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tineeericeee · 8 months ago
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Midnight Snack
Summary: Shawn is hungry. Lassiter is tired.
note: was sad today. Made this to cheer myself up. 
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Lassiter was awoken by the familiar sensation of something — or more accurately: someone — climbing onto his cheek as he lay face-up. It tickled him as the barely-there presence shuffled across his skin and began pushing at his nose. 
Sunlight did not shine through his eyelids, so he knew it had to have been very early in the morning. Much earlier than even he would have liked. His suspicions were confirmed when an owl hooted somewhere outside. 
He groaned. “Shawn, it’s too early.” Fighting the urge to brush his hand at his cheek, he instead raised a hand to rub the sleep from his eyes. When he opened them, he immediately saw the small, blurry, very close up figure of Shawn. 
Shawn stopped shoving at Lassiter’s nose the moment he noticed he was awake. “Lassie! Glad you’re up. Just have a quick question for you.”
“And it couldn’t have waited until morning? You know I have to get up early–”
“I’m hungry.” Shawn quickly interrupted him.
Lassiter couldn’t resist the eyebrow raise. “That wasn’t a question.”
“No, but you know what is?”
“What?”
“‘Can you make pancakes?’”
Lassiter sighed. Of course. “You want pancakes. In the middle of the night.”
It was too dark to see his face, but Carlton knew that Shawn was grinning. “Is that a yes?”
Lassiter chose not to answer, instead reaching a hand up and pinching Shawn’s waist between forefinger and thumb. He could feel the little man go limp as he did, allowing himself to be lifted into the air. Shawn’s sides expanded and contracted under his fingertips as he breathed, the little heart beating against his chest apparent as well. 
Sitting up one handed was difficult, but he managed to do so. His left hand pushed against the mattress, helping him into a tailor position, as his right continued to hold Shawn up until eventually they were eye-level. 
Reaching over to his nightstand with the unoccupied hand, he flicked the lamp on. Warm light flooded the room, softly illuminating the minimal decorations, the mussed up bed sheets, and of course Shawn’s big grin as he dangled from between Lassiter’s fingertips.
They stared at each other, neither one showing signs breaking eye contact. 
Eventually, Lassiter gave in. He shut his eyes and allowed his head to fall back against the headboard of his bed. “The things I do for you…”
Amidst the sounds of Shawn cheering, Lassiter swung his legs over the side of his bed, standing up and making his way to the kitchen. As he did, he flattened his hand out to allow Shawn to sit in his palm. 
Of course, he didn’t, instead opting to kneel, grasping the tip of Lassiter’s middle finger — which was roughly the same height as him — with both hands to keep himself from falling. “Have I ever told you how amazing of a boyfriend you are?”
Lassiter couldn’t help the soft smile when he heard those words. “Aren’t you supposed to say that before you ask me to do you a favor?”
Shawn gasped dramatically. “I’m appalled you would insinuate I’d do such a thing! Me? Weaponizing my love for you? I never.”
It wasn’t long until they were in the kitchen. Lassiter flicked the light switch, bright white light illuminating the cooking supplies. 
“Okay, I’m going to need both hands if you want me to do any cooking.” 
“Yeah, I can chill on the counter, no problemo– woah!”
In one swift motion, Lassiter tilted his hand and dumped Shawn into the breast pocket of his flannel pajamas. Now that his hands were free, he could actually cook without being hindered. 
Lassiter could feel Shawn flailing around inside the fabric as he procured the supplies he’d need to make the pancakes. 
Soon, the sound of sizzling and the smell of cooking pancakes filled the kitchen. 
Shawn had managed to push himself up and over the lip of the pocket, upper half hanging as far as he could go without tumbling out.
Carlton gently pushed him back in with a finger. “Stop that. Remember what happened last time?” 
Voice muffled from the wall of fabric that suddenly surrounded him, Shawn noted, “Last time you had on your silk-y pajamas, it made it easier to slip.” A moment later and his head was once again peeking out of the breast pocket. 
“Mh. You’re lucky I’d already had my eye on you when you fell out.” 
“Again, might I add: unreasonably slick pajamas!”
Lassiter just shook his head. Using a butter knife, he flipped over a minute dot of batter that was meant to become one of Shawn’s pancakes. There were at least ten of them dotting the griddle, along with one normal-sized pancake meant for Lassiter. 
Not even a minute passed before Shawn began bouncing up and down impatiently. “Are they done yet?”
“No, just be patient.” With that, he flipped over his own pancake with the spatula.
“Awww, come on big guy! Can’t you like, turn the little knob and make it cook faster?” 
“That’s not how the griddle works. If I made it any hotter the pancakes would cook too fast and leave the outside burnt and the inside raw.” 
Shawn huffed. “Yeah, but mine should cook faster since they’re smaller.” 
Normally, yes, they would have. Lassiter had just turned the heat on the griddle much lower than it should have been. It meant his own pancake was struggling, but it also meant that Shawn’s were cooking at a normal speed.
The moment the tiny dots of pancake were done cooking, Lassiter set them aside on a small piece of napkin. Then, as discreetly as possible, he turned the heat on the griddle up so as to let his finish faster. 
It went off without a hitch. Shawn had been so distracted by the prospect of getting closer to eating his own pancakes — the very thing he’d woken up Lassiter for — he hadn’t noticed the larger pancake suddenly cooking much faster. 
“Come on! They’re done! Let me at ‘em!” 
“Calm down! You’ll get your pancakes in a second.” Lassiter slid the spatula under his regular pancake and set it onto a plate. 
Again, Lassiter pinched Shawn between finger and thumb, lifting him out of his pocket and onto the table in front of his small stack of pancakes. “There you go. You better enjoy them, because I’m not making more.” 
“Doubt it.” Shawn commented. He picked up one of the little pancake dots and took a large bite, tearing off a chunk. 
Lassiter rolled his eyes, cutting into his own pancake with a fork instead of using his hands like Shawn had. 
And so they sat in comfortable silence, savoring the flavor of the pancakes so graciously made by Carlton. 
—————
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thespiritssaidso · 10 months ago
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some people do it by the book (but i prefer to go by feel)
Summary: Shawn and Lassiter are undercover at a high-end resort where all visitors get their own private cabin. All the two need to do now is settle in — and chop up some wood to make a fire, of course. 
Notes: okay, so I’m basing this place off of the Big Cedar Lodge (I went there one year with my family on a road trip). I’m not sure if there’s a resort like it in California, but oh well. Currently as I’m writing this, it is 3 in the afternoon and the internet at my job is crappy and won’t let me look at maps without taking forever and a half to load it up. And if anyone knows me then they know that my patience is extremely limited (part of the reason why I’m only good at writing one shots lmao) and I don’t really feel like taking longer than necessary to make sure the made-up place I am writing for the made-up people to stay at actually exists. 
TL;DR this place exists in Branson, Missouri, but I’m too lazy to make sure a place like it also exists in California. 
Anyways, enjoy!! I know we all love a good Shassie at a cabin au.
Flufftober day 8: Chopping and Piling Wood
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Lassiter grunted as he swung his ax into the block of wood, chopping it neatly in two. He leaned over and tossed the half still sitting on the block and tossed it onto a small pile that was slowly building up. After throwing the other half onto the pile right after the first, he reached up and wiped a line of sweat beading on his forehead. 
Currently, he and Shawn were undercover as a married couple to investigate a few disappearances that were happening at the Great Pine Lodge. 
The place was as fancy as a cabin in the woods could get. Full plumbing, air conditioning for when it got hot, heaters for when it got cold, a large king size plush mattress complete with expensive feeling sheets and covers. And that was just the cabin. 
About a stone’s throw from where they were staying was a large beautiful lake, with water so clear Lassiter could almost see the bottom. 
The other cabins people were staying at were a decent distance from their own, close enough to see but not close enough to hear the inhabitants if they were inside.��
A paved road — not a gravel road — sat in front of the cabins, shuttle buses on speed dial on the rotary phone sitting on the bedside table inside, so that visitors wouldn’t have to waste their own cars’ gas to go to the dining hall, or the gift shop, or even the arcade (yes, this place had an arcade). 
Lassiter had always dreamed of going here one day. It was the perfect vacation spot for him and Shawn; fine dining, a beautiful view, activities the both of them would enjoy. 
But now was not the time for dreaming of a perfect vacation (although hopefully there’d be some time left for them to do so). Now was time for investigation. Or more aptly, chopping firewood, in Lassiter’s case. 
Before chopping another log, Lassiter stopped to reroll his sleeves that were slowly unraveling themselves. At the moment, all he was wearing was the button up he normally had on under his jacket, the pants to match said jacket, and his work shoes. He probably should’ve put a little more thought into his wardrobe. 
Too late. He’d committed and now he had to stick with it. Lassiter was just glad that Shawn was still unpacking inside. He was always self-conscious about his arms, how much of a stick he looked when he wasn’t wearing something loose — like his suit jacket. 
He looked at his biceps with disdain. It wasn’t like he was weak and couldn’t lift anything. His muscles just never showed unless he flexed them, hiding like some kind of sleeper agent, or whatever they were calling it nowadays. 
Whatever. So long as no one was here to see him make an idiot of himself trying to chop wood. Lassiter was eventually able to cut them into halves once he figured out a comfortable rhythm, but the start was just godawful. His first swing into the first log didn’t have enough weight behind it and was at an awkward angle, so it had bounced away from the wood and left only a small dent. His second swing was too strong and split right between the log and lodged itself into the chopping block. 
But he was better now, after cutting for what felt like hours, though realistically it had probably been thirty minutes. 
After placing another log down, Lassiter prepared to swing the ax once more when-
“That is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.” 
Lassiter nearly jumped out of his skin. There, leaning against the door was none other than his boyfriend. From what he could see, it looked like Shawn made himself a mug of something warm, judging by the faint steam emanating from it. Tea? Coffee? Hot cocoa? Probably the latter, knowing his boyfriend’s taste for sweet things. 
Lassiter felt the tips of his ears warm, and he knew they’d gone red. “How long were you standing there for?” 
“Ah, time is irrelevant-”
“Shawn.” 
“At least ten minutes.”
Ten minutes. Ten minutes of just watching him swing an ax at wood. Lassiter had no clue what he looked like when he was cutting wood, but he was probably ridiculous. Shawn had probably seen every mistake he’d made. 
Lassiter turned back around, doing his best to ignore the way Shawn was staring at him and lifted the ax once more. He swung with precision and split the log neatly. “Don’t lie, Shawn.” He said, referring to what Shawn had said that startled him. “You know I hate it-”
“What? No no no! Carly, I’m being serious! Look, this is my serious face.”
He didn’t look, not wanting to see his boyfriend who was most likely holding back laughter. He didn’t say anything either, simply returning to the task at hand. Although now he knew he had an audience, which somehow made swinging an ax ten times harder than it was originally. 
There was quiet, uncharacteristic for Shawn. Only the crunching of dead leaves and the swish of grass told Lassiter that he was walking over to him. 
“Back up. I don’t want to accidentally hit you with the-”
“Carlton, look at me. Lemme see those baby blues.” 
At the use of his name, Lassiter turned his head to Shawn. The lack of a nickname and his tone told the detective that he really was being serious. 
And he was right. Lassiter couldn’t remember the last time the otherwise childish man looked this serious about something. He said nothing as he looked into Shawn’s eyes, grass green grounding him. He dropped the ax, a dull thud breaking the quiet. 
“I love all of you, Carly. Doesn’t matter how much you hate it, I look and see you. I don’t see flaws, I see the sexiest body a man could ask for.”
Lassiter couldn’t help the grin, or the tiny laugh that bubbled out at the last thing Shawn said. “Alright, if you say so.” 
“I do say so, and my word is law. You should know this by now, Carlytown.” Shawn stated matter-of-factly. 
This time, Lassiter let out a snort at his boyfriend’s statement. “Is that right?”
“It is.” 
“Mhm. By the way, did you finish unpacking our stuff?” If his calculations were correct, Shawn had taken all of twenty minutes. And from past experience Lassiter knew that it took him at least an hour to get everything perfectly situated for the both of them. 
“We can do that later, I know you have a specific way you like to have your toothbrush set up. Right now there’s a suspect somewhere that’s begging to get caught.” 
“I’m not sure any criminal actually wants to get caught.”
“Really? Because I’m sensing they’re at the arcade right now, writing a secret message in morse code at the game where you have to shoot down those rubber ducks.” 
“Are they, or do you just want to go play games?” 
“That’s neither here nor there. Point is, I’ve already called a shuttle to pick us up and take us to the main building. They should be here in about… five minutes?” 
Lassiter stared at him incredulously. “Five- five minutes? And you’re only telling me this now because why?” That just barely left him with enough time to get out of his sweaty button up and into something clean. It was just the arcade, but he’d prefer to go out without smelling weird in public. 
“Well, I would have told you earlier, but I just couldn’t stop watching you chop that wood. Seriously, Carly, you have no idea how hot you looked swinging that ax.”
“I- alright, fine. Could’ve used more warning time, but it’s fine. Where’d you put my clothes?” 
“In the dresser on the left of the bed, everything’s in the top drawer.”
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Notes: yeah yeah yeah, the name of the place they’re staying at is just a rip from the place I based it off of. Sue me. 
oh and the title is a lyric in C'mon Girl by Red Hot Chili Peppers, i couldn't come up with an actual title by myself, sorry
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iceeericeee · 1 year ago
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Title: The Sun is a Deadly Laser (and It Hates Crowley)
Summary: It’s summertime in SoHo, and Crowley is still wearing his usual all black outfit. This definitely won’t bite him in the ass later today.
Notes: hellooooo good omens fandom. It’s been a hot second since I’ve been here. How are we doing today? Good? Good. Here’s some Crowley whump that no one asked for.
Human!Omens au
Whumperless Whump event, day 6: Summer is a curse
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It was a beautiful day in Soho. The sky was clear, children ran around playing, couples walked in silence.
One couple stuck out. Two men strolled on a path, side by side, at the St. James park.
The first one was Aziraphale. He was wearing his usual outfit, but chose to ditch the jacket he normally wore, and rolled up the sleeves of the sky blue button-up. Of course, he kept his vest on. Couldn’t leave home without it.
Crowley, however…
Crowley was only slightly regretting wearing his usual black attire. Although he would argue that his choice of clothes weren’t completely black. For instance, his thin neck tie was silver, not black. And his jacket wasn’t totally black. He’d definitely seen blacker. His was just… very very dark grey.
Although even Crowley couldn’t deny the darkness of his sunglasses. It had been purposeful, so he could hide his rare eye condition when he went out in public. Currently, not only were they protecting his eyes from being stared at by others, they were finally being used for what they had been made for: blocking the sun from Crowley’s eyes.
However, this task was a struggle, the sweat beading on Crowley’s nose made a slick surface. The sunglasses would periodically slide down, and Crowley would push them back up. But his face wasn’t the only thing slowly becoming sticky with sweat.
It was as though Crowley’s clothes had become glued to his body. It was very apparent how uncomfortable he was becoming.
“And you’re positive you’re alright? You seem a bit pale, dear…” Aziraphale fretted over Crowley.
“‘M fine, Angel. Don’t worry about me.” Crowley gently grabbed Aziraphale’s hand in his own slightly shaky ones.
Aziraphale pursed his lips. “Alright, if you say so.”
They continued to walk. Crowley could feel his feet begin to drag behind him. His breaths were slowing down and getter deeper.
It was when Crowley stumbled on a crack in the sidewalk did they both notice something was very wrong with him.
“Crowley!” Aziraphale quickly reached out to catch the other man. Thankfully, he was successful, keeping Crowley from taking an unwanted tumble onto the concrete.
Crowley tried to make a witty remark — something along the lines of ‘falling for Aziraphale’ — but found his tongue was dry and slightly swollen. All he could manage was a small groan.
“Come along, dear. Let’s… Les find some shade, and we’ll have a little sit-down, alright?”
Crowley nodded. “M’kay, Angel.”
Aziraphale gently lead Crowley to a nearby tree. None to gracefully, he practically fell down on his arse next to the trunk. He watched as Aziraphale grabbed the handkerchief from his vest pocket and leaned forward to dab at the sweat beading on Crowley’s brow.
“I saw a water fountain just a bit ahead of us. I’m going to go and wet this, just sit right here. I’ll be back in a bit.”
Aziraphale sprung up before Crowley could get a word in. So he sat there, and waited.
It was indeed a bit cooler underneath the shade of the tree. A lazy breeze blew by, brushing slightly at his hair. It was relieving. He could feel his internal temperature oh so slowly coming back down.
The swish of grass interrupted his thoughts. He looked up and saw Aziraphale walking up to him, soaked handkerchief in hand.
“Alright, I’m back. Here-” leaning down, he carefully dabbed the cool fabric onto Crowley’s forehead. Crowley subconsciously leaned in, letting his skin drink in the cold emanating from the handkerchief.
This went on for at least 30 minutes, Aziraphale rushing back and forth between Crowley and the water fountain, until Crowley felt well enough to walk back to the Bentley.
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peeercyriceee · 1 year ago
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let the ichor flow through your very core
Summary: Percy has no choice. He will be granted Godhood whether he likes it or not.
Notes: Hi. It is currently 11 pm as I write this. I have to get up early for work tomorrow morning.
I wanted some Percy Jackson angst. No other reason.
Future me here now. Just did a couple of touch-ups here and there to make it more presentable. Enjoy!
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“…And for you, Perseus Jackson. Your gift is to be granted Godhood, a most high honor.”
Godhood? Like, immortality? Not getting old? Staying forever 16? Or, well, whatever age he chose to represent. Because that was apparently a thing gods did. Percy’s head spun. He’d be a god. The god of what, he wasn’t sure. Probably something related to Poseidon’s powers.
But… that didn’t feel right. He had so much more he wanted to do as a normal kid — at least as normal as one can get when you’re a demigod. He didn’t want to cheat by being able to have eternity to do whatever he wanted. And he had people in his life, people he cared about. He would lose them all. And for what, never growing old? Never having to worry about bad hair days? All that and more, for the price of slowly losing his family?
Percy tried speaking up, he really did. But he found his throat cracked and dry, filled to the brim with dust and debris from the destruction of the battle, aching from all the yelling and screaming at enemies. Achilles curse be damned, it was doing nothing to heal his broken voice. All he could let out was a hoarse cough as he did his best to clear his throat in order to object the king of the gods’ gift.
But Zeus didn’t like waiting much. And Percy was no exception. In a booming voice, he chanted in a tongue not even Percy recognized. It sounded old, ancient. One of the very first languages, the language of creation itself, if he had a guess.
It started slow. A small tingling sensation of goosebumps crawling over his skin and hair raising straight up to the sky. The feeling one would get right before lightning struck.
And boy did it strike. A flash and a loud crack filled the room, the sound alone enough to shake him to his core. And then the lightning hit.
Everything slowed down. For a second, Percy thought Kronos had pulled one over on him. But this was a different kind of slow motion. It didn’t have that evil and elder feel to it. It wasn’t like moving through amber, which was the way that the Mad Titan’s powers worked. It was smooth, like honey and nectar, flowing gently over him as the electricity tickled his whole body.
Percy watched as his central nervous system lit up, shining through his skin like glow sticks.
There was no pain, however. Just that tingling sensation that grew stronger and stronger.
And as soon as it had started, it was over.
Percy collapsed to his knees, holding himself up with shaking arms.
He felt power — unbelievable surges of power — humming through his body. His fingertips continued to tingle as though he had dunked them in a pool of electric eels. If he looked closely at his hands, he could almost see the golden ichor flowing through his veins.
And it was all wrong. It was wrong. Wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong. The levels of sheer wrongness were astronomical. This wasn’t how his story was supposed to go. No. No he was supposed to stay a demigod. He had a life to live. He- he had- there were people he knew and loved and-
People he would watch crumple away with age as he stayed forever young. Friends that he’d be forced to see die at the hands of monsters. Family who would fade from his memory as time marched on for eternity.
Percy stood up on trembling legs, and turned around to face his friends, his family. They weren’t even looking at him, having kneeled in respect for the newly-made god. None of them could see the expression of pure terror crossing his face. The only one who did see was Zeus, and he had a look of boredom, as if he’d done this hundreds of times and this wasn’t anything special.
Finally — finally — he could feel his throat open up, as well as the aches in his body lessening, the pain of the battle losing its sting as Godhood seeped through his very essence.
But Percy, for the first time in his life, was at loss for words. He didn’t want this. Gods he didn’t want this.
“Hail, Perseus. God of the riptide, and protector of demigods.”
———
Notes: hope you enjoyed my sleep-deprived story. I am sure more-awake-future-me will have edited this (currently midnight as I type)
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petes-neckarrow · 9 months ago
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Made my own Ghosts OC!
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His name is Jordan O’Malley, pronouns are he/him and he’s transgender (a fact he keeps from the other ghosts. it’s not like they have to know that about him).
He died in a motorcycle accident, flipping over his bike and crashing into a tree, which caused him to be impaled through the stomach by a dead branch that broke off the tree under the sudden weight. Jordan was just conscious enough to attempt walking over to where he knew the Woodstone mansion was nearby, managing to get part of the way there before collapsing and literally dragging himself to try and get help. But he died right before he could get past the driveway.
Jordan’s ghostly appearance is covered in mud streaks, dead plants, and twigs, along with a very noticeable branch sticking from his stomach all the way through his back. He also still has his iPod touch and earbuds, which don’t work (obviously) and are permanently attached to his ghost.
His ghostly powers allow him to mess with radio waves. It comes in handy when the stereo is on and he doesn't like the music already playing
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parker-and-company · 1 year ago
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Feel the Heat Coming From Within
Summary: Charlie has a fever. Drew gets an idea to help her.
Notes: I don’t think I’ve written for my OCs since like, November it feels like. It’s a shame too, these two are super cute (imho).
Whumperless Whump event day 17: In Hot Water (high fever / cool baths)
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Charlie groaned as she rolled to her side. The blades of her mini- and ceiling fan spun around, but it just felt like they were just pushing around hot air.
Sweat beaded all over her body, making it feel slick and sticky at the same time. All she wanted to do was dump a whole bucket of ice all over her body. But that wouldn’t happen any time soon. The ice machine had broken, and the parts needed to fix it wouldn’t be there for another week.
She turned over to lay in her back, feet and head sticking out over the sides of her bed. Charlie starfished in an effort to more effectively distribute her body heat. It worked for about a minute before she was uncomfortably hot once more.
Charlie’s usual boundless enthusiasm was running on low. Her head was telling her to get up and move, but her body was saying to stay still and rest. Except that also doubled as not being able to move.
“Charlie? You good Hun?”
Charlie couldn’t muster up the energy to be excited to see her girlfriend, simply letting out a pitiful moan as she slowly slid down the side of her bed. Her head gently thunked the floor, neck partially holding half her body weight. It was uncomfortable, but she didn’t want to move.
She watched as her bedroom door opened and an upside-down Drew walked in.
“Drewyyyy.” Charlie pouted at her girlfriend. “I’m hottttt.”
They hummed, leaning down to put a hand to her forehead and check her temperature. “You are hot, sugar. But you’ve also got a fever.”
If Charlie’s face wasn’t red before, it sure was now. The tips of her ears burned in response to the compliment. “Drewwwww stoooooop.”
Drew chuckled. “Come on, I’m drawing you a nice cold bath. How does that sound?”
It sounded heavenly. Charlie blissfully imagined the cool water flowing over her hot exhausted body. The only problem was that she couldn’t lift herself up to go and do so.
But before she could say anything like that to Drew, they had gotten back up and was making their way to the bathroom.
So Charlie lay there, her neck and top of her head beginning to ache from the pressure her weight was putting on it. Down the hall, the sound of running water made its way to her ears. It was like music. Sweet, delicious, music that she just wanted to wash over her and make her feel better.
Her door opened once again, and this time Drew was there with the sleeves of their flannel all rolled up. “Alright baby, up you get.”
After much complicated maneuvering, Drew had managed to get Charlie into their arms bridal-style. She wasn’t able to bring her arms up and around their neck, however, and simple let them t-rex.
After Drew blew their hair from out of their face, they marched on to their bathroom.
After completely undressing Charlie for her — which, she might add, felt amazing to feel the air on her exposed skin — Drew lifted her and gently laid her in the tub.
How could Charlie describe this feeling? This absolutely heavenly feeling that enveloped her entire being? She felt as though she had dipped herself into a small slice of nirvana. Cool water negated any heat her body was putting out.
Charlie closed her eyes and let out an involuntary moan of pleasure, one she didn’t feel embarrassed about in the slightest.
As if things couldn’t get any better, she felt a cool rag cover her forehead. She opened her eyes again and watched as Drew dipped a bath sponge in the water and squeeze it over any exposed skin.
“Have I ever told you I love you so much?”
Without looking up, Drew smiled gently. “Mmmm I don’t think so, you should say it again just in case.”
Charlie’s energy had returned slowly, so she had just enough to playfully splash a bit of water at Drew. None of it managed to even clear the edge of the tub, but it still hit them in their exposed arms that were dunked in the water.
Drew let out a dramatic gasp, said “No! Water! My only weakness!” and flopped onto the bathroom floor.
Charlie giggled at their melodramatic display. “Oh no! Nooooo Drewy! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it!”
Drew lay still, only letting out the odd breath every now and then.
She huffed, then got an idea. “Would a kiss heal you?”
They quickly sat up. “If it’s a kiss from you? 300%.” Drew leaned in and closed their eyes.
Charlie did the same, but only left them a quick peck. She giggled as Drew’s eye blew open in mock disbelief.
“Ohhh I know you can do better than that, sugar.” They gently grabbed her by the chin and leaned in for a more passionate snog.
Charlie didn’t mind it at all. She had been planning on her little stunt getting that kind of reaction from Drew.
They sat there for a while, the cold water slowly getting warmer, as the kiss ended and Drew returned to pouring water over Charlie.
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ao3 link
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toastedclownery · 9 months ago
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The god hunt/five sun theory started with "why are Tyneen's pirate crew and ship the same animals as Poseidon's court" and three months later it's at "I think Lariat is gonna (try to) kill everyone"
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irokwashere · 4 months ago
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Guess who’s finally getting around to that vampire kyle/liver failure Stan fic
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brokedirt · 4 months ago
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I love living life as an adult (lite ver.) without any parent supervision
The other day I bought a sliced loaf of sourdough bread from a local grocery store and I was hungry on my way back to my parents house so instead of waiting till I got home to eat it I ate some of the slices on the way
Tonight, I decided to eat my sugary cereal as a late night snack and I felt rebellious because Loaded Cinnamon Toast Crunch doesn’t have any “nutritional value” (as my mom would probably say)
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northern-passage · 1 year ago
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Hi!! I'm new to your if and am not sure if it has been asked before, but was the Ladder process inspired in any way by the Grass Trials from the Witcher? I'm sorry if you've already answered a question like this but I was really curious as the role of the hunter kind of reminds me of Sapkowski's witchers!
i'm actually not that familiar with the witcher Universe (i didn't know it was called the grass trials) BUT the ladder was inspired partially by that process, as well as the joining from dragon age: origins, the whalers from dishonored (mainly the Outsider's influence and Daud's sharing of knowledge), and the old blood from bloodbourne.
it's the part of the process that connects the hunters to the Vel, which requires lots of dark magic and blood and gross potions to drink.
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tineeericeee · 1 year ago
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What Waits Off the Coast of Santa Barbara
Chapter One: Taking a Short Walk on a Long Boardwalk
Summary: Carlton Lassiter is going on a late night walk on the pier, when he sees a figure just off in the distance.
Notes: Happy mermay! To both the psych community *and* the g/t community (I know you guys go nuts for Mermay)
Takes place post the first scene in season 1 episode 6: from the earth to the Starbucks, except Shawn and Lassiter still haven’t met.
Lassiter was drunk. Very drunk.
It had been two years. Two whole years, to the day, since he and Victoria had unofficially separated.
That, coupled with the fact that he felt he was slowly losing his touch at being a detective, put him in a very depressed mood. A mood he was just a tad too familiar with.
And the cherry on top, his partner, Lucinda Barry, had been transferred to a different station in a different city a few weeks ago, and he still hadn’t completely gotten over her. It wasn’t exactly clear whether she had done it of her own volition or if the chief had her transferred, but one thing was for sure: It definitely had something to do with their secret relationship.
Somehow, word had gotten out and spread fast, and soon enough the whole station knew about them. Lassiter wouldn’t have put it past her if she had requested the transfer out of embarrassment of being outed for dating her superior.
The new junior detective was okay. It could have been worse. But it also could have been better. Juliet O’Hara was a little bit too bushy-tail bright-eyed for his taste. She definitely had a lot more energy than Lucinda.
All of this added up to him desperately needing a night to himself. To go to a bar and drink all of his emotions away.
Lassiter had drink after drink after drink. Predominately whiskey, but there was some brandy at one point.
Eventually the bartender cut him off for the night, and told him to find a taxi to take him home. Lassiter had a better idea. A stroll on the boardwalk to hopefully clear his mind and let the sea air help sober him up.
———
Lassiter had been walking for at least an hour now, which would have been impressive had he been going at his usual gait. But he was mostly stumbling along, just focusing on keeping his feet below him and on the wooden boards.
Eventually, his vision stopped swimming and he could focus more on where he was going rather than the simple task of staying upright. Now he was able to take in his surroundings better.
He was far away from Tom Blair’s, and had walked long enough that the beach and the boardwalk was completely empty, save for him and what seemed like a lonely tarp crumpled in a heap down near the shore.
Lassiter sneered at it. People had no respect for nature anymore. They thought it was okay to just leave anything they weren’t using and expect no consequences.
He should pick it up and… what, drag it back to the bar where he left his Crown Vic? Haul it to the nearest trash can and just… set it down next to it?
As Lassiter walked down to grab the tarp, something else in the distance grabbed his attention. In the weak, dim light emanating from the small street light on the dock, he could pick out a large figure just out of the way, next to the shoreline.
‘…Strange.’
Curiosity getting the better of him, he trekked further down, digging through his pockets for the little pen light he always kept with him.
Just as Lassiter got to the… whatever it was, his hand finally found the tiny flashlight. He fumbled it for a second before locating the little button and clicking it on.
But what he saw made his heart stop, sobering him up.
The first thing Lassiter’s flashlight landed on was an impossibly large back end of a fish tail. It was absolutely massive. It must have been the size of a Great White, and this was just half of it! Each scale seemed to be roughly the same size, if not slightly smaller, than the palm of his hand, each one shimmering an unearthly green under the light of his torch. Small nicks and scratches dotted the whole of it. The whole thing was tangled in a green synthetic fishing net, wrapping around tightly.
He moved the flashlight upwards, and saw…
‘No. No, that’s just not possible.’
And yet there it was. Skin. Human skin, blending smoothly into the fish scales. It was a torso, and just as large as the tail. There were slightly larger gashes covering the soft, surprisingly slightly tanned skin.
It was also covered in the same plastic green netting, tangled and knotted all around. The fibers irritated the skin, cinching tightly and turning it an angry red.
An arm, on the opposite side, was tied up in the same shitty netting, and the other lying limply besides the body. Cuts that matched all of the other ones littered its arms. Arms that were size of his own body, with hands that could easily smother him if they so wished.
Lassiter almost didn’t want to, but he kept going.
And he saw the face. And it wasn’t anything like what he was expecting.
It was the face of a young man, with a chiseled jaw and roguish stubble. Perfectly pink shining lips — that were so big he could put one hand on them and just barely cover — parted slightly to show pearly white teeth, sharp and pointed. Long, beautiful brown lashes hid eyes that he was sure were just as mesmerizing as the rest of his face.
But it was just… the sheer size of the merman, mixed with his intoxicated brain, that caused Lassiter’s legs to crumple beneath him, and unceremoniously fall on his back into the soft sand. He groaned as stars winked out of sight as his vision was consumed by darkness.
—————
Notes: thanks for reading! And also a big special thanks to @arrowheadedbitch for beta reading!
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thespiritssaidso · 10 months ago
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Lassiter's Favorite Scent
Summary: Shawn takes Lassie to Bath and Body Works
Notes: Couldn’t stop thinking about this one the moment I saw it. 
Flufftober day 3: Favorite Scent
—————
“Tell me again why we’re here, Shawn?”  
“I ran out of my special pineapple lotion. But that’s not the only reason. We’re here because you still have yet to discover the wonderfulness of Bath and Body Works!”
Lassiter groaned. He shouldn’t have told Shawn about that. It just kind of… slipped out. Shawn had been talking about how he needed to go to the store and was going on about how the layout was nice, even saying “Well, I’m sure you already know about the special display they usually do in the fall.” 
And of course, Lassiter told him that no, he had no clue what Shawn was even talking about. 
One thing had led to another, and here they were, standing in the middle of the store in front of a small table packed with candles. Why there were candles at a store literally named Bath and Body Works, Lassiter would never know. But there they sat, looking as though fall had thrown up on the display. 
“Not that I don’t like spending time with you, but don’t you normally do this with Guster?” 
“Not this time. Gus said he got COVID, so he’s down for the count.” Shawn reached out and grabbed a candle at random. Autumn breeze. It was a light orange, almost a bit rustic in color. It looked like a leaf that had begun its change. “Here! Smell this one.” 
Lassiter lurched backward at the candle being shoved in his face. “Shawn-”
“Come on! Just one sniff!” 
“No, I don’t-” he stopped mid sentence when the scent hit him. It was surprisingly delightful. 
It took him back in time to a memory he’d almost forgotten. One of late October, picking pumpkins with his little sister Laura and watching over her as she played in the corn pit. He could practically smell the crisp air from that day over twenty years ago. 
Lassiter blinked, and he was back to the store. “Huh. It smells nice.” That was putting it lightly. It had a nice scent, and was very nostalgic. Although he wouldn’t list it as a favorite. It was good, but not ‘top three’ good. But if he had to buy it, there would be no complaints coming from him. 
Shawn, fluent in ‘Carlton-ese’ — that’s what he called it — seemed to be able to tell exactly what Lassiter was really saying. “Okay then, how about this one?”  
Yet another candle was shoved in his face, and Lassiter couldn’t help the automatic recoil. It was another orange candle, but a bit darker in color. The label had a picture of a pumpkin pie. Pumpkin Spice. 
He took a whiff, and was once again taken back to another memory, one more recent this time. He was eating pie with Shawn, one the same shade of orange as the candle, and covered in whipped cream. He didn’t stop the small grin growing as he remembered that moment. 
“Yeah? Good?” 
Again, Lassiter blinked away the memory. “Mh. I think I’ll look around myself.”
Shawn shrugged. “Alright, just don’t eat any of the samples, that’s not what they’re there for.” He put the cap back on the candle and set it back on the display. 
“I- that was one time!” But Shawn had already left, presumably knowing exactly where he was going. But Lassiter could tell by his gait that he was only pretending. He watched as Shawn confidently strode in what was probably the wrong direction and mumbled to himself, “The label was misleading…”
Lassiter wandered away from the fall display and towards the walls, where the more generic scents were kept. Blues and whites and pinks… shelves upon shelves of lotion and body wash and candles and even perfume — with a small section set aside near the entrance for cologne. 
Picking a direction at random, he walked over and grabbed the first bottle he saw. Fresh Laundry. It was sky blue, and the label had a picture of a white towel hanging on a line, flapping in the breeze. 
He popped the cap off and gingerly took a sniff. Yup. That was definitely clean laundry. It was fresh, too, which was extremely impressive. 
How the hell did they do it? Some of the scents here weren’t actual objects, but rather concepts of a scent. In fact, just to his left he could see one labeled On the Horizon, whatever that meant. But he was pretty sure that if he smelled it, he would understand. 
He set down the little bottle and stalked off. Lassiter couldn’t see where Shawn had gone off to. You’d think someone like him would stand out in a place like this. But nope. It was as though his boyfriend could suddenly blend into the blue and white surroundings like a chameleon. Or a spy. Hmmm, Shawn as a spy… probably not, for the safety of everyone. 
As he walked away, Lassiter noticed a small group of teenagers off to the side, just out of the corner of his eye. They were talking to each other in hushed whispers, giving him looks every now and then. 
At that moment, Lassiter had never felt more embarrassed in his life. His face burned, and he felt redder than the Candy Apple scented body wash just to the right of him. What was he even doing here? Why was he by himself? He looked like an idiot. Where was Shawn? 
A hand on his shoulder broke him out of his slow spiral, and with it a scent he was familiar with. Cheap cologne mixed with the smallest hint of tropical fruit. And there was Shawn, looking as handsome and goofy as ever. 
“Hey Carly! Sorry that took so a bit. I had to fight off some old lady with a bad perm for the pineapple body wash. But I won! Look!” He dug through the white and blue striped bag and pulled out a yellow bottle. The label was, of course, of a pineapple. Specifically of one laying on a beach chair sitting in the sand. 
Lassiter looked back and saw that the group of teens had disappeared. He turned to Shawn again and nodded. “Great, let’s go.” 
Of course, Shawn noticed the change in Lassiter’s attitude. But he said nothing about it, instead choosing to change the topic. “So, did you find something that smelled good?” 
“Actually, yeah. Yeah I did.” And it was standing right next to him, holding his hand as they walked out of the store. 
———
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iceeericeee · 1 year ago
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A Birthday? In This Economy?
This oneshot is for @matxhstixkers. Happy birthday bestie!!!
(Also, so sorry if this is ooc, I haven’t seen Good Omens in a hot sec lololol) (also, I made up a random last name cos I don’t know what urs actually is fjdjdjs)
It was quiet in the bookshop, until Aziraphale burst through the door and started frantically scanning his mini calendar he kept on his desk. Apparently, he hadn't noticed Crowley lounging on his armchair, and who was now lying on the floor because he had fallen out from Aziraphale’s loud entrance.
"Angel, what's going on? Does it have something to do with heaven?"
His eyes finally landing on a specific date, he replied to Crowley, "Oh no, nothing that terrible. It's just... it's someone's birthday today, someone special, and I had forgotten."
“Well, what do you propose we do about it, then?”
“Oh, I don’t know… I had been thinking maybe we could pop over, and wish him a happy birthday!”
“Right, yeah. We should just waltz on over, unannounced, to tell some random human that they’re getting older. Fantastic, Angel.”
“But it’s not just someone random, Crowley! His great-grandmother was a dear friend of mine, back when heaven had an assignment for me across the pond. The Smith family is very important to me.”
“Oh, well now, that’s different.”
“Don’t be so sarcastic, dear.”
He raised his hands in defense.
“Anyway, I need to get him a gift, something special. Something he’d really like.”
“How about we get him a book, eh? If you somehow know him, then there’s a pretty darn good chance he’s likes books.” Crowley suggested.
Aziraphale bristled a bit at the idea. “You aren’t suggesting giving him one of my books, are you?”
“No, Angel. I’m saying we get him a brand new book.”
He settled a bit at that. “Oh, well, that’s a good idea then. What do you think he’d like? Should we get him something nonfiction? Or maybe something more fantastical?”
“I don’t know. You’re the one who knows him, not me!”
They scratched the idea, and thought some more.
———
Aziraphale’s head popped up. “What if we got him a video game? All the kids nowadays love that sort of thing, don’t they?”
Crowley shrugged. “Yeah, sure. But what game would he want?”
He thought for a moment. “Oh! What about that newer one! ‘Fourteen days’, I think?”
“You mean ‘Fortnite’?”
Aziraphale nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, that’s the one!”
“No. It’s… how do I say this. It’s not exactly, new, anymore.”
“What do you mean? It came out only 7 years ago.”
Crowey sighed. “Look, Angel. These humans move fast. Like, ridiculously fast. Seven years ago to them might as well be a hundred years ago.”
———
“Aziraphale, we’re not getting anywhere. Why don’t we compromise.”
He paused at that. “Well, alright. What did you have in mind?”
“How about, we send a card, yeah? A nice, simple, card. We’ll sign it, maybe put a bit of cash inside.”
He slowly nodded. “I guess.”
“Then we’ve come to an agreement.” With a small wave of his hand, a small, cheesy, happy birthday card and envelope appeared. With a flourish, Crowley wrote out a short happy birthday wish, and handed the card to Aziraphale. He, instead of something small, wrote out a long note, with more thoughtful undertones.
Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and there appeared a large sum of money — in pounds, of course.
“Nono, Angel. He’s American, remember?”
“Ohh yes. Thank you, dear boy.” And with another snap, it turned into American dollars.
~~~~~~~~~~
It’s a sunny Tuesday morning when Charlie’s mother has a strange feeling, the need to check the mail, even though it wasn’t due to come until midday. And when she opened the mailbox, there, sitting neatly in the very middle, was a letter addressed to the birthday boy. But, strangely, it had no return address. There weren’t even any stamps.
You can imagine, then, the surprise on Charlie’s face when he not only saw it, but also the excitement when he opened the wonderful card. The card in which he promptly hung up on his wall, displayed for him to see every morning.
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french-toast-enjoyer · 1 year ago
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Trust exercise, my first fic on ao3, is finally up!
summary: in which Venom worships Eddie, inside and out.
tags/warnings: Blood and Gore, Weird Fluff, Vivisection, Explicit Consent, Self-Indulgent, Established Eddie Brock/Venom Symbiote, Established Relationship, They love each other a lot okay, Body Horror, Body Worship, No Smut, just gore, venom literally rearranges eddies guts, this one is kinda gross lads, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Trust, kinda horny
this is my first full fic, so I'm trying to improve! synopsis is Venom lovingly live dissecting their host.
based of course on this post
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petes-neckarrow · 9 months ago
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The Accident
Summary: How exactly did Jordan O’Malley bite it? Here’s his story…
Notes: very first Ghosts fic! Happy to see it be whump lololol.
Warning ⚠️ graphic depictions of injury ⚠️
—————
Rain. 
Wet. 
Driving. 
Skidding. 
Flying. 
Falling. 
Pain. 
Falling. 
Tumbling. 
Panting. 
Pain. 
Gasping.
Pain. 
Walking. 
Pain. 
Stumbling. 
Pain. 
Crawling. 
PAIN. 
Jordan groaned as he hauled himself through the muddy ground with his right hand and pushed with his left, his legs having collapsed from underneath him ten yards back. 
The branch jutting out of his stomach caught on a rock poking from the ground and shifted. He could only grit his teeth and keep moving as new sparks of pain bloomed throughout the wound. A trickle of blood oozed from his mouth and stained pale, trembling lips. 
He knew riding his bike would be a bad idea, especially without his helmet. He’d known that ever since he’d bought the damn thing. 
But it was just so freeing to feel the wind blow through his hair, whipping his jacket around as he sped through abandoned country roads.
Jordan had been doing that a lot lately. Late night biking, that is. So much so that he practically knew all the small roads he drove on like the back of his hand, and the properties surrounding them. 
He did it for a reason, of course. Work, family drama… It all piled up day after day, exhausting him. 
The night-drives to clear his mind were getting more and more consistent until it simply became part of his everyday routine. Go to work at one of his four part-time jobs, ignore the phone calls from his parents, eat dinner at the tiny house he was renting from his dad’s old friend, take the motorcycle out for a spin, go to sleep on the air mattress.
Tonight was no different. But the rain was a surprise. It wasn’t anywhere in the forecast for today, he’d made sure it wasn’t before leaving. Jordan had made a big mistake when he kept driving, even as the rain fell harder and harder.
And now he was paying the price dearly for not turning back. 
Everything hurt. It all hurt so goddamn much. Jordan thought he knew pain when the neighbor’s dog bit him in the leg in third grade, or when Brad Cunningham shot his foot in sophomore year of high school, or even when accidentally injected his t-shot in the wrong spot a year ago. But that was nothing compared to what he was feeling right now.
Jordan’s earbuds, still miraculously connected to his iPod touch, continued blasting music uselessly. How they hadn’t fallen out yet was a mystery. “-I don’t think you trust. In. My. Self-righteous suicide-”
‘Yeah, that’s really nice to listen to while dying.’ He sarcastically thought to himself. His side ached from being dragged through bumpy rocks and poking twigs. But he still went on. There was a small, tiny sliver of hope in him that he could make it. If he could just keep going.
In the distance, a single light shone from the window of a large mansion. He knew there was an old lady that lived there, partly because he’d consistently driven donuts with his bike in her large circular driveway, forcing her to chase him away every time with the threat of calling the police. He hoped Mrs. Woodstone didn’t hold too strong a grudge that she’d turn him away when he ended up on her doorstep, clinging to life by his fingertips.
That is if he could even make it to the driveway, much less her porch. Jordan could feel his arm muscles spasming, getting weaker and weaker with each desperate pull from the right and push from the left.
Until finally, the moment he reached the edge of the driveway, his arms gave out on him. 
No longer could he drag himself towards safety. 
Jordan was utterly screwed. If his weak heart could beat any harder, it’d be racing from the panic taking hold of him. 
He was going to die. He was going to die and he hadn’t even done the things he’d wanted to do in life.
He’d never be able to buy a Nintendo switch, never visit Ireland, never get a chance to try wagyu, never join an orchestra. 
So many tasks left undone, so many dreams broken. All because of a stupid decision.
‘So this is how the great Jordan O’Malley dies.’ He thought as his eyes went foggy and his ears filled with the sound of silence. That definitely wasn’t a good sign, no longer being able to hear the rain he knew was still relentlessly falling. 
‘Death by impalement. Could’ve been worse. At least it wasn’t something dumb, like slipping in the tub.’ Jordan couldn’t help but let out a weak laugh that quickly turned to coughing, choking on his own blood.
As he lay on his side, covered in mud streaks and dead plant matter, all he could think of was how he was happy to die wearing his binder. At least he would look somewhat like himself in the afterlife, if there was one.
—————
Notes: song mentioned in fic: Chop Suey by System of a Down
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toasteaa · 1 year ago
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Dash forgive me, I'm thinking about them tonight 😔
#toast talks#just those disjointed thoughts that always hit right before bed yknow? The ones that feel canon and might actually be canon to them.#Like Neuvillette is so unserious at times in my brain but I rarely ever talk about it because I don't know how to explain his behavior#but there's also those moments where he just genuinely doesn't pick up on other people's social cues and I love that about him.#it's a classic case of ''guy gets solicited and unsolicited advice on how to flirt with the girl he likes but results are varied'' trope#and I love it#like how Clorinde hinted at flowers being a nice gift but Neuvillette having seen Eclair reject flowers from other men and having doubts.#He buys some anyway however and the delivery is so nonchalant. Like it's so sweet in the most unromantic and distinctly Neuvillette way.#Eclair asking who they're from because she knows like three guys that keep trying to give her flowers but Neuvillette saying himself#puts her in full factory reset mode.#Barely hears him explain how he'd noticed she'd been a little under the weather and thought a gift would help.#She does quietly correct him when he says he was afraid she wouldn't like this gift as he assumed she didn't like flowers.#She kept those flowers for as long as she could after that. Pretty sure she still has the dried bouquet in her house somewhere.#Also love how Eclair is genuinely interested in the topics Neuvillette talks about in his free time.#Also how she actively tries to find water he might enjoy when she has to go to different regions for work.#She might not be able to taste *all* of the subtle differences that he can but she did end up with a favorite imported water of his#(Inazuman. Specifically from around the Araumi/Mt. Yougou area)#Sigh...I really should write down all my silly little headcanons for them. All the things I think they do individually and/or together#that builds into them as characters and into their relationship.#Because as much as I wax poetic about them and their most likely doomed love...#I wanna see Neuvillette's ever so slightly amused smirk when Eclair goes ''huh. forgot you could do that'' at him#siphoning water off of him and leaving him completely dry.#I just think they're silly wjdjsdj#eclairette
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