#OS was cruel to all

[violentdelightshavevioletends]

“Dain is just an imperfect 21-year-old kid who trusted his dad, and is a little over-protective telling his chronically ill friend to sit the fuck down.”

[fuckmelifesucks]

Was rereading tcp and came to the scene where Jude sees her mother and Madoc in the Lake of Masks and her mother says 'Look! A human girl.'

I was wondering, what if the human girl Eva saw in the Lake was actually Jude, her own daughter, just like how Jude saw her mother, given that there is no specific time period or range from which the reflections should come.

[maudiemoods]

So so so sleepy help

[mars-ipan]

guys i have to edit videos on macOS in class today. pray for me

[p1astr81]

I am in need of jealous Oscar , like I CAN’T get a possesive and jealous Oscar out of my head , him showing that reader is his 😩.

Please with a cherry on top 🥺🙏🏻

warnings: smut 18+, rough sex, a wink of biting, smidge of slapping, consent isn’t given but implied, unprotected piv (pls use a condom)

You were just talking with Charles. An innocent conversation. Apparently, you’d laughed at one of his jokes too hard.

Oscar was fuming. Smoke billowed from his ears. He stormed over to where you stood and grasped your arm tightly.

He caught you by surprise. “Hi os-! Oh? Okay, bye Charles!” You waved the other man goodbye.

Oscar dragged you to back to his driver room. His grip on your wrist was bruising, and he only tightened it every time you tried to squirm away.

As soon as the door was closed, he was all over you. Messy, sloppy kisses. “Is he funnier than me?” He rasped, chest heaving?

“What?”

“Charles. I saw you fucking bent over for him. Laughing at whatever stupid joke he made.” You became a ragdoll as he forced your limbs to move. He bent you over the edge of the massage table. He flipped the skirt of your dress up and kneaded your ass. “Just wanted him, didn’t you?”

You shook your head frantically, gave a weak “no.”

Slap to your ass. A whimper from your lips.

“Sorry, what was that?” He moved your panties to the side. You were dripping in anticipation. He took his dick in his hand. Lined up and ready.

“No! Only want you.” You repeated louder this time.

A cruel hum. “I don’t believe you.” He seethed. Without warning, his tip breached your cunt. Eased in. Gave you a false sense of softness. And then he slammed into you. Every centimeter of him, all at once.

“Fuck! Oscar- ha! hmmm, too much.” You shook your head, eyes squeezed shut.

Again with the false sense of softness, his hands ran the length of your back. A soothing gesture. He bent over you, pinning you to the bench. “It’s alright. You can take it.” He whispered, lips brushing your ear.

“I-“

A brutal thrust cut you off. You back arched. No time to adjust. His pace was sharp, every thrust as harsh as the last. Deep as he could get. He wanted you to feel him. Wanted to ruin you.

Oscar was usually a soft lover, including in bed. He had never been so rough with you before.

It had tears pouring down your face. Moans punched from your throat with every thrust.

He spotted your face. Hand around your neck, he pulled you up. Your head lulled back on his shoulder. “Full, so full.”

“Yeah?” He mocked. “Feel good?”

You nodded weakly.

“And who’s making you feel like this?” He kissed your face. Too soft for the pace he’s set, for his rough words.

You moaned as his hands groped your tits. “You. Oscar, you make me feel so good.”

As you got closer to the edge, your moans got louder. Your knees got weaker. “Fuck me, Oscar.” You mewled, “oh, shit, shit I’m so close,” you sobbed.

Somehow, his pace increased. Fingers pressed your clit. Harsh circles. “Cum for me then. Say my name while you drench me, tell me you’re mine.” He sucked marks into your neck, licking, biting.

The heat boiled over. Your orgasm rushed over you violently. “I’m yours! Oscar! Fuck, shit, shit, oh, yes. hmph all yours.” You rambled, slumping against the massage table. “Yours. All yours, Oscar.” You continued to mumble as he reached his own high.

He spilled inside you with a claim of “yeah, all mine.”

After cleaning you up, he fixed your hair and dress. “Go on. Go talk to him again.” He grinned, eyeing you up and down. “You’re glowing.”

You scoffed. Rolled your eyes. Slightly shoved his chest. “Shut up.”

He caught your wrist. “Mine?” It was one word, but the question was obvious.

You nodded. “Always.” A quiet reassurance and a small smile. “No one can treat me as good as you.”

He shrugged. “Never doubted it.”

“Oh yeah and that’s why you got jealous and fucked me so hard the entire motorhome shook?”

“That’s an exaggeration.”

You hummed. “But you’re not denying that you were jealous.”

Hesitation loosened his grip on you. “Only cause I love you.”

You laughed, nodding. “Yeah. I believe it.” Stepping forward, you got to your tip toes and pecked his lips. “I love you, too.”

[creamecafe]

Hi there! Can you do a continuation of platonic squid game where the teen reader dies during the game, Like slowly dies as she calls out to character like (ahjussi, apparently, or unnie..)

Season 2 Squid Game Characters with Teen!Reader who dies in one of the games

Pairing: Platonic!Squid Game Characters x Teen!Reader

Warnings: death, angst, guilt

Author's Note: it's so HARD to find season 2 gifs for this. But thank you so much for requesting this! I hope you enjoy it!

Want a request for a Squid Game character like this one? Check out my latest post, read my request guidelines and send a request!

Read on Wattpad & AO3 here

Seong Gi-Hun

It feels like the universe is punishing him

He lost so many people before, he thought he was numb to tears

He cries and falls to the floor not caring who's around

Tries to keep strong to finish the game but feels like he shouldn't be alive

Young-il

I believe honestly that he would still keep the cold look but he'll cry when he's in the dormitory

He'll have a "talk" with the guard that killed you

Tries to ignore his feelings of grief but it's distracting him from the game

Thanos (Player 230)

Tries to keep his chill persona like Young-il

But when he's in the bathroom he'll be crying

He didn't expect to be attached but it was too late

Would snap if anyone brought up your name

Kang Dae-Ho

Would feel like he failed protecting you

Your face of your last moments would haunt him

During the battle against the guards he would keep thinking of you and your lifeless body

Lee Myung-Gi

Tries to deny it at first

But hearing your number be announced that you're eliminated is all too real

Your bed is empty and everything of you is now a memory

Between Jun-Hee and your death, he wants to change and turn things around

Park Min-Su

Is paralyzed when he sees your dead body or sees you get shot

Tries to hold it in, but is crying when he sleeps

You were the only thing close to being a real friend for him, besides Thanos

He chooses X, afraid what Thanos will do, but does it honor of you

Nam-Gyu

Doesn't show his emotions with the others, as he's afraid he'll be seen as weak.

But when everyone's asleep, he goes to your bed (Like how he did when Thanos died) and just cries

Wants to vote X, but is scared of Thanos so he chooses O

Jun-Hee

She finally has a real sense that this game is indeed cruel

Tries to keep strong but breaks down in the bathroom

Holds her stomach real close as she tries to think how she'll make it out of here, as you should have.

Cho Hyun Ju

If you die in the mingle game, guilt will overcome her

She presses X for you, most likely knowing she won't get out due to the majority of Os being voted

Your empty bed in the dormitory haunts her as she misses your laugh and your plans to get out

Se-Mi

Tries to keep her chill persona up

But seeing you die snapped something inside of her

She immediately thinks of Min-su and is afraid to lose him too

Votes X because of you, knowing that Thanos and Nam-gyu would hate her afterwards. But she doesn't care, all she misses is you

Navigation | Main Masterlist | Squid Game Masterlist | Squid Game Men Masterlist | Squid Game Women Masterlist | Join my Taglist!

[aboutcustardcreams]

Until next time

Agathario x reader

The scene in the forest where Agatha delivered the baby is living in my head rent free and I just couldn't resist the urge to write an os about it. Rewrite, actually. It's my first Agatha's fic, so I'm pretty excited. Hope you guys like it <3

warning: angst, a touch of fluff

next chapter (time skip)

The baby’s soft cries echoed in the forest, as a reminder that a life has just begun, tender and innocent. Agatha was perched by a tree, only wrapped in a light and crumbled vest. Her cloak dropped somewhere a few feet away. The sweat and the pressure at her lower abdomen finally subsided, making her feel like she could breathe properly again. There was blood between her legs, staining her inner thighs, flooding and then drying out to her knees. Everything kind of hurt, her eyes were heavy, but her senses stayed alert. 

“Move,” the Green Witch muttered in a placid order. 

You looked into her eyes, slowly shaking your head, as you stood in front of Agatha, shielding her and the baby, “No.”

The witch felt a wave of relief wash over her when she heard your simple, yet categorical answer. She was in no condition to fight against Rio on this, despite the fire in her eyes and the weak magic already tingling her digits. 

Rio sighed, “we aren’t doing this. You promised–”

“I know what I did,” you interjected, closing your hands into fists, “But I changed my mind. I am allowed to change my mind,” you pointed out, voice thick with emotion. You couldn’t bring yourself to say goodbye to a child you didn’t even hold in your arms yet. “I-I can’t let you take him,” turning around, your eyes focused on the baby’s tiny head peeking out of the little blanket Agatha wrapped him in. “I mean, he’s innocent. It can’t be his time…”

“My loves–” 

“Just let him live,” Agatha interjected, her voice both exhausted and desperate. She never felt so scared before, “Please, don’t take him from me.” 

When he clasped his tiny hands in her long wavy hair, her lips brushed against his head, “I love you,” she smiled, rocking him ever so gently, “I love you so much.”

Your heart melted at the sight before your eyes. Rio felt a slight indecision tugging at her chest. She never thought the first time she would hold her son would be to carry him in the afterlife. It felt cruel. It was cruel. But he was sick, he could feel his disease, hovering like a shadow around him. 

“I’m not giving up. Not yet,” you insisted. 

“You talk as if I didn’t wish for him to live,” Rio retorted in disbelief. 

“Oh, spare us, Rio!” Agatha snapped. “You’re the Green Witch, it’s not like you’ve got no power at your disposal. And yet you’re choosing the easy way.”

Rio couldn’t believe her ears. “The easy way you say? Are you nuts? He is my son too, Agatha!”

You frowned at their bickering. Last thing you wanted was to indulge in this fight. This moment was supposed to bring joy to your lives. A child was born, your child for fuck’s sake. Why couldn’t you three be happy about it? Why couldn’t you cherish the moment? He was sick, but you could still try to save him. Work together to make it possible. You, Agatha and Rio weren’t common witches after all, and if there was someone able to find a loophole, it would be you. 

“Then start acting more like a mother,” Agatha retorted, voice dropping in a whisper. 

“It’s not my fault I’ve got responsibilities, Agatha. I never asked to be like this,” Rio’s voice wavered a bit, her heart thumping in her chest with painful insistence. 

“My loves, please we shouldn’t–”

The sound of Agatha’s mocking laughter prevented you from finishing off that sentence. “What about the responsibilities towards our son? He should come first.” 

“Our son is sick, and in order for him to live, many will have to die. It will cause absolute chaos.”

“So be it. All I care about is my son.” Her icy blue eyes sparkling dangerously as she said those words with force and a bit of selfishness. 

You considered Rio’s words; a bunch of conflicted emotions passed through you. Rio wouldn’t say those things if she knew there was another way out of this. But maybe if she couldn’t find it, you could, if only you were granted more time to figure it out. 

“If you take him, I’ll hate you forever,” she insisted rather calmly now. 

“Agatha…”

Color drained from your face at those words. You knew she didn’t mean that. She couldn’t. When a muffled sound slipped from Rio’s lips, a mixture between a choked sob and a scoff, you drew closer to her, your hands immediately finding her cheeks. You weren’t supposed to pick sides. You were a family, and it should stay like that. 

“She doesn’t mean it,” you said both softly and firmly, thumbs brushing against her cheekbones. She rolled her eyes and you took a firmer grip on her face, so that she would focus on your eyes, “Rio, listen to me, she doesn’t–”

“I do.” Agatha deadpanned, cutting you off.  

You hissed, “Quiet, Agatha.” 

Rio let out a quiet humorless chuckle, when the other witch grumbled something under her breath. 

“We are just scared, my love. We want this child to live, we need him to, do you understand that?” 

When your voice croaked slightly, her hands tangled in your hair and pulled you closer to her, “I know, baby. I know,” she cooed, getting lost in those wet lashes of yours.

You swallowed thickly, “I don’t want to say goodbye.” 

She leaned in and brushed her lips right under your eye, her magic immediately mingling with yours. Your eyelids fluttered close and you let out a faint mewl. 

“I can only offer time,” she said, once she pulled away, so that she could meet both yours and Agatha’s eyes.

You arched an eyebrow confusedly, “what does it mean?”

“How much time?” Asked Agatha. 

She shrugged, as if she didn’t know or she couldn’t really say. Her behavior only served the purpose of making you more nervous. Crossing your arms over your chest, you knew that you’d have to use this time to master your own powers. To make sure that whenever Rio intended on collecting your son’s soul, you’d be ready to fight. Not her of course, but the process of Death itself. You were a necromancer witch, whose powers were completely opposite to Rio’s. While her job was to keep order between life and death, your powers could easily break that balance if you wanted to. Meaning that you could resurrect life forms.

“You know I’ll still try when the time comes, don’t you?”

Rio looked at you and despite your words, she smiled, “I know, love. Thought I’d hate you if you decided to interfere, but honestly, I hope you win.” 

It was your turn to crack a smile in her direction. “It’s not a competition, Rio. All I want is to keep our child alive.” 

She hummed, without voicing her concerns out loud, not wanting to add more to yours and Agatha’s shoulders, “You two will make a good job.”

You and Agatha exchanged a confused look, “you sound like you’re leaving us behind,” she trailed off. 

When Rio averted her eyes, lips pressed in a thin line, you were sure you felt your heart shatter. 

“No, she’s not-” you looked at Agatha, hoping to have got it all wrong. But when you spotted tears welling up in her eyes, you realized the truth. 

“Rio, please, don’t do this–”

“I must. I can’t be seen around him,” her tone was sad, yet you could still feel the love filling each word. You kept shaking your head in denial. “Might be difficult to believe but there are women above me I respond to.” 

“The Fates have no power if you don’t do your part,” Agatha pointed out, hoping to be right.

Rio smacked her lips in return. “It’s not that simple. Atropos, the eldest of the three, could give me a really hard time if I disobey.” 

You clenched your jaw at her words. The thought of handing your son’s life in the hands of those crones made absolutely no sense to you. They shouldn’t be entitled to take the life of an innocent just like that. You were a necromancer witch, meaning that you could change things. For a long time you buried that part of yourself within you, because of the things you’ve been told all your life. Interfering with the natural order of the things was wrong; your power was an abomination, but at that moment, all those warnings sounded like bullshit. 

Rio sensed your distress, her fingers brushed yours, “I’ll keep him hidden for as long as I can.” 

Then she turned to Agatha and pointed at the baby in the silent, almost timid request to approach him. She still had to see him properly after all. Agatha nodded and moved the child so that he would face her, tucking a bit of the blanket underneath his chin to better expose his tiny face. 

Rio brushed a strand of Agatha’s hair first, “you did amazing, my love,” she praised her, causing a light brush on the witch’s cheeks. She couldn’t quite believe she, you three created such a beautiful baby boy from scratch. 

“Hi” she cooed, now focusing on the newborn. You leaned against the tree, the same tree Agatha was perched by, and looked from above the sweet interaction going on. Rio’s fingertips grazed over his tiny, perfect nose. “I can’t promise you a life devoid of challenges and pain, but I confide in your mothers to always make sure you’re happy and loved,” she lifted her eyes to meet yours and Agatha’s. A watery smile tugged at her lips, “And trust me, you’re so so loved already, little one.” 

You wiped the corners of your eyes and so did Agatha. 

“We should name him Nicholas,” she said after a moment of contemplation.  

Knowing the meaning of the name, you felt like you couldn’t agree more on it, “Nicholas Scratch,” you added, “cause we made him from scratch.” 

Rio turned towards you, while her fingers played with the baby’s tender little hands. “That’s perfect, my love. Isn’t it, Agatha?”

Agatha swallowed thickly, already mourning the loss of Rio, despite her being still there. She nodded, and then she tangled a hand in Rio’s hair, pulling her closer to her face. For a moment she only leaned against her forehead, inhaling her sweet scent of flowers. Then the Green Witch took the initiative and placed her lips on top of hers, savoring with extreme gentleness, the plumpiness of Agatha’s. You ran a hand in Agatha’s hair, fingers stroking her scalp to let her feel your presence too, while your eyes darted on Rio. When Agatha let out a choked sob in Rio’s mouth, overwhelmed by everything that had just happened in such a short time, the other hushed her softly, “it’s going to be okay.”

Neither you nor Agatha were sure about it, but you had no other choice than to believe her. 

“Take care of your moms, Nicky,” she later added, placing one last kiss on his forehead and then on Agatha’s. 

Once she stood up again, she focused her attention on you. In an ideal world, you’d be her enemy, because of the powers you possessed. And yet, against all the odds, you became her lover, one of the most important persons in her life. 

“Don’t be sad…”

You nibbled on your inner cheek so hard you drew blood. With your arms crossed over your chest, you struggled to spill a single word because you didn’t trust your voice at the moment. Your entire body was shaking on the inside. Agatha never saw you look so fragile before. It felt like a stab in her chest to witness her family fall apart like that. 

“You’re asking too much of me,” you kept your eyes down, focusing on the tip of your boots. 

“Nena, look at me,” Rio tried to meet your eyes, but you purposefully kept it down, shaking it stubbornly and hopelessly. She smiled, feigning hurt in her tone as she continued, “You wouldn’t let me go without a proper kiss now, would you?” 

Despite your best efforts, you let out a small watery chuckle at her playful teasing, “I hate that you’re doing this.”

“It’s for Nicky…” She said simply. 

Agatha buried her face in the baby’s naked shoulder, finding comfort in his pure and unique scent. 

“And I am sorry,” when you finally met her eyes, Rio cupped your cheeks, “so sorry you don’t get to be his mother. It’s your right to be.”

But Rio’s lips curled into a reassuring smile, despite her sadness. “Don’t be. I’ll get my turn eventually…  and for now, I’ll be his–”

“Please, don’t say shadow,” you muttered, and that elicited a small chuckle out of the Green Witch. If you turned around you’d see Agatha’s lips stretch into a smile too. 

“Guardian, then.”

You hummed and licked your lips, tasting the saltiness of your own tears in your mouth. 

“Now come here, I waited enough–” 

The witch pulled you closer with ease. Your body crashed into hers but it was okay because she was ready to hold you. 

Agatha could see Rio’s face as she hugged you. She spotted a single tear slip down her eye and her stomach lurched. When you two pulled away, Rio took a few steps back, pulling the green cloak over her head. She lingered a few seconds to memorize the scene before her. You dropped on your knees and landed next to Agatha. Her head immediately lolled on your shoulder, and you turned yours to place your lips in her hair. 

Rio waved softly, then blew a kiss to each of you, “Nos vemos, mis amores.” 

You and Agatha nodded quietly, watching the Green Witch disappear before your eyes. Agatha let out a silent sob when she did; your arms immediately wrapped around her and the baby in a protective embrace. 

“We will be fine, Aggs.” 

When Agatha met your gaze, eyes full of hope and vulnerability, you took a mental vow to protect her and Nicky whatever the cost. 

“Yeah,” she echoed with a smile you immediately reciprocated. She closed her eyes when you leaned in to brush your lips against her still clammy forehead. 

When the baby started crying again, you two pulled away and focused your attention on Nicky. He looked rather pale for your liking, a little warm too. You knew what he needed and so did Agatha. You placed a tender kiss on his cheek, Agatha’s lips curling into a soft smile, while you did. Then you stood, hands on your hips, eyes roaming around your surroundings like a predator looking for its prey. You didn’t want to do this, but you were just a mother trying to keep your son alive. 

When Agatha attempted to get up, you interjected, “stay here for now. Let me do the rest.”

Her expression shifted from confusion to worry, “You shouldn’t be doing this alone.”

“Agatha,” you merely rolled your eyes at that, “You just had our baby, I think it’s not the end of the world if you sit this one out,” your voice laced with a hint of playfulness despite the things you had to do. It’s not that you never killed before, cause you did. Not in cold blood though. You forced yourself into believing that it wouldn’t be much different. Once a wise person told you, a witch must do anything in her power to survive and there’s no shame in that. You were looking at her now, as her attention remained fixed on you. 

“Be careful,” it was supposed to sound like an order, but the softness in her eyes betrayed her. 

You chuckled lightly, “I always am,” you concluded, pulling the cloak up over your head. 

[jalebi-weds-bluetooth]

IPKKND OS: Unworthy

Word Count: 2,315. Genre: Angst Pairing: Arnav x Khushi

Khushi swayed on her knees, trying to get a grip on her life. Every time she tried to do something good, it spun into something worse.

The sky was clear, stars shining bright. Perhaps her parents were giving her some guidance. But tonight, she couldn’t look up.

Anjali's screams, her ability to kill her child out of shame, the monster that Shyam turned out to, the sham Khushi's marriage ended up being...

Because the only thing that made this marriage work was him. It was beyond her hands from the first day.

Her arms wrapped around herself tightly, not from the night chill - but to hold in the ache, the fury, the wreckage.

She was so angry on herself.

"Hey Devi Maiyya, I hope I don't regret this."

Khushi had known, known so deeply that she would come to regret not telling everyone about Shyam but she had feared. What if Anjali, upon knowing the truth on the day - killed herself?

Ever since Shyam entered their lives, she know any decision she would take would result in the worst outcome.

She had tried to take one that would hurt the less.

And now, after it all, she was lost in confusion.

The worst part wasn’t the kidnapping. Not the bruises on her arms or the long, sleepless nights that followed.

The worst part was Arnav’s eyes when he spoke. Before he turned away, before he left her.

It showed the truth. The truth he believed.

“Yes you are. You are responsible for everything.”

She didn’t cry. There was no need. His words had already etched deep enough to draw blood.

"You are the biggest mistake of my life."

She curled by the poolside, knees drawn to her chest. She could still smell his cologne in the air. The scent of him lingered like a memory that refused to fade - cruel and familiar. Her breath hitched once, twice - and then she slept.

She never heard Arnav return, regret heavy on his footsteps.

She did not hear him crouch by her, hands hovering mid air, hesitating before placing a blanket over her.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll talk to her.

But when he woke the next morning, she was gone.

And she wasn't the only one missing - Anjali was gone too.

Arnav had no time to check in on his throbbing headache, dipping sugar levels or the multiple bruises on his body.

He was going to lose his sister, again.

The house was in disarray. None of the Prakashes had seen her. Nani hadn’t either.

It was Manorama who stirred the storm,

“I saw phati sari near Anjali’s room before sunrise. Maybe she said something again. This is why these girls bring so much tension-”

Arnav didn’t wait to hear the rest. Panic rising, he went room to room, calling for both of them, checking the garden, the kitchen, the driveway.

Then he remembered - the temple.

He found them there, both wearing red sarees. Where Khushi found the strength to deck up two days after family trauma - was beyond him.

Anjali stood nearby, holding a diya, trying to light it with trembling fingers. Khushi reached out gently to help. When Anjali lifted the sindoor, Khushi’s hand caught her wrist - a silent, desperate plea.

And then Anjali, without a word, threw the sindoor pot away.

It shattered on the steps. Red powder splattered like blood.

The crowd gasped.

That was enough.

“What the hell are you doing here, Khushi?” he thundered.

She flinched but didn’t move.

She didn’t look up.

“I asked you something,” he growled again.

Her fingers tightened around the edge of the thali. Her jaw set. But still, she said nothing.

He marched toward her, grabbed her arm, forced her to stand. She burned in humiliation as the priest stopped chanting and eyes turned toward her.

“I asked you something!” he roared again.

She didn’t respond. She didn’t look up. Her hands just gently pressed the thali to the stone, like it was her last anchor.

He gripped her arms, tight enough to leave a bruise as he demanded answers. Khushi fought to keep her tears at bay.

Her marriage was an open secret, but she felt the last shreds of dignity fade as everyone saw the marriage for what it was.

“Don’t you get it? You’ve been told a thousand times — stay the hell away from my sister!”

“Enough, Chhote.”

Anjali’s voice was soft but sharp as a blade. Her palm came to rest on his shoulder, steadying him - or maybe herself.

"Arnav ji, I-"

He silenced her with a glare.

Khushi’s eyes dropped to the temple floor, shame closing in like a noose.

He growled, “Why are you both here?”

Anjali met his gaze this time. Unwavering.

"It's Teej Chhote,"

He blinked.

She glanced back at Khushi, then met his eyes.

“We’re here for our husbands.”

She let the words settle like dust before adding, with devastating calm-

“For our unworthy husbands.”

Arnav went still.

Anjali let the diya fall into the tray and stepped down the temple steps. She paused beside Khushi, brushing a hand across her cheek - a gesture of forgiveness, of understanding. Then she walked past him, letting Mohan guide her back to her car.

When Anjali had watched Khushi, earlier that morning - whispering a prayer and apologies to Devi Maiyya, she knew.

She had seen Khushi fast in silence, fight her own hunger, her own hurt - not because of some tradition, but because love refused to die even when dignity did.

“Khushi, I-” Arnav turned to her but Khushi was already gone. Her steps light, her presence even lighter, as she disappeared into the morning crowd and into the nearest auto

Arnav stood among marigolds and burning incense, surrounded by prayers he never believed in - and wondered how a woman he had accused of ruining lives could still wish for his to be long.

Just how many more times could he make the same mistake?

Later that evening, Shantivan was tense.

Arnav came home to silence. No one said anything. Even Anjali had retreated into her room with her thaal and mangalsutra left by the temple.

"Anjali bitiya has accepted the truth," Nani started and brushed Arnav's hair, "now you accept it too, because if you cannot - you won't be able to forgive me either."

"What do you mean Nani?" Arnav asked, holding her frail hands.

"I am responsible for your mother's death." Nani whispered.

The minute Devyani knew of the affair, she knew she had to tell her daughter. With her mother by her side, Ratna wouldn't go and kill herself, right? She would have taken the support and love of her children to stay strong! And a man like Arvind couldn't be trusted when he begged Devyani to not tell Ratna about the affair!

But as one who was always fair, she decided to go and tell her daughter the truth!

"And we all know what happened after that. So I understand, I just know what Khushi and Payal bitiya mean when they say they kept it in to save the families. Yes, they could have been more right about it but there's no knowing, is there?" Devyani brushed away her grandson's tears.

She didn't realize how much him breaking down would break her old spirit.

Arnav hugged her, letting tears stream away.

It was too much.

After a moment her broke away, grimacing a little as his tear stung a wound. He signaled Hari Prakash to bring some tea.

"Anyways, uh... where's Akash?"

“Akash bitwa? He's at Payaliya's” she said. “She is keeping her fast too.”

Arnav blinked. “He went?”

Devyani nodded, sipping tea. “Quietly. Out of custom. And guilt." Arnav nodded.

"He'll come around Chhote, he always does. But will you?" Arnav looked up, surprised.

"Nani... I-"

"Chhote, I knew a man who promised to love a woman like none other. But he couldn't control his vices." Devyani sighed, "and you, can't control your anger. So either you act, or leave her."

"Na-"

"Please." Devyani held her grandson's hand, hoping there was some of her daughter in him.

Arnav left without another word.

-- -- --

The Gupta house was dimly lit. He stood outside the gate for longer than necessary, unsure if he deserved to enter.

Inside, Madhumati sat silently while Payal applied balm to Khushi’s forehead. Akash had left, promising to come back tomorrow.

Khushi hadn’t spoken much since she returned. Just asked to stay alone. But she refused to eat. She didn’t want the fast broken.

Garima looked aghast and ashamed. Neither girl spoke to their mother. Madhumati had cloth tied around her head to fend off another pending headache.

She knew Garima had pushed the girls into taking the wrong step. Except, post the Shyam fiasco, Madhumati lost confidence in her own decision making.

If only she had stood ground and told the family the truth they deserved to know.

And with Arnav not having showed up-

The door creaked.

Arnav stepped in.

Madhumati stared at him with the weight of a woman who had watched too much go wrong.

“She hasn’t eaten,” she said simply.

He didn’t look at her. He looked at Khushi - frail, pale, yet somehow glowing in the moonlight filtering through the window.

He knelt beside her. She looked at him, concerned, pleading, as the rest of her family peaked at them.

She knew what they were thinking. They were worried how Arnav would react. They knew he knew, and they knew he wasn't one to forgive. Would he forgive the Guptas? Would he take the anger out on Khushi? Why did Arnav marry her so quickly if he had known-had he?

"I'm sorry Buaji for arriving late, I must have you all worried-"

"Babua, we're so sorry, Khushi actually wanted-" Madhumati began, hoping for the best.

"Buaji please. I understand. I really do. If you don't mind, can I be here tonight?"

A weight lifted off Madhumati's shoulders. She rushed towards Arnav, hugging him tightly.

"Babua this is your home. Never ask ever, again. I'll set the table for both of you." Madhumati lightly kissed Khushi's head and left, giving the couple privacy.

"Thank you," Khushi whispered.

"I'm sorry," Arnav said, taking the balm from the side table and pressing it on her forehead.

"Arnav ji, they're gone-"

"I'm not doing this for appearances, I'm sorry." He worked his fingers on her temples. Khushi held his hand and pushed it aside, gently.

"Arn-"

“I didn’t come to break your fast,” he said quietly.

Her eyes shifted, barely meeting his. “Then why are you here?”

He swallowed. “Because... I don’t want to be the man you pray in spite of. I want to be someone you pray for.”

She looked away.

“I said things I can’t unsay.”

“I heard things I can’t unhear.”

The silence between them tightened, thick with every misstep they’d ever made. And his, always, outweighed hers.

"Khushi, I don't know where to begin-"

"Then don't." Khushi curled into the sofa, hiding her face in her dupatta.

And then she whispered: “Why does this feel like punishment?”

He shook his head, voice breaking. “Because we don’t know what to do with it. Because I don't know what to do with it.”

There was nothing grand about this confession. Just a man, tired of hurting the only person who made him feel human.

“Babua, here’s dinner.” Madhumati placed two plates on the table and quietly returned to her room, giving them space.

Khushi sat without moving. Her hands were folded in her lap, eyes on the rice that steamed gently in the thali.

“Khushi?” Arnav’s voice was soft now, almost careful. He reached toward the plate and gave her a spoon. She gingerly took a bite, and then took the plate and headed for the courtyard.

-- -- --

Later, when the house was still and the moon had shifted to its deepest silver, she came to find him by other side of the house. He was seated cross-legged on a bench, fingers turning something over slowly in his lap.

It was his thali.

Filled with food she hadn’t seen him eat.

Her breath caught.

“You… you didn’t eat?”

Arnav looked away.

“Why?”

He gave a dry, broken chuckle. “Because what’s the point of living long if I have to do it without you?”

Her throat tightened. "You don't believe in this..."

“You do. And maybe, if I can’t be a man worthy of love yet, I can be one who learns from it.”

He pulled a folded paper from his pocket. Set it gently on the table between them.

Divorce papers.

Signed.

Tears pricked her eyes.

“I told my lawyer to send these weeks ago,” he said. “I didn’t want to give them to you in anger.”

Khushi stared at the papers, then at him.

“I know someone,” he continued, voice low, “who apparently loved the woman he killed. I am ending up becoming like him, regardless. So you’re free, Khushi. Truly free.”

Arnav waited with bated breath, watching her take the papers in her hand, read its contents and place it back on the bench.

She looked down, slowly tearing a piece of roti from the plate beside her. She dipped it in the dal, hands trembling slightly, and lifted it to his mouth.

He didn’t resist.

He opened his mouth. Took it in.

And something shifted.

“I hope I live long enough,” she murmured, voice barely above a whisper, “to argue with you.”

He blinked, startled. A small sound escaped him - something between a laugh and a choked breath.

“Because there are many, many things I still need to say to you.”

He looked at her like the world was giving him a second chance.

She reached for another bite.

And this time, her hands weren’t shaking.

--- --- --- ---

A/N: This is a request of @pakki-ya-nahin that I'm fulfilling after five years. God & PyN - forgive me if you can darlin'. Tagging: @chutkiandchotte @dreaming-star @professor-cant-fuck @thedupattaknowswhatsup @bigfatreader @muttonthings @da-ka-ba @fresh-child-bouquet @hand-picked-star @fancydreamphilosopher @scorpio-smiles @thenainitaldisaster @titaliya @sankititaliya @sampigehoovu @jalebicheesecake @dnkkpi @nammy07

[libellule-ao3]

Distorted Mirrors

OS written and shared for @tamayula-hl 😊

OS | Rating: T | Sebastian x MC (Sakurako) | approx. 1900 words.

A/N: Upon reading her HC [Link] about the relationship between Sebastian and Sakurako, I was immediately struck by the circumstances of Sebastian’s first marriage proposal. This passage encompassed everything I love to explore: angst, the complexity of toxic relationships, tortured characters, and Sebastian’s duality. The section written from his POV was the first piece I drafted about this pairing, but I needed more time to better understand Sakurako before daring to explore her perspective, which is nevertheless essential to this fanfiction. This OS is, above all, a tribute to the depth @tamayula-hl brings to her characters & their dynamics.

As always, I hope it resonates with you, despite any potential missteps or errors on my part (ESL writer). 🤞

Summary:

As Sebastian desperately tries to keep Sakurako by his side, even resorting to manipulating her feelings and forcing her into an impossible choice, she questions their future, torn between her love for him and the realisation of their relationship’s toxicity.

Sebastian

Something was wrong.

He could feel it in the way Sakurako’s gaze fled his, in the distance that grew between them or in the silences that stretched like shadows at dusk, filled with unspoken words.

Their love seemed to fade little by little, to become a kind of mirage, and this thought took his breath away, leaving him suspended on the edge of emptiness. Since the catacombs, since Solomon’s death and losing Anne, who refused to forgive him, everything that had once been solid in his life was now in ruins.

Even Ominis had grown somewhat distant, tired of his excesses.

Sakurako, for her part, had picked up the pieces of what was left of him, reassembling them into something fragile but real. She had become the glue that held the shattered fragments of his being together, and he couldn’t lose her. Not after everything they’d been through.

The panic that surged inside him at this threat was cold and implacable, a terror that only grew with each moment he saw her slipping further away. He knew their bond was imperfect, born of helplessness and despair, nourished by loneliness and grief. And yet it was impossible to let go. She was his reason for living, the only thread holding him back from the precipice.

Ominis had said it was an addiction, a desperate need, but in his eyes, it was love. His only love. Should this embrace prove more toxic than a constrictor snake’s, then so be it!And so an idea came to him.

A desperate plan, dictated by his visceral fear: seal their fate in front of everyone in the Great Hall. A public scene that would leave no room for escape, trapping Sakurako under the weight of hundreds of stares. She hated being the centre of attention and would never have the strength to say "no" in such a situation. That was precisely why he had chosen this moment, this place. It was cruel, perhaps, but he couldn’t lose her — not after everything they had endured.

When the day came, Sebastian felt the little suede case in his pocket, a weight reminding him at every moment of the importance of what he was about to do. The Great Hall was noisy, full of life, laughter and cross-talk, but to him it all seemed strangely distant, as if he were observing the scene through a pane of glass. His eyes finally found Sakurako entering the Great Hall with Poppy Sweeting, who was no doubt telling her some new anecdote about magical creatures. She looked so far away, out of reach, and this distance rekindled his fear like a bright flame.

He made his way towards her, ignoring the intrigued looks, the silent disapproval of Ominis and the whispers as he passed. When he stopped in front of her, he dropped to his knees and all the hubbub in the room died down; the conversations suspended in palpable anticipation. Poppy slipped discreetly away, leaving Sakurako facing him, exposed to all eyes. He saw her swallow, her gaze shifting from him to the jewellery box he was taking out, then to the dozens of curious faces around them.

“Sakurako,” he said, his voice sounding louder than he’d intended.He gave her the most charming smile in his repertoire as he opened the box to reveal a beautiful engagement ring.

“I know I’m not perfect, that I’ve made mistakes, but I love you more than anything, and I can’t imagine my life without you. So let me ask you–”

His hands trembled with emotion. His eyes sought hers, begging for an answer, but all he saw was surprise, hesitation, a thinly veiled fear...

She wanted to flee... It was as plain as the nose on her face.

Sebastian chose to ignore this. He couldn’t back down now.

“–Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”

The question wasn’t really a question. It was a plea. A disguised injunction. A trap set with which she could only escape by daring to face the silent judgement of all those witnesses.

She smiled, but it was a vulnerable smile, more fragile than a fairy wing, ready to break at any moment. Yet he clung to it like a castaway to a plank.A soft, barely audible “Yes” came from her, requiring him to strain his ear to catch it.

Relief flooded through him, accompanied by a thunder of applause, cheers and festive whistles, eliminating everything in its path, chasing away all shadows and doubts to make way for an overwhelming sense of victory. He slipped the ring onto her finger and rose to kiss her, ignoring the trembling of her lips, the restraint of her tongue and the rigidity of her body against his.

It didn’t matter.

Sakurako was his, and she would never leave.

A little voice inside him, which sounded strangely like Ominis’s, reminded him a heart captured through cunning is not truly won. But Sebastian refused to listen.

As long as Sakurako remained by his side, he would do anything to convince himself that everything would be all right.

Sakurako

Sakurako knew something was wrong.

It wasn’t something she could name straight away, but it persisted, heavy and insistent, in the burning heat of Sebastian’s gaze.

She could see it in the way his eyes locked onto her, as if he had been memorising every detail, like a man etching in his mind a shoreline doomed to disappear beneath the waves.

She could hear it in the silence after his laugh had died down.

She perceived it from his smiles that flickered too quickly, an unease settling in their wake.Sebastian had always been intense. That intensity had been part of what had drawn her to him in the first place – the fierce, burning love that had threatened to consume him completely. The relentless need to protect those he loved, even if it meant ignoring their boundaries – or trampling everything in his path.

But lately, that flame had been extinguished, its light replaced by a dark, oppressive pressure. It was something she couldn’t explain, but she could feel it, suffocating in the silence.

Sakurako loved him. She didn’t doubt it, just as she didn’t doubt the ache that gripped her chest – a weight that felt as much as freedom as captivity.

She loved him with a strength that left no room for anything else. And yet, sometimes, a cruel thought made its way into her heart:

Did Sebastian really love her, or just his idea of her?

Was she just a figure of attachment shaped by the absences of Anne, Solomon, and all that he had lost?

Their love was anything but light.

The witch sometimes compared it to a vine that wrapped itself around the two of them, holding them up even though it threatened to strangle them. Together, they held on, but at what price?

Sakurako lived with the quiet certainty that one day Sebastian would see the truth. He would look at her and realise that his love was born out of nothing but grief. A desperate attempt to fill the void.

And when that day would come, she feared his gaze might burn her just as intensely, but this time with resentment. Then in her worst nightmares, his voice echoed with dreaded words:

“It’s all your fault.”

Words she feared all the more because they were true. If she hadn’t helped Sebastian, none of this would have happened.

As she began to imagine her life after Hogwarts, a decision took shape, a choice so devastating it tore at her heart: she had to leave him.

It was not a resolution taken lightly. On the contrary, it was a carefully considered necessity.

Love should never feel like a prison. Nor be tainted by insecurity.

So Sakurako wrote him a letter. It was less complicated this way. Face to face, she would waver, as she always did when he was close to her. In this message, she expressed her love for him, reminded him of their wounds, and their need for time to heal, to rebuild... one without the other.

She waited until the following Saturday to give it to him, a day devoid of classes when it would be easier to avoid any confrontation while waiting for him to digest the news. But Sebastian, it seemed, had his own plans.

A few days later, as she entered the Great Hall with Poppy for dinner, the atmosphere changed. The steady hum of conversation faded, replaced by murmurs and a tangible sense of anticipation. That’s when she saw him approaching in long strides. Each of his steps struck the stone, the sharp cluck of his shoes asserting his unyielding presence in the crowded room. His face showed determination, and his aura dominated the space. Her heart compressed in her chest as she guessed what he was about to do before he even reached her.

“Sebastian, no! Not here... Please… Not like this…” she screamed in her mind.

But the words wouldn’t come out. They were stuck in her throat, and she felt trapped by a hundred stares. Slowly, he knelt down in front of her and took a small box out of his pocket.

“Sakurako,” he began, “I know I’m not perfect, that I’ve made mistakes, but I love you more than anything else in the world, and I can’t imagine my life without you. So, let me ask you–”

The Earth turned upside down. Her heart was pounding in her chest and her hands were clammy and trembling. Her instincts were screaming at her to say no, to stop before it was too late. But she was frozen, trapped by the unbearable weight of all those stares.All those expectant faces, those smiles filled with envy, preventing her from catching her breath.

To refuse here and now was to condemn Sebastian to public humiliation. He knew that.

An affront she didn’t have the strength to inflict on him. He knew that, too.

Her panicked gaze swept around the Great Hall, like a condemned prisoner looking for a miracle. But wherever her eyes landed, she was met only with envious faces or faces eager to hear her acceptance, adorned with a naïve smile that knew nothing of the storm inside her. Every whisper, every glance seemed to tighten the invisible chains that imprisoned her. Silent witnesses to her surrender, unaware that every second they were forging the bars of a cage she had never chosen.

He looked at her, his features taut with a fragile balance of hope and despair. The cold possessiveness in his brown eyes was a shadow she couldn’t ignore.

Saying “no” would break him. Saying “yes” meant surrendering to a gilded cage.

Her lips almost parted of their own accord, betraying a “yes” she desperately wanted to stifle. Three little letters that left a taste of ash in her mouth. Glowing, he stood up, slipping the ring onto her finger with a trembling, practically feverish hand.When he kissed her, the warmth of his lips contrasted cruelly with the coldness of the stone in her stomach. She remained motionless, unable to respond to his passion, while in the back of her mind, church bells announced, not their union, but his triumph.

Her conscience whispered that she had just made a terrible mistake. And her heart clung to the hope that perhaps, in time, they could learn to love each other as they deserved.

But Sakurako knew it wouldn’t be easy. With Sebastian, nothing ever was.

Masterlist

[saras-almanac]

So I’ve been sitting on my feelings about the BuckTommy breakup and handling of it for a while, trying to get my thoughts in order. And after a while of thinking on it—and the recent Lou interview dropping making me feel like my feelings are valid—kind of made me want to just blurt them all out and hope for the best. So this is that.

Ultimately the entire handling of the BuckTommy breakup feels cruel. And not just cruel in an intentional way, but cruel in a casually, not even given any thought cruelty, which is worse sometimes. And to be honest, I think that’s part of why I’ve been struggling with it so much. (That and the echoes of Magicians season 4, which if you know you know).

What I mean by cruelty is just the lack of any real effort or care put into this storyline, one that they had previously been handled with so much care and concern and were praised (rightly so) for at the time. It’s the way they introduce this Tommy as Abby’s ex thing, which makes hardly any sense at all, but also feels cruel in the intention of laughing at the invisible string of fate theory between them. It’s they way that they’re 6 months anniversary and not only have they not talked about this, but Buck (Evan Buckley) didn’t get him a gift that feels cruel because that feels so wildly out of character for him. It’s the way they had the break up play into some bisexual stereotypes at best and inherently biphobic at worst by having Maddie suggest Abby turned him gay or that Buck needs to “explore” things to figure out what he wants or that Buck “Doesn’t know what pond to jump back into” of it all. (Not to mention the comments from OS about wanting Buck to fuck—which I’m not getting into because I didn’t read it and as a bisexual woman, don’t feel the need to go and try to find something that might upset me more.)

All those reasons are why the breakup itself is cruel to the characters, but it’s also cruel to those of us watching, and especially to anyone and everyone who loved and/or related to the character of Tommy, who we see walk away much much worse off than when we found him. It’s the way the story (intentionally or not) is framing it like a romcom break up – make up – pining storyline which they apparently are not doing according to interviews. It’s the way they didn’t give any sort of closure to Tommy for the character or for the audience.

There’s a reason that people lose themselves in stories—it’s because they follow certain rules and contracts. It’s expected that stories do not match up to real life because while things don’t have bigger meanings in life or they don’t work out according to plan, in stories, everything happens for a reason. Because that’s the whole point of what you’re consuming. And along with that, emotional moments are meant to feel cathartic in a way, at least eventually, because you were able to see the bigger picture, to feel the finality to things, and to really understand what’s being said and what’s happening. This breakup does none of that and actually seems to have been included and rushed for shock value and that to me, is just shitty, lazy writing.

If you were going to break them up and have no desire for any sort of reunion or closure, why not make it intentional? Tommy could be the one who wants marriage and kids and settling down and Buck internally freaks out because theoretically he wants that but maybe it’s too soon and as much as Tommy loves Buck, he’s not going to wait around and hope that Buck feels the same for him because he’s been hurt too many times like that. Or Tommy could be leaving for another state because he’s no longer going to be a firefighter or needs to go for family reasons or gets a job at a different station that he applied for ages ago and he has everything all set up and isn’t going to ask Buck to leave his entire life for Tommy, so they decide to breakup even if it hurts both of them. In either of those cases, it’s sad and devastating, but at least there would be some closure to it and understanding of it for both the characters and the audience and some peace knowing that at least these two are going to be moving toward happiness in whatever way that means for them.

Instead, what we have, is a hail-mary last-second breakup that comes out of nowhere and feels abrupt and crappy in the way we leave Tommy specifically because we might never see him again. And that is the crux of the issue. Because the way this was written, the understanding is that they are going to get back together or reunion or at least have that final closure conversation—because that’s what happens in stories. We see this type of surprise breakups, breakups where they issue is they love each other too much and are afraid to go further (Athena/Bobby and Maddie/Chimney to name two examples we saw in universe) only to eventually fight to be together and realize that if they don’t take a chance they might never know how amazing it is. So the fact that it’s set up to follow this same path while nearly every interview is telling the opposite, again demonstrates that casual cruelty as well as an inherent failure on the writing. If you have to go in interview and explain what it is you wrote or are telling, then you have failed as a writer. It’s really as simple as that.

This breakup doesn’t feel set up or foreshadowed, it just feels like they added it on because they didn’t want to do anything more with it? And that feels incredibly crappy as a decision to so many people who related to Buck and Tommy and them coming out later in life and all those other things. I’m rambling and on my phone and feeling a lot of things that I can’t fully express right now, but the long and short of it: If this was always intended to be the final time we see Tommy, this breakup is even crueler than intended.

[coff33andb00ks]

3am - LN & OP

lando norris x oscar piastri

summary: look at the stars, look how they shine for you warnings: angst, pining, not proofread songs: yellow and fix you by coldplay coldplay is landoscar coded wordcount: 1.3k a.n.: writing this in the hopes landoscar get out of my brain… shout out to the four moots that encouraged this. also not tagging anyone because it's 2:30am and I'm exhausted.

He can't sleep. It isn't unusual, his insomnia tend to rear its ugly head when he least needs it. He only wishes he could prepare in advance, that it was a cycle that he could predict and plan for, like his sisters with their apps that are set to warn the entire family when their PMS is approaching.

Dragging a hand over his face, he glares at the ceiling. Great. Now he's thinking about his sisters' cycles.

There's nothing for it but to just get up. No use fighting it and tossing and turning, that only leads to—

A husky moan. Teeth sinking into the lip he'd just sucked. Jaw carved from the gods' finest marble clenching.

"Lan…"

Cinnamon and mint.

Dreams that will never come true.

He presses his hands to his face, hunching over on the side of the bed. The hotel room is too small, too warm, too—

Lonely.

"Fuck this," he hisses, on his feet and snatching up his hoodie.

Torture. He willingly submits to it, knowing it will only leave him feeling hollow and alone when he returns to his room. But it's all he has. All he can cling to on a night like this, when the voices and thoughts won't stop, when the butterflies and bees are swarming inside him.

When the doubts and the worries rise over the shoddy façade of outgoing and joyful, there's only one thing that can quell them.

One person.

He's pinned his hopes all on someone who can never fully know the truth. The one person who understands him best, who knows him better than he does himself, whose name he proudly wears on his wrist.

The last person he wants to lie to, but shields the truth from.

The truth. The tiny, glowing ember of good sentiment that has somehow been crafted among the ruins of his fractured existence. He holds it closer to his heart than his very soul, fearful of it dying if revealed to a cruel world. Or, worse, an uninterested recipient.

He stares at the door. It's – he pulls his cracked phone from his pocket – almost three in the morning. Horrible friend, waking him this time of night.

A muffled sound. A footstep or a chair sliding under a table. His rounded shoulders straighten, his lowered head lifts.

He knocks. Just twice, like he always does when it's just him. If someone was with him it would be incessant. Knockknockknockknockknockknockknock— fucking hell, what?!

The door opens and he breathes in shampoo and lingering steam.

The universe hates him sometimes.

"Lando?"

One day, the sound of his name in that voice won't make his heart do that weird flippy thing. One day, it won't make his lip quirk up into a half smile. One day, he won't sigh.

Not today. Not tonight.

"Osco."

Osco. Osc. Os. Oscar looks at him with that confused pinched brow that immediately relaxes.

What's it like, to really be seen?

Heartbreaking.

Oscar steps back without a word and weak legs carry him into the mirror of his room. The bed is messy and it makes his stomach clench.

Dreams.

"Sor—"

He quiets with a look. He ducks his head, picking at his fingers. He wants to apologize again, for apologizing to begin with, and he wants to apologize once more for always needing to apologize, for being such a fucking mess that he is standing here in Oscar's hotel room at 3am instead of sleeping peacefully in his own.

"Tell me about it?"

Not what's wrong. Not why are you here. Never leave me alone.

Always tell me about it. Share your worries, lean on me, I'm your friend and your teammate, you're not doing this alone.

"I don't…" Wanna talk about it. Just let me stand here. Bask in the calming glow of your star until I can pretend to be a human again. "I don't… Why are you up?"

Oscar shrugs. His smile is faint. "Had a feeling."

"Oh." Oh. Because he hears the unspoken words, feels the unspoken sentiment.

Had a feeling you'd need me, so I waited up for you.

He wants to cry because no one else cares enough to wait up for him.

"Oh."

His face looks haunted, his eyes like they may produce tears at any second.

Heart in his throat, he sits on the bed. He knows better than to prod, knows all too well that the golden man standing by his suitcase will snarl and bite when provoked. So he waits.

Watching.

He's tense, his deceptively lean frame giving off waves of stress and worry and—

"Can't sleep," Lando whispers.

Exhaustion.

He nods, even though Lando isn't looking at him. Except he is, he can see his reflection in the mirror. Stormy green eyes are watching him, as though he holds all the answers to the world's problems.

Or, if not the world's, Lando's.

Same thing.

"I'm worried about tomorrow." A humorless, breathy exhalation that passes for a chuckle. "Today."

He's been worried since Austria. His insecurities are rising after simmering since Miami when the world's stage witnessed his greatness.

If I don't keep winning how can I prove I'm worthy?

If I don't glow for the world how can anyone love me?

"I hate Silverstone," he breathes.

Not the PR lie, about how special his home track is, the memories he has of it as a child, how the crowd gives him an indescribable energy. He hates it for the expectation. It's his home race so he has to perform well. His car has to be the fastest, the strats have to be impeccable, because he can't let the people that believe in him down.

Worse, he can't let himself down, as he's been doing for two months.

Oscar's heart splinters. No one will ever be as hard on Lando as Lando. No one takes on the blame for an entire team, an entire grid, like the man turning and sinking onto the bed.

Not the golden man the fans and media see, but the shy boy Oscar knows better than he knows himself. The perfectly imperfect extroverted introvert with a heart as pure as the twinkling stars in a night sky. The favorite child still terrified of disappointing his parents, the favorite brother that cries when has to miss an important milestone.

There's a space between them and before the billions of reasons he shouldn't come to mind Oscar closes it. The stars are there, twinkling still, shielded behind a cloud. Their arms touch and he wishes he could exhale and send the clouds away. He can't though, so he sits and waits, umbrella at the ready, an open ear and a sturdy shoulder.

It's a small percentage of what he's willing to give.

It's all that's wanted.

"Tell me I'm stupid."

"You're not stupid."

His shoulder's round and he's staring at his hands. Picking at his fingers. Knee bouncing.

Pure frenetic energy.

Oscar watches the knee and the fingers. Sees his own hand reach out.

Cool fingers, warm hand. Pale over gold.

Chins lift, heads swivel.

Mint eyes. Worry and heartbreak spill over and his own name is a whispered prayer.

Osco.

"You're not stupid," he says. The floodgate opens. "You don't have to believe that. I'll believe it for you until you're ready. I'll believe in you when you can't. I'll stay up 'til 3 so you can rest. And I'll provide the words you pretend to not remember."

That you started doing to make me feel needed. It worked. And now I know you do need me but more importantly I need you.

Golden fingers spread, slotting between his.

The clouds thin and the stars shine brighter than ever.

[heystephen]

swiftie dashboard simulator

mutual 1: i jsut realized taylor has been my best friend for 15 years im cryinh os hard

mutual 2: im severely in debt and actually cannot pay my bills hehe but i just spent $150 on taylors store <3

mutual 3: not to be dramatic but there i was again tonight forcing laughter faking smiles same old tired lonely place-

mutual 4: im not a gaylor but *5 paragraph analysis about dianna and taylors friendship and wonderland*

mutual 5: i need to fuck the vigilante shit eras tour performance

mutual 6: reblog of a poll where all too well 10 minute version or cruel summer is sweeping

mutual 7: the debut sucks so bad i dont know why it even exists

mutual 8: mutual 7 is going to hell

mutual 9: reblog of a taylorswiftstyle post expressing shock over the price of taylors outfit in the tags

mutual 10: *completely innocent looking picture of taylor* SHE IS SO SICK

mutual 11: I DONT HAVE TO PRETEND I LIKE ACID ROCK

mutual 12: society if cruel summer had been the lead single from lover

mutual 13: aaron dessner is like a sister to me

[toasty-self-shipping]

Very late rambling post because I want to share my two cents on the whole nonsharing thing In the community

Coming from someone who has been self shipping since I 15 I can understand how those self shippers feels about other people having the same f/os of them and it’s ok to feel a little uncomfortable but you know what we are not going to do? go behind their back and say cruel things about them there’s a thing called the block button and filter tags and all it takes is to press them and move on with your self ship there is no need to be a jerk behind closed doors sending anonymous threats to the self shipper please remember that your f/o is fictional and the other self shipper is a real human being who can actually get their feelings hurt

[maudiemoods]

So so so sleepy help

[azaharinflames]

I was just thinking back on a post I recently made on how the first hospital scene in 805 made me think we were good. That they had too good of a thing, of a dynamic, to suddenly stop it in 806.

And that's the thing - previous to the airing of 805, I was nervous about the future of BuckTommy. We had had very little of them in S8, so they could've done whatever they wanted with them in 805. Like many people, I wondered if the hurdles would already appear in 805 and would culminate in 806.

And then 805 happened and I felt very secure. I saw how they treated BT, how well Tommy fit in, and how much they showed he was the exact partner Buck had needed all along. Granted, some of OS's interviews made me a bit nervous, but 805 had them in such a solid and good place that I felt somewhat confident.

And then 806 felt like a punch to the gut. I don't care if they did 805 like that so 806 would hurt more because that's such a cruel decision. Especially towards fans who had been harassed for months by the Buddie shippers, especially to their queer audience who truly needed a win, and now they see some of their representation being taken away.

It's even more cruel because it could've been done so much better. They could've either made it so some tiny cracks we saw in 805, or they could've made it so the break up was over something impossible to reconcile or fix, not - they both love each other but Tommy is terrified of Evan breaking his heart.

I am aware the open ending is intentional. But at the same time, right now it feels cruel and incomplete. They would rather not fully close the door on this, just in case, I know. Or Tim can think it over and decide what to do in 8b.

But everything leaves a sour taste in my mouth, and leaves me with the feeling that I've been played in the absolute worst way.

[calypso707]

Can I request a Druid tav x Astarion? Where over time and a ton of talks about it Astarion allows tav to try different ways to flatten his scars on his back? Different lotions/creams and massages? Not necessarily making them disappear but flattening them enough so their not as raised and angry.

That’s a good one, i hope you'll like it, it was a bit more challenging but I enjoyed writing it. I've done it differently, though. I preferred to write the first time they treat his scars. Please don't hesitate to send me feedback ! Enjoy ! (๑˘︶˘๑)

OS - Astarion x Gn druid reader : On your skin.

Since you were a child, you had always imagined that you'd spend your life in the Circle, at the service of nature and protecting the balance. But recent events had completely turned your life upside down: your kidnapping by mind flayers, the crash of their nautiloid, the victory over the goblins… Not to mention the roommate you had in your skull. And these events, however improbable, had driven you to create the strangest alliances.

Your favorite time of day was when you returned to your camp in the Wilderness. You enjoyed the calm that settles all around you as soon as night fell, you liked to hear the wood creak under the fire, you loved to gaze up at the sky as if to interpret the messages left by the stars, you even caught yourself listening for the animals prowling nearby. Oak Father, you loved those quiet moments. You knelt at the edge of the shore, not far from your tent, your eyes closed and your breathing stilled to the rhythm of the waves undulating in the wind. You allowed your mind to wander, you were surrounded by strange companions and you had permitted your heart to fall in with the most unusual being of all.

Astarion.

A vampire.

If your Circle were to find out… For many, vampires were an abomination of nature, but for you, he was just a magistrate with immoral tendencies and a liking for blood. You did not know if the feeling was mutual, and you did not particularly want to find out. Astarion cherished his freedom and it was just as meaningful to you. He had spent much of his spawn life in the service of a cruel lord who had submitted him to all kinds of vices. You thought back to the inscriptions carved into the flesh of his back and how he must have suffered.

A throat-clearing sounded above you and you opened your eyes. Speaking of the devil.. You did not even hear him coming. Astarion was standing in front of you, looking… Unsure?

"I've been thinking about what you said. About my… Scars."

You stood up to face him properly, inviting him with a nod to continue.

"I would like you to treat them to make them less, well.. Noticeable," he added. "They do not, of course, affect my beauty, but if you could make them more pleasing to the eye, I would not say no."

You rolled your eyes at his words. The two of you had discussed this several times. You simply offered to help, you had no wish to erase them because they were part of him. You just wanted to make them less sensitive so you were waiting for him to give you permission. "All right, I will take care of it. Let's go to my tent, so we can have some privacy"

You gestured for him to follow you, which he surprisingly did without protesting. You entered the tent, which was large enough for just one person. On the right was your paillasse, surrounded by books of various subjects. On the left, a huge solid wood table held all your herbs, elixirs, ointments and recipes. You invited him to sit on a wooden stool beside you.

"Let me have a look"

Astarion seemed to hesitate for a moment and finally removed his shirt before tossing it onto your bed. He seemed almost… uncomfortable. Yet it was not the first time you had seen him half-naked. You stood behind him and slowly brought your fingers to his scarred skin.

"May I?"

"Yes," He replied in a breath, his unease was palpable. He seemed vulnerable.

You gently ran your fingers over his upper back, cautiously brushing his scars. You felt him flinch slightly at the warmth of your skin, which contrasted with the coldness of his. It was the first time you had seen them so closely. The Language of the Hells had been carved into his flesh two centuries ago, and you could still guess the pain he must have felt. According to him, it was a poem, a very strange poem. The cruelty of the act made your heart ache and your stomach twist. How could he have survived such pain?

"It was a surprise. As you can see, Cazador's surprises are never good ones," commented Astarion.

You looked up at the mirror in front of you, and although his reflection was not visible, you could see you touching his invisible skin as delicately as possible, his face was turned to the mirror, examining your every move. You detached yourself to search through your ointments and took one you had prepared earlier. It was a derivative of Silvanus' elixir, based on boiling theriac and mugwort bundle. Returning to stand behind him, you took a generous quantity of the mixture with your fingers before applying it delicately to the marks. Astarion twitched again, looking over his shoulder at you.

"I am sorry" You said.

"No, it is cold. But it feels… Nice"

You slowly knelt behind him and carefully applied the ointment, making sure his skin properly absorbed the treatment. The effect was almost instantaneous, and the scars seemed less vivid to the naked eye. It would take several applications for it to be fully effective. You ran your fingers along the long lines that ended at the lower part of his back and noticed that a shiver ran through his body. This moment was different from the others you had shared, even more intimate because he had allowed you to get closer to that part of his past he hated. He had allowed himself to be vulnerable in front of you.

"Do you feel any difference?" you asked, looking up at him as he swiveled on the stool to face you. You wiped your fingers on a clean cloth.

"Hm.." He made a move as if trying to stretch his skin. He seemed a bit surprised. "I used to feel them, itching. I no longer feel that discomfort"

"It will require repeated application for it to be more effective, but it is a good start"

"Oh, are you offering me private sessions for massages?" questioned the vampire, a mischievous smile on his lips.

You smiled at his question and, as you stood up, he grabbed your arm to pull you towards him. He wrapped his right arm around your waist and his left hand slid down your forearm. This embrace took you by surprise, but you did not push him away, on the contrary. He took your hand in his and brought your fingers to his lips, softly. He half-opened his mouth as he slid your index and middle finger over his lower lip, revealing his fangs. A shiver of excitement ran through your body.

"It means a lot, you know, what you do for me. I will never forget it."

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I hope you enjoyed it, feel free to have a look at my other writings on Astarion ! Love ya !

Astarion x gn druid reader : On your skin (pt.2)

Astarion x gn reader : A thousand thanks

Astarion x gn reader : No place for love

Fic : Astarion x Fem! bard Tav : Fruit of the Poisonned Tree