#+ i love the game. and i love the setting. and casting matters so much

[mythalism]

still just verbally processing my own feelings about this but i think the crux of it for me is less the decision itself and once again the way it is being sold to us. if you want a blank slate - fine. do it then. set the game 100 years in the future when all of the characters are already dead. dont put varric and harding in. maybe we meet an old, gray kieran with mythal's soul, idk it doesnt matter but anyway you can have the exact same story with solas and rook and all of the companions and have the "blank slate" you so desire. market it as such; not a direct sequel, but a solas-centric spinoff. i would have loved that game and enjoyed it immensely. but they didnt do that. the foundation of the marketing since 2018 has been solas and varric- returning characters from past games. the devs have said over and over and OVER AND OVER that the inquisitor is integral to the story. that its the "inquisitor's story too". that it was always going to have to involve solas and the inquisitor. but........ also that nothing the inquisitor did was relevant? what? its literally the writes wanting to have their cake and eat it too. you cannot make a disconnected blank-slate game about a new cast of characters when literally 1/3 of your cast is RETURNING CHARACTERS. you have been using those returning characters as the face of your marketing campaign for over 5 years. you have emphasized how much it serves as a direct sequel to inquisition's DLC. you have been banking on our attachment to these characters and our emotional investment in this world to win our attention, and eventually, our purchase. and now... a month before release, you pull out the rug from under everyone and say... actually we wanted a blank slate :). its duplicitous. i will still undoubtedly play and enjoy this game. i love solas and i have no doubt i am going to love learning more about him, a game that explores his history like this is pretty much my dream. but they should have sold me this game as THAT from the start. it is a drastic deviation from one of the core components of the dragon age franchise, and whether you believe that is for the better or for the worse, to only reveal the extent of that deviation 36 days before release is unfair at best and unethical at worst.

[cvrsedslytherin]

Exquisite Hell — My Silver-Tongued Devil

Sebastian Sallow x GN!Reader (First person POV)

NSFW, minors do not interact. Work of ANGST and SMUT.

Sebastian Sallow was a silver-tongued devil. One you couldn’t get enough of; not even when it poisoned you. Your endless thoughts seeped through as he took you like he always did—he gave you agony and pleasure.

Divider Credits: @/thecutestgrotto

Disclaimer: I’d like to consider this a poetic oneshot though I’m no poet. This is a new style of writing I’m trying. Same with the reader being GN and a first person pov. I tried my best as I’m learning this style and even one of these genres, not used to smut. This was inspired by two things. I can only hope I did it justice.

Winsome and diaphanous were the way Sebastian Sallow’s words came at me; he truly had a way of making me believe all the charming things he would say.

Was it his smile that would bask in the warmth of a thousand suns? Was it the way his deep-set brown eyes would glimmer like honey as soon as the light had shone on them? Was it the low tone of his voice with that Scottish accent that sent shivers down my spine? Or maybe it was the hundreds of freckles painted on his face that made him seem so innocent at first.

That smile wasn’t a smile but a dangerous smirk that I was too blind to see. Calculated, because he knew what he was doing to me. The light illuminated his eyes, tricking me to forget how dark they would usually be.

And the freckles? Well, those were just damn attractive. No trickery, just sheer dumb luck to make him more perfect.

I don’t have to explain how devastatingly handsome Sebastian Sallow is. Not only did he have a brain that captivated me in every way; even with the darkness that shackled his mind… but he also looked like everything I ever wanted. A nightmare masking as a daydream.

What was he, sculpted by the Greek Gods somehow?

Yet he was the most flawed being I ever had the agonizing pleasure of knowing. An ugliness that I was still drawn to. Not even the Cruciatus curse compared to him. I felt as though I was put under Imperio just to endure his delightful pain—and yes, it was delightful.

One day, I swear my heart would feel Avada Kedavra cast from him. Maybe not in a literal sense but definitely in the way that my soul would get turned into ashes by him.

Sebastian Sallow, the personification of the Unforgivable curses. In a hauntingly, beautiful way.

An angel is what he could have been but too bad, he was the devil. Alas, I was the mere fool caught in his trap though.

Sebastian had potential; it wasn’t that he was evil per se, there was good but it had been too deeply buried in the confines of his smeared soul. Too much hurt had plagued him and as much as I wished to be his saving grace, I couldn’t be. No matter how hard I tried, he was lost.

And all I could do was let him drag me through this exquisite hell that would eventually destroy me.

Perhaps I was twisted too… because I couldn’t stay away.

I was in love.

A familiar sensation, of Sebastian fucking me well into oblivion. His cock was so deeply swallowed by me, making me moan out incoherent words. A game that we played except it wasn’t a game to me; yet I let myself stay as a player.

Once he heard those sinful sounds escape from my lips, his smirk widened. His eyes twinkled with pride because he knew. He fucking knew.

I enjoyed the pleasure too; it would be a lie to say that I didn’t. My body undoubtedly craved his just as he seemed to want to mold into mine, trying to possess me.

Wanting him in every way imaginable but I don’t just mean this erotic dance we engaged in. Ah, I digress.

Sebastian Sallow knew how to fuck and make you feel like you’re on top of the world, that was the simple truth.

On the other hand, I had wished he was fucking me out of pure love… but I knew better than to believe the sweet praises falling from those lips. The praises left a bittersweet taste in my mouth as I both relished and ached at those delicious words.

Maybe deep down… he did feel something as this was reoccurring. The full length of his shaft seemed to find a home in the tightness of my heat. Never getting tired of the pleasurable sensation, he nor I.

I couldn’t read his mind; he’d never let me nor would he offer to share any depth. I wasn’t the most angelic of people either—so casting 'Legilimens’ was always on the tip of my tongue, to just dive into that tortured soul of a mind. Merlin, the curiosity was a brutal need. The spell whirling in my mind as if to taunt me.

I just wanted to know… what he hides in there.

Yet I felt that sometimes, I was the only one who could understand him. Who could pick up the cues. I knew he was a mess of a person—the prettiest boy, full of mischief and sadness; a violent boy, full of rage and insecurity that others failed to see. I noticed everything about him.

But not what he thinks of me. He needs someone. Who can that someone be? It won’t be me, no matter how hard I wish upon the stars in the night sky to grant me this one thing. Why would it? This is the prison of chaos not the oasis of miracles.

In the primal sense, it seemed like he needed ME but love? He’s charismatic to several, which makes me turn green; my eyes full of jealousy burning behind his back. A burning that I had to dip into the vast ocean to cleanse out of my system before the pain in me revealed itself. This was where the problems that choked me lay. Flirtatious in personality and infected others with smiles, even if they got annoyed with him. No one could stay away from him and I know he was experienced. Whether from the past or present. I know he would compliment others; he couldn’t resist charming a pretty girl who gave him attention—that came his way, stealing what I laid naive, emotional claim to.

Fuck, I was as possessive as he was. I just hid it well externally. And yes, he spoke possessively to me, maybe because it was the heat of passion.

“You feel amazing, fuck…” A grunt escaped his mouth at a particularly rough thrust that had my insides shaking. I arched a bit, accepting how greedily he wanted to bury himself inside of me—stretching me more and more to my limits every single time.

“You’re mine, say it… ah, haa…” he practically growled that out as I whimpered.

He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t have.

Yet my heart instantly responded with a ‘yes, I’m utterly yours, you fool.’ That whimper caused him delight as his eyes darkened at me.

But I had a small piece of pride during these moments when he wrecked me; a shudder in my body serving to his pleasure. A pride he would no doubt, break down.

He took his free hand that wasn’t gripping my hip with a bruising force and pried my mouth fully open with his thumb. His movements speed up, slamming with reckless abandon now. ‘He’s close,’ I thought. He slightly pushed his thumb into my mouth, holding the bottom of my jaw with the rest of his hand, the tip of his thumb touching my bottom teeth, moving further in—trying to feel a bit of my tongue.

“Say it, sweetheart… c’mon, say that you’re mine,” he didn’t growl it this time. Much to my surprise, it almost sounded like a plea rather than a command and that’s how devilish he was. He knew I would weaken at that tone right away. I cursed my weakness.

Gasping out, I mumbled, “A-ah… y-yours…”

“Whose?” His thrust punctuated that question and his hand was still there, wanting me to mumble more. Commanding it now to rip out of me.

“Yours… S-Sebastian… I’m yours.” My mouth betrayed my little pride despite it being the truth. I had no eyes for anyone else.

He groaned in satisfaction and grinned a little, then dipped his thumb fully into my mouth, making me suck. My lips closed in and my tongue moved slightly because I would have kissed and licked every part of him.

And I did.

Just as he also did it; he would worship my body sometimes. Making sure every inch of it got attention… got touched, kissed, licked, sucked; all of it. Covering me in marks as if I were his work of art, a masterpiece he wished to display because he created it and owned it. It wasn’t always a frantic fuck—a mindless release but this was what made me wish more; that he would never even glance at someone else. My dark thoughts oozed out, the fact that I wanted to cage him and hide him from the others. See, I was pathetically obsessed with him.

He didn’t know the full extent of it; he knew I cared. Knew I whipped to the core but he didn’t know these dark thoughts because he treated me like an angel to play with.

Or the lion devouring the lamb.

And this lamb wasn’t going to expose the whole truth put in the locked vault of my body, chains around it.

“Such an innocent face…” he rasped out, his pumps into me gaining even more speed suddenly. I could feel the throbbing of his cock start to grow. My eyes were somewhat half-lidded, gazing with everything at him. The shimmer of light illuminated their colors. He loved my eyes for some reason and said they expressed more than I knew. Only at this moment.

My deep subconscious thinking, ‘Yeah, innocent face hiding filthy, dark desires.’

“Darling… you’re so radiant, shining brighter than the beams of sunlight,” another rasp came out as his thumb slipped out of my mouth. My saliva coated it so he placed it near his mouth, his tongue swiping his thumb to taste the wetness I left on him.

He whispered for a moment but loud enough so I could hear, “Actually… if you were the sun itself, I’d keep staring even though I’d go blind. You’re worth looking at more than anything or anyone else.”

He would add in something like that, so randomly—his charming tricks just crashed into the open. Was it cheesy? Maybe. Yet it still made goosebumps appear on my skin and made my face start to heat up. It made me feel like I had a bloody chance, especially with how that voice sounded.

Then he swiped his tongue at it once more.

“Mnn tastes divine…” he murmured like a starved man, getting closer and closer to the edge of his release. He put that hand back on the other side of my hip; both hands firmly pinning me down to his bed more now. I squirmed because I always loved feeling his hands on me, even if they were hurting me a little.

There was a gratification in that pain.

“You are the sweetest fruit I could ever take a bite of…” his face contorting in the most wonderful form of pleasure as he poured out those words, like the silver-tongued devil he was. “You know that, right? How sweet you are… I can’t let anyone else taste it.”

The blood in my veins felt like it was ablaze, scorching my body with the heat he created.

“So warm… God—so tight…” he panted with a whine that ruined me; he struggled to speak a little as his hips were rapidly bucking in. His stamina was something else and the relentlessness of his speed, like he was a creature. But I took him well… a match to him.

My body tensed up at his continuous praises, ready to follow him in the orgasmic bliss that was about to wash over us. He could feel that I was close too as he stayed attuned to me and so, he leaned over while continuing to fuck me until I saw stars. Both of us were on the edge of spilling as his mouth planted onto mine, making this moment intimate. The bed creaked from his force, the sounds of flesh slapping and the noises our mouths made that were now muffled; consuming each other.

More like, him consuming me as I couldn’t fight his dominance.

His kiss almost felt like it was stealing my soul, searching for all the love he could find. Taking in every moan or whine out of me, his tongue plunging into my mouth—seeking the taste of the fruit he had taken bites of before, exploring deeply. Sometimes he’d pull my tongue out a bit so he could suck on it then resume kissing me more sweetly after. That made me feel like I was on cloud nine. That made me writhe underneath him as butterflies filled my stomach with the way he worked on me.

Then the bite would come, nibbling my bottom lip then sinking those teeth harder in, tugging to make tears slip out of me. Tears that I didn’t mind giving because I was in ecstasy.

“Sebastian…” I choked out, barely sounding normal at all and his body shook.

My eyes rolled back as his cock hit that special spot and let go. He moved his face away, letting my bottom lip go—throwing back his head as his jaw clenched & he let out a guttural groan, “fucking hell… f-fuck… love.”

He had exploded inside of me… copious amounts of his cum filling me; his cock twitching in the contentment of his climax. He collapsed on top of me instantly due to the quantity, almost squishing me and keeping that strong grip on my hips. My hands had gripped his arms sometime between it all, now shaking.

‘Love,’ why did he have to call me that now? It wasn’t fair. I cried out loudly, finding my finish as well as my whole body arched into his despite him pressing me into the bed. I think I was convulsing beneath him; more tears streaming down my face.

His hips still stuttered and mindlessly rutted a bit until he was completely spent. My limbs went numb, loosening… the pants of us both being the only sound as silence filled. Rapid breaths as our flesh stuck together, unwilling to separate much at all.

He didn’t speak nor did I. He didn’t move out of me… he would stay there for a while & hide his face in the crook of my neck once he started calming. I would lay there, letting this temporary warmth he gave me… stay with me as if it was all mine. As if we were going to be this way forever. As if HE was mine.

This game we play… he plays, has to come to an end, eventually. I know that. This sweet torment he puts me through. The words that make him sound as if he’s a poet trying to romance me with the intention of what I silently weep for. As if he cares about keeping the heart he has captured.

For a moment, he gazes at me with something unreadable, making my heart feel like it’s swelling. Hope gnaws at me quietly… ‘Why is he looking at me like that?’ but hope was a cruel bitch. Promising falsity in fools like me; I wouldn’t fall for it, I would shake it off and he would look away.

He doesn’t love me. He never will.

No amount of prayers can cure my addiction; as he was the drug that I kept taking. The sweetened poison I kept letting sink into me.

I wasn’t a devil but I was ugly inside too.

But my love for him was real, unyielding. Scorching my soul in its wake, fast to undo me because loving him was agony.

The unspoken words… the words of love, the deepest of my desires, the raw ones that weren’t so innocent—suffocating me each day but very slowly. Making sure I experience the most pitiful of deaths. But he knew because of those smirks and gazes he gave… he knew, deep down. Still, I tried to masquerade as a fool ignorant of my intense feelings. Parading around like he didn’t have me wrapped around his finger, that it wasn’t painfully obvious.

Does he know I’m dying? How many times has he looked at me and not realized, it’s killing me, or maybe he did—I wasn’t a mind reader. Even though I had the opportunity to try. Can that one spell satisfy me?

Maybe he was the beautiful reaper, his actions were the scythe.

Why can’t I understand him?

And why did he look at me now… with mysterious eyes for that moment? Eyes full of something.

I’m in hell but I can’t hate it.

“It’s oddly exquisite.”

I am considering a second fanfic to this; in which it will Sebastian’s POV? But not sure. Would be a new challenge for me…

And yes, this was uploaded on my other (now deleted) account.

Pls correct me if you see errors, ty.

[maliro-t]

everything i've heard about the candela live show is solidifying the direct line i've seen since launch from sagas of sundry to where we are now and I'm just so 👐👐 excited about it

[gladiatorcunt]

Art seems like such a sub, like he’d be so down pathetic when he sits between your legs, back to your chest while you give him an hj. He whimpers while you whisper dirty things in his ear and shakes more with each pump OOH I NEED HOLY WATER 😭

he gives switch vibes with a sub lean for suuuuuuure 😮‍💨

cw: 18+ mdni, handjob, sub!art, set more in the college era, reader’s a switch too btw but art makes them feral, very loving tho, taking care of him after a tough practice, afab reader

“That’s it, just lie back on me. You must be feeling so sore.” You coo, caressing his biceps and getting into position on his bed.

You recline against the wall and open your legs. Art can’t hide the way his eyes light up as he eases onto the bed and swiftly turns around, resting his back against your chest with a soft sigh. You pick up on the groan he attempts to stifle in his palm, knowing how his muscles be absolutely aching right now.

It’s a big deal for you to show that you support him by showing up to his games and practices, so that’s what you doing earlier. You’ve always admired his determination when it comes to tennis, so you don’t mention that losing a college game isn’t the end of the world. Still, you won’t deprive yourself of the eye candy that comes in the form of your boyfriend sweating and grunting as he practices his drills.

Once it was over, he bounded over to you with a tired grin and jokingly pushed your face away when you tried to kiss him. “Angel, i’m all gross now.” He’d laugh, and you’d shut him up by licking some of the sweat of his cheek.

“Did I do good today?” He asks and looks up at you with his big eyes.

You’ll never not be grateful that he seeks out your approval like a dog with a bone, because you’ve never been so proud of someone in your entire life.

“You always do the best, babe.”

Art blushes and tilts his head back onto your shoulder. And for a cliché moment time stand still, the sunset outside casts an orange glow over the room and the two of you. Your boyfriend looks beautiful like this, eyes shut in exhaustion and nestled in your arms.

But you have other plans for the evening than just admiring your boyfriend, there will be plenty of that later during pillow talk.

Art cracks his eyes to see your hands trail down his arms to end up at his crotch. He’s so relaxed that he doesn’t squirm as much as he usually does, but he turns his head to nuzzle your shoulder.

You soothingly murmur to him, “My boy worked so hard today, i think he deserves a reward, don’t you?”

“I want whatever you have to give me.” He genuinely smiles into your skin, shifting his hips to push up against you palming his bulge.

And it’s true, he’d throw his head back like a whore and moan unabashedly no matter if you were edging him with a vibrator of if you were gently grinding your fat ass against his dripping cock.

You teasingly squeeze his clothed bulge and then dip your fingers under the waistband of his white boxer briefs. Thank god for the fact that Art likes to strip down as he soon as he gets back to his room after practice.

“Lift your hips for me, baby boy.” You tell him with a nip to his earlobe.

He sighs again as he gives you the suitable free space to push his underwear down enough to free his cock. It’s so long and pretty, such a good size too. Flushed blush pink at the tip and veiny, your mouth waters but giving your boyfriend head is a reward for a different day.

Art whines when you get your hands on his bare cock, “You know ‘m sensitive, feels so good already.”

“But your tears are so pretty when you’re overstimulated.” You peck his temple and lean your head on top of his, curling your hand around the base of his dick and steadily beginning to pump him. “You should be happy to cum as much as you want, sweets.”

He whimpers and spreads his legs over yours. You hook your feet around his and keep them there.

Pearls of precum bead to the tip of his cock, making the slide easier. You grip him tighter and move your wrist in quick circles as you speed up your thrusting.

“Oh- F-fuck!” He keens, latching onto your hips and arching his back against you.

“Shh, if you can’t handle this how are you supposed to handle my pussy? It’s so much tighter than my hand, baby, you’ve felt how warm and wet it is.”

He cums embarraingly quick when he gets like this, all doped up on how you make him melt. It’s adorable and a huge ego boost, but he can only cum inside you so much before he’s out like a light.

Art gasps at the mention of his treat, and awkwardly twists his torso around to face you, “I can handle it, can i have it now? Please please please please.”

“I don’t know…” You hum, pretending to consider his begging.

You clasp your fingers around his leaking dick and thumb the tip, spreading the precum. You fuck his length with your fist and you’re going so fast, you’re making a ‘thwop! thwop! thwop!’ sound.

“I think I want you to cum just like this, love.”

Art keens as you furiously jack him off. You rile him up by whispering in his ear.

“Got me so hot watching you today. Seeing the sweat on your body when you pulled up your shirt to wipe your face, i wanted to ride you into the ground.”

Art gapes, trying to kick his legs out on reflex but your ankles over his keep him right where you want him. He screws his eyes shut tightly and moans in between his babbling.

“Unh- unh- ‘s so good, gonna cum, can i cum? Please say i can cum, ‘m gonna burst- FUCK!”

You don’t know who’s crying more, Art or his cock. He’s leaking so much that you had to concentrate or you’ll lose your grip.

You don’t let up until he’s heaving a strangled cry and shooting his hips up, spilling on and over your hand like a fountain. He gets so sloppy with it, fucking himself with your fist through the aftershocks.

“That’s it, such a big load for me. I bet you were aching holding all that in, baby.”

And he’s so gorgeous, mouth open wide and tugging on his hair in random intervals. You grab his face with your free head and rub your thumb over his cheek. You let him come down at his own pace, and when he focuses his pretty eyes back on you, you bring your sticky hand to his mouth.

Art cleans his own mess, maintaining eye contact with you. The fierce tomato red blush he’s sporting deepens. You wink at him and slurp up an equal amount of his cum, like a couple sharing a milkshake in an old fashion diner.

[meiieiri]

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐭𝐚 [gojo satoru]

synopsis: you got married to gojo satoru at the edge of a frozen lake in summer.

pairing: gojo satoru x f!reader

warnings/tags: heavy angst, a love that’s TOO LITTLE TOO LATE if one can even call that a tag, unrequited love (kinda).

Marriage is a golden ring on a chain whose beginning is a single glance between two unsuspecting souls that ends with eternity.

Twelve years. You’ve loved him through twelve springs. It’s bittersweet to think how a person could give another their youth for free. But then again, the only things that you truly keep are the things you give away. That’s just life, isn’t it? And besides, you take a step towards the blue peony littered aisle with a wistful smile on your face as you picture a certain arctic-haired man standing at the other end, when it comes to matters of the heart, keeping ledgers of the love you give and the love you receive is a futile effort.

You should probably put that in your vows later. But ah, what did it matter? Satoru’s probably just gonna wing it later, arguing that expressions of love should be light-hearted and candid much like the love you share.

“Y/N-chan~!” He steps in front of you, his tall form towering over you as he catches you by the student lounge’s vending machine. Shoko smirks behind you, pulling Suguru ahead of you to leave the two of you alone. She nudges you forward and you cast her a betrayed look to which she only replies with an innocent shrug. It’s common knowledge to everyone in Tokyo Jujutsu High how you feel about the Gojo clan’s illustrious little starlet.

Well, it was common knowledge to everyone except Satoru Gojo.

And you don’t know if you find that comforting or saddening.

Comforting that he wouldn’t find out about your feelings from someone else, though you’re still working up the courage to fess up, you wholeheartedly believe that this is something he should hear from you and you alone. Saddening that maybe the reason he’s been all blissfully ignorant of how your breath becomes shallow whenever he’s around you is he’s actually already aware of your feelings towards him and he’s only deflecting it.

“We’ll go ahead, Y/N,” Shoko says in a sing-song voice, taking your cursed tool from you. “Come see me if you have any injuries!”

“But if it’s a broken heart, she probably can’t fix it,” Suguru chimes in, winking at Satoru as if to say: ‘Go talk to her.’ before turning to follow his girlfriend.

A hush falls between you and Satoru, unspoken words swirling around the two of you like a symphony of longing. Both of you seem to be saying the same thing:

Should I tell her?

Should I tell him?

What would she say?

Would he leave?

If the truth is meant to set you free, then he is your jailer. Why is he content with never uttering those words aloud? Why are you so eager to stay in the hedge maze of your mind, seeking his shadow at every corner? This was a tiring game of hide and seek.

But Satoru is completely fine with letting it drag on if it meant he’d never risk losing you.

And you were fine with that too. You were fine being a prisoner to your truth as long as he was with you in this jail cell. You were fine.

Whatever fine means.

“Wanna go to the arcade?” Satoru looks at you with a shimmering bittersweet look in his eyes.

You smile and a breathy laugh falls from your lips causing his face to light up even more.

“That depends, you gonna let me win?”

“Never.”

“Y/N! There you are.”

You turn around to see an older Shoko, her youthful bob cut having outgrown its juvenile flare. She looks out of breath, she must have run around the venue looking for you and judging from the way she keeps glancing at her watch, and the exasperated look she was throwing your way at the sight of you still in your silk robe, you needed to get moving.

But your feet remain planted in the middle of the empty aisle, your gaze trained on the arch.

“You feeling okay?” Shoko asks, her hand finding yours in a tender display of solidarity. “It’s okay to be nervous, you know.”

You flash her a reassuring smile. “Yeah, I know. Just…deep in thought.”

“Yeah.”

Weddings are always so beautiful, you think to yourself as Shoko steps back giving you some space as you contemplate the day ahead. Your fingers trace one of the satin linens adorning the trellises much like your heart traces the contours of a love too delicate to verbalize, too powerful to ignore. Your gaze dances over the elegant arrangements of blue, white and gray, the scent of grapefruit-quince adorning the air, mixing with the scent of peonies, jasmines and white musk.

Everything here speaks of the imminent union of two souls finding their way to each other. And how comforting it is to know that no matter where you wander, all paths inevitably lead to Satoru Gojo. And you have your drunk cartographer heart to thank for that.

“He loves you,” Shoko finally says, catching your wrist to bring you over to the gazebo to get touched up.

“…I know.”

You look back at the empty aisle, with all but one question in your mind.

What happens when simply knowing is no longer enough?

“Do you believe in love at first sight or should I walk by again with my sunglasses off?”

You nearly choke on your yogurt drink when you see yet another stunningly familiar light blue sticky note on your desk. Satoru fucking Gojo is going to be the death of you one day. Your touch grazes over the hastily scribbled note, a small smile playing at your lips as you take out a white pad of sticky notes from your school bag. After collecting your thoughts, you decide to play along with his little game, your heart fluttering when you realize that this back and forth could actually be considered flirting.

“There’s no such thing as love at first sight. And sorry, pretty boys like you aren’t exactly my type.”

Satoru finds the white sticky note plastered on his stool in Jujutsu Tech’s science lab. Despite the playful jab in your reply, Satoru is hyperfixated on the fact that you just called him pretty. Did you really mean it? He bites the inside of his cheek being careful not to grin too much in fear of Suguru catching wind of what’s happening — the strongest sorcerer of this generation being caught off-guard by his little crush? Detestable!

“You think I’m pretty? ;) I knew it.”

Shoko looks at you funnily, you’re practically red as a tomato with how you’re fuming from the ears and sputtering about how ridiculous Satoru is being. “He’s just so…so…!”

“You really should work on finishing your sentences now~”

You are interrupted at the sight Satoru practically hopping down the steps leading to the training field with a convenience store bag tucked under his arm and you sigh exasperatedly, turning away as if he was a bug that’s hovering over your ear that you really shouldn’t be paying attention to. All of his six foot two form plops down next to you and you jump when he presses a cold ice cream bar to your cheek.

“You’re awfully generous today, Satoru,” you smirk, accepting and lifting the ice cream bar in silent gratitude, suppressing the blush creeping onto your cheeks.

Satoru blushes himself, his hand coming up to rub the back of his head as a comfortable silence falls between the two of you. Shit, say something, Satoru thinks to himself. Was he being too obvious? Did you somehow piece it together now that he has feelings for you?

In his internal dilemma, Satoru settles for undermining the deliberate gesture.

“I only needed two more stickers to get this really neat toy,” Satoru explains, reaching into the convenience store bag and pulling out his new tamagotchi. “Pretty worth it, I would say. The one I saw in Akihabara is being sold for 7500 yen, but that’s the angelgotch variety, so I kinda get the whole roadside robbery thing.”

Of course, he steered the conversation elsewhere. You’re not even surprised at this point that he’ll always only stay at the surface when he treads these long drawn out conversations with you, too afraid to say anything more — do anything more — than what was necessary as your friend.

Keyword: friend.

He had no obligation to you other than being your friend. And you don’t blame him. You’re not angry at him that he’s only willing to stay in shallow water with you, it’s just…

“Hey, I have to go, Yaga’s calling me.” Satoru casually interrupts your train of heartbroken thoughts, but you do not miss the unease in his voice, he almost sounds sorry that he has to bail again.

But you already send him off with a reluctant thumbs up. As you look at his retreating form, he stops for a bit at the stone tori gate, his head bowed in thought, you don’t know why you held your breath. He reaches into his pocket, but thinks better of it, and he paces two hesitant steps forward.

Then, he looks back to meet your eyes from afar.

And his heart clenches in a mixture of affection and exasperation when you are the first to blushingly look away.

The ten feet separating the two of you is very reminiscent of how you began: running in opposite directions to outdo the other in your competition to see who can act that they care less, placing more distance between your flustered hearts. Satoru gazes at you as if he’s seen the divine incarnated into a single beautiful being. He wipes a tear from his eye, sniffing momentarily, watching you gracefully float down the aisle with an equally smitten expression on your features.

Clutching the bouquet in your hands, you don’t break eye contact and everything seems to unfold like a motion picture before your very eyes, your and Satoru’s life together in vivid cinematography: your first dance later tonight, your first trip out of the country together for your honeymoon, your first time, your first year, your first child. Everything. You’ve imagined Satoru to be your first in everything. And as you make your way to the aisle, tears glistening in both your orbs, you stop to meet in the middle, the two of you standing on fate’s edge together.

He casts you a look, and you offer him a melancholic smile.

This was it.

…

…

…

…

The doors open and his bride arrives, and you move to the side, taking your place next to Shoko, painfully leaving the space you and Satoru briefly shared, a space that was never meant for you in the first place.

Which begs the question again: what happens when knowing is no longer enough?

Or is it…the two of you never knew at all how the other felt?

No, you and Shoko watch as Satoru stares at you from his peripheral, his heart fragmenting into irreparable pieces at each step his bride makes towards him.

Should I tell her?

Should I tell him?

What would she say?

Would he leave?

The answer is clear now. He wouldn’t have left. Things were just left unsaid, never admitted — the words that you longed to hear from one another never fell from your lips. Not once in the twelve years you secretly held him in your heart. And thus, fate then decreed that love is for the brave, and not for cowardly souls like you and Satoru Gojo.

And with whatever strength you have left, uncaring if this would cause you to look scandalous: a bridesmaid going after the groom, you mouth the words: “I love you.”

A pained smile appears on his lips, an allegory to the goofy grins he used to flash you when you two were young, and he nods, tears in his eyes.

This was twelve years too late. But it’s better than never.

“I knew it.”

[autistichalsin]

So I don't usually post all that many Astarion thoughts here, but I have noticed that some people feel that a certain set of lines spawn Astarion and ascended Astarion have in the new evil endings would have been better suited for the other. Namely, after the Dark Urge stabs either of them, Spawn Astarion cries, "I should have killed you when I had the chance!" while Ascended Astarion breaks down into inelegant blubbering, "no! No, this can't be. I can't- you can't- no!"

And I can definitely understand where it might feel like these would be better responses for the other- but I happen to completely disagree.

So, Astarion, first and foremost, is a fear-driven person after what he's been through. Everything- manipulating others, seeking power, lacking empathy- comes from his belief that power is all that matters, the only way to avoid being hurt, and only his quest to become the powerful one at last matters.

Through his friendship or romance (in this case, obviously, romance) with the player, though, he starts to find this being challenged. He sees genuine kindness for the first time. No expectations that he lay down his body to get advantages. No using him. His dignity and boundaries respected for the first time that he can remember. This is set against the backdrop of Cazador and the other spawn. If he kills them and takes Cazador's power, he can become powerful enough to never fear again. But if he doesn't, he can be something more than the game Cazador pulled him into when he made him a spawn.

Your confrontation with Cazador is the moment you either entrench Astarion in this belief, or free him from it. If you let him ascend, he becomes all-powerful- at the cost of believing forever that the world is nothing more than an extended power trip, a system where by necessity there are lower people and higher people and only the strong can be free. And he has finally become the strongest of the strong.

So imagine his surprise when you, who he thought was under his thumb, grab more power than him and kill him just like that. No chance to fight back or use his vampire lord powers. He went through all that, sacrificed the core of who he was- and it still wasn't enough. His one concession to his dog-eat-dog philosophy, his love for you, was the thing that let him die. No wonder, then, that all he can do is babble out something between disbelief, a plea, and a last attempt to assert power over you. He was as powerful as he ever could have hoped to be, and he still lost, cast aside by you as soon as he was no longer useful.

Meanwhile, there's spawn Astarion, weaker in every measure- but free of his belief that power is all that matters. He's fought hard and discarded Cazador entirely- including all the power he offered. He committed himself to becoming better. To experiencing a life where things like happiness and love have just as much of a place as sheer power. And he was enjoying it, too, especially with you at his side.

And then you show him that that was all a lie, that he may very well have made the wrong choice by abandoning all that; for all he knows, you may even have talked him out of the ritual specifically so he would be easier to kill later.

So it's not disbelief and begging. Spawn Astarion actually loved and trusted you and foresook his social-Darwinist beliefs for you; what he feels is raw betrayal. And betrayal gives way to anger rapidly. So instead, he's the one cursing you with his last breath. Lamenting that he let you live at all, let alone falling in love with you.

Ascended Astarion became more powerful but more arrogant, so his reaction is that of someone who can't wrap his head around how this could have happened. Spawn Astarion foresook power for the sake of a real relationship with you, so his reaction is utter fury and betrayal.

[lxndonorris]

a perfect summer break - Charles Leclerc

Charles Leclerc x Y/N Theme: a little bit of everything, mostly fluff spending time on Charles's yacht during the summer break with a wet surprise for Charles x word count: 3415+ taglist: @game-set-canet open for requests :)

The Mediterranean sun shines brightly in the cloudless sky, casting a golden glow across the still waters. The only sounds are the gentle lapping of the waves against the yacht and the occasional cry of a seagull soaring high above. It is the perfect day—warm, peaceful, and serene—the kind of day made for relaxation and enjoying life's little pleasures.

Inside the luxurious cabin of the yacht, you stretch lazily, the feeling of pure contentment filling every fiber of your being. The smell of saltwater mixed with the faint scent of sunscreen lingers in the air, a comforting reminder that you're far away from the bustling world of Formula 1. It's summer break, and there's no better way to spend it than out here on the open sea, alone with the person you adore.

You take a moment to appreciate the opulence around you. The yacht, sleek and modern, in a world unto itself, with every amenity one could desire. The cabin is cool and shaded, a stark contrast to the heat outside. But while the interior is lovely, it's the world beyond that calls to you—the endless blue of the ocean, the warmth of the sun, and, of course, Charles.

You slip into a light cover-up and head out of the cabin, your bare feet padding softly across the wooden deck. The sound of the sea becomes more pronounced as you open the door, and your heart skips a beat as you see him—Charles Leclerc, your boyfriend—standing at the edge of the yacht, his hands casually on the railing.

He looks stunning, as always. His swim shorts hug his lean, toned body, accentuating the muscles he's worked so hard to maintain. A few pieces of jewelry—a necklace, a couple of rings, and his ever-present sunglasses—glint in the sunlight, adding to his effortlessly cool demeanor. The sun casts a warm glow on his skin, though you notice he's starting to turn a bit red. 

Despite the slight burn, he looks utterly relaxed, his usual intensity replaced with a rare tranquility.

Charles is gazing out at the horizon, lost in thought, when you step closer. His hair, tousled by the sea breeze, flutters lightly, and the corners of his mouth curve up as if he senses your approach. 

The sight of him like this, so calm and content, fills you with a warm affection. You move silently, your fingers itching to touch him, to close the distance between you.

When you finally reach him, you gently run your hand along his broad shoulders, feeling the heat of his skin under your fingertips. Charles tenses slightly at the unexpected touch, then relaxes, a soft hum escaping his lips as your hand trails down his spine and along his waist.

He turns his head slowly, and you're greeted by that irresistible smile—the one that makes your heart flutter no matter how many times you've seen it.

"Hey, beautiful," he murmurs, his voice soft and full of affection.

You smile back, your fingers still tracing lazy patterns on his back. "Hey, you. Enjoying the sun?"

"Mmm, always," he replies, leaning into your touch. "Though I think I might be getting a bit too much of it."

You laugh softly, your hand now resting on his side. "You might be right about that. A little red, but still looking fantastic."

Charles chuckles; the sound low and warm. He removes his sunglasses and sets them down on the nearby table, revealing those stunning green eyes that always seem to capture your soul. They are so clear, so expressive, and they lock onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

For a moment, you just stand there, soaking in the beauty of the moment, the comfort of being with him. His presence is all-encompassing, yet never overwhelming. It's as if the world has shrunk down to just the two of you, here on this yacht, floating in the vastness of the sea.

Breaking the comfortable silence, you ask with a playful glint in your eyes. "Do you have your phone on you?"

Charles raises an eyebrow, clearly puzzled by the question. "No why?"

You smile mischievously, stepping a little closer. "Good, because the water is calling you."

Before he can react, you give him a gentle push, sending him over the edge of the yacht. His eyes widen in surprise, and he lets out a half-laugh, half-shriek as he tumbles into the crystal-clear water below. 

There is a loud splash, followed by a moment of silence as you watch the spot where he disappeared.

You giggle, your heart racing with a mix of excitement and mischief. You love teasing him like this, knowing he'll be plotting his revenge the moment he surfaces. 

Without wasting another second, you dive in after him, the cool water a refreshing shock against your sun-warmed skin.

You emerge from the water, gasping slightly at the temperature difference. The sun overhead feels hotter now, the rays reflecting off the water's surface in dazzling patterns. 

But there is no sign of Charles. You glance around, treading water, a playful sense of unease creeping in.

Where did he go?

Just as you're about to call out his name, something grabs you from behind, pulling you underwater. You let out a startled yelp before being submerged, bubbles escaping your lips as you twist around. 

When you resurface, sputtering and laughing, you find Charles grinning at you, his hair slicked back from the water, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Gotcha!" he exclaims, his laughter mixing with yours.

You splash him in retaliation, and soon you're both engaged in a playful water fight, your laughter echoing across the empty sea. It's a liberating feeling, being out here with him, away from the pressures of his career and the constant media attention. 

Here, you're just two people in love, enjoying each other's company in the most carefree way possible.

After a while, you tire of the game, and Charles swims closer, wrapping his arms around you. You lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder as you both float lazily in the water, letting the gentle waves rock you back and forth.

"This is perfect," you murmur against his skin, closing your eyes as you soak in the moment.

"Yeah," Charles agrees, his voice soft in your ear. "It really is. Just you and me, the sun, and the sea. No races, no schedules, no nothing."

You nod, feeling completely at peace. Being with Charles like this, away from everything, makes you realize just how much you treasure these quiet moments together.

It's in these times that you see a different side of him—the side that's not the fierce competitor or the media darling, but the man who loves you with all his heart.

Eventually, you both decide to head back to the yacht, your limbs feeling pleasantly tired from the swim. Charles climbs up the ladder first, offering you his hand as you follow. 

The sun hits you with full force once you're back on deck, and you shiver slightly as the breeze picks up, cooling the droplets of water clinging to your skin.

"Let's let the sun dry us off," Charles suggests, gesturing to the cushioned lounge chairs that are perfectly positioned to catch the sunlight.

You agree, and the two of you settle down next to each other, lying on your backs with your faces turned up toward the sky. The warmth of the sun soon chases away the chill, and you close your eyes, feeling yourself drift into that pleasent, lazy state that only comes on the most perfect summer days.

As you lie side by side, Charles shifts closer, the space between you disappearing until he's right there beside you. Without hesitation, he moves to join you on the same lounge chair, adjusting himself so that you're nestled comfortably together. 

There's just enough room for both of you, and you can feel the warmth of his skin against yours, the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathes.

As you lie nestled together, the familiar scent of Charles reaches your nose—a mixture of salt from the sea, the lingering freshness of his cologne, and that indefinable warmth that is uniquely his.

It's a scent you've come to love—one that instantly calms you and fills you with a deep sense of comfort. You breathe it in deeply, letting it envelop you, and a soft smile tugs at your lips.

You reach out, your hand resting on his firm chest, the rhythmic beat of his heart steady under your palm. His skin is still slightly damp from the swim, but the sun has already begun to dry him off, leaving him warm on the touch. 

You begin to gently stroke his chest, your fingers tracing the defined lines of muscles, feeling the strength and power that he carries so effortlessly.

Charles hums softly, his eyes half-closed in contentment. His own hand finds its way to your arm, his fingers trailing up and down in a soothing, repetitive motion. It's a tender, intimate gesture, one that speaks of the deep connection you share.

The world around you seems to fade away, leaving only the sensation of being here, together, in this perfect moment.

His hand moves slowly, almost absentmindedly, from your shoulder to your wrist, and back up again, as if he's memorizing the feel of your skin. The simple act of touch, being close to each other, is enough to make your heart swell with affection.

You feel the love radiating from him, not in words but in the way he touches you, in the way he holds you close.

You lift your head slightly, gazing at him. His eyes are still that vivid green, but now they're softer, more relaxed, filled with a peacefulness that you rarely see during the racing season. 

His face, too, is relaxed, free of the tension and focus that usually dominate his features when he's in the public eye.

"What are you thinking about?" you ask quietly, your fingers still brushing over his chest.

Charles opens his eyes fully, turning his head to look at you. A slow smile spreads across his face, one that reaches his eyes, and makes them twinkle. "I'm thinking about how perfect this is," he replies, his voice low and sincere. "How perfect you are."

You feel a flush of warmth spread through you, not just from the sun, but from his words. You smile back at him, your heart feeling as though it might burst with happiness.

"You're the perfect one," you tease gently, but there's truth in your words. To you, he really is.

He chuckles softly, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. His lips are warm and gentle, and you can't help but smile as the slight roughness of his stubble brushes against your skin.

The sensation is both familiar and comforting, a reminder of the many times he's held you like this, his affection evident in every touch.

"We're both pretty lucky, I think."

He moves to kiss your cheek, and again, that faint tickle from his stubble makes you giggle softly. You can't help but lean into it, savoring the contrast between the roughness of his stubble and the softness of his lips.

It's a feeling that's become intimately familiar to you—one that you've come to associate with the quiet, tender moments you share with him.

What's so funny?" He asks, pulling back just enough to look at you, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Your stubble," you reply with a playful grin. "It tickles, but... I like it."

A slow, teasing smile spreads across his face as he leans in to kiss you again, this time on the lips. The sensation is electric, his stubble adding a deliciously rough texture to the softness of the kiss.

You sigh into it, your hand moving to the back of his neck to pull him closer, deepening the kiss.

His stubble continues to graze your skin, the sensation sending little shivers of pleasure down your spine. It's a small, intimate detail, but it's one of the many things you love about being close to him.

When he finally pulls back, you're both breathless, and you smile up at him.

"I'm never letting you shave that off," you say, half-teasing, half-serious.

Charles laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he brushes a hand over his stubble. 

"I'll keep that in mind," he replies, leaning down to kiss you again, this time on your nose, eliciting another giggle from you.

As you nestle closer to him, you sigh contentedly, closing your eyes as you rest your head on his shoulder. 

The sun continues to bathe you in its warmth, and the gentle rocking of the yacht adds to the feeling of utter relaxation. Charles's hand still moves on your arm; his touch light and comforting.

For a while, you both lie there in silence, just enjoying the simple pleasure of being close to one another. The sun's rays start to soften as it dips lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the deck. The air cools slightly, but neither of you makes a move to get up.

There is something about the moment that feels timeless, as if nothing else matters except the two of you and the love that you share.

You feel Charles shift slightly, his lips brushing against your temple. 

"You know," he murmurs, his voice soft and filled with affection. "I could stay like this forever."

You smile, your hand resting over his heart.

"Me too, Charles. Me too."

As you lie comfortably in his arms, your eyes drift over Charles's skin, noticing the slight redness from too much sun. You can't help but chuckle softly, the sound escaping your lips before you even realize it. 

The thought of his usually careful self forgetting something as simple as sunscreen brings a playful smile to your face.

Charles notices your amusement and raises an eyebrow, his lips curling into a curious grin. 

"What's so funny now?"

You reach out and gently run your fingers over his warm, slightly sunburned skin, feeling the heat radiating from it.

"I´was just thinking," you say with a teasing lilt in your voice, "that you really need to put on some sunscreen, Mr. Leclerc. We can't have you turning into a tomato before the break is over."

He glances down at his own chest and arms, chuckling along with you as he realizes just how much the sun has kissed his skin.

"You're right," he admits with a sheepish smile. "I might've overdone it a bit." His tone is light, filled with that easygoing charm you love so much.

You laugh softly, leaning in closer, so your noses almost touch. 

"Looks like I'll have to take care of you," you murmur, your voice playful yet tender.

Charles's smile widens, and his eyes soften as he looks at you, the affection in his gaze making your heart skip a beat.

"I'd like that," he replies, his voice low and full of warmth.

Before you can say anything more, he closes the distance between you, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss. His stubble tickles your skin, making you smile against his mouth. 

The kiss is sweet and unhurried, a perfect reflection of the lazy, sun-soaked day you've spent together. You can taste the salt of the sea on his lips, feel the warmth of his skin under your hands, and it makes you feel completely, blissfully content.

When you finally pull back, your forehead rests against his, and you both chuckle softly, the sound mingling in the stillness of the evening. 

"Seriously, though," you say with a playful smile, "we need to get you some sunscreen before you're too burnt to enjoy the rest of our time here."

Charles grins, his eyes twinkling with amusement. 

"Alright, alright. I'll let you play nurse." He teases, kissing the tip of your nose before adding, "But only if it means I get more kisses like that."

You laugh, giving him a playful nudge.

"Deal."

With that, you sit up, reluctantly pulling away from the cozy cocoon of his embrace to fetch sunscreen. Charles watches you with the same easy smile, his eyes following your every move.

You feel his gaze on you, warm and loving, as you retrieve the bottle and settle back down beside him.

The sun is lower in the sky now, casting a golden glow over the yacht, the light softening everything it touches. 

You squirt some sunscreen into your hand and begin to gently rub it into his skin, your fingers moving in slow, soothing circles. Charles closes his eyes, clearly enjoying the attention, a contented sigh escaping his lips.

"There," you say once you're finished, leaning down to press a kiss to his now-protected shoulder. "All better."

He opens his eyes and smiles up at you, a look of pure adoration in his gaze. 

"Thank you, love," he murmurs, pulling you back down beside him.

You curl up next to him once more, his arm wrapping around you as you rest your head on his chest, the rhythmic sound of his heartbeat is the perfect soundtrack to the moment, lulling you into a state of peaceful contentment.

As the sun dips lower on the horizon, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink, a gentle breeze sweeps across the deck. The air, once warm, begings to cool, and you feel a slight shiver run through you.

Charles notices immediately, his protetctive instincts kicking in.

Without a word, he sits up, leaving the warmth of your embrace, and you watch as he heads towards the cabin.

A moment later, he returns with a soft, cozy blanket in hand, his smile tender as he wraps it around the both of you. He tucks the edges securely around your shoulders, ensuring that you're completely covered before he lies down beside you again, pulling you close.

You snuggle into his side, feeling the imemdiate warmth of the blanket and the reassuring comfort of his body pressed against yours. 

The coolness of the evening air fades away as you lean against his strong frame, feeling his warmth seep into you.

With a contented sigh, you reach out to stroke his chest once more, your fingers tracing the familiar contours of his muscles, the steady rise and fall of his breathing soothing you.

Charles hums softly, the sound vibrating through his chest, and it's a sound you've come to love- a sign of his deep contentment, of how peaceful he feels in this moment with you. His arm wraps around you, holding you close as he nuzzles his face into your hair, his breath warm against your scalp.

The quiet intimacy between you feels almost sacred, as though the world has narrowed down to just the two of you, wrapped up together under the softening light of the setting sun.

The sky above begins to darken, stars slowly appearing one by one, twinkling against the deepening blue. The sound of the water lapping gently against the side of the yacht provides a soothing backdrop, mingling with the rustle of the blanket as you shift, nestling even closer to Charles.

His chest rumbles with another contented hum as he hugs you more tightly, his lips pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

"I love this," he murmurs, his voice a low, soothing whisper in the quiet evening. "Being here with you... nothing else matters."

You smile, your heart swelling with affection as you lift your head to look up at him. His eyes meet yours, the green softened by the twilight, filled with so much love that it takes your breath away.

"I love this too," you whisper back, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. "And I love you."

His smile is radiant, even in the fading light, as he returns the kiss, his lips lingering on yours. It's a kiss filled with all the love and tenderness that words could never fully capture, a promise that no matter what, you'll always have this- each other, and these precious moments.

When the kiss ends, you settle back down against his chest, your hand continuing its slow, gentle caress. Charles hums again, a sound that reverberates through his chest and into your very soul. 

The night continues to settle in around you, but wrapped in each other's arms, you feel nothing but warmth and love.

[cupcakeslushie]

For your brainwash au, do we get so see exactly how Donnie got captured by Kendra? And would this au be a full comic or just bits and pieces here and there? (Not pressuring just curious) Love the au and I hope you’re having a good day! :)

Don’t know why, but I felt like writing this part out instead of drawing it! (Sorry for bad grammar. I wrote this lying in bed, sleep deprived and did no editing)

——

The sad, pained look on his little brother’s face is enough to set off that dark protective fire in Donatello’s belly. And Michael has been a tiny storm of negative emotions since Leo slapped the small cast on his ankle. Donnie may not be able to pick apart and decipher all of the subtitles his brother is feeling right now, but he knows he’s in pain, and that’s enough.

“How many strips of bacon do you think we can get from Meat Sweat’s corpse?” Donnie ponders as he wraps an arm around his little brother’s shoulders, and carefully pulls him closer. Mikey lets out a quiet huff, but the joke doesn’t land the way Donnie had been hoping.

“Michael?”

“I’m okay,” Mikey assures. Then a hesitant second later adds, “it’s stupid.”

“Oh well if it’s stupid, allow me to grab ‘Nardo. He might be able to help you better.”

That gets the laugh he was looking for.

“I’m not in pain or anything. It’s just, tonight was the midnight signing of Joshua Bear’s new cook book. He’s a YouTuber chef that I’ve been following for years, and I went to his first release…I really wanted the second for my collection.”

Donatello does vaguely remember Angelo telling Raph something about this event last night, during dinner. He’d been so excited, and now he looks crushed at the idea of missing it.

“What if I went?” At the suggestion, Mikey’s face becomes brighter than a super nova, almost too bright for Donnie to stare at directly. It takes a moment for Michael to really calm down enough to speak.

“You’d really go wait in line for three hours? Just to get a book?” Donatello laughs at the question. Any opportunity in which his brothers were interested in the world of literature, no matter the subject (except maybe geology) was a time to be supportive.

Mikey pulls him in for a tight hug, and holds up his phone to snap a picture of them. Donnie snorts and slides out of his little brother’s hammock, careful not to disturb it too much. Mikey is already bouncing enough that he’s in danger of falling out.

“Yes, yes. Sing my praises on all your media socials. Let the world know how I’m your favorite older sibling!” Mikey drops the phone to his chest and holds his arms up, practically vibrating for one more hug. Donnie complies. He’s long given up maintaining his bad boy image when it’s just the two of them.

“You’re the best, Donnie! Really!” The words do a hell of a job replacing that previous fury he’d been harboring, the smile and warmth coming from Mikey, now fully restored. The proper order of the universe righted with a simple solution. This was what he loved most about being a brother. Fixing his siblings problems, in any way he could. And if healing the broken bone outright was (for now) out of his control—at least he could do this.

Donnie glances at his watch and notes he should get going if the turn out is going to be as big as Angelo predicts. He sneaks past the living room where he can hear his other two brethren yelling over a game of Mario Kart. He has zero interest in either of his brothers tagging along. He loves them, but neither are suited to standing in a long line for hours. For the last Jupiter Jim reboot, Donatello was seconds away from a double fratricide before they were even allowed into the theater.

Besides. He’s practically 18 (in four weeks). He can run up to the surface for a few hours, without having to call upon the archaic buddy system.

———

He’s in line for about an hour, when he sees suspicious movement out the corner of his eye. A young woman, parting the line a little ways ahead from where he stands, walks quickly into the closest alley. That alone might be no cause for alarm—maybe it’s a short cut. But the tall, hooded creep trailing after her, has his metaphorical hackles rising. It’s a clear case of sinister intentions. He quickly glances around to see if anyone else has witnessed this, but he’s the only one who seems to be showing any type of concern. Typical New York.

“What a town” Donnie sighs. He doesn’t bother asking the old man behind him to save his spot, seeing as he’s practically at the end of the line, and quickly races to the alley to play hero.

It’s a deep one, the lights of the street not quite hitting all the eerie nooks and crannies. Plenty of blind spots.

“Hello there? Stalker and or damsel in distress? Is anyone in need of assistance? Anyone hopefully bear maced and in need of a being escorted to the nearest precinct?”

No answer.

The non-existent hairs on Donnie’s arms stand straight up. Just as he’s reaching for his ninpo to materialize a bo-staff, something thick wraps around his neck from behind. The arm is almost as big as Raphael’s, if lacking in the muscle department.

But before his can break the hold, the solid feeling of a needle slides into the meat of his neck and something rushes into his veins. Within seconds he’s released and stumbling from the lack of support.

Someone is talking to him. It takes a second of his gaze bouncing around to pick them out. Mildly embarrassing, considering they’re standing right in front of him now. Out of all the colors popping in and out of his vision, Donnie only just catches the same turquoise hoodie that seemed to belong to the unassuming young woman.

A honey pot trap, he realizes, stumbling and falling pathetically backwards on his own ass.

He sees pink hair and is almost relieved, if humiliated. With all their enemies, the Purple Dragons are D tier. But the chances he can free himself before his brothers even notice his absence is high. Just the thought of the savage teasing he would be forced to endure if his brothers found out—Donatello is not eager to hear any of it.

As the nauseating colors finally bleed away, and start to leave black growing in their wake, Donatello swears to cause a big explosion on his way out.

[seongwars]

forget me not | ii

Pairing: Jeong Yunho x witch!Reader AU: non-idol | supernatural Summary: Yunho should be happy--he's got everything going for him and he's set to marry the love of his life! So why is he standing outside of your shop on the night of his engagement party? Word Count: 7.7K Warnings: swearing, allusions to self disappearing, mentions of ghosts and the unliving

Fic Masterlist

a/n: ngl, I teared up writing this chapter. poll results were also incorporated into the plot 🤭

The sun was setting behind the outfield, casting a golden hue over the empty baseball diamond. You sat on the bleachers with your journal in hand, taking in the post-practice calm of the field, as you waited for Yunho. 

Fall had arrived, bringing with it crisp weather, cozy sweaters, and the start of your final year of high school. In the soft light, you focused intently on your sketchbook, your pencil moving deftly across the pages. You were engrossed in capturing the essence of a black cat in various poses—the cat’s form, rendered in fluid lines and delicate shading, seemed to come to life on the page.

“You know black cats are bad luck,” Yunho chuckled, his voice warm and teasing as he leaned closer to peer at your sketches. His tone carried a light-heartedness that matched the playful glint in his eyes.

You glanced up, catching his gaze with a smile. “They’re just little guys,” you pouted, brow furrowing in mock frustration. 

“How was your meeting with the counselor?” he asked, gaze drifting over the field he loved so much. The question carried a note of genuine curiosity, and his eyes, shaded by the brim of his cap, held a look of earnest concern. 

You shrugged. “It was okay,” the words drifted out as you turned back to the sketches. “Just a lot to think about. What did you tell her?”

Yunho hummed thoughtfully. “Told her I’m going to hit up the Tigers and build a winning team.” His voice was filled with a quiet determination, the kind that comes from years of dreaming and planning.

“But of course,” you snorted. There was something comforting about Yunho’s single-minded devotion to the sport, a constant in a world that felt increasingly uncertain as graduation loomed closer.

“It’s a long shot, but I’m willing to work for it.” His eyes lit up with a spark of determination, the same spark that had driven him to countless early morning practices and late-night games. You’d seen firsthand how much effort Yunho put into everything he did, how deeply he cared about his teammates and the sport itself. There was no doubt in your mind that he could make his dream a reality.

Yunho’s gaze softened as he turned to you, his expression sincere. 

“Did you explore any career options with her?”

You took a deep breath, feeling a mix of excitement and uncertainty swirl in your chest. “Not really. I’ve got some ideas, but nothing’s set in stone.”

“What about art? Or photography? You’re a great photographer and you’re always sketching in your journal.” 

A small smile played on your lips as you considered his words. “Yeah, but I’d probably hate it if I made a career out of it,” you sighed, closing the leather-bound book with a soft thud. There was a truth in that statement you hadn’t fully acknowledged until now. The idea of turning your art into a career felt like it would strip away the joy and freedom that came with creating something purely for yourself.

But now, as you stood on the brink of a new chapter in your life, you realized how much you had relied on Yunho. His presence had been a constant, a safety net that you had come to depend on. The thought of making decisions without his input was daunting, and you felt a pang of anxiety at the prospect.

Yunho’s brow furrowed slightly, and he seemed to weigh your words carefully before responding. “I get that. But whatever you choose, just make sure it’s something that makes you happy. That’s what really matters.”

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching the last rays of sunlight disappear behind the horizon. As the stars began to twinkle in the night sky, Yunho stood up, offering you a hand. 

“Ready?” he asked, his voice breaking the peaceful silence, but not disturbing the tranquility of the moment. 

You looked up at him, taking in the sight of his relaxed posture, the way his cap sat slightly askew on his head, and the easy smile that always seemed to come so naturally to him. There was something reassuring about Yunho, a steadiness that made even the quietest of moments feel meaningful.

“Yeah,” you replied softly, slipping your hand into his. His grip was warm and steady, and as he helped you to your feet, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of ease wash over you. 

“Where are we going for dinner?” he asked, picking up his bag. 

“How about that little place by the river? The one with the outdoor seating?” you suggested, glancing up at him.

Yunho’s face brightened at your suggestion, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Perfect. I’ve been craving their chicken skewers.”

“What can I say? I know what you like,” you grinned, bumping your shoulder into his. 

You drifted away from Yunho, your steps slow and aimless, as if the ground beneath you had shifted in a way that left you unmoored. The path ahead was shrouded in darkness, the streetlights casting long, eerie shadows that seemed to stretch out toward you, mocking your loneliness. 

The cold breeze stung your cheeks, mingling with the tears that you couldn’t hold back any longer. You wiped at them hastily, but more kept coming, each one a reminder of how much tonight had hurt. The heartbreak was overwhelming. It wasn’t just the loss of your best friend; it was the loss of a part of yourself. 

Sixteen years. You’d grown up together, sharing secrets, dreams, and fears. Yunho was there for you when you felt like the world was too much to handle, offering a shoulder to cry on and words of encouragement that always seemed to make things better. 

You thought back to one of those moments, a memory that stood out vividly despite the passage of time. You were eleven, and the world felt like it was crumbling around you. Your dog had passed away, and the weight of it was too much for your young heart to bear. 

You called Yunho right away, your voice breaking as you tried to hold back the tears. You didn’t need to explain; he just knew. Within minutes, he was at your house, breathless from running across the street. He wrapped a lanky arm around your shoulder the entire time you cried, hoping he could shield you from the pain that was tearing you apart.

Or the time you got a ‘C’ on your first big exam in university. You were devastated, convinced that you weren’t good enough, that you would never succeed. The weight of disappointment was crushing, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that you had let everyone down, including yourself.

He dragged you out of your dorm that day, refusing to let you wallow in self-pity. Despite your protests, he insisted you needed a change of scenery. You spent the afternoon at the art museum, wandering through the quiet halls filled with the vibrant colors and intricate details of the paintings and sculptures. The silence of the museum was a balm to your frazzled nerves, allowing you to lose yourself in the art, if only for a little while.

But Yunho, being Yunho, couldn’t let you leave without doing something more to lift your spirits. As you were about to head out, he steered you toward the gift shop, his eyes bright with an idea he hadn’t yet shared. You half-heartedly browsed the shelves, not really in the mood to buy anything, but Yunho seemed determined.

“Wait here,” he said, flashing you a quick smile before disappearing behind a display of postcards. Moments later, he returned, his hands hidden behind his back, a mischievous grin on his face.

“Close your eyes,” he instructed, and despite your skepticism, you complied, hearing the faint rustle of a small bag.

“Okay, open them,” Yunho’s voice was filled with barely contained excitement. When you did, you found him holding out a small, carefully wrapped package, tied with a simple ribbon. “This is for you.”

You unwrapped the gift, your heart swelling as you revealed a figurine of a golden retriever. The dog’s playful expression, with eyes full of joy, instantly brought a smile to your face. It was so perfectly Yunho—loyal, dependable, always bringing a bit of sunshine into your life, even when things seemed bleak.

As you felt a lump in your throat, tears began to well up in your eyes. You couldn’t hold them back and immediately started sobbing, drawing attention from onlookers. It was such a small thing, a simple gesture, but it meant everything to you in that moment. The figurine was more than just a gift; it was a symbol of Yunho’s unwavering friendship and his ability to understand you in ways no one else could. Through your tears, you managed to smile at him, grateful for his presence and the comfort he brought into your life.

How could someone who once knew you so intimately now feel so distant, so unreachable? It was as if you were looking into the eyes of a stranger, and the realization was like a knife to the heart. You were left to pick up the pieces of your shattered heart, trying to make sense of a world where your best friend had become your greatest adversary.

Stopping at the edge of the river’s walkway, you watched the water move steadily, its surface deceptively calm. You longed for that same tranquility, that same sense of direction. Instead, you felt lost, adrift in a sea of emotions you couldn’t navigate. The cold night air wrapped around you like a shroud, beckoning you into its deceptively calm waters.

“Sad… Sad…”

It was hypnotic. Shadows danced along the water’s edge, and you could almost hear the whispers of spirits wandering through the night. Their presence was palpable, a chilling reminder of the unseen forces at play. The river pulsed with an otherworldly energy, drawing you closer, tempting you to step into its depths and join the spectral procession.

The spirits seemed to take notice of you, drawn to the sorrow that weighed heavily on your heart. They circled closer, their ethereal forms flickering in the moonlight. You felt their cold, ghastly fingers brush against your skin, feeding off your anguish, growing stronger with each passing moment. They were inviting you to surrender to the darkness, to become one with the night.

“Hungry… hungry… ” they murmured, their words merging into a single, chilling plea. It was as if they were lured by the raw, unfiltered emotion, driven by an insatiable hunger that could only be sated by consuming your sorrow. 

The weight of grief, loss, and betrayal from someone you loved suffocated you, pressing down on your chest like a vice. You looked around, desperate for some sign of relief, but the ghosts were relentless. Their forms circled you, their murmurs growing louder, more insistent. The despair you felt seemed to feed their hunger, making their presence even more intense, more invasive.

“Give in…” one spirit whispered directly into your ear, its cold breath sending another shiver down your spine. “Let us take it… let us take the pain…”

Desperation clawed at you, and you tried to push them away, but your hands passed through their ghastly bodies. The more you struggled, the more they seemed to tighten their grip, as if they were trying to pull you into their world, to make you one of them. The night air seemed to close in around you, the darkness growing heavier with each breath you took.

“Scatter,” a voice commanded, deep and resonant, cutting through the night like a blade. The spirits, who had been swirling around you with growing hunger, recoiled in sudden fear. Their flickering forms dimmed and began to dissolve into the shadows, retreating from the voice’s commanding presence.

You gasped, as if surfacing from the depths of the sea for the first time, and blinked, the voice shattering the spell that had held you captive. The oppressive chill and haunting whispers began to recede, replaced by a strange, unsettling calm. You looked around, trying to grasp what had just happened, your heart still pounding from the encounter.

The figure’s presence was both terrifying and oddly comforting, a paradox that left you feeling simultaneously alarmed and relieved. His silhouette was sharp and defined against the dim moonlight, and though his face was partially concealed beneath a deep, shadowy hood, there was no mistaking the sheer authority he commanded.

“Brave of you to be roaming near my realm, mortal.”

You blinked, disoriented by the strangeness of the encounter. It felt like you had stumbled into a scene from a dream, and your mind scrambled to make sense of it. With a flicker of rational thought cutting through the haze of confusion, you spun on your heel and bolted, your footsteps pounding against the pavement in a frantic rhythm. 

“I’ve been eaten by ghosts, I’m dead. I’m so fucking dead,” you panicked as your feet pounded against the pavement in a full-on sprint. 

“You’re not dead,” the figure’s voice was smooth and unnervingly calm, laced with a hint of amusement. He materialized before you in a swirl of black mist, his sudden appearance silent and startling. Your heart skipped a beat as you skidded to a halt, eyes wide with panic. He stood there, smirking, clearly relishing your bewilderment.

Without a second thought, you turned and ran again, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The cityscape blurred around you as you darted through the park and vaulted over obstacles, your mind a whirlwind of fear and adrenaline. You could hear the figure’s footsteps behind you, a steady, unhurried pace that only heightened your terror.

You glanced over your shoulder, your heart sinking as you saw him gaining on you effortlessly. You rounded a corner sharply, nearly losing your balance as you bumped into him. Panic surged through you, a cold sweat breaking out as your mind scrambled for an escape route. Fuck fuck fuck. You swallowed hard, trying to mask your fear. 

“What do you want from me?” The words slipped out, more out of desperation than defiance. The surreal nature of the situation was twisting your emotions into a knot, leaving you uncertain whether to be angry, terrified, or something in between.

He stepped closer, his presence almost suffocating in its intensity. “I was curious about what could have triggered a feeding frenzy among the ghosts.” 

You felt a chill run down your spine. “So I have been eaten alive by the ghosts,” you muttered.

He paused, his gaze steady and deliberate as he chose his words carefully. “No. When the veil between the worlds is thin and the energies of the living and the dead are in flux, spirits are drawn to heightened emotions,” he explained, his voice holding a note of measured calm. “That’s why you were being swarmed earlier. And for the last time, you’re not dead.”

“Now that I think of it, being eaten by ghosts sounds better than the bullshit and humiliation I just went through,” you spat with an edge of bitterness.

The fight with Yunho was still fresh, the sting of it cutting deep, and the bitterness in your words was impossible to hide. Every memory of your friendship now felt like a cruel reminder of your naivety, and the humiliation of being deceived cut deeper than any physical wound.

The figure studied you intently, his gaze piercing through the darkness, as if he could see into the very depths of your soul. “You have a strong desire to disappear,” he said, his voice low and measured.

From the corner of his eye, a small black cat appeared and found purchase underneath a streetlamp, its onyx eyes staring intently at the stranger, urging him to wrap up whatever business he was conducting with you. 

“Is it that obvious?” you asked, a hint of vulnerability creeping into your voice. You felt exposed under his scrutiny, as if he had laid bare your deepest fears and desires. 

He stepped closer, his presence nearly overwhelming. “I can sense it within you,” he said, his voice a blend of solemnity and intrigue. “The shadows that cling to your heart and a yearning to disappear from the pain and humiliation that haunt you. But…”

“But?” you prompted, as you tried to grasp the meaning of his words.

The cat flicked its tail with an air of impatience, its gaze fixed on you with an intensity that was almost unnerving. The small creature seemed to radiate an aura of quiet authority, as if it, too, was a part of this mysterious world that was slowly unraveling before you. 

“But it seems,” he began, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips, “you’ve captured the attention of more than just the ghosts tonight.”

You could feel the weight of his words, the implications swirling in your mind like a storm. “What are you saying?” you asked, your voice barely steady, dread and curiosity pulling at you.

Without a sound, the cat began to walk away from the waterfront, its sleek form gliding through the shadows as if it were a part of them. The man gestured subtly encouraging you to follow. 

“I suggest you see where this leads.”

You followed the black cat as it led you through the dimly lit streets. The air around you shimmered with an otherworldly energy, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being guided by something far greater than mere chance.

The cat paused in front of an unassuming door, its facade a curious blend of traditional and contemporary styles. The door was adorned with a delicate flowery overhang, its intricate designs seeming to shift subtly as if alive. With a soft meow, it pawed at the door, encouraging you to open it. 

So you do. 

The realm seemed to breathe with life, its atmosphere humming with a quiet, almost magical energy that seeped into your very bones. The walls pulsed with a soft, rhythmic glow, as if the shop itself were sentient, aware of your presence. Every corner of this enchanting realm was meticulously crafted to evoke wonder, from the collection of curios on the shelves to the hanging flowerfield above you.

“Seonghwa, you bastard, you’re late— Oh?” The voice was sharp and accusatory, cutting through the ambiance. 

Your gaze shifted to the source of the voice. There stood a vibrant and enigmatic stranger, his presence striking in brightly colored robes and glinting jewelry that shimmered with every subtle movement. He was a living embodiment of the mystical realm he presided over–captivating in his otherworldly grace.

As your eyes met, the shopkeeper studied you, sensing the heaviness in your heart, the weight of whatever burden you carried. It was clear that you were barely holding it together, your composure a fragile mask meant to shield you from further vulnerability. 

“Seonghwa”, the shadowy figure, followed behind, seeming unfazed by the rebuke. There was a subtle ease in his movements, a confidence that suggested he was entirely at home in this strange and wondrous place. 

“Your traveler has arrived,” Seonghwa announced with a casual nonchalance, as if his presence was a matter of routine rather than a potential disruption. His tone was light, almost amused, adding an air of detached amusement to the situation.

“Welcome traveler. I must apologize, it seems Lord Death and his ghosts gave you quite the scare,” His gaze flicked towards his friend, and a scowl of mild irritation crossed his features. “Please call me Hongjoong. I am the keeper of the Astral Emporium,” he bowed, turning his attention back to you.

“Astral Emporium?” you echoed, the name lingering on your tongue with a sense of wonder. Your eyes wandered over the shop’s interior, taking in the gilded spines of ancient texts and the array of artifacts that seemed to shimmer with hidden magic.

Hongjoong nodded. “The shop exists in a realm between the supernatural and the living, responding to the energy of your desires, known as wishes. Think of wishes as the hidden yearnings of your heart, and this place has the power to bring them to life.”

“You bring wishes to life? As in, you grant them?”

“In a sense,” Hongjoong replied, his voice carrying a playful lilt that softened the gravity of his words. “To have a wish granted, you must offer something of equal value in return. This realm operates on a principle of balance—the universe demands equilibrium.”

You glanced down at the little black cat that had guided you here. Its fur was soft and comforting beneath your fingers, and its gentle purr seemed to blend with the quiet, expectant atmosphere of the shop. The cat leaned into your touch, clearly content with the affection. You tapped your finger gently on its nose, trying to think through the implications.

“Do I have to make a decision tonight?” you asked, a note of urgency in your voice. The least you could do is say goodbye to your parents and figure out how you were going to pay for your wish. 

Hongjoong’s expression softened, and he looked at you with understanding. “No. The shop has already revealed itself to you, and you may make your wish whenever you are ready,” he said with a reassuring smile. “However, I encourage travelers to take their time. Once a wish is granted, it cannot be undone.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of the impending decision settle heavily upon you. The quiet, almost palpable presence of the choice lingered in the air like a delicate mist. Your heart pounded as you contemplated the gravity of the situation, the stakes higher than you had ever imagined. 

You eyed the golden retriever statue Yunho had given you your freshman year. Its calm expression remained unchanged, frozen in time. As you picked it up and ran your fingers over the smooth, cool surface, it served as a reminder of the past—one you were now trying to reconcile with the present.

Scrolling through your contacts, your finger hovered over Yunho’s name. The thought of reaching out, of trying to bridge the gap, was tempting, but the fear of what you might find on the other side held you back. What if you needed him? What if he needed you? The questions swirled in your head, making it hard to think clearly. 

You sighed, setting the statue back on the shelf. It felt like a relic from another life, one where your best friend was a constant presence. The memories were bittersweet, filled with laughter and shared dreams, but also with the pain of growing apart. 

Yunho stood at the window, his face pressed against the cool glass, watching with wide eyes as the moving truck rumbled to a stop across the street. The hum of activity and the clatter of boxes spilling onto the driveway filled the air. He bounced on his toes, barely able to contain his excitement.

“Mom, there’s a moving truck across the street!” Yunho exclaimed, his voice bubbling with enthusiasm. He pointed out the window, his eyes following the movers who were already hard at work.

His mother, busy in the kitchen, wiped her hands on a dish towel and walked over to join him. She peered out the window, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Looks like we’re getting new neighbors,” she said, her tone warm and welcoming.

Yunho’s mind raced with possibilities. Would there be kids his age? Maybe someone who liked sports as much as he did? He imagined all the games they could play together, the adventures they could have. The thought made his heart race with anticipation.

Outside, the movers were unloading furniture: a large, comfy-looking couch, a dining table with matching chairs, and a tall bookshelf that Yunho imagined would be filled with interesting books and knick-knacks. He watched as a family car pulled up behind the truck, and a woman stepped out, followed by a girl about his age.

Yunho’s face fell as he saw you step out of the car. “Aw, it’s a girl!” he exclaimed, his excitement clearly dampened.

“Yunho, it doesn’t matter if it’s a boy or a girl. What’s important is that you’re welcoming a new neighbor.”

His cheeks reddened slightly as he looked up at his mom. “But I thought it’d be someone I could play baseball with.”

His mother knelt down to his level, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You never know, Yunho. She might like baseball too, or maybe she has other fun games to share. Why don’t you give her a chance?”

Yunho sighed but nodded, his curiosity piqued despite his initial disappointment. He watched as you helped your parents carry boxes into the house. You seemed about his age, with a friendly smile and an air of confidence that intrigued him.

“Why don’t you go over and say hello?” his mother suggested, giving him a gentle nudge. “It’s always nice to welcome new neighbors.”

Gathering his courage, Yunho took a deep breath and walked over, but not without looking both ways before crossing the street. “Hi!” he called out, trying to muster up his enthusiasm again. “I’m Yunho. Do you want to play with me later?”

You looked up from the box you were carrying, a surprised but friendly smile spreading across your face. “Hi, I’m Y/N,” you replied, setting the box down. “I’m six. Um, what do you like to do?”

Yunho’s initial nervousness began to fade as he saw your welcoming expression. “I like baseball. And I’m six too,” he said, his excitement returning. “Do you like baseball?”

You nodded enthusiastically, “Maybe we can play together here,” you exclaimed, pointing to your backyard. “My backyard is really big!” 

Yunho’s heart soared, feeling a sense of relief and happiness. He had been worried about making a new friend, but it seemed like things were going to work out just fine. He couldn’t wait to show you around the neighborhood and introduce you to his favorite spots. 

“Mom, Y/N likes baseball too!” Yunho called out as he ran back to his house. His mother smiled, watching her son’s excitement. He froze suddenly realizing he forgot something. 

“I forgot to ask her about her favorite team!” he exclaimed, his voice bubbling with eagerness. He had clearly been so caught up in the excitement of meeting his new neighbor that he had overlooked this important detail.

His mother chuckled softly, sensing the genuine enthusiasm in her son’s voice. “Well, it sounds like you have something to look forward to next time you see her. Maybe you can invite her over for a game or something.”

Yunho nodded vigorously, already imagining the fun of discussing baseball with his new friend. He dashed back to the window, peering out to catch another glimpse of you, hoping for a chance to continue your budding friendship.

Your life had largely revolved around Yunho, with him at the center of everything you did. Your world seemed to orbit around his presence, to the point you were deeply entangled in the expectations and dreams you had placed on him. 

“Pathetic.” That was one of the words Yunho had used to describe you, a word that echoed in your mind with a cruel sense of truth. As Yunho moved on with his life—dating Haewon, expanding his circle of friends, and pursuing new opportunities—you remained as you were: unmoving, uncertain of what kind of future you would have without him.

Then came your literal brush with Lord Death himself and Hongjoong. The experience sparked something within you. You found yourself irresistibly drawn to the mysteries of this otherworldly realm, feeling an intense, almost primal urge to be a part of it. It was as if the brush with the supernatural had unlocked a deep-seated desire to break free from the constraints of your old life.

You opened your contacts again, your finger hovering over Yunho’s name. You hesitated, feeling the gravity of what you were about to do.

Taking a deep breath, you pressed the delete button. Yunho’s name vanished from your contacts, leaving an empty space where he used to be. It felt like a small act, but the weight of it hit you immediately, a reminder that some doors, once shut, could never be reopened.

A soft meow from outside your window drew your attention. Pulling back the curtain, you see the little black cat perched on the ledge—the same one that had first guided you to the emporium. The cat’s eyes shimmered with a curious intelligence, locking onto yours as it stretched its small, agile body and began to paw at the window.

With a gentle push, you opened the window, and the cat trotted inside with an air of casual confidence. You crouched down, your fingers instinctively reaching out to caress its velvety fur.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, scratching behind its ears. “You’re quite a ways from home.”

“The ordinary rules of reality don’t apply to me.”

You blinked in disbelief, your mind struggling to process the extraordinary claim. “You– You can talk!?” The words escaped your lips in a stammer, your astonishment palpable. The notion that a cat could converse was something straight out of a fairy tale, and yet here it was, happening right before your eyes.

“Indeed,” it said with a gentle purr that seemed almost amused. “Master created me to assist with managing the shop while he’s away. I am a familiar, with the ability to traverse between realms. I can come and go as I please.”

Your eyebrows knitted together as you tried to absorb the cat’s matter-of-fact response. “But if you’re here, then who’s–”

“Master is, obviously,” the cat interrupted, its tail flicking lazily. “But when he isn’t, I’m there.”

“And where does he go?” you asked, your voice edged with curiosity. The cat’s nonchalant demeanor contrasted sharply with the gravity of your question.

The cat’s demeanor shifted to something softer, almost wistful. “Master Hongjoong is a powerful sorcerer. His duties often take him beyond the confines of this realm. 

Sometimes he’s negotiating peace between warring factions, other times he’s retrieving lost artifacts of immense power.”

“While he’s away, I watch over the shop and keep things in order,” it continued, its voice carrying a note of quiet resignation. “It’s a lonely task at times, but it’s necessary for the travelers who come through looking to have their wishes granted.”

You noticed the subtle strain in the cat’s voice, the way its eyes reflected a deep solitude.

“It sounds like you have a very important role,” you said gently, hoping to offer some comfort. The depth of the familiar’s responsibilities became clearer to you, and with it, a newfound respect. 

“I’m certain your master appreciates everything you do,” you added, your voice filled with sincerity.

The cat’s eyes, still reflecting that subtle loneliness, brightened slightly at your words. “Thank you,” it said softly.

You reached down and gently scratched behind its ears, hoping to offer a bit of solace. “Ah, I don’t know what to call you,” you said gently, realizing you hadn’t yet asked for the cat’s name. 

“Wooyoung,” the cat replied, the name rolling off its tongue with a sense of pride. “Master Hongjoong gave it to me.”

“And what about you?” Wooyoung continued, its gaze curious and attentive. “You didn’t give us your name yesterday.”

“I’m Y/N,” you replied, your voice carrying a bit of warmth and a hint of vulnerability. The exchange felt like a small but significant step towards understanding this strange new world you had found yourself in. 

As Wooyoung settled comfortably in your lap, purring softly, you found yourself contemplating the implications of your conversation. The idea of disappearing into the emporium’s enigmatic realm began to seem increasingly appealing. Perhaps this magical world, with its mysteries and hidden depths, was exactly where you needed to be.

“Have you heard from Y/N?” Yunho asked, his voice strained and laced with worry. 

Haewon looked up from her phone, her face mirroring his growing alarm. “No, I haven’t,” she replied, her brows knitting together as she struggled to grasp the gravity of the situation. “Did something happen?”

“Her dad called me this morning,” he said, his voice tight. “He hasn’t heard from her in a couple of days. She hasn’t posted on her socials, and she’s not responding to texts. I think the cops are going to do a wellness check. I’m going to meet them there.”

Haewon’s worry deepened, her heart sinking as the implications of Yunho’s words settled in. “That’s not like her at all,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “Y/N is always so reliable. If she’s gone silent for this long, something must be seriously wrong. She would never just disappear like this.”

Yunho sighed, running a hand through his hair. His gaze dropped to the floor as he wrestled with a surge of guilt. The fight he’d had with you, the way it had spiraled after Sungjae’s humiliating display at his apartment, weighed heavily on him. He could still see the hurt in your eyes, the way you stormed out and dumped your journal, leaving behind a trail of unresolved emotions.

He hadn’t reached out, thinking it might be best to give you some time to cool off. After all, you always came back. But now, as the days dragged on without a word from you, each passing moment felt like a missed opportunity to mend the rift he had caused.

“You don’t think it was because of Sungjae, do you?” Haewon asked. “You know he didn’t mean to say those things. He was drunk.”

But he did. Yunho knew, deep down, that the words Sungjae had spoken were hurtful and that they had contributed to the mess of emotions you were feeling. But there was a darker truth he couldn’t ignore: he had not only allowed Sungjae’s actions to influence the situation but had also failed to stand up for you and make amends. 

“There’s always an excuse for Sungjae,” he suddenly snapped, his voice sharp and edged with anger. “It’s always ‘he didn’t mean it,’ ‘he was drunk,’ as if that makes his words any less hurtful. It’s like you’re just brushing it off!”

Haewon’s expression hardened, her patience wearing thin. “I know you and Sungjae don’t get along, but right now, focusing on him won’t help Y/N. We need to find out what’s going on with her,” she retorted, rolling her eyes.

“You don’t get it, Haewon! Sungjae crossed the line and no one said anything! He fucking humiliated her in front of everyone!” 

They made her feel worthless, and I stood by and did nothing. I should have defended her. I should have been there for her, is what Yunho wanted to say.

“And what good does yelling at me do, Yunho? You think I don’t care? You think I’m not worried about Y/N? She’s my friend too!”

“You’re always defending him! Why can’t you see how much damage he’s done?”

“Standing here arguing isn’t going to help her!”

Yunho’s eyes burned with intensity. “Fine. You stay here and make excuses for Sungjae. I’m going over to Y/N’s.”

With that, Yunho turned on his heel and stormed out, leaving Haewon standing there, her heart pounding with fear. She knew he was right about one thing: they needed to find you, and fast. But the rift between them felt wider than ever, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of a much deeper conflict.

As you approached the shop, the familiar, otherworldly ambiance enveloped you once more. The air was thick with the scent of ancient incense and jasmine, a blend that always made you feel both curious and comforted.

The door creaked open, and a soft, melodic chime rang out, greeting you with its gentle tinkle, like a whisper from another world.

Making your way further into the shop, you caught the faintest whisper of hushed voices. You slowed your steps, moving quietly to avoid intruding on what sounded like a private conversation. The shop was a labyrinth of towering shelves, each filled with enchanted curiosities that seemed to hum with their own secret lives.

You noticed that Hongjoong’s expression was serious, his brow furrowed in concentration, while Seonghwa listened intently, his eyes reflecting the gravity of their discussion.

“The Auroran Empire is preparing for a major offensive against Wonderland. It’s not just about territory anymore; their queen has officially lost her mind,” he said, his voice low and tense. 

“She wants to bring about a new era of dominance,” he continued, his eyes narrowing. “But in her madness, she’s likely to destroy everything in her path. Her decisions are unpredictable and increasingly violent. Wonderland won’t just be facing a military assault; they’ll be up against an unpredictable force of destruction.”

“Dragons against dragons,” Seonghwa murmured, referring to the legendary beasts often associated with said realm. “The collateral damage could be catastrophic.”

Seonghwa’s expression grew serious as he met Hongjoong’s gaze. “You’re going to have to leave for quite some time, aren’t you? If this is escalating to such extremes, there will be a need for intervention, and it won’t be a quick affair.”

“Let me take over the shop,” you said, stepping out from the shadows. Your voice was steady, though your heart raced with the weight of your request. The air crackled with the energy of the emporium, and you could feel the gravity of the moment settling in.

Hongjoong looked up, raising an eyebrow in surprise. “Hello to you too, traveler,” he said, though the casual greeting did little to mask the seriousness underlying his words.

“Wooyoung told me your powers take you elsewhere,” you said, your voice steady despite the swirling emotions beneath. “If I take over the shop, you can continue to fulfill your duties in other realms while I manage things here.”

Hongjoong’s eyes narrowed slightly as he considered your proposal. “This place,” he began, his voice soft but firm, “is where the threads of many worlds converge. It’s about understanding the intricate balance that holds these realms together.”

You followed closely as Hongjoong started walking through the aisles of the emporium. Each step echoed softly in the vast space filled with enchanted artifacts and mystical relics. 

“I understand the gravity of this responsibility,” you said, matching his pace and keeping your voice firm. “I might not have your experience, but I’m willing to learn,” you continued your plea.

Hongjoong stopped abruptly and turned to face you, his eyes narrowing with a mixture of concern and skepticism. His expression was stern, the weight of your request clearly pressing on him. 

“It’s a significant responsibility, one that requires dedication and resilience. I’m not going to hand it over to a human—”

“Aren’t you a human as well?” you shot back, your voice tinged with frustration. The retort slipped out before you could stop it, and the sharpness of your words echoed through the shop.

Hongjoong’s eyes widened in surprise, and he crossed his arms defensively, his posture rigid. “That doesn’t matter,” he stammered, clearly caught off guard by your response. “My situation is different—”

Seonghwa, who had been quietly observing the tense exchange, decided to interject as he trailed behind you. “She has a point. Wonderland is asking you to intervene on their behalf. The situation is escalating, and having someone reliable at the shop would be crucial.”

“No,” Hongjoong replied sharply, continuing his stride through the labyrinthine aisles of the shop, his frustration evident in his quickened pace. “The emporium is a nexus of power that requires a deep understanding and connection. It’s not something you can just hand over to anyone.”

“Then take my memories,” you blurted out, your voice trembling with urgency. “If you’re worried about my ability to handle the shop, erase my memories of everything but the basics of running this place. Make me a blank slate so I can focus entirely on managing the emporium.”

Hongjoong halted abruptly, turning to face you with a mixture of shock and contemplation. His eyes searched your face, as if trying to gauge the sincerity of your offer. Seonghwa, too, looked intrigued by the unexpected proposal.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” Hongjoong gritted, his voice laced with disbelief and a hint of frustration. His eyes bore into yours, searching for any sign of hesitation or doubt. “That’s a drastic measure. You’re willing to give up everything for this?” He gestured broadly to the surroundings, the air thick with the hum of ancient magic.

You hesitated, feeling the weight of his question. “At first, I just wanted to disappear,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “My life had become a tangled mess of unfulfilled expectations and unresolved emotions. It didn’t matter what happened to me as long as I was…gone.”

You took a deep breath, meeting Hongjoong’s eyes with newfound determination. “But then, I realized something important. I didn’t have a purpose, and I was uncertain about my future. I thought about the night I came here, and it made me see that I wasn’t just trying to escape from something; I was searching for something to move towards.”

Hongjoong studied you intently, his eyes searching for any sign of hesitation or doubt. Seonghwa, meanwhile, shifted his weight thoughtfully, clearly processing the significance of your words.

“I’ve spent so long feeling adrift,” you continued, your voice filled with conviction. “But now I see that the emporium is an opportunity to find and fulfill my purpose.”

Hongjoong’s gaze remained piercing, yet the softness in his eyes deepened, reflecting empathy and understanding. He took a moment to absorb your words, the weight of your request settling over him. His expression softened further, and he nodded slowly, as if coming to a decision.

“Is that your wish?” he asked, his voice gentle yet carrying the gravity of the moment.

“Yes,” you confirmed, your voice carrying a blend of certainty and resolve. “That is my wish.”

“Mom?”

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line before your mother’s voice came through, warm and concerned. “Y/N? What’s the matter? You sound a bit off.”

“Nothing, really,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, though a catch in your throat betrayed the weight of your emotions. “I just wanted to call and see how you and Dad are doing.”

Your mother’s voice softened further, her concern evident as she sensed the underlying sadness. “We’re doing well. It’s been a quiet day. Your father’s been busy with his garden—he’s finally getting those tomatoes to grow—and we’re just taking a break now. How about you? Everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” you said, though the words felt hollow and insubstantial. “I just… wanted to check in before I go back to studying. I also think I might have found an opportunity worth pursuing.”

“That’s great, honey! I’m glad you’re staying on top of things,” your mother replied, her voice filled with pride. “Just remember to take care of yourself, okay? Don’t push too hard.”

“I won’t,” you promised, though the truth was far more complicated than you could ever explain in a single phone call. 

As you spoke, a tear slipped down your cheek, betraying the sadness and relief you felt. It was a small release, a physical manifestation of the emotional turmoil that had been simmering just beneath the surface. 

“Mom,” you said, your voice softer now, the vulnerability creeping in despite your best efforts to hide it. “I just want you to know that I love you and Dad.”

There was a brief silence on the other end, the kind that only comes when someone is processing something unexpected. “We love you too, Y/N. I’m happy you called. If there’s anything you need or want to talk about, we’re here for you.”

“I know,” you whispered, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill over. You nodded, even though she couldn’t see you, letting the comfort of her words wash over you, even as the weight of your own decisions pressed down harder. “I love you both.”

“We love you too. Take care of yourself.”

You ended the call, the weight of the conversation lingering as a poignant reminder of the ties that bound you to your family. Their love and support were a comforting anchor, grounding you as you prepared to navigate the irreversible course ahead. 

“Traveler?” you called out, your voice soft yet clear, cutting through the haze of the man’s thoughts. You stepped closer, concern etched into your features as you reached out to him. “Is everything all right?”

The man blinked, pulled back into the present by the sound of your voice. For a moment, he couldn’t find the words to respond. His mind was still tangled in the web of what-ifs and should-haves, but the look in your eyes—steady, patient—reminded him that he wasn’t alone in this moment. 

He swallowed hard, his throat dry as he struggled to form a coherent thought. “I… I’d like some time to think about what I want to wish for,” he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. There was a vulnerability in his tone, one that spoke of the doubts and fears he’d been carrying for far too long. 

You nodded, your expression softening as you stepped closer, your hand nearly reaching his. “Take all the time you need,” you reassured gently. “The shop exists outside of time and welcomes those it chooses. You’re welcome to come and go until you’re ready to decide.”

“Thank you,” he whispered. The weight of making a wish, of deciding on something so significant, had been overwhelming, but your presence made it feel more manageable. “It helps to know that I can come back when I’m ready.” 

He looked at you–there was no judgment in your gaze, no expectation—just a quiet understanding that allowed him to breathe a little easier.

“I’m Yunho, by the way,” he added softly, as if sharing his name was a small but significant step toward reconnecting with you—at least this version of you. The corners of his lips lifted in a faint but genuine smile, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“Yunho,” you repeated. The way you said his name was like a delicate thread, fragile and precious. It felt as though each syllable was an attempt to capture something fleeting, a moment of intimacy slipping through your fingers, yet cherished all the same. 

<< i | iii >>

taglist: @babymbbatinygirl @intowxnderland @hwasa28 @thedistractedwriter @beabatiny @lovelyglares @spenceatiny18 @tiny-apocalypse @sunnysidesins @heyitsmetonid @jwone @laurenwidjaja @potatos-on-clouds

[koolades-world]

not sure if u've wrote Abt this already, but could u write about the om cast with an insecure mc? been feeling really insecure lately, so i just need this😭 it's okay if u don't do it tho:>

hi! of course :)

not sure if i've already done this? if i have, well, we have two now haha. hope you're feeling better now and that this might help!!

enjoy <3

Insecure Mc

Lucifer

at first, he tries to reassure you with your achievements and what good you've done for the devildom

after he thinks about it some more, he lets you in on his inner monologue

he tells you how you've affected him personally

you softened him and changed him for the better, which everyone around him agrees with. he really does care about you and wants you to know

Mammon

he's your personal hypeman!

once he hears that you're feeling insecure, he'll surround you with all of the positivity he can give you

you are enough, you are loved, and you are perfect. you're his human after all, he wouldn't have things any other way

he promises the next day, you'll do some shopping, on him of course so you can get that expensive bag you've been eyeing for a while

Levi

oh he’s had his fair share of insecurities and he knows how awful it can feel

so, he’s determined to make you feel better!

of course he tries your favorites shows and games, and while he can see you visibly perk up, he knows you still might be feeling a little down

he tells you how grateful he is for you, that it's ok to feel insecure, and that he hopes he helped even a little

Satan

after you confess this to him, he doesn't hesitate to tell you what you mean to him

he knows that it's normal, but this is what you'd do for him

he can't leave his partner in crime down in the dumps, not after everything you've done for him

if there's anything you've ever wanted to do, and that means anything, he'll organize it and take you to do it within a week

Asmo

he's quick to try to show you what he finds beautiful about you

this isn't just limited to physically features, he finds all of you beautiful and he'll list it all to you no matter how long it takes

he's blocking off his evening to have a spa day with you!

it's important to him for you to feel beautiful inside and out, so expect lots of cute little kisses to help sweeten the deal

Beel

he's more than happy to be your shoulder to lean on

but even more so, he's your biggest supporter and is always there if you need to talk

after you're done talking, he scoops you up into a huge hug

it's not much, but you can feel all the love and emotions he wanted to convey to you though it <3

Belphie

he really knows what it's like to feel down in the dumps and really going through it

you're a little surprised when he invites you to take a nap with him

when you wake up, there's a nice set up of all your favorite foods and favorite movie

he's there, and since he's not the best at talking, he cuddles with you and peppers you with kisses

[spenceragnewfics]

perhaps a fic where y/n does something stupid and reckless to get spencer's attention. and he's wildly concerned but also "wtf y/n you don't need to do all that, you HAVE my attention"

This took longer than usual, but I'm not going to stress myself out by trying to get something out every day and just take my time.

LIGHT BURNS | Spencer Agenew x F!Reader

TW: Jealousy, small injury

Word Count: 2.06k

Description: Spencer and Y/N are the mom and dad of the Smosh office, but what happens when a new games editor appears and takes a lot of Spencer's attention?

Love is a bizarre thing. Many people know this and have done awful, strange, and crazy things for it. That’s the current situation Y/N is in.

Y/N and Spencer have been dating for years. The two have been friends since before they started working at Smosh and dating since their college years. The two are practically married but are just waiting for the right moment.

Many of the new cast members see them as the company’s mom and dad with their relationship dynamic, at least until a new games editor came in. 

“Babe! I want you to meet someone.” Spencer says, seeing Y/N sitting at her desk in the unscripted pod. She looks up from her screen with a loving smile, “Of course, is this the new editor people have been talking about?” She asks, getting out of her chair.

“Yeah, this is Cordelia. Cordelia, this is Y/N. She’s one of our unscripted producers and editor. She’s also my girlfriend.” He says, moving to the side to reveal a woman no more than 5’2” with thick curly hair and beautiful tan skin. 

She’s never really been taken aback by a woman but there is no denying how beautiful she is. “It’s nice to meet you, Cordelia.” She puts her hands out for her to shake, and the girl hesitates before shaking it. “Nice to meet you too, Spencer don’ you think we need to continue the tour?” Y/N looks at the girl shocked then looking at Spencer.

“Uh, yeah, we can just give me a minute.” He says and she walks away without another word. “Is she…did I do something?” Y/N asks, noticing the weird behavior. “I think she’s just getting used to a new setting.  I wouldn’t worry too much about it.” He assures, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

She feels her face heat up from the sweet gesture as she smiles, “Okay, whatever you, Mr. Director.” Spencer smirks at the nickname and hums as he pulls her in, “And since when do you call me that?” She shrugs as she wraps her arms around his neck and his wrap around her waist.

“I thought it’d be a nice addition.” She teases before leaning in, he leans in as well. Their lips are just centimeters away when, “Hey, Spencer, umm, really need to continue this tour.” Cordelia says, popping her head into the pod. Y/N leans her head on his shoulder as he looks at the younger girl, “I will be right there, sorry.” He apologizes and then kisses Y/N’s temple.

“Hey, I love you, and I’ll see you later. Okay?” He asks, leaning back to look at Y/N. “Yeah, I’ll see you later. I love you too.” He pecks her lips before walking out of the pod. 

What she hoped was just a first-day standoff, turns out to be a constant thing. Cordelia is nice to everyone except Y/N. Whenever the woman is in the room or close by, she always walks away or gives her the silent treatment.

Usually, she would ask Spencer about this stuff but lately, he’s been busy helping Cordelia. It seems like no matter what, she always needs help, and since Spencer was the main editor for games for so long, he’s always helping.

She’s tried so many things to get his attention but he always assures her that they can talk later, but they never do. It’s been almost a month of this going on and she’s at her wits end with it.

“Honestly, I don’t know what’s going on! He’s been so distant lately and it’s killing me because he’s always with Cordelia. I don’t know why, but something about her feels off.” She says to Angela, Chanse, Courtney, and Amanda during lunch. “Really? She’s always nice to me.” Amanda says and Y/N rolls her eyes.

“That’s why it’s weird! She’s nice to everyone but me. It’s like she has something against me and all I’ve ever done was say hi.” Courtney looks at her confused, “Do you think she might not like you because you’re Spencer’s girlfriend?” They ask.

“What? Do you think she has a crush on him or something?” She looks around the table confused. “I think she absolutely does, girl. She’s always hanging around him and I know she can edit those videos herself. I’ve seen her do it but always ‘messes up’ so Spencer can come and help.” Chanse says, crossing his arms.

“You need to talk to him. I don’t think he understands what’s going on. Have you told him how you feel about all this?” Angela asks and Y/N shakes her head. “That’s where you’re messing up. You need to tell him how this whole thing is making you feel. Spencer is one of the few guys who understands how to talk about feelings.” Angela says, looking at the woman with sincere eyes.

“Okay, I will after this upcoming shoot. That’ll finish the shoot week and he’ll be a bit less stressed.” Y/N declares before moving topics of conversation.

About an hour later, Alex Tran comes running up to Y/N in her pod. “Y/N, we need someone to take over for Chanse. He got sick and we don’t have anyone else available.” He’s breathless and a small amount of sweat is on his forehead. “Alex, did you seriously run over here from the games stage?” She asks amused while giving him a tissue to wipe the sweat off.

“Yeah, I did. Spencer said it’s an emergency so I went with our emergency backup for games videos, you.” She had agreed to be an emergency backup for gaming videos when Specner became the director of programming. She thought with how much she and him played video games then she could do well when needed.

“I’ll be right there Alex. Grab a water from my mini-fridge before you go to cool off.” He nods, leaning down to grab water before walking away and Y/N is walking behind him. He holds the door open for her and it catches the attention of everyone on the stage.

“What’s up, every pony!” Her voice announces happily, excited to be filming with her friends. “Y/N!” Shayne cheers, making her laugh. She looks over to see Spencer is over with Coredelia, talking about something and not even looking up. Her face turns into a sad expression, not used to being ignored by him. Usually, he’s the first one to notice her but it’s like she’s not even there.

She sits between Arasha and Trevor, looking at her hands and not saying anything. Trevor wraps an arm around her shoulder, pulling her into his side when he sees how sad she is. “We’re playing one of your favorites, All Rise.” The game makes her smile as memories of the last time everyone played was when so many inside jokes were made. While she didn’t play herself, she was seated not too far away watching.

She hugs Trevor before sitting up, “Thanks for trying to make me feel better, Trev.” He shrugs like it’s nothing as Spencer looks up from Coredelia’s screen. “Oh, hey babe, I didn’t even hear you come in.” He walks over, kissing the top of her head before going over to the camera.

During the kiss, she looked over to Coredelia glaring at her. ‘She does have a crush on Spence!’ Y/N thinks to herself before turning to the camera. The group of Shayne. Courtney, Arasha, Trevor, and Y/N play the game full of laughs, inside jokes, new jokes made, and sweet times throughout the whole time. It helped distract Y/N from the whole thing going on with the new editor having a major crush on her boyfriend until the game was over at least.

It took no more than a minute for Spencer to call wrap and Cordelia walked over to him, “Hey, Spencie.” She says, making everyone shocked at the nickname. “Yes, Cordelia?” He asks, his voice neutral. “Can you show me how to-”

Y/N tunes out what she asks her boyfriend as she continues to sit at the table. Her fingers mess with the promise ring Spencer gave her last year on their anniversary as her mind races. “Hey, Y/N/N. We’re gonna go get some coffee. Do you wanna come with?” Arasha asks, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. 

“No thanks, Rasha. I’ll be okay. Y’all have fun though.” The girl nods before hugging her and walking over to the group leaving the set. She continues to sit there, not noticing everyone leaving except Cordelia and Spencer. “I feel like such an idiot. I’ve been here two months and I still don’t understand this whole format.” Cordelia says, not noticing Y/N still on set.

“It’s okay. It takes time. Now that you got it taken care of, I think it’s best if you go back to the pod and finish up.” Spencer tries to get her to leave but she refuses. “Well, I wanted to talk to you about something.” She says, putting her laptop down as she stands up.

Y/N looks over confused until she sees the look on Cordelia’s face. It’s a flirty look, “Look, I know you and Y/N have been together a long time-” She starts and Y/N doesn’t hesitate to look around for something. Standing on her chair she reaches up to grab a stage light but burns her hand.

“Fuck, oh my god!” She yells, holding her hand as she starts to wobble on the chair. Cordelia and Spencer look over, and while she looks upset his face fills with worry. “Love, what did you do?!” He asks while running over to her.

Y/N doesn’t get to answer as the chair moves out from under her and she starts to fall, “Spencer!” She screams and braces for impact with the table but it doesn’t happen.

Opening her eyes, she sees her boyfriend looking like he almost saw her die. “Baby, baby, are you okay? What the hell did you do that for?!” His voice is full of concern but definitely louder than normal. Y/N doesn’t say anything, looking away from him.

“Spencer-” Cordelia starts to say before he looks at her, pissed beyond doubt. “Cordelia, you need to leave the stage right now or so help me God you will be out of here in two fucking minutes!” He yells. She doesn’t waste a second, running off the stage and leaving the couple alone. 

“Now, Y/N, tell me why you did this.” He says, looking at her hand to see how bad the burn is. “It’s nothing, I was being stupid is all.” She mutters, not wanting to admit she was jealous and trying to get his attention.

Gently grabbing her face, he makes her look at him. His blue and hazel eyes locked onto hers, “I know you're lying. Tell me, please.”

“You’ve been spending so much time with Cordelia and I got jealous. I wanted your attention so I…I did something stupid.” He looks at her amused, “Why are you jealous? She’s just some girl. You’re my girlfriend, my soulmate, the love of my life.”

“You didn’t even notice me when I walked in. You’ve barely been acknowledging my existence.” She stresses, sitting up and moving away from him a bit. “I’ve felt like I’m on a lonely island for a month and it sucks, Spence. I like being a small island with you, not alone.”

“What do you mean I’ve barely acknowledged you? It may not be as obvious but I’m always looking at you or for you. You are my every thought when I need comfort or just to feel better. Babe, you are my everything and I need you to know that.” He assures her, moving closer and moving hair away from her face.

“I’m sorry.” She apologizes, feeling like an asshole. “It’s okay, now let's get your hand taken care of then we can figure out this whole Cordelia thing.” He helps her stand up and wrap an arm around her waist.

“You know, you’re really sexy when you yell.” She says as they walk off the stage and his response is a simple smirk.

[underdark-dreams]

The Elturian Tieflings: Act 1 Exposition

I don't know if you've ever investigated the room in Waukeen's Rest where Benryn is trapped, but there is this scroll:

It's an interview transcript by the Flaming Fist with a survivor from the night of Elturel's descent into Avernus. Broken into 2 screenshots:

Honestly, the first time I found this, I couldn't believe this info wasn't spelled out anywhere else in the game.

There are of course other dialogues that generally reference the racial discrimination Tieflings face (Aradin and others throwing around slurs, the early dialogue option with Rolan of "Baldur's Gate? Do they even welcome Tieflings there?" etc.)

But this little scroll informs you that the Flaming Fist are literally stationed all along the Risen Road to track and arrest anyone fleeing Elturgard. Essentially, every single one of the Elturian Tieflings. Not only were they cast out of Elturel, there's a large and powerful merc group literally hunting them down to imprison them for some indeterminate amount of time.

Of course, the game doesn't really specify how long Elturel was in Avernus. Perhaps just a month or two. Maybe by the time the city was returned to the surface and the Tieflings were exiled, the Fist wasn't rounding up any escapees anymore.

EXCEPT Waukeen's Rest is smack dab on the road from Elturel to Baldur's Gate. And it's teeming with the Flaming Fist. And there's also this lovely little note sitting in the very same room of the inn:

If I'm reading this all correctly...that's insane?? And it really puts the Tieflings' plight into perspective. They're not only victims of discrimination; they are potentially in hiding and on the run from the law.

Like good god, no wonder Rolan is so dead-set on his apprenticeship no matter what anyone (Gale, a Baldurian Tav) tells him about Lorroakan. His station might just be the only thing keeping him & his family out of prison simply for existing. No wonder Ikaron snaps at you not to give his people any more grief. No wonder Asharak is spending his days teaching the kids how to hold a sword.

Anyway...I just re-encountered these notes in a new playthrough & felt compelled to make this post. I just love the Tiefs so much and they deserve the world 😭 Tief lovers let me know your thoughts!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 44

Joyous Walpurgisnacht: Part II

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: Please share your screams in my ask or a reblog!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Laufeyson returns with a second drink. You still have your first, nursing it as you find your head spinning with the activity all around. As more guests stream through, raucous as they meet others they know, the stage hums and the speakers crackle to life. 

Bragi begins his set, a brief tidings for the event before he strums into a tune. You wiggle your foot to the beat, peering over at the full band behind the lead. It's all so big and bright.

You turn back, reaching for your glass, as Laufeyson draws from his own. He watches you over the brim, eyes traveling down your body, focusing on the movement of your foot. You still it and uncross your legs, setting your soles flat.

He puts his drink down, half-finished. You sit back and fold your hands in your lap, peering around evasively. He probably saw you slouching or was annoyed by your fidgeting. You blow out between your lips as the party blooms around you.

Voices thrum in ripples beneath the steady rhythms of the stage, hollers go up now and then, piquing your interest as you look over to see a group cluster. They stand around smaller tables framed by two chairs each. You can barely see those sitting at them moving small pieces around the board.

“Hnefatafl!” The cry goes up as Thor stands and the pieces scatter on the table before him. You quickly look away as his head pops up above his audience.

“An old game,” Laufeyson explains, “rather dry for an event like this.”

You raise your brows curiously. You’re almost tempted to ask him more but think better of it. He hardly seems interested. Distant thunks bring another roar from a crowd further down. You twist in your chair to see across the field large round boards set up. A man with blond hair hurls an axe towards the wood, embedding it. You flinch and face the table again.

“Chaos,” Laufeyson mutters.

“Yes,” you agree, your toe tapping on the grass until you stop it again.

You sink into a silence which exists only between you and him. The furor of the party crackles around you, circling you in a whirlwind. There in the eye of the storm, there is no sound. It is deafeningly hollow.

“Ahem,” the clearing of a throat and tap on your shoulder brings you around. Laufeyson looks over your head, fixing his posture as you face Odin, “hiding in the corner?”

“Not exactly, father,” Laufeyson says, once more taking up his drink.

“There is much to enjoy. Your mother’s put in so much effort, I’d for her to see you glowering like this,” Odin reproaches.

“I do not glower,” his son snips.

“Mm, yes, well, you are more than welcome to wallow alone,” Odin replies flippantly, “but you needn’t cast a cloud over others…” he shifts to face you, opening a hand to you, “might I be so humbled as to request a dance from the lovely lady?”

You look up at him and your mouth falls open, “dance? I don’t know… how.”

“Well, then it is a good thing I must take it slow,” Odin insists, “it isn’t so hard to learn.”

Laufeyson sighs and drains the last of his whiskey. He stands abruptly, “I need to top up.”

Odin eyes him tensely but doesn’t remark. He looks back to you, “you don’t need to sit in his shadow all night. One dance, fair maiden of Walpurgisnacht, I see you can barely contain yourself.”

You look down as his gaze falls to your foot, once more wiggling. You still it and accept his hand. You hope Laufeyson isn’t too upset. It is only his father after all, he can’t be too put out.

“Thank you,” you stand and let him lead you away.

Odin brings you amid the other dancers, on a flat white floor laid out over the grass. He guides you to face him and helps you place your hands before he hooks an arm around you. He’s gentle but firm in leading you, counting with the rhythm between directing you how to move your feet.

“That’s it, dear, you’re a natural,” he praises as you let the music guide you, “and a beauty. That dress is very becoming, though it pales on you. You look immaculate…” he continues to sway with you, “my son is a fool not to say it himself.”

“Odin,” you look past him sheepishly.

“It is the truth. You are glowing and he is playing the troll, secreting you away from the light,” he tuts and shakes his head.

“It isn’t my party,” you utter.

“You belong here,” he insists, “don’t you think otherwise.”

“I am the house manager–” you rebuff.

“You aren’t,” he says, “my son didn’t get his senselessness from me. No, that is bred of mistrust. Fear, truly.”

“Odin, it’s true–”

“If he says it, it cannot be,” he counters, “when he looks at you, he is not looking at a house manager. He will claim I do not know him but he is my son. I see through him, it is only a pity he looks in the mirror and cannot do the same.”

You stare at the button of his vest. You don’t believe him. You don’t want to. You’re too afraid to think it could ever be true. Yet how can you tell him the truth? That would be humiliating. You are only half-right, your son wants more of me but only to sate his worst urges. It isn’t sentiment, it is convenience.

“Pardon,” a voice has you tripping over your own feet but Odin keeps you balanced, turning you as another figure stands close, “father, may I… take over?”

“Ah, but we are having such fun,” Odin taunts and twists you away from Laufeyson again.

“Yes, it seems so,” Laufeyson says thickly, “perhaps the next song…”

“Oh, don’t be so mopey,” Odin stops you as he chuckles, “I was only trying to pep you up, yes? It’s a party.” Odin raises your hand and kisses it gently, “thank you, dear, for humouring an old man.”

He stands straight and lets you go. He faces his son but you cannot see his expression, only the way Laufeyson’s eyes gleam back dangerously. Odin departs and Laufeyson’s attention flits onto you. He takes a step forward, once more looking you up and down.

The music ebbs and a new song begins. The soft plucking begins, then the reedy tone of a flute. Mr. Laufeyson offers his hand and you accept it, awkwardly coming closer as he sweeps his arm around you, his hand stretched over your lower back. He looks down to place his feet with yours before he begins. He is lithe and graceful, you feel otherwise.

“This is your song,” he says as the melody comes clearer.

You tweak an ear as you follow it, then lyrics begin.

“Moon River, wider than a mile…” 

Your heart pulses in recognition. You smile towards the stage. You didn’t expect him to truly do it but it’s wonderful.

“I like it,” Laufeyson says, “it is very… whimsical.”

You turn your head straight, focusing on your footwork, careful not to trod his feet, “it is.”

He’s silent as you feel his gaze upon you, bearing down. He must be annoyed by how you follow his lead, uncertain in your body. How pathetic; never had a birthday cake, never had a dance. You look up and gulp shakily.

You almost stop dead in your heels as you see something less than agitated in his expression. He is fixated on you without a trace of chagrin. His hand shifts on your back, his other on your hip as you hold his shoulder and his upper arm. He is handsome in the dimming approach of the evening.

“When I said before that you look nice,” he begins, “I was remiss. You look… beyond anything I could ever put into words. You are magnificent, pet.”

“Mr. Laufeyson,” you stutter, “well, you look very handsome as well.”

“I am not looking for compliments,” he dismisses, “and I think I owe you more than that.”

You don’t know what to say. Is it an apology? You don’t know entirely what he means. He’s had three glasses of whiskey, just like that night, and in the morning, he was just the same as before. You won’t count on the kindness he finds at the bottom of a bottle.

A sudden flash makes you squeak. You look over as Yvonne smiles over the large lens. You give a nervous giggle and brace Laufeyson tighter. He sweeps you away from the camera.

“Tomorrow, we will talk,” he avows, “but we can enjoy tonight. It is Walpurgisnacht and it is a new beginning.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson.”

He winces and exhales, “can I be Loki for tonight?”

“Loki,” you echo, “yes.”

As the song ends, the heat speckling in your skin licks to flames. You don’t know if it’s being so close or his constant gaze or the thought of tomorrow and whatever you might talk about. You’re sweating and you're uncomfortable and you need a breath.

“Excuse me, um, I need the bathroom,” you gently pull away. 

He reluctantly lets you go, his hand lingering on your hip as he points, “there, in the tents, I believe mother had facilities put up.”

“Thanks,” you offer a weak grin and step away from his grasp.

“I’ll be here,” he promises as you go.

You try not to hurry. You don’t want him to see how desperate you are to be away. It isn’t him, it’s you. This is all too much for you. It isn’t you. You’re not one of these people but they treat you like one. You’re just a poor girl born of cigarette ash.

You find your way to the tent housing the stalls. You take your time and try to collect yourself. Your nerves are tingling in your fingertips and where he held you; just along your lower back and your hip. It’s that urge that worries you, the one that made you think of resting your head on his shoulder.

You emerge and use the outdoor sinks set up in front of the stalls. You dry off and measure your breaths. You can do this. You go back down towards the fervour and as the night sets in, the large lights come to life and light the crowd.

You search the clusters of bodies. Where is Mr. Laufeyson? As you inch along the threshold, a shadow shifts to your right. You glance over but the figure disappears. You shake off the eerie sensation creeping down your spine and march forward into the tide of people.

You weave around bodies and tables, dizzy from the flurry all around you. You stagger as you’re nearly stampeded by a rowdy group of guests and you spin around to face a table in the far corner. There you find a scene that makes your heart plummet into your stomach.

You can’t stop yourself as you near the pair. Laufeyson, Loki, sits in a chair, two drinks on the table; his whiskey and another bright purple concoction. But beside him is Sif. She leans forward, her wrist clutched in his grasp as she whispers through the curve in her delicate lips. He stares back at her, eyes fiery, jaw locked.

“Loki, we had something good…” you hear her slither as you get closer. Her blue eyes dance over to you and her lips curl, “I still love you.”

She looks at him again and smashes her lips into his. He winces and turns his head, his gaze finding you as you stop, paralysed as you watch helplessly. You blink and swallow, wetting your lips as you bring your hand up to your sickened stomach.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

You turn and race away on clacking heels. You don’t look back as you elbow through bodies, running without direction, without escape. You just need to be away from it. All of it.

You find the pathway into the garden, plunging into the brush as your heels wobble with each step. You stumble and grunt in frustration. You stop and bend to unbuckle the shoes, tossing them away before you hurry on.

You find the stone gazebo, lit only by moonlight, and throw yourself inside. You land on a stone bench and hang your head in the frame of an arched window. You deflate as you hunch over, trembling so much it hurts.

You won’t cry. Why would you do that? It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. Mr. Laufeyson only said you looked magnificent then turned around to kiss his ex-wife. And why wouldn’t she? She’s much more than you’ll ever be. She fits neatly into their puzzle.

“Ah, little maid,” the gazebo darkens as the moonlight disappears as if a clouds passed over the nocturnal guardian, “what is the matter?”

You sit up and shudder as Thor’s burly silhouette limns in silver. You brace the edge of the bench and stand.

“N-nothing, I was only… having a break, I should head back–”

“It is peaceful out here,” he says, unmoving as you gesture around him. He fills the entire doorway.

“Yeah, but er, I should–”

“How do you like Walpurgisnacht? Are you having fun?” He asks, propping and elbow against the stone.

“Sure, I guess.”

“And did you play any games?” he sneers.

You falter and lean back on one heel. You have a bad feeling. You wring your hands as the air breezes in, a shiver rattling you.

“No…”

“That is too bad. This is a day of fun! Games are fun, aren’t they?”

“Please, Thor, I have to get back–”

“Let’s play a game,” he ignores your protest and steps into the gazebo, “I know a special game.”

“Thor,” you croak as you glance towards the windows. You see the lights above the trees and hear the muted noise of the partygoers and Bragi’s tunes. You look back to him as he takes another step towards you.

“You can be the mouse…” he says, “and I shall be the cat.”

“No, please, I don’t want–”

“You best be nimble, mouse. for the cat is hungry,” he growls as he looms closer, “and ready to pounce!”

He lunges and you jump back. Your shoulder hits the wall and you cry out. You turn and feel around, nearly falling through the opposite doorway as your feet slip over the stone steps. You stumble at the bottom, slipping in the grass as twigs and stones poke into your bare soles.

You hear him behind you, laughing as he makes a steady but easy pursuit. You sprint across the small field towards the row of brush, skirt catching on bramble as you dive into the wilderness. You don’t know where you’re going, you just need to get away.

Your feet slip on moss as dirty sticks to your skin. You puff as you pump your arms, glancing back over your shoulder frantically. He isn’t running, but he is coming. You can hear him laughing.

You swerve around, towards the noise of the party. You just need to get back there. You need to find a path. You don’t know where you are, the further you go, the more lost you are. The noises fade further and further. Oh god, wrong way!

Suddenly, your toe hits something hard and you nosedive forward. You don’t have time to get your hands up as your face crunches into a thick trunk and you collapse to the ground. You roll over as you taste iron on your tongue. Ow.

You sit up and touch your throbbing nose. As you plant your feet to stand, you hear a rustle and suddenly, you’re pushed flat to your back. Thor snickers as he holds you down by your shoulders, straddling you beneath him as he huffs.

“Ah, I’ve caught you, mouse,” he taunts as you squirm and whimper, “now the cat must feast.”

[max-nico]

Another installment of random Sonic Headcanons

Sonic doesn't like buttercream frosting, Tails doesn't like whipped frosting, and Knuckles always wipes 90% of the frosting off his cake

When Tails is doing something, whether it's working in his lab or just making dinner, Sonic will shadow box the air behind him. He stops when Tails turns around to look at him, but the fox very much knows that Sonic is throwing fake punches at him lol

Tails, Cream, and Charmy play animal crossing (or the Sonic equivalent lol) together

Matter of fact, I think like all the characters play video games together. I'm sure they have different types of video games they like (I can see Sonic playing animal crossing but Jet? Not so much) but it's not odd for them to enter an online lobby

Tails loves crunchy foods

Espio once asked Vector to death roll him to "see if his body could take it".... Vector obviously said no

I don't think any of the cast really feel famous, except for maybe the Babylon Rogues bc they're (probably) sports stars

No matter how often they get asked for an autograph or approached in public they're all like "???? Yeah ??? I guess I can take a picture with you ???"

I think hedgehogs are one of the most common races (species??) of Mobian

If the Robotniks were Mobian they would be robins (<- pretty sure I've said that before) and possibly various other red and black birds

Barry and Tails keep in contact, but they don't get a lot of chances to hang out

I don't have anything for Blaze and Silver rn but just know that I love them dearly and I'm always thinking of them

Cream is determined to befriend Shadow. She will stop at nothing until he admits that they are friends

Sonic hates being on talkshows, and talkshows hate having him on, so it's mutual lol

The Rookie (whose name i cannot remember rn it's on the tip of my tongue omg) keeps the most contact with Knuckles, but everyone still stops to chat when they get the chance

Shadow suffers from memory loss after... Falling out of a spaceship and... Losing his memory...

I think for a while he was too prideful to write things down or set reminders because heaven forbid the ultimate lifeform needs help. This led to Shadow forgetting where his own place was and refusing to ask how to get there

Maybe this is my new explanation for why Shadow is always in caves and is never shown in a house of his own, instead of the actual explanation lol

Sonic often talks to Gaia/Chip when he's alone, Tails caught him a few times and has also picked up the habit, though he does talk to him less than Sonic does

Charmy doesn't like bananas

I've said this before in this post about shadows development, but I think he sheds a lot. Hedgehogs aren't actually supposed to lose quills unless they're super stressed, but because Shadow's DNA is only partially Mobian Hedgehog, a few things are off

Okay, that's all for now. I feel like this one's kinda short, but it's whatevs !! Feel free to talk to me about your own hcs I LOVE hearing about them. Happy year of Shadow everyone !!!!!!

I am a Tails centric blog but feel free to hit up my DMs or askbox about any of these characters !!!

[eowynstwin]

i have this fascination with price. hes sort of this unsulliable steel, consistently to nearly always making the (as the games frame it) correct decisions, even when hes playing fast and loose with the law. his plans always work, hes never truly failed in the sense of real negative consequences for a choice (until 3 but 3 was badly written and i did not like it). hes always (in the game's framing) right. he never shows a moment of weakness. i love him ❤ i want to see him suffer i want him to make an objectively wrong choice. i want that choice to have consequences that shake his steady foundations and rock him to his core. i want him to fail. is that weird? i want him to lose control of his carefully maintained stony exterior. i want to see that side of him that is barely acknowledged to be genuinely explored. i know people justify it by saying hes a military captain in a ridiculously tough branch to get into, so of course hes like that, but in real life those guys are just as human as the rest of us, just as capable of mistakes and taking fat Ls and making poor decisions. I do love his character, he is my blorbo, i just want to put him in a jar and shake him real hard. is that weird?

Deadass, when I heard what happens in mw3 (still haven't gotten around to watching it, I'm fond of my brain cells and I feel like it'll kill some of them)--my first thought was that they should've killed Price.

Price is always barely restraining himself but he manages to keep himself in check for the most part. I imagine he's learned the hard way that if he lets his feelings dictate his actions then a lot of people get hurt.

Gaz and Soap, however, do not have the benefit of his experience. Ghost does, but he doesn't wield authority like Price's, and I have the feeling that he believes the Price keeps him in check (in his origin comics, he has frequent nightmares in which he assaults and murders people, because he went through months of classical conditioning in captivity).

So, let's say Mak shoots Price dead instead. Suddenly there's no one there to guide the surviving 141. Suddenly the wealth of experience he had to offer, the instincts for warfare that he honed over decades, is gone. Gaz loses his mentor. Ghost loses the man who holds his leash. Soap loses the one commanding officer he had any faith in.

Can you feel how that would raise the stakes exponentially? Price's influence, throughout the reboot, has kept everyone in line. He knows how to break the rules effectively while minimizing the consequences. He knows how to ignore distractions. He is ruthlessly efficient, without being brutal. The other three just do not have those skills. They are not capable of doing what Price does. They have neither the experience (in Gaz and Soap's case) nor the disposition (in Ghost's case).

Price dying would send shockwaves through the 141--through the entire cast--in ways that Soap's death just does not. Soap should have been the one in Shepherd's office with a silenced gun, because assassinating a FUCKING FOUR STAR AMERICAN GENERAL IN THE PENTAGON!!!!! Is not what an experienced captain in the SAS would do, no matter how he feels!!!!!! That is what a sergeant with more aptitude than sense and an overwhelming feeling of rage and loss would do!!!!!!

Aaaaand this is a rant nearly completely unrelated to what you were talking about lol. Sorry. I do want to see that old man suffer don't get me wrong. It's just that the suffering he's been set up for now, in canon, is SO MUCH BULLSHIT.

[lxndonorris]

to be loved - Logan Sargeant

Y/N x Logan Sargeant Theme: angsty fluff you're invited to a gala to honor you're achievements at work. Logan, however, is doubting himself. You show him how much you love him just for who he is x word count: 1120+ taglist: @game-set-canet thanks to @iworldlywriter for the idea! Another Logan story might be coming very soon as well. Haven't written angst in a while...

The Miami Grand Prix has culminated in a whirlwind of emotions and adrenaline. Logan, your boyfriend and talented young racer, gave his all on the track, pushing boundaries and challenging limits. However, the aftermath of it all leaves him feeling more defeated than ever. As he sits in the dimly lit living room of his home, the weight of his recent crash pressing down on him, he can't shake the lingering sense of inadequacy that gnaws at his soul.

Across the room, you sit perched on the edge of the couch, your gaze soft as you watch Logan. Then, you look down at your phone, glancing over the email you'd gotten a few days ago. 

The success of your latest book, "Echoes of Eternity," surpassed even your wildest dreams. Its poignant prose and captivating storyline captured the hearts of readers around the world, propelling it to the top of bestseller lists and earning rave reviews from critics and fans alike.

Amidst the flurry of interviews and accolades, one invitation stands out above the rest—a prestigious gala to honor your literary achievement. As you read the elegant invitation again, adorned with intricate gold foil and embossed lettering, a sense of pride and gratitude washes over you.

Still, a heavy cloud of concern lingers in your heart for Logan. The recent string of disappointments on the racetrack weigh heavily on him, casting a shadow over his spirits even amidst your own success.

"Logan," you say softly, breaking the silence that hangs between you. "I want you to come to the Gala with me."

Logan's eyes flicker with uncertainty as he meets your gaze. "I don't know, Y/N," he replies, his voice tinged with doubt. "I'm not sure I belong there."

You move closer, sitting down right beside him, and take his hand in yours. "Logan, listen. to me," you say earnestly, but he lets out a long, deep sigh.

"Y/N," he breathes, "I know what you're going to say." Logan looks at you, searching your eyes for reassurance. "But this season... I haven't lived up to the team's expectations, to my own expectations," he admits, his voice lancing with regret. "I feel like I don't deserve the seat... like, I don't deserve you."

Logan's admission cuts deep, stirring a tumult of emotions within you. The raw honesty in his words lays bare the depths of his inner turmoil, and the weight of his self-doubt feels like a heavy burden on your shoulders. 

As much as you want to reassure him and chase away the shadows that cloud his mind, you know that healing his wounded spirit will take time and patience.

Tears well in his eyes as he avoids your gaze, but you softly cup his cheek, forcing him to meet your gaze. "Logan, look at me," you say firmly. 

"You are so much more than your racing career. You're kind, compassionate, and incredibly talented. And none of that changes just because of a few bad races."

Shaking his head in disbelief, his jaw clenches with pent-up frustration. "It just feels like I can't catch a break," he admits, his voice raw with emotion. "No matter how hard I try, it's like I am stuck in this endless cycle of bad luck."

You squeeze his shoulders gently, offering silent support as he grapples with his emotions.

"I know it's tough," you say softly. "But remember, racing is just one part of who you are. You're so much more than your performance on track."

He swallows hard, a mixture of gratitude and uncertainty washing over him. "But what if I let you down as well?" he whispers, his voice barely audible. "Like I always do."

"You could never let me down," you reply, your voice unwavering. "Because being with you, sharing this journey together, is the greatest reward of all."

A few tears run down his cheek as he searches your eyes for even the slightest hint of doubt, something to fuel his belief in failure. 

"Do you really mean that?" he whispers again, his voice laced with vulnerability.

With every fiber of your being, you nod, your gaze unwavering as you meet his. "Yes, Logan," you say firmly. "I mean that with all my heart. I love you, not for being a professional racer, but because of who you are deep down inside yourself."

For a moment, silence hangs heavy in the air, the weight of your words sinking in as Logan grapples with the depth of your love. And as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you close in a tight embrace, you know he needed that.

With Logan wrapped in your arms, his vulnerability lays bare. You hold him close, a beacon of unwavering support amidst the storm of his doubts. Gently, you lift his chin, guiding his gaze to meet yours, your eyes filled with love and conviction.

"Logan," you begin, your voice soft yet resolute. "I believe in you. I believe in the strength of your spirit, the depth of your resilience, and the power of your determination. You are capable of greatness, of achieving heights beyond your wildest dreams."

A glimmer of hope flickers in his bright eyes, and his expression softens just a little. 

"What if I never live up to my potential?" His voice is barely hearable, rough, and husky. 

You brush a tender kiss against his forehead, your touch a gentle caress against the storm raging inside him.

"Every setback, every stumble, is a stepping stone on the path to greatness. And I will be here, by your side, every step of the way."

As the weight of your words sinks in, a sense of resolve settles over Logan, his shoulders straightening with newfound determination. 

"Thank you, Y/N," he murmurs, gratitude shining in his eyes. "For believing in me, even when I couldn't believe in myself."

"Always, Logan," you reply, your voice a whisper of reassurance in the night.

He leans in once more, hugging you tightly, and as you hold Logan close in a comforting embrace, you feel the tension slowly melting away from his body, replaced by a sense of peace. With a gentle smile, you pull away.

"Hey, how about we order some of your favorite takeout?" you suggest, your voice warm with affection. "And then we can snuggle up on the couch and watch that movie you've been wanting to see."

Logan's eyes light up at the suggestion, a faint smile playing at the corner of his lips. 

"That sounds perfect," he murmurs, his voice soft with gratitude. "Thank you, Y/N."

With a tender smile, you press a loving kiss to his lips, a silent promise of unwavering support and devotion.

"Anytime, Logan," you reply, your heart swelling with love. "I'm here for you, no matter what."