. Still, your nagging curiosity makes you desperate for more information about him.

“What about you, my dear?” He returns to his more amused attitude. “What do you do in that tent of yours to pass the time until the morning comes? Don’t tell me if it’s anything naughty… Actually, do.”

You shake your head and suppress a smile as he actually almost earns a laugh from you. “Nothing like that. I normally just try to distract myself until I can hopefully fall back asleep. Read something, sort my wares, hum a tune. Anything to relax.”

“I take it that hasn’t been working for you?”

“No. Not one bit. I’m actually kind of worried it might start affecting my performance from now on. Unlike some of the elves in this team, I actually need quite a lot of rest.”

“A true shame,” he tuts. “Although it is a double-edged sword. On the one hand, I don’t need to sleep for very long. On the other, I can’t sleep for very long. Sometimes I do wish I could simply let the whole day pass while I doze off. That would be much easier than just waiting it out.”

You hadn’t considered this. While the rest of your traveling companions are able to sleep through the night, Astarion has no choice but to wait for everyone to wake up around sunrise. All he can do is hope to get a few hours of rest before sitting through the unnerving silence of the night, the only unique sounds being the faint snores and mumbles that float from the other tents. You and he are alike in this struggle, but you at least are lucky enough to have a few nights when your exhaustion is bad enough to force you to bed.

“Well, taking a stroll like this is a good idea,” you finally say. “Thank you for inviting me along.”

A small smile tugs at the corner of Astarion’s lips. “Thank you for joining me. I will admit, it’s easier to pass the time with a… friend… by my side.”

Your heart swells at that word: “friend.” It’s a welcome upgrade from whatever you two might have been considered before.

A few minutes pass with the both of you chatting politely. As you walk, you make note of your surroundings to ensure that you don’t stray too far from camp or encounter any traps. This occupies your mind for a while, but Astarion seems to be running out of topics to discuss. Not wanting him to abandon your little trip just yet, you try to think of something to entertain him. Looking out at the forest and the sky in front of you, you notice that the moon has begun its descent into the trees, meaning morning is almost upon you two. This gives you an idea.

You stop and pivot to face Astarion. He stops too, surprised at your sudden pause.

“What is it?” He asks.

"Would you like to watch the sunrise with me?”

He’s taken aback only momentarily before he adopts his familiar flirtatious demeanor. “Trying to turn this into a romantic tryst, are you? If you want something more, you’ll have to be a little more direct than that.”

You shake your head. “No, I don’t mean anything by it. I want to know if you’ll sit and watch the sun come up with me. That’s all. It should be rising soon enough. It’s almost morning.”

He seems puzzled, his brows tightening and eyes scanning your face for any indication that you may be holding something back. When he doesn’t find anything, he settles back into an easy expression. “I seem to have misjudged. My apologies… Yes, I wouldn’t mind sitting with you.”

“Great.” You smile and begin to walk again. “I heard some water earlier, so I think there may be a stream near here. Maybe it’ll make for a nice spot.”

Astarion follows as you lead him closer to the sound of running water, and the two of you shortly come upon the stream. It’s a small, shallow brook that separates the woods from which you emerge and another expanse of trees on the other side. Right along the edge of the water is a line of smooth rocks big enough to sit on. It’s the perfect place to set up, you think.

The two of you find purchase on the edge of the rocks, feet just barely dangling off the side, hovering above the calmly flowing water. The rocks aren’t terribly big, so the two of you sit side-by-side, your knees close enough to touch. Across the brook, the trees begin to thin out, leaving a clear view of the horizon. You estimate that the sun will start its ascent in the next few minutes, but for now, the scene in front of you remains thinly bathed in moonlight.

In the quiet of the dawn, the moon casts its silvery glow on the world beneath it. Every blade of grass, every dewy flower, every mossy stone radiates with a hazy blue hue. The stream beneath you reflects this onto both of your faces, and you give a sideways glance to your companion next to you. You watch as the light dances across his cheeks, admiring how it shines in his curls, how it glistens in his deep red eyes, and how it collects in the space just above his lips. You inhale and the earthy scent of the forest mixes with the smell of Astarion’s perfume in your nose. As you do so, you realize now just how close in proximity you are to him. You’re close enough to trace his silhouette from the slope of his nose to his slender neck with your fingers if you so choose. You glimpse at the puncture marks just below his jaw and remember once more the night you let him drink from you. You remember the moment you awoke in terror before you realized who was crouched above you. You remember the uncertainty you felt as you gave him permission to continue, not sure whether it was a wise decision or not. You remember the sharp sting of his teeth entering your skin and the almost exhilarating dizziness that followed as he coaxed your blood out with his tongue. The rest of that moment is a blur to you, but you can still distinctly recall how he cradled your head with one hand, the other gently ghosting down your spine. For almost a full day after that night, the smell of bergamot and rosemary lingered on your neck.

“You do know staring is rude, don’t you, darling?” Astarion says. “Not that I particularly mind.” He leans back on his arms and turns to face you. “Not when it’s you.”

Your cheeks flush in spite of the cool temperature. You wonder when it was you became so vulnerable to Astarion’s flirting. Even though you have, you try not to entertain it. After all, you suspect his charming behavior is at least partly a ruse.

“Sorry,” you mutter and look back at the horizon. “It’s very pretty out. It’ll be even prettier in just a few more minutes, too. We’re in the perfect spot to watch the sun come up.”

“Is that so?” Astarion tilts his head as he continues to behold you. “You know, I’ve never watched the sunrise like this.”

You twist to look at him again, utterly shocked. “Seriously? Not once?”

He shakes his head.

“How come?”

He sighs. “I’m sure I must have before… everything. But I can’t seem to remember anything from back then. I lost most of my memories when I was brought back, save for a few of the important details. I suppose sunrises weren’t important enough to stick.” He frowns and stares out at a canopy of trees in the distance. “Then, as you know, it would have been incredibly stupid for me to be out in the light with this condition of mine. So, I never tried. I didn’t have very many opportunities to do so, in any case.”

Your brow furrows, but you don’t say anything. Instead, you let Astarion continue at his own pace.

“...I spent decades in my master’s lair, a- a dungeon, really. I was trapped in the darkness. The only time I was allowed out was when he needed fresh, new bodies, and even then it was always under the cover of night. For the longest time, that was all that I knew. In a way, it’s what I’m still used to…”

Suddenly his sleeplessness makes all the more sense to you.

“I know I’m free from that now, what with the tadpole and all, but…” He trails off. You understand.

After several beats of silence, you clear your throat.

“Once, when I was a child, I went playing in the woods with some of the other children in the village. There were maybe six of us in total? I don’t exactly remember. But we marched all the way from the market to the forest pretending we were a band of heroes. I was at the back of the line, right behind this boy that I really liked. I put myself there on purpose so that I could smile and blush as much as I wanted without him seeing me.”

“How cute,” Astarion comments with a quirked eyebrow.

“Yeah. I mean, I thought I was being clever, but it was pretty silly, wasn’t it? Anyways, when we entered the woods, we decided to split off into teams to see who could find the most ‘treasure.’ We just plucked up sticks, flowers, beetles, pinecones, that kind of stuff. I was paired with the boy I liked, and I was so giddy about it. I wanted to show him just how cool I was, so I climbed up every tree and jumped off every rock. Just hearing him laugh and clap for me was enough for me to keep going. So, I did. Before we knew it, we realized we had strayed too far from the rest of the group. We tried to call out to them but heard nothing in return. We were lost.”

You pause your story to get a brief look at Astarion. You half-expect him to be bored by this point, but you’re surprised to see that he’s giving you his full attention. He waves his hand, signaling for you to continue.

“We started playing late into the evening, so by the time we realized that we had no clue where we were, the sun had already begun to set. I remember cursing myself for wishing I could have some alone time with this boy because that wasn’t at all what I had had in mind. But, alas, that was the situation I was stuck in. When it reached midnight and we still hadn’t made our way back to the village, I started panicking. You should know that I used to be deathly afraid of the forest at night. I was terrified of what kind of creatures could be hiding, waiting to snatch me up and eat me alive.”

“Hmm, like vampires?” Astarion teases.

You smirk. “Precisely. You’ll remember, though, that I was stuck with the boy I liked. So, there was no way I could show that I was scared. I couldn’t display any sign of weakness or else he might not think I was as cool as I let off. Knowing this, I put on a brave face and silently begged the gods for some protection before I assembled a makeshift camp for the two of us. It was, admittedly, very shitty, but it did its job of giving us some shelter for the night. I told him he could sleep and that I would keep watch, and so I did. I didn’t sleep very much back then, either, now that I think about it. I guess not a lot has changed about me… But I digress. I stayed up the whole night, sitting outside our little fort, listening to him snore and talk in his sleep. I don’t think I could have left his side if I wanted to, considering how petrified I was. But I powered through the fear, for his sake. I was so young, but I cared about this boy so much that I felt I owed it to him to make sure he was safe.”

“You were quite the hero, even back then,” Astarion says gently. “Is this little story your way of telling me to be more selfless?”

“Not at all. I’m getting to the point, I promise. I sat there for hours as I waited for it to become day again. Eventually, I was able to focus on the more beautiful parts of the night: the moon, the stars, the lightning bugs, the sweet whisper of the wind through the leaves. The more I searched for the good in my situation, the less scared I became, until I was no longer scared at all. By the time dawn rolled around, I was at peace, actually. I was so proud of myself for making it through the night, I immediately woke the boy up to share the moment with him. Then, we sat together, kind of like this,” You gesture to your and Astarion’s seating position, “and just watched the sunrise in perfect silence. I had never watched the sunrise before. It was so nice, getting to quietly enjoy such a wonderful view with someone I loved.”

As you finish your story, you face Astarion once more. His gaze is soft as he listens to you speak, and the tender curl of his lips betrays a sincere gratitude for having shared this with him.

“Did anything ever happen between you and that boy?” He asks.

“Sadly, no. He eventually fell for some other girl in town. Last I heard, they had three kids together.”

“Hmm.” Astarion angles his chin away from you. “Well, that’s his loss.”

You look away, too, and smile to yourself.

Suddenly, the sky begins to transform before your eyes. The first gleams of sunlight begin to caress the horizon as the moon takes its final bow behind you. The forest, still coated with all the glimmering remnants of morning dew, stirs from its slumber under the streams of the emerging sun. As the sun slowly rises, its warm embrace spreads like honey between the trees, flooding the forest floor with rays of pink and amber. Shafts of light pierce through the lush foliage, creating scintillating patterns on the surface of the water that seem to dance at the promise of a new day. Finally, when the sun peers at you from above the treetops, it’s as if the sky erupts. A burst of brilliance envelopes the world below it in its welcoming embrace, casting everything in a blazing golden light.

You begin to say something to Astarion but stop when you see his face. He looks positively radiant. His face glows in the daylight, appearing even more magnificent than he did in the moon’s silver beams. His face and his hair are colored by the sun, making him look more alive than he ever has before. Every detail from the strands in his eyebrows to the smallest of moles is illuminated before you. You watch as his eyes glisten before softly fluttering closed. He breathes deeply, his chest slowly rising and falling, and he basks in the sunlight. He relaxes completely, letting the sun’s rays melt away any and all tension he may have been holding on to.

You want nothing more than to cup his face in your hands, then, and feel the newly imbued warmth of his skin as you press your lips to his. Instead, however, you carefully place your hand on top of his. His eyes blink open and he turns to look at you once more. You hesitate for a moment, ready to move away, but he doesn’t reject you. His eyes crinkle with appreciation and he laces your fingers together before gently stroking his thumb against the side of your hand. His skin is still a bit cold, but thanks to you, it quickly warms up.

The two of you sit there in tranquility, taking in all of the sights, sounds, and feelings of the early morning. Time seems to slow, then, as if the universe itself also wishes to savor this serene moment for just a little while longer.

Soon, you hear the distant sound of casual conversation as the others awaken for yet another day of arduous traveling. You sigh, knowing that the two of you will have to return to camp shortly and leave all of this behind. You don’t want to let go just yet.

“We should probably get back,” Astarion says first. “I wouldn’t want the others to think that I killed you and scurried off or something like that.”

“Yeah, that wouldn’t be very good for morale,” you joke. After a moment, you reluctantly untwine your fingers and push yourself up off the rocks. You extend a hand to Astarion to help him up, which he graciously accepts.

Neither of you moves at first until Astarion takes a step toward you. Standing so close to you, you wonder if he’s about to kiss you when he gingerly takes hold of your hands. He gives you that sincere smile again.

“Thank you again for this. It was… nice.” You almost can’t believe how vulnerable he seems right now, eyes staring into yours with no hint of false pretenses. “I’d like to do this again with you, if you’ll join me.”

“I would love to.”

“Wonderful,” he says. He lets go of you. “Shall we then?”

The two of you take your time walking back to the campsite, talking idly about what the next few days have in store. When you arrive, Karlach is the first to notice you.

“There you two are! We were beginning to worry.” She looks between you both and crosses her arms, narrowing her eyes mischievously. “Anything we should know about your disappearance?”

You chuckle. “Nothing that would excite you, Karlach.”

You walk past her and approach your tent. The rest of your team is already getting to work cleaning their weapons, armor, and other equipment, preparing to hunt, or strategizing together. Before you duck inside to retrieve your clothes for washing, you turn back and lock eyes with Astarion. He’s entered a conversation between Shadowheart and Gale, but he isn’t all that engaged. He shoots you a knowing look and another small smile which you return in kind.

As you wash your clothes in the river just south of the camp, you think fondly of the promise you’ve now made with Astarion and the many sunrises to come. Suddenly, insomnia doesn’t seem so bad.

[creativepromptsforwriting]

Fic Titles: Song Edition

Part II

I can't steal you (like you stole me) - You, The Pretty Reckless

Spinning all these stories - Skinny Bitch, Lena Meyer-Landrut

It's just another rainy Sunday afternoon - Lemon Tree, Fool's Garden

When I watch the world burn (all I think about is you) - Doom Days, Bastille

Let's compare scars (I′ll tell you whose is worse) - Swing Life Away, Rise Against

Sunsets and silhouette dreams - You be the anchor [...], Mayday Parade

Who could deny these butterflies? - Remembering Sunday, All Time Low

As we say our long goodbyes - Run, Snow Patrol

Naked bodies look like porcelain - Love, Daughter

I wish you were a stranger - Over my head (Cable Car), The Fray

Send my regards to hell - Blame, Bastille

We do fall before we rise - Blood & Glitter, Lord of the Lost

Our hearts beat (control them) - In spirit golden, I Blame Coco

Admiring from afar - we fell in love in october, girl in red

The safest place to hide - MakeDamnSure, Taking Back Sunday

I am my own worst enemy - The Consequence, You Me At Six

My lover and my best friend - Rehab, Rihanna

It's a sign that someone loves you - Don't swallow the cap, The National

There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin - Take me to church, Hozier

The wonderful mess that we made - Flaws, Bastille

Drink the poison lightly - I'm not the one, 3OH!3

Saving life in the dark - Believe, Yellowcard

To warm the cold side of the pillow - Hunger of the Pine, alt-J

I'd probably still adore you - 505, Arctic Monkeys

You killed me with your smile - Tonight, Reamonn

Mistaken for strangers by your own friends - Mistaken for strangers, The National

Three whole words and eight letters late - Fireworks, You Me At Six

You say you love me and you roll your eyes - Everyway that I can, Sertab Erener

I'm so surprised you want to dance with me now - Pink Rabbits, The National

To distract our hearts from ever missing them - Youth, Daughter

More titles!

[unfortunately-obsessed]

My Love Will Never Die

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x fem!reader. Tags: emotional hurt/comfort, burnout, established relationship. Title based off a Hozier's song. Ao3 link.

Summary:

« You've done me wrong for a long, long time. But after all you've done, I never changed my mind. »

Behind you, you wonder if the chauffer it is still there, standing. You know he is, the manners making him wait until you enter the house to only then pull the car to the garage. Watching you frozen in place, bag lazily held in a hand, umbrella in another. Hair disheveled, clothes unruly. You wonder if you look pathetic on his eyes, just as much as you feel currently.

The truth is: you are utterly destroyed.

Not only mentally. Your muscles ache, pain spiking up on your lower back worse than any damage a sharpened knife could cause. Feet so thoroughly hurt by heels they're numb, if not for the casual sharp sting.

It is Gotham. The sky is grey, the city sucks up you out of life each passing moment.

Rain splatters against your umbrella. You stand just before the front door of Wayne Manor, mindlessly fidgeting with the wedding ring sitting pretty on your finger.

One year. You've been married with Bruce Wayne for one year already? Doesn't feel like it.

Time flew before your eyes, the start of it all just below your eyelids. Every first so toothachingly sweet, burned into your brain. Press nails against skin until it sharpens.

Behind you, you wonder if the chauffer it is still there, standing. You know he is, the manners making him wait until you enter the house to only then pull the car to the garage. Watching you frozen in place, bag lazily held in a hand, umbrella in another. Hair disheveled, clothes unruly.

You wonder if you look pathetic on his eyes, just as much as you feel currently.

Not worthy of the surname Wayne, to be called “lady of the house”.

Time is a cruel kind of lesson.

"Ms. Wayne." Alfred's voice, invariably courteous, calls. You almost wince at the door opening. He stands before you, maybe a little unnerved by your state, but if it's displeasure or worry on his face, you can't tell.

He masks terrifically well. You're always alarmed by this.

"Are you alright, ma'am?"

At that, you do wince.

"Yes, Alfred." Your brain haven't even processed his presence yet when you walk past him. He takes your coat and bag. "Just got lost in thoughts for a moment."

"Pondering the mysteries of our universe at the front step?" Ah, you do love the edge of sass in his voice. You meet his eyes, a shy-like (unlike you) smile cursing your face. "Shall I fetch for tea? Supper will be served in one hour's time."

Some months ago, you might have looked forward for it. If Bruce couldn't welcome you after work, he at least would make sure to eat dinner with you.

Deep in your stomach, rot. You swallow dry.

"No, thanks," you say, taking a deep breath. Desperately– desperately talking through the knot in your throat. "I just want to hit the showers and sleep," you say, all sincerity.

You smile politely. He doesn't pushes you.

It is easy to backslide. To make oneself likeable, less volatile, more agreeable. Until you can earn love and care.

(Oh. It's getting bad again.)

"And Bruce?" You ask halfway through up the stairs, despite yourself. My love for you is bigger than words. I search for you everywhere.

The silence that hangs would be enough of an answer. Alfred is merciful, though. "Still working, ma'am."

Isn't it painful? Loving someone just from outside their life?

Wayne Manor is a haunted house. Constantly burning, touching the skies with horrible black smoke. Sculpted coffered ceilings, furniture of expensive dark wood. Bristol, yet you can see the city and all its skyscrapers by the right window.

Wayne Manor, aka Bruce Wayne's first grave.

Every corner, a memory.

"Of course," you mutter to yourself, emotion pooling in the eyes.

Love is about the failure of language, so you fall silent and disappear into the halls.

~*~*~

The sheets are clean like you know they would be.

Heels are the first to go. You kick them off, grumbling in satisfaction. Earrings next, then lipstick messily scrubbed off in any sheet of paper.

Hairpin and belt lost to the ground. Bra? Disappeared.

Yet, despite being absolutely exhausted, you stop just before the bed. Ice at the nape of your neck like a garrote, a promise. Knot in your throat to hang on.

King-sized, silk sheets, cloud soft. Each breath is a stutter of a muscle, the blood running in your veins a statement that you are, in fact, alive.

Isn't it such a lousy fear? The fear to sleep and have yet another nightmare. Oh, to be worn out mind and body and still unable to touch a bed.

The sheets are clean, white-pure. Sours you mouth.

Messy and childish fear. To see the future, where he dies by your feet using the damned cowl. Feats unnamed, life unhonoured.

Death smiles to Batman.

(Ah, Bruce. I would break my own fingers for you. Tear the tongue out of my mouth.

But there are limits.)

You can't even remember half those nightmares. Hands shaking, clattered flesh, de-boned corpses–

You don't want to ruin the sheets. You don't want to ruin your life.

~*~*~

It might be 5am.

He nuzzles against your neck, breath hot and exhausted, chest to your back. Skin painted with purple and red, scar-tissue mapping constellations, saying eat.

Eat you do. Bite one step removed, soft-mouthed kissing blue veins and rough hands. Until you lips become raw and numb.

His weight sinks the mattress, acting like a gravitational pull. Bruce's body, which furnaces can't compare, protectively embraces you.

He's so warm. It's 5am and you both are lying together, legs intertwined, his face buried on your shoulder. You listen to his breathing, slow and controlled, in the comforting quiet of unrealized-hours.

I wish the past had been kinder on you. How the world is cruel and how you refuse to be.

Soft sunlight hums through the damasked curtains, birds start to sing. You are wide awake, and he is too.

You'd seen him die down in your mind, every night. He lives your nightmares, putting on the suit. You're not bound to him by fate, not a soulmate, with no divine intervention; hallowed by gums aching and reverence– that is to say: the door is open, you can walk away.

Because one day, he won't come back.

You know it. He knows it. He has the arrangements prepared for the occasion.

And nowadays, he can't afford to leave the cave if not for going downtown.

The life of a hero is very unthankful.

"Do you hate me?" he asks you, voice rough to be an knife's edge. It's been long enough since you last felt him this close, low in your ear.

Bruce assures you through touch. Calloused thumb rubbing your wrist. Affections ebbs in his palms, love even. A work in progress.

In all your inner turmoil, you can see yourself getting quite tired of it all. The late nights crawling up walls, knowing he won't come back until morning– the stitching of wounds, his blood in the Persian rugs– but to imagine oneself as his enemy? As in, hating him?

"No," you murmur in a steady heartbeat. A detour cross your mind, of eustress: he gets tired too. And, then you say for good measure, "Never."

People don't really think how tiring tragic the life of a hero is. But there's this exhilarating moment where all that exists is Bruce's breath in your skin.

"Do you love me?" he asks because he can't take any chances. Oh, you can bet a kid that grew up traumatized will need reassurance. Constant, gentle reassurance.

White stripes of scars in his knuckles and forearms below your fingertips, drawing into your memory again and again.

The truth is: you are utterly destroyed.

Not only physically. But he tugs with your heartstrings everyday, bruised like he'd been squeezing it. The more it lingers more you realize you've been packing up emotions for weeks, now.

"What a silly thing to ask," you say. Not an answer. Neither are breathing for a second, there. You teeth clatter like a damn trying to bust.

Ah! There's a lot of messed up stuff happening all the time. You coil in yourself, perhaps considering. Bruce's touch shudders.

And there is something to realize. You'd rather die drowning for love than in thirst of it. Repeat to yourself, to him, I will never leave you. In healthiness and sickness–

"On purpose. Always–"

Love, who is brutal, who is stored in the viscera–

"–I love you."

A/N: If you like what I do, please consider supporting me and buying a coffee!

[ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral]

Hello everyone! With me focusing on the "Archeologist Merlin" fic on ao3, it's been a while since I posted an au idea! It's good to be back!

Since an au featuring Lancelot won the last poll, here's my Lancelot au that I tried to make somewhat lighthearted, but it ended up being angsty instead. I hope you enjoy this au idea! :D

PS: For optimal reading conditions, go listen to Hozier's song "Like Real People Do", and then come back here. Trust me, it'll be worth it.

This au takes place in the middle of season 4, picking up right after the episode "Servant of Two Masters", which means that "Lancelot du Lac" hasn't happened yet. At that point, Lancelot had died by sacrificing himself to the veil, and everyone believes that he will stay dead. However, while Merlin was in Morgana's hut to kill the fomorroh that she had stuck in his neck, a book on Morgana's shelf caught his eye. He could feel the power oozing from the book, which was drenched in dark magic. Merlin, knowing that Morgana would absolutely be up to no good with such a powerful book dripping with dark magic, steals the book from her hut before killing the fomorroh. To Merlin, taking the book means that Morgana has one less weapon to attack Camelot with, and he would take any advantage that he could get against Morgana.

Merlin was so focused on killing the fomorroh and getting the dark book away from Morgana that he didn't even see the title of the book that he had stolen until he was back in his room in Camelot. As he prepared to hide the dark book underneath a floorboard in his room, he took a peek at the title of the book for the first time: The Arcane Secrets of Necromancy and Thralls.

Yikes. No wonder the book was dripping with dark magic, if that's what it was about. As Merlin hastily dropped the book down on his bed to free up his hands to pry up the floorboard, he noticed that the book had fallen open to a marked page. Merlin sucked in a breath as he recognized Morgana's handwriting on the page, making notes on one particular spell. As much as he wanted nothing to do with such dark magics, Merlin couldn't pass up the opportunity to learn more about Morgana's plans. He could finally be one step ahead of her!

Merlin hesitantly picked up the book and started reading from the marked page. The page itself detailed the ways a powerful sorcerer could raise a dead soul without having access to the deceased person's body and bend that soul to their will. A violent shiver went down Merlin's spine as he read more. These spells and rituals were horrible and cruel, and it seemed like Morgana had every intention of utilizing them against her enemies. Merlin didn't even want to imagine what awful things Morgana wanted to do with these spells, who she wanted to raise from the dead and torture forevermore.

As Merlin turned the page though, he saw something that immediately drew his attention: a ritual that claimed that it could bring someone back to life with their soul intact and not in any pain. Merlin was frozen as soon as he saw it, staring numbly at the page. Could it even be possible? The ritual claimed that, with an animal sacrifice and enough power on the sorcerer's part, the Old Religion's laws would accept the resurrection of the subject without any human's life being taken in return.

The festering pain in his chest, which had been present since Lancelot's death at the hands of the veil and his heart had felt like it had been torn from his body, throbbed once more. Could he... could he actually do it? Could he truly bring Lancelot back as himself, have his dearest friend, his pillar of support, by his side once more?

As soon as that idea had slithered into his head, Merlin's mind refused to let go of it. It followed him everywhere over the following days, never once leaving him alone, until one day he found himself gathering the ingredients for the ritual.

He had to do it. He owed it to Lancelot, who had sacrificed himself not for Arthur, but for him. If there was even the slightest chance of truly bringing Lancelot back, he had to take that risk.

The ritual itself was complicated, but not impossible, certainly not for Emrys. He had to draw a summoning circle on the forest floor under a lightless new moon, place some of Lancelot's belongings in the circle, of which he chose Lancelot's journals and his prized dagger, and then kill the rabbit he had brought as the sacrifice, collect its lifeblood in a blessed chalice, and finally enchant the blood itself and spill it over Lancelot's belongings in the circle.

Merlin could feel the power of the ritual buzzing around the forest as he performed it, but it didn't frighten him, because he could feel it working. As soon as he poured the rabbit's enchanted blood over the journal and dagger, the circle around him started glowing with a harsh light, urging Merlin on. After the chalice was emptied of blood, Merlin started chanting the final spells of the ritual: one to summon Lancelot's intact and healed body, another to draw Lancelot's soul out of Avalon, and a final spell to merge his body and soul, which would leave Lancelot wholly alive and himself again.

Merlin's heart leapt up to his throat as the first spell succeeded, revealing Lancelot's body, still clad in the same cape and armor that he had worn when he walked into the veil. The mere sight of his friend had Merlin faltering, but he needed to continue through the whole ritual. The second spell summoned a glowing blue mist, which sparkled in the light of the circle and hovered over Lancelot's prone form. Merlin felt strangely comforted at the sight of the mist, and he realized with a gasp that the mist itself must be Lancelot's soul, awaiting his return to his body.

At last, all of the pieces were in place, and Merlin performed the final spell: rebinding Lancelot's soul into his body. The spell itself required an immense amount of power, but Merlin could both feel and see that it was working! Lancelot's soul was slowly disappearing into his body. He was almost there!

With the last incantation, Merlin staggered backwards, feeling thoroughly drained from performing such powerful magic. However, his exhaustion melted away into excitement as Lancelot opened his eyes and sat up, looking around.

"Lancelot! You're back!"

Merlin launched himself forwards towards his friend, his joy almost overwhelming. He crashed into Lancelot's side and wrapped him in the tightest hug he could manage.

"What were you thinking, going into the veil?! I thought you'd be gone forever! But enough of that, we need to get you back to Camelot!"

Merlin urged his friend, who still looked rather dazed and disoriented, up to his feet. Lancelot's confusion was petty understandable, Merlin could only imagine how confusing it must have been to suddenly return to the living!

"Lancelot, how are you feeling? You aren't hurt, are you?"

Merlin waited with baited breath as Lancelot opened and closed his mouth a few times, as if trying to get used to having a mouth again. Finally, after several agonizing minutes of silence, Lancelot spoke, his voice rough.

"Mer... Merlin. My... my..."

"Your what, Lancelot? What do you need? Whatever it is, I'm sure that I could get it for you!"

Merlin smiled encouragingly at Lancelot, still helping him stay upright. He waited patiently for Lancelot to find whatever words he was looking for.

"My... my lord. I am at your command."

Merlin's heart dropped to his stomach as Lancelot dropped to his knees, kneeling before Merlin just as he did when he pledged his fealty as a knight to Arthur.

"Lancelot, what are you doing? Get up!"

Lancelot, with a sickening level of obedience, immediately rose to his feet, awaiting further commands. Merlin reeled backwards, away from Lancelot, and doubled over, feeling nauseous. What had he done?

Why had this happened?! He knew that the ritual had worked, he could feel it when Lancelot's soul reentered his body, so how was Lancelot devoid of his own will? What had gone wrong?!

As Merlin spent several minutes bowled over, trying to keep himself from hurling up his dinner all over the ground, a wolf howled in the distance, shocking Merlin back into reality. He took a deep breath and glanced back over to where Lancelot was still standing, wearing a terrifyingly blank expression.

He would fix this. He had to. But right now, they needed to get to safety before they could come up with any plan going forward. Swallowing thickly, Merlin called out to Lancelot.

"Come on, we need to get back to Camelot. Gaius might be able to help us fix whatever's gone wrong with the ritual."

Lancelot nodded without hesitation, and they both set back on the trail towards Camelot. It was slightly harder for Merlin to sneak into the castle with another person with him, but he was able to make it work. Eventually, they made it to Gaius's chambers, who jolted awake at the sound of his door slamming open.

Gaius's annoyance at his rude awakening was terrifying enough for Merlin, but it was completely overshadowed at his fury towards Merlin for performing a necromancy ritual.

"How could you be so stupid?! Of course a ritual from that tome would bring him back as your thrall! Even if he's fully healed and has his soul and all of his memories, he's now bound by your will! Any subject of necromancy sees the magic user who raised them from the dead as their god, regardless of the spell or ritual used!"

A fresh wave of dread and guilt threatened to drown Merlin.

"So, there's no way fully bring him back? No matter what I try, he'll never come back as himself again?"

Gaius slowly shook his head, breaking Merlin's last shards of fragile hope.

Lancelot, on his end, was initially very, very confused. One moment he was floating through an endless darkness, and the next he was laying on the ground in the middle of a glowing circle in the forest.

He looked around, and there he was. Merlin, standing at the edge of the circle. Lancelot smiled, glad beyond words to see his friend again, to know that his sacrifice wasn't in vain

Still, there was some odd, foreign feeling bubbling up inside of him at the sight of Merlin. But he didn't have long to ponder those feelings before Merlin was suddenly wrapping his arms around him, hugging him tightly.

It wasn't until Merlin had helped him to his unsteady feet that the foreign feeling pushed to the surface, taking control of his limbs. The thing taking over was him, but it wasn't him, but it felt like the most natural thing in the world to both him and whatever was controlling him to fall to his knees and pledge his fealty to Merlin, as if there was ever a doubt where his devotion lay.

The trip back to Camelot was a blur to Lancelot, feeling like he was both in control of himself and under the control of something else, but he didn't fight against it. No, whatever was now inhabiting his body alongside him seemed to be working with him, not against him.

Despite Merlin's panic and the unknown entity that was now in his mind, Lancelot thoroughly enjoyed the walk back to Camelot. He never thought that he'd enjoy the simply pleasures that came with having a corporeal body again, so he enjoyed everything from feeling the dirt under his boots to the wind on his face.

When they reached Gaius's chamber though, and he revealed the true consequences of Merlin's efforts to bring him back from the dead. Panic, horror, and betrayal washed over Lancelot in a split second, but those feelings dissipated as soon they appeared.

While Lancelot could chalk up his immediate forgiveness towards Merlin as the work of the foreign entity that now resided within his body, Lancelot knew deep down, in a place in his heart where the entity couldn't touch, that his feelings of forgiveness and acceptance towards Merlin was his and his alone.

Because the truth was that, even before Lancelot stepped into the veil, there wasn't anything he wouldn't do for Merlin.

And this post is getting too long, so I'll cut it off there! From here, the au focuses on people's reactions to Lancelot's return and Merlin's tremendous amounts of guilt for what he's done to Lancelot. Lancelot has some days where he's pretty much his old self again, and other days where he's deeper under the thrall's control.

Because everyone can see the very disturbing sight of Lancelot under the power of the thrall, everyone in the castle (except for Merlin and Gaius) believes that Lancelot was resurrected by an evil sorcerer and enchanted by him to try to destroy Camelot, but they also believe that he's valiantly beating back the sorcerer's enchantment with the power of sheer willpower and friendship and is slowly getting better.

It breaks everyone's heart to see Lancelot's will robbed of him, but it hits especially hard for Gwen, Arthur, and the knights to see the strongest, most noble man they know have to fight every single day for his own free will. Merlin, meanwhile, vows never to give Lancelot any orders, as he will not stoop so low as to bend his dearest friend to his will, but even despite not explicitly giving Lancelot orders, the thrall still sometimes takes over his friend and seeks him out. The only order he ever gives the thrall is to just do whatever Lancelot wants to do, but even that sometimes doesn't work and the thrall just stands there, looking at him blankly.

Well, that's enough angst for today! Let me know if you'd like to see a continuation of this au! Until next time!

And as always, thank you for reading through my ramblings! :D

[siampie]

Risk and Reward||Chapter 9: Like Real People Do

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: Just fluffy moments between you and Matt.

Warnings/tags: lots of fluff and a hint of angst.

A/N: Sorry for the late update, life had been hectic lately. And also been dealing with some face pain due to a wisdom tooth. Commentaries and reblogs are greatly appreciated.     

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Masterlist || join my taglist

Tag list: @marytheweefrenchie; @sunflowersandsapphires; @abbyhaslongshorts; @schneeflocky; @danzer8705;

@ebathory997; @sarraa-26; @cheshirecat484; @rebeccapineapple; @msjb2002

Dividers by @cafekitsune

Song the title is referring to:

I had a thought, dear, however scary

About that night, the bugs and the dirt

Why were you digging? What did you bury

Before those hands pulled me from the earth?

I will not ask you where you came from

I will not ask and neither should you

Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips

We should just kiss like real people do

The soft music filled your apartment while you hummed, swaying lightly, to the song. Enjoying one of those rare moments where you felt in the mood to cook a full meal for yourself. The pan singing as the freshly cut vegetables were frying in the hot oil. You added the broccoli to the stir-fry you were cooking, your eyes caught sight of the numerous drawings on your fridge. They had been made with love by your nieces and nephews. Your goddaughter, now 6, were also learning how to write now. So, of course, some of drawings were now accompanied with love notes.

“Je t’aime, Marraine.” (I love you, Godmother.)

The words were misspelled, and she still needed to get a grasp on grammar. But every time you read the words; you felt your heart swell with love. And the few times she came to visit you, she was proud to see her pictures on your fridge. And she and her siblings, and her cousin, drew more of those stick figure, knowing their arts would find room on your fridge and walls.

The shrill sound of your ringtone pulled you out of your thoughts.

“Ah, you’ve reached the procrastination hotline. Please hold…indefinitely.” You answered the call.

“How many of those do you have?” Your sister’s voice came from the other end of the line.

“As many as I need.” You shot back. “So, what’s up?”

“I need to vent,” she declared.

“About?”

“Our brother; Henry.” She dramatically sighed.  

“I’m listening,” you puffed out a long breath.

“So, you know how he decided to let mom have access to his kids,” she started. You hummed, “well, now, his in-laws are getting involved and asking me, why don’t I want mom anywhere near my boy?”

“How is that any of their concerns? It’s your kid, you get to decide who’s in his life or not. Why are they getting involved?” You asked quite angrily, you never liked your brother’s in-laws. They were quite nosy people, always wondering when you were going to have kids, while your own father just let you live your life at your own pace.

“Oh, that’s not even the best part,” Ann continued. “They think it would be beneficial for my son to meet his maternal grandmother. Can you believe that?”

“I can believe they haven’t been hit enough in their lives, that I can believe.” You replied, your sister chuckled. “No one cares what they think. Axel is your son, and you are his mother. If you don’t want our mother to meet him, it is your decision. And frankly, bad parents don’t get to be grandparents. So, I’d say don’t let her meet your little boy.”

“Thank you,” she exclaimed. “I thought I was going crazy over here.”

“You’re not, don’t worry,” you reassured her. “And I’m fairly certain, Dee would agree with me.” You killed the fire under the pan, “what did Henry say to that?”

“Nothing. As usual.” Ann scoffed, “Didn’t defend my decision or even tried to explain to them why I wouldn’t want that.”

“It doesn’t need explaining, they know our story. It’s quite understandable why you wouldn’t,” you leaned your elbows on your counter. “Do you want me to give him call?”

“No, it won’t be necessary,” she told you. “I just needed to know I wasn’t alone in this.”

“You’re not,” you assured her. “Just to let you know, if you do decide to let her see little Axel, I won’t be mad. I’ll support you no matter what, you know that right?”

“I know,” she sighed. “Would you?” she questioned you, “would you let her in?”

“No,” your answer was firm. “Never again. Do you want to let her in?”

“No,” Ann was a firm as you in her answer. “She doesn’t deserve it.”

“Exactly,” you nodded. “Don’t let them get into your head. They’re not your in-laws, so, their opinions don’t really matter.”

“You’re right,” she agreed. “So, whatcha doin’?”

“Cooking some stir-fry, and then some netflix and chill—or maybe some video games, haven’t decided yet.”

“Oh, come on!” Ann groaned, “It’s Friday night, you’re single. You should be out there having fun, meeting new people. Do this for me, let me live vicariously through you. Please!”

You huffed out a laugh. She had yet to know about Matthew. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to share him with your family, you did. You wanted them to know about the new man in your life. You wanted them to share in your happiness. However, you were just very protective of your relationship with Matt. You wanted to keep him for yourself a little while longer.

But this was your sister. Your first ever best friend. It didn’t seem fair to hide it from her. Not when she came to you first, after she had said yes to her, then, fiancé.

“Well,” you started, “it’s been a very long week. And I didn’t feel like socializing tonight.”

“Typical,” Ann snorted.

There was a knock on your door. “And who said I was single?” Your feet made no sound as you quietly walked towards your door.

“You have a boyfriend!” She squealed, “tell me everything.”

You shook your head while pulling your door open, revealing Matt on the other side.

His tie was loose and crooked around his neck, his dark and soft locks, a mess on his head. A grin was plastered on his face, your lips tugging up at the corner, mirroring his.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he greeted you. You caught the smell of Josie’s stale beer in his breath as he leaned in to rest a soft kiss on your lips.

“Hey, Matty.”

“He calls you ‘sweetheart,’” your sister’s voice rose from your phone, reminding you that she was still on the line with you. “What’s his name?”

“Matt,” you answered quickly as Matt let himself into your apartment. “I’ll be right with you, okay?” He nodded with a smile, shedding his coat.

“So, that’s you meant by Netflix and chill, uh?” You sister teased,

“No, I genuinely meant Netflix and chill,” you hissed at her as you watched Matt sit down on your couch.

“No one means Netflix and chill when they say Netflix and chill,” Ann told you. “It’s what my husband and I get up to when baby’s with grandma.”

“Nope,” you shook your head. “I don’t need to hear about that. Absolutely not,”

“Alright, sorry,” she chuckled. “I’ll let you join your beau, but first tell me the basics. What’s his name? What does he do in life? And how hot is he? And most importantly, how long have you been dating?”

You looked up, your eyes landing on the back of Matt’s head. “Alright, basics,” you turned around and leaned against your counter. “His name is Matthew Murdock. He’s a lawyer and has his own firm. He is blind and very—very hot. And sweet as honey. And it’s been—almost four months.”

“Almost four months? And you kept it from me?”

“Says the girl who only told us she was pregnant at the six months mark?” You reminded her.

“It’s not my fault, the props I needed to make the big announcement took too long to be delivered.” She defended herself, “when do we get to meet him?” Ann questioned excitedly.

“Not yet, I don’t want you to scare him away.”

“We won’t, I promise,” your sister said, her voice going a little higher.

“We’ll see about that,” you snorted. “Look, I gotta go. My boyfriend’s over.”

“Okay,” she retorted. “Go Netflix and chill, ‘all night long,’” she sang the last part.

“Alright—bye bye.” You said before hanging up.

You put your phone on the counter, heaving out a deep breath. You had not lied to your sister, you didn’t feel like socializing with anyone that night, so, you opted out of your usual hangout at Josie’s. You walked up to the couch where Matt had settled in, waiting for you patiently. Leaning over the back of the couch, you put your arms around his shoulders and laid a kiss on his cheek. His hands came up, his fingers wrapping around your forearms.

“Not that I’m not glad to see you,” you started, “I’m very glad to see you but aren’t you supposed to be at Josie’s with the others?”

“I’ve been looking forward to spend some time with my girlfriend, and she doesn’t show up,” Matt said quietly.

“I did warn you,” you told him, one of your hands raking through his hair.

“I know,” he gave a pleased hum, “I thought I skipped on the hangout and come and find you here,” your lips tugged up at the corner. “I just missed you,” Matt admitted, pulling your arm away from around his shoulders, to rest a kiss on your wrist.

A soft smile made its way onto your face, “I missed you too.” His lips found yours, kissing yours in a weird angle over the back of the couch. You pulled away, “do you want some food? I cook a really mean stir-fry. Or so, I’ve been told.”

You later found yourself lying in bed, with Matt’s nose buried in your neck. His body was draped over yours, not crushing you under his weight. His weight on top of yours felt comforting, you loved feeling the way he was relaxing under your touch. You wanted to ravish him here and there, but you were enjoying this cuddle session too much to put a stop to it, in favor of mind-blowing sex. One of his hands found its way under your shirt,

“Long week?” He asked quietly.

“Yeah,” you replied in the same manner. “My workload has sort of doubled, I also had to go to meetings. Too many if you ask me,” you explained, your hand rubbing up and down his spine. “I just wanted to enjoy a night to myself, without having to socialize with anyone.”

Matt kissed your collarbone, “sorry, I’ve ruined that for you.”

“I’m not complaining,” you smiled softly. “And you haven’t ruined anything. I had a few hours to myself staring at a wall, which was truly relaxing,” your lips found his brows. “And you’re not anyone, you’re Matt. My ruggedly handsome boyfriend,” a small giggled escaped your lips.

He moved off of you slightly, and you whined at the move. He leaned on his elbow, facing you, his sightless eyes staring at your chin. “Stare at a wall?” His brows were scrunched up.

You giggled again, he smiled at the sound, “yeah, stare at a wall. Technically, not for hours and it wasn’t really a wall. But I do stare at nothing at times, and let my mind wander to the confines of the universe.” You finished with a solemn tone.  

“The confines of the universe, uh?” He laughed, “what does that entail exactly?”

“Well,” your hand ran up his arm, “it’s just another way to say daydreaming really.”

His hand slid higher under your shirt, “what were you daydreaming about?”

Your face flushed in embarrassment; the top of your ears heated up. You usually didn’t share the object of your daydreams. It was in your opinion too intimate for anyone to be let in, and also, you didn’t want them to judge you for it. You’d rather tell him something about a really embarrassing experience than to share what they were about.

You started toying with the short sleeve of his black shirt, “nothing really interesting. It’s just, you know—” you shrugged up one of your shoulders. “—stupid stuff, nothing too important,” you cupped his face, your thumb running across his cheek, rough under your fingers. “And that’s not the point.”

“What’s the point, then?”  Matt smiled at you.

“The point was that daydreaming is really relaxing and resting. It’s like my brain shut off, but not completely. My mind can just wander aimlessly and it’s beneficial—for the health.”

“Ah,” he nodded, “should I try it then?”

“You should,” you replied. “Studies showed that people who ‘practiced’ daydreaming have better control over their emotions, have more empathy and are naturally better problem solvers.”

“You read a study about daydreaming?” His eyebrows went up.

You barked out a laugh, “yeah, I looked it up.” You bit down on your bottom lip, “you think I’m weird, don’t you?”

“Sweetheart, I don’t think you are weird. I know you are,” you slapped his shoulder. Matt burst out a laugh. “It’s part of your charm.”

“Huh, uh,” you nodded.

“Truly, it is. Next to your voice,” he laid a kiss on your throat, “to your laugh,” another kiss on the corner of your lips. Your breath hitched in your throat. “Your weirdness is one my favorite thing,” his lips brushed against your temple. “It’s very entertaining.”

“It is, isn’t it?”

“Very much.”

He dove for your neck, and started peppering kisses, down your collarbone, up your neck, before attacking your face. The action sent you into a fit of giggles. Being spurt on by your laugh, Matt kept on doing it. Conversation about your daydreams, or your weirdness completely forgotten. Especially when the peppered kisses turned into something more passionate and heated.

You were nearing the four months mark in your relationship with Matt. You often wondered how you’d gotten so lucky with this man. Everything seemed so easy with him. You, who needed alone time to recharge your social battery, found that you didn’t really need one with him. It was the complete opposite, spending time with Matt, recharged your social battery even faster.

Spring was slowly fading away, making room for Summer. The rising heat in the streets of Hell’s Kitchen had a way to irritate people. Walking to work with Amelia, had given you a glimpse into how quick and prone were to anger. All because of the rise in temperature. You didn’t truly mind it, although, at night you did leave a fan on, and slowly wore less and less clothes to bed.

“There isn’t even a lick of wind,” you complained to Amelia. “We should have taken a cab.”

“To go to Josie’s? You’re out of your mind,” Amelia snorted. “Don’t be such a wuss, it’s not that bad yet.”

“What do you mean yet?”

“I mean it’s only the beginning, and it’s going to get worse.” Amelia patiently explained. “It’s not for the weak.”

“Thanks that’s really helpful,” you said as she pushed the door open. “The coldest beer you have, Josie, please.” You almost begged the woman, sitting down on the stool.

“You’re so dramatic,” Amelia huffed out a laugh. “So, weren’t you suppose to meet up with lover boy tonight?”

“He cancelled,” you nodded, turning your stool to face Amelia. “He’s still working on his big case. Needed to tie up some loose ends.”

“When’s the court date?” Amelia questioned; Josie pushed your beers towards you.

“Not for another month,” you retorted. “But you know court case takes a lot, and they need to make sure that they covered all their basis. So, they won’t have any surprises when it comes to trial.”

“You did a deep dive on this, didn’t you?” Amelia cocked up of her eyebrows.

“Not exactly deep dive, but I did look it up,” you gave her a sheepish smile. You took a sip of the cold beer, “That feels so good.”

“You are so not surviving the summer,” she joked.

“Oh, I will. Just to spite you, and Summer.”

Your window was cracked opened slightly, in hopes you would feel some breeze to alleviate the heat. You lied down on the cold floorboard, staring at the ceiling. He had cancelled again that night. His latest case was more complex than he had anticipated. It wasn’t that big of a deal, you understood. But adding to the cancellations, his absences on Fridays at Josie’s had also become more frequent. It wasn’t unusual. He had been unavailable on some Fridays, in the beginning of your relationship, working on opening statements. And you had often popped in to visit him, and fell asleep on his couch while he did so.

It wasn’t unusual.

And yet, you couldn’t help but feel that Matt was probably pulling away from you. Maybe that was the moment the other shoe would drop. Maybe you were right, everything with Matt was too good to be true.

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[tinygarbage]

Do I Wanna Know?

part one

pairing: simon “ghost” riley x f!reader (Cheese)

word count: 4.4k

summary: december is passing and you start to wonder what you mean to your lieutenant.

warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI, alcohol consumption (reader and ghost have 3 drinks), no use of y/n, reader is mentioned to have hair (no specific length), readers call name is “Cheese”, American reader, mutual pining, fluff, implication of severe anxiety, swearing, military inaccuracies, drunk soap and gaz, not really edited lol (let me know if i missed any)

au: this chapter is inspired by hozier’s cover of “do I wanna know” by the arctic monkeys 😚 i linked it in the title just in case y’all wanted to give it a listen! im thinking about one more part for this bad boy :)

༝̩̩̥͙ ༓༝̩̩̥͙ ⊹

    The pub is busy when you step in. Loud music and noisy chatter smacks you in the face as you shove your hands into your pockets. You feel your heart beating faster as your eyes search for the team's faces. The painfully familiar feeling of anxiety crawls through your brain as you walk through the crowded space. People are dressed in all sort of attire, a mix of casual and fancy outfits scatter across the dark pub. Party hats and sunglasses work of people heads. Cheap, plastic necklaces around peoples necks. They all chatter, drinks in their hands as they watch TV at the bar or cheer of the people on the karaoke machine. You recognize a Bon Jovi song being sung horribly by a middle aged woman. Her friends crowding the stage with their phones in hand, drunkenly recording her screeching performance.

    Your heart races and your breathing quickens as your eyes continue to dart between the overwhelming amount of people. You were already late. Dreading coming since Simon gave you the invitation during training one day. Quietly mumbling about how the guys were carrying their tradition of going to Price's favorite pub. Inviting you to come along. Which you immediately accepted. Not stopping to think about the fact that crowded pubs make your head spin and stomach flip like the worlds most dangerous amusement park.

     "Cheese!" You hear Soap's thick accent call out through the crowd. His voice immediately sending a soothing blanket over your jittery nerves.

      Your head snaps in the direction you heard it from to see your team grouped up together at a large booth in the corner. They all sit tight together. Gaz and Soap clearly having indulged in their alcohol quickly. Soap's cheeks are rosy and his faux-hawk is tossled slightly. He's wearing a dark grey hoodie with some band graphic fading on it. Next to him sits Gaz. Who's wearing his worn baseball cap backwards. A navy hoodie with a grey and blue flannel over it. His eyes droop as he seems to be searching for where soap spots you. Across from them sits Simon and Price. Price wearing his typical beanie and a flannel. He's in the process of taking off his brown leather jacket. Next to him is Simon. Wearing a black hoodie. You cant see anything but his broad frame and the hood pulled up. But you can guess he's wearing his "civilian" balaclava or a black surgical mask.

    As you approach, Soap is still waving his arm like a maniac and Simon slides out of the booth. Turning slowly to watch you approach. You don't even try to bite back a smile as you get closer. He's in his black surgical mask and a pair of dark denim. Thick leather boots on his feet. Jeans cuffed to reveal the lighter denim on the inside. Hiding the very top of his boot. His pale hand reveals itself, gesturing for you to slide into the booth. To sit right between him Price's broad frames.

     You slip right in. Sitting close to Price. Your cardigan brushes against his flannel and he looks down at you. Giving you a sweet, genuine tight-lipped smile. "Hey, Cheese." He rasps, nudging your shoulder lightly.

      You smile back in response. Glancing back over the busy pub as Simon squeezes in next to you. Both of your arms pressed against each other. "It's packed." You observe, adjusting between the two large men.

     "Well, you did show up at 22:00." Gaz chuckled.

      "How long have y'all been here?" You ask. Your American accent standing out in the pub full of Brits and Soap.

     "Y'all!" Soap repeats in a southern accent. Surprisingly nailing it despite the fact that he's completely tossed.

     The group ignores it, Gaz answers. "Soap and I got here around 19:00. Price and Ghost got here about an hour ago."

     Before you can respond to Gaz, Simon speaks up from beside you. His gaze darting from you to the glass of whiskey sitting on the table in front of him. Pale fingers fidgeting with the wrapper of a straw. The straw from Price's coke. "How come you came so late?" His voice is quiet. Only being heard by you and maybe Price.

    "Oh, I was calling my parents. And i got a little distracted."

    It wasn't a lie. Not entirely. Just withholding the full truth. Not wanting to explain the fact that you had been doing every single chore and calling every single family member instead of getting ready to meet them at the pub. So you just wear a baggy, knitted cardigan over a grey cami. The lavender color of your cardigan and it's marble white buttons standing out amongst the men you were with. Who were wearing rather dull colors. A pair of light wash jeans on your bottom half and your trusty converse. The pair you've had since senior year. The fraying canvas and scuffed soles giving them character. And a sense of nostalgia. A birthday gift from your older brother. Who saved up all of his tips that he got working as a barista while attending college.

You shift awkwardly under his intense stare, waiting for any sort of response from him. Nothing comes. Instead, Soap leans over the table and speaks loudly. His accent thicker with the more he drinks, "Gaz and I have bets going on some pool games, you want to join?"

"I'll pass, I'm not very good at pool." You chuckle, speaking up so they could hear you over the crowded bar.

"That's better for us, means you'll lose!" Gaz chimes in, leaning against Soap.

"Maybe next time. What are you getting anyways?"

"Loser sings karaoke. Winner chooses which song." Soap answers with a drunken giggle, Gaz joking in. You've never seen either of them this drunk before.

"You're going to force an entire bar full of people to listen to your awful singing?" You laugh, shaking your head in disbelief.

"Cant be as bad as the Cougar screaming on stage." Gaz nudges Soap as they laugh loudly. God, they were obliterated already.

Time passes and eventually Price has moved to the bar, leaving you and Simon to watch as Soap and Gaz play pool together. You cant tell who's winning, so Simon updates you with each play. You now had a vodka cranberry sitting in front of you. After Price begged you to let loose for once and stop being a "block of cheddar." Whatever that meant. But when he said it was on Shepherd, you couldn't refuse ordering a few drinks on the dreadful man's pocket. Price giving a big belly laugh as you make a remark about Shepherd's bald head.

With the drink and Simon's calming presence, you feel your anxiety starting to rinse away. A second drink comes and you and Simon are still pressed together despite having more room in the booth now that Price disappeared. The two of you watching Soap lose brutally in a game of pool. Most likely due to the fact that he can't even stand straight. You watch as him and Gaz stumble to the karaoke machine, which is vacant now that people are more focused on midnight approaching. Typing in the song Gaz had chosen as the pair giggle and try to read the screen. Their vision most likely blurred and spinning. The song starts playing once everything is set up, the microphone in Soap's hand as he leans on Gaz for support. Probably needing a glass of water more than a song. You cant help but giggle as Come on Eileen starts playing. Typical karaoke song.

You're still sat in the booth with Simon, watching as Soap curls his arm around Gaz. His singing getting louder and increasingly incoherent as he attempted to read the words on the screen. His accent thick with each word. You wish your hearing was non existent as you watch the shit show in front of you. Simon sitting silently at your side.

"We're going to have to roll that man out," You say with a grin. Soap's an idiot but he's the team's idiot.

"I say we leave him to Price." Ghost replies, glancing at you while you take a chug of your drink.

You glance over to Price, who has his arm loosely around a blonde. A charismatic smile as he leans against the bar, the pint of dark beer half empty and her flashy margarita with nothing but the salt around the rim and the flimsy umbrella laying. It's place as a decoration looking rather sad in the empty glass.

"It seems like Price is on his own mission," you say with a raised brow.

"At least the old man is getting out there," he grumbles. You watch subtly as he lifts his mask to finish off his whiskey. Catching a glimpse of a scar down his pink lips. The sight bringing a familiar pool of heat to your stomach. Your ribs squeezing from the desire building.

You swallow your alcohol infused thoughts, turning back to your drink when you notice his brown eyes shifting under your gaze. You weren't being nearly as subtle as you thought. He had felt the tension build between the two of you the moment your eyes landed on his lips. Clearing your throat you speak up, "Yeah, he's been getting irritable lately. Maybe some stress relief outta do him some good."

You hear a small huff of laughter next to you, watching as his shoulders shook slightly under his black hoodie. A small smile creeps on your lips. Not able to hide the giddiness you feel every time you manage to break his shell. Even if it was something as subtle as a huff of laughter or a sheepish expression.

"Can't remember the last time I've seen the poor bastard do anything for himself." He responds, a hint of a smile in his voice. It was light, airy. But it was everything to you. A moment worth a mental picture in your brain.

"Good for him," you conclude with a proud nod. Watching as the blonde places a hand on Price's bicep. Which looked like it was screaming to be let out of the flannel he wore.

Your eyes flick back to Simon, admiring the curve of his nose. The very top of it peaking out from the surgical mask. The mere sight of him drowns out Soap's awful singing. Drawing you in and letting your mind wander to all the places you wanted the talk, blonde man to take you. You couldn't help but imagine how his nose would feel against your skin. His breath fanning on the open landscape as his lips trace every inch of you. Breathing you in with each peck. You imagine how it's feel as he leaves a trail of kisses down your stomach. Or pressed against your sensitive bud as he buries his face in your dripping cunt. Jesus, Cheese. Slow down.

With that last thought in mind, you stare down at your drink. It's your third. And probably your last. Given the fact that midnight was approaching minute by minute and you needed to be sober to try and get Gaz and Soap out. Simon was on his fourth and final glass as well. Announcing he was cutting himself off before he would have to endure a nasty hangover the next morning. Soap was finished singing, gesturing to you and Simon that they were going for one more round. A round that would probably tie them over to midnight.

And it did. Leaving you and Simon to drag him and Gaz out of the bar and to the Uber you had ordered. Price having left swiftly after midnight with the blonde he was chatting up. Her dragging him out as they laughed like a couple of teenagers. Price giving you and Simon a smug smile and a wink as he passed. You waving goodbye and Simon glaring at him. Pissed at the fact you two were left to taking care of the drunken babies screaming in the karaoke machine. Especially when Soap turned into a runner after 3 pints.

You and Simon wrangle the drunken toddlers into the Escalade. Gaz sobering up quick once you had buckled him in and gave him a bottle of water that the bartenders were handing out. On the other hand, Soap was being a straight menace. Making Simon's life ten times more difficult than it needed to be. Acting like a toddler in the middle of a bloody, screaming tantrum. Trying to slip out if Simon's tight grasp to take off through the streets. You and Simon having to resort to scaring him into sitting still in the Uber. Leaving you in the middle of him and Gaz, holding onto Soap's hand as he babbles. His thick, slurring accent completely impossible to understand. He even asks you a question. One that Ghost has to translate for you.

     "Why do they call ye Cheese?" He slurs, head turning to look at you.

      "Grew up on a dairy farm in Wisconsin." You explain with a shrug. You had gotten used to people asking by now. But internally you were certain you had told him already.

       "Oh," he pauses, his lips pressed into a small pout as he thought more about it. "Well, that's silly."

       "Your name is Soap. What if I think that's stupid?" You say flatly, watching his pout grow.

Eventually, you're back to base. Gaz walking up on his own, but you stay next to him. Ready to catch him if he takes the wrong step or needs to puke. Simon practically carrying Soap behind him. Who's now singing old Scottish folk songs while Simon grumbles profanities. Your favorite being a threat to make him sleep in the bushes. Which causes infectious laughter from the Scot. Which you are quick to quiet as there's other people on base.

Once you're in the confines of your groups own little sector. You and Simon get Gaz into the respective rooms. Propping them on their sides in case there were any accidents. Leaving a water bottle and a couple tablets of Advil for their heads in the morning. Simon was partial to dumping them and heading to bed. But you made sure they were out of their jackets, in their beds, converse with blankets, and had water for the morning.

Soon, you find yourself in Simon’s room. Listening to him grumble endlessly about the behavior from the other three men you live with. You watch in the corner as he lazily unties his leather boots. Body hunched over completely as he sits at the edge of the bed. Kicking them off with a bit of a tipsy struggle. Letting them plop at the end of his bed with a large thunk!

Awkwardly, you shift in your place by the door. He had invited you to come in. But this side of him was so foreign to you that it still felt wrong. Like you were in forbidden territory. But you bury the anxiety. Reminding yourself that the flipping of your stomach could be blamed on the three mixed drinks you had indulged in.

He’s sat up now, stretching his back. A loud crack sounding through the room as his spine arches like a cat. You watch as his hand reaches for his surgical mask. You don’t think twice of the motion. You’re occupied with a fuzzy brain. Crossing the room with a shy stride, blinking a few times as your vision adjust to the dim lighting in his dorm. Your eyes flicking back up to catch his movements. And it isn’t until the mask is pulled completely off that you realize what is happening.

“Simon?” You ask quickly.

His eyes snap to you, head turning towards you ever so slightly. Revealing the rest of his face to you. And god, he’s fucking gorgeous. The curved bridge of his nose that you always noticed is paired with a straight, and narrow length. Slightly tipped downwards. The pale scar you noticed earlier seeming to glow in the dim lighting. Crossing through his pale pink lips. His jawline strong and the shape of his face a little longer than you’d ever noticed when he was wearing the mask.

“You take that thing off?” You ask without thinking. Voice laced in disbelief and shock.

He lets out a huff of laughter. A small, boyish grin tugging at his lip. “Of course I do.”

You stare at him for a moment longer, taking in his strong, prominent features. Trying to drink in every centimeter to engrave in the back of your brain. “Why are you taking it off now? I thought you were hell bent on hiding your face.” You question, frowning slightly.

“You’re the only one who hasn’t seen my face.” He says bluntly.

“What? That’s no fair!”

“Perfectly fair.” He responds. You find yourself speechless. Now you got to put a face to the snappy, dry comments he had an endless supply of. Seeing the full expression of his face when he’s giving an unimpressed stare. You adore it.

“Why haven’t I seen it?” You ask, faking offense with a dramatic gasp.

“Because you’re insufferable.” He answers dryly. But the crooked smile on his lips give his intentions away. You grin, moving your body from its place on the edge of the bed with him. Leaving over to snatch the balaclava that rests on the nightstand where he had tossed the surgical mask. His “civilian” balaclava. The one with the skull print. “What are you doing?”

“Trying it on.” You giggle.

“Don’t touch it.” He says sharply, moving to reach for it.

Your reflexes are heightened. Holding his mask out to the side with a giggle, trying to push his massive body back. But he's too big and overpowering. Not to mention the three drinks you had were still buzzing through your system. He grabs your hand on his chest, pulling you into him as the other arm snatches the skull mask. He tosses it to his nightstand before using both hands to pick you up from the edge and throw you down gently on the middle of  his bed. The wooden bed frame creaking with age. "You're a brat," he says in deep voice. His dark, playful glare making your heart spike as you're pressed against the mattress.

      "Am not!" You argue, laughing as you realize he's about to tickle you. Picking up the lower half of your body as he inserts his larger frame between your denim covered legs. You wonder if it's third grade again as his hands move from holding you down to your sides.

    He then laughs and tickles your ribs, causing you to gasp out into a fit of giggles. Your hands shooting up to his wrists to stop him as you try and speak through the laughter erupting from your chest. He laughs mischievously. His hand moving down to your stomach and up your sides again. The action making you laugh even harder while begging him to stop. Words broken and squealed as you giggle. He finally stops the tickling but he keeps his hands on your sides, looking at you with a crooked grin on his face.

    You try not to dwell on the fact that you've never seen him smile before. And have never ever imagined it would look this good. Or boyish. This felt completely out of character. And it was. All you could think to do was blame it on the glasses of whiskey he had downed just before midnight. But that wouldn't stop you from memorizing each inch of his face without the mask on. Taking in the sight of his blonde lashes that are just a little bit lighter than his thick eyebrows. Or the scar running down his cheek to his jaw. The line dark and uneven, a contrast to his pale skin.  The other scar just below his nose and through the pale pink lips that spread thin with his smile. He was everything.

    The veins in his pale hand popping against your hips as he keeps your ass in place on this thick thighs. "You are and you know it." He finally says, a bit breathless from laughing at you.

    "You're so mean." You say breathlessly, giving him a playful pout.

    "I know, that's why you love me...right?" He asks you, with that charming smile and a smug voice to match. His hands on your sides, leaning down towards your face.

    You just giggle again, nodding slightly as you admire how he looks above you. Your breathing starts to calm as you two sit in the warming silence between each other. Your back is against his sheets, hair spread on his pillow. He's sitting between your legs. Your thighs pressed over his hips as his large body leans over you. As your giggling ceases, you notice him getting closer and closer. Your heart beats faster as his face leans a couple inches forward. Stopping for a second to look over your features. His breath was warm. The scent of a heavy mint mixed with a bit of whiskey. The slow exhales fanning your jaw slightly as his eyes flicker to your lips. His hands on your sides started to get lower the closer he got. Thumbs digging into your hips lightly. Like he was trying to imagine how your flesh would feel gripped beneath his bony fingers.

     Suddenly, you realize what's happening. It hits you like a train coming full speed ahead. You feel your heart lurch as a fire erupts through your hips. His thumbs brush over the skin that is exposed. The cardigan you're wearing rides up to reveal more of your skin peeking between its hem and your jeans. Wires in your brain start to connect when you realize the severity of your situation and your rising feelings. This was Ghost. Simon fucking Riley. These thoughts weren't allowed. These feelings are forbidden. This isn't real. This isn't him.

    You sit up, scooting back as you come to your senses."I...I should probably get back to my room." You clear your throat. Trying to even your breathing.

    He moves back, sitting up completely as your close proximity starts to sink in to his senses. You hear him swallow slightly, shifting back more to allow you to move. Sitting up, you shift towards the edge of the bed. Your feet dangle as you try and calm down the screaming arousal pumping through your veins. As you sit there, you wonder what thoughts run through his brain. Was this all good fun? Was this something he wanted or thought about? Were you something he thought about?

    "Right," his voice deepens and his dark eyes run cold, "you should probably go."

Fuckin' hell. The tension in the room grows thick. It's painfully obvious the affects of the alcohol have taken over their senses. Creating a false perception of each other in a close proximity. You internally calm yourself. Reminding yourself that you're human and a very large, brutally attractive man was hovering over you just second ago. Of course you'd be turned on. But he's your lieutenant. The second in command. The man who'd take over if Price left or retired. Your superior.

"Right." You repeat. Your voice just above a whisper.

    Another consequence of drinking rears it's ugly head when you feel tears start to burn at the corners of your eyes. Why were you so upset? You scold yourself, repeating the fact that you were the one to stop things from progressing. And he's your superior. Not like it should happen anyways.

    But your scolding only goes so far. Instead, a dark shadow of guilt and shame starts to crawl over your skin. You pull your cardigan tighter against yourself as you stand up from his bunk. Your converse tapping on the floor as you start to step away. Glancing at the way her shifts to sit on the bed. Long, large legs planted on the floor. His pale, striking face observing you.

    This type of look wasn't different from the look he always gave you. But this time, you could see his entire face. You can see his thick brow knitting together as his dark eyes scan over you. His eyes stained with dark circles. You could see all of the flaws he so desperately wanted to hide from everyone. But you. The face he allowed you to see. The one with a crooked smile. The sheepish smile that he'd try to bite back. Or the way his nose was a little crooked at the end. And it scrunched up when he lets out a boisterous laugh.

    But all you see is the dark wall that began to rebuild itself. The glaring eyes and the shadow from his thick brow. The rest of his face void of expression as the hand on his leg squeezes his thumb a few times. A nervous tic you had noticed. Something he does when he has so much more to say. When he has an overwhelming amount of feelings bubbling up in his throat. Threatening to spill out like when a toddler spills their milk. Accidental. Inevitable. 

    Slowly, you make your move. Spinning around and walking towards the door with your arms wrapped around your torso. Feeling the overwhelming urge to crawl into yourself like a little shell. Hiding from the reality of you being completely enamored by him. Hiding from all of the pining you shamelessly embraced. Shielding yourself from the fact that you want him to pull you back into his bed. Knowing that if he did, it would ruin this. All of the effort you made to get this close to him knocked over like Jenga blocks. Leaving him to be nothing but a stranger. This is for the better. You know it's for the better.

    A choked breath stops you in your tracks. Your footsteps halt and you turn your head over you shoulder. His large frame still sat on the bed with hunched shoulders. His voice monotonous, speaking out your name into the dimmed room. "Happy New Year."

    Your words come out fragile, on the verge of tears. "Happy New Year, Simon."

༝̩̩̥͙ ༓༝̩̩̥͙ ⊹

moot tags: @annasinterests @pertinentpostmortem

[thelampisaflashlight]

The Feel of Coldness Only Water Brings

[I wrote more RainDrop. They're fishing. Only fishing. Song title from To Someone From a Warm Climate by Hozier.] Let's go.

He's watching Rain, the way he uses his teeth to tie knots in the line.

Something about the awkward tug, the quirk of his lips trying not to wrap 'round the flavorless nylon, it gives him pause.

It's such a quick thing, but Dew plays it over and over again in his mind.

He remembers, back when the grass was tall and sweet, how Rain would practice those same knots, plucking stalks from the ground and tonguing the green, nibbling on it when they failed to hold the tight bind he sought.

Rain's teeth aren't quite pearly white, they aren't all even or celebrity pretty, but the bite of them on the fishing line makes Dew wonder what they'd look like gnawing at something with more give to it.

His imagination runs wild, and for a moment he forgets where he is, until Rain presses the rod into his hand and moves behind him to guide his arms into place.

He presses closer than Dew thinks is necessary, his chest flush to his back.

But Dew can't seem to bring himself to mind.

A steady stream of breath sweeps across the crown of his head, displacing a few flyaway hairs.

And though they stay like this for just a second.

To Dew, it is a lifetime.

It is a lifetime.

[nerdieforpedro]

Weekend Update 05/19/2024

Three weeks in a row. I should play the lottery, I might hit for some big money!

Nerdie, please. We think it’s fine that you play the lottery, but have you done much this week?

I will have you know, that I worked three 12 hour shifts in a row, one of which I was the charge nurse. Something I’ve never done before and only had a 4 hour class once. The person that was supposed to be training me was not there so I just did trial by fire. I also worked this weekend. 

Though the highlight of the week was Friday night!

What? You had a hot date? Good for you!

Huh? This is Nerdie you’re talking about, no. Not at all what happened. I got to see Hozier live in a concert! It was wonderful! I might still be singing all the songs, have played them for my coworkers and that one guy whose room I was in for 30 minutes getting him cleaned up and bed changed should know a fair bit of “Almost (Sweet Music)” and “Something New.” I think I also had a brunch with my family this week somewhere in there.

We have so many questions…did that man even know what you were singing? Is he now a fan? How was brunch? How did you even find out about the concert? Why wasn’t that the first thing you said?

Sometimes you gotta bury the lead. Brunch was with mama Nerdie and two of Nerdie’s brothers. I have three total. I’m the only girl. The concert was magical, I’m trying to figure out something for September but it’s likely sold out. I think I really lucked out last Friday. 

Nerdie, do you have anything fanfic related? We’re happy to know you’re doing well. We wonder sometimes, but you know, this is Tumblr.

This week will be a bit different. I did a lot of reading last week but this week, I didn’t read much of anything except beta reading for a couple people. So Nerdie will highlight some series she thinks you should peek at:

Symphony by @maggiemayhemnj (A wonderful series featuring Joel - who is having a moment with his new hair by the way. I did notice, how could one not? Has Joel and a female OFC in post outbreak Jackson.) Fun fact - one of my patients called me symphony so it’s going to be one of my many aliases now.

If Wishes Came True by @schnarfer (A Dieter Bravo trilogy. Our beloved trash panda is many things and has many expressions, some not so great. Can it turn into something worthwhile?)

Headshots by @secretelephanttattoo (Marcus Pike - being the sweet man that he is. The OFC is a photographer. Love blooms. It will give you warm fuzzies and you’ll sniffle. It’s totally fine to do so.)

Bloody Kisses by @perotovar (Shane Morrissey and Tim rockford are the combo I was not aware I needed and now I think about them. The longing, the realization, the understanding, the build up, and the growing pains. Just read it and you’ll get it.)

IRL by @grogusmum (A sweet Javi G fic. You and Javi have been chatting about your shared interest in movies and sparks fly. So much so that you fly to see him in person. How does that go? Read and find out.)

These are five series I’ve read, loved and will read again because I enjoy them. I hope you all do too. 

I believe I did post a Dieter one shot for the Dieter Bravo Brain Rot May challenge about aliens. 

Also @fhatbhabiee back! 💖💖

I was tagged by people for WIP Wednesday through Saturday so I’ll do something from my not titled Pero x Dragon fic (look - it was a thought I had and it morphed into this but it’s dialogue):

Darkness is beginning to take him as is the cold. Pero cannot feel his limbs nor tell if he’s moving them. “Hmmpf, you care nothing of your life? Just to let it slip away like this. You appeared to be a warrior of some sort. Do all human warriors lay on their belly and wait for their final breath? Such a pity.” This voice, such torture before death to be mocked like this, couldn’t he have died in battle?  “I’m already in hell only hearing this voice before I die. Goddammit.” The mercenary laments.  “Are all humans fools like this? Why will you not heed my words? I am not trying to reach you for simple vexation.” “Stop with your flowery words then. Say what you actually need. I’m not going to listen to you the entire time before I leave this earth.”

Pero is the type to curse and argue with demons, angels, monsters and Gods if it means he has the last word. I stand by this. Contrary to what this conversation reads like, Pero does not die. His fate could be worse than death, we’ll have to see. 👀

The Peeps who maybe tagged me? @tinytinymenace @connectioneverywhere @magpiepills @604to647 @djarinmuse

@megamindsecretlair and @for-a-longlongtime There are either people I missed or people who didn't tag me. My bad either way. 🤣

I’ve also been toying with which series between my Marcus therapy series and my sweet Javi P series to start posting on Tumblr. I’m not sure which one. Everyone one’s welcome to ask me questions about any of these WIPs, just know I may not stop talking about them like most fic writers. 

I think I do dialogue well in my fics, and wacky ideas, but I could use work on world building, smut, descriptions and other things. I think. Who knows, I'm just going to keep wiring and we'll see what happens.

Stay safe and hydrated everyone!

Love Nerdie!

[lady-bluebird-luv]

I realized I totally forgot to post about this, BUT I wrote a smutty Feysand oneshot :)))

Rhys kissed a spot behind my ear that made me melt. "I'm wondering whether you want to learn how two daemati make love."

"Oh," I managed. He slid down my body and pressed his lips against my navel with a quiet groan. "Isn't that what we're doing?" I asked.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 4,714

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Feyre Archeron/Rhysand

Additional Tags: Book 2: A Court of Mist and Fury, Canon Compliant, Mating Bond, Shameless Smut, Daemati (A Court of Thorns and Roses), using daemati powers for freaky sex stuff, Fluff and Smut, Dom/sub Undertones, Title from a Hozier Song, of course, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Mind Sex, Mentor/Protégé, Porn with Feelings, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rhysand is So Whipped (A Court of Thorns and Roses), Feyre is feral, Rhys loves it, Feyre Archeron/Rhysand Fluff, Emotional Infidelity, Sex Magic, Vaginal Sex

[bi-bard]

As It Is Songs That Would Describe a Relationship with Kaz Brekker - Kaz Brekker Imagine [Shadow & Bone]

Title: As It Is Songs That Would Describe a Relationship with Kaz Brekker

Pairing: Kaz Brekker X Reader

Word Count: 2,608 words

Warning(s): touch aversion, mentions of nightmares/past trauma

Author's Note: Here's a cute little fact: I write for a lot of Taylor Swift and Hozier and dodie and stuff, but As It Is is my favorite band of all time. I hold their music very close to my heart. I could spend hours talking about how much I love their music.

**Not intentionally written in chronological order**

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

The Handwritten Letter

I need you when I'm bruised and broken It's all that keeps me here and hoping I'm tangled in your mind unwoven I need you when I'm bruised I need you when I'm broken

Ka would never accept that someone helped him for the sake of helping him. In his eyes, everyone had another agenda of some kind. Money, power, take your pick. That belief always made him cold and distant. I had long accepted that he would never admit to having someone around merely for the sake of having them around.

That would be a liability. He would never risk giving his enemies such an easy way to have power over him.

Maybe "never" was a strong word.

I was sitting at my small, listening to the sound of pencil scratching paper, only interrupted by pauses to either pull thoughts in order, make corrections, or flip to the next page. I would never thank Jesper enough for getting me a small leather-bound journal. He introduced me to the beautiful world of writing that I had never known before.

I must've been too focused on my scribbling to notice the world around me.

Kaz had to clear his throat for me to know that he had gotten into my apartment. I turned around in my seat so I could look at him.

"Hey," I said. I would have been worried about him getting in, but I was the one who gave him a key. "Sorry, I was writing. Didn't hear you come in."

"You should be resting." he didn't acknowledge my statement. "You hit your head. You need to be in bed."

He said it like a boss instructing an employee, but we both knew that there was more to it than that. Well, I liked to believe that.

"I'm fine," I insisted.

"You were unconscious," he argued.

"And now, I'm not-"

"Jesper had to carry you here!" he cut me off. "You could have easily died! I- We almost lost you. Now, get back into bed."

"Alright, alright," I mumbled. "Never knew that you cared so much."

He didn't respond to that. He merely watched as I climbed under my covers.

"I get it, you need to make sure that all of your tools are in working condition," I added, curling into my pillow.

There was this long pause.

Neither one of us moved. I was curled under my thin covers. He stood in the middle of my room. I couldn't see him. I wondered what his eyes were focused on. Was it just me or was it the mess around my home? Could he picture me living in my space or was my existence as much of an enigma to him as his was to me?

"I lied to you."

The quiet confession made me slowly push myself up. I held myself up on my hands, allowing my blanket to fall onto my lap. He was looking away from me. His eyes were fixed to my journal, staring at the words that I had scrawled into the paper before his visit.

"What do you mean," I asked.

The page sitting open was one that I should have been embarrassed by. Lines constructed to reflect a longing that I had only known with Kaz. Poetry about suffocating, yearning, burning, and begging. All of it boiled down to one thing: I needed Kaz as much as I needed air or water or food.

I should've been humiliated. But I wasn't. Because I knew that he had to be aware of my feelings. How could he not be when it so clearly filled my eyes when I looked at him?

"Kaz-"

"You were never merely a tool," he said, looking at me.

"Then what am I?" I muttered. "To you?"

He took a deep breath. When his eyes turned away from me again, it felt like my heart jumped into my throat. I just needed him to say something. Say what I had been desperate to hear for as long as I had known him.

"Kaz, please," I pulled myself over to the end of the bed, sitting on my knees. "Tell me."

"I care for you," he said. "More than I should. More than I want to."

He walked over, stopping right in front of me.

"I need to know that you're okay," he continued. "Always. I feel a need to be around you and protect you. You make me feel a safety that I haven't felt in years. If you were gone, I don't know what I would do. You... You are..."

He trailed off, looking as if the words were truly getting stuck in his throat. As if forcing out another word would bring him pain. I didn't want to be the source of that. He had already said so much more than I had ever wished for.

He looked down. I did the same. His hand was resting on my bedframe, just next to mine. I grinned and looked back at him.

"I... I'm not good at things like this," he mumbled.

"It's okay," I promised. "I'm patient."

He looked back at me. A grin started forming on his lips.

I felt safe calling it a good start.

Winter's Weather

Please see in me what I can’t see, I’m begging Please won’t you be the light I need so desperately

Physical affection was not something Kaz was used to.

He had made that abundantly clear to me.

I never pushed him. Or I never tried to. I let him take the lead most days, and if I ever did take the lead, then I would have no complaints if he pulled away. It was all meant to be understanding. Kindness.

It worked well for us. Even without any kind of touching, Kaz made it clear to me that I was not the same as everyone else. I caught his smiles. He would walk closer to me. I had free access to his office. He would mumble things to me that the others weren't meant to hear.

He had quiet ways of showing me that I meant so much to him.

I thought we were happy that way. For the time being, at least.

And then, Kaz showed me that maybe that wasn't the case.

He was standing by his mirror, tending to something. I was sitting on the chair opposite his desk, scanning my eyes over the pages of a book.

It took me a few moments to realize that he had moved to stand in the archway and watch me quietly. I grinned at him.

"You're staring, Brekker," I teased.

There was something both flattering and nerve-wracking about being the center of Kaz's attention. I had never been looked at with as much intensity as he looked at me. It felt as if he could stare into my soul as easily as he breathed. As if he knew every secret that I could ever think of keeping from him. It made my heart speed up and my face turn warm.

"Something's on your mind," I said, placing the book on his desk. "I can see it."

His eyes seemed to scan me for a moment longer before he spoke, "Am I wasting your time?"

"Never," I replied instantly. It was true. I wouldn't take back a moment that I spent with him. Ever. "Why are you asking?"

"Just something that I saw today," he tried to wave off the entire interaction.

I stood from my seat. I walked over to the archway, standing next to him in the entrance. "What is it, Kaz?"

"Have I ever once shown you that I care for you," he asked. "Ever?"

"Yes," I nodded.

"When?"

"Every day," I explained. "When you try to keep me safe or tell me that Inej brought me a new book or murmur something in my ear. You show me, Kaz. In your own special way. Please believe me when I say that I know it."

"You deserve more than this," he muttered. "You deserve a man who can touch you. A man that doesn't let his weakness stop him from being yours-"

"Stop it, Kaz," I cut him off. "I don't need more than what I have. I will decide what I deserve. It took me ages to convince myself that I deserved you. There isn't something better than you. Not for me. You are everything. The center of my world; the sky, the ground, and everything in between. I don't need to touch you or have you touch me to convince me."

He didn't respond.

Instead, he looked down for a moment. I took a deep breath, assuming that this was a losing fight. I was ready to let it go for the night, but Kaz stopped me before I could.

"I want you to touch me."

It was like the room filled with smoke. Tension so thick that I could hardly breathe. My mind couldn't process the sentence for a moment, and once it did, it didn't stop playing it over and over and over.

"Are you sure," I asked.

"Yes," he replied.

"You don't have to-"

"I want you to," he stopped me.

"Okay," I nodded. "Anything in particular."

He took a deep breath. "No."

I took a moment to study his face. "I... I'm going to just reach up and touch your face-"

"I'm not a scared dog."

"Sorry," I mumbled.

I slowly lifted my hand up and went to cup his cheek.

I saw him tense as soon as my hand touched his face. His breathing picked up and his eyes closed. I had never craved to be able to read someone's mind quite like I did then. Maybe then, I could offer him some peace through it.

I felt guilt sitting in my stomach. I felt like I was bringing him pain. As if my hand had been covered in small blades, each cutting into his skin one by one.

The guilt only grew as I recognized the warmth in my heart. I loved Kaz. I never doubted that. Being able to touch him, to show just one ounce of the love I held was a blessing. But I was feeling this love while he was in pain. I couldn't inflict that on him.

I went to move my hand away, unable to handle seeing him like this. "Kaz-"

"Don't," he instructed, opening his eyes to look at me. "Please."

It felt like he was seeing me. Not some ghost from a nightmare that he wouldn't explain to me. Some remnant of a life he wanted to bury so desperately that I had seen haunt him far too often.

I barely noticed that Kaz matched his breathing with mine.

Maybe he didn't mean to. Maybe he was just trying to calm himself down and it was the best choice he had.

"Will you kiss me," he asked quietly.

I paused for a moment. "Are you... Are you sure?"

"Yes."

I stepped forward and grinned at him nervously.

I leaned in and pressed my lips to his.

It was only for a few seconds. A few seconds of my lips barely touching his. I wanted to be gentle and careful, but I had this pull in my chest to just show him how much I adored him. But regardless of what I wanted, I leaned back, pulling my hand back with it.

We both stood there for a few moments before I finally spoke up, "Are you alright?"

Kaz let out a heavy breath before looking at me again. "Yes. I'm alright."

I felt a smile stretch across my face.

It was a perfect enough moment for me.

The Truth I'll Never Tell

And I could tell you how I've really been But would you even want to know

I had somewhat expected Kaz to pull away after his final fight with Pekka Rollins.

It was a taxing venture. Physically, mentally, and emotionally. I could see it. On his face, in his shoulder, in the way he spoke. I just wanted to be there for him, but I felt the same exhaustion that he did.

I understood his desire to be alone after it had all gone down.

However, there's a distinct difference between needing time alone to regroup after an intense experience and unhealthy isolation.

Maybe my urge to show up at his office that night were selfish than I would admit to. Maybe it was more of an attempt to soothe myself than him. Even if he shoved me away, then I could say that I tried and live without the guilt of not reaching out to him when he may have needed me.

Regardless of whatever subconscious reason there may have been, I went to Kaz's office.

He was sitting at his desk, clearly lost in thought in some way.

I walked over to stand next to the desk, taking a moment to scan my eyes across the side of his face. His wounds from his last meeting with Pekka were healing quite nicely, but they were still noticeable. And they broke my heart.

"You're staring," He mumbled, looking over at me.

I blinked a few times. "Sorry. I wanted to check on you."

"Why?"

"Because you're my partner and I care for you," I explained. "You've been avoiding me, Kaz."

He pulled his eyes away from me, instead choosing to focus on something on his desk.

"I understand that a lot has happened," I continued. "And I have no interest in forcing you to say or do anything, but I need you to know that I want to listen. I want to know what's going on-"

"What difference would that make exactly," he asked, cutting me off.

"Because bottling up your emotions all the time isn't healthy," I shrugged. "You deserve to have someone to talk to, Kaz."

"You wouldn't understand."

"Then, explain it."

There was a long pause. Tense. I watched Kaz's jaw clench for a moment. I crossed my arms over my chest. I refused to leave him. Not like this.

"I thought that they'd stop," he muttered.

I furrowed my eyebrows.

"The nightmares. The flashbacks. I thought that getting rid of Pekka Rollins would get rid of them."

"And they didn't."

"No," he whispered.

"I... I'm sorry."

He closed his eyes. He looked embarrassed. He never liked pity. I should have shown that my attempts at empathy may look very similar in his eyes. And the worst part was that I didn't know how to prove him wrong.

"Kaz," I mumbled, going to take a knee in front of him so our eyes would be closer to level when he eventually turned to me. "I... I can't fix what's already happened. I can't. Believe me, there is nothing more I want than to be able to offer you some kind of clean slate. But I... I can support you. If you let me."

I heard a sigh escape him.

"You once told me that I gave you a sense of safety that you hadn't felt in a long time," I said. "Let me make good on that expectation."

He finally looked at me again, eyes scanning my face. I wonder what he was looking for. Ruminants of my injuries or simply some sign that I was lying to him.

"Okay," I asked.

He took a deep breath before nodding. "Okay."

I felt a smile stretch across my face.

In that moment I knew that I was never going to be as in love with someone as I was with Kaz.

And I was perfectly content with that.

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

Navigation Guide

What I Write For

Some Original Characters

[dancingonmoonbeams]

Hi! I was wondering what your favorite odesta fics are?

Hi!! This is such a hard question omg. I also wish I was better at bookmarking/saving fics, so there are probably some I loved and never saved and therefore lost. But from what I can remember:

Help My Lifeless Frame to Breathe by BeesKnees - I think this was one of the first Odesta fics I read when I came back to THG fandom and it still gets me every time. Finnick survives but as an Avox, and the way the author weaves his recovery and him and Annie coming back together is sooo beautiful and sweet. The second part is also really lovely.

victor victorious by winterbones - Mags hires Annie's mother to take care of Finnick's house after his victory, and young Annie tags along. I am a total sucker for a childhood friends/acquaintences to lovers story and this one is beautifully written with a lot of angst, which I love.

no grave can hold my body down by rosaeles (@rosaaeles) - First of all, the title is from Work Song by Hozier which is one of my top Odesta songs. Second, this one weaves memories and the present while Finnick fights the mutts and I loved how it all came together and showed how much Finnick and Annie relied on each other.

Better in the Morning by you! @the-sun-and-the-sea - I feel like you are the core of the Odesta fandom honestly, but if I had to single one out I really love this one. Seeing the root of Finnick deciding to join the rebellion and all his reasoning that led up to it is so nice, and the writing is beautifully bittersweet. The song the title is from has also become one of my favorite Finnick songs.

Thanks for asking!! I'm sure there are many more that I loved and never saved, but these ones all came to mind!

[themusicistrue]

Hozier’s music provides something most people can’t think to express by showing relationships as they truly are – healthy, flawed, hopeful, and fraught. He has an idyllic view of love expressed through symbolism, making you think and feel whether you know the context or not. Listening to Hozier’s lyrics is a deeply intimate experience, like looking through an old pane of glass. At times, a rediscovery of something once beautiful. And at others, a forgotten shard of love lost to time. Let’s examine love through those lyrics.

There’s not much of Hozier’s distinct lyrism in his self-titled first album (2014), but it has one of my favorite instances in the song “Jackie and Wilson.” The lyric “She blows out of nowhere, a roman candle of the wild,” as a girl we were taught to be quiet, and keep to ourselves, and not bother other people with our thoughts, or words. Hozier describes the woman he loves as a firework and he loves her all the more for it. He praises the parts that we have been taught to tamp down overtime.

Now moving on to his sophomore album “wasteland, baby!”(2018) has far more instances of him writing in this distinct style of him. The first track of him actively doing this style of song is in “Movement”. Hozier says the phrase “you are a call to motion”. He makes it all feel so full as if his Love is his world. He makes it seem as though just her moving, and doing something so normal like dancing can make him want to do better, and move with her. Later on in the song he says “Honey, you, you're Atlas in his sleepin'” in this he compares her to the titan atlas who is known for holding the weight of the world on his back. He makes her seem so effortless even holding up the world. He shows how she can move even under the weight of everything.

Now in the song “Would that I” touches more on the hard parts of love. He says “Though I've handled the wood, I still worship the flame”. In this the wood is a metaphor for trying to pick up yourself after leaving a relationship; while the flame is the relationship, something he knows might not end well but he still goes to it. He puts himself in the path of it and seeks it out actively. He also touches on this theme of wanting, and seeking out something that might be bad for you in “Wasteland, baby!” (the song that is) in the words “Like the holding of hands, like the breaking of glass”. He compares a small act of love to the end of the world as if they can somehow be connected. He brings out these small beautiful and yet heartbreaking parts of love so often.

Now in his most recent album “unreal unearth”(2023) he has completely perfected this type of song writing. Now in the song “First time” he gives the lyric “And the first time that you kissed me I drank dry the River Lethe”. This lyric is so special when you take a look at the moving parts of it. So the River Lethe in the under world made people forget when they drank from it. He compares kissing her to forgetting what makes his life tragic. All that pain willed away in one simple act of affection.

Yet another instance of him comparing the woman he loves to the world is in “I, Carrion (Icarian)” this whole song is a big metaphor of how these two people are so different. He is more flighty – able to leave and move around; where as she is anchored. In this way, he sees her in everything, everywhere. For example, in this lyric, he says, “Once I wondered what was holdin' up the ground. But I can see that all along, Love, it was you all the way down.” This lyric shows just how much he relies on her love. It is his foundation.

The most gut wrenching song he has ever made is “Franchesca”. It fully embraces the pain that love can bring you. It has the theme that when you do finally get to be together it doesn't always work perfectly or well. The most painful part of it is he says that through all the pain he’d continue it all he wants to still be together. In the lyric “I would still be surprised I could find you, darlin', in any life If I could hold you for a minute”. this song all has the pain that is so natural and true. It gives the full feeling of just how insane it is that you are able to find someone you click with.

Hozier sees the world the way it is, and yet makes it so beautiful. His world is hard, and harsh yet it still has an air of romanticism to it all. He uses metaphor to brake the walls simple words are confined to. He gives a warmth and normality to love often not voiced in words.

[library-seraph]

Griddlehark Playlist

What the title says, primarily about their relationship although there are a few individualized songs

(very heavily Harrow the ninth biased, which is the most romantic book despite or because of one member of the couple not being to able to remember the other)

Liner notes below cut, also, this is a perpetual WIP like all my playlists

Lioness- The World Is a Beautiful Place and I am Not Afraid to Die

When I was with you we were an estuary I don’t know if I come from the river or the sea All I know is you are both my opposite and my reflection

We were two bodies Running out of room in this world We carved space in ourselves for the other to borrow, for the other to burrow I wake up sometimes with ghost traces of your lips on my bones

Cosmia- Joanna Newsom (Joanna Newsom isn't on Spotify, track these down elsewhere)

Water were your limbs And the fire was your hair — And then the moonlight caught your eye And you rose through the air Well, if you've seen true light Then this is my prayer:

Will you call me, when you get there?

And I miss your precious heart;

NFWMB- Hozier

Give your heart and soul to charity 'Cause the rest of you The best of you Honey, belongs to me

If I was born as a blackthorn tree I'd wanna be felled by you Held by you Fuel the pyre of your enemies

Daughter of God- Phemiec

Doubt’s an elastic that snaps where you grasp it With idle hands clasped on your wrist just as sharp as A kiss on the scar where you carved out her name Or a line that is straight and confined to your fate You’re resigned to be damned by your hand in her hand She will hold you as soft as a feather on water You float on her fingers, she pulls you apart It’s not hard, it won't hurt, it’s not right for a daughter of god

There is a Light that Never Goes Out- Dum Dum Girls (cover)

And in the darkened underpass I thought oh, God, my chance has come at last But then a strange fear gripped me and I just couldn't ask

And if a double-decker bus Crashes into us To die by your side Is such a heavenly way to die

Take Me to Church- Hozier (I'm allowed two screamingly obvious songs)

We were born sick, you heard them say it My church offers no absolutes She tells me, "Worship in the bedroom" The only heaven I'll be sent to Is when I'm alone with you I was born sick, but I love it Command me to be well

Never Let Me Go- Florence+ the Machine (This is the other one)

And the arms of the ocean are carrying me And all this devotion was rushing out of me And the crashes are heaven for a sinner like me But the arms of the ocean delivered me

The Only Thing- Sufjan Stevens

Do I care if I survive this? Bury the dead where they’re found In a veil of great surprises, I wonder did you love me at all?

Should I tear my eyes out now? Everything I see returns to you, somehow Should I tear my heart out now? Everything I feel returns to you, somehow I want to save you from your sorrow

Los Ageless (Piano Version)- St. Vincent

How can anybody have you? How can anybody have you and lose you? How can anybody have you and lose you And not lose their mind too?

I guess that's just me, honey, I guess that's how I'm built I try to tell you I love you but it comes out all sick I guess that's just me, honey, I guess that's how I'm built I try to write you a love song but it comes out a lament

Running up that Hill- Kate Bush (Okay, three)

You don't wanna hurt me But see how deep the bullet lies Unaware, I'm tearin' you asunder Oh, there is thunder in our hearts Is there so much hate for the ones we love? Oh, tell me, we both matter, don't we?

New Ceremony- Dry the River

I waited by your bedside And couldn't close my eyes all night I named you like a prayer It's anybody's guess how The angel of doubt came down And crept into your bed But after we danced to the shipping forecast The words escaped your mouth: "I know it's gotta stop, love, but I don't know how."

Now the stairs forget your shoes And the gate don't creak for want of you But the jury's out on me We're wise beyond our years But we're good at bad ideas, my love Or so it seems to be

OH ANNA- The Microphones

Oh Anna, take me in with water arms surround me, blow your breezy charms around me Oh Anna, you're a house of many rooms and all the secrets deep entombed within you I know a few

Oh Anna, take me to your eerie heights above, paint white letters "I you love" Oh Anna, drop me off a cliff I fall

Weights and Measures- Dry the River

I was prepared to love you And never expect anything of you There's no patron saint of silent restraint Baby there ain't no sword in our lake Just a funeral wake

Just because we're beasts of blame by nature Doesn't mean that you should carry it again It's a question of needs and not rosary beads in the end

No Shade in the Shadow of the Cross- Sufjan Stevens

Drag me to hell in the valley of The Dalles Like my mother Give wings to a stone It’s only the shadow of a cross

I slept on my back in the shade of the meadowlark Like a champion Get drunk to get laid I take one more hit when you depart

The Bomb- Florence+ the Machine (This is "Kiriona Gaia has been abandoned by everybody except two of the worst people in canon and everything except being a warcrimes corpse puppet and she's TOTALLY FINE with that, honest")

But if I was free to love you You wouldn't want me, would you? Unavailability is the only thing that turns you on Come here, baby, tell me that I'm wrong

I've blown apart my life for you And bodies hit the floor for you And break me, shake me, devastate me Come here, baby, tell me that I'm wrong I don't love you, I just love the bomb (Oh, oh, oh) I let it burn, but it just had to be done (Oh, oh, oh) And I'm in ruins, but is it what I wanted all along? Sometimes, you get the girl, sometimes, you get the song

Francesca- Hozier

Do you think I'd give up? That this might've shook the love from me Or that I was on the brink? How could you think, darlin', I'd scare so easily? Now that it's done There's not one thing that I would change My life was a storm since I was born How could I fear any hurricane?

If someone asked me at the end I'd tell them, "Put me back in it" (Da-ah, darlin') I would do it again (Ah-ah, ah-ah) If I could hold you for a minute (Da-ah, darlin') I'd go through it again (Ah-ah, ah-ah)

In a Sweater Poorly Knit- mewithoutYou

You're a door-without-a-key, a field-without-a-fence You made a holy fool of me and I've thanked you ever since And if she comes circling back we'll end where we'd begun Like two pennies on the train track the train crushed into one But if I'm a crown without a king, if I'm a broken open seed If I come without a thing, then I come with all I need No boat out in the blue, no place to rest your head The trap I set for you seems to have caught my leg instead

Kept Woman- Fleet Foxes (Tbh this is probably the soundtrack to the ideal stigmata fisting/heart regrowing scene)

God above saw, ever in the mind Blue and white irises in a line Under your nameless shame I left you in frame, and you rose to be ossified As a Rose of the Oceanside

Can you be slow for a little while? Widow your soul for another mile? I'm just the same as when You saw me back then And we're bound to be reconciled We're bound to be reconciled

The Chain- Fleetwood Mac

And if you don't love me now You will never love me again I can still hear you sayin' You would never break the chain (Never break the chain) And if you don't love me now (You don't love me now) You will never love me again I can still hear you sayin' (Still hear you saying) You would never break the chain (Never break the chain)

Time as a Symptom- Joanna Newsom

So it would seem to be true: When cruel birth debases, we forget When cruel death debases We believe it erases all the rest That precedes

In the nullifying, defeating, negating, repeating Joy of life; The nullifying, defeating, negating, repeating Joy of life

[fiveredlights]

the oversharement of the author: a completely unnecessary post containing my multitude of thoughts on takes one to know one

everyone has been so kind and wonderful about TOTKO so here’s a very, very, very, long author’s note which is me just rambling about anything and everything as a thank you for all the love 🫶

background

for those aware of the fiveredlights lore you may remember in april i had to pause updates because of some weird arm/wrist pain... so that was carpal tunnel syndrome and idk what i did to invoke it this july/august but it came back with such a vengeance that i did not think i was physically gonna be able to write this. but maxiel would not shut up in my brain so i got my hot water bottles and got to work.

this whole idea began after i saw travis kelce go on stage on the eras tour and i went... max and daniel absolutely possess the right type of insane to do something like this.... you can see the original thought post here

the albums

i thought making the albums would take me like a day. literally right up until i hit publish i was still making changes to Sidelines, and i had convinced myself they were real tangible albums with the amount of times i hit albums instead of the playlist button on spotify.

Second Place

the easier album, finished this is a day. cut songs were killer by phoebe bridgers and loml by taylor swift. i was gonna do a whole thing where i was gonna be like “oh the relationship killed him so much he abandoned the guitar to sing a sad piano ballad” and then i realised moon song is rooted in piano. so uh that was cut.

there also was a whole thing where his ex was personified as fire — “can the killer in me tame the fire in you” (killer) with “our field of dreams engulfed in fire” (loml) parallel that i really enjoyed but unfortunately never made it in. also loml has a lyric “the coward claimed he was a lion” which is fun with max adopting the lion as his symbol….anyways

the titled second place comes from another SMAU i used to write for a different fandom (on twitter so it is long gone, rip), where ironically it was also a singer/famous au and i was clearing out my spotify playlists and found the fake album and was like huh. i like that name. luckily for me it worked for the album storyline as well so good times!

Sidelines

this album changed at least fifty times. for the first three weeks of me writing it was called 3 (THREE) because I’m annoying like that, but the more i looked at it i could not convince myself daniel would call it that. because yes, it is his max album but calling it thirty three is a tad too much (in my opinion anyway). sidelines was always on the album, but i was going through my tik tok maxiel folder and saw a daniel edit to sidelines and was like okay yeah that's a better name.

out of 11 songs, only 5 of the original tracklist made it in. cut songs included:

call your mom by noah kahan

apple pie by lizzy mcalpine

orange juice by alfie jukes & nell mescal

orange juice by noah kahan

ivy by taylor swift

science by niall horan

who we are by hozier

with ivy there’s a lyric “and i’ll drink my husband’s wine” which would’ve been the way max and daniel would’ve been like “we’re married lol” but it was cut because to ME ivy is about sapphics cheating on their husbands with each other and i just can’t rewrite ivy like that. here’s some deleted scenes on that:

jeanie 🤠 @/COTADANIEL · i’m sorry daniel WHO’S WINE ARE YOU DRINKING????? driccrodeos [Video: Daniel on stage singing the lyric, “And drink my husband’s wine,” looking offstage to Max, before turning back to the audience and smirking, continuing to sing.] category five event has hit the maxiel towers noah @/ricciardanielo · this album has actually killed me. like i’m not on this earth anymore. why? ivy: “And I’ll drink my husband’s wine.” peace: “Give you my wild, give you a child.” @ max and daniel do you have something you want to tell us or??? ric33stappen if you attend the next race with a ring on your finger and a baby in your arms i swear to god max and daniel i will fuck you up (politely) #like i respect their privacy or whatever but also what the fuck #you know what i mean like what the fuck

in sidelines almost every single song (except for you could start a cult) has a daniel3.jpg post pertaining to a lyric... i realise maybe i should've had someone in universe point it out because i now realise it's quite difficult to spot. whoops.

daniel’s sidelines: live from red rocks is inspired by phoebe bridgers punisher tour (she flicks through the pages of a storybook), taylor swift era’s tour (the lover house) and noah kahan (we’re all be here forever tour; watched live from fenway park specifically on how to write his concert). the whole concert idea was also written literally 5 hours before posting because i originally had a max and daniel article but i could not write it.

easter eggs

i feel incredibly pleased that so many of you picked up on the easter eggs like i get why taylor swift is so insane about hers because it's just so much fun! (spoilers for the rest of my fics...)

blue sweater (thank you to ataraxiaa on ao3 who commented because I didn't realise i had done it) -> glitter on the floor maxiel's communal blue sweater

matthew (rriicciiaarrddoo) & callan (callonmax33) daniel would make a great TP -> old habits die screaming

jake 3(3)81racers Can Max Verstappen fight? -> glitter the floor chapter 3 & 5 recurring plot line

daniel's july 2 2025 post (Photo 2: Max and Daniel sitting in front of a fireplace, the person taking the photo is behind them. Max has his arm around Daniel’s waist, whilst Daniel has his right arm giving the middle finger to the photographer and head turned to the left with an annoyed expression. Max has his head tucked into Daniel’s neck, laughing into his shoulder.) -> inspired by glitter on the floor's 2024/6/7 monaco dark laneway posts

rriicciiaarrddoo "are george and alex married" -> a future easter egg for the glitter on the floor galex sequel

daniel's august 10 2025 post:

 A vase filled with tulips on a table with a white table cloth. -> glitter on the floor, last daniel3.jpg on 2023 has a vase full of flowers, was meant to signify that they got married

Two kookaburra garden statues, next to a rocking chair on a balcony. -> gary and steve from glitter on the floor

daniel's caption: The rumours are true, I am now in possession of half of Max’s WDC and they will be going on auction next week. -> fool me once

things five forgot to include because i have horrible memory but they canonically happened (this will absolutely be updated when i remember new things)

daniel ricciardo broke his hand whilst karting when younger which is why he gave up racing-> lyric in forever "broke a bone that never healed in my hand"

he gets into singing because grace and joe ricciardo put him in choir as a way for him to get out all his yapping and talking at least once a week so they can get a little peace (but it doesn't work because now he sings around the house)

real life references

sometimes i like to use a little reality so that the universe doesn't feel too far away and here's all the real life things i pulled from:

hair tuck max in f1tv japan interview: 2023 honda thanks day

daniel looking like darth vader in austin rain: 2023 monaco boat race

daniel wearing max's hat: 2017 baku podium

checo fought his way to finish p9: probably any race from the latter first half of the 2024 season

daniel ricciardo international relations expert: 2024 post belgium gp

twitter realises daniel ricciardo is hot actually: 2022 abu dhabi gp (the outfit)

daniel playing max's GP in his concert -> i saw adele pause her concert for the olympics womens 100m final so that's how that got in (also i did so much time zone math in order to make sure it was actually the right timing)

max and daniel escaping in a helicopter -> post 2024 belgium gp

[roguegrove]

halstarion wip

okay so i have been writing this for a little while, my first ever actual fanfic. annnnnd i have the beginning "done" and i was wondering if y'all would be so kind as to give it a little read and feedback, let me know if i am heading anywhere interesting?

ETA: i left half the fic out for like three minutes lololol sorry

astarion/halsin, pg at this juncture, definitely won't be at one point. very first draft, inspired by hozier's "first time"

summary: Canon-led look at a relationship between Astarion and Halsin, exploring further, following the arcs in the Hozier song, “First Time.”

Astarion learns about life, death, love, and freedom in his relationship with Halsin.

“Little star,” slipped from scarred lips that first time, sounding easy as a summer’s breeze. 

The words instead dunked Astarion into a frigid river, startling awake parts of him long since laid to rest. Terrifying, encompassing, heart stopping. It settled into a little shiver and something else. Oddly…refreshing? It made his skin feel like it fit funnily, worming its way underneath every dead layer and making a home within him, not unlike the tadpole, changing him irrevocably.

He, of course, was aware of the different possible meanings of his name. An old mark once waxed poetic about it to him, assuming the vampire had chosen it himself as most elves his age did. Being as it was one of the few remnants from his past, Astarion was a bit protective of his name. It was one of the only vulnerable spots he knew himself to still have. Someone, somewhere gave him that name. Someone looked at the baby he once was and deemed him sweet enough for his name and its meaning. 

Maybe at one point he was someone’s little star, something bright and twinkling in the darkness. He was out of the habit of imagining who gave him the title, though this wasn’t an unexplored dream. There was a time when he imagined the soft arms, soft eyes, soft words of his nomenclator whispering to him in a language he barely remembered, cradling him in the darkest depths of Cazador’s cruelty. He was once held with the kind of reverence reserved for a long hoped-for child, and that thought had sustained him for nearly half a century at one point, pulling his mind from the experience of his body and taking him into that parental embrace. 

Spoken so boldly, so nonchalantly in the open air of the camp left him emotionally naked where he stood. Astarion imagined the last time he heard it might’ve also been the last time he stood in the sun as he did now. Fitting, he supposed, as his current life experience felt as foreign and unreal as the memories he made up in his dissociations. It didn’t escape him that the gentle way the druid Halsin spoke his name was as close to the way it was always supposed to sound as anything he could imagine. 

Halsin’s voice sounded like the smell of campfire as it went out, like the ground shaking from thunder far away, like the way rough bark feels on a smooth palm. Practically everything he said sounded beautiful, and Astarion’s name was no different. Halsin’s lips didn’t just form the words, but cradled them, placing them lovingly into the world as if they were worthy of care. 

The sound of his name had never sounded so sweet, not after centuries of morphing into a curse. More than spoken with care, his name was treated as a command, as a tug on a leash or a noose. Cazador’s voice poisoned Astarion’s name with his venom, whether delivered within a puncture or a masked sweetness. He began regarding it as a scourge, the sound of it acting as a warning for what awful things followed. A necessary distance from his name formed, leaving it behind with his suffering body most days. At camp, he tentatively allowed ‘Astarion’ to settle back into him as his companions spoke it without malice, without inflicting pain. It was with more indifference, informality than anything else, but maybe that was the casual way most people regarded their own name when they had anything else besides it. 

Halsin turned his curse of a name back into a prayer, but his kindness was such a practiced part of him that Astarion wondered if it was even intentional. Maybe it was a druid thing or just a Halsin thing, but the natural respect and care he gave to all living creatures was difficult for the younger elf to understand. He could understand if it was a rouse, hiding an ulterior motive, sure, but he wasn’t sure Halsin even had the capacity to lie let alone manipulate him. 

A hand reached for him as the words did, Halsin’s big paw tentative as it came toward Astarion like he was some injured small creature or something. It was clear that the older man was trying to find the best way to get him to feel comfortable, and the thought stirred something in his belly. Annoyance, trepidation, butterflies? The hand came with a request, not just to offer Astarion the sweet version of his name.

"Little star,” he’d called, as if his request was simple, as if it didn’t shake Astarion to his core.

  Blinking himself out of the momentary reverie, Astarion turned on his heel to take in the scene. Halsin was seated at one corner of his little camp, on the bare ground, large legs folded beneath him. It was only then that Astarion noticed the curls of wood scattered around him, the knife in his hand, the mangled bit of twig resting on his thigh. Was he whittling? How...quaint. Feigning casual, Astarion cocked a hip and an eyebrow, drawling. 

“What was that, dear druid?” 

“I was wondering if you would do a lazy bear a favor and hand me that bit of basswood just out of reach,” Halsin answered, a chuckle below the surface of the sound. “If it’s not too much trouble, of course.”

There was a glint to his eye that made Astarion feel like he’d been caught doing something more nefarious than simply walking past. The request was innocent, if not a possible ploy to just get his attention, and yet the vampire felt like he must tread carefully. Those hazel eyes saw more than most, Astarion knew. Beyond the wizened age of the former First Druid, Halsin had the unique ability to see what many others overlooked, and Astarion’s carefully crafted masks did nothing to deter him. He often wondered if in that sweet nature hid a schemer who kept tabs as weapons; after all, that would be what he’d do, what he did do. 

With careful, graceful movements that did little to hide the truth of the disarmament he just experienced, Astarion plucked the wood from the ground and offered it to Halsin with a flick of his wrist. 

“Is this what you’re after?” 

“Ah, yes,” Halsin beamed when he got the frightened animal to eat from his palm. “Many thanks, my friend.” 

Friend? Astarion barely grasped the concept let alone considered this lumbering teddybear of a man one of his. He could scarcely bring himself to trust Halsin, so warm affection was definitely not on the table yet. 

Still, being in Halsin’s good graces could be nothing more than an asset. 

On went the charm, an enticing smile tugging at Astarion’s lips as he peered down his nose curiously at the older man’s project. 

“And what, pray tell, are you doing? Not carving stakes, I hope?” 

At that, the laugh that burst from Halsin both startled Astarion and warmed something in his bones, his smile slipping into something less practiced without his knowledge or permission.

“Gods, no,” the bear replied, holding up the wood to show how easily it would fit in his palm. “Not unless we’re going to chase down your kin in bat form.” It was Astarion’s turn to laugh, the image of the large Halsin chasing after his master as a tiny vampire bat with his hand-carved toothpick delighting him. Gesturing to the space beside him with his carving knife, Halsin invited, “come, join me if you are not busy. I’d be happy to keep your company a while longer.” 

Astarion couldn’t say why he sat down beside him, or even what they wound up talking about until Halsin left to join the rest of the omnivores in camp for supper. The sun had shifted across the sky without his noticing for the first time since he’d been able to see it again, the passage of time seeming to rush by. This, too, was a new experience. For nearly two centuries, Astarion had felt time trickle past him like molasses. His existence was pain, isolation, and forced servitude, and anything beyond that had been a rouse. Time passing quickly would have been a blessing any moment of his life except for today. Today, when he allowed himself for a moment to believe in the sweetness of another, the world moved faster around him than it ever had before. Typical.