#unbearably sad. dejected

[secretmellowart]

M. Leblanc and daisy chains

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

Astarion & Scratch: Compromising for Tav Affection

This idea is entirely from @nairil-daeris and it's so cute!

~

Despite what some may have believed, Astarion wasn't that against associating with animals. He was actually a fan of a few of them, cats mainly considering their penance for cleanliness and independence. Not to mention they were admittedly adorable. And stood as the one type of beast that Astarion never feasted upon.

So no, he didn't hate animals in principle. He only hated a select few, with reason. Like the type that could rip him apart with their claws and fangs. Or the ones that thought that rolling around in their own filth was a worthwhile pastime. All and all, creatures that Astarion didn't have to deal with on the regular. Or at least not until now.

But here he was, stuck in the middle of fucking nowhere, with his ragtag group of merry weirdos. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate his own acceptance into your little group. He did, immensely. By the look of things out here in this hellscape, he probably would have been murdered ten times over if he had remained alone. Or gods forbid, become a goblin's chew toy.

So while he had no intentions of leaving, he was still frustrated. Especially with the pretty little druid that quickly became their de facto leader. Astarion had been vaguely aware that druids had an intense love for nature and all of its creatures. But that hadn't prepared him for how unreasonable that love could be. It felt as though you would take literally every opportunity you had to speak to any lowly pest on the side of the road.

Not to mention your insistence on taking care of a damned owlbear cub, which was an objectively stupid thing to do. Something that he should have fought you on harder but... he wasn't made of stone. The thing was objectively adorable. Even if it was almost certainly destined to grow up and try to kill you all, Astarion kept his mouth mostly shut.

But then came the dog. That god-damned dog. How a singular mutt could make his life so damn difficult, Astarion wasn't sure. But he did know that he was trying to enact a well-thought out plan. Seduce you, foster a protective affection that was strong enough for you to always want him alive, perhaps use you to defeat Cazador if the parasites proved strong enough, and then effectively abandon you for a new life of freedom.

It was all very simple, and he had gotten a great head start. You had spent the last few weeks flirting with each other, always staying close. You gravitated towards each other, a fact that felt more natural than Astarion would have liked. But... he had found himself enjoying his time with you, genuinely. Not that it mattered, but it was definitely a plus for his plan. Being with you was far from unbearable. You were attractive, sweet, a little angel just begging to be corrupted. A job that Astarion was growing excited to start.

He had been so, so close to fully propositioning you, completely confident that you would agree. And then Scratch happened. He hadn't thought much of it when you came across the little mutt. Maybe it would stay with the corpse of its owner or it would be another hanger-on like the owl bear. He hadn't had a horse in the race either way.

But then he did show up to the camp, looking so sad and dejected that even Astarion couldn't be bothered that his arrival completely interrupted his first attempt at asking you to bed. He had watched you pet and whisper to him for the rest of the night, providing a comfort that only a druid could.

Which was fine. Or at least it had been for that one night. That one night that kept repeating. Because suddenly, that damned dog was everywhere. The quiet nights the two of you had together by the fire, talking about anything and everything with your thighs pressed together now included Scratch squeezing himself into the middle.

The orchestrated moves he would do to make you blush, like removing a non-existent speck from your cheek with his thumb or leaning in close to remove a leaf from your hair, were getting harder and harder to pull off. The damned mongrel was always there, and any attempts Astarion took to get close to you Scratch used as an invitation to jump all over him. If he had it to wash his face of dog slobber one more time from the crime of trying to hold your hand, he was going to go ballistic.

And there was zero reprieve. The thing went with you everywhere, even in the most perilous of situations. Worst of all, it actually proved to be useful. Astarion had no idea where the thing was trained, but it was incredibly smart. Smart enough to serve as a perfect distraction when needed, while being clever and fast enough to never get himself killed. He could even function as a spy, considering how you could make sense of all of his whining and barking. And worst of all, the little beast was amazing at thievery, with nothing more than his mouth. No one suspected the adorable dog to be the one stealing your coin purse right off of your belt. He was completely inconspicuous, perhaps even more so than Astarion. A fact that... was not sitting well.

How on earth was he being outclassed by a fucking dog? One that he had no valid arguments to leave behind at camp.

And to top it all off, you even slept with it. You slept with both animals, usually huddled up in a pile beneath the stars. How you managed to not stink of dog breath and owlbear saliva in the morning, Astarion would never know.

How was he supposed to make you fall for him like this? In the past two weeks since you'd attached yourself completely to the thing, doting on him constantly. He had only managed to sleep with you once. The night of the celebration over the goblin slaughter, and what a lovely night it had been. But that was only because Scratch and the cub had been sufficiently distracted by all of the enamored tiefling children. The next night it was back to the same.

And Astarion was not willing to let the night you had together go as a one night stand. Maybe it wasn't necessary. It had become clear that you cared for him, you cared for all of them. Enough to put yourself in danger for every party member's protection. A strong friendship would probably do him just as good as a romance. But... that didn't feel like enough. He didn't want it to be enough. For reasons that he was not going to start examining now.

No, for now he was just focused on getting past your slobbery bodyguard. But he knew better than to bring it up to you directly. You were far too infatuated with the pup to see his side of things.

Gale had made a singular comment on a slight frustration over having to wait around for Scratch to sniff nearly everything he came into contact with, and that had ended in you giving him a half-hour lecture on the importance of understanding one's surroundings. Shadowheart had mentioned, once, just once, that perhaps it was time to start looking for a more appropriate family for the dog, and that had led to you giving her the cold shoulder for days.

No, if he was going to get more time alone with you Astarion would have to try other means. Which had led him here, swinging back a Potion of Animal Speaking with a grimace. It tasted oddly grassy, like he had just swallowed blended up lawn shavings. But he didn't have time to grouse over the taste, not when you were thoroughly distracted with talking about druid mythology with Halsin, Scratch left conveniently alone to dig holes in the back of camp.

And that was where Astarion was going. Because if he couldn't reason with you, perhaps he could reason with the mutt itself.

Part of him could not quite believe that he had to resort to speaking with a dog to further this relationship, but here he was.

Astarion stopped in front of him, swallowing back a grimace at how the thing was digging dirt directly on his shoes. Instead, he smiled down at it, his voice only slightly strained when he asked, "Can you understand me?"

Scratch stopped his digging, opting to sit and stare up at him, an oddly humanoid voice answering, "Yes."

Huh, so that's how this spell worked. It was a little disconcerting to hear a human voice from a dog's mouth, but he would make do. Astarion cautiously sat next to him, perching on a nearby log as he tried to keep a pleasant smile on his face, "Good. How are you?"

Scratch stared at him, his head cocked, "The dirt tastes good here. I like that."

That was... Astarion didn't know. It was his own fault for trying to make small talk with an animal. He cut straight to the point, "That's great to hear. Now, would you mind doing me a favor tonight?"

Astarion had never had a dog narrow its eyes at him before, but that's exactly what Scratch did, "What is it?"

"Nothing serious," Astarion tried to reassure, "I was just hoping that perhaps you and the cub could sneak off for a night so Tav and I could spend some time together-"

"No," Scratch interrupted circling the ground three times before laying down, his eyes still on Astarion.

"Excuse me?" Astarion shot back, his true annoyance shining straight through his voice, "It's not exactly much to ask for! It's one night-"

"I don't trust you around them," The dog said simply, "I think you're going to hurt them."

Well that was just offensive. Ever since this little brat's arrival Astarion had barely had a chance to drink from you. And the times he did he was perfectly in control. Not including the first time of course.

"I'll have you know that not every vampire is some hellish demon with no self-control," Astarion bit out, only the slightest bit amused at himself for being reduced to defending his own disgusting kind, "And why pray tell, would I hurt one of the only reasons I'm still alive."

Scratch shook his head, one eye closed like this conversation was boring him, "Not that kind of hurt. The inside kind, that makes people cry. I don't want them to cry."

That was-Astarion didn't-how in the hells could a dog see through him that easily?

"I have no intention of hurting them," Astarion lied. Or at least he thought it was a lie. It felt... uncomfortably true when spoken allowed, "I just want to have a little fun, that's all. Don't you think they've earned that?"

"Not with you. You don't like them enough," Scratch sighed, "I like Gale more. Or Wyll. Karlach too. They can have fun with them instead."

That was it. Astarion was going to wring this little shit's neck. But before he could give into his more violent impulses, he could hear your voice, calling out to the current root of all of his problems.

Scratch bounded up, his tail already wagging as he started to trot over. But before he fully did he turned around, giving Astarion a once over, "If you can prove you like them, then I'll consider it."

And just like that he was off, running to your side while leaving a stunned Astarion in his wake. Did... did he just get verbally annihilated by a damn dog? How was he supposed to go on after this? Not to mention he was actually thinking about what the creature said. It sounded like a challenge, one that Astarion was suddenly pissed enough to take up.

If the little shithead wanted sincerity, then he would get it. And that's how Astarion found himself willingly opening up more. Even if it had to be in front of the damn dog. He told you more about Cazador, the horrors and tribulations he had endured through centuries. He told you of his regrets, the things he missed the most about being a mortal. He even told you the truth about that first night that you let him drink from your neck. That... that you were the first. How good it had felt to have what he had been denied for so long. And he was rewarded with his honesty. He got to learn more and more about you in turn. Your family, your home, where you incessant love for nature derived from. He was starting to slowly become a Tav-expert, suddenly hungry for every bit of information that he could procure.

They were long conversations, long enough to last well into the night. And for Astarion to be exhausted enough to just... fall asleep in the first available location. Which just so happened to always be in the pile of creatures you liked to sleep with. Though, Astarion had to admit after experiencing it himself, it was oddly pleasant to be surrounded by the warm, furry little headaches.

As for the two of you, things were slowly progressing in regards to his plan. A plan that he continually kept conveniently forgetting about. You were together now at the least, even if Scratch hardly ever let you have a night alone. But you cuddled and kissed, called each other pet names and the like. And... it was nice. Perhaps even too nice. Because Astarion was starting to... feel things that he'd prefer to not.

He was getting too attached, too close. The idea of sex didn't even seem to matter anymore, let alone the idiocy of trying to convince a dog to help him in that department. He was knowing too much of you, and the fact that he seemed to adore everything he saw only made it worse. And then the two of you managed to kill that demon, getting more and more information about Cazador. You risked so much for him, and were willing to risk so much more. He couldn't take it anymore.

He had told you the next night, everything. His plan, his past, how easy it was to revert back into new tricks. But he didn't want that with you. Maybe he never did. He wanted something real, and by the gods above you wanted the same thing. He had half expected you to dump him completely after that little speech. But... you didn't. Instead you hugged him, comforted him for trying and failing to betray your trust. It was a kindness he didn't deserve, but one that he would gladly accept.

Everything felt easier after that. Yes there were still countless horrors hanging over your heads but... he had you. And with you he was starting to think he could get through anything.

Even Halsin's insistent flirting. He was watching you both now as you helped him nurse a dying sapling to health, his eyes tracking Halsin's every move as he pretended to read. While he trusted you more than anything, fully aware that you would never stray, it didn't stop the paranoia. Just one other aspect of being in a real relationship that he hadn't seen coming. Turns out, it involved being terrified of losing it all. Especially to handsome, bulky elf druids.

But before he could fret over it any longer, he felt a tugging on his pant leg. He glanced down, his brow furrowing when he saw Scratch there, his tail wagging and his tongue lolling out.

"What the hell do you want?" Astarion asked, his words completely unmatching his actions as he scratched him behind the ears. Don't get him wrong, he still at least semi-loathed the creature but... he's also not quite sure he would have gotten to this point without his intervention. So a reluctant appreciation for his existence it was.

Scratch continued to paw at his leg, a low whine in his throat as he cocked his head to the right. Astarion followed the motion, only getting more confused when he realized he was trying to point to another potion.

Astarion sighed as he picked it up, “What? You want me to understand a new dressing down speech?”

Scratch continued to wag his tail, letting out a happy bark as a confirmation. As much as Astarion would prefer to not spend an evening getting lectured by a dog, he was more than a little curious to see what he had to say. 

He swallowed it down, grimacing at the taste as he wiped his mouth, “Okay, out with it. What do you want?”

"I like you now," Scratch said excitedly, prancing back and forth in front of him, "And they like you too. Do you like them?"

In moments like this, Astarion really did wish he had the heart of stone that he pretended to carry. Because the unexpected approval from a random pup was suddenly making him feel almost teary eyed. Or it was the bitter taste of the potion, but either way the innocent words were making his heart ache pleasantly. 

Astarion swallowed, smiling down at him, “I like them very much. More than anyone before. And I’m starting to think you might not be so bad either.”

Scratch sat in front of him, resting his head in his lap as his tail wagged, a goofy smile on his adorable face, “It’s because I’m a good boy. They tell me so all the time. Are we friends now? We are right?”

“Yeah,” Astarion smiled as he ran a hand through his white coat, his eyes drifting over to you. You were watching them, grinning ear to ear with a hand over your heart, nearly moments away from swooning. He looked back down at the dog, his smile only widening, “We’re going to be great friends.”

[flowercrowngods]

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 (these make one big story, you won't understand this part without the others)

day 06: true & misunderstandings

Eddie doesn’t say anything for a while, filling their bubble with a silence so long that Steve’s entire being re-centres itself around Eddie’s hand in his, focusing on the warmth, on each minute twitch, and on the way his thumb aches to move and stroke the back of Eddie’s hand. 

A silence that is disrupted in the gentlest of ways when Eddie, trembling just as much as Steve, says, “I love you.” 

Steve blinks, not entirely sure for a second or two if he heard that right, or if that was just another thought his own, pressing and urgent and so, so real. 

“I’m in love with you,” Eddie says again, and Steve is sure that he didn’t imagine it this time — but that doesn’t make it make sense. It doesn’t feel real. Eddie sounds so sad about it, too, like he is confessing to Steve a crime that has been weighing him down forever, something that he can’t be redeemed from. 

It makes the dam break, the image of loving him as an irredeemable act, an unforgivable crime, a sin irremissible. Years and years of learning how to be in love with Eddie and not being too much, learning not let that consume him — years and years of trying and failing — all come crashing now as he hears that sad little voice. 

Steve as the one who’s in the way of Eddie having a good life, a great life, a happy little bubble for himself in a world that used to be so cruel to him. Steve as the one who makes Eddie so incredibly, unbearably dejected. 

It eats away at him, tears away at his soul so much that he barely even registers the words that belong to the sad, sad voice. 

I’m sorry, he wants to say, but the words get stuck in his throat; and Eddie asked him to listen. 

“It’s always been you, Steve. To me, it’s… You’re it. Always have been. But I had to move on, you know? After years, I just… God.” 

Eddie’s collecting himself, gathering his thoughts, trying to find the right words that are slowly trickling through the fog in Steve’s mind and settle just behind his stinging eyes. 

“Remember when I told you I used to have a crush on you? Years ago. And how that was all in the past, and that I had moved on? Well,” he huffs, nerves wracking through him as he squeezes Steve’s hand repeatedly. “Turns out, not so much. Don’t think it ever will be. But I thought, you know, I thought I was past the stage where it consumed me. Because you were still in my life, still right there, still happy, happier than I think I could make you, and… You were there. Still. After all those years, you were the one thing I hadn’t ruined. and I couldn’t tell you. I had Chrissy, I was— I was getting over you. I could breathe again, I could love again. But not… Not with everything I have, because that’s still with you. Only with you.” 

Eddie lets out a shaky breath, his hand shaking now, and Steve wants to let go, wants to turn around and wrap himself around Eddie, hold him, his face pressed to the back of Eddie’s neck as he listens, feeling those vibrations in his cheeks as he talks. 

He doesn’t. He stays right where he is, but the urge is becoming stronger and stronger. 

Eddie loves him. And he sounds like he is about to cry because of it. Steve still wants to apologise.

A sniffle. “Chrissy knows. She said she’s the same, that she has a person like that, too. I never expected to love her as much as I do, but it’s a… It’s a different kind of love. And if I got to spend the rest of my days with her, life would be good, you know? Like you said about Robin. She said the same, said we’re doing the right thing. But—” 

Eddie stops here, his voice growing hoarse and his breath hitching a little as if he’s holding back tears. Steve wipes away his own. 

“But I don’t want a world where losing you is the right thing, Stevie.” 

They both let out a sob at that, the weight of Eddie’s words settling inside Steve as he becomes aware of what Eddie is saying. Of what he is doing. 

What are you doing? 

Changing the world. 

“I’ve done everything,” Eddie continues, purely and utterly heartbroken. “Everything, to get over you. And it seems that I did it so well, because now I’m losing you. And it seems like I got it all wrong, too, because— Because I don’t wanna lose you. I don’t ever wanna lose you. But you have to know. I need you to know that I’m so in love with you I can barely even breathe. Or, or think. When you’re there, but especially when you’re gone. Loving you is part of who I am. It’s like, it’s like a rule in the universe, you know. A law of nature. Simple biology, like you’re the sunshine and I’m a measly dandelion, and there’s so much more of me because of you. And when you’re gone, then so am I.”

Eddie’s crying now, and Steve pulls his knees to his chest, burying his face in them to hide he way he’s falling apart. Because this is not happening. 

“And if you wanna leave, if I’ve done something you can’t live with, that’s— I won’t stop you. But please, I would just… I’d like to understand, Stevie. Because I love you. So much and for so long that I know I will never stop. It's just what I do in this life. And if I’m gonna have to stop, I need to know why.” A beat. “Please?” 

There are no words coursing through Steve’s head as he tries and tries and tries to say something, anything. There is no, I love you. There is no, Because I can’t bear the thought of watching you live a life with someone else when all I ever do is imagine my life with you. 

There is no, Tell me why you love me. No, Tell me you love me. Say it again. 

All there is, all that comes out, is, “I’m sorry.” 

And behind him, Eddie’s shoulders fall. He slumps, just a little, but Steve can feel it in his tension-riddled body. 

Steve wants to scream. Wants to be brave like Eddie and bear his heart, because he loves him too! He loves him and maybe they can get it right, maybe their loves can match, maybe they can fix this. 

But all the words get stuck in his throat, because they have seven years of practice. 

“You don’t get to do this,” Eddie says quietly, just barely louder than a whisper, and Steve tears at himself from the inside out. “You don’t get to just… Say that. I’m sorry. Leaving me like that, after all of this. After everything? You’re sorry? No, fuck you, Stevie.” 

Eddie’s hand is still in his, his hold unwavering, as if he’s holding Steve in place. And he is. Eddie is an anchor, he’s the north star, he’s— fuck! 

“You’re everything,” Steve rasps after all, the dams broken and breaking, seven and more years of keeping the words to himself come flooding now. 

He turns around this time, freeing his hand from Eddie’s, who tries to hold him tighter for one second, two, three, before Steve’s head lands between his shoulder-blades and he finally allows Steve’s arms to come up around him. 

“You’re everything, Eddie, and when you told me you used to have a crush on me, I wanted to tell you that I’m right there with you. I wanted to tell you that, finally, finally I was right there with you.”

He says the words into the space between his heart and Eddie’s, feeling tremors underneath his hands. Breath is scarce as the air in his lungs is filled with Eddie once more, that familiar scent of him, everything about him; everything. 

“But then you weren’t there anymore, said it was all in the past, and I had missed my chance. But I didn’t care. Because, Eddie Munson, you’re impossible to un-love. It never stopped. Never, never stopped. And it was fine, it was fine. But then you got engaged. And I can’t watch you anymore, Ed. I can’t watch you be the happiest you’ve ever been and have it not be my fault. I can’t watch you live that life you’ve always hated, the life that I always imagined having with you. The life I thought you’d grow to love because of me. I love you, Eddie. But I can’t do this. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

Underneath him, Eddie is still as Steve silently cries into the back of his t-shirt, clinging to him now, holding him. For one last time, maybe. 

Silence falls as they both just breathe air that’s filled with confessions and apologies. 

And then, eventually, after an eternity or two, Eddie says, “I’m not marrying Chrissy.” 

Steve’s heart stops, just for one second. He blinks. Swallows. Doesn’t dare to hope. “You’re not?” 

Eddie shakes his head, reaching for one of Steve’s hand where it’s splayed across his middle. “No. She, uhm. She said we shouldn’t. Said I should get my boy instead.”

“Wh— Why?” 

“Stevie,” Eddie breathes. “Because it’s you. And I… Tell me I’m not late again. Tell me I didn’t fuck it up again, tell me there’s a chance.” 

What are you doing? 

Changing the world. 

Steve lets out a breath, breathing out Eddie, unreasonably scared that if he lets go of the air in his lungs, Eddie will disappear again. Leave again. Get over him again, for real this time. 

“Is it true?” he asks instead of answering. 

“Is what true?” 

“What you said. That you love me. And that Chrissy knows. And that it’s fine. That it can be okay. That it… That we… I’m scared, Eddie.” 

“What are you scared of, Stevie?” A whisper, a question so gentle that Steve lets out a pathetic whimper as he tries not to cry again. 

“Me,” he says. “Fucking it up. Not making you happy. Not getting it right. Freezing like I always do, because it’s muscle memory. I’m— I don’t wanna make you sad, Eddie.” And you sound so sad. You already do. 

Eddie breathes deeply and moves his hand, lacing his fingers with Steve’s as he leans back slightly, further into Steve’s embrace. 

“It’s true,” he whispers. “All of that and more. And I’m scared, too. Because that’s not how I planned it, you know? Three in the morning with more tears than anything else, sounding and feeling like the world’s gonna end. You deserve a better love than that, Stevie, but… It’s sorta all I have, you know? If you’ll let me. If you want to. We can be scared together and figure out how to not be that anymore.” Eddie lifts their linked hands to his lips and brushes a kiss over Steve’s knuckles. “It’s all true.” 

Steve lets out the breath he was holding, sinking further into Eddie, holding him tighter. Daring to brush a kiss to the back of his neck — a featherlight one that is barely more than a touch of lips to overheated skin. It makes Eddie’s breath hitch, so he does it again.  

“Can you stay?” 

“Hm?”

“The night. Here, I mean. Can you stay here tonight? I wanna… Just wanna hold you for a bit. Is that okay?” 

“Yeah, Stevie. That’s okay. Do you wanna go to bed?” 

He nods, still tightening his arms around Eddie, scared that he’ll leave. Scared to wake up if he moves. Scared to— Just scared. 

“Hey, I’ve got you, c’m’ere” Eddie whispers, somehow winding himself out of Steve’s hold and pulling him up to stand. 

And there, standing face to face with Eddie, everything is slowly starting to become real. The confessions. The broken dams, years and years of pent up tension, of hidden emotion and a yearning so deep it’s left scars, little ridges in his rib cage from where his heart has broken and healed and soared and burned and fluttered over and over and over again.

It has all come to this. Here. Eddie’s hands in his, his thumb stroking gentle patterns on Steve’s skin.

“I’ve got you,” Eddie whispers again, not moving. Only winding his arms around Steve’s shoulders when he leans in, tucking his head under Eddie’s chin, holding him tightly.

“I love you.”

Eddie smiles against the crown of his head, Steve can feel it with everything he is. “Yeah?”

He nods, mirroring the smile he cannot see. “Yeah.”

“Then let’s get you to bed, yeah? We can talk more in the morning?”

It’s a question that makes Eddie sound so small, so insecure — like he half expects Steve to take it back, to run away again and leave him. It breaks his heart, what he put Eddie through. What he put himself through. What they have put themselves and each other through, inevitable as it was.

“Yeah,” he promises, taking Eddie’s hand again and leading him to the bedroom, blanket thrown over his shoulder. “We’ll talk more tomorrow. I think you’ll have to explain again.”

“I will. As often as you need.”

I know, Steve thinks. I know you will. I love you.

It still feels like a dream, falling asleep with Eddie in his arms. It still feels like it will burst the moment he makes a wrong move, the second he blinks too hard or breathes too long.

He’s still trembling a little, still reeling, still confused and tentative in his hope. But at least this time Eddie is with him, stroking his cheek like he, too, can’t believe that this is all real. Like he, too, is scared.

But maybe they can be scared together. Maybe they can make it work. Maybe their love can match.

For the first time in weeks, months, years, or even forever, Steve falls asleep with a smile on his face, his forehead pressed to Eddie’s.

tagging: @sexymothmanincarnate @mcneen @livsters @eddiemunchondeeznuts @abstractnaturaldisaster @steddie-as-they-go @hyperfixationgoddess @goodolefashionedloverboi @stxrcrossed186 @eddiemunsonswife @bidisastersworld @ghost-ly-s @romanticdestruction @walkingaftermidnight07 @anaibis @rainydays35 @mightbeasleep @sunfloweringstories @korixae @tuesdaycats @totoroinatardis @ilovebookshowboutyou @musical-theatre-gay @theluckyalien @copingmechanizm @srra @changelingbaby @sassygoop @obsessivelyme @r0binscript @hardboiledleggs @estrellami-1 @bisexualdisastersworld @space-invading-pigeon @swimmingbirdrunningrock @y0urnewstepp4r3nt @oxidantdreamboat @spilled-jar @phirex22 @littlemsterious @captaingigglyguinea @animecookie95 @sharingisntkaren @haluton @littlemsterious @animecookie95 @suddenlyinlove @bisexual-bilingual-biped @jinx-nanami @makewavesandwar

come back tomorrow for a happy ending | read part 7 here

[wizzdot]

The Patron Saint of One Way Trips

Ch7

Description: PROGRESS IS MADE!!! Whoop!!! Anyway, Gaz and Soap are briefly sad, little bit more Cap in this one - he is starting to warm up and,as the pack alpha, this is important!! Laika is still very hard on herself, but I think Laswell gives her some words of wisdom. And guess who the pilot is that John stands and chats to the entire heli ride. No other than big Nikolai 🫶🏼 he will feature properly soon but enjoy his little peep into the story in this chapter.

*Laika's POV*

We load up into the jeep. I am quick to claim the same spot that I sat in for the ride here, keen not to have much interaction with the 141 pack. They hadn't really said much since I went and opened my stupid mouth. I feel Gaz shuffle into the seat next to me, too busy distracting myself by looking out of the window. There looks to be nothing for miles. Just trees and snow. You'd die out there in the wilderness my brain laughs. Not that I was thinking of running... I start to wonder where exactly it is we are. I don't even know the location of my cell.. just that we are in Russia. It's cold. I try not to take comfort from Gaz's hoodie. But I'll appreciate it while I still have it.

The jeep lurches forward. I glance up and see that Ghost is at the wheel this time. He bumps it off of the curb and accelerates onto the road, wheels spinning slightly due to the snow. I try to relax. The tension in the car could have been cut by a blunt knife. Even Soap was quietly staring ahead. My eyes betray me, filling with un-shed tears. I watch the scenery pass from the window, trying to blink away the threatening onslaught of tears. It starts to itch. I just know my eyes are red and my face is puffy. Pathetic.

The car ride seems to pass by in a blur, or maybe I passed out, I can't really tell. The next thing I see is a large concrete clearing with a helicopter and a few - three - jeeps, all identical to the one we are in. The snow had been pushed to one side, leaving a huge mound. I stare at it. Ghost hits the brakes and the car slows to a halt. The captain steps from the car and walks toward the first car in the queue of three.

He taps the window and the door slowly opens, revealing a woman. It must be Laswell. The woman who has read my file.I stare at my knees, trying to just dissociate. Johnny jumps from the car, Gaz sliding out after him. It leaves just me in the back - and Ghost behind the wheel. I know that he is staring at me from the rear view mirror, I refuse to move. I hear a tap on my window. I don't react. The door opens slowly. It's the woman.

"Y/N Y/L/N?" she queries. I turn into a statue. My eyes blinking rapidly, trying not to break down. "I'd like you to follow me" she instructs. I resist the urge to whimper in fear. Instead opting to obey. Disobedience will get you punished - my brain helpfully adds. I reach for my seat belt and press the button, releasing it. I turn and step from the car - she holds the door open for me. She leads me to the helicopter and up the ramp. I trail after her with my head down, dejected, as if I was on a tight leash. It's all so loud. The blades of the helicopter spinning, the pounding of my heart and the voice screaming at my inside my brain. It's almost unbearable.

As I make it to the top of the ramp, I see Price talking to the pilot. Gaz and Soap are sitting quietly beside each other. Soap has his head rested on Gaz's shoulder. He looks.. sad? I hear heavy footsteps from behind me. Ghost. He walks past me and sits down beside Soap, leaving a small gap between them. He looks tense. He stares at me, the eye-black around his eyes making him look even scarier to me. I stare back with big, nervous eyes and a trembling lip.

"Y/N, I'm Station Chief Kate Laswell - CIA." She seems to pause, possibly waiting for me to respond. What was I supposed to say? It's nice to meet you? - a few seconds of silence pass before she continues - "Task-force 141 were sent to Siberia with the objective to recover intel from the Russian terrorist group that, as far as I understand, you were an operative asset for, yes?"

Silence

She sighs. "I am a firm believer in justice, Laika" the use of that name snaps me out from my stubborn depressive state but I don't let it show, I remain stoic. Justice. Justice would be death. Me being killed for my crimes. "You cannot go back and change what has happened - but - I strongly suggest that you start here - with me, right now - and you can help change how this ends. What do you think?" My brow furrows. What does she mean? She must notice my confusion because she speaks up again. "I've spoken, at length, with the Captain, and we both believe you are not at fault in all of this. We want to help you Laika. But we cannot help without your cooperation".

I meet her blue eyes for the first time. She smiles at me gently, "what do you say? Will you help me? Help us..?" She gestures over my shoulder. Gaz and Soap are looking over, clearly spectating but as soon as I turn to glance in the direction Laswell had pointed, they snap their heads away and act casual, as if they weren't listening in on the conversation. Ghost looks wholly disinterested, verging on pissed off. The Captain is leant against the wall of the helicopter with his arms crossed. As I meet his eyes, he gives a quick, strangely boyish for a mature Alpha, smile and a sharp nod.

I turn back to Laswell and meet her eyes for only the second time. "What do you need me to do?" I ask quietly, voice cracking slightly. I decide if they want my help, and if they're truly the good guys this time, that I will be there obedient little hell-hound. I will do whatever they ask of me until I die or not needed any longer. This way, I would atone for my sins.

"I need you to help us, you have skills we could use, and I need you to tell me everything that they have done to you. I believe they've been dabbling in war crimes. We need to burn them to the ground. Who better to help us than their own creation? You, Y/N - you were never truly bad, were you? I can tell by your file. There was so many things you did 'wrong' - you were constantly disappointing them, weren't you?"

Wow! I thought I was making progress, now she is just slating me for how useless I am.. What the fuck?

"Disappointing them with your good nature and persistent resistance to orders - even when drugged. Disappointing them by somehow surviving every single one of the suicide missions they sent you on. You were never their asset. Never willing to comply. I know what they did to you. I'm not sure if you will remember more once the drugs have left your system - but you are strong. Stronger than you think."

Oh.. OH - It was a compliment. I feel lighter. My heart warms me from the inside. I realise that this is the first time I have felt my own warmth. Independent warmth. It's coming from me. I feel real again. Probably only fleetingly, but it's nice while it lasts, huh?

The captain suddenly appears beside me. I nervously side-eye him. "You in?" he grumbles, his raspy voice cutting through me like a knife. I nod hesitantly. "Words please. Need you to say it." He smiles again. "I'm in" ... "Captain" I add afterwords. He pats my shoulder twice, gently. "Kate will fill in your paperwork, answer her questions, it won't take long. Go and sit with the boys. We are about to take off". I nod and move to where I'd been told to sit. I step around Ghost, and sit a seat's space away from Gaz and Soap. I buckle my seat belt and rest my head back against the wall, breathing deeply.

*Gaz's POV*

I'd walked back into the safe-house just as Laika was trauma dumping details of some sort of mission to Johnny. Cap and Simon were already listening in. Nosy fuckers! Cap lifts a finger to his mouth, as if to say 'shhh' and then nods his head to the side toward Laika and Johnny. I'm not sure how this had happened. I'd left her waiting at the door just five minutes ago. What the fuck?

But jesus, her memory of that mission was bad. I'd been through lots of shit during my time, but it sounds as if she has just been through trauma after trauma. I want to step into the room and wrap her in a hug and keep her away from the rest of the world. I would never hurt her like that. Somehow, Johnny seemed to be doing an alright job of keeping her from fully losing it.

When she finishes and looks up at us, I have nothing to say. My heart aches for her. I was literally rooted to the spot. Everything happens quickly after that. Cap tells us to load up and get on the road. I feel a small flame of hope when Laika moves to my side of the car thinking she wanted to sit next to me, but instead she was avoiding me for the entire drive. She didn't look at me once. She didn't even move when Soap and I slid out of the car once we had arrived. We must have broken her trust by listening in when she was venting to Soap. Or she just didn't want us near her. I felt ashamed of myself.

I can tell Soap feels the same way. We go to the heli and sit down, stewing in each others' moods. We'd fucked up. Big time.

*Soap's POV*

She was pissed at me. I shouldn't have pushed her to spill her secrets. Stupit' bastard that I am. And to make it worse, they'd all listened. I was too caught up in her, to even realise that my pack had collected at the doorway. Poor lass was heartbroken. She ignored us and went back into her bubble, refused to even look at us.. We'd well and truly fucked it.

Gaz and I had discussed it and decided to not push her again until she approached us first. Gaz said it was something along the lines of letting her 'take back control'. I'm not a patient man, but I will try my best to behave.

*John's POV*

I'd sat up all night reading the parts of her file that Kate had sent over. Simon disappeared for twenty, or so, minutes saying he thought he had heard something. Wasn't until we'd practically surrounded the poor lass in the living room this morning that Ghost accused her of looking for something that wasn't hers. Turns out it was a fucking hanky. She had nothing left but a hanky and she had left it in Gaz's jacket. I needed to speak to Kate about her. She was no terrorist. Not in my book.

When I came downstairs with my bag, ready to leave, I heard her weeping to Johnny. My grip on the door frame had started to splinter, drawing blood from my hand. I was angry. Not at her. Never at her. But at what they'd put her through. The file didn't go into this sort of detail. I had an idea. I asked Simon to drive - deciding that my time was better spent messaging Kate. I had had an idea.

When we arrived, I made sure that I was the first to greet Kate, away from the others. "Go easy on her, Kate. She's sensitive. Needs fixed up.. she's been put through the mill with those bastards". Kate nodded and promised to go steady on her and agreed to my plan. I'd asked Kate if Laika could temporarily join us at our base to help us learn about the Russian's - their habits and weaknesses. Kate agreed that she could be valuable. I nod, but behind the 'Captain' persona, there was different reason - I want to keep her safe. She needs a bit of help right now. And the boys seem to like her.

*Simon's POV*

I had listened to the asset's little chat that she had with Johnny. Sure, she'd been through some shit, but haven't we all?

I could see the cogs turning in Cap's brain. The Captain has a habit of finding strays. Hopefully this one doesn't stay for long. Let's just hope they are right about her and she doesn't turn out to be a rat.

I was pissed off that Johnny clearly liked her. I wanted to get back to base, have a cuppa and read a book. Switch off for a few hours. But this - this was a disaster waiting to happen.

*Laika's (Y/N's) POV*

Laswell stands across from me as the heli lifts into the sky, she holds one of the straps that hang from the ceiling. Gaz and Soap are looking excitedly between the two of us. Laswell waves a clipboard. "Few questions, then I'll leave you alone. Promise" she jokes. I nod, "You can leave some of these out if you don't know the answers - we will run tests when you settle in at base, but answer what you can please". I nod again, but this time mutter "ok".

"Name?" - "Y/N Y/L/N or Laika"

"Address? - we'll leave that blank for now, Birthplace? -" I intterupt, telling Laswell my place of birth before she left that section blank too.

"Presentation" - "Don't know.. but probably Beta" She nods at my answer.

She continues asking similar questions, like date of birth, blood type, medical conditions and so on and so forth.

She then flips to the other side of the paper, which concentrates more on military training and active duty history. "I think that will do for now. John will test your fitness once you've settled in. It'll be tests like a five kilometer run, target practice and hand to hand combat - just so he can decide how best to use your skills. Does that sound ok to you?" - "Yes ma'am" I reply.

"Just Kate is fine - and Laika, or Y/N I should say.. Welcome! Any issues, you know where to reach me" she smiles and extends her hand for a handshake. I shake it nervously, breaking eye contact. She then offers me a padded envelope. I take the envelope and she immediately turns away and walks towards where the Captain is standing, behind the pilot.

I slump back into my seat and open the envelope. It's a phone! I switch it on, using the pass code Laswell had included inside the envelope to unlock it. It has the SAS symbol on the lock screen, and a few contacts already entered. Captain John Price, Sgt Kyle Garrick, Sgt John MacTavish and L.T Ghost. Shit, was that his real name?!.

I can practically feel the desperation of the two Sergeants sitting next to me. Since when did they get shy? I think to myself. I decide to be brave, now that we were to work together. I look at them both and they immediately smile, hopefully. What are they hopeful for?! I am confused.

"uhm.. sorry if" - "WE'RE SORRY" they both near enough shout in unison, cutting me off. "Wh-what?" I ask, completely confused.

"We upset you, we didn't mean it.. forgive us?"

"You didn't upse- what??" I shake my head, trying to collect my thoughts "I thought you hated me after hearing how I'd killed the young bo-" - "NO!! That's not... no.. we shouldn't have listened in.." Gaz explains. "And I shouldn't have kept pushin' ya to tell me everything.. Sorry Lass.." Soap apologises.

"Can we stop with all this bullshit and shut the fuck up." Ghost huffs, halting the back and forth conversation about who was the most sorry. Helpful as ever.

Gaz and Soap smile at me and Soap taps the seat that remains unoccupied beside them. I shuffle over from my seat to sit next to them. Soap immediately puts his arm around me and pulls me closer.

"Mmm, still smell of Tobacco, lass.. You'll be driving Cap crazy walking about like that ya' ken?"

WAIT WHAT???!

[buglord-isaac]

Part 2 of GhostSoap Softness

This one takes place after Ghost saves Soap from being thrown off the building.

Ghost immediately noticed how distant Johnny had become after returning to base after their mission. He knew the distant feeling all too well. It was the kind one gets after experiencing near death. Looking it straight in the eyes.

Ghost could still feel the adrenaline in his body watching Soap struggling as he was edged closer and closer to the edge of the building. When Ghost’s sniper had made contact and killed the enemy, Soap had been out of breath.

“Perfect shot, L.T…”

“You called it, Sergeant.”

When they had gotten back to base, Ghost had ultimately wanted to talk to Soap. To chat with him, to gossip about the mission and reflect on techniques. But when he saw the unfocused eyes, tight jaw, and frown on his friend, he knew Soap was in no mood for talking. These missions had taken everything out of Johnny…

He watched as Johnny walked off towards his room, looked around quickly, then jogged after him. He had decided he wanted to talk to him anyways. “Johnny!”

Johnny stopped in front of his door and looked at Ghost. “Oh-“

Before he could stop himself, Ghost pulled Johnny into a tight hug. Not even he knew what he was doing at this point.

“You did well, Johnny… you survived.”

“Yeah…”

Johnny’s voice sounded dejected. Defeated. Why? They had just won.

“Talk to me, Johnny. Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.”

“I…” he looked up at Ghost. “Can I wash my face first?”

Ghost nodded and let go of him, a warm sensation lingering on his skin wherever he had been touching Johnny. Johnny went into his room and opened the door a bit wider, looking to Ghost as an invitation. Ghost obeyed, closed the door behind him, and sat at the Sergeant’s desk.

From the next room, he could hear water running and deep breaths as Johnny washed off the paint on his eyes. He heard a little hiss of what he could only assume was pain.

“Shit..”

“Johnny?”

“It’s nothing..”

That sure didn’t sound like nothing. He stood up and knocked gently on the bathroom door.

“Mind if I come in?”

There was no answer, only the sound of the door opening and Johnny standing there with blood dripping down his face. A wound seemed to have opened on his eyebrow.

“Its from when I got hit by the back of a gun… the mask and paint must’ve hidden it..”

Ghost wasted no time in pushing his way into the bathroom. He pointed to the closed toilet and handed Johnny a hand towel.

“Sit. Keep pressure on it. It’ll hurt.”

Johnny obeyed and sat there while his own blood seeped into the hand towel. Ghost searched his cupboard for strips of wound tape that he could use to temporarily seal it until they got to a doctor. He then turned to Johnny and took the towel from him. With gentle hands, he cleaned, squeezed the skin together, taped, rinsed and repeated until the wound was sealed.

When he was finished, he took off his glove and touched Johnny’s cheek. He looked so sad… it was unbearable to see. He didn’t even have to ask Johnny what was wrong.

“Why do I have to keep being saved by you recently…? The church… the skyscraper… this wound… Am I losing touch?”

“No, Johnny. You’re not. They were hard missions. They threw their nastiest men and their nastiest tricks at us. It’s our job to help others in our team. That’s why we’re a team. You did the same. You guided me through the prison to save Alejandro, you told me where to shoot. You did what I told you. You survived.”

“Heh… never knew you as the monologuing type of guy…”

Johnny’s head rested into Ghost’s hand. It was a nice feeling. The stubble on his cheek scratched his skin in a satisfying manner. Ghost was really starting to appreciate the closeness they had.

“God… Simon… I have such a bad headache…”

“Come here.” Ghost pulled him into the fabric covering his midsection. Johnny slowly wrapped his arms around his waist and nestled into the comforting hug.

“You’re nice and warm, Simon. I could stay like this forever.”

“No one’s stopping you, Johnny.”

[microcosme11]

This is only part of a love letter Napoleon wrote

Je ne sais pas quel sort m’attend ; mais s’il m’éloigne plus longtemps de toi, il me [devient] insupportable ; mon courage ne va pas jusque-là. Il fut un temps où je m’enorgueillissais de mon courage, et quelquefois, en jetant les yeux sur le mal que pourraient me faire les hommes, sur le sort que pourrait me réserver le destin, je fixais les malheurs les plus inouïs sans froncer le sourcil, sans me sentir étonné. Mais aujourd’hui, l’idée que ma Joséphine pourrait être mal, l’idée qu’elle pourrait être malade, et surtout la cruelle, la funeste pensée qu’elle pourrait m’aimer moins, flétrit mon âme, arrête mon sang, me rend triste, abattu, ne me laisse pas même le courage de la fureur et du désespoir… Je me disais souvent jadis : les hommes ne peuvent rien à celui qui meurt sans regret ; mais aujourd’hui, mourir sans être aimé de toi, mourir sans cette certitude, c’est le tourment de l’enfer, c’est l’image vive et frappante de l’anéantissement absolu. Il me semble que je me sens étouffer. Mon unique compagne, toi que le sort a destinée pour faire avec moi le voyage pénible de la vie, le jour où je n’aurai plus ton cœur sera celui où la nature aride sera pour moi sans chaleur et sans végétation… Je m’arrête, ma douce amie ; mon âme est triste, mon corps est fatigué, mon esprit est étourdi. Les hommes m’ennuient. Je devrais bien les détester : ils m’éloignent de mon cœur.

Je suis à Port-Maurice, près Oneille ; demain, je suis à Albenga. Les deux armées se remuent ; nous cherchons à nous tromper. Au plus habile la victoire. Je suis assez content de Beaulieu ; s’il manœuvre bien, il est plus fort que son prédécesseur. Je le battrai, j’espère, de la belle manière. Sois sans inquiétude, aime-moi comme tes yeux ; mais ce n’est pas assez : comme toi ; plus que toi, que ta pensée, ton esprit, ta vie, ton tout. Douce amie, pardonne-moi, je délire ; la nature est faible pour qui sent vivement, pour celui que tu animes. [...]

Adieu, adieu, je me couche sans toi, je dormirai sans toi, je t’en prie, laisse-moi dormir. Voilà plusieurs jours où je te serre dans mes bras, songe heureux mais, mais, ce n’est pas toi…

--------

I don’t know what fate awaits me; but if it keeps me away from you any longer, it [becomes] unbearable to me; my courage only goes so far. There was a time when I prided myself on my courage, and sometimes, casting my eyes on the harm that men could do to me, on the fate that destiny could have in store for me, I stared at the most incredible misfortunes without frowning, without feeling surprised. But today, the idea that my Joséphine could be unwell, the idea that she could be ill, and above all the cruel, fatal thought that she could love me less, withers my soul, stops my blood, makes me sad, dejected, does not even leave me with the courage of fury and despair… I often used to say to myself: men can do nothing to those who die without regret; but today, to die without being loved by you, to die without this certainty, is the torment of hell, it is the vivid and striking image of absolute annihilation. I seem to be suffocating. My only companion, you whom fate has destined to make with me the painful journey of life, the day when I will no longer have your heart will be the day when arid nature will be for me without heat and without vegetation… I stop, my sweet friend; my soul is sad, my body is tired, my mind is dizzy. Men bore me. I should hate them: they take me away from my heart.

I am in Port-Maurice, near Oneille; tomorrow I'm in Albenga. The two armies move; we seek to deceive each other. The most skilful wins. I am quite happy with Beaulieu; if he maneuvers well, he is stronger than his predecessor. I will beat him, I hope, in a good way. Don't worry, love me like your eyes; but that’s not enough: like you; more than you, than your thought, your spirit, your life, your everything. Sweet friend, forgive me, I am delirious; nature is weak for those who feel keenly, for those whom you animate. [...]

Goodbye, goodbye, I'm going to bed without you, I'll sleep without you, please let me sleep. It's been several days since I held you in my arms, happy dream but, but, it's not you…

link to the entire letter on napoleonica

[tani-b-art]

((my very distraught Avanine recap))

When people have a connection like this, ain’t a thing you can do to stop it! Even Ava couldn’t stop that.

Ava, sweetie, I am so, so sorry. It’s too la—. Janine and Gregory has happened!

Ava wears purple a lot and that color represents part of the LGBTQ+ community so I’m gonna tentatively say she is a part of the rainbow!

Janine has a cardboard cutout of Allen Iverson, who Ava dated. She didn’t get a cardboard cutout of any other 76er (I mean Allen is the most famous Sixer of all time) but she doesn’t have one of Andre who Ava is/was dating. I feel she got this post Ava revealing this. She pays attention.

Janine brought her cousin to her party for Ava — obviously to be a distraction and to keep her out of her hair for the night. Is it because she knew she’d maybe be distracted by Ava and didn’t want that to happen? Ava saying “we’re like sisters”…so we’ve gone from friends-acquaintances and now “sisters”. We took a L, Avanites.

((now for the real))

Ava noticed Janine and Gregory’s chemistry while she was dancing with the cousin and physically attempted to position her body between that and was extremely vexed about it! And before she did that, she gave such a glaring stare to Janine when she noticed something was happening beside her. Her hyper-awareness & sensors for Janine is unmatched! [Ava gave Gregory a livid look]. And to say, Ava was very much preoccupied with Janine’s cousin and paying zero attention to Janine until this happened.

It was kinda funny seeing how unbothered Janine and Gregory were with Ava shooting eye lasers their way! And then it crushed my feelings because the ball was rolling from that moment onward.

So Ava obviously HAS feelings for Janine and it hasn’t stopped. So they want us to know that (or to remember if some forgot or thinks that Ava has stopped liking Janine just because we all witnessed the snail-paced progression of her and Gregory eventually becoming a thing).

Ava is probably going to be unbearable towards Janine and Gregory come next season now that they’re together unless Ava amps it up higher and flirts harder with Janine out of frustration OR they’ll have her the complete opposite, which would be awesome, and make her sad and despondent and lovesick with the new couple and she’ll be less picky towards them both which will shock Janine because she’s expecting Ava to tease her more than before.

WRITERS, what are y’all doing to us?!?! They wanted us to know Ava has feelings (still has) for Janine because why would y’all have Ava be so visibly bothered with Janine’s moment with Gregory?? (Then they zoomed in on Ava realizing what’s going on). Why have Janine dance right beside Ava too when this happened? But then have Janine bring her boy cousin specifically for Ava AND make Ava declare “we’re like sisters”? Unless this “sisters” statement was purely under the guise of Ava just being instantly excited for an attractive guy and it was sheer surface-level. Conflicting, testing, twisting and unreadable Ava+Janine story arc.

Ava seemed so dejected. Like the rug was pulled from underneath her. And while it’s very charismatic to see her unravel when it comes to Janine because she’s longing for something with her and is that attached and interested, I’m also sad for her because it’s yet something else that’s disappointed her as far as relationships are concerned. It doesn’t seem like she’s had much success with relationships.

I get it…Avanites will simply have to suffer till the end of Abbott time with their unrequited love! I feel queasy lol!

I think I set myself up way too high with my Avanine delusions and now look at me…I’m all undone about them being done (when it is clear they weren’t ever). I blame all the Tumblr Avanites for pushing me here - jk! Y’all are awesome! We’re awesome!

All is fair in the world of delusions.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Can I get a treat with hedgehog Curumo (and Aiwendil too, if you like)?🧡

👻Treat👻

We're really in it now, aren't we? @cilil has requested a treat!!!!

It's my honour and pleasure, of course, to supply this!

Here are 920 words of sweetness (and a bit of sad, for spice)

Warnings: there are insects in this story. Also Curumo is a hedgehog...ask Cílil lol

<3

Curumo was literally and figuratively speechless once more—the indignity of being confined to the puny body of a hedgehog was too much to bear for someone as proud as he was, but to be pushed away gently but resolutely from the big, orange treat Aiwendil was attacking enthusiastically with a small, sharp knife was a new, utterly devastating low, nevertheless.

“You’ll be sick, you dummy,” Aiwendil cooed softly and lifted his most beloved into his cupped hand to bring him to the level of his disgustingly indulgent, warm eyes. “And I don’t want you to be unhappy tonight.”

Sniffling expressively to make sure his vexation was noticed, Curumo rolled up with a huff while pointedly facing away from that loving gaze. It was unbearable—this whole ordeal was so humiliating!

“Don’t be like that, love,” Aiwendil pleaded. “I promise that I have not forgotten you.”

Despite being piqued himself, Curumo was nevertheless careful not to hurt Aiwendil’s tender palm with his spiky dismay.

Come to think of it, his present form might have been well-chosen after all, he had to admit—he had ever been a thorny fellow who had inadvertently harmed those who had had his back out of sheer misery and misplaced pride.

Throwing one suspicious look over what had once been his shoulder—his current, laughably round shape did not really allow for such anatomical distinctions anymore—he gave an inquisitive squeak, confident that Aiwendil would go on blabbering merrily even though Curumo was patently unable to answer.

“You’ll see,” Aiwendil chuckled. “Now, would you please let me finish carving the pumpkin without throwing another hissy fit? The sooner I’m done with this, the faster you’ll get your surprise.”

Curumo vaguely remembered that there had been a celebration on this night, but his memories of his previous life were slowly fading—drifting in and out of focus—and he was convinced that this festivity had never been of much importance anyway.

While humming an old song, learned at the feet of Yavanna, The Bountiful, Aiwendil carefully placed Curumo on a richly embroidered cushion and took up his blade again.

A pleasant, companionable silence fell around them as the beautiful, ever-youthful Maia reverentially modified the fruit of his Lady’s labour to take on a more celebratory appearance and his eternal friend dozed in the fragrant heat of their little hut.

Aiwendil went by another name now, and he had taken on the guise of a gnarled, old man, but—just beyond the thin veneer of a skin-deep glamour—he was still overwhelmingly beautiful.

Blinking sleepily, Curumo glimpsed the shimmering emanation of Aiwendil’s very essence—soft, gentle, and boundlessly generous—and his acute dejection subsided.

“There we go,” Aiwendil exclaimed, holding aloft his slightly wonky craft, and beamed at Curumo with the same carefree, earnest joy with which he had won that cold, careful heart many ages ago. “What do you think, darling?”

Drumming his tiny paws against the pillow and wrinkling his snout in a heartfelt but ultimately failed attempt to emulate a genuine smile, Curumo did his best to convey approval and delight.

Of course, he recognised Olórin—meddlesome fool and annoying know-it-all that he was—in the blank spaces Aiwendil had cut out from the firm, plump flesh of the pumpkin.

A strange sense of wicked contentment washed through Curumo’s armoured little body then—he was a hedgehog, and Olórin was a gourd, and as such, they were both beloved by Aiwendil.

How could he truly resent an incarnation that had been inspired by the faithful, unwavering devotion of one so pure and loyal?

Nevertheless, he soon grew impatient—he had seen quite enough of Olórin in his former life, and he had no desire to stare at the old jester for any extended period of time, not even when his likeness was wonkily imprinted on a bulbous squash.

Consequently, he slid off his cushy throne and pretended to go after the accursed holiday decoration with renewed vigour.

“Ah! Don’t be so impatient, friend,” Aiwendil laughed, but he picked up Curumo once more and swiftly carried him to the shed in the garden.

“Here,” he said. “Have at it.”

Sniffing and squeaking faintly in confusion, Curumo thoroughly took in the maze of dry straw and discarded vegetable refuse before turning to Aiwendil, seeking his aid.

“There are delicious worms, beetles, and caterpillars in there,” Aiwendil whispered and gave Curumo’s butt an encouraging pat. “Go ahead! I’ll be right here if you need me.”

Even kneeling on the damp, hard floor, Aiwendil towered over the small labyrinth he had clandestinely built, and Curumo narrowed his beady eyes at him in frustration.

Nevertheless, the thought of juicy treats made his mouth water, and so he carefully started his path, guided by the small sounds of cheering and pride coming from far above the ephemeral walls.

When he finally arrived at the centre, he found a beautiful goblet—akin to the tableware he had once possessed himself—which was filled to the brim with crawling, writhing deliciousness.

“Quite topical,” Aiwendil giggled and, pulling out his own flask from a hidden pocket in his coat, he touched it to Curumo’s chalice.

It was an absurd, profoundly sad, but also undeniably sincere toast to a love that had lasted through ages, spanned continents and worlds, and even defied death and disintegration.

“To us,” the wizened man said to his pet hedgehog. “To all that we are, to all that we seem, and to all that we shall be once more.”

Thank you so very much for another chance to write these 2!

You're the very best!!!!

-> Masterlist for October!

[gaily-daily-musings]

It's not Christmas yet but what the heck

(Hallmark obikin au where we wonder what happens when the female protagonist dumps her fiance at the end of the movie to be with her childhood boyfriend)

-

The flight had been delayed. Because of course it had. Why wouldn't there be delays in a small ass town in the middle of bum fuck nowhere?

Anakin slumps in his seat. It's uncomfortable as shit and he needed to pee but God forbid he give it up. The lady across him has been eyeing him for the past hour and he'd die before letting her have it. All the other chairs and benches have been taken. He doesn't care how much she wants it, he deserves to sit in a stupid, horrible chair after the past few days.

Who dumps someone on Christmas eve? Who does that?? Anakin had only wanted to surprise Padme. He'd taken off work to fly out to her old hometown. Yet when he gets there she's apparently been hanging out with her ex and now she doesn't even want to get married?! His head is still spinning from it all.

He feels like he's been through the week from hell. At least he didn't have to work tomorrow. He could just focus on drowning all his sorrows away.

He shifts uncomfortably, his bladder pressing against him. He's not sure how much longer he can last without needing to relieve himself. He's read somewhere that holding it in too long was bad for you. Oh god, was he about to give himself a UTI? Wouldn't that be the fucking cherry on top?

Just as Anakin is about to get up and let the demon woman steal his seat, a gentleman walks by. He looks rather dejected. A forlorn look adorns his face. His coat was hanging off his shoulders and it looked like he'd missed a button or two on his shirt while getting dressed.

"Hey buddy?" Anakin calls out.

The man stops and looks up.

"Would you mind holding my seat? I gotta pee and I don't want anyone else taking it."

The man might just as well keep the chair for himself. But Anakin is willing to take his chances with this newcomer than the Karen over there. Fellow bros gotta stick together and all that. At least he hopes.

"Oh, uh, yes alright."

The British accent tingles delightfully through his ears. Anakin shakes the feeling off. Perhaps he was more lonely than he thought.

"Thanks! I'll only be a minute!"

He rushes off to the bathroom as the British man sits down. Or, more like he crumples into the seat. His shoulders slump even more than before. God he looked like someone had just died. Part of him feels horrible for thinking it, but Anakin was kind of glad he wasn't the only one having a bad day.

After he pees, Anakin checks himself in the bathroom mirror. He didn't look as bad as the British man, but he did look as irritable as he felt. His hair was uncombed and his mouth seemed to be in a perpetual scowl. He's sure the unbearable sadness will set in at any moment. But mostly he's still in shock. Still angry and confused.

He comes back out and thanks the man. The man makes to get up and leave but Anakin stops him with a hand.

"Actually–" he cannot believe he's about to do this. "You can have it. You look like you're having an even rougher go than me."

The airport was packed even if it was a small town. Or perhaps because of it. Either way it was every man for himself out there.

"Thank you. That's very kind."

Anakin shrugs. "Tis the season."

The man gives a half hearted smile. Anakin is about to grab his luggage and go find a bar when the man stops him.

"What did you mean before?" He asks. "You said I looked like I was having a tougher day than you."

The man is a total stranger. Anakin isn't normally in the business of airing out his laundry but it's not like there was much else to do right now. Plus the guy asked, so what was the harm? Still, Anakin hesitates.

"It's uh, it's a pretty crazy story actually."

"I've got time. My flight doesn't leave for another two hours."

Anakin nods. "Yeah good luck with that. They delayed mine twice already. I think they're just putting off the inevitable before announcing it's canceled."

The man winces. "Goodness, you think we might be here all night?"

"It's a possibility. The weather isn't looking too good right now. But that's what happens when you travel during December I guess."

The man hums. "Yes, quite right."

They grow quiet again.

"Sooo," Anakin starts, "How'd you end up here anyway?"

The man looks even sadder if that was even possible. Anakin is suddenly sorry he asked. He quickly backtracks. For some reason he didn't like seeing this stranger so upset. His face looked like one that was built for laughing.

"I came to surprise my fiance." Anakin blurts out. The man looks up. "I took a week off to come visit her. She's in town because she grew up here and she's visiting relatives."

"Oh, that sounds lovely."

"She dumped me this morning. Apparently she met up with her childhood crush and they hit it off."

The man pales. "Goodness that's…I'm so sorry."

Anakin rubs his face. "Yeah it's–well yeah."

The man waits a moment. The awkwardness stretches. Then a chuckle. It's so small Anakin almost doesn't catch it. He blinks. There it was again. Another little laugh.

That's what he got for pouring his heart out to a stranger.

"I apologize, I just," the man covers his mouth to smother his laughter. "I also came to surprise my fiance. She told me she wasn't in love with me anymore last night."

Anakin stares, floored to the spot.

"No shit?"

He winces. That didn't sound like a very appropriate response.

The man sighs and runs a hand through his auburn hair. It looked really thick. Like really nice hair.

"I'm sorry." Anakin tries again. Yes, much better response. "Guess this town is cursed, huh?"

The man laughs again and this time Anakin cannot help but join him. What a pair they made.

"Wait hold on, why was your fiance here? Did she grow up here too?"

God was <em>everyone</em> from this town?!

"No, she's not from here. Her Great Aunt recently died and she left Satine, my fiance, an old house in the will. Satine's always been charmed by small towns. She wanted to fix it up to be a Bed and Breakfast."

"Huh, that's…alright then."

Silence falls again. Anakin runs his foot over the airport carpet, not knowing what to say anymore.

"She actually, ah," the man clears his throat. "She was telling me about the local fudge shop her first day here. The owner there was charming. Too charming apparently."

Anakin's eyes widen. He'd seen that guy too. Losing his fiance to a childhood crush was one thing. Losing them to a complete stranger was another thing entirely.

"How long was she even in town for?"

"Five days," the man says.

Anakin inhales through his teeth. Damn that sucked.

"It wasn't actually as sudden as you'd believe." The man offers. "In truth our relationship has been in the rocks for months. We could never quite pick a date for the wedding. I suppose I was just in denial about it. I refused to see the signs."

Anakin feels like patting the man's shoulder but he's not sure how well the older man would take it. Brits were weird about contact. At least he thinks? He read that somewhere probably.

Anakin wonders what the signs had been in his own relationship. He can't recall any. Was he really that blind? Had Padme been unhappy and searching for a way to tell him?

The man sighs deeply. "This trip was supposed to bring us closer together. Not further apart."

"Cursed, I tell you," Anakin says. "I mean, my fiance was only here for like a week before I came to surprise her. Who falls in love in a week?"

"I know right?!"

Overhead there is an announcement of another delay. The man groans.

"Lemme guess, that one was yours?"

"Unfortunately." Then he mumbles to himself. "I didn't want to stay here a minute more."

Tell him about it. Anakin wants as far away from this place as possible. But it looked like they would need to find lodging after all.

"Don't think I can get my room back at the airbnb." Anakin muses aloud. "Tomorrow's Christmas. Everyone's booked."

The man hums. "I could probably call the hotel and get my room back." He looks up at Anakin. "If you're willing to spend Christmas with a sad old man, you're welcome to come with me."

Anakin's lips quirk up into a smile. "That doesn't sound so bad. Got any liquor?"

"We'll pick some up on the way."

Anakin is already grabbing his luggage. "Lead the way then. I'm Anakin by the way."

The man smiles. Damn, he really did look good like that. Blue eyes sparkling and shit.

"Obi-Wan," he says. "Pleased to meet you."

-

There was only one bed. In hindsight it made sense, it was supposed to be Obi-Wan and his fiance staying here. But the couch was a pull-out so they're fine as far as sleeping arrangements go.

They break out the alcohol the second they get through the door. Anakin turns on the TV to a bad Christmas movie and they take turns poking fun at it. Midnight rolls around sooner than either of them realize. They toast to an odd friendship.

"May we never, ever come back to this town!"

Their glasses clink together.

"I'll drink to that, my friend."

Anakin didn't get drunk very often, but he thinks he can make an exception. Obi-Wan seemed like the business upstanding type of guy that only indulged in red wine. Seemed they were both doing things they normally didn't do.

Slowly but surely Anakin feels himself getting drunker. His body buzzes pleasantly and his mouth goes numb. Sometime around 3 am he starts talking about Padme. Who better to unload upon than a fellow man in a similar situation?

"I just…just UGH! I hope she has a million children and they–they all end up staying here and never doing anything great with their lives and just living here in the middle of–the middle of nowhere and she's just trapped in a hell of her own making!" Anakin hiccups. "AND that she never gets to leave this town again ever! Not even to travel! She's just trapped forever!"

"Me too!" Obi-Wan slurs. "I hope Satine gets fat on fudge!"

He giggles then. It's pure and high pitched. It makes Anakin laugh too.

He'll regret trash talking Padme in the morning. But for now, he doesn't care.

"That's it. I'm swearing off women. Just dicks from now on."

Obi-Wan lets out a guffaw. Then he hiccups halfway through. It's cute as shit. Has anyone ever told him he was cute? Did Satine used to tell him? Someone needed to let this man know right now.

"I think you're onto something, my good man." Obi-Wan's accent lifts into a caricature of itself. He takes a sip of his empty glass. "No more women!"

The night blurs even more. The hours bleed into one another and soon all turns black.

Anakin blinks his eyes and raises his head. He's on the bed, Obi-Wan snoring beside him. Huh, they must have passed out at some point. Through the window blinds he can see daylight peeking in.

He looks over at the couch. He should probably move. Let Obi-Wan have the bed back. He looks back down. Their arms were entangled. At some point during the night Obi-Wan had reached out and threaded their hands together. Anakin's heart squeezes. He looked so adorable like this. Anakin lays back down and closes his eyes, breathing the other man in. The loss of Padme hurt less like this. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

He wonders how long they would be stuck in town for. He wonders when the storm will pass. And whether or not the town's strange Christmas magic would work one last matchmaking miracle.

[starkraivennemad]

The Smartest Man

I walk into the restaurant and nod to the owner, who always greets me when he knows I will be there. I nod in greeting and look around as I remove my coat.

“Mister Lestrade arrived five minutes ago. He is at your usual table, sir.”  Davek informs me quietly as takes my coat. After learning the hard way that I am allergic to Siamese cats, he knows to bag it and hang it away from everyone else’s. “I have also left your second usual open.”

“Thank you, Davek.” I accept the information and head in.

My usual table was is just off the wall, near the back exit, but has very little foot traffic. It is more out in the open where I can casually view all around me and is easier for my security to get to me, and get me out, if necessary. My second usual table is a semi-private booth against the wall. It added a whopping forty extra seconds if extraction became necessary, but was better suited for private conversations. That Davek, a very observant man in his own right, sat Lestrade there was telling.

Like me, Gregory does not like having his back to the door, so I appreciate that he has left my preferred seat for me and though his back is to me, I easily spot him. His silver hair gleams even in the semi-dimmed lighting for dinner. The burgundy pullover he wears is finely made and fits him well. It’s better than what he usually wears, the ill- fitting, but comfortable suits for work. I know that means he went home early from work and changed clothes, but then I note his body language. Slouched, elbows on table as his hands fiddle with the empty highball glass before him. The water glass is untouched and he has only been here five minutes? Something has happened.

That is why Davek left the booth available.

“Good evening, Gregory.” I tap him lightly on the shoulder and gesture to the booth. “I see by your face we would be better off sitting there. Leave the glass, they will bring a fresh one.”

“Good evening, Mycroft.” Gregory echoes as he rises, his face grateful as he sees the booth. “Thank you.”

I order drinks and appetizers with the server as Gregory follows me to the table.  

I idly note as my security acknowledges the change among themselves, then forget them as I focus on what is important – Gregory and what ever has happened to have him looking as he does.

It hurts me to see the dejection that sours his whole being. I live for his smile, especially when I imagine it is directed at me, but know better. I want nothing more than to pull him into my arms, hold him and tell him whatever it is, I will make it right for him. Alas, I am in love with a married man and keep those feelings to myself. I treasure the friendship that we have forged from our former animosities in the decade of knowing each other. I do not have anyone else outside of my brother, I can call such, I will not risk losing it and have nothing with him.

He accepts his new drink as I receive my Macallan when they arrive. I then know why he looks as he does. He lifts the bourbon with his left hand. A left hand with a tan line that tells of the ring that was there a week ago when I saw him last.

He sees my eyes stray to his hand and gives a mocking salute with it. “You’re the smartest person I know. Tell me.”

His not soon enough to be ex-wife Amelia was a serial philanderess, at least in the last three of their six-year marriage. Greg only knows of three affairs, but my brother and I deduced a total of five lovers. Over the holidays, Sherlock in his usual unthinking manner, tactlessly informed Gregory of the current lover, the PE teacher, an ongoing affair of four months.  

“The PE teacher was the straw. The camel has filed for divorce at last.” I say sardonically as I also raise my glass and take a sip. I must to give me a moment to hide the smile that wants to break forth.

“Like I said smartest man I know.” Greg takes a large sip then pushes his glass away as he looks at me. The sadness in his eyes is unbearable. “So perhaps you can tell me, why am I so hard to love and be faithful to?”

“Oh Gregory! Don’t you dare take what that woman has done as a failure of yourself. ” I unthinkingly grab the hand that starts to reach for the drink again and hold it. “You gave her far more chances than she ever deserved. You loved her and married her with the full and correct expectation of receiving what you gave her - faithfulness and loyalty.” I realize I am holding his hand and I interlock our fingers when I feel him start to pull away, holding him in place as I continue. “She thought she had what it took to be married to a cop and did not. That is not her fault – it is not an easy thing. However, instead of being up front with it and neatly breaking away, she did…what she did…multiple times.”

Greg snorts derisively at that. I am secretly ecstatic when uses his other hand to take his glass and drink. I feel his fingers grasp mine in search of the comfort, he does not know how to - or if he can - ask me for, I give it to him.

“I promise you this: someday you and I will be at dinner and we will look back on this day and laugh. We will laugh because by then you will be in love with and be loved by someone who will cherish you and understand the joys, the long hours and the perils what you do, but will never hold it against you.”

Greg smiles for the first time that evening. It is a watery, but honest one. I squeeze the hand I hold once and let it go when he slowly – is it my imagination that it is reluctantly? – pulls it away knowing it is not something the Iceman would normally do. I can tell he appreciates it, and that makes me happy. “You can promise that?”

I know I am a cold man. I have curated this untouchable Iceman image with care. It protects me from everything, but my own heart which is unknowingly in the keeping of the man whose hand I just held. The man who has somehow broken through the many ice walls I surround myself with.

“You are a man who can be loved. Who deserves to be loved, Gregory.”

“You think so?”

“I do.” I look at his left hand again and curiosity gets the best of me. “Forgive me, but what did you do with your ring?”

Greg reaches for his water goblet and takes several large gulps as his face turns to crimson. This is a bit not good.

“Dear lord man, what did you do?”

Greg shakes his head in denial, but he is also holding his stomach trying not to laugh.

“You did not!” I gasp at the unexpectedness of it as the answer comes to me.

“Yes, I did.” Gregory outright laughs. “It was a shite marriage; it seemed a fitting burial of it. Or rather it will be - eventually.”

He is laughing, that also makes me quietly happy that I can give this to him.

I bring a serviette to my lips at the most ungracious snort that escapes and try to stifle my own urge to laugh. He makes me, ME, laugh – out loud. It is what he gives to me and one of the many reasons I love him.

As much hope as I now have, I fully understand this is not the right time to profess my love for him. He needs time. That I can give him and mentally send a wish out to Universe that when he is ready, I am the one he chooses next.

“How did you know I…?” Gregory lets a cheeky giggle escape.

I wink smiling, “I am the smartest person you know.”

[pizzaboat]

Being on T is weirdly helpful in the crying department

Because I can't cry and it is unfamiliar to me, and so majorly uncomfortable at times because I don't know how to handle the sensation yet

But it helped me out to day because I tripped really bad infront of some people and fucked up my ankle and was left limping for the rest of the day because I was on a trip

That on its own was kinda stressful because I didn't know if I actually hurt myself because it hurt to move my toes in one foot and my ankle was and is stiff and sore

But it was throbbing and numb in some parts when it first happened and now its just sore

But anyway, so I tell the acquaintances that I'm with that I'm worried I hurt myself and they dismiss it (condescendingly might I add. Telling me that its normal to be sore after how i fell.) I've fallen before and know the difference between ankle pain and unbearable pain

I have a high threshold.

But they then disapear on me in a McDonald's and go up two flights of stairs in there and I'm not even sure they're upstairs at that point. And then I start having a small panic attack? But no crying, or whatever. I just feel sick and my lungs feel weird and I feel the need to take shallower breathes to stop from fainting

But no crying, so I can bounce back from the humiliation

I find those people upstairs. Eat lunch and whatever. Leave without them because fuck them.

Find my friends in the place they were eating because I didn't want the food they were getting

But I feel invisible when I get there and that doesn't trigger another panic attack or anything, I just feel dejected and sit down on my own because one of my friends was ordering food and I thought he ignored me when he walked past but he was just getting his bag... (My RSD was bad at this point and all the weird social conditioning that neurotypicals like to do to you as a kid is making me feel worthless and invisible)

Anyway, only after all that do I slightly get my eyes wet and he's walking by me and getting my attention to tell me we are leaving and going back to our bus

And I must look a little upset? But I don't feel like I look too extreme, just sombre? But when he asks me if I'm okay, I feel a bit better then

And then I bounce back emediatly when the same friend checks to make sure I can walk while we detour at a shop because I told him I fell and hurt myself

Like, all I needed was to be acknowledged and I was fine again. Sure I felt weird and lame for being the sick and now hurt friend on the trip, like I was gonna ruin peoples good time if I made them slow down for me so I lied when asked if I could walk

ANYWAY

without T, I would've been bawling by the time I had the panic attack and the pain was unbearable in my ancle and calf

My face used to get so hot around my eyes and nose and know I feel normalish, except for some wet eyes when I register I feel disappointed or sad

[criticalbennifer]

The many failures of Ben Affleck

He's learnt to live with disappointment

By:  Dorian Lynskey 

August 15, 2022

It is now generally agreed that there is something grubby about enjoying paparazzi photographs, especially when the subject has mental health issues. But there appears to be an exception for Ben Affleck. A few years ago, when the actor was separating from his wife Jennifer Garner and glumly promoting Batman v Superman, somebody started a Tumblr page called “Ben Affleck Looking Sad”. One image in particular — cigarette in hand, head thrown back, an expression of weary exasperation — has become a meme which roughly translates as “Fuck everything”. Before that, there was a meme called Sad Keanu, but Reeves’s apparent dejection suggested a melancholy profundity whereas Sad Ben was just a middle-aged man with a cigarette and a paunch, attracting an odd mix of sympathy and mockery despite his history of anxiety, depression and alcoholism. Shortly afterwards, Affleck checked into rehab.

Newly married to Jennifer Lopez (we’ll get to that), Affleck turns 50 today. He is of the same generation as Leonardo DiCaprio, Matthew McConaughey, Mark Wahlberg, Christian Bale, Ethan Hawke and his friend Matt Damon, but he’s the one whose career best illustrates the ups and downs of modern movie stardom, on and off the screen. He has never enjoyed an imperial phase, when he could do no wrong, nor a real Benaissance, when all is forgiven. Tom Cruise, who recently turned 60, is perhaps the last true movie star due to his somewhat inhuman denial of vulnerability. Affleck, with his candidly acknowledged flaws and regrets, is Cruise’s opposite. I find him fascinating. As Dave Itzkoff wrote in a 2016 New York Times profile, “you may find yourself envying, pitying and disliking him all at once”. 

Affleck was born into a working-class family in California and grew up in Massachusetts with his younger brother Casey, who also became an actor. Their mother was a teacher and activist. Their father was a sometime actor, a gambler and an alcoholic. Affleck met Damon at school and the two travelled to auditions together, but their paths diverged. While star student Damon went to Harvard, the bright but distractable Affleck dropped out of the University of Vermont after a few months. Self-consciousness about his class and education has been a nagging drumbeat throughout his career. He always has something to prove, and something to atone for. In a 2016 Buzzfeed profile called “The Unbearable Sadness of Ben Affleck”, Anne-Helen Petersen argued that his defining feature was shame: “about the roles that he’s taken, the relationships he’s made public, his lack of education, his drinking habits, and, most recently, his tattoo”.

Handsome in a brash and bro-ish way, with an oblong head and beefy, six-foot-four physique, Affleck started out playing jerks in School Ties, Richard Linklater’s Dazed and Confused and Kevin Smith’s Mallrats. He graduated to doofus in Chasing Amy but even his nicer characters weren’t very smart. So when he and Damon broke through in 1997 with their Oscar-winning screenplay for Good Will Hunting, the impression was that, off screen as well as on, Damon was the star and Affleck the sidekick. I still remember a waspish line from Esquire’s film critic, to the effect that Ben Affleck was put on the earth for the sole purpose of making Matt Damon look like the clever one.

Their next moves compounded that stereotype of art vs commerce. Damon moved into prestige pictures such as Saving Private Ryan and The Talented Mr Ripley, before striking oil with the Bourne franchise. Affleck became an action star in Armageddon, Pearl Harbor, Daredevil and The Sum of All Fears, none of which played to his strengths. In a recent interview with Damon, Affleck joked about feeling “deeply jealous and developing a sense of inadequacy and self-loathing” but it wasn’t entirely a joke: he wasn’t getting the same opportunities. “It’s not as if actors are turning down something way better,” he once told me. “It really doesn’t come down to X vs Y so much as X vs nothing.”

In smaller movies, he was once again a braggart (Shakespeare in Love) or an asshole (Boiler Room), which might explain why his brief experiment with romcoms never paid off. Only Roger Michell’s 2002 drama Changing Lanes, in which he clashed with Samuel L Jackson, was a persuasive advertisement for his acting chops. Meanwhile Gwyneth Paltrow, his girlfriend from 1997 to 2000, publicly described him as a “complete knucklehead”, which didn’t help. “What many people don’t know is that he’s crazy smart, but since he doesn’t want that to get awkward, he downplays it,” said David Fincher years later.

Affleck never seemed at ease in blockbusters. If I were ranking his performances, I would put his brilliant comic turn in the DVD commentary for Armageddon in the top five. He’s like a college smart-alec heckling the screen, only he’s actually in the movie. Unfortunately, it’s not a great look if you come across as thinking you’re too good for the movies you’re being paid handsomely to star in. He recalls challenging director Michael Bay on an absurd plot point in that thoroughly absurd film: “He told me to shut the fuck up.” The real joke’s on Affleck for thinking he’s above it all.

All in all, Affleck’s reputation was in a precarious state when he met Jennifer Lopez on the set of Gigli in 2001 and everything went awry. Gigli was the kind of brutal, unqualified flop that might as well have police tape around the scene of the crime. Their next movie together, Jersey Girl, also tanked. The hostile reception was inextricably tied up with the stars’ two-year relationship and the rise of celebrity media at its cruel, carnivorous worst. Affleck later blamed snobbery and racism:  even his taste in women was deemed trashy. Whatever the reasons, no relationship could have survived the obsessive scrutiny applied to “Bennifer”. Their wedding was first postponed and then cancelled. The backlash left them both shellshocked. When Affleck bumped into Damon around the release of GIGLI he said:  “I’m in the worst possible place you can be. I can sell magazines, but not movie tickets.”

GQ called Affleck the world’s most over exposed actor”. The Los Angeles Times wrote a long autopsy called “Ben Big’s Fall”. Yet Affleck was never a bad guy. Critics often praised his capacity for self-doubt and self-deprecating humour, so it’s apt that he won his first acting awards for playing George Reeves in 2006’s Hollywoodland, the Sixties Superman actor who was sent flying by fame and brought to earth with a humiliating crash. He’s stayed on good terms with his exes (very good in Lopez’s case) and he’s loyal to his friends. Directors including Linklater and John Frankenheimer have called him one of the nicest actors in the business. He’s always been a great interviewee, providing a clear-eyed running commentary on his career.

Now married to his Daredevil co-star Jennifer Garner, Affleck rebounded by moving behind the camera for his directorial debut, 2007’s Gone Baby Gone, starring his brother Casey. “Nobody knew whether he was going to be any good or not, so people were surprised,” Casey told me at the time. “But I wasn’t surprised. I knew that he’s so much smarter and more interesting than the person that’s depicted in the gossip magazines.” Suddenly there were comparisons to Robert Redford, the gold standard for actors turned directors, but Affleck still appeared bruised and wary when I interviewed him. Whenever talk turned to his rough patch, he began nervously flicking a bottle opener. Poker players would call that a giant tell. He still seemed to think that his comeback was fragile.

Affleck directed another satisfying crime thriller, The Town, in 2010 and then Argo in 2012. “We were wrong about Ben Affleck,” wrote the New Yorker’s Anthony Lane. “Few of us, watching Armageddon and Pearl Harbor, could see a way out, or back, for an actor so utterly at the mercy of his own jawline.” But Hollywood’s ambivalence towards him was betrayed by the fact that he was only the fourth person in the history of the Academy Awards to win Best Picture without getting a Best Director nomination, as if Argo’s excellence had nothing to do with its director and star. OK, he wasn’t the ideal choice to play CIA agent Tony Mendez, but who else was going to give him a part like that?

Affleck took a giant step backwards with the snoozy 2016 mob drama Live by Night but he still has a better actor-director track record than George Clooney. He’s shown real flair for action sequences, and a talent for getting great work out of ensemble casts, steering five actors from his first three movies to awards buzz. So it seemed incomprehensible when, in the afterglow of Argo, he signed up to play Batman. Affleck is always torn: while he may have a low opinion of superhero and action movies, he can’t quite let go of stardom. He didn’t seem like he really wanted to be Batman but then he was playing a Bruce Wayne who didn’t want to be Batman anymore either: angry, jaded, bitter. He might have pulled it off with a better director than Zack Snyder. A 2017 alcoholic relapse put paid to a solo Batman movie, which was probably for the best.

Affleck has had bad luck with superheroes. His recent action movies, The Accountant and Triple Frontier, are background noise. He’s also struggled to find sympathetic directors. Unlike his contemporaries, he’s never worked with Scorsese, Tarantino, Wes Anderson, Steven Soderbergh or the Coen brothers. His movie with Terence Malick, To the Wonder, was one of the director’s weakest. The towering exception, and his best performance to date, was David Fincher’s Gone Girl. With a perfect blend of charm and menace, his Nick Dunne is a fuck-up who could be victim, villain or both. Affleck isn’t playing himself but he’s playing with who people think he is. “I think it’s interesting how we manage the best version of ourselves,” he told the New York Times, “despite our flaws and our weaknesses and our sometime tendencies to do the wrong thing.”

Where does Affleck find a lane these days? The failure of Ridley Scott’s The Last Duel, which Affleck co-wrote and appeared in, confirms that the movies he really likes barely exist in cinemas anymore. He was sensitive in The Tender Bar and convincing as a recovering alcoholic in The Way Back but neither move made much impact. At the same time, he’s yet to commit to a prestige TV series in the vein of True Detective or Mare of Easttown. His slate of forthcoming projects looks underwhelming: two more outings as Batman, his eighth Kevin Smith movie, and a sci-fi thriller called Hypnotic. His return to directing with a film about Nike co-starring Damon could go either way. I’d love to see him play a role that fully exploits his talent for exhausted masculinity and gallows humour — Raymond Chandler’s Philip Marlowe, perhaps.

At least he seems happy now. More than any other movie star, Affleck is relatably candid about life not working out as planned. He has a consciousness of disappointment and failure that you don’t find anywhere else. Cruise and DiCaprio are too successful, McConaughey too upbeat, Johnny Depp too weird. It makes me want to root for him, which is why I find his recent marriage to Lopez, 20 years after their last attempt, so cheering. We’d all like to believe that life gives us second chances.

[mumbai-murugan]

Unbearable Pain... Uncontrollable tears... Unimaginable tiredness 😩😪 Unparalleled sadness.. Unmatched heavy loads.. Unprecedented sorrow... It's not that the poor animal has to express it all in words...! The tears in the eyes.... The sadness in the face... The totally tired outlook... The gripping grief 😔☹️🙁😢😥... Sorrows... Dejection.... Depression... & Helplessness... Everything is expressed... In the tears 😢😭.. & Like a donkey... You don't need a mind... All you need is a kind heart... An understanding mind... To understand other's pain, & sorrows... I feel sorry for you... & If you don't understand other's sorrows.... I feel pity for you... If you don't feel pity for others pain.... PAIN, sadness & sorrows all weigh the same for everyone.... I MUMBAI MURUGAN.. https://www.instagram.com/p/ClAPv59JrwC/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[theyarebothgunshot]

no literally. they kept them apart so often after s8 that their reunions became more intense and significant? i always say that, for me, “destiel” isn’t so much in their presence (except maybe earlier seasons’ tension) as it is in their absence from each other. the negative space of them. the resistance of the show, trying to keep them apart, but the weight of the other is so heavy, when they see each other again it’s a whole thing. like cas leaving in s7 and dean being out of it without naming why. it was just after this that their relationship became more intense and the absences became glaring. not just a dejected “damn my best friend died and i’m sad” or “i couldn’t save him and i’ll carry that guilt” but an active “fuck the love of my life is dying, please save him.” or what the widower arc became. said right in the script that dean was the happiest in s13 for the first time when he saw cas again. like the prayer in the trap or 15x19 with a “bring him back.” earlier seasons, he was desperate over losing sam vs dejected over losing cas, a “brother i raised” vs “best friend i ever had” kind of grief. it slowly became a “brother i raised” vs “love of my life” kind of grief. similarly desperate to get them both back. he had that desperation in s8 searching for cas, but it felt like dean hid the truth from himself under a sense of duty, when by later seasons he stopped hiding that he just wanted cas because he wanted cas. he didn’t need him because he was useful or ‘cause “no one gets left behind.” it was straight up “i love you. please don’t leave again.” the absence of cas gradually became more and more unbearable for dean the more he was falling in love with cas. it sucks that they kept them apart so much, but the reunions were sweeter for it. there was so much more pay off, and they eventually stopped denying why.

EXACTLY!!! this is why widower arc hits so good, because Sam being alive is no longer enough for dean. not if cas isn't alive. arghhh chewing glass etc etc

[spencerreidsworld]

comfort - spencer reid

request: is there a way that i can request gender neutral reader fic with the spencer reid? i dont have much of a plot idea besides cheering up spencer after a really long and hard case. please and thank you!

synopsis: gender neutral reader comforts spencer after a particularly difficult case. (for @m-mhotchner <3)

category: angst, sad spencer, fluff

word count: 1.2k+

a/n: i hope i did the gender neutral thing justice, i've never written anything in this format before so i hope that it is what you hoped and please let me know if there is anything i can do to make it better next time! also the gif i chose makes me so sad lmao

masterlist ask/request

As Y/N laid curled up on their couch, halfheartedly watching some aimless reality show as a way to decompress from yet another long day at work, the last thing they expected to hear was a soft knock on the front door of their apartment. Y/N perked up immediately, glancing at their lit-up phone to see that it was nearly midnight. A small twinge of panic jolted in their stomach, wondering who could be knocking on the door so late. Getting up as quietly as they could muster, they walked slowly and softly across the hardwood to the door, carefully peeking through the peephole and feeling slight relief at noticing they had, in fact, remembered to lock the deadbolt earlier in the evening. Once their eye adjusted to the odd lens of the small hole on the door, they realized they probably would’ve been less horrified had they seen a murderer standing there.

What they saw instead was somehow more upsetting: their longtime boyfriend Spencer Reid, whom they hadn’t seen in weeks as he had been working a particularly tolling case. It happened often, what with Spencer’s career choice, and it generally wasn’t a problem between the two when he disappeared for a while, but he usually at least called once the case was over rather than showing up unannounced. Once they noticed his demeanour, however, their heart sank and they moved quickly to unlock the deadbolt with shaking hands and pull open the heavy door. The only word in their mind as they took in the sight of him was broken. He looked so dejected, his shoulders slouching and his face splotchy with clear stains running down his cheeks from recent tears. His hair was flat and he looked like he hadn’t showered in a while. He was wearing his usual outfit, but his sweater vest was undone and his tie nowhere to be seen, his button-up shirt disheveled.

He looked up with sad eyes, a small flash of relief running through him at the sound of the door opening with his love standing behind it. Before he could even speak, or blink, they lunged forward to engulf him in their warm embrace.

Spencer wasn’t one to voice his emotions very often, so the act of him show up at the front door late at night one day looking so messy and sad was something they had never experienced before. He was notoriously put together and organized, so to say it was jarring to see him in this state was an understatement. It was clear that he came for a reason, and he must have been feeling so unbearably alone in order to come over unannounced right at the end of a case. He reacted to their tight embrace with a strangled sob as they pulled him as close as they could, shushing him quietly as he cried and trying not to start crying at the sound of his weeping. No one ever experienced Spencer in this way, and if they did it was incredibly rare. He was such a strong person, and it was almost scary to see him so helpless. He finally wrapped his arms back around them, just as tight, as his partner’s embrace send surges of love through his body as they sunk slowly to their knees in the dingy hallway, still holding each other.

“Spencer,” they said softly against his hair as he continued to cry and whimper quietly, his constant tears soaking their shirt in the process. “It’s okay.”

After sitting there for a few minutes, running their hands up and down his back, his sobbing subsided and he took a deep, shaking breath as he slowly pulled his tear-soaked face away from where it had been tucked in the crook of their neck.

“Hey,” they whispered, scanning his face as they reached up to gingerly wipe the tears off his cheek with their palm.

“Hey,” he responded after a moment, his voice hushed and hoarse as he finally looked at them with tired eyes.

“Let’s go inside.” They told him softly, taking both of his hands in theirs and slowly helping him to stand.

Spencer felt slightly better being cared for the way Y/N always did, lovingly and without question. It was nice to just be loved in such a raw way, with no questions being asked of him or explanations expected. He loved his team, but he knew they wouldn’t be able to provide him the comfort he was needing, and he couldn’t help himself as he got into his car and drove to the only place he felt safe at the moment, as if he was on autopilot.

He followed them silently as they lead him to their couch, absently shutting the door behind him. He couldn’t help a small smile when he saw they were watching their favourite trashy reality show, and a half-eaten bowl of cereal was abandoned on the coffee table. He felt his heart swell as he looked around, realizing how much better it made him feel to simply be in their home with them. It’s where he felt the calmest, the most loved.

“Sit down,” Y/N’s soft voice broke him out of his thoughts and he nodded slightly, sinking down onto the couch as he watched them walk to the kitchen and bring back a box of Kleenex.

“Thank you.” He said softly, clearing his throat to try and sound remotely normal.

They sat down beside him, looking at him cautiously and trying to gauge his emotions.

“Rough case?” They asked quietly, seeing if he was willing to talk a little bit about what was wrong. Spencer simply nodded.

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” He stated, shaking his head slightly at the memory.

He had spent the last few weeks attempting to catch a particularly cruel killer who’s victimology was generally geared towards young, innocent victims, many of whom Spencer and his team was unable to save. The case hit him particularly hard with the most recent victim before the unsub had be captured; as it often did when he saw himself in a victim. A victim who, this time, he found himself unable to save before it was too late. “I don’t really want to talk about it. I just… I wish I could’ve saved him.”

Y/N nodded, leaning over to wrap their arms around him again. They couldn’t help it. He just looked so sad, and so sweet, and so helpless. They just wanted to hold him. And Spencer just wanted to be held. He responded quickly to the physical affection, breathing in the familiar smell of Y/N’s laundry detergent and pulling them as close to him as he could muster.

“Please don’t let go,” he mumbled against their skin.

“I won’t.” They responded firmly, reaching up to cradle his head and stroke his hair.

He nodded slightly in response, and Y/N could feel his warm breath tickling the skin of their neck as he sat quietly in their embrace.

“I love you, Y/N.” He said softly, his voice vibrating against their skin as they smiled softly, running their fingers through his hair.

“I love you so much, Spencer.” They whispered back, pressing a chaste kiss to his head. “I’m here.”

[archersartcorner]

Jesus FUCKIGN CHRIST this is long but anyway Val quits his shitty job!!!! Good for him ❤️

ID under cut! It’s a long one boyos!

[ID: A digital, non-colored, sketchy comic divided into nine images, done on Procreate.

The first image contains two panels. The first panel is Valerio from the collarbone-up. He has jaw-length, wavy, black hair; a triangular but rounded-out face; a thin, hooked nose; and two scars, one on the lower right of his face, the other above his right (viewer’s left) eye. He’s thin-framed, wearing a kimono, with traditional wrappings around his chest. He is looking down at the contents shown in the second panel, appearing dejected and sad. In the first panel, Valerio is saying “*sigh*… This is it, then. Once I walk in there...” The statement is carried on into the second panel, completed as “No turning back.” The second panel is a pile of Survey Corps items Valerio is holding: the folded-up Survey Corps uniform on the bottom, above it the Pokédex, and above the dex is the Survey Corps emblem.

The second image contains 8 panels in a 3-2-3 format from top to bottom. First panel shows Valerio, who now has a backpack with a bedroll looped on top, peeking outside from his room. The second panel shows Ginter, who has jaw-length, spiked hair, parted to the (viewers) right; a spiked but shaved-down beard; a hooked nose; and slight wrinkles around his mouth, under his eyes, and near his brow. He’s broad and muscular, wearing the Ginkgo Guild uniform, covering garments with an apron on top, bearing the Guild sigil. He’s looking at Valerio, saying, “Mornin', kiddo. You sleep okay last night? Wasn't too loud, was it?” The third panel is Valerio standing next to Ginter, who’s sitting at his usual spot. They’re both smiling slightly, but Valerio appears slightly nervous. Valerio responds with, “Morning, sir. It... was a little loud, yes, but the festivals in Alola got far louder, honestly. It mostly felt rather….. homey. I was able to get some sleep.” Ginter replies with, “Good to hear, son.” The fourth panel is just Valerio, head tilted and looking nervously off panel. Ginter says off panel, “... Wasn't sure what decision you'd be making last night. You fit everything in that pack okay?” Valerio replies, “Yes sir, but I was wondering... Volo said you wanted to "give" me the pack. Do l owe you anything….?” Fifth panel is just Ginter, looking over at Valerio off panel with a nonserious, cocky look on his face. Ginter says, “Damn. Am I that much of a greedy piece of shit to ya?” Valerio responds, “N-no sir!! Sorry, I, I just-”. Ginter interrupts with, “I'm kiddin', I'm kidding with you. Don't worry about the pack, just consider it a gift for being such a loyal customer. It's on Volo's tab anyway.” Sixth panel is another with Ginter and Valerio. Valerio is smiling, nervous but grateful. He says, “Oh! Alright then. Thank you for your help, sir.” Ginter replies, “It’s no problem. You gonna be okay in there?” Valerio replies, “I... I think so. Hope so, at least.” Ginter replies, “Hey, I'm sure you will be. Just remember…” The seventh panel is just Ginter, looking to Valerio reassuringly off panel. He says, “When it comes to your feelings, best thing you can do is just be honest. If you're honest, you can't be wrong.” The eighth panel is just Valerio, looking to Ginter off panel now, a little flustered. Valerio replies, “Ginter, that’s… incredibly sappy.” Off panel, Ginter responds, “Kiddo, you spend as much time as I have with Volo, you'll become unbearably sappy too. Rude.”

The third image contains 9 panels in a 3-4-2 format from top to bottom. The first panel is Valerio, looking down nervously sighing, leading into the second panel where he appears to be walking forward, holding his head a little higher. The third panel shows Cyllene, drawn with a face rounded more than the others; a wide nose; short, spiked hair parted to the right; and of course, her lack of brows, instead being portrayed with slight wrinkles on the forebrow area. She’s wearing her Survey Corps uniform, which, in my eyes, looks like 3 kimonos layered on top of each other. She’s looking down at a piece of paper she’s holding in her left hand, but acknowledges Valerio with, “Good morning, Valerio. Did you enjoy yourself last night? I happened to notice you retired early… Can’t say I blame you.” Leads into the fourth panel, where Cyllene looks up from the paper she was looking at, surprise on her face. The fifth panel is Valerio’s hand placing down his Survey Corps materials, along with an undisclosed poké ball. The sixth panel pans up to Valerio’s face, where he looks dejectedly off to the side, saying, “I…” which then leads into the seventh panel, where he looks to Cyllene, a sudden small smile on his face, as he completes, “… quit.” The eighth panel is of Cyllene, looking to Valerio off panel, worry striking her face. She’s lowered the piece of paper, and her other hand is grabbing at her opposite arm. She replies, “You... quit?” Valerio responds, “I quit.” She replies again, “You… you quit.” The ninth panel is Cyllene again, similar pose, but her head’s lowered and she’s staring off to the side, tears forming in her eyes, frustration and sadness on her face. She says, “Of... of course. Truly, that would be the logical response to all we've put you through. I... suppose I'm frustrated. With myself, mostly, that I thought the outcome would be any different.”

The fourth image is three panels, two on top and the final below it, dialogue heavy. The first panel shows Valerio and Cyllene face to face with one another, Cyllene from her desk where she’s sitting, so she appears a little shorter. Cyllene has a hand slightly raised, and says, “So... you wish to quit. I must remind you, if you decide this is the decision you wish to make, we can no longer welcome you in the village. You won't be our enemy... but you'll no longer have our support. Do you…. understand that?” The second panel is Valerio only, looking down at Cyllene with slight confusion, and slight resentment. He replies, “... all due respect Captain, but... have I ever? In the time I've been here, have I ever been welcomed, ever fully been supported by the Team? By the village at large?” It transitions to the third panel, Valerio only once again, resentment building. Notably, as he speaks, a more translucent image appears of Valerio on one of his struggle days, curled up and sobbing. He says, “Like - okay, I get it, it's X-hundred years in the past, y’all don't have the greatest understanding of disability yet, fine. But I tried to explain it to all of you, that there are days my body don't cooperate, that there are days I'm too deeply in pain to get up and do what I'm asked. And what did y'all do? Y'all thought I was making excuses for myself. Y'all left me hungry and alone on the days I couldn't get out of bed. What kind of "support" have I been receiving, then? Nothing that mattered compared to when I needed it most and was denied it.”

The fifth image is 6 panels, a simple 3-3 top-to-bottom format. The first panel continues with Valerio only, looking away in frustration, as he finishes with, “… So yes, I understand I'll no longer have y'all's “support." I've been fine without it up to this point anyway…” The second panel pans back to Cyllene, looking at Valerio off panel sadly. She replies, “I ... I see. *sigh* I'm… I'm sorry, Valerio. I should've done more for you-” She’s interrupted by Valerio, who says, “Cyllene.” The third panel pans back to Valerio, who’s looked back to Cyllene, a sad resignation in his face. He continues, “... what's happened has happened. I have to move on.” The fourth panel is Cyllene again, her hands locked together and nervously covering her face. She replies, “… I understand.” Her speech bubble carries onto the fifth panel, where she says, “Is there anything you'd like to say to Valerio before his departure, professor?” The fifth panel contains Valerio in the foreground, and behind him is Laventon. Laventon’s eyes are blurred out in dramatic fashion, but he has a squared face; wide nose, hooked unlike Cyllene’s; curly black hair, he is not wearing his beanie; and stubble around his mouth and jawline. He’s wearing a lab coat, on top of a fuzzy vest and button up. Valerio appears shocked, small drops of sweat beading his face. The sixth panel shows Laventon walking past Valerio. Laventon’s face is cut off by the top of the panel, the focus mainly on Valerio, who appears resentful once more. Valerio is thinking, “It's fine. This is fine, cus ya know what he's gonna say? He's gonna be all sad that now he can't complete the Pokédex, cus that's all thats fucking mattered to him this entire time. It'll be fine.”

The sixth image is 5 panels, two on top and three on bottom. The first panel zooms in on Valerio’s conflicted face from the previous panel - he appears less resentful, and more sad. Laventon says, stretching from the first to the second panel, “Oh my dear Valerio… We've really let you down, haven't we?” The second panel shows Laventon and Cyllene, Cyllene looking to the right sadly, and Laventon to the left, face fully revealed, looking at Valerio with great sadness too. Both of them have tears beginning to roll down their face. Laventon has his arms crossed over his chest. The third panel is Laventon looking at something off panel, revealed by the fourth panel, the poké ball Valerio left. Laventon picks it up in the fourth panel, and holds it up in the fifth panel with a look of confusion, and asks, “What's this one, Val?”

The seventh image is only two panels, side by side. The first is Valerio only, responding to Laventon’s question with, “It's... Decidueye. The Rowlet you gave me at the beginning. I… thought it'd be unfair to take him from you.” The second panel is Valerio and Laventon, both still appearing sad, as Laventon hands the poké ball back to Valerio. He says, “Oh, quite the opposite, Val. This Decidueye is your longest partner at this point, it'd be an act of cruelty on my end to take him from you. Please, keep him, Val. It would also give me some comfort, as I know he's defended you through thick and thin. I know he'll keep you safe.” Valerio responds with, “Oh... if you’re okay with it, professor. Thank you.”

The eighth image is 7 panels in a 2-2-3 format, from top to bottom. The first panel is only Valerio, smiling forlornly. Off panel, Laventon says, “Alright... well, do you feel prepared? Ready to go?” Valerio answers, “I do, yes... Suppose I have to tell the Commander what's going on.” Off panel, Cyllene says, “Nope.” The second panel is Laventon and Cyllene, Cyllene having risen from her desk to stand next to Laventon. They stare worriedly at Valerio off panel. Cyllene says, “Don't worry about the commander, Valerio. I'll let him know. I have a feeling he won't take this well…” Laventon adds on, “Unfortunately, I'm inclined to agree with the Captain. But like she's said, we'll handle it. Don't worry, my boy.” The third panel shows Valerio and Cyllene. One of Cyllene’s hands is on Valerio’s shoulder, the other cupping his face. They’re looking fondly at one another. Valerio says, “I'd... I'd appreciate it. Thank you, Captain.” Cyllene responds, “It's the least I can do Valerio. I... I know we haven't been the best to you. But it has been a genuine pleasure having you in my corps.” This cuts to the fourth panel, a shot of Valerio, Cyllene, and Laventon hugging each other. The fifth panel is Valerio, implied to be after the hugging and leaving the building. Sixth panel shows Volo, who has a more squared head; long dark hair that’s tied back in a bun, save for two strands at the side of his face, and parted to the right, covering the right side (his left) of his face; a wide nose; and a scar that’s peeking out from where his hair is covering his face. He’s wearing the same Ginkgo Guild outfit as Ginter. Initially, he’s turned, talking to someone off panel. In the seventh panel, he turns to Valerio off panel, a gentle smile on his face. Volo says, “Hello my friend! Are you ready to go?”

The ninth image contains 3 panels, two on top and one on bottom. The first panel shows Volo and Valerio. They’re smiling at each other, though Valerio looks more nervous while Volo appears more lax. Valerio answers, “Pretty much. We should probably hurry, Cyllene's giving me a short grace period before she tells Kamado.” Volo responds, “Oh, how fun! Think he's going to be mad, then~?” Valerio tries, “Well…” The second panel is Volo and Valerio again, but edited to show them both appearing significantly more nervous. Valerio is smiling widely, almost in a “I’ve been caught” way. Both have beads of sweat suddenly appearing on their faces. Off panel, Kamado screams, “VALERIOOO.” Valerio whispers out, “he’s mad.” The third and final panel shows Valerio and Volo running to the left, towards the village exit. Valerio is manically looking behind him, while Volo is smiling affectionately at Ginter off panel. Valerio says, “OOOKAY, that's our cue! Goodbye Jubilife!!” Volo says, “Bye papa! I'll be back soon!” A small mini-panel of Ginter to the right shows him appearing exasperated. He says, “Bye Volo, Val. You two keep each other safe. Weird ass kids…”

END ID.]