#and decided to write a stupid little thing

[callsign-rogueone]

eighteen hours

sawyer henrick x reader (peach!)

words: 2.2k

🏷️: onyx storm spoilers (first few chapters), light angst re; peach’s fate after ditching a month of school to go to aretia, catriona lovers should be pleased with this chapter, it’s nice to let the girlfriends go a little feral sometimes, but it always has to immediately be followed by guilt because that’s how we do things on this blog, a little casual dom sawyer at the end there… and of course angst about him being bed bound and unable to take care of her ❤️‍🩹 but he’ll be out of the infirmary in their next chapter and then things will get a little sexy…

You’d decided to wait for a moment when everyone was here at the same time — it’ll be hard enough to give this speech once, let alone two or even three times. Rehearsing it in the mirror in your room had nearly broken you. But now that everyone is here, and you have to feel all of their pity, all at once, that seems like a bad idea. At least you’ll have the next week, and the rest of your life, to get over it.

“I, um… I have to tell you all something.”

All eyes turn toward you, softening — it’s clear from the quiet, strained tone of your voice that whatever this is, it won’t be good.

“I’m being dishonorably discharged. I just wanted to say thank you, and goodbye.”

Sawyer stiffens beside you, and the girls wince, but it’s Ridoc who speaks first. “That’s bullshit! None of us were even reprimanded for leaving. Why are they punishing you?”

“They don’t need me,” you say gently. “You guys are bonded to dragons for life. I’m just another healer.”

Violet picks up on the resignation in your voice, ever observant. “You’re not going to fight it?”

“I tried. There’s no getting around the fact that I went AWOL for nearly a month. I’m lucky they’re letting me go home, honestly.” The squad is silent, not knowing what to say, so you continue; if you let the words hang in the air too long, you’re going to cry again. “It won’t be too bad. I might never have the title of a learned healer, but they can’t take away the things they’ve taught me. I can go back to the valley and help people there, where they need it most. Just… remember to write every now and then, yeah?” you ask, your voice breaking.

Rhiannon is sitting closest to you, and she pulls you into a warm embrace, rubbing your back.

“I’m sorry, I thought I was over it,” you sniff, blotting at your eyes with the sleeve of your robe, which is a terrible idea in terms of sterility, but it’s all you have at the moment. “But this is the one thing I’ve wanted all my life, and to leave you all now…”

“When do you have to go?” Violet asks softly.

“Tomorrow, at noon.”

Sawyer squeezes your hand, finally speaking. “Then we have… eighteen hours to convince the leadership to let you stay.”

Your lips part to reply — and then you hear a scream rip its way down the hall.

“They’re within the walls,” Violet says, likely relaying the information from Tairn. “You need to get out of here, now.”

“Absolutely not. I’m not leaving him, or any of the patients.”

Cat turns to you, deciding how to best articulate exactly how stupid that would be. “You do realize that—”

“Give her the bow,” Sawyer interrupts. “She can split an apple clean in half from a hundred yards.”

Her eyebrows raise, then fall. “I guess there’s not much else to do in the middle of nowhere. Go for the eyes or the throat,” she advises, shrugging off the quiver and extending it to you.

“Don’t touch the arrowheads,” Sawyer instructs. “I’m gonna try to reshape them.”

“Can you do that from a distance?”

“Worth a shot.”

It’s been two full years since you’ve held a bow, let alone shot an arrow, but you don’t have much of a choice — it’s this, or letting dozens of people die.

The eyes or the throat. You can do that, right?

A purple-robed figure slips through the doors of the wing, fading the color from the tiles of the floor as they step on them, from the linen sheets on the beds as they pass by.

The bowstring pulls tight, the first shot missing by two inches from the shake of your hands — but it has the venin turning toward you, red irises meeting yours. Their face is ghost-white, the only coloring that of their veins, highlighted bright crimson like a textbook drawing.

And they’re getting closer, clearly intent on leeching your life away, however that works.

You have no intention of finding out.

You notch another arrow, take aim, and let sail. It pierces their shoulder with a sickening wet thunk that’s immediately followed by a scream of pain. Better, but not good enough.

Third time’s the charm — you finally get the throat, and they sink to their knees before falling still. But there’s two more closing in.

One takes an arrow to the collarbone, swearing in a language you’ve never heard before Maren’s runed dagger lodges into their chest.

The other is better at evading your shots, weaving around the beds and ducking behind supply carts, continuing to fade all the color from everything they touch. That must be how they get their power.

They’re too close to shoot accurately, but you still have a weapon. Several of them, actually. And they’re expecting you to retreat, to run.

To run away, that is. Not straight toward them.

There’s an agonized shout of your name from across the room, but you don’t turn your head — instead lifting your arm, swiping Sawyer’s dagger across their neck. They fall to their knees as they choke, clawing at their throat in a failed attempt to stop the bleeding.

The sight of all that red spilling out of their skin sets off an alarm in your head, the immediate instinct that you need to fix it, and an immediate sick feeling in your stomach.

Blood has never bothered you before.

But you’ve never been the one to spill it.

The dagger slips from your hand, the perfect grooves of the handle slickened with sweat. The bow falls to the floor beside it, the nearly empty quiver shrugged off and dropped too, its one remaining arrow rolling across the bloodied tiles.

You cover your mouth, trying to breathe through your nose as acid rises in your throat.

“I’ve got him,” Maren promises. “Go.”

You nod a thank you, turning and bolting down the hall.

Cat follows a step behind you, holding back your hair and your robes as you drop to the floor in front of the toilet. “Attagirl. Better out than in.”

“I just…” you whisper.

“I know.”

“They were people.”

“Were,” she emphasizes. “At one point, they were people. Now they’re monsters.”

“I’m supposed to do no harm.”

“You held the line, and saved the lives of every healer and patient who was there, including Sawyer,” she says gently, wiping what must be venin blood from your cheeks with a damp towel. “You prevented so much more harm.”

That’s one way to think about it, you suppose.

It doesn’t do much to ease your guilt.

How do your friends deal with this?

You aren’t sure about the others, but you know Violet has killed before, slit the throat of some boy who was sent to kill her. That was as much self defense as this was. Does she think about that moment every day, playing it on an endless loop in her mind? How many Hail-Amaris did she say that night? How many will be enough for the queen of the gods to forgive either of you?

Cat places a fleeting hand on your shoulder, standing up to discard the dirty towel, and the bathroom door creaks closed behind her.

A long moment passes before you rise from the floor, washing your hands and swirling a shot of disinfectant around your mouth to take away the acidic taste.

You waited long enough, evidently. The bodies are gone, the blood, too. It’s as if you’d dreamed it all up — except for the bleached tiles of the floor under your boots as you walk back to Sawyer’s bedside, settling on the edge of the mattress. His arm is around you in an instant, his head resting against your chest.

You stay like that for a long while, even as your friends come and go, sitting in near complete silence.

There isn’t much to say. But you don’t need words to feel the depth of each other’s pain and sadness, don't need to tell each other how terrifying that was, how you thought you’d lose them. It’s enough to stay there, leaning into his touch, combing your fingers through his hair, letting your eyes fall closed.

This may be the last time you can ever do any of this.

Footsteps have your eyes flying open, your hand reaching for the dagger that no longer rests at your hip. But the two robed figures approaching aren’t venin — just Helen and Winifred. And they’re here to speak to you, evidently.

“We heard what you did today.”

Fuck. They were already letting you off easy with a discharge, but now for them to find out that you broke the Healer’s Oath…

“It was quite the display, from what I’ve heard. A healer cadet killing two dark wielders.”

“Three,” you correct in a whisper.

Maren had helped with the second one, but you’d shot him before he went down. You’ll already wear the title of murderer for the rest of your life — might as well count him, too.

“The board has decided we’d like you to stay,” Winifred finishes for her.

What?

“You did an incredibly difficult thing today. There will be moments in your career like this — not exactly like this, of course, but situations when you have to decide how to best uphold the Oath. I, and several others on the board, have decided that you did that today, and your actions were justified.”

A beat, as you process her words.

Sawyer squeezes your hand gently, prompting you to say something.

“Thank you,” you breathe, bowing your head. “Thank you for giving me a second chance. I promise I’ll work twice as hard as I was before.”

Helen looks unconvinced, pursing her lips and huffing a breath of disbelief before turning to leave.

Winifred offers you a knowing smile over her shoulder, lingering a moment. “Some of us still remember what it’s like to be young and in love with a man who has sworn his life to the crown. And to make the choice to go where you’re needed most, knowing it could cost you everything… it doesn’t get much more exemplary than that.”

Sawyer leans into you a little further, and you can feel the warmth of his pride in his touch. “I knew they’d come around.”

Your lips part in realization. “You were the one who told them, weren’t you?”

He just smiles, giving you one last gentle squeeze. “You should get some sleep. You have a lot of work to do, starting tomorrow.”

—————-

A lot of work, indeed.

Sawyer doesn’t see you for the next three days.

“She’s resting,” Trager answers before Sawyer can ask, saving him the awkwardness. He glances around, seeing nobody, but still lowers his voice as he continues. “I’m not supposed to tell you this, with healer-patient confidentiality and all, but she collapsed this morning.”

Sawyer’s eyes blow wide. “What happened?”

The flier starts unwrapping the bandages, inspecting the sutures underneath. “They’re overworking her. Their justification is that she missed a month of work and school, so she has to make up for it now by doing double shifts, and turning in all her assignments by the end of this week.”

“That’s ridiculous. Who could possibly do a month’s work in a week?”

“Not her, evidently.”

It’s clear that Trager regrets his choice of words as soon as they’re spoken, but Sawyer doesn’t fault him for it, knowing it’s not intended as an insult.

He doesn’t see you until after dark, when you drag yourself out of bed and down to the infirmary. “Wanted to see you before visiting hours ended,” you murmur, bringing a hand up to cover a jaw-cracking yawn.

“You cut your nails,” he realizes, a little dismayed.

“Mm. Don’t have time to paint them anymore, anyway.”

“How are your assignments coming?”

You hum in response. “Two more essays, n’ then I’m done with it all. G’nna finish tonight.”

“I think you should sleep first,” he prods gently. “They can wait until morning.”

You shake your head, covering yet another yawn. “They’re due Friday night, and I have to work the next two days.”

“But they won’t be any good if you write them when you’re all loopy and sleep deprived.”

Oh.

The frown it brings to your face makes his heart ache, makes him regret this approach — but he has to do something to prevent you from working yourself to the bone, and his options are limited. “Shower, then sleep. No more writing until you’ve eaten breakfast, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good girl. C’mere.”

You step forward without thought, letting him press a kiss to your forehead.

“I love you.”

“Love you too,” you murmur. “G’night.”

He wants nothing more than to go with you, to get you through the shower and ready for bed, curl up with you and let you rest your head over his heart like you did every night in Aretia, but all he can do is watch from his bed as you walk away.

[munsonify]

hiii would you consider writing a a part 2 for “drunk call?” it was so so good

hiii absolutely i would! as a matter of fact…. here ya go! thank ya!!

hungover realizations 𓂃 bucky barnes x fem!reader

summary. when you wake up with a raging hangover, you’re met with the last two things you wanted to deal with - a splotchy memory and a call log that says you’d spoken to bucky last night. you just hope you didn’t say anything stupid

content warnings. fluff, hangovers, more pining, confirmation of mutual feelings, bucky being a flirt, bucky referring to r as ‘pretty girl’, him calling r beautiful, food (bacon, coffee), mentions of being drunk. not proofread

word count. 1964

drunk call 𓂃 part one

———

from the moment you woke up, you knew you’d done a little too much the night before, and it all started with a huge headache. your head felt heavy as you come into consciousness, sheets wrapped around you every which way. a deep groan bellowed from your chest at the feeling, reaching a hand up to your eyes to rub, your palm pressing against your eyelid. in that moment you’d felt a clump of mascara move against your skin.

it seemed you were only able to get yourself out of your clothes before you’d crashed into bed. you were in an old shirt of yours that reached halfway down your thighs and a pair of panties, something you only ever did when you were very tired. blindly, you started patting the squishy mattress around you in search of your phone. when you’d found it, you were quick to realize it wasn’t plugged it.

“of course,” you grumbled out, voice a little hoarse. your grip on your phone tightened as you prepared to open your eyes. the moment they started to flutter open, the vicious morning light assaulted your vision, causing another groan to bubble up. you let your eyes adjust, though you kept them squinted, turning to lay on your side, desperately removing yourself from the aggressive light coming from your window.

that’s when you’d flipped your phone over, turning it on to see the time firstly. it was a little after 9, and though it could’ve been worse, you still grumbled about it. your eyes flickered up to the top, a small red line at your batter indicating that it was nearly dead. trying your best to ignore the ache in your feet - what you assumed was from your heels -, you typed in your passcode to open your phone. what you saw next made your heart sink.

you’d called bucky last night.

it wasn’t the most absurd thing to call a friend or a teammate, you were prone to call friends from time to time while drinking. this was different. you don’t quite remember the end of last night, sometime around when your friend had left your memory became hazy. you don’t even really remember getting home. clearly, you’d made it safe, but how you’d managed that was beyond you. the only thing you were focused on remembering was why you’d called bucky and what you’d said to him during that conversation.

while you began thinking everything over, you decided it was best to finally take off your makeup from the night before. you were sluggish with the way you walked to your bathroom, stumbling over the heels you’d carelessly tossed onto your floor while you were changing. you pushed open the bathroom door, not caring to turn the light on as you searched for your makeup wipes.

you were rather harsh with the way you took your makeup off. your mind was elsewhere, you had much better things to worry about than being careful with yourself right now. the small garbage can you had sitting in your bathroom was overflowing, and you made a promise to yourself you’d fix it up after you had some coffee and something to eat.

after you’d cleaned your face up and brushed your teeth, you decided to put on some fresh clothes before you headed down in search of some food. you were rather cold, so you settled on a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants, both baggy and comfortable on your body. with your nearly dead phone in hand, you began your trek.

when you’d opened your door, a missing piece from last night found its way back to you. you remember standing right there, arms wrapped tightly around bucky in an embrace, your weight almost fully leaning into him. you’d given him a thank you and a small compliment you cringed at the thought of. you must’ve called him to come pick you up. he is very reliable, so it makes sense. besides, with how much you seek him out sober, of course you seek him out when you aren’t.

your palm found its way to your eyes again, rubbing a lot more gently than before as you make your way towards the large kitchen for some food. the scent of fresh, warm coffee entered your senses as you neared. someone must’ve just made a pot, and you were so grateful they had. you were quick to search for a mug and some milk, happily fixing yourself up a cup. near the stove, you noticed there was a plate of crispy bacon, a plate in which had your mouth salivating simply at the sight of it. with the cup of coffee in your hand, you grasped ahold of two pieces - pieces that were, immediately, a little cold -, before stumbling towards a seat at the kitchen table.

it was abnormally quiet in the kitchen today. you assumed that, maybe, it was because of your late start. it was clear at least two others were up before you were, and you were sure the rest were, too. not that you were complaining, though, you liked the silence. especially since you were painfully hungover.

nibbling at a piece of bacon, you started thinking again about last night, particularly about the hug you’d given bucky. it was sweet of him to call you a cab back home, and even sweeter to help you to your room. that was, in fact, what you’d drawn from the situation. you hadn’t caught on to how exactly you’d gotten home yet. a nudge on your calf startles you out of your thoughts for only a moment, eyes darting down beneath the table to lock eyes with the culprit.

bucky’s cat, alpine, had found her way into the kitchen, desperately seeking some attention. you couldn’t help but coo at her, sitting down what bacon you had left next to your mug. your gentle hands found their way to the cat, picking her up slowly, bringing her up to your chest. you held alpine close to you, continuing to coo and gawk at her, a small smile on your face. all she did was purr and nuzzle into your warmth, staring up at you contently.

“hi baby girl,” you told her in a whisper, carefully caressing her white fur as you admire her. “so glad it’s you who’s keeping me company. everyone else is so loud.”

that’s how bucky found you this morning, cuddled up with his cat at the kitchen table. you hadn’t even noticed his presence, too preoccupied with giving alpine all sorts of attention. admiration was laced in every last inch of his face, everywhere from his gentle smile to his soft eyes. it wasn’t until he rounded closer to the table, his hands starting to fumble with the coffee pot that you’d realized he was there. for how big he is, he was awfully quiet sometimes. it startles you.

“if you keep spoiling her like that she’s gonna start expecting it out of me, too,” bucky quipped, shaking his head as he pours himself a cup of coffee. he never took his coffee with any milk, something you thought was utterly insane, so he’d found his way to the table quickly. bucky sat at the chair next to yours, leaning over to gently pet alpine, returning back to his coffee quickly.

“it’s what’s she deserves,” you whispered out, a smile still on your face as alpine shimmy’s slightly in your grasp. “it’s a shame you aren’t already spoiling her. no wonder she likes me so much.”

bucky simply let out a huff of air for a laugh, shaking his head again in slight disbelief. he watched the way you leaned down to place a kiss against the cats head, watching the way she purred at the affection.

it fell silent after your words, and usually you wouldn’t mind it. this morning, however, you wanted that silence to be filled. you had some questions for him, some worry in the your chest that you’d bothered the man last night, or maybe scared him off a little. you couldn’t have that. you couldn’t love with that.

“hey bucky?” you asked, eyes flickering up at him, only briefly looking at him before you turned your attention back to alpine. he hummed out a ‘yeah’, his own eyes finding their way back to you again. “i saw that i called you last night, and i honestly cannot remember what i said. i actually can’t remember much of anything from last night. can you fill me in, please?”

you were desperate to remember. god, you really hoped you didn’t make an ass out of yourself. and, as if it was the most casual thing in the world, bucky told you without any hesitation.

“you just needed a way home. you called me and asked if i could walk you back, so i did,” he spoke, shrugging his shoulders. your eyes finally met for the first time since he’d sat down at the table. you saw the way he looked at you, the soft expression he had on his face was adorable.

“you walked to the bar and back just to get me home?” you gawked, both eyebrows raising in surprise. you were beginning to remember now, a memory of his arm wrapped casually around your waist, guiding you through the streets of new york.

you remembered the way he called you sweetheart, and the way he held your purse. it all made a little more sense now that you thought a little more, bucky being in front of your bedroom door with you seemed inevitable.

“of course,” bucky affirmed, speaking again like it was obvious thing in the world. “can’t have a pretty girl like you waiting around like that.”

his words were confident, smooth. that’s when you’d remembered his compliment from last night. he’d called you pretty just like he was now, casually and sincerely. you watched the way bucky’s pointer finger slowly trailed the length of his mug, feeling your insides flip slightly at the sight. he seemed to notice, too, a small smirk appearing on his face.

“thanks, buck,” you told him, a little shy under his gaze as you thought. you began gnawing at your bottom lip as you continued to gently pet alpine, your grip tightening slightly, something completely unintentional. you, without really realizing, started to smile. you spoke your mind without much of a second thought. “you think im pretty.”

“i think you’re beautiful.” your heart skipped a beat or two the moment those words left bucky’s mouth.

unfortunately for the both of you, you’d been rudely interrupted before the conversation could progress much further. john and ava had found their way into the kitchen, their bickering filling up the once relatively quiet space. while you and bucky were never ones to be soft spoken, you knew when to be quiet with your voices. it was something those two couldn’t quite comprehend. loud seemed to be their default when they spoke together.

you’d shared a knowing glance with bucky when they’d came in, both of you biting back a laugh as they continued to bicker in your presence. your eyes lingered on each other for far too long, and even then, neither ava or walker had noticed. bucky sipped as his coffee, pressing both of his elbows against the table as he leaned against it slightly, his biceps flexing ever so slightly.

you came to the conclusion then that calling him wasn’t as bad as you thought it was. in fact, you were glad you did. if you hadn’t, then maybe you wouldn’t have caught on to bucky’s feelings towards you. your pining came into use after all, even if it was because of a drunken decision you’d made.

[thepinkpanther83]

Grease And Honey (Pt.2 Morning Regular)

Chapter Two: “Morning Regular”

Eddie Munson x Female Reader

Masterlist

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Chapter Two: “Morning Regular”

It started with the bell.

Again.

And again.

And again.

You weren’t even surprised the third time Eddie walked in that week. By then, you had his order memorized… black coffee, nothing fancy, just “hot and bitter, like my last relationship,” he’d said the second time, shooting you a crooked grin that had you biting back a smirk of your own.

The first day, sure. You’d chalked that up to curiosity.

The second? Maybe convenience. The garage was only a block away, after all.

But by the fourth morning in a row?

You knew damn well he was showing up for reasons that had very little to do with the bean juice.

He usually didn’t stay long. Just enough time to hover near the counter, ask how your morning was going, make some quip about the music you were playing (“This is either a really depressing breakup playlist or you’ve got deep taste, New Girl”), and toss a crumpled bill into the tip jar without ever looking down to see how much he’d given.

Callie noticed it too.

“That’s like… a twenty,” she whispered once behind the pastry display as Eddie took his usual window seat, one table away from Lorraine’s spy perch, because of course it was.

“Don’t look at it,” you whispered back. “If he sees us reacting, he’ll start putting weird stuff in there just to mess with us. Like a bottle cap. Or a condom.”

Callie stared at you. “Why does that sound exactly like something he’d do?”

You didn’t answer.

Because you were too busy watching him pretend not to watch you.

He’d bring a newspaper or a greasy notebook some days, scrawling something that looked halfway between invoices and lyrics. Sometimes he’d just sit with one ankle propped on his opposite knee, one hand loosely wrapped around his mug, eyes skimming the shop like he was absorbing the walls.

But when you passed by? When you laughed with a customer? When you reached up to adjust the chalkboard or wiped your fingers on your apron?

That’s when his gaze found you.

And lingered.

Just a little too long.

Somewhere around the sixth visit, you stopped pretending it was a coincidence.

He always came in around 9:15. Just after the early rush, just before the moms with strollers and screaming toddlers took over the seating area. Always alone. Always with a new line ready, something stupid, something funny, something that always made you smile even when you didn’t want to.

“This place smells like nutmeg and capitalism,” he said once, sniffing dramatically as he walked in.

You’d glanced up from wiping the espresso machine. “I could say the same about you.”

He’d barked a laugh at that, slid a five into the tip jar, and said, “Keep talkin’ to me like that and I’ll start thinkin’ we’re in love.”

Another time, it was: “Y’know, the longer I drink this coffee, the more I realize I might be in a committed relationship. It’s bitter. It’s complicated. But I keep coming back.”

You tried not to laugh.

You tried not to like him.

But it wasn’t just the sarcasm. Or the grin. Or the way he always left his sunglasses tucked into his collar like he couldn’t decide if he was coming or going.

It was the way he watched you.

Not with that lazy, lustful stare men usually offered when they wanted something they didn’t plan to stick around for, but with real interest. Like you were a puzzle he was still figuring out. Like he wanted to ask you questions he hadn’t decided how to phrase yet.

You found yourself noticing things.

He read, always brought a different book, spine cracked and filled with notes in the margins. His pen was always in his front shirt pocket. You caught him scribbling once and teased, “Writing your manifesto?”

He deadpanned, “Grocery list. But I’ll be sure to include ‘overthrow the government’ just for flavor.”

He lingered longer each day. Some mornings he stayed through the lull. Others he came back after lunch for a second cup and no real excuse. He started asking about your routine. Your favorite tea (you told him), your least favorite customer (you didn’t tell him, but you looked at Lorraine, which got a snort out of him), your taste in music, your childhood dog’s name. He made you laugh. A lot. And he didn’t hide the way he watched you when you did.

Once, you caught him just… sitting there. Mug in hand. Elbow on the table. Chin resting on the backs of his fingers. Watching you sweep the front mat.

“What?” you’d asked, feeling your cheeks warm.

He shrugged. “You clean like you’re mad at the floor. It’s cute.”

You rolled your eyes and turned away before he could see your smile.

You tried, really, tried, not to fall for the charm. But damn it, he was sneaky about it. Funny, yes. Sarcastic, always. But smarter than he pretended to be. You started noticing how quick he was to pick up details, how fast he responded when you mentioned something in passing, your favorite honey blend, the indie band you used to road trip to. Two days later, he showed up wearing their faded logo across his chest like it’d always been there.

You didn’t ask if he’d bought it just to impress you.

You didn’t have to.

Callie caught you watching him once, chin resting in your hand, stirring your tea with lazy circles as he chatted with a biker at the next table.

“You’re toast,” she said simply.

You snapped upright. “Am not.”

She raised a brow and dropped a cinnamon scone in front of you. “I’ve worked here long enough to spot the smitten. Just don’t get too gooey too fast. Hot mechanics have danger written all over them.”

You bit into the scone to avoid answering.

Later that afternoon, Eddie came back for his second coffee. He claimed he “forgot to get something strong enough to survive paperwork,” but you noticed the way he lingered, leaned on the counter like he belonged there, watching the way the light filtered in through the front windows.

“Black coffee and black hearts,” he muttered, eyeing the chalkboard.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing,” he smirked. “Just naming our future band.”

You blinked. “Who said we’re starting a band?”

“I did. You’re the moody frontwoman. I’m the guy who writes all the lyrics and dies mysteriously in a tour bus fire.”

You laughed into your sleeve, shaking your head.

“You’re so weird,” you said.

“I’ve been called worse,” he replied, handing you a ten for a two-dollar coffee. “Keep the change, frontwoman.”

And yeah, maybe your heart fluttered a little as he walked away.

You tried to keep your guard up.

You really did.

But the problem with Eddie Munson wasn’t that he was charming, it was that he was accidentally charming. Offhandedly kind. Casually thoughtful. Like he didn’t even notice he was doing it.

It started small.

One morning, you were mid-rant about the supply order being wrong again, two cases of oat milk and not a single box of chai concentrate, when he walked in, raised one eyebrow, and handed you a to-go cup of tea from the gas station up the block.

“Not as fancy as what you make, but I figured if I heard ‘oat milk’ one more time I might stab myself in the thigh.”

You blinked at the cup. Then at him. “You bought me tea?”

He shrugged. “You sounded like you needed it.”

Didn’t even stay that day. Just tipped his invisible hat like a dork and walked out.

Another time, you were helping a customer with a stroller and didn’t notice the little kid’s blanket had fallen behind them. You didn’t even see Eddie outside. But five minutes later, the door opened and he held it out, folded and dirt-dusted.

“Lil dude dropped this. Figured you’d want to return it before it gets run over by the weird art teacher’s Volvo.”

Then there was the table.

Table Three had a wobble. Always had. You kept meaning to fix it, but it was one of those things you just stepped around. People complained, you apologized, they moved.

But one day, Eddie came in, sat there, leaned back, thunk thunk thunk, then disappeared for a few minutes.

Came back, sat down again.

No wobble.

You peeked under later and found a thin washer wedged perfectly under the short leg.

You didn’t say anything.

But you made sure to bring his next coffee in a really nice mug instead of a cheap one.

“Trying to seduce me with ceramics?” he asked, eyes twinkling.

You just smiled and went back to the register. “It’s on the house.”

And then… there was the door thing.

Every damn time, every time, a woman, an elderly man, a parent with a stroller was within a ten-foot radius of the front entrance, Eddie was there, stepping back, pulling it open, nodding them through like it was just… normal. Like that’s how men are supposed to behave. Not flashy, not performative. Just natural.

Callie saw it too.

“He’s either got the soul of a Southern gentleman or he’s angling for a free sandwich,” she whispered once as Eddie held the door open for a woman carrying three grocery bags and a baby on her hip.

You didn’t say it out loud, but you were pretty sure it was the first one.

Then, one slower morning, as you wiped down the window ledge and he stood at his usual corner table, stretching out a little like he’d just come off a double shift, you asked:

“What’s with the limp?”

He glanced up. “What, this ol’ thing?”

You nodded toward his knee. “You sometimes walk like you’ve either survived a war or forgot how legs work.”

He snorted, took a sip of coffee, then set it down.

“Motorcycle wreck,” he said. “Back in… ‘97, I think. Some asshole ran a red. Wrecked my bike, wrecked my knee, wrecked my summer.”

“Ouch,” you said, cringing slightly.

He shrugged like it didn’t matter. “Could’ve been worse. I still got both legs, and I didn’t die.”

You tilted your head. “You said motorcycle… was that the only injury?”

He grinned, wide and unapologetic. “Oh no. I also tore a ligament stage diving at a Corrosion of Conformity show in Chicago. Three years before that. Landed wrong. Ate shit, and busted my ass real good.”

You blinked. “You’ve injured the same knee twice?”

He held up two fingers and a smug smirk. “Double whammy. What can I say? I’ve always had commitment issues, with common sense.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “That explains a lot.”

He took another sip, watching you over the rim of his mug. “Yeah? Like what?”

You shrugged. “Like why you come in here occassionally limping and flirting instead of resting like a normal person.”

He grinned. “Nah, I’m not normal. I’m memorable.”

And the thing was?

He really was.

He left not long after that.

Drained his mug, flashed that familiar crooked grin, and said, “See ya tomorrow, maybe,” like it was casual, like it didn’t send a flutter through your chest every time he said it.

And then he was gone again.

The bell jingled. The door shut. The street swallowed him whole.

You stood behind the counter, hand wrapped around a lukewarm mug of honeyed tea you’d forgotten to drink, watching the last curl of his silhouette vanish past the window.

It was getting harder not to fall for it.

The charm. The wit. The way he looked at you like you were the only person in the room worth paying attention to.

He made you feel seen, not just looked at, but really seen. Like he was always studying you with that mechanic’s mind of his, figuring out how all your parts fit together and where the cracks were.

And God help you, you liked it.

You liked him.

You told yourself it was just flirting. Just harmless fun to pass the time in a sleepy town with too many gossip circles and not enough good coffee.

But it wasn’t just anything anymore.

It hadn’t been for weeks.

And maybe that was why Lorraine’s words kept echoing in the back of your mind like a leaky faucet you couldn’t quite tighten:

“He’s not the settling down type.”

You didn’t want to believe her. You didn’t want to let the fear crawl in and root itself under your ribs.

But it was there anyway. Just a little.

A question you couldn’t quite shake: Was this who he really was?

The town heartbreaker. The flirty mechanic with commitment issues and a smile he gave away too easily.

Or was he just… misunderstood?

Wounded, maybe. Still recovering from something no one had the right to explain on his behalf.

You didn’t know yet.

But you wanted to.

And that, more than anything, scared you.

Next Chapter: Chapter Three: “Check Engine Light”

Who loves Eddie Munson, show of hands! 😂 Let me know if you want to be added to my tag list! @justalotoffanfiction, @yorshie, @jackalope-in-a-storm, @v1per1ne, @daveythorntonslocker, @cokepowder55, @kelsiegrin, @ash-stardust, @meankenna, @kellsck, @chronicles-of-koystee, @micheledawn1975, @fckyeahlames, @cantstandya2000, @totallysocially

Masterlist

[feroluce]

Belobog was my fave main quest but a lot of it is so. Contradictory. It's like they had multiple groups doing different shit and none of them checked in with each other for consistency. And you see this so much in Gepard's profile.

So in the main quest, they made him unfailingly, unquestionably loyal to Cocolia. Gepard's character arc is him learning to question authority etc etc. And this isn't even a bad thing; that's a story worth telling! It makes good conflict between him and Serval! And I love that we got Gepard as a boss battle and I get to see him all the time in SU!

But then you look at his character stories and it's like. The complete opposite.

According to his profile, Gepard has already HAD this awakening, long before the Astral Express, and he'd already decided Cocolia sucks. Even outside of his stories, there's a pretty damning readable between him and Pela.

He even disobeyed direct orders right in front of her- he has been disobeying orders for a while now!

So I've decided I'm marrying the two different sides of this into a 1.5k fic-ish thingy, because I think there's some fun potential there with Gepard not trusting Cocolia, but still having to pretend to be a good obedient little soldier.

Anyway. I love to think of it as like. Gepard knows Cocolia has sunk into her apathy. He can see it in her eyes every time he looks at her. She doesn't care. Not about him, not about Pela, not about all his soldiers on the frontlines giving their lives to protect the citizens. And that's... It makes him bristle a bit, but ok. Gepard can deal with this. Even if Cocolia no longer cares, as long as she does her job then it's fine. Having compassion behind an action doesn't matter as much as the action itself. If Cocolia's heart is no longer swayed, then he'll just have to care twice as hard to pick up the slack. He considers it part of his duty as a captain of the guard anyway. It's fine. Gepard can deal with it.

And then, Cocolia starts coming down to the restricted zone. Issuing direct orders.

And Gepard realizes he is in way over his head.

Because Cocolia orders him to stay back and issue commands from the ramparts, away from all his comrades, away from where he can protect them.

Gepard had thought nothing could be as bad as watching a fellow guard die right next to him. But the first time he watches someone struck by a killing blow, so far away, it hurts. Every defensive scar across his arms itches, his fingers curl in want of a weapon, the cold cannot numb his hands enough as they desperately ache for his shield. It hurts.

Gepard tries to find any reason to stay. Because surely... He knows Cocolia has lost her love for her people, but surely... She wouldn't...

One day, Cocolia orders for their gunners to advance 20 yards. There are no survivors. She almost looks like she smiles.

Gepard doesn't sleep that night.

Pela brings him the report at the end of the first month; and then the month after that, and the month after that. A significant uptick in losses, and all of it started on that first day Cocolia started overriding his authority and issuing her own orders. The ends of Gepard's pens have all been nearly chewed off. Pela outright calls Cocolia an idiot, and Gepard corrects her. Cocolia isn't an idiot. Gepard had known her through Serval, knew her through all her college years and then some, and he knows how intelligent she is. It's not that she's stupid, and it's not that she's inexperienced, it's nothing of the sort.

Cocolia knows exactly what she's doing.

She must, there's no way she could make such a horrible mess of things so badly by accident. And Pela, quick as a whip, sharp as a tack, always too smart for her own good, catches onto the meaning behind Gepard's correction without any further prompting. The tent goes deathly quiet, nothing but the wind howling outside.

"...She's trying to kill us," Pela whispers, her voice swiftly suffocated by the silence.

Gepard swallows. He can't bring himself to correct her this time. There is nothing he could say that he would actually mean.

His gaze drops, back down to his desk and the reports on it. The names aren't listed, just the numbers, but Gepard knows them, knew them, and there must be something wrong, something he's missing, because why, why would she-? What could this possibly accomplish-?

“Gepard! Focus!” Something snaps right under his nose, and Gepard startles, eyes instantly honing in on Pela's irritated face as she leans over his desk. She holds his gaze for a moment before she huffs and begins to pace, wedges a knuckle between her teeth and bites like Gepard hasn't seen her do since cadet school.

Pela angrily strides from one end of his tent to the other, words hissed between her grit teeth. “What are we going to do?” In the dim lighting, Gepard can just barely see the damp spot of blood weeping under her gloves. “We need a plan.”

“A plan?”

“Wh- Yes, a plan! Unless you want more people to die!” Pela rounds on him then, all the wrath of a blizzard, winds roaring and snow sharp enough to cut.

“We don't even know-”

“What does it matter?! She killed-!!” Pela cuts off with a garbled noise when Gepard leaps up from his desk, hastily shoves his hand over her mouth. The prosthetic, not the flesh one, because he knows better than to assume Pela won't seize the opportunity to leave teeth marks in his skin.

“You're right. I'm sorry, I'm sorry; you're right. But you need to keep quiet.” Pela quirks an eyebrow at him and Gepard can read the question in her face. “Because we both saw what she did to Serval,” he hisses.

It's amazing the snow plains haven't thawed out yet, the amount of heat Pela can put behind a glare. The mere mention of Serval, and the smoking ruins Cocolia had made of her life and career, have her bristling up like a riled cat. The sudden hot breath she takes fans fog across his metal skin, and Gepard wisely keeps it in place until Pela finally sighs and reaches up, taps her fingertips against the back of his hand.

The second she's free, Pela bats him away and then her knuckle is right back between her teeth again, Gepard leaning back against his desk with his arms crossed to watch her resume her pacing. “If we spread the word, she'll have us discharged and make sure we can't even touch the frontlines,” Pela's voice seethes like an open sore. Gepard nods but keeps his silence. He knows better than to get in her way.

“And if you and I are both out of the picture, Belobog is fucked.” A little harsher than how he would have put it, but there's no denying that they're both important to the city's survival. Pela has the restricted zone running as efficiently as ever, and Gepard had become the youngest captain on record for a reason. “We need to keep this tight under wraps, at least for now… It can't leak to anyone higher up the chain.” Another nod. “Serval might know other discontents…” Another n-

Gepard's head snaps up. “No.”

“No what?”

“No. We're not involving Serval in this.”

Somehow, even the same tone that leaves entire squadrons shaking in their boots has never worked on her. “You're not deciding that for her, Gepard.”

Pela hadn't seen the worst of it, though, back when his sister had just been banned from the Architects. Serval's pride hadn't allowed it. Pela wasn't the one to find her passed out bottle still in hand, hadn't been the one to wash the sick out of her hair or carry her to bed. 

Serval still has trouble thinking clearly when it comes to Cocolia, still can't quite bring herself to be objective. And Gepard maybe doesn't want her to be purely objective- but he would worry a lot less if she thought twice before she acted more often.

“At least let me be the one to bring it up to her.”

“Whatever, fine,” Pela gestures affirmatively at him as she paces past, and Gepard sighs. Good, at least that's one thing he can help.

From there, it's a lot of hemming and hawing and frustration. Cocolia has them under her boot, and Gepard and Pela both know it. Even with the way she's been cracking down on freedoms lately, Cocolia is still, overall, liked by the people. It's unlikely anyone would believe them. They don't even have solid proof, because most people don't know Cocolia as well as they do and won't see the clues in the same light. 

The Fragmentum has been ramping up in recent years, too. Everyone is struggling just to survive as is, they can't afford a fight on two fronts. Gepard is a damn good captain, one of the best for that matter. But they're at a massive disadvantage, his experience is narrowed to fighting a defensive battle against monsters, that's all he's ever done. That's all anyone there has ever done. He has no way of finding first-hand knowledge for taking the offensive against a human opponent, and if he goes at this blind, there's no way he'll get everyone out unscathed. He's going to lose people. He's going to lose a lot of people.

He'd never thought before that Cocolia would have it in her to have someone killed. And with this new knowledge, he has no guarantee she won't go after Serval or Lynx if she decides to retaliate.

Gepard has to remind himself to breathe when he realizes this.

Pela writes down every name the two of them can come up with. Lists and lists of names and groups and anyone they can think of who might be an ally in all of this. They memorize every bit of it, make their plans of who to talk to and when. Gepard watches the sparks reflect off Pela's glasses as they burn the evidence together.

Pela finally leaves, far too late to make it home, but says she wants to stay in the restricted zone anyway to investigate. Gepard watches her make her way in the direction of Dunn's tent, watches her back until she's out of his sight and squashes down the urge to follow and keep an eye on her. His tent feels empty.

In the morning, Gepard is up before the wake up bells. He drags himself out of bed, leads his soldiers through their morning training. The same people gravitate to each other everyday. Friend groups and training partners. There's an ongoing rivalry between a few squadrons that everyone bets on. Some of them have lockets around their necks, keepsakes, mementos. Some of them wear wedding rings.

Gepard is suddenly, painfully aware of something acidic clawing at the inside of his throat, of a heavy weight low in his chest that blooms, takes up room until it threatens to spread his ribs. His mouth tastes of bile and blood.

He rearranges the schedules. Puts himself down for every open patrol into the Fragmentum, makes sure he'll be on the frontlines every single time Cocolia visits.

He only hopes that it's enough.

[icewindandboringhorror]

I'm so heavily anti-advertising that all pitches sound goofy silly to me/I can never take them seriously, so I have no idea how I'll manage to to advertise my game even if I do finally finish it soon-ish lol...

[jumpscaregoose]

Chpter...4....

winter break has been kicking my ass fr... pinky swear it's actually like 90% done... I just need to like... finish it

and figure out road infrastructure because I took a history of car culture course and now know too much. there is an academic paper about 1960s canadian drive throughs on my moodboard. send help

literally every time I get one of these asks I just want to dump all the crap from my moodboard on you but like. does anyone want that. I will do it. to tide you over

[track-five]

harry and louis definitely exchange the most disgustingly expensive christmas gifts, but they also definitely put cute things in each other’s stockings. they always find the most thoughtful little gifts, as if they need any more proof of how well they know each other.

like yes, they can buy art or cars or whatever they want, but what about the sweet, domestic gifts? you just know h gets l the cutest, most festive fuzzy socks to help keep him warm. he knows the winter cold makes louis shiver even when he’s indoors, and as much as harry doesn’t mind when louis shoves icy feet under his thigh to warm them, he knows they’ll have to stand up eventually. and l gives h a new whisk to replace the one that was slightly warped after years of use, something h mentioned in passing while cooking dinner that louis immediately wrote in his phone because even though his memory is shit, he wanted to remember.

and maybe those little gifts are the best part of christmas morning

[buttercup-art]

hey

[lesbiansanemi]

I’m so tired of workkkkkkkkk I feel like I have no time to work on silly little projects anymore

[avirael]

Stuck on Repeat

He wanted to scream.

To scream and to cry and to be anywhere but here. But the best A’viloh could do was try not to tremble and instead follow Rael‘s example, who - despite the fact of being shackled and pushed around - still maintained a certain stubborn grace. He wished he knew how they did that.

What exactly was going on? A‘viloh wasn’t sure of that yet and it would take a while for him to process all of this. Everything had happened so fast. Suddenly the sultana had gasped for air, her goblet falling to the ground along with herself, soaking the expensive carpet with its dark red content. While A‘viloh had only stared in shock, Rael had immediately jumped up and was by Nanamo‘s side only split seconds after she collapsed. The next moment there had been guards everywhere and also that mean Lalafell accusing them of regicide. They had barely been able to say anything before the guards had grabbed them both, checked them for weapons and tied up their hands.

Now, as the door in front of them opened, the soldier behind A‘viloh gave him a rough push. The miqo‘te winced and stumbled forward into the room filled with people, all eyes on him. He lost his balance and with his hands tied behind his back, he landed rather ungracefully on the hard, cold stone tiles. His head started to spin, his vision began to blur, his heart was racing. It was all just too much and also too late to stop the memories that had buried their ugly dark claws deep in his mind. Miserably he gasped for air.

Rael hadn’t fallen but still knelt down and leaned towards him, wanting to make sure he was alright. „A‘vi! Please stay calm. I’m trying to find a way to get us out of this…“, the viera managed to whisper before someone pulled them away.

A’viloh still struggled to sit up and at the same time tried desperately to see where Rael had gone, when someone grabbed one of his arms and a handful of his hair and yanked him into a kneeling position. He pressed his eyes shut and tried to breathe, tried to not let the fear and the memories overwhelm him, but a small whimper still made it past his lips. He fought against his own mind, racing and about to shut itself off from all of this.

„Stop it!“, Rael hissed angrily. What else than complain could they do with their hands tied behind their back. The brass blade turned his attention to the viera instead of A’viloh. „Shut up!“, the man growled and struck Rael across the face with the back of his hand. They gasped and when they looked up again a moment later, with a mix of shock and indignation on their face, their lower lip was split and bloody.

Ashamed A’viloh stared to the ground and tried to pretend that this wasn’t his fault while the voices and turmoil around him faded to the background. Instead his mind was filled with questions and fears. Would they be executed? Thrown in jail? What had happened to Nanamo? Would their friends at least get out of this with their lifes, if Rael and him were made responsible?

Suddenly something touched his shoulder and pulled him out of his thoughts. A’viloh gave an alarmed shriek.

„Shhh!“, Rael shushed him, leaning their shoulder against his. Worried they glanced at him. „You were gone for a moment weren’t you?“ A’viloh didn’t answer but that wasn’t necessary. Rael sighed deeply. „Give me your hands. Maybe I can loosen the knots…“

Working behind their backs Rael tried their best but it was impossible. The angle was bad, they didn’t see what they were doing and the knots were simply too tight. On their own the two of them would never make it out of their ties. “Seven hells!”, Rael cursed. “I would sooner chew through these things than get that knot open!”

It was a funny imagination and under different circumstances A’viloh would maybe have laughed about it. Instead he turned to look at them and offered a sad smile. “It’s alright. At least you tried…I’m sorry about your lip.”

The viera looked surprised and then shook their head. “Don’t worry. I can fix that.”

Suddenly the turmoil around them got even worse. A’viloh only now noticed the screams and the fighting. “What’s happening?”

“Raubahn killed Adeledji. Tried to kill Lolorito too. Panic broke out and now he is fighting Ilberd. But I honestly don't think he has a chance...”

As if to confirm this, one of the giant stone pillars exploded under a heavy misaimed hit and through the cloud of dust and rubble Raubahn was hurled through the air and landed right beside them. With a swift movement of his blade he cut their ties and only then as he stood up, rubbing his wrists, A’viloh noticed that the Flame General was missing an arm.

But there was no time to question how that had happened and what else he might have missed while dissociating. Confidently as ever Raubahn spoke up saying that he never doubted them or the Scions and that they should flee. A’viloh was still to dazed to argue against that and so let Rael pull him along, to Minfilia and the others and then out of the palace.

As they hurried down the stairs of the Royal Promenade Thancred ran towards them and with a sudden peng of guilt A’viloh realised that he had been so shaken until now that he hadn’t even noticed yet that the Hyur hadn’t been with them. Thancred warned them that Lolorito’s soldiers had already taken control of all important points in the city and that it would be impossible to just walk out through the city gates. Luckily he offered another plan. Rumours about very old secret passages leading out of the city and luckily he knew how to get there.

But just as they wanted to leave the heavy steps and yells of the brass blades got closer.

“Go ahead! I’ll handle this!”, Yda exclaimed and turned towards the soldiers.

Papalymo made an incredulous face. “By yourself?! …I suppose I shall just have to join you.”

Rael offered to help them too. Papalymo and the viera could cause quite the destruction together that was certain but the thought of leaving any of them behind made A’viloh sick. There had to be a different way. One were all of them got out of here together.

“Don’t!”, he croaked and hated how his voice sounded a lot quieter and squeakier than he had intended. Had anybody heard him at all? But before he could say anything else or before Rael could join Yda and Papalymo, the Lalafell shot a fireball at the mechanism that held the palace gate open and with a roaring sound it crashed down and cut of the path between the two of them and the rest of the group. It would give them some time but neither Minfilia nor A’viloh seemed to be willing to leave without their friends. Helplessly and pleading the Miqo’te reached through the bars with one arm and stretched out a hand towards his friends. A’viloh and Yda had quickly befriended each other after meeting for the first time. They had spent a lot of time training together and Yda had soon become one of his dearest friends among the Scions. The thought that something could happen to her was unbearable for him. “Yda! Please!”

But the girl laughed at him and locked her fingers with his for a second. “Don’t worry, A’vi! We’ll see you later!” Confidently she smiled at him before she let go of his hand and turned back around to face the soldiers that had almost caught up to them.

The others called out for them and reluctantly Minfilia and A’viloh followed. There was nothing else they could do now apart from making Yda’ and Papalymo’s efforts worth it and get out of here before more soldiers appeared.

In a haste they ran through the decorated corridors of the palace district and luckily the entrance to the secret passage was exactly were Thancred had suspected it to be. The tunnels were bigger and more complex than A’viloh would have thought and for quite a while they ran through dusty old corridors trying to find the right way that would lead them out of the city.

After a while the echoes of yells and footsteps appeared again and unlike them their pusuers seemed to know the ways down here. They tried to hurry but in no time the voices were coming closer and closer.

“I will stop them.”, Y’shtola exclaimed and abruptly stood still, making everyone else pause for a moment as well. “You go on ahead!”

“No…”, A’viloh protested, he wasn’t willing to leave any more people behind. But Thancred nodded. “Then I will stay too! It would be rude to let you fight alone…”

“No! This is all wrong!”, A’vi repeated a little more loudly. “Let me and Rael fight them, we can defeat them surely.”

Y’shtola shook her head. “Not that many of them…” and Thancred agreed, “The two of you are far too important to get captured...” He didnt say or worse but it was clearly there.

“But…” A’viloh wanted to protest but what was there to say? So he just helplessly stared from one of them to the other. Instead Rael nodded. “Alright!”

“No! Nothing’s alright!”, A’viloh exclaimed pleadingly. „There has to be another way!“

“No, there isn’t.” Thancred said and put his hands on A’viloh’s shoulders. „Listen! There is no time. You have to get out of here, do you hear me? And you have to get Minfilia to safety. Look at me A’vi!“

He slightly shook him and despite the closeness between them A’vi did as he was told.

“Can you promise me that? To get yourself and Minfilia to safety?”, the Hyur asked with a serious voice.

Pleadingly A’vi stared at Thancred’s face wondering if it would be the last time he was going to see it. He hadn’t stopped shaking since Ilberd’s soldiers had put him in chains but now it got worse again. Nonetheless he nodded slightly.

“Good.“ Thancred said and nodded too, but hesitated to let go of him.

A strange expression appeared on his face, one A’viloh never had seen on him before. A mixture of doubt and maybe fear? Thancred sighed and muttered “Just in case…“ more to himself than anybody else but A’vi was close enough to hear it anyway.

A’viloh hadn’t expected at all what happened next. Before he even realised it, Thancred had leaned down, closed the gap between them and kissed him. He was too shocked to react, too confused as well, so he just let it happen. Weirdly this made him feel better but also hopelessly sad at the same time. What was he doing here? This was crazy! Maybe he would later curse himself for allowing this or he would wish he hadn’t wasted this moment like this but before he had figured out how to feel or to react the moment was over. Thancred pulled back a little and looked like he already regretted either what he did or simply having to let him go. Or maybe that was just how A'viloh felt himself. “Consider this my lucky charm…“, the hyur whispered, barely audible, and weakly smiled at him.

Then he pushed A’vi away, as gently as the urgency of the situation allowed, and spoke up louder to all of them.

„Now, get out of here!“

„No!“, the Miqo’te whimpered, his hands tried to hold on to Thancred’s arm but he ignored him and looked at Rael instead. „Get them out of here, please. I’m counting on you.“

The viera looked annoyed, more than usually, but nodded without a word and only when A’vi felt their hands at his arms pulling him away, he realised they were all still here watching him. At any other occasion he would have felt horribly embarrassed now but all he could think of right now was that he couldn’t leave all of his friends behind here to fight, and possibly die, while he fled to safety. He didn’t want to run any longer. But Rael seemed to share Thancred’s opinion.

“Come on, A’vi. We can’t waste time now. Every single soldier in this twelves-forsaken city is after us now, we can’t fight our way out of this. There’s no way to set this right if we don’t get out of here first.”, they explained as calmly as they could in this situation, then grabbed A’vi’s hand and dragged him along as they ran. A’viloh followed on stumbling feet but only because his body had long since stopped listening to anything his brain screamed at him. Stop! Go back! Fight!

Rael’s words made sense but still… weakly he tried to look back and see what was happening behind them but then Rael and Minfilia took a turn into another tunnel and he lost sight of Y’shtola and Thancred. For another while he just numbly let the viera pull him along until they abruptly stopped at an intersection.

“There is light! The exit must be right around that corner!”, Rael announced pointing to one of the tunnels.

Minfilia nodded. “I think so too. But I have somewhere else to go. Hydaelyn speaks to me, I have to stay behind but you two, you cannot stay with me.”

Rael shook their head: “We promised to protect you and I don’t plan to break that promise.”

Minfilia smiled kindly.

“I release you from this promise. Instead promise me to flee and clear our names for us! You are the only ones who can do this. I have a different task to fulfil. Please, you must go on! You are the Warriors of Light! You are hope - for the Scions, and for all the realm! As long as your flame continues to burn, the light of the dawn may ever be relit! You must escape, and save Eorzea from those who would plunge it into darkness! This is the only way...”

Rael grimaced but nodded. “Fine…”

A’viloh on the other hand just weakly shook his head. Words had long failed him and with every minute all of this felt more and more like it was happening to someone else and not him. Like all of this couldn’t be real. Like it was a horrible, weird dream that he would wake up from every second now! How had everything escalated so fast?

Minfilia saw his expression and put her arms around him in a tight hug. “Don’t blame yourself for this, A’vi. None of this is your fault. Everything will be alright, I promise.“

Then she ran in the opposite direction and all A’viloh could do was watch her vanish in the maze of tunnels.

After a few seconds Rael took his hand again and A’vi snapped back to attention watching the Viera’s free hand point towards the light. “Let’s go, the exit is right there.”

But A’viloh refused, even if his voice was nothing but a weak whisper. “No, please go alone. I’ll follow Minfilia. Someone has to protect her.”

Rael growled. “Were you listening at all? Do you want all of this to be in vain? I know this is difficult for you, but so it is for me!“

“But-“, A’viloh tried to protest but Rael looked like they almost wanted to hit him and angrily yelled at him. “I want you to be safe too, you know?! I would gladly stay behind and fight if it meant you and the other’s were safe but the best we can do now is run!”

Before A’vi could say anything else a deafening crash sounded through the tunnels. Alarmed they both stared back the way they came. The walls and the floor seemed to tremble and a roaring sound echoed down the tunnel and came closer and closer.

“Oh no!”, Rael gasped. “The ceiling is coming down! We have to get out of here! Now!”

“The ceiling?!”, A’vi shrieked. “But what of the others? We need to — Let go of me!!”, he protested as Rael tried to drag him out of the tunnel.

“It’s too late now, A’vi. Please!”, the viera pleaded but A’vi struggled and screamed. They almost wouldn’t have made it out in time. Just as the cloud of dust and rubble hit the protective barrier Rael had summoned up to shield them they were catapulted backwards by a burst of magic the last few meters out of the ruins and into the late afternoon sun.

Both of them coughed from the dust and it took a moment until they could see anything again. The entrance to the tunnels had collapsed entirely, lots of small and bigger pieces of stones lay in a huge pile in front of what was barely recognisable as the tunnel entrance anymore.

Shocked A’vi stared at the rubble for a few seconds before he began to scream again. Quickly he jumped up and tried to get the stones out of his way, to find a way back in, but of course it was hopeless. The old broken stones were too many and too heavy for him. They wouldn't give in to his pleading. "No! Please, no..."

As calm and soothing as they could Rael took his hands and spoke to him. “A’vi. Not now. There’s nothing we can do now…”

Slowly he let Rael turn him around. He looked at the viera, his eyes filled with tears, before he wordlessly threw his arms around Rael‘s neck. „I‘m so sorry…“, he whispered after a moment of just silently clinging to them.

Rael shook their head. „Not your fault…“

A’viloh didn’t answer to that. Instead he sullenly looked at Rael for a moment before he dared to ask, „Do you think they are dead?“

Rael sighed and then grimaced. „I’m not going to lie to you, A’vi. I honestly don’t know, but it really doesn’t look good…“

The Miqo’te just nodded weakly, the corner of his mouth twitching for a second. He appreciated the honesty but he had hoped for something a little more reassuring.

Rael carefully squeezed his shoulder. „But maybe they aren’t. We will figure that out, I promise. But first we have to proof that we did NOT kill Nanamo... We should really go now…“

„Thank you. I would be lost without you…“, A’viloh muttered and followed Rael along the railroads leading towards Blackbrush station, defeated and disheartened. Silently he wondered if there was a safe place now for them at all and how they possibly could manage to clear their names…

[hogfetish]

having a comic idea in my brain but i dont wanna get up and sketch it but i cant write it in the way i want to because i am cursed to think in pictures but i cant. draw it rn.

[magnusbae]

I do (ironically) love it when people make posts about how little fucks they give about tumblr changes, and making a point to ridicule the people who were, in fact, upset by those changes. Very cool. :)

And now seriously?

UI change is not the worst thing on earth, and often can actually improve the quality of life and make the place better.

While yes, the tumblr user base does not typically receives change happily (unless it's good, polls, am i right?) to say that this is all about the users being 'bitchy' or 'silly' is a gross understatement of what upsets people in reality and is pretty damn rude.

I will not go down to every single point of why it's bad, but I'll bring forth a few points nevertheless.

Releasing a massive UI change while there's still active and major bugs and issues in the main functionality of your platform is not only bad towards a loyal user base that is used to a certain way of things, it's also unprofessional, incompetent, and quote frankly—stupid.

Here is an example of main tumblr functionality, the post editor on web. As a website that is heavily reliant on text posts, and the ability of users to be able to write quality posts, the fact that as of today, the text editor is heavily bugged, is truly a thing to be astonished by.

Especially considering the fact that some users (namely me) made a point of sending them a proper documentation of the bug, along with full descriptions and even a screen recording for an easy recreation of the issue on their side.

Following image was submitted with my feedback months ago:

In case you were wondering what response did I get—well— TL:TR they say that there's an issue, and IF they find the issue, they will fix it :)

So now with this in mind, and many other bugs like this still present, since April they could not have fixed the post editor— but they could add numerous and absolutely pointless UI changes, right?

Now taking it a step further, let's address the UI changes, why not?

The changes they're rolling out are clearly unpolished, unfinished and untested. The audacity to force hardly-working versions onto people without any sort of consent as is customary in such an unpolished version of a product is something that I have no other words for other than absolutely shameless.

Even look at the Chat UI change, the text is smaller, the windows cover other parts of the dashboard, the Chat visually changes from section to section of the website (for instance it's new on main, it's old on support page) and again, endless amount of other bugs.

What's worse? And I will not go into depth about this particular topic as not so many people are from 10+ years ago still here, but just in short: The loss of identity that tumblr had prided itself for so long with. We are not like other social media, right? Or well, so we thought. As it seems like tumblr is adamant to change and curate for new users that will, frankly, leave the moment their social media gets fixed. Some will stay, and they are warmly welcome to, however most will leave just as they did last time twitter had a crisis.

P.S You have to appreciate the irony of tumblr making money out of making fun of twitter, and the user base supporting it because that's the sort of UI changes we do enjoy— only for tumblr to copy paste twitter some months after :)

But yes, why not, call everyone a crybaby, since siding with a staff that simply does not listen to its user base or cares about fixing current and relevant bugs—is the way to go!

P.S2 it's absolutely fine if you're unbothered by the change or simply don't care. Ain't nothing wrong with having some good proportion on things. However please don't embarrass yourself by making fun of the people who actively care and worry about how this place operates and what sort of platform we'll be engaging in the future.

[softichill]

I need. To post about my characters more

[etherealspacejelly]

this is your gentle reminder to stop fighting against your adhd and instead structure your life around it

buy a pack of chapsticks and put one in the pocket of all of your coats and jackets because you always forget to bring one and chapped lips is sensory hell

leave important things where you can see them. if they go in a box or a drawer you will forget they exist

put any appointments or deadlines in your phone calendar As Soon As you get them. set a reminder for a week before, a day before, an hour before, as many as you need as often as you need them.

when that little voice in your head says "i dont need to write that down, ill remember it" that is the devil talking!!! write it down anyway!!

plan for down time. have a few hours at the end of every day to just do fun stuff like engage in your hyperfixations. even if you didnt get all of your work done that day, have the rest anyway. you probably spent the whole day beating yourself up for not doing what you Should be doing, so you still need the break.

if you never eat vegetables because its too much effort to chop and cook them, get the frozen or canned shit. it doesnt go off for ages and you just have to microwave it. theres no point buying fresh vegetables if they just keep going off and being left to rot in the bottom of your fridge

if you struggle to decide what to have for dinner every day, take the decision out of it. choose a set of meals and eat those on rotation until you get sick of them, then choose some new ones and do it again.

its not stupid if it works! our brains literally have a chemical deficiency. you are allowed to accommodate yourself. go forth and stop making your life more difficult than it has to be because "this shouldn't be this hard". it is hard, so make it easier.

[recalcitrantlycaffeinated]

So I started watching Outer Banks for an extremely normal reason - I was doing a fun taking-personality-tests night with family to match each of our personalities with a TV character (I was obviously Bailey from Grey's Anatomy, but that's not the point). I then decided to take the test again, answering questions as if I was the Ultimate Robyn Blorbo, to see which character I matched with and thus discover if I was missing out on a piece of media designed specifically with me in mind. The test said "bitch, have you heard of this show Outer Banks" and I said "bitch, Netflix tries to feed that show to me every day of my life and the trailer looks stupid as hell" and I watched the first few seasons of the show anyway and after every episode I went to my husband and tried to explain how good the show was for me specifically exclusively by telling him how many times JJ got beaten up that episode (my husband was over this before season 1 even ended because this makes sense to no one).

I was forced to admit that even though John B and Sarah mostly make me want to throw myself into a lake, Outer Banks was able to successfully blend all of my favorite blorbo tropes into one (1) idiot boy who talk shit, get hit, search for treasure, no impulse control, always dirty, will try to physically fight the police. The writers rolled every single one of my favorite idiot teenage McDonald's coworkers (who hated customers and did stupid accents and sang songs about the evil owners) up with all the recalcitrant characters I read in books (who got punched by classmates and had terrible families) and wrote in stories (who were poor and had to work for rich people) and played in DND (who had no self preservation and loved to roll for Deception/Charisma) and tied it up in a bow that was Riley from National Treasure (without any of the nerdiness) and sometimes it made me furious. I truly hate the idea of having AI make me a show built just for me but instead there are real people out there writing this show who have presumably been spying on me for decades in order to write this one specific character and it makes me crazy.

OBX writers, I feel so seen. Why do I feel so seen. Stop seeing me.

That is a lot of preamble to say that I am finally watching the last JJ season of OBX and even though I have only just started I already don't...know...what they are going to do...after he dies. Who is a physical violence going to happen to in every episode?? They cannot mess up the main character's face and Pope is simply not dumb enough for things to happen to him. How do you make OBX if at least five bad things to do not happen to JJ per episode even though he is not the main character?

[muteflames]

i ❤️ him so bad and i always will omg 5 years of being on and off w a loser boy that i’m in love with