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pucksandpower · 5 months ago

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Wild Goose Chase

Oscar Piastri x soulmate!Reader

Summary: in which Oscar is terrorized by the soulmate goose of enforcement … until he runs into you (literally)

Oscar Piastri is not one to get flustered. It’s kind of his thing — cool under pressure, calm in the face of chaos, composed when the world around him loses its mind. But right now, he’s seconds away from losing his.

“Bloody hell,” he mutters under his breath, scanning the area around the paddock, eyes darting from side to side.

The coast looks clear, but Oscar knows better by now. The stupid goose is lurking somewhere, probably eyeing him like he’s the world’s most wanted criminal. He barely makes it five steps before he hears the familiar, grating honk.

“Oh, come on!” Oscar yelps, whirling around to face the persistent bird. Sure enough, there it is, waddling towards him like it owns the place, beady eyes fixed on him with the intensity of a predator stalking its prey. “What do you want from me?”

The goose doesn’t answer, obviously. It just keeps coming, wings fluttering slightly as if gearing up to make his life a living hell for the umpteenth time that day. Oscar takes a cautious step back, then another, but the bird matches his pace, honking louder, as if it’s mocking him.

“This is ridiculous,” he mumbles, glancing around for any sign of help. But the paddock is nearly deserted — most of the crew are inside, probably watching the CCTV footage of his latest goose chase and having a good laugh at his expense. He sighs, resignation settling in as the goose inches closer, its beak snapping in a way that’s far more menacing than it has any right to be.

“Fine, you win,” Oscar concedes, hands held up in surrender. “But you’re not biting me again.”

He takes off, jogging towards the gate that leads out of the paddock, hoping to shake the bird off. It’s a fool’s hope, really. The goose gives chase, honking triumphantly as it gains on him. Oscar barely makes it through the gate before the bird nips at his ankles, forcing him into a full-on sprint down the sidewalk.

“I don’t even know where I’m going!” He shouts over his shoulder, like that might actually make the goose reconsider its life choices. It doesn’t. Of course, it doesn’t. The bird just keeps at it, relentless as ever, as if this is its sole mission in life.

Oscar rounds a corner, nearly colliding with a group of tourists who scatter like pigeons at the sight of the manic goose. He mutters an apology, hardly slowing down as he bolts across the street, narrowly avoiding a car. The goose, undeterred by traffic, flies over the vehicle and lands in front of him, honking like it’s conducting some kind of victory parade.

“Alright, alright, I get it! Just leave me alone!” Oscar’s practically pleading now, breath coming in short bursts as he darts into a nearby alleyway, hoping to lose the bird in the maze of narrow streets. But the goose follows, nipping at his heels like a relentless shadow.

He’s so busy looking back at the bird that he doesn’t notice you — at least not until he crashes into you, the impact sending you both sprawling to the ground. Time seems to slow as he twists mid-air, instinctively trying to cushion your fall with his own body. He hits the pavement first, the breath knocked out of him as you land on top of him in a tangle of limbs.

“Ow,” you groan, pushing yourself up on your elbows, blinking down at him in confusion. “What the hell was that?”

Oscar’s too winded to answer immediately. He blinks up at you, dazed, trying to process what just happened. The goose, victorious, waddles in front of you both, honking one last time before it saunters off as if it has better things to do.

“Did … did that goose just attack you?” You ask, incredulity coloring your voice as you roll off him and sit up.

Oscar finally catches his breath, nodding as he pushes himself into a sitting position beside you. “Yeah,” he pants, running a hand through his hair. “That’s … been happening a lot, actually.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed. “Seriously?”

“Unfortunately,” he replies, shooting the retreating goose a glare. “It’s like it has some kind of vendetta against me.”

You can’t help it — you laugh. It’s a startled, slightly hysterical sound, but it quickly turns into something genuine as you take in the absurdity of the situation. Oscar joins in, the tension in his shoulders easing as the laughter bubbles up between you.

“This is so weird,” you say, shaking your head as the laughter dies down. “I’ve never heard of a goose doing that before.”

“Neither have I,” Oscar agrees, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “But here we are.”

There’s a beat of silence as you both catch your breath, the ridiculousness of the situation settling in. Finally, you look at him, curiosity shining in your eyes. “So … what’s your deal? Did you, like, offend the goose gods or something?”

Oscar chuckles, shaking his head. “Not that I know of. I’m just trying to do my job, and that bird’s decided it doesn’t like me.”

“And what’s your job?” You ask, genuinely curious now. “Are you, like, a bird whisperer or something?”

He laughs again, this time a bit more ruefully. “No, nothing like that. I’m a driver. For McLaren.”

You blink, clearly not recognizing the name. “Is that, like, a taxi service?”

Oscar blinks back at you, momentarily stunned into silence. “No, it’s … it’s Formula 1. Racing.”

Your eyes widen in realization. “Oh! Right, that makes sense. Sorry, I don’t really follow sports.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, waving off your apology with a grin. “Most people don’t get chased by geese for a living.”

You smile at that, the tension between you easing into something more comfortable. “So, what brings you here, then? Besides being terrorized by a bird, I mean.”

“Just in town for a race,” he replies, glancing around as if the goose might come back at any moment. “But, uh, I didn’t expect my biggest challenge this weekend to be a goose.”

You laugh again, shaking your head in disbelief. “I can’t believe this is happening right now. You’re probably the last person I’d expect to crash into on a random street.”

“Believe me, the feeling’s mutual,” Oscar says, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “But, I guess if I had to crash into someone, I’m glad it was you.”

You raise an eyebrow, the hint of a smirk playing on your lips. “Oh? And why’s that?”

Oscar opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, the goose makes a reappearance, honking loudly as it charges at him again. His eyes widen in alarm, and he scrambles to his feet, pulling you up with him. “Because you might be able to help me get rid of this thing!”

You yelp in surprise as he grabs your hand, dragging you along as he takes off down the street. The goose gives chase once more, honking furiously as it flaps its wings in a bid to catch up.

“Do you even know where you’re going?” You shout, barely keeping pace with him as he pulls you around a corner.

“Not a clue!” Oscar admits, breathless but grinning as he glances back at you. “But it’s either this or let the goose win!”

You can’t help but laugh, the absurdity of the situation catching up to you again. “Okay, okay, I’m in! Let’s outsmart this goose!”

You round another corner together, darting into a small park in the hopes of losing the bird in the greenery. The goose, however, is nothing if not persistent, and it’s not long before it spots you again, honking in triumph as it barrels towards you both.

“Any bright ideas?” You ask, glancing around frantically for an escape route.

Oscar scans the park, his mind racing. “There!” He says, pointing towards a small, man-made pond. “If we can get across that bridge, maybe we can lose it in the water.”

You nod, and the two of you take off towards the pond, the goose hot on your heels. As you reach the bridge, Oscar lets go of your hand, urging you to go first.

“Ladies first!” He shouts, grinning despite the situation.

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips as you sprint across the bridge. Oscar follows close behind, and for a moment, it seems like the plan might work. But then the goose decides it’s had enough of running and takes flight, swooping low over the water and landing directly in front of you on the other side of the bridge.

“Seriously?” You exclaim, skidding to a halt as the bird blocks your path, its beady eyes glinting with what can only be described as malicious glee.

Oscar stops short beside you, hands on his knees as he catches his breath. “Okay, new plan,” he says between gasps for air. “We … we try to reason with it.”

You stare at him like he’s lost his mind. “Reason with a goose? Are you for real?”

“Do you have a better idea?” He shoots back, straightening up and taking a cautious step forward. “Hey, uh, Mr. Goose? We, uh, we come in peace. There’s no need for any more … biting or chasing or-” He flinches as the goose lets out a loud, aggressive honk, cutting him off mid-sentence.

You try not to laugh, but a snort escapes anyway, earning you a sidelong glance from Oscar. “I’m just saying,” you whisper, “this is probably the weirdest thing I’ve ever been a part of.”

“You and me both,” he mutters, still watching the goose warily. “Okay, new plan … again.”

“Run?” You suggest, but there’s no real conviction in your voice. It’s clear neither of you has much hope of outrunning the bird, especially now that it’s in full attack mode.

“Actually, I was thinking maybe we just …” Oscar hesitates, then sighs, “Sit down.”

“Sit down?” You’re incredulous, but he’s already lowering himself to the grass, crossing his legs like he’s about to meditate. The goose, now only a few feet away, seems puzzled by this new development. It tilts its head to the side, honking softly, almost as if it’s confused.

“Worth a try,” Oscar says, motioning for you to sit beside him. “I have no idea if this will work, but we’ve tried everything else.”

You give him a skeptical look but eventually lower yourself beside him, crossing your legs and mirroring his posture. The goose blinks, looking between the two of you, as if it’s trying to figure out what the catch is.

For a moment, nothing happens. The three of you sit there, locked in a bizarre standoff, with you and Oscar on one side and the goose on the other. Then, to your surprise, the bird takes a cautious step forward. Then another. And another, until it’s standing right in front of you both, its head tilted as if it’s studying you.

“What now?” You whisper, barely daring to breathe.

“I don’t know,” Oscar admits, his voice just as low. “Maybe … maybe it just wanted us to stop running.”

You exchange a glance, both of you too stunned to do much more than sit there and wait for whatever’s going to happen next. The goose seems to consider you for a long moment before it lets out a soft honk — nothing like the aggressive sounds from earlier. Then, with a final bob of its head, it turns and waddles away, disappearing into the bushes on the other side of the pond.

“Did that just happen?” You ask, still half-expecting the bird to reappear and resume its attack.

Oscar blinks, as if coming out of a daze. “I think … I think it gave up.”

You look at him, and then suddenly the absurdity of it all hits you like a tidal wave. You laugh, loud and unrestrained, doubling over as the stress and tension of the chase evaporate. Oscar joins in, his laughter rich and full, and before you know it, you’re both lying back on the grass, staring up at the sky, tears streaming down your faces.

“I can’t believe that actually worked,” Oscar says between fits of laughter, his voice filled with disbelief.

“Neither can I,” you manage to gasp out, wiping away the tears from your eyes. “What even was that? I feel like I’m in some kind of weird dream.”

“Tell me about it,” Oscar says, finally catching his breath. “I’ve faced some crazy stuff on the track, but this … this takes the cake.”

You both lie there in silence for a moment, the sky above you turning a soft shade of orange as the sun begins to set. The chaos of the day feels far away now, replaced by a strange sense of peace that settles over you both.

“I’m glad I crashed into you,” Oscar says suddenly, his voice quieter now, more thoughtful.

You turn your head to look at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he nods, his eyes still on the sky. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I could’ve done without the goose situation, but … I don’t know. Maybe it was worth it.”

You smile, a warmth spreading through your chest. “I guess if a goose had to chase you down, it’s kind of nice that it led you here.”

“To you,” he adds, his eyes meeting yours, something unspoken passing between you.

The air between you shifts, the playful banter from earlier giving way to something more serious, more charged. For a moment, neither of you says anything, just holding each other’s gaze as the reality of what’s happened settles in.

“Do you think …” you start, then hesitate, unsure of how to put it into words. “Do you think the goose was trying to, I don’t know, tell us something?”

Oscar chuckles softly, but there’s a seriousness in his eyes as he nods. “Maybe. I mean, it’s a pretty crazy thought, but after everything that just happened … I don’t know. It’s almost like it was trying to push us together.”

“Like fate or something?” You suggest, half-joking, but there’s a hint of curiosity in your voice.

“Yeah,” Oscar agrees, the word hanging in the air between you, heavy with meaning. “Like fate.”

Another silence falls, this one filled with unspoken possibilities. Then, slowly, Oscar reaches out, his fingers brushing yours. It’s a small gesture, tentative, but it sends a jolt of electricity through you.

“Maybe this is going to sound weird,” he says, his voice a little unsteady, “but I feel like I’ve been looking for something — or someone — for a long time. And today … I don’t know, it feels like maybe I found it.”

You swallow, your heart pounding in your chest. There’s something about the way he’s looking at you, like he’s seeing you — really seeing you — for the first time. And it makes you wonder if maybe he’s right. Maybe all of this wasn’t just random. Maybe the goose, as ridiculous as it sounds, was trying to show you both something that you wouldn’t have seen otherwise.

“I think maybe I have too,” you admit softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Oscar’s eyes light up at your words, and he squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a way that’s both comforting and intimate. The connection between you is undeniable, and for the first time all day, the world feels like it’s stopped spinning out of control.

“So what now?” You ask, a small smile playing on your lips.

“Well,” Oscar says, a grin spreading across his face, “how about we get out of here? Maybe go somewhere the goose can’t follow us.”

You laugh, nodding in agreement as you both stand up, brushing the grass from your clothes. “I like that idea.”

Oscar doesn’t let go of your hand as you start to walk away from the park, the warmth of his palm against yours sending a thrill through you. As you leave the park behind, you glance back over your shoulder one last time, half-expecting to see the goose watching you, but it’s nowhere to be seen.

Maybe it’s gone for good. Or maybe it’s just done what it needed to do — bringing you and Oscar together in the most bizarre, unexpected way imaginable.

“So,” you say as you walk side by side, your steps in sync, “where do we go from here?”

Oscar looks at you, his smile soft and genuine. “Wherever we want.”

And just like that, the world feels right again.

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syoddeye · 1 month ago

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xylaria polymorpha

You pick him. He picks you back. cw: entomophobia, earachnophobia, vomit mention (not depicted), mild body horror, abduction, buried alive (sort of), nonconsensual kiss a/n: AO3

The woods, no matter where you roam, have always felt like a refuge. An escape from your day job and your cramped flat. Far from emails and bills.

The air is cool, laced with the scent of wildflowers and damp earth. As you walk, you name the flora around you, half-whispering, half-thinking. Dog's mercury. Lesser celandine. Bursts of foxglove.

The woods are loud in a quiet way. Alive. Wood pigeons cooing, squirrels chittering, a fox slipping through the brush in a blur. You take it all in, breathe it in deeply.

This peace is why you come here. Or part of it, anyway.

Your foraging bag swings at your side, weighted with what you've already found. Oyster mushrooms, chicken of the woods, a single giant puffball. Two dryad's saddles stacked atop one another. Your parents taught you how to hunt and how to identify your finds. You were barely knee-high the first time they took you, holding your hand as you nervously poked at leaves and logs. It's a valuable skill, one you're grateful to have honed. The shelves in your kitchen are full because of it, and on weekends, you sell the excess at the market.

The trees grow taller as you walk, their trunks thick and gnarled. It's darker and colder here, the light barely piercing the canopy. You don't mind, and merely zip your jacket to your chin. The good stuff's always further in.

A few hedgehogs and puffballs later, you see them.

They rise from around the body of a rotting log, black and knotted, their shape unmistakable. You kneel, your heart fluttering with the discovery. You've read about them in books, seen photos online: xylaria polymorpha. Dead man's fingers.

They're inedible, nor are they particularly pleasant to look at, but you reach for your notebook anyway. A sketch and then a picture on your phone. Something to send the parents. But your gaze catches on something else.

In the rear of the cluster, there are five paler growths, different from the others. They stand out, almost glowing against the dark soil. You've never seen anything like them. A mutation, perhaps. Or some kind of bacteria or mold. You edge closer, leaning in, fascinated, and without thinking, you reach out to touch one.

The moment your fingers brush the surface, it moves. And it doesn't just twitch or shift—it grabs.

A cold, wet pressure wraps around your hand. It knocks a violent gasp from your throat, and immediately, you try to pull back, but the grip tightens. Your bag falls, spilling as you twist and yank. The mushrooms clinging to your hands aren't mushrooms anymore. They're fingers—long, sinewy fingers. Pale and filthy, their nails cracked and dark with soil.

You freeze, a scream catching in your chest as the fingers pull harder, dragging your hand downward. Then you see it. The arm . Rising from the earth, covered in moss and mud, thick and muscular. Panic surges up from your belly, burning your throat with its acid. Stomach churning your breakfast as the rest of it emerges. Piece by piece as though being assembled by the woods themselves.

A man.

And from your knees, he looks enormous.

The body is tall, broad-shouldered, with skin that appears almost translucent in places under the layers of muck and decay. The chest is scarred, torn up, and sewn back together with thin vines and stems. Pocked with keloids and other protrusions that look less natural. Dozens of insects crawl over his skin, falling to the ground or disappearing into the folds of moss that cling to bits of him. One of his ears is a swollen, misshapen thing, his hair shoddily cropped, bits of it stringy and wet, but his eyes lock onto yours—dark, intense, and unblinking.

You can't move. His hand wraps around yours like a root. He towers over you, filling your view, banishing whatever notion of peace you had.

"A woman." He rasps through cracked lips, hoarse. "Were you gonna pick me?"

You try to speak, to say anything, but the words won't come. You're not even sure this is actually happening.

He tilts his head, studying. He squeezes a little, hinting at how he could crush your hand without a thought. Crack you open like a walnut.

The image snaps you back to yourself, your mind clearing with a rush of instinct. You pull, but before you can make any progress, he yanks you forward, then up, like it's nothing. He holds your hand high above your head, and you watch, transfixed, as a spider squeezes itself through the mess of his ear.

You finally find your voice, though you swallow some sick to free it. "What…What are you?"

He doesn't answer right away. His gaze drifts down, then back up again, slow, deliberate. He looks at the overturned bag, his brow twitching just slightly, then returns to your eyes. His free hand lifts, and as it moves, a sludgy drip of mud falls, plopping softly onto the ground. You flinch as he drags two fingers over the curve of your cheek, smearing the mud over your skin.

"These woods belong to me. Everything you've stolen? Mine." His fingers graze you again, feeling the hammering pulse at your neck. "You followin'?"

"I didn't mean to—"

"But you did." His mouth curves slightly. "You touched me. You chose. You thought you were gonna carry me off."

The once-familiar sounds of the forest warp. The birdsong sounds wrong. Off-key and more frantic. The forest closes in. Shadows stretch longer in the periphery.

His hold is what keeps you from collapsing in shock when the ground starts to give way. Slowly, beneath your boots, the earth begins to eat you. Your toes, your ankles, your calves. You pull at his arm, desperate to break his grip, to push yourself free, but he's unmoving, rooted. Then you realize he's sinking with you.

His other hand touches your chin, rough fingers tilting your face toward him. You flinch as his thumb brushes your lower lip, leaving behind the tang of damp soil. The taste makes you gag, and you twist harder, but his hold is unrelenting.

"This is 'ow it works," There is no malice. He speaks as though this is fact. "You don't take without givin' back. Not 'ere, not from me."

The ground rises faster, the earth climbing your thighs. Your breath catches, panic surging. You try to wrest free, but no amount of struggling helps. You're sinking, and he's sinking with you.

"You picked me. This. Made your choice." He repeats, softer this time.

It's up to your chest. Dozens of tiny legs move beneath the surface, exploring your skin, inspecting you. Welcoming you. Tears blur your vision and slip down your face.

He lets go of your arm now that you're trapped, immobile, and holds either side of your face. He tips your head back up, and just as the world swallows you whole, he plants his mouth over yours.

A week later, the authorities will find your foraging bag beside the log. Its treasures withered to black. They'll call your name and search until dusk, but they won't find you.

You'll be far below them by then, cradled in roots and arms as thick as tree branches, breathing in the forest in a different way. Far beyond their reach, but alive. Thriving. Growing.

#ghost x reader #mind the tags thank you #sy writes

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too-deviant · 11 months ago

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jackie and wilson.

previous | next series masterlist

summary: you haven’t been given a quest, but you have made it your personal mission to make luke castellan smile.

pairing: luke castellan x unclaimed!reader

word count: 4.1k

content: broody!luke, teenage dirtbag!luke but also not really, sprinkles of mean!luke, r is unbothered and does not gaf about his lil emo boy act, this is four thousand words of r being a pain in luke’s ass, probs will make a part 2 bc i love them your honour

notes: speaking my truth: i am a british gal. any banter in this about the new england states is entirely stuff i got from reddit so plz don’t scrutinise my american states knowledge

the layout of this fic is very much inspired by @murdrdocs if that wasn’t obvious but also icarus if u want me to change it i will jus say the word :00

PART I — she blows outta nowhere, roman candle of the wild

All things considered, you took the news of your heritage pretty well.

Sure, there was a lot of yelling — mostly through the wall after you locked yourself in your room and started packing a bag — but at least you didn’t sit on it in denial for several hours.

Honestly, you should’ve seen it coming.

The first time you realised you could see things nobody else could, you tried to admit yourself into a ward. Your mom went a little panicky, and she never did perform well under pressure, so she caved and said you were special. Too special for the other kids at your school, too special for anyone to know about it.

After that, she got more tense. Eyes darting around whenever you guys went out in public, hand lingering for a second longer on your back before she sent you to school — as if she felt like she’d never see you again. She would stay up at night and read you old Greek tales before you went to sleep, and acted way too serious about it. More serious than when she would read you Dr Seuss.

Honestly, it was a miracle you went unknowing for so long. Maybe you were insignificant, or maybe the Stymphalian Pigeon that tried to kill you after school was just slow — because you were seventeen when you got attacked by your first monster.

You took it out pretty easily — and by that, I mean you outran it through the bustling streets of your hometown until it flew messily into a bus and you dodged your way to your apartment in a flurry. Your mom’s resolve cracked like a thin layer of ice and you were packed and ready to go to this camp she spoke of before the clock had hit four-thirty.

Most of the yelling that you guys did was along the lines of — “I can’t believe you waited this long to tell me!” — and — “I didn’t want you to leave!” — “I get that, but seriously mom, I almost got eaten by a bird today. A little context going in would’ve been nice!”

You threw yourself into a taxi — much to the disdain of your mother, who insisted on at least getting you to the hill. You then reminded her that she would have to pay the fare all the way back to their apartment and it honestly wouldn’t be worth it and that you’d call her when you got the chance. She let you go with a huff, folding her arms across her chest and creasing the silky material of her pink blouse.

The next hour was about as awkward as taxi rides go, even more so when you got out in the middle of nowhere. You weren’t even sure you were at the bottom of the right hill but sent the poor guy on his way anyway and prayed to whoever your divine parent was that you weren’t about to get gunned down by an angry farmer for mistaking his land for a summer camp.

Thankfully, the empty fields shimmered into something worth travelling for when you took a tentative step across its threshold. The sun seemed to get brighter and the breeze became softer. It was nice from where you stood, and it probably would’ve gotten nicer the closer you got.

Had you not tripped over a rock and tumbled down the hill ungracefully, landing in a heap at the bottom, a few feet away from a dirt path that split off in two directions. You sat up with a huff, blowing your hair out of your eyes and squinting at your surroundings now that they were much closer. You didn’t bother to heave yourself up, catching your breath and letting your gaze flitter over the scenery.

It was cute.

Then the distinct sound of horse hooves clipping against the ground evaded your ears, and you looked up to greet the centaur who now stood above you. You thanked the gods for your moms intricately detailed bedtime stories as you pulled yourself up onto your feet and allowed yourself to be introduced to Chiron and Mr. D, who then led you to the four story house that overlooked the valley.

Your induction was swift and sweet — since you pretty much knew and had accepted everything already. There were a couple of glances and muttered comments about how you had gone so long without being targeted, but Chiron had said he wanted you to get the tour before dinner so you could settle straight to bed after the campfire, and caught some young kid by the t-shirt as he ran past, asking him politely if he could send Luke over.

The awkward two minutes it took for your tour guide to reach you stretched on for a painful amount of time, but you would relive it a hundred times over if it meant you didn’t have to experience the agony you called your first meeting with Luke Castellan.

He was tall, with a dark mop of curls that hung over his furrowed brows. His skin was tanned from all the time he spent in the sun, and his shoulders were broad enough to intimidate, but not broad enough that you were intimidated. He was your age, seemingly, and the cuffs of his green cargo pants brushed against his ankles only an inch higher than they would sit on an average person.

His most memorable feature, however, had to be the deep scar that stretched from the top of his left brow all the way to his cheekbone — it was jagged and sharp, cutting across his eye roughly, as if he had been clawed. He probably had. It was raised and shone pink under the sun, so you could tell it was fairly new, but it had healed over enough to indicate that Luke was probably tired of hearing people ask about it. So you didn’t. You barely gave it a glance before you raised your brows at him with a cheeky grin and gave him your name.

He nodded minutely, one of the only movements he made after he’d parked himself in front of you other than the sliding of his eyes from one person to another as they spoke to him. After Chiron and Mr D had given him the rundown, he gave a slight nod of his head in one direction before walking away and expecting you to follow.

You caught up to him, sidling up on his left with a huff and a smile, “I’m getting the feeling that you're sorta sick of this giving this tour all the time.”

He didn’t respond. He just looked at you, and then stopped walking, watching as you froze two steps ahead of him before shuffling back to his side sheepishly. Then he lifted an unbothered hand to the right, “Those are the strawberry fields.” He then gestured ahead, “That’s the beach.” And then to the left, “Those are the training fields.”

Then he started walking again, and you hesitated for only a second before following, “Wow. Don’t give me too much information all at once.”

Your sarcastic comment was ignored, and Luke nodded towards the bank of cabins you were nearing, “These are the cabins. Twelve. One for each Olympian. You’ll stay in the Hermes cabin until you’re claimed.”

“Right.” You nodded, “God of Travellers. Makes sense.”

He let out a breath, not pausing in his stride as he passed through the curve of houses, not sparing a glance to any of them. You took notice of how the other kids looked at him in apprehension, with a hint of fear when he got too close. He cut down an alley between two cabins — one with a dangerous amount of barbed wire across the top and another that glowed gold under the sunlight — before the pair emerged through the trees at a pavilion.

“This is where we eat.” He said. “Dinner is soon.”

“Cool.” You nodded, “What are the options? Because if food here is lacking, then I will be packing.”

You let out a useless chuckle at your own joke, but it landed flat. “Yeah, that wasn’t funny.” You muttered lowly. With a click of your tongue, you glanced over the horizon and pointed at something from afar. A tall structure that stuck out the tops of the trees, “What’s that?”

“The climbing wall.” Luke answered plainly.

“And that?”

“The Amphitheatre.”

You looked up at him, pulling a face he didn’t bother to glance at. Then you noticed a bunch of campers filing through the trees and into the pavilion the two of you stood at the edge of. They entered in groups and made their way to their designated tables, chattering and gossiping as they did.

You looked at Luke, “Well, that was…great. Truly, a riveting experience. I will say, though — your delivery needs some work. The dark and gloomy act works most of the time, but not when you’re giving a guided tour.”

That got him to look at you, and you held back your triumphant smirk. He frowned, “What?”

You shrugged, “I’m just saying, nobody is going to listen to you talk about this place if you describe it like this.” You lowered your tone into a subpar impression of his voice, and you swore you saw his brows twitch. Clearing your throat, you waved a hand, “No need to worry about that now, though. Just point me in the direction of the Hermes table and I’ll be out of your strangely well-conditioned hair.”

Another eyebrow twitch. You were getting the hang of this. Maybe one day you could get him to move other parts of his face!

You half expected the boy to ignore you and walk off — and he did. But it was in the direction of the Hermes table, so you counted it as him showing you the way. Most of the campers were seated by the time you’d arrived, and you were thus forced to sit yourself on the end of the bench, uncomfortably beside him. He was unbothered.

During dinner you were swiftly introduced to some of your peers — Chris Rodriguez gave you a lopsided grin and informed you politely that you would need to sacrifice some of your food before you got stuck into it. Travis and Connor Stoll sidled up on either side of you as you grumbled at the hearth, and yapped your ear off about the fundamentals of camp.

(So all the sneaky stuff Chiron doesn’t know about. Like how you can skip out on archery training if Lee is the one running it because he never has it in him to snitch. Or that the pegasi stables were the go-to hook up spot for summer campers, but the back of the Amphitheater was the go-to hook up spot for the year-rounders. When you asked what the difference was, they winked, and when you asked what happened if a year-rounder hooked up with a summer camper, they chuckled and walked off.)

Chiron gave you an introduction that made you feel like a new kid being asked to tell the class one fun fact about yourself, and around six kids at your table asked if it hurt when you fell down the hill.

Overall, a good first night. As far as first nights at a summer camp for half-gods goes. By the time all the campers had gone back to their respective cabins, you were ready to turn in and clock out for the day.

But you wanted to try one more time. Last attempt, and then you’d let it go.

When Luke — who you had discovered earlier was the counsellor of the Hermes cabin, and apparently a role model for the kids — came over and silently handed you a folded orange shirt with a leather cord sitting on top of it, you smirked.

“Hey, now we can match. How cute.”

He blinked at you, “Everyone is wearing the same thing.”

“The same shirts, you mean.” You tilted your head, “But we’re both wearing green cargos. And white socks. White sneakers.” Your grin widened as you watched his eyes flit down your form, taking in the outfit you had on. You were right — the only difference between you two was the white tank top you had on, soon to be replaced by the shirt he had just handed to you. You thought for a moment that it would work, that he would make a face, or say more than two sentences to you in response.

But he didn’t. He just huffed and walked away, and you watched with an appalled expression. You narrowed your eyes.

Okay, so maybe you weren’t ready to let it go yet.

The next morning, you were rudely awakened by a small child who was sprawled across your torso, having shifted from his own sleeping bag that was beside yours. He couldn’t have been any older than six, his orange camp shirt sitting like a dress on him, and if he wasn’t snoring into your chest, you would’ve thought he was adorable.

But you really needed to pee.

After you slowly but surely lifted him back onto his own pillow, you stood up with a stretch and stepped precariously over the other kids, balancing carefully on the tips of your toes so you didn’t step on any of them. The sun was barely rising, and you were the only one awake, so you held your breath and reached out for the handle of the bathroom door.

“That’s not your bathroom.”

You flinched, losing your balance and toppling back. A hand between your shoulder blades prevented you from crushing any of the kids on the floor, and you steadied yourself before meeting the eyes of the person who spoke.

Luke was staring intently at you, his eyes blinking hard as if he’d only just woken up. He was in nothing but a pair of blue sweat-shorts and you fought the urge to rake your eyes over his bare torso, watching as he lowered his hand back to his side, “That’s the counsellor's bathroom.”

“Right.” Came a low mutter, under your breath. Then louder, you asked, “Well, where is the campers bathroom?”

“Outside.” He answered, “Around the back of the cabins.”

“Out—“ You started, and then realised everyone else was asleep and swiftly lowered your volume, but kept your expression exaggerated. Wide eyes, furrowed brows. “Outside?”

“Yes.”

“But…it’s cold out there.”

“We have a controlled climate.” He said, folding his arms across his chest. His biceps tensed, “It’s never cold.”

You let out a sigh, throwing your thumb over your shoulder and pointing at the door, “Can’t I just use this one? You aren’t using it, and everyone else is asleep, they’d never know!”

He stared at you blankly and stayed silent for a long time. You wouldn’t be surprised if he just never said anything until you walked away, which you were well prepared to do, letting out a deep breath and folding your own arms over to preserve heat as you clambered towards the front door, muttering complaints under your breath the whole time. You made it three feet (or two sleeping bags) away from him when he finally piped up.

“Be quick.”

Turning around, Luke was already making his way back to his own bed, and you ogled shamelessly at his back muscles as you shuffled to his bathroom and made your way inside. You did your business quickly as requested and washed your hands under the low pressure of the sink before cracking the door open once more. The cabin was the same, everyone else still sleeping calmly. Luke was standing by his bunk, now clad in black shorts and his camp shirt. He paid you no mind when you padded back to your sleeping bag, grabbing your bag and stifling through the clothes you had packed.

You walked up to breakfast with the unclaimed girl you had met the previous night — Lana — and listened and she told you intently about the lore of Luke Castellan.

“He never used to be the way he is. He was happier before, always grinning. More than ready to help anyone here. He was…well, everyone either wanted to be with him or be him.”

“And then what happened?”

“He went on a quest. It went wrong. He came back with that ugly scar and he hasn’t been the same since.”

You made a comment that the scar wasn’t ugly, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d add on that it made him look pretty hot. But you did know better, and you knew that Luke was three people ahead of you in the line and could probably hear what you were saying. So you kept that tidbit to yourself and ate your cereal in silence.

When breakfast was over, you stood from the bench and turned, only to stop short when you realised Luke was standing behind you. Looking up at him, you raised a brow, “Yes?”

“I’m showing you around today.”

“You showed me around yesterday.”

His lips tightened, “We’re actually doing stuff today. Seeing what you’re good at.”

“Oh.” You ran your tongue over your teeth and nodded, “Well, where do we start?”

“Archery.”

Turns out, you were pretty awful at archery. Even after you’d stopped firing arrows into the treeline, you still never hit the middle of the target. Lee had to correct your posture four times, and you broke six arrows. Eventually, you decided that Apollo was not your father, and shuffled over to where Luke stood beneath the shade of a tree — where he had been standing the whole hour.

“Y’know, just because you’ve got this broody bad boy thing going on, doesn’t mean you have to linger in the shadows all the time.” You commented, picking at your fingernails and readjusting the long sleeve you wore under your camp shirt, “You just look weird.”

Luke pointed at your cheekbone, “You’re bleeding.”

You huffed, “I know.” You kept holding your bow too close to the side of your face and the feathers of the arrows kept scratching you whenever you let them fly. Lee mentioned how most people make that mistake the first time round, but you’d done it so much that he’d cut your lesson short and told you to get a bandaid from one of his siblings. You didn’t.

He stared at your cut for a moment, like he was thinking hard about something. But he didn’t, and pushed himself off the tree he was leaning against and brushed past you, “Let’s go to the forges.”

You were better at blacksmithing than you were at archery, but the sword Charles Beckendorf was helping you weld still came out wonky and discoloured. He was a nice kid, funny, and your lowered spirits from your previous task had been quickly uplifted despite you not having much skill in his department. He let you keep the sword anyway, and you swung it jokingly at Luke as he led you to the Amphitheater.

You made swooshing noises as you did so, chuckling when he didn’t so much as flinch, “Don’t act so tough, Castellan, I could take you out even with a dodgy sword.”

“You couldn’t.” He muttered, “I’m the best sword fighter here.”

You let out an over dramatic gasp, running ahead and swivelling around so you could meet his eyes, “Holy shit, was that…did you just…tell me something about yourself?” You grinned and his frown deepened, “Aw, Luke. We’re getting somewhere! This is amazing, I’m so proud. Soon enough we’ll be best frien — “

Before you could finish your incessant teasing, Luke grabbed your forearm and yanked you in front of him just as a kid on an out-of-control Pegasus toppled past you. You watched him disappear in mild shock, before looking back at the boy in front of you, “Hey, thanks. Almost got trampled. How embarrassing.”

He narrowed his gaze, “Do you not take anything seriously?”

You shrugged, “Not really. I’d ask you the same question, but…” You made a face. It was obvious that he was very serious, even if he never used to be.

“Let’s go.” Was his boring response, moving swiftly past you and into the Amphitheatre so quickly you would’ve assumed he was trying to get away from you. (Which he definitely was).

You weren’t really all that bothered, not when you were having so much fun pissing him off.

It took all of ten minutes for Luke to put your sword fighting lesson to an end. Not only had you insisted on fighting with the wonky sword rather than a working training one, you also kept pushing him with your hands whenever he got too close.

“That’s not how you’re supposed to do it.”

“Hey, it’s working, isn’t it?”

You were pretty shit at it anyway, so you didn’t fight him when he said you were cutting your lesson short. You simply tucked your weapon onto the sheath he’d handed you and followed him down the hill to the dining pavilion.

“So, where are you from?”

He didn’t answer you for a couple of minutes, something you’d been well prepared for. But you couldn’t help but ask — he intrigued you. A little too much, maybe.

You continued, “Because you seem like a Mass guy.”

Luke stopped in his tracks, turning to you, “Mass…achusetts?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, fighting off your amused smile when he pulled a face. Finally, an expression!

Truth was, Lana had told you he was from Connecticut. You just wanted to see how he’d react, if he would react at all — apparently he isn’t immune to everything.

“I’m from CT.” He made it very clear, and you tried your hardest not to laugh. “Okay? I'm not some Boston Masshole, got it?”

You raised your hands in surrender, “Got it.”

He stared at you for a second longer, as if to ensure you really did have it. Squinting at your amused smile before nodding and continuing his walk. You thought it would go back to silence, but apparently you’d lit a fuse.

“I mean, what makes you think I'm from MA?” He asked, his tone of voice so appalled you’d think he’d been accused of some sort of crime. “Do I smell like shit?”

A chuckle, “What?”

But he just whirled on you once more, lifting his arm and gesturing to his pit, “Do I? Do I stink of shit?”

You didn’t feel like sniffing him, so you just shook your head, still laughing, “No.”

“Then what — ?” He stopped, narrowed his eyes, “Where are you from?”

You tried to hide your smile, but it was getting really difficult. The last two days he’d been nothing but broody and miserable, one word quips being his only form of communication other than dark frowns. But one mention of Mass and he’s suddenly down to chit chat? You couldn’t help but laugh — unfortunately, it only spurred him on.

“You think this is funny?” He scoffed, nodding, “Yeah, bet you’re from Maine too.”

Your laughter continued, little giggles spilling out of you whenever you thought about the situation too hard. You shrugged, “I don’t think I wanna tell you after this.”

Luke nodded like he was expecting you to say that, “Something a Mainer would say, I’m sure.”

You grinned wide, very proud of yourself for getting a visceral reaction out of the boy — even if you had to piss him off to do it. Just as you went to reply with a witty comeback that would have him ranting and raving for the rest of the night, the dinner conch sounded, interrupting what you’re sure would’ve been a very entertaining conversation.

You walked on past him, not stopping, but slowing down so you could cough into your fist, “Flatlander.”

You didn’t look back but you did hear him scoff in shock, and you were sure he stood there frozen for at least twenty seconds because he entered the pavilion way later than you did. He made a point to fix you with an annoyed stare as he sat down a few people away from you — and Chris raised a brow.

“What’d you do to him?”

You shrugged, digging into your mashed potatoes before anyone could tell you to wait until you’d made your offering, “Told him he looked like a Bay Stater.”

He chuckled, wincing under his breath and shaking his head, “You’re evil. I like it.”

You smirked and said nothing — but whenever your eyes flickered over to Luke, his were just flickering away from you.

#@lia’s works #joined a new england subreddit for this fic #so pls give it some love #taking requests #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #pjo

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augustinewrites · 2 years ago

Text

“let me take you to dinner tonight.”

you look up from the handful of tulips you’re binding with twine to meet reo’s expectant gaze.

“no.”

“come on,” he grins, taking the bouquet and placing it with the others. “we eat together all the time. in fact, we’ve already shared one morning coffee and one afternoon picnic. that’s basically two dates.”

“you mean the morning you brought me an overpriced coffee and the afternoon you almost fought a pigeon over french fries in front of my flowers?”

he doesn’t seem to see anything wrong with your statement, nodding fervently. “yeah. we’ve covered morning and afternoon. the next natural course of action is to have dinner together.”

he must read the hesitation in your expression, placing a hand over yours. electricity zips through your veins, but you don’t pull away.

“hey, no pressure. no expectations,” he tells you softly. “just think of it as dinner between friends.”

“can i at least think about it?”

“of course.” he checks his watch. “you have about ten hours to decide because i kind of already made a reservation.”

of course he did. because for all of your banter, he knows you could never say no to him.

“okay, fine, i’ll go out with you. but only because you’re cute when you beg.” you decide, rolling your eyes when he does a quick fist pump.

“i am cute, thank you. and i know i said to think of it as dinner between friends, but if at any point you feel the overwhelming urge to kiss me, you have my complete consent.”

“go to work, reo,” you laugh, gently pushing his shoulder.

“i’ll text you the details!”

_____

reo isn’t sure why he’s so nervous. he’s always been great at first dates– better than average, some might say. but something’s different this time around. maybe it’s the restaurant’s lighting, or maybe it’s the fact that it’s his first date with you.

he’d come a little early and ordered a bottle of wine, knee bouncing under the table as he scrolled through his phone in an attempt to chase his nerves away.

thankfully it’s not long before he spots the hostess leading you to the table (a few more minutes and he certainly would have spiraled). he’s quick to stand, walking around the table to greet you.

“hi,” he says, handing you a bouquet of roses before pulling your seat out for you.

“these are beautiful, thank you,” you say, reo beaming as you gingerly hug the blooms to your chest.

once you’re both seated, he sneaks a glance at you before opening his menu. you look a little nervous, restlessly shifting in your chair and shifting your gaze around the room.

“i’m sorry,” you blurt, curling in on yourself as if you’re embarrassed. “this place is– i probably should have googled it first. i’m so underdressed, i feel like everyone’s looking at me...”

“of course they’re all looking at you. you’re the prettiest person in the room.”

(and, oh man, the way you look at him when he says that…it was like being bathed in soft sunshine. he could sit there and bask in it all day.)

but you lift your menu to hide your bashful expression and reo reaches across the table to pour you a bottle of wine, just to give himself something to do with his hands.

“everything’s so expensive,” you murmur.

the restaurant he’d chosen was one he was familiar with, customary for business meetings. he supposed it was on the higher end of the price range, but it only added to his ability to impress.

money can’t buy happiness, but it can buy you a nice dinner and a pretty good bottle of wine.

“i asked you out, i’m paying.”

“we can just split it–”

“it’s fine,” he waves off. “but if you insist, you can just cover the next one.”

you look up from your menu, amused. “we just sat down and you’re already asking me on a second date?”

he meets your gaze, grinning. “can you blame me?”

_____

despite the initial shock you’d received upon entering the restaurant, you slowly feel yourself begun to loosen up. maybe it’s the wine, or maybe it’s the fact that reo is…admittedly a really good date.

(not just because he’s nice to look at, in a nice shirt with the two topmost buttons undone and trousers that hug his rear perfectly)

as the night wears on, you tell him a bit about yourself. about the things you like to do in your free time, your pet at home, how you ended up running a flower stall in the concrete jungle of downtown tokyo. he listens intently when you talk, asking questions here and there to convey his interest.

though he mostly keeps the conversation focused on you, he tells you about himself too. he talks about the recreational league he plays with on the weekends and the roommate that’s been his best friend since high school. he even talks about the charity gala he’s going to next weekend, representing his family’s business (it’s legit, you can google it! he laughs).

you actually know of the gala he’s talking about. it’s an annual fundraiser, and the order they’d put in at the flower shop you used to work at was one of the most expensive you’d ever seen.

he insists on ordering dessert, the two of you sharing a piece of cheesecake as the night draws to a close. but before it does, you have to ask,

“why did you ask me out?”

he looks at you, seeming genuinely confused by your question. “what do you mean?”

you set your fork down, shrugging. “i’m not really your…type.”

“i have a type?”

“influencers, ceo’s daughters, models…” you say, to list a few.

“you did google me when i was in the bathroom,” he laughs. he doesn’t seem offended, just amused.

you did google him, which is how you know he’s had a string of high profile relationships - and eventual breakups.

“your last date,” you remember. “why didn’t you see her again?”

he takes another bite of the cheesecake, chewing thoughtfully before answering, “nothing was wrong with her. she just weren’t right for me.”

“but i am?”

he pauses, then answers confidently, “i think you might be, yeah.”

“is this the part where you tell me that we’re soulmates?” you tease, nudging the tip of his shoe with yours under the table. you’re trying to maintain a cool composure, but your heart is doing somersaults in your chest.

“no, because i’m a businessman,” he answers, nudging you back. “i believe in free will. when i see an opportunity, i just go for it. i’m not going wait for the universe to decide when i’ll get to be with my one true love.”

“so you believe in the human experience. subjective and objective choices. what about fate?”

“isn’t fate just a result of everyone’s choices? something inevitable, unavoidable.”

“description’s a little on the nose, don’t you think?” you counter. “think of it this way, i chose to set up my stall outside the restaurant, but it was fate that you were heading into it that night, which led to me being in this moment with you.”

“one could argue that was just coincidence,” he points out.

“you could. but maybe it was serendipity.”

“now you’re just making up words,” he laughs, prompting you to throw your napkin at him.

then he leans his elbows on the table, interlocking his fingers and resting his chin atop them. “to put it simply— i am here right now. it wasn’t some inevitable thing because i chose to be here. with you.”

influencers, ceo’s daughters, models. he could be with anyone else in japan, but he chose to be here with you. at the beginning of the night, you weren’t really sure what to expect from him, judging from your brief encounters at your flower stall. you’d known he was decently charming, sure, but tonight you’re getting the full picture.

and the way he looks at you now…it was like you hung the moon and stars.

“i like when you say it like that,” you admit, feeling heat bloom across your cheeks.

“the philosophy course i took in university is paying off then.”

you’re about to do something completely stupid like kiss him when you realize just how quiet it is in the restaurant. you’d been so distracted, so enamoured with the man in front of you that everything else had blurred into the background.

you lean back to look around. it’s completely empty, save for the waitstaff and hostess.

“did we stay past closing?” you frown, wondering how you’d lost track of time.

“it’s fine,” he assures you, reaching across the table to place a hand over yours. “i told you i made a reservation.”

“for the entire restaurant?!”

again, he doesn’t seem to see anything wrong with your statement. “what did you think i meant?”

#blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #reo x reader #reo mikage x reader #blue lock fluff #it's the flower shop au

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dekariosclan · 8 months ago

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As a fellow galemancer i had to share that when your doing the spell scene with gale, when the narrator says the weave is making your one, i couldnt help but notice that he slowly blinks at you like a cat, since tara is technically part cat im sure they blink slow for affection so im not sure but Gale as a cat person slow blinking at you feels so cute, just some food for thought adore you blog as well have a great day

OP, you are absolutely brilliant. However, it seems somehow tumblr autocorrected ‘tressym’ to ‘cat’ in your ask, because as Gale and Tara would both insist, she is definitely NOT a cat, absolutely not, not even a smidge, she’s proudly 100% tressym and we would never want to insult her or get on her bad side by insinuating otherwise! Obviously that was a mistake on tumblrs end! nothing more!!

(…okay OP I think we are in the clear, that should smooth things over with Tara, just wanted to cover all our bases there 😂)

You raise a really interesting point—Gale, having been partially raised by a tressym, could absolutely have picked up a few tressym qualities and mannerisms! So let’s talk about that:

slightly 18+ / suggestive under the cut!

First off, to your point, Gale does the tressym slow blink to show affection. As if Gale’s soft cow eyes weren’t appealing enough, those slow, soft, affectionate blinks?? How could you resist:

Gale loves to touch you, hold your hand, have his hands on you, and of course massage you…except that his massages, while lovely, seem to be less ‘ease your muscle stress by applying firm pressure’ and more ‘making biscuits on your back.’ When you ask where he learned his technique, he says he’s self-taught and proudly adds ‘Tara approves of my form.’ (Doesn’t matter, you love it regardless.)

Gale longingly mentions his tower’s ‘crackling hearth’ several times throughout the game, and just like Tara, it’s one of his favorite places to be—ESPECIALLY if he’s curled up next to it with you. Now, whether you’re on his lap or he’s on yours? That’s entirely up to you. Though Tara might object if her favorite spot—Gale’s lap—is too frequently occupied >:(

Gale occasionally adds in a soft, loving head bump during a makeout session—gently, of course! (This one is canon IMHO as he does this during his ‘Grateful’ kiss variant seen here)

Speaking of making out, when Gale’s engine really gets revved he’ll move from those yearning moans to a low, steady rumble of desire from deep in his chest. A purr of arousal if you will—but one that can turn into a growl as he hungrily claws at your clothes, if your laces/buttons are not cooperating with his need for immediate removal.

It’s canon that Gale hates vegetables, full stop. After all, what self-respecting tressym craves broccoli? He’d much prefer to share a meal of quipperfish, pigeon, or beholder meat with Tara. A proper carnivorous meal, and preferably one that comes with some sort of cream-based delicacy for dessert. Also…are those peas on his plate? Carrots?! Instantly incinerated.

And finally, Tressyms are fastidious about their cleanliness—Tara herself can be seen diligently cleaning her paws during the epilogue—so of course Gale follows suit. He’s very vocal about being disgusted by the bloodbath you can get while in the mindflayer colony in Act 2, and he loathes being in the sewers of Baldur’s Gate. Gale prefers to be clean and preened at all times, not only for his own sense of pride, but also so he can be as presentable as possible for you. (As he himself put it, ‘A gentleman is only as handsome as his least-groomed locus.’). Now when it comes to your cleanliness, though, Gale would never criticize you for your, ah…sweaty, glistening muscles after a fight, OR your particular musk arising from said sweatiness and dirt. In fact he rather likes it, because the only thing better than being clean is the process of getting clean, which he will happily help you with! Perhaps a long, hot, luxurious bath, your naked bodies intertwined as he runs his hands and mouth a bar of soap over every inch of you. Or, perhaps, if bathwater is not available, he could go full tressym and simply lick you clean himself clean you up in a different manner! Who knows?? The possibilities are endless, and he does have a practiced tongue. 😉

— — —

Thank you again for this lovely ask OP! I hope I painted an accurate picture of just how similar our beloved Gale is to a cat TRESSYM !!

As always if anyone has any additional points, please feel free to add them! 🐈🪽💜

#gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #baldur's gate 3 #gale x tav #baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 #galemancer #gale x reader #answered ask #tara the tressym

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falsemilkbun · 4 months ago

Text

I have so many feelings about this sad dusty little pigeon. God. Let me count the ways. This isn't Smart Meta, I have been doing too much tourist season work to be smart. All this is is aaaaa wife! ;~;

Like, that these are images of the same person and there's a continuity between them is so good and tasty and important. To me.

ETA: William this literally spoils the ending GTFO

I think a lot about how there's this throughline of palatability and consumability with Mithrun, so to speak. He spends his younger days making himself palatable and bubbly and friendly and perfect for everyone around him, all the while being a bundle of resentment and inferiority under that surface presentation.

And it works, he's beloved by everybody but Milsiril, who is more demonstrative about her negative feelings and finds his chipperness and sociability unsettling and annoying. She only starts to feel for him when she sees the dungeon he's built, because it's the first real exterior manifestation of his pain that's been revealed to her. And his inferiority is pain; his status and the fact he's loved at all is so intensely tied to his appearance and his presentation, and by that token it's completely conditional and he knows that. His greatest desire was a reality in which he could trust no one would (one assumes just emotonally) hurt him.

His drive is to be loved safely and completely, and it's ultimately a self-destructive drive that doesn't disappear when his desire and motivation are taken from him. What he wants, which isn't apparent to him for some time, is to be completely consumed. He wants to not have been discarded.

Like, there's definitely rage with his demon obsession. He is angry, but it's more complicated than simple anger at what was done to him. The parts where he's angry are sandwiched between parts where he's expressing all this insecurity, all this yearning to be fully consumed and fully loved. The fact that he wasn't makes him think of and describe himself as literal garbage.

So much of his scary forward momentum comes from what amounts to heartbreak and self-hatred. He was smothering in pressure and inferiority, and that made him vulnerable to someonething that offered him an escape only to gradually and then suddenly eat him alive. That maimed and disabled him, that purposely stripped him of the features that people valued him for. That ate the Good Parts and left the rest, which is most of him.

I don't know. Except I do. This is kind of a doodle/sketch of a smarter meta post I want to do eventually.

They're the same. There's continuity. To me. That feels important. I don't jibe with thinking of them as distinct, or with the idea that what happened fixed or matured him somehow. He's in the exact same kind of pain the whole time, it just depends whether he registers it or not.

And of course my pairing agenda is involved, because Kabru is kind and patient with him and ties stupid little bows in his clothes and doesn't really ask anything of him. And doesn't believe he's incapable of sleeping with magic or drugs. And doesn't believe he's incapable of feeling or growing or living a worthwhile life. Kabru doesn't believe he's garbage.

#mithrun #kabumisu #kabru #he gets tagged too dammit I deserve to be here. >:|#songs to touch the stove to

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slowlyoats · 1 month ago

Text

The Lost Boys: How They Comfort Their Significant Other

Marko

I could see his S/O having some tough skin, so it’s on the rarer side that Marko would have to comfort them because they got their feelings hurt or someone made fun of them

They would need comforting for art critiques though

Like I’ve mentioned in previous posts, Marko is drawn to creative energy, so it likely that his S/O would be an artist of some kind

Anyways

They don’t take criticism lightly, so when a local art critic calls their painting “a mess of lines and colors attempting to be art” they are CRUSHED

Like they refuse to leave the pigeon hole, and Marko has to bring all their meals to them for a week

Lucky for this S/O though

Marko is a supportive and a loyal KING

That man brings you your meals, and lets you cry it out

He lets you sleep all day and all night, and stays right by your side, giving plenty of little “it’s okay, I’m here” kisses

Then, when you’ve gotten all that “sappy stuff” out of your system he wants you to get MAD

He wants you to get ANGRY

He wants you to form a very detailed, long winded revenge plan, with some nice artistic touches!

He loves bonding with you over art, so throw in a dash of revenge and it’s the perfect date night

Paul

Paul tends to not take things seriously, and is the Prince of Teasing

That being said he can take it too far

He won’t notice that you are upset right away, because he probably got distracted by something shiny, or is currently trying to see how many little objects he can get in Marko’s hair without him noticing

One of the boys would probably have to point out to him that you are upset

If you're upset about something that he said, then he is quick to point out that he may be pretty but he’s also pretty stupid

He will apologize right away

Dwayne

Dwayne’s S/O I could see being on the sensitive side

Comments people say about them bother them all the time, but they would never call the person out for it or tell Dwayne (though Dwayne can usually tell anyways)

They care very deeply for their found family and don’t want to cause conflict, so they find it easier to keep moments of distress and sadness to themself

But

There is one topic they are particularly touchy about

Their body image

Even the slightest comment about how they look or what they are eating can dig its claws into their subconscious

Dwayne didn’t know this at first, and he shamefully admits it took him awhile to understand why these comments upset you so much

But, in Dwayne fashion he educates himself on the topic so he can teach himself how to best support you

He watches you like a hawk so that he can learn the facial expressions you make when someone makes a comment that makes you uncomfortable

Or how you voice changes when your holding back tears

The boys have no filter *cough cough Marko & Paul* so there have been a few comments made by them

Like one time you all were grabbing ice cream, and you got three scoops instead of your typically two because you were FEELING ice cream that night and Paul made a comment

“ Wooh, you better watch your figure! A moment on the lips, forever on the hips!”

Now, Paul said it as a stupid joke and didn’t put much thought to it

You on the other hand couldn’t eat the ice cream after he said it

Dwayne PROMPTLY dragged Paul by the scruff of his collar out of ear shot, and ripped the poor man a new one

They didn’t realize how much it bothered you till that night, and none of the boys have ever made a comment like that again

Dwayne would encourage you to eat the ice cream, but he wouldn’t pressure you.

He would stay close throughout the night, and would only talk about it if you wanted to

You would walk along the beach, side by side, and point out constellations together till you felt ready to talk

He wants you to feel confident in your body, because this man thinks your the most ethereal woman he has ever laid eyes on, and he knows that confidence lays right under your surface

He is always whispering compliments in your ear from then on

They always make you blush, but they do help you feel beautiful and remind you that you are loved and seen

David

Their significant other hates feeling dumb

They are an intelligent, fierce being; who unfortunately really struggled with academics from elementary school to high school

They worked hard through college though! stuff doesn’t come easy to them

They just try, try, and try till they get it right

Their relentless

That doesn’t mean their childhood trauma of feeling stupid had gone away though

David would never call his S/O stupid after learning this, unless, of course, he deems that they are indeed acting stupid. (Which in his eyes happens often)

He can be an insensitive jerk so whenever you two get in a fight it’s the first blow he gives

He knows it hurts you, that why he said it

He always regrets it afterwards though

He thinks giving you space afterward will comfort you, but that’s not what you want

Comfort starts with an apology

And he is the king of apologies

He would find you laying on the couch with puffy, red eyes, staring at the ceiling

He would lay down next to you, and proceed to give you the most well thought out and meaningful apology you have ever heard

Only to you though

No one else gets an apology from him

His only regrets are the ones where you get hurt

#david tlb #dwayne tlb #lost boys 1987 #marko tlb #paul tlb #the lost boys #tlb fandom #tlb fanfiction #the lost boys david #the lost boys dwayne #hurt/comfort #tlb headcanons #the lost boys marko #the lost boys movie #the lost boys 1987 #lost boys #tlb 1987 #david the lost boys

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our-queer-experience · 29 days ago

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Hi, uhhh so I’ve sent asks before, i don’t think you’d remember since it’s been over a year but I’m the anon that was obsessed with ducks (I like pigeons more now haha) I’m still dating the same boyfriend that I originally made my ask about and it’s great. We’re even living together and we’re in college. We’ve both changed, both as people and physically (I am fat and healthy now lol), and we’ve transitioned through that pretty nicely.

Vent from here on out, sorry (tw for pregnancy + abortion, rllly sorry)

because of the culture of our religion (it’s a closed practice so I’m not gonna explain it sorry) because we can technically have kids we’re under a lot of pressure to get married, fuck a lot and have a lot of kids, especially because there aren’t a lot of people still practicing the religion like our families do.

The thing is. I am PREGNANT. Which is insane, because we don’t have sex a lot and we’re super safe about it. I took like seven tests and even went to the doctor.

I’m having an abortion (w/ bfs support) but im just so upset about this. It’s weighing on both of us because even if abortion is supported by our religion and our families, because of the expectation to have a lot of kids, having an abortion seems wrong.

Our religious leader, our families, friends who practice, and even my duck (lol) are supportive of us. I just can’t help but cry about it though, I feel like such a fuck up for getting pregnant. My boyfriend is the only person who’s really realizing that this is hitting me differentlythan it is him because, y’know… IM THE FUCKING PREGNANT ONE.

Yes, yes, yes he’s allowed to be in pain and he is in pain and I know that. But I just want someone else to acknowledge that I’m gonna be the one actually having an abortion. Like, it feels like I’m going through a mental torment that he can’t understand but everyone is treating us the same.

I have to get an abortion, mainly because I have to get a super important surgery soon and I’ve been taking a medication that likely already negatively impacted the fetus to the point I would likely miscarry or it would barely survive the birth. And also we’re both basically teenagers and are NOT ready to be parents. I just feel bad, because I feel like I hurt this thing inside me and now I’m just gonna get rid of it.

My therapist suggested post-abortion counseling, so I guess that’s probably where I’m going and so is bf

Tldr

Im pregnant + have to get an abortion. Everyone from my personal life is acting like this experience is the exact same for me and my boyfriend. I wish people would understand they weren’t.

I feel guilty but this abortion is incredibly necessary. Gonna go to counseling after the abortion. I just need support, honestly.

first of all, 🫂

second of all, that really sucks that this whole situation is going on. it sucks that while you can acknowledge that this is difficult for everyone, it is happening to *you* and no one else gets that. i know i could give you the whole spiel about abortion not really harming the fetus and all that, but what’s important is how you feel about this. it sucks you’re not getting the support you need, and if you need to talk leading up to this surgery or abortion or after it, my ask box is always open

#our queer experience #asks #duck anon

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itsa-me-lily · 2 months ago

Text

@nightunite I hope she is everything you want her to be.

This is the start of an expansion in the Military Program Spouse Universe.

Please note this is a different reader than with Simon. Here you are Goggles and you are a menace to all.

The gym scene that Johnny is obsessing over came from Pick Up Games (A fic from Simon and his reader's playlist)

Here is Johnny & Goggle's playlist

Content warning;

Sexual themes, sexual tension, Sexual innuendoes, Goggles

Johnny knew he was a good solider. He was part of the 141. He prided himself on it. So why the hell was he letting someone from Mechanical of all places get under his skin like this?

"I bet you're real good at following orders aren't ya Sudsy?"

The words from the gym kept circling around and around in his head for days. Sudsy. That wasn't his call sign and he positive you knew it. It would be like if he called you fucking Wrenches instead of Goggles. What kind of call sign was Goggles anyways? He earned his call sign with how cleanly he swept houses thank you very much.

With a huff he cut off whatever conversation Gaz was trying to have with him. Something about a bird? A pigeon? Or dove? Whatever it was Johnny was sure that it was something they could revisit later at least. He could feel an energy buzz in his fingertips. It was similar to when they'd be cooped up on site, a need to excise it without the space to do anything about it.

Only this time he wasn't cooped up waiting for some terrorist or oligarch to make a drop. The only four walls around him were the breakroom, and he could leave it at any time. And like a cartoon it was almost like a lightbulb went off above Johnny's head. He just had to tell it to you straight. His call sign was Soap, and he was a seargent damnit, he was going to be respected.

With that mission directive in mind he hustled his way out of the break room and down to the garage. Surely you had to be there.

Whoever the fuck had decided to go try mudding with the LTATV and fucked up the undercarriage, their mother was hoe. You could feel your blood pressure rising as you looked at what seemed to be like gallons of dried mud that caked underneath as well as inside. Seriously, it was built for like two people, but given how the suspension was fucked you could only guess that, the weight limit was happily disregarded. Cap gave this to you as payback for giving Smudge new markers, you were sure of it. Bastard.

Before you could consider if insubordination was worth having on your permanent record, the very man you were considering insubordinating was calling for you. What great timing. With a grunt you rolled out from the LTATV, brushing the crumbling mud from your front, uncaring of what was caught in your hair at the moment.

"Yeah yeah I'm coming what-Oh Sudsy!"

And just like that your day was looking so much brighter. Sgt 'Soap' MacTavish was an absolute fucking meal and you were starving. Especially when he got that annoyed pouty look on his face that made you wanna give him something to be a little less grumpy about. Or maybe a little more grumpy depending on if he'd let you-

"Sargent here wanted to have a word with you."

Fuck Cap for being a goddamn buzzkill. You were enjoying giving the good sargent a slow once over.

"Sure. I'll take a little break from the bullshit you gave me."

Honestly you knew you were lucky that Cap let you be as mouthy as you were, but that was something to tell him later. You were giving your undivided attention to a certain Scott.

"So, what can I do ya for? Sudsy?"

Oh you probably shouldn't have enjoyed the way his eyebrow twitched at your new nickname for him. But you did and well that was going to be his problem. You tilted your head as you waited for an answer, enjoying the way Johnny crossed his arms over his chest. Seriously you just wanted to gnaw on him. Just a little. Those biceps looked very gnawable...

"What's wrong with it?"

It took you a moment to realize what he was talking about, looking back at the LTATV with a shrug.

"Some dumbasses thought they'd test the all terrain in some unauthorized mud shenanigans."

"So it just needs a wash?"

Oh it should have been illegal for him to sound so cute when he was confused. Seriously. You just wanted to smoosh his face between your hands.

"The suspensions fucked at the very least, but won't know until I can get a better look. And get covered in mud myself."

With a sigh you leaned against the side of the vehicle, and couldn't help but give Johnny a smirk.

"Though I bet you know all about that right?"

His confused stare only made your smile grow.

"Getting dirty? You know through mud and blood and all that jazz? Bet you clean up real nice too Sudsy."

Having a neon sign above your head flashing 'fuck me' might have been a little less obvious. But given the look on Johnny's face you weren't sure if he was getting it yet.

"Soap."

Huh?

"Huh?"

You didn't mean to sound stupid, but if it meant having this man step into your space, you could be the dumbest bitch possible. You could just barely smell whatever aftershave he used as you tilted your face up to keep eye contact with him.

"Call sign's Soap. Not Sudsy."

Fuck you'd call him whatever he wanted with that hard look on his face. Wonder if he'd still look like that if you slid down and-

"Right. Soap."

"Don't forget it."

You weren't planning on it anytime soon, and you could feel how charged your little stare down was getting. It was for you at least. Before you had a chance to suggest that you move your little meeting to somewhere more private, like a storage closet, the man was nodding to himself and stepping back to turn on heel and walk away.

Not great manners, but you could train that into him. You were sure. You enjoyed the view of him walking away, waiting until he was just about to leave the garage to call out to him.

"Toodles...Soap."

The man didn't bother to wave good bye but that was alright. You were pretty sure the flush you saw crawling up the back of his neck wasn't your imagination. With a groan you dropped your head back for it to clunk to the ATV frame.

"Fuuuuuck I gotta get that man pregnant."

You weren't sorry for the private that you startled.

Edit;

Goggles is a menace and I will never apologize for that.

#military program spouse #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny x reader #Soap x reader #johnny x goggles

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