#wagon wheels yes

[icehot13]

The dedication with which my husband remembers which pastas are on the Approved Pasta List 😍

[humanmorph]

friends at the table

just finished upon our grace. goodass arc

[bunny584]

OBSESSED: TOJI

A/N: You’re booked. Busy. Filled to the brim with board meetings. Then your car decides to stop functioning. There’s one mechanic shop open and somehow they seem to only hire God’s sweetest eye candy. One of which keeps getting stuck in the back of your throat. Uh—I mean—

S/N: Toji Mother-Fucking (literally) Fushiguro. Idk why it took me so long to feature this green-eyed monster but I am foaming at the mouth for this AU, him, and his lil vampy co-worker. Toji girlies, can’t WAIT to rush Toji Tau Sigma this fall 🙂‍↕️

C/W: ….he’s his own CW. Mature, 18+. MDNI. 

Art credit: yashaliart_01 on insta

Music: for the love of God if you don’t listen to Obsessed x Mariah Carey I’m calling the coast guard. Reader wants to pretend Toji is not her newest vice so BAD. Ive never laughed so hard and been so painfully turned on writing a piece. SOMEONE tell me not to make this a series RN.

“Can I get a little help here?”

Toji grabs the rag nestled in the back pocket of his heavy work cargos. Charcoal ink stains the fabric. 

Bugatti engines are such a bitch. And make a mess like one too. 

“Hello? Am I talking to a wall or..?”

And just like that, you’ve earned yourself a few more seconds of silence. 

The mechanic’s Evergreen gaze and satisfied smirk peer back at him in the mirror. Not even a second passes before you ensnare him in your fiery scrutiny. 

Ahh, yes. Just his type. 

You are mean. 

With a sexy fucking silhouette. An angry merlot painted on those beautiful, pouted lips. A fresh manicure and keys to your Benz dig into hips that have definitely stopped traffic. 

The mirror image isn’t enough of a bite. Toji needs a real taste, so he turns around to lock eyes with his new favorite unsatisfied customer. 

“Mornin, doll.” 

“Nice of you to grace me with your presence! I was starting to think no one worked here.” 

Melodramatic, the way you narrow your gaze to bring his name tag into focus. It’s hot, though. All this sarcasm and irritation. 

“—Toji? Is it?” You hiss venom. Clearly there’s a point you’re in a hurry to make. 

But..

it’s 7:13 AM on a lovely Monday morning.  Birds are singing. The Red Bull he just downed was particularly delicious. Life is good, right now. 

Toji has all the time in the world. 

He’s in no rush. Especially when a stunning, uptight, bratty little thing — sorry, career woman — like you woke up and chose him to be your personal punching bag. 

And he’s built to take hits. From fists much, much larger than yours, gorgeous.  

“Toji, it is. What can I do for you, darlin?” 

And he knew that sweet, innocent pet name would dump diesel fuel all over those pretty flames. 

You ramble off your full name as if he is going to use it. By the time he’s through with you, you won’t have any use for it either. 

His name, though. You’ll have plenty use for his name. 

“…and when the stupid thing turns on this morning, the dash light won’t turn off.” 

Toji lands on earth just in time to clasp the car keys shoved into his chest. You’re gawking at him. Expecting a fury of motion and urgency. Because your charming little fingers demand it. 

So accustomed to time stopping and starting on your watch, aren’t you? 

“You’re so pretty.” Toji responds with a shit eating grin. 

Just for the huffing and puffing you’re currently displaying. Sputtering about how unprofessional he is. And how much work you have to get done. 

Adorable. 

Toji slips past your disdain and makes his way to the front door. Matte black G-Wagon with a champagne interior. The vision of you behind the wheel, scowling at traffic, in your tailored dress and stilettos makes his cock twitch. 

“She’s a beauty.” He calls from the driver seat. 

“That’s why I bought it. Can you please pick up the pace a little?”

Both arms are folded across your chest, eyes rolling at his wasted breath stating the obvious. 

You’re going to look phenomenal when he has those defiant arms pinned above your head. He’ll diminish those daggers in your eyes to tears. And make those puffy lips whimper for mercy. 

Toji will have you begging him to pick up the pace in no time. Your snarky comment was just a test run. 

The mechanic lets out a low chuckle, his eyes scan the dash for the source of your apparent distress. 

The tire pressure gauge. 

Really, gorgeous? This is why you’re screwed so tightly this morning? 

It should take approximately 3 minutes to fix. But there’s no way Toji is letting you slip away from his skilled fingers so easily. Not when you need to be unwound.

Unraveled bit by bit until you’re a warm, sweet, puddle of manners and gratitude. 

“Alright, babydoll—“

“My name is—“

“I’ll have my guys get to workin on it, sweetheart.” 

He can play this game all day. You scoff. Temporarily placated by his promise of a fix. 

“It’s an all day job, though.” Toji’s right hand man comes into view. 

The only other guy in the shop (on the planet) to get as much play as he does without meaning to. 

Women are insane about his stupid, empty-headed, love-drunk stare. And the purple rings around his eyes like the last time he got sleep was in his mother’s womb. Always giggling and asking about “the hot one with the pigtails” and “the pretty one with the tattoo on his nose.”

If he were a less confident man, Toji would’ve called someone else over. But the kid gets his antics. 

And today is going to be stuffed with them. 

“Choso! Can you take this beauty to the back for repair?” 

Dracula’s first born is sporting his hair down today. Already a bit damp from work. He gives you a once over, then offers a smile that evaporates underwear off of women. 

“Happy to. Which beauty am I taking to the back?”

“Ha, quit your lover boy shit.” Toji teases, and you sneer at his hypocrisy. 

“The car, big guy. Have it ready by 5:00, yeah?”

“5:00 pm?” You do a thing with your hands eventually landing on your hips. And Toji’s dick leaks like a virgin. 

“Well, there must be a courtesy rental. My first meeting starts in an hour.”

“I’m so sorry, miss. We don’t have that.” 

Kamo, you slick fuck. 

Choso apologizes with his signature puppy-eyes and half open mouth. Even you, made of sharp words and soft curves. Goddess of Fire and Ice, you melt under his gaze. 

Toji snickers to himself, while you stutter to a shockingly patient understanding. 

Something about the boy looking half asleep and like he can’t string letters together to spell his own name always does the trick. Leaving you wide open for the kill. 

“Tell you what, sweetheart.” Toji moves in with an assassin’s expertise. 

“Consider me your courtesy rental.”

“I’m sorry—what?” You flicker between the two smiles, rightfully suspicious. 

“I’ll get you from point A to point B, safe and sound.” The mechanic offers again with a broad smile, dangling his own car keys in his hand. 

Pensive eyes drop down to your watch. Board meetings start soon and he is offering a courtesy ride. 

“Fine.” Finally, a little submission. 

“It’s a 10 minute drive. The high rise on the corner of Koen and Mitake street.” 

The financial district. No wonder why you’re so tightly wound. 

“I know exactly, where we are going.” Toji beams. Beating your slender fingers to the passenger door. You barely mutter a ‘thanks’ before settling into the seat. 

You in your heels. And suit jacket. And handbag that costs enough to feed a large family for 6 months. Nestled so perfectly into his passenger seat. Toji can’t help but acknowledge how hard his dick is right now. 

The career woman clearly doesn’t approve of how fast he is hurling down corner streets. But you should understand, no? Places to be, and all that jazz?

“Uh, I’m sorry, where exactly are you taking me?” You perk up. Darting those beautiful warm eyes at the very short building in front of you. 

Not the corner of Koen and Mitake street, but Toji’s favorite coffee shop about 3 blocks over. The only place in the city that can get an Americano right - La Parisian. 

Toji grins maniacally. Pulling his sports car into a front row spot. 

“Point A, darlin.”

“Look, I don’t know what kind of game you are playing but I swear—“

“C’monnn. Lighten up.” He turns to face your incredulous expression. You wear it well, by the way.

“People stand when you walk in a room.” He continues. “They’ll still stand if you’re 5 minutes late and properly caffeinated.” 

Silence. Two huffs. A bitten lower lip. And one long, drawn out sigh.

“Fine. 5 minutes, max. Then I’ve got to get going I have—“

“Meetings baby, I know.” Toji finishes you off. 

He steps out of the driver’s seat fast enough to be at your door before your fingers touch the handle. 

The two of you walk in stride (in Toji’s mind) to the cafe. It’s adorable how you beeline towards the pastry display. Salivating over the various treats. Doing the thing women do, badgering the person manning the register about nutritional details. 

As if your figure wouldn’t make any living red-blooded human being fall to their knees. 

“What can I get started for you?” The barista probes. 

“I’ll have a soy London Fog latte, please.” You flicker over to the dessert you think you’re leaving behind. 

“And?” Toji probes. He taps the glass in front of the vanilla macaroon.

Another crack in the shield. You flash him a genuine smile for 0.04 seconds before turning back to the register.

“…and a vanilla macaroon, please.” You’re cute when you’re sheepish. 

“And I’ll have the largest iced Americano you can make, thanks.” 

Toji closes out the transaction and you two mosey over to a small table by a window. Your shoulders relax with the first sip of coffee. 

A satisfied grin tugs on your chauffeur’s lips. He knew what you needed the second he laid eyes on you. 

Much to your chagrin, and Toji’s delight — conversation flows like a bottomless well between you. The second something warm and another thing sweet landed on your tongue — the shield crumbled down. 

You’re an account executive. 

You work 80+ hour weeks. 

Live in an uppity neighborhood with a Doberman named Rocky. You got him because you like walking around at night to clear your mind. Having a dog taller than you on its hind legs and probably twice your size has eased your anxiety about that. 

You have a mean sweet tooth. 

And you’re single. Have been for the last year or so. 

“And not looking to change that anytime soon.” You reiterate, tossing him a look. 

Toji holds his hands up in feigned defeat. “I wasn’t plannin’ on it, sweetheart.” 

You’ve warmed up to his pet names, albeit against your will. But you’re there. The both of you harmonize light-hearted laughter. Fitting together like missing puzzle pieces.

“Your eyes are so green.” 

A rather obvious observation of your own, after a few moments of comfortable silence. 

As if your eyes don’t bend time. 

Toji catches his breath before responding. 

“They are…your kids could have ‘em too, if you want.” 

You burst into another fit of giggles. Unknowingly driveling rogue pastry on your chin. Babbling on and on about how ridiculous he is. And how cheesy his pick up lines are.

Meanwhile, you’re sitting there all high powered and intelligent. With a smile that makes him want to be a better man than he is. 

…and pastry all over your chin. 

Yeah. 

He’s going to marry you one day. 

Toji reaches over and swipes the macaroon off your chin. A sharp gasp tumbles from your lips, staring at his fingers. Which Toji slips into his mouth. 

He’s a betting man and would put money down on the fact that the dessert tastes exponentially better off of your skin. 

“Toji!!” 

“What else can I do for you?” Each word more smug than the last. 

“You could’ve told me I had food on my face!” Bunny lines along your nose deepen when you frown and Toji’s cock throbs to life. 

“Why?” The mechanic shrugs. “I wanted to lick it off instead.” 

The choppy inhale is music to Toji’s ears. You avoid him. Like the plague. Peeling your gaze away and planting it on the side window. Under the guise of people watching. 

But Toji knows better. 

He doesn’t miss the way you struggle to swallow your last bite. Or your thighs coming together so aggressively beneath the small table, rip tides break the surface of his Americano. 

“I felt that, baby.” Toji leans in. Shameless about the way he scans your face. 

Your lips should be outlawed.

The bottom one is marginally fuller than the top, so it naturally hangs a bit open. Inviting the most vile thoughts from his cock. Toji’s rational mind went to sleep the second you climbed into his passenger seat, princess. 

“What?” You sputter, gulping down the rest of your U.K. cloudy cappuccino, or whatever. 

“I don’t know what you’re referring to.” Your voice is steady, but the fidgeting and cagey eye contact hold the truth. 

Oh, really? 

“You’re squirming in your seat.” Toji counters, unblinking. Filling as much of your personal space as he can without tipping over. 

“Quick to cross your legs—“

“Toji!” 

Is your underwear as sticky as your face is flushed? Saliva pools in one direction, warm pre-cum pools in the other. 

“You are so out of—“

“All that talkin’ and you haven’t denied it once, doll.”

Toji’s palm digs into his crotch underneath the table. You are fucking his brain smooth with the raspberry blush along your nose and high cheeks. Sure, the sarcasm and ball-busting is hot, but this? 

The Career Woman suddenly so flustered and shy? 

You’re already thawed out. All he needs to do is dive in. 

Toji blinks back to reality when you rocket up from the table at warped speed. Your fingers clumsily fondle the zipper of your purse. 

“Excuse me for a minute.” You’re halfway to the restroom stalls by the end of your sentence.

The mechanic lasers down to the serpentine curve of your hips. Your plump, perky ass is just begging to be handled. It’s a felony, the way your work dress hugs your body. 

Is he really going to do this?

Heat slams into his groin. Wave after wave of lust slowly chipping at his teetering self-control. 

You might slap him. 

Call him a goddamn pervert. 

…and just the thought of either of those things makes his dick beat against his zipper. 

Fuck it. 

Toji is slick, how he maneuvers his way over to the restrooms. Both single-use stalls occupied, he walks up to you muttering some kind of pep talk to yourself. 

“Get your shit together.” You spit out. 

Amused, Toji leans against the wall behind you. Curious about where this cute little speech is going to go. 

“He’s a rando you met at a mechanic shop. For fuck sake, are you that horny?”

“Sounds like it, baby.” Toji takes the liberty to answer. You whip your head around and crawl out of your skin. 

Eyes wider than a newborn kitten. Mouth gaping as if you’re trying to show off how much you can handle. Toji swallows a groan. He can’t lose control. Not a chance. He has to savor his first taste of you like this. And every taste after that. 

Because, the weather in Hell is a balmy 0 degrees Fahrenheit and you are his, now. 

“I—uh, I—“ Your eyes dart over to the poor soul opening the bathroom door in slow motion. 

You think you’ve found an out, gorgeous?

Toji is faster and bigger than you are. Gripping the handle of the open door, ushering you into his new lair. Still choking on the shock of him catching your admission, you look to your left and right before diving into the empty bathroom. 

“Toji I…” 

Your back hits the wall and eyes settle on your hands. Shifty and nervous. Toji palms himself at the sight of you caged in like this. 

He’s disgusting, he knows that. 

And normally, he would ask permission. Being a gentleman and all. 

But there’s something too alluring about the way you’re trembling right now. The obvious conflict written all over your face, and heaving chest…and tense thighs…

His cock can’t take another second. 

And apparently neither can you. 

Because the second his fingers cup the back of your neck and his breath grazes your mouth you crash into him. Slotting your puffy lips into his, taking him by surprise for a millisecond. 

“Oh, T-toji.” You whine into his mouth. Grasping at his shoulders that are far too wide, far too muscular for your dainty grip.

Fucking, christ. 

Hearing his name like that. 

The gorgeous, high-pitched, pathetic plea trails down his ears to his aching sex and jerks it. If his cargos were any lighter you would’ve seen the pre-pubescent mess he’s making in his pants right now. 

But they aren’t. And you don’t. 

You mewl at how Toji nips at your bottom lip. Sinking it underneath his teeth until its swells to his liking. Melting beneath his large grasp, currently riding the dizzying lines of your hips and ass. 

“You taste fucking good, baby.” Toji mumbles into your warm cavern. Licking along the warm, soft ridges. 

“Ah-T..god.” You pull away and dive into his neck. Attempting to hide your utterly fucked out daze, but he won’t let you. 

Toji palms your ass with a tenth of his strength. You yelp and jump into his arms. He takes advantage of the momentum and lifts you high on his waist. Temporarily forcing you to look down on him.

Glassy eyed. Kiss abused lips. Panting and heaving. Cupping his face like your hands were made to. 

And something tight clenches in Toji’s chest. It takes a moment for him to shake it off, but it existed.

He’ll revisit that later.

“You look good up there, babydoll.” He pants, before setting you down on the sink ledge. He catches your chin in his hand before you turn away. Rooting you in place. 

“I…Toji.” 

Moaning his name like you’re begging for him to start and stop all at once. 

Your eyes descend to his lips. Watching the smirk blossoming across his face. Distracted enough not to notice his free hand shove up your dress in one swift motion. 

Your thighs recognize his authority and melt wide open for him. He kisses your tiny whimpers while nestling between them. 

“Mmmgh g-god please.” 

“This why you were so bratty this mornin baby?” 

Toji’s index and long fingers stroke your soaked, clothed core. Thin lace panties plastered to your warm sex. You wind your hips into his fingers. Batting your eyelashes up at him as if he’s going to give you what you want so easily.

He hovers his lips over yours. Pulling away each time you lunge forward for a kiss. Pouty and frustrated, you dig your nails into his neck and grind along his stationary fingers. 

“T-Toji, please…I’m so..ahh.”

“Needy cunt just wanted some attention, mm?” 

His fingers slip past your opening, and you offer up a soprano moan that shatters to stardust. 

Hedonistic noises fill the spaces between both of your punched out gasps. You’re fucking tight. Gummy, slick walls clamp down around his knuckles when he curves up to pet your pleasure spot. 

The steel pipe between his legs throbs against his thigh. Demanding friction. But one hand is cupping your chin and the other is so pussy drunk an army couldn’t pry his fingers away. 

“T..I—I’m oh fuck I—“

Toji bites down on your bottom lip. And you clench around him. Gushing more of your sweet arousal into his palm. And he damn near laps it up with his greedy tongue. 

“Shhh baby,” he coos against your jaw. 

“Can’t have everyone hearing the Executive getting fucked open by some mechanic’s hands can you?” 

There is a delicious irony in you treating him like a punching bag no more than an hour ago and now bucking your hips on his fingers, chasing an ever elusive high.

Sandpaper lines Toji’s throat. 

He wants nothing more than to bounce you on his cock in this bathroom. Fill you up with his cum and send you to your meetings full of him. 

But you haven’t learned your lesson yet.

“What did I promise baby?” Toji strains in your ear. His hand migrates from your chin to your neck, while his fingers ‘pick up the pace a little.’

His pretty little powerhouse. 

You babble a chorus of nothing. Unable to breathe, unable to think. Only drip. And leak. And squelch around his digits. Toji tightens the grip around your pulse point. Lulling your mouth open.  

“Talk to me, princess. What did I promise you?” He probes again, stealing air from your lungs. 

Tha—y-you would…p—point A.” Barely audible syllables tumble out of you. Ascending in pitch. Your hips reflexively try to pull away from your threatened orgasm.

“Keep going, I’m listenin.” 

“Oh fuck T..Toji?! I-Im c-im gonna—”

“I know, baby.” He smears wet kisses along your jawline. “ I can hear how messy your precious little pussy is. But I didn’t give you permission to stop. Keep going.”

Your walls spasm at his command. Followed by an angelic pitiful little whine. You’re close. So close. 

“P-P-point A to—“

“Point B.” 

Toji finishes your sentence as you reach nirvana. Full body convulsions. He slots his arms around the small of your waist. And it fits like it was molded for him. Like you were sculpted for him.

And he, for you.

The mechanic burns his gaze into your skin. Riding each choppy wave of your ecstasy. Such tiny, sexy sounds. Staccato breaths fanning his lips, his chin, his neck when you try to hide from his scrutiny. 

You are a goddamn dream. 

And his future wife.

Toji guessed it when the macaroon balanced on your chin for a full 30 seconds before he swiped it away and you accused him of defamation of character. 

But now? 

Watching you saddle this stallion of an orgasm. Clawing at his back with all the desperation of a pretty little damsel in distress. 

Distress at just his fingers, alone. 

What intoxicating melody will he unlock when he laps up the honey straight from your core? How will you gasp and moan and squirm when he single-handedly re-shapes your cunt to accommodate his size? 

He has no clue. 

But Toji will spend forever figuring you out. And mastering you.

The back of your neck fits beautifully into his grasp as he coaxes you from hiding. Pupils blown out. Cheeks flushed and warm. Tendrils matted along your forehead. Before he can speak, you beat him to the punch.

Of course you do. 

“I’ve decided,” You pant. The baseline spice returning to your grin. 

“That you might just be obsessed with me, Toji.” 

Both of you share a hushed laugh. Exchanging cotton candy breaths. But then his lips accidentally brush yours and Toji can’t help but dive in for a kiss. Fucking the warm cavern of your mouth with his tongue. 

You pull away before he’s ready, with a look on your face that makes him feel like a God. 

“I might be.” Toji whispers, partially against his will. His lips find the corner of your mouth. Careful to avoid falling victim to your pout again.

“Let’s get you to the other point B, baby.” 

The car ride to your office could make anyone queasy. 

Constant banter back and forth. Full bodied laughs. You mindlessly stroking his forearm with those angelic fingers riling his cock up as if it just now discovered women. 

You let out a small sigh, with slightly dropped shoulders when your office building comes into view. Toji doesn’t know how to interpret it. But for him? Reality is coming too quickly.

“So,” You start once the both of you are out of the car. Pretty face tilting up and Toji’s dick strains against its confines.

“What do I owe you, Mr. Fushiguro?” 

The way you say his name.

It takes the will of God for Toji to bite back his original response.

“Nothin, doll.” He’s wearing the same, dumb, love-struck face Choso wears on a daily basis. Shockingly, Toji couldn’t care less. 

“The tires just needed air. Choso will drop it off in an hour.” 

He would do it himself. But the urge to park in an empty lot and abuse the fuck out of his cock until a shred of clarity re-settles in his mind is a tad bit overwhelming, sweetheart.

Then your mouth drops in an incredulous ‘Oh’ and all Toji can picture is ruining the back of your throat. How pretty you are going to be wretching around his girth. Gasping for air. Choking on his cum. 

“Toji. Fushiguro.” You like using his name, don’t you?

“You held me hostage for a whole morning for some air—“

Toji kisses the rest of your complaints off your tongue. And you whine. Slot open for him with no resistance. Because under all that irritation and sarcasm, buried within the Trojan Horse, lays your supple, delectable submission. 

And he will take every opportunity to taste it. 

“I had a great time on our first date, babydoll.” Toji rasps against your swollen lips. 

The raging erection is threatening to embarrass him. There’s not enough restraint in the world to be around you any longer. Toji nestles your voice in his back pocket. The two of you watch each other with wordless, taken aback smiles as he takes slow steps toward his sports car.

Before the mechanic sinks into the driver’s seat, he makes a promise.

“Can’t wait for our second date, Mrs. Fushiguro!”

[thestuffedalligator]

The giant was in an iron cage that had once held an elephant in the menagerie.

Here in the dungeons, it was still too small for it to sit up in. It was lying on its side, knees drawn up to its chest, facing the opposite wall.

Gretta had been forbidden to see it. Well, no, that wasn’t right – nobody had even told Gretta that it was here. Her sisters and the staff of the castle had apparently been expressly forbidden to tell her, but Margit had a soft heart and told her the night before that they had finally caught the giant.

It stung that even her little sister had been told and that she hadn’t.

She didn’t sleep after that, and she spent the long morning looking for an opportunity to slip away. Now in the gloom of the dungeon, she stood in the entranceway and watched the slow rise and fall of the giant’s breathing.

She could feel the heart in her chest beating, a quick thud-dump, thud-dump, thud-dump that shook her whole body. Once upon a time the giant was a menace that had pillaged and ransacked the whole western coast of the kingdom. It was a story her mother had told her and her sisters and had made Margit burst into tears in the middle of the night–

“I know that heartbeat.”

Gretta froze. The words had been slow, and low, and had made pebbles on the stone floor shiver.

Chains started to jingle together. “That is a heart I’ve not heard beat in three long years,” the giant said as it started to turn in its cage. “I’d know it anywhere.”

The giant settled on its other side. In the low glow of the dungeon’s torches, its grin gleamed like rubies.

“Hello again,” the giant rumbled. “Do you remember me?”

Gretta swallowed. She remembered–

She remembered being lulled to sleep as the carriage rocked on the highland road. She remembered the door being pulled off its hinges with a shower of splinters. She remembered the grey hand as wide as a wagon wheel reaching out to her–

She remembered waking up with a long, delicate stitch along her sternum.

Her hand reached unthinking to feel the long scar under her shirt.

“Yes,” she said. “You’re the giant who put its heart in my chest.”

“I missed the sound of it. It’s beating fast, so very fast.” The ruby grin flashed again. “Are you frightened of me?”

Gretta stared. Then she set her shoulders and turned her chin up to a haughty angle. “I’m not frightened of an animal in a cage,” she said.

The grin vanished. “Fine,” it said. The chains rattled again as it turned to stare up at the ceiling.

“I want to know why you did it.”

There was a very long, thoughtful pause. For a moment she was worried it wasn’t going to speak.

“I’m sure you guessed,” it finally rumbled. “The queen did – she only caught me to confirm what she already knew. A giant cannot be killed while its heart is outside of its body.” Another sound of metal as it shrugged. “Other giants bury their hearts or hide them in an egg in a duck in a well in a church on an island. I wanted something more… certain.”

“And that’s why you chose me?”

The giant was silent. The heart in her chest continued to beat, thud-dump, thud-dump, thud-dump…

The giant sighed. “It was never meant to be you,” it said. “I meant to grab the seventh daughter.”

Gretta blinked. “Margit?”

“Oh yes. Sweet, simpering, insipid Margit, who still sings with the birds and cries over baby animals. The kingdom would’ve had a conniption over having to kill her to kill me – if they did, it would be such a heinous death that they would remember it for generations in song and story. And I would’ve gotten my immortality either way.

“Instead I got you.” The giant looked back at Gretta and gave her a look of such contempt she nearly reeled. “You,” the giant said again, and she had never heard the word said with more disgust. “Who cares about you.”

“Excuse me!”

“Sixth of seven daughters,” the giant said. “Not the eldest, not the youngest, not even a proper middle child. An extra. A spare. Worthless, except for maybe an interesting marriage.”

“You have no right to–”

“They’ll just kill you.”

The dungeon was suddenly deathly still.

“They won’t be happy about it,” the giant continued, turning to stare at the ceiling again. “They’ll be very somber and austere and I have no doubt that Margit will cry over you, as she does over all little animals about to die. But they’ll say that you’re more valuable dead than I am alive, and so for the sake of the kingdom you will be given the noble task of dying. And that will be the end of us both.”

Gretta opened her mouth. She closed her mouth. She opened her mouth again. “Is that it?! If you’re so sure, why don’t you – why don’t you break out of your chains? Ransack the castle? Run back to your mountain, do something?”

“What an odd thing to say,” the giant said. “You know that if I live, I can escape to murder and pillage and ransack again. Surely, any good princess would want only the best for their people.”

Gretta said nothing. The heart in her chest went thud-dump, thud-dump, thud-dump…

She could feel the giant’s grin. “The queen had me captured so she could confirm what she already knew,” it said. “It seems to me that you’re here to do something very similar.”

Halfway up the stairs from the dungeon, Gretta ran into her mother.

Gretta stared. Her mother blinked. Gretta considered her options.

She set her head at a haughty angle. “I know you caught it,” she said.

There was a very long, thoughtful pause.

“What did it tell you?” her mother asked.

Gretta looked at her mother. She looked at her mother’s hand on the hilt of her sword.

She felt the beat of her heart go thud-dump, thud-dump, thud-dump.

“Nothing I didn’t already know,” she said.

She ran away that night.

[astonmartinii]

hii, can i request an insta au for lando? i don’t have something particular in mind, bit maybe best friends to lovers kinda thing? and their friends teasing them/ being annoyed? <33 love your work!!

best friends 4 ever | lando norris social media au

pairing: lando norris x bff!reader

best friends? lovers? who knows?

yourusername

liked by landonorris, maxfewtrell and 320,879 others

yourusername: clubbing on a budget 🍒

view all comments

user1: where's lando?

user2: yet another post without lando, have they broken up?

user3: how can they be broken up if they aren't together?

user4: why do you people think lando and y/n doing things separately is illegal?

user5: why weren't you at the race?

yourusername: babes i'm just a bartender i do not have the schedule or the finances to just fuck off to saudi arabia for three days sorry xx

user5: you clearly had the weekend off?

yourusername: please refer to my previous statement on my financial standing

yourbff1: who is that stunning woman?

yourusername: u bestie

landonorris: glad you went with outfit choice number one

yourusername: thank you miranda priestly

oscarpiastri: so that's who i could hear you talking to...

yourusername: clubbing outfits are a serious business oscar

oscarpiastri: serious enough for a three hour call?

yourusername: YES.

landonorris: YES.

landonorris

liked by yourusername, maxverstappen1 and 902,894 others

landonorris: mood before the race v after the race, see you next year jeddah 🇸🇦

view all comments

user6: what driving a tractor does to a motherfucker

yourusername: what's a performance where a man is having the worst time of his life but looks sexy doing it?

landonorris: beauty is pain

yourusername: then you must be suffering

user7: mr and miss we're not dating flirting up a storm in the comments as per

carlossainz55: maybe focus less on modelling and more on driving

yourusername: so no more ferrari thirst traps?

carlossainz55: damn i forgot that coming for lando means dealing with you

yourusername: meet me in the parking lot chilli

landonorris: y/n is like my little chihuahua so come for me, watch your ankles

user8: do they think we're dumb?

danielricciardo: ah the classic post mclaren snooze, if only you had your cuddle buddy

landonorris: i know you miss me mate but i'll cuddle you in melbourne

danielricciardo: ok. not what i meant. but i'll take the free cuddles

user9: so he was defo referring to y/n, right?

daniel3.jpeg

liked by landonorris, yourusername and 708,655 others

tagged: yourusername, landonorris, heidiberger

daniel3.jpeg: any wagon need a third wheel, i'm practically a professional now?

view all comments

user12: confirmation? this is confirmation, right? RIGHT?

yourusername: i gave you that banjo in good faith daniel and this is how you repay me?

daniel3.jpeg: i appreciate her !!!! thank you for my lessons, but these are cute so i will not be deleting sorry not sorry

yourusername: ur right we are serving

user13: life is just not fair

user14: official cause of death: the third slide

landonorris: how relegated to just an arm, i see how it is daniel

yourusername: you are literally the definition of pookie bear and cutieful in the first pic

landonorris: i'm going to need you to never say those words ever again

yourusername: that's not what you said last night ...

landonorris: you're right i am pookie bear

user15: actual pics + comments = y'all can no longer say i'm being delusional.

f1wagsupdates

liked by user16, user17 and 3,240 others

tagged: landonorris

f1wagsupdates: lando norris spotted on his boat in monaco with an unknown woman. the pair looked flirty and spent the whole day together alone on the boat. norris' rumoured girlfriend y/n y/ln was back in the u.k. where she works as a bar tender. what do you think?

view all comments

user18: i'm so confused rn

user19: i know we never had concrete confirmation but my heart is broken for y/n right now

user20: i don't want to jump to any conclusions, men and women can be friends, there's nothing in these photos that suggest anything more than friendship

user21: they're literally holding hands in the second pic

user20: i hold my friends hands every time i jump in the water doesn't mean i'm with them

user22: but the pic in danny's post .... i don't even know anymore

yourusername

liked by pierregasly, landonorris and 356,823 others

yourusername: food will never leave me

view all comments

user25: so like is this a dig after those pics of lando and the random girl?

user26: i know this is sad and all, but that kebab looks banging please tell us where you got it

yourusername: camden market babes

yourbff1: sexy girl, sexy food and sexy photography

yourusername: best photographer i know

user27: SHADE LANDP.JPEG YOU WERE NEVER THAT GIRL

landonorris: camden kebabs without me? offended.

yourusername: doing a lot of things without each other recently.

maxfewtrell: could've at least invited me i love that place

user28: oof. i feel like i shouldn't be watching this

lando.jpeg

liked by danielricciardo, yourusername and 1,305,066 others

tagged: yourusername

lando.jpeg: appreciation post for my bestest friend forever and the love of my life. i didn't want to give any attention to the rumours going around so i thought i'd just let you know i'm in love, i've been in love for years and will be in love with her for the rest of my life.

view all comments

user29: okay, now the confirmation is here, idk what to do with myself

user30: i survived the y/n x lando slow burn

yourusername: i love you too bob

lando.jpeg: i love you more, can't wait to see you

yourusername: i'm never letting you leave again

user31: so like you're gonna deny being all up close and personal with a random girl on the boat

landonorris: not that i owe you people anything, that girl is my cousin, she was visiting monaco and i showed her around. but it shouldn't matter, you guys don't know me personally and stop assuming things about athletes' personal lives.

yourusername: what he said.

carlossainz55: FINALLY

danielricciardo: i literally don't know how much longer i could've kept this a secret

oscarpiastri: i think we deserve a reward

charles_leclerc: i second this

maxverstappen1: i third this

maxfewtrell: i fourth this

yourusername: alright, alright we get it

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris and 607,845 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername: i guess we owe our parents £50 xx

view all comments

user32: bro this shit has me straight up crying THIS AINT EVEN MY RELATIONSHIP

oscarpiastri: you guys are cute i'll give you that

yourusername: teammate stamp of approval get it @landonorris

oscarpiastri: i think you guys got that after i walked in on you after silverstone

landonorris: our bad lol

user33: this reads like a fanfic but they're so cute

maxverstappen1: awww lando was so cute in that first pic, what went wrong?

yourusername: u and kelly look like siblings, don't come for us

maxverstappen1: u got it

landonorris: i love you fairy princess

yourusername: i love you racer boy

note: enjoyyyyyyyyyyyy. i originally wrote this a while back but it deleted itself when my laptop had a meltdown. so this is a bit diff but i hope you like it anyway !! xx

[notquitecanon]

Insufferably Admirable // Astarion x Reader

Summary: After a restful day turns into a bloody night, your unspoken yet painfully obvious dedication to Astarion has put you in what should be a harder choice. Once Astarion realizes just how far you'd go for him, he has to begin to confront the feelings and realizations he's been ignoring for a while. OR that time You figured out the most effective way to heal a vampire and Astarion got emotional about it

Set at the end of Act 1, but not quite act two. Pre-confession but it's obvious they have some sort of feelings for each other

TW: canon typical violence, blood & blood drinking(obvi this is an Astarion fic), no use of Tav or (Y/N), one use of technical self harm (c*tting) but not in a self mutilation way??, mentions of manipulation obvi, reader might be a little too willing to help (totally not be projecting what???)

this is my first time writing anything for Astarion after hyper fixating on him for a month so please be gentle. I know it's a bit all over the place. (yes I could have completely left out the first half, but there isn't much actual dialogue in the second half and I like to put this guy in situations)

"Remind me again why you insisted on coming with me? I figured you’d be ripe for a day to lay around camp and let us do all the heavy lifting." You grumbled, scanning the crowded streets for a merchant. The goal was simple: get to the nearest village, sell off the extra weight, use the gold to stock the necessary supplies, and whatever the gold couldn’t buy… well, acquire it by any means necessary. No matter your path, through the shadows or the Underdark, you'd need to be prepared.

Gale had gone to pilfer for useful scrolls and maybe an enchanted item to snack on. Lae’zel and Shadowheart to a blacksmith for specialty arrows, useful armor, and any other weapons that caught their eyes. Karlach had carried the two trunks and barrel of items you had collected from your adventure thus far, finding you a wheelbarrow before heading back to camp to help Wyll with his preparations. Halsin… had taken his wild form and disappeared into the forest. Originally, you had intended to do your tasks alone, until- 

"My dear, I’m always ripe for a lay." Astarion twisted your words with a smirk, easily dodging the hand that reached to swat his chest. With a short laugh, he answered your question, his theatrics only increasing to more you argued, "To begin with, Someone- my fabulous self- had to make sure you didn’t get the whole group wrapped up in another laundry list of side quests- who knows what trouble you could have found if you were left all by your lonesome? A gnoll den? A kraken in the pond?  an old woman’s wagon with a broken wheel? a kitten up a tree? An orphanage with a leaky roof? Another cult for us to dismantle? Another temple to drop on me? Where would it end? You’re incapable of turning people away, it’s one of your insufferably admirable qualities."

"It’s called being kind, you dramatic elf." You grumbled, not prepared for the in depth analysis of your character. Trying not to focus so much on the fact he’d called something about you admirable.

"Second, knowing you, you’d sell all this off and still manage to come back to camp with them full. Honestly, pet, how have you managed to collect this much junk? You don’t even have a bag of holding." Astarion scoffed, using a single pale finger to peek under the lid of the barrel. It was just barely containing the countless daggers, goblin bows, pairs of leather armors, and dusty sandals. Your cheeks burned hot- maybe you had a habit of being overzealous in how eagerly you pilfered through all the crates you came across, checking bodies for anything valuable, and demanding the vampire to pick every locked chest the party uncovered. Hells only knew the thrill you got when you would find a buried chest.

"You never know when you might need something!" You reasoned, but swatted him away to hastily shut the barrel before the contents could spill out. It had taken you the better part of the night to pack it full of all the things your companions had convinced you to get rid of. The pale elf rolled his eyes, brushing past you so gracefully you didn’t feel his fingers in your pocket. 

"Really, my sweet? When, pray tell, might we need the collection of rusty necklaces you’ve amassed." Astarion held the bronze and silver necklaces up to the light, the red and blue stones sparkling despite the rust. His voice always like velvet, ruby eyes alight with teasing, "Far be it from me to criminalize accessorizing, but that darling neck of yours is tempting enough already." 

"Astarion!" You cringed, hearing your voice almost whine. Damn him for having that effect, so you cleared your throat as you snatched the jewelry back, "They are useful when we can sell them for gold." 

Astarion, having gotten the reaction he wanted, let you shove the necklaces back in a pocket before glaring at him, though it didn’t hold much actual malice, "Well, come on then, let’s sell the sandals for all the riches the village has to offer us." 

—

An afternoon later, you were smiling smugly as you watched Astarion grumble. Between all the goods and six different merchants, you were leaving with an additional 9,000 in gold, not to mention the additional 3,000 Astarion had managed to pickpocket while you bartered, and the items the two of you had managed to swipe. You felt particularly vindicated as he complained about the weight of the coins in his pack. 

"I’ll buy you something pretty in Baldur’s Gate." You cooed teasingly, to ‘appease’ him. Astarion spared you a deadpan glance before standing to leave, only making you giggle all the more, "Let’s get back to camp."

Astarion caught your eyes once more, scowl softening out at the sight of your bright smile. He was just about to say something sickeningly sweet and perhaps more than a touch vulgar when his eyes flitted up to something, pointed ears twitching at something you couldn’t quite hear. Until you could. 

The door of the jeweler you had swindled burst open, a strangled voice shrieking, "THIEVES! SOMEONE CATCH THEM!" 

Astarion must have been rubbing off on you, because for a moment you tried to feign confusion, looking around for the ‘culprits’ as if the dwarf wasn’t pointing directly at you.  Not that it did much good as several passerbys began to circle around the two of you. 

"Everyone’s so touchy about their personal belongings these days." The rogue scoffed.  Astarion grabbed your wrist and tugged you to him, so that your back was pressed to his and no one could sneak up on you. In his other hand, a dagger had already appeared. 

You sighed in defeat, taking your bow off your back, "No killing." 

"No promises." 

Compared to the goblin camp or fighting through the githyanki creche, disarming and incapacitating untrained townspeople and barely trained guards  was barely a warm up. Still, Astarion never left your side, an increasingly common occurrence when you found yourself in tight situations. Together, it didn’t take long to put distance between yourselves and your attackers, managing to get far enough to escape to the fight. Deflecting one last blow as the two of you passed by an open tavern, you incapacitated a rather pitiful guard with a blunt thunk from the pommel of your dagger. Taking one relieved breath, you tried not to focus too much of the trail of bleeding, unconscious bodies you and the rogue had left behind in your escape attempt. 

"Best we stick to the shadows before we attract more attention." Astarion mused with a cruel smirk, grabbing your sleeve and using it to wipe the blood off the corner of his mouth, his fangs glinting in the afternoon sun. The rogue only chuckled at your curses, giving some inane quip about the crime of dirtying his ensemble and how blood someone always looked better on you, "Now, believe what I said about you finding trouble? Back to camp before you find more." 

Before you could wrench your arm back or remind him that he was the only who got caught stealing, he pulled you off the main road into the alley adjacent- unaware of the attention that had already been attracted from inside the tavern. 

____

Ambushed in the night.  

A whole hunting party of Gur hunters. Willing to purge your party as they slept. 

And they were calling Astarion the monster. Fortunately, Scratch was an excellent guard dog. Waking the entire camp when the hunters tried to creep where you slept. Just as fortunately, there wasn’t a soul in camp that didn’t sleep without at least a dagger under their pillow. 

Your camp had become a bloodbath in the dim glow of the campfire. You had used the book you had fallen asleep reading as an improvised weapon, throwing it so hard it broke the first hunter’s nose. Lae’zel was single handedly mowing through three hunter with her long sword. Spells and incantations sent flashes of light from Gale and Shadowheart’s part of camp, and fire and brimstone lit up Karlach’s. There was yelling and cursing echoing in the cool night air, orders to take the vampire spawn alive and to kill the rest. 

And Astarion? Their target? 

He was where he always was during a fight these days. Right beside you, like a pale, snarky shadow. He had been the one to press your sword into your hand so you’d have more than just your dagger.  With him, you slashed and sliced anything that came near. Until the bastard appeared out of no where, squeezing in between you and the rogue. You would have applauded (more likely cursed) the near perfect use of an invisibility charm- had it not been for the poison-dipped stake raised against Astarion. 

This hunter was different, you could see it in his eyes. They were somehow devoid of life and yet also simmering with rage as they trained on your snow haired companion. This hunter didn’t plan to take Astarion back to Baldur’s Gate, not alive at least. He didn’t care about whatever orders they had, or what consequences would come for disobeying them. He only cared about driving the stake into Astarion’s heart. 

Astarion’s eyes went wide as well at the sight of the stake, realizing as you did that this was no longer just a kidnapping, it would be an assassination. Your thundering heart stuttered, blood going supernova in your veins before freezing to ice as your mind whirled through a hundred different possibilities and also went blank. Your own opponent, along with years of learned strategy, were instantly forgotten as blind instinct took over.  Every ounce of strength and speed you had was directed into a desperate lunge. In your desperation, you really weren’t sure if your goal was to tackle the hunter, grab his arm, tackle Astarion, or maybe even take the stake to your chest instead- you decided to choose along the way, as long as it ended with Astarion alive(ish) and well.

You managed to close the distance, one hand planted firmly to Astarion’s chest shoving him further and the other clamping onto the leather of the hunter’s gauntlet, the same arm poising the stake. With a feral sounding shriek, you pushed his arm so his aim was off. At the same time, your original opponent, frustrated at being forgotten, cast a wave of thunder that sent all three of you flying. 

Astarion, the Gur, and you flew backwards a good fifteen feet, the thunder shaking you to your very bones and splitting your ears. The breath was knocked out of you so hard you thought your poor lungs might collapse and you weren’t able to tell if it was the spell or the impact that did it. You didn’t have time to contemplate, the moment you were able, you scrambled onto your knees. With the same feral tenacity from earlier, you grabbed the hunter by the front of his leather armor, nails leaving scarily deep tracks as you hauled him off your vampiric companion.  With your new opponent, you rolled both your bodies until you were on top of him, knee to his chest. Seeing the look in your eyes, the rage left his own, pure survival instinct taking over. You didn’t even feel the sting of the slicing blow across your shoulder, too consumed with a singular mission. It was Astarion’s dagger you had snatched from the ground on the way that delivered the quick death blow. Halsin, in bear form, had appeared out of the tree line and took care of your other thunderous hunter, taking a defensive position around you and Astarion with a goading roar. You expected to hear something from Astarion- a snarky comment about your lack of technique, a snide remark about his assailant, or even just a stream of petty curses- but he was silent. You turned back to him, only to have dread flood every cell in your body. 

Nothing else mattered anymore, not the fight, not your injuries, and especially not your forgotten original hunter. Halsin, in bear form, had appeared out of the tree line and took care of your other thunderous hunter, taking a defensive position around you and Astarion with a goading roar. You barely noticed.

The moment you’d disposed of Astarion’s assailant, you were scrambling back towards the rogue, who was laying all too still. At first, you hesitated to even touch him as if that might make it worse. You called his name once, and then again when you were able to gingerly lay hands on him- one hand to his chest and the other pushing some curls out of his eyes. The stake, what should have been an almost useless weapon against anyone else, was still buried in his chest, piercing his favorite frilled collar shirt. 

"No… Astarion-" Your voice was breaking, thick and raw. Your eyes couldn’t rip away from the stake, protruding from his chest, the poison staining the white linen of his shirt a sickly green. The hand on his chest balled into a fist, bunching the unsoiled fabric in your grip, but something caught your attention. The tiniest candle light of hope in the rapidly encroaching darkness of grief. 

Your hand was directly over his undead heart. Anytime you touched him, your hand always fell directly over his heart. When you teasingly swatted at his chest, when you needed to steady yourself against him, when you needed to catch you balance… you always sought out his heart- subconsciously, instinctually, always his heart. Your hand was over his heart, and that gods-damned stake was four inches to the right. A tiny light, but a light none the less. It was then you realized you were calling the wrong name. 

"SHADOWHEART!" 

None of your companions had ever heard your voice that desperate, that scared.  All their heads snapped to where they had last seen you, finding Astarion pulled to your chest as you wrenched the stake out of the spawn. Astarion stirred only long enough the let our a gurgling shout that fizzled into a groan at the pain, and you could only hope he heard your soft apologies before you started barraging the vampire with healing cantrips. You didn’t stop until the words held no more magic, your supply of magic tapped for the night. 

The night air had changed, no longer fueled by adrenaline and challenge, now it was thick with urgency and fear. Each of your companions starting fighting towards the two of you, and when you locked watery eyes with Shadowheart you found her clearing her path with her spear. She had stopped using magic to fight, saving it all for Astarion.

"I’m coming! Hold on!" She promised as Karlach fell in beside her, battle axe taking over and sending two hunters to the grave together. Scratch and the owlbear cub had taking a lesson from Halsin and formed up beside you, growling into the night with hackles raised and feathers ruffled. 

"Just hold on, Astarion." You relayed to the vampire, who was completely limp against you his back to your chest, head tilted back against your shoulder which bared his neck to you, showing the fang marks on his pale skin. If you were capable of humor, you would have laughed about the reversal of roles, it was usually you baring your veins to him. But at the moment, his lack of movement wasn’t particularly amusing, so instead you laced his fingers through yours, hoping the warmth would bring him some comfort.  You pressed your cheek against his white curls, using your other hand to brandish his dagger just incase anyone got too close, and whispered all the reasons he was going to be okay. And that’s how you stayed until camp quietened and Shadowheart slid to a stop in front of you. 

___

Hours later, Shadowheart had used every healing and restoration spell she knew, not stopping even when she began to sway and sweat. Halsin had offered his magic and healing herbs, Karlach made sure there was always a bucket of hot water and a stack of clean rags available, and you hadn’t missed Gale trying to hide the scroll of reviving from you as he slipped it to Shadowheart.  Everyone in camp had been quick to gather all the healing potions, depositing them at the entrance of Astarion’s tent. Wyll and Lae’zell had slipped into the tree line to make sure the ambush was well and truly taken care of.  

And you? Their appointed ‘fearless’ leader? You had gone uncharacteristically silent. Your heart hadn’t left your throat, clenching painfully every time they jostled the rogue. Your hands were shaking too much, both from fear and white hot rage, to really help the two more experienced healers of the group. And the thought of being too far from Astarion made your stomach turn, so you kept rooted like a tree. But, you were grateful, truly, for all of them. Even if in the moment, all you could do was sit beside Astarion and pray to any God or Devil that would listen. You felt like a wild animal in a cage and a helpless child at the same time, your insides very well might vibrate out of the body if you didn’t melt into the soil first. 

The vampire needed all the help he could get. Aside from the occasional heartbreaking groan of pain or agony driven writhing, Astarion was eerily still. Barely breathing, less so than usual. His already pale, chilled skin had taken on a stony complexion, almost gray. And despite the inability to run a fever, there was a sheen of sweat over his face, clammy and uncomfortable. You hadn’t allowed them to undress him all the way, but part his shirt had been cut away to reveal the stab wound. It was deep, weeping Astarion’s already dark blood, and stretching out from the injury were black, twisting varicose veins that afforded you the cruel visual of the poison spreading. You wanted to take Gale’s revival scroll, use it on the hunter, and revoke the kindness of your mercifully quick death.  

"It’s like the effect of our magic is being dampened." Shadowheart huffed, hands glowing as she cast another restoration spell. The sweat on Astarion’s brow subsided briefly before returning. Halsin nodded beside her, taking a deep sniff of the stake. 

"His lack of blood isn’t moving the potions or antidote through his body fast enough, and this poison isn’t doing any favors." The druid thought aloud, taking some of his herbs to make a paste, "It doesn’t matter how many we pour down his throat if his body can’t absorb them." 

Shadowheart’s worried gaze flickered to you for a moment, before settling back on Halsin, "We’ll figure something out." 

You knew she was saying that more for your benefit, but you couldn’t bring yourself to acknowledge the pity. Instead, your grip tightened on Astarion’s hand as you swiped a clean rag to dab at his face. There was one more round of healing incantations and one more bottle of healing potion nursed into Astarion’s mouth. Your jaw twitched, watching most of it fall from the corner of his mouth. The same trail your own blood usually made after he fed. 

"I’m tapped." Shadowheart sighed almost ruefully, the glow around her flickering and then fading, falling back on her heels. Halsin stood, stooped slightly in the low ceiling of the tent, turning to you. 

"We’ve done everything we can do. We’ll try again with fresh minds in the morning. For now the best he, and we, can do is rest." His voice was calming, as if he thought you might start screaming again, but you just nodded, muttering something along the lines of thanks for trying, and not meeting either of their eyes as they ducked out of the tent.  

Since you had belligerently refused any of their magical attempts to heal your shoulder, Gale had done a rather pitiful job of wrapping it, taking some pointers from Karlach along the way. The wizard offered you a tight smile and a gentle hand on your uninjured shoulder before pressing a bottle of healing potion into your hand, "This one is for you. You’re no good to him if you bleed out all over the floor of his tent. We all know how Astarion feels about waste." 

"Yeah- fancy boy will be starving when he wakes up." Karlach’s chipper voice was still laced with a sting of concern. The tiefling didn’t touch you for fear of burning you, but did leave you with some roasted meat and a carafe of water from earlier in the night, "And it wouldn’t hurt for you to eat something either, soldier." 

Then you were left alone with your thoughts, hunched next to Astarion’s side, tired eyes examining the bottle after confirming the rise and fall of his chest. In your hand, the potion glowed slightly with the subtlest warmth, the scarlet liquid seeming to have a mind of its own as it swirled in glittering patterns behind the glass. Your injuries were meager, this little bottle of healing would have you as good as new. Bitterly, you flicked your eyes to the numerous empty potion bottles in the corner that had barely slowed Astarion’s bleeding. Your hand closed around it as you cast another look to the Vampire spawn beside you. His breaths were shaky and shallow even after Shadowheart and Halsin had exhausted every last bit of magic they'd had. Now in the quietest parts of the night, or maybe the darkest hours of the morning, your thoughts swirled, desperate for any sort of plan to latch onto. You had to do something. 

For you, Gale had said, No good to him if you bled out… He’d be starving, Karlach had been joking, His lack of blood wasn’t moving the potions enough to be effective, that had been Halsin’s hypothesis.

Blood. He needed blood.

The revelation was like being dropped into a freezing lake, determination razing the fearful lethargy out of your soul. With your teeth, you pried the cork out and downed the first circular bottle, the overly sweet taste a stark contrast to the somber mood of the night. For good measure, you did the same with a potion of superior healing and two bottles of general poison antidote, slamming them down so fast you had to ignore the churning in your stomach. You’d loot twenty more goblin caves to make up for the dent in supplies if you had to, in that moment you just didn’t care. You waited a moment, begging the powers that be for your ragtag plan to work, not so patiently watching the bruises on your wrist until they started to fade.

You felt it, the moment that you had been completely healed and there was no where else for that magic to go. And then, you wrapped your arms under Astarion’s, heaving him against your chest. You bared your neck, letting gravity gently swing Astarion's nose to meet your pulse point, his silvery lashes tickling your jaw. He stirred slightly, groaning at the movement, pressing himself into your warmth before stilling again. Was he too far gone to realize what was being offered? 

Realizing you’d need to play into his vampiric insticts, you huffed, shattering one of the empty vials against a stone, struggling to do so and keep his deadweight in place. Taking a shard, it wasn’t hesitation but a moment of stilling your shaking hand before you pressed a shallow cut to your neck, right above where his lips rested.

You hissed at the haphazard sting, not as gentle as the pinprick of his fangs were in the night, feeling the blood instantly pool at the seam, a single red ribbon dripping before the potion healed the scratch, "C’mon, Astarion-" 

The moment his name left your lips, or maybe it was the moment a drop of your blood hit his, regardless you could feel his instinct, that sanguine hunger, take over. The soft lips at your neck were replaced with dagger sharp fangs digging into where the small cut had been. The sound you let out was somewhere between a gasp of pain and sob of relief as you barred him against yourself, fists clutching into the back of his shirt like it would keep both of you rooted to each other. Somewhere, in the back on your mind, you thought about the irony of the position, being so afraid to let him slip away, like a rabbit latching onto a snake for fear of the serpent starving. Even if it meant being consumed. 

In that moment, you were so relieved he’d started feeding that you didn’t care that his fangs dug in deeper than they ever had before, much more animalistic than his usual polite nibble. You didn’t dare flinch or wince, in case that might break the spell. Instead, you focussed keeping the both of you upright, one of your arms wrapped under his own, your fingers splayed across his ribs, and your other hand cupping the nape of his neck. The angle had his silvery curls dusting your fingertips and your thumb caressing the sharpest part of his jaw. Never had you been so happy to feel that throbbing numbness in your neck. Astarion’s chin prodded further into your neck, deepening the hold he had, and with his own shaky breath, he swallowed the first mouthful of your blood. 

The hand at his ribs clenched, pulling him impossibly closer and twisting his shirt into your grip again as your pulse began to speed up. The increase of your heart rate only seemed to encourage the vampire, teeth sinking ever deeper to draw more blood flow. Clenching your jaw, you forced your muscles not to tense, it would only make it hurt more. This mouthful was quicker, Astarion seemed to be actively drawing it out of you instead of just waiting for it. He swallowed again, gaining the strength to snake his arms around you. It wasn’t a strong hold at first, but one arm snaked around your waist while the other cradled the back of your head, those long fingers finding their usual place in the locks of your hair. You couldn’t help the short laugh that escaped, relishing the cool touch. Your voice stoked another fire in him, provoking another instinct, your blood provided the strength for his grip to harden, becoming more cage like. As if he needed to worry about you trying to escape. 

He swallowed again, and the numbness spread, not just in your neck but into your cheeks and across your chest. Blood was racing, coursing through you and into him, and with it all the magic of the healing potions. You could feel him getting his legs underneath him, untangling himself from you. At the same time, it was getting harder to hold your arm up, the numbness had reached your fingertips leaving them fumbling at his curls before falling to his shoulder. Another long drink and you found your eyes starting to flutter, everything was starting to feel cold as a shiver shook your body. Astarion, against two centuries of vampiric instinct, started to pull back, and you didn’t stop him, but didn’t let him go far either. He was mostly supporting himself now, which was a relief because a fair bit of focus was freshly delegated to preventing yourself from swaying. 

"Take all you need, ’Stari-" You meant for your voice to be assuring and strong, but it came out breathy and slightly slurred. Astarion pulled away, the movement bringing you mostly out of your stupor. His ruby eyes were as sharp as ever once again, even if the shadows under his eyes were still too dark for your liking, and they stared into your own half lidded eyes. Other than the deep purple shadows, the ashen complex had started to even out, the sweat on his brow had faded away, and when you dropped your gaze, you noticed the twisting black veins were starting to recede and fade. Hells, you could get up and dance (very briefly before you passed out).

Even, with a foot in the grave, more dead than usual, and covered in both of your bloods he was unfairly beautiful. His eyes narrowed on your dopey smile, as if he your relief was a symptom of too much blood loss. If that was the effect of four swallows, just a little more would flush out the poison completely, "I can take it, love, just please let me help you." 

Astarion never considered himself to be someone that had to be coaxed into receiving a gift, and you were offering him one so sweetly, practically begging him. After 200 years of rats and spiders, you had put literal magic in your veins for him. Magic that was bringing him back from death to his usual state of undead. He could feel it bringing his strength back, allowing all the magic the cleric and druid had poured into him to finally take some affect. Your blood, his first thinking blood, was always delicious- sweet and metallic, a delicate blend of all the good tastes, something so intrinsically you. With the potions infused, though, if Astarion was to hazard guess what sunlight tasted like- this would be it. How could he refuse? 

Before he went back in, he placed a reverent kiss to the marks he had left in your neck, gingerly lapping at the wounds before sinking his fangs back into your tender flesh. This time, it wasn’t a gasp or sob, but a mewl, your frigid fingers once again digging into the flounced collar his shirt. If you both lived until morning, you were sure he’d gripe for hours about all the wrinkles you’d put in his favorite (only) shirt. Probably throw a proper fit about the stake hole.

Now, as the potions effects dwindled in your own body, you could properly feel the drain. The coldness crept up from your extremities but didn’t counteract the burn in your muscles, making it harder and harder to suppress the shivers. Your breathing was quick almost a pant, but you still felt like you weren't getting any oxygen. If you were thinking rationally, if you hadn’t gone through the brief grief of thinking you’d lost him, you would have realized you need to push him away, that you were approaching your limit. But you weren’t thinking rationally, no. You still were too busy grinning- as your hand had fallen from his collar, it grazed across the wound, now fully closed. Just a little more, you promised yourself. You felt him swallow more, he held himself up completely on his own allowing you to lean into him. 

Astarion was okay, more than just on the mend, he was alive and strong, the potions and magic were working, were the thoughts that were reverberating through your head as things started to feel farther away. Your desperation had melted away, leaving a grateful smile in its wake. It wasn’t completely on purpose, but you let Astarion take on more and more of your weight, barely aware of his fangs in your neck anymore, not quite hearing Scratch and the cub whining outside, the shivering even began to subside as it seemed to take too much energy. 

Earlier, you had drug him to you and held him against your chest almost crying. But, as more of your blood flowed through him, it had become juxtaposed. Astarion held you in place, leaning over you for the best angle at your neck. It was his arms that kept you from falling over, his firm hand that kept your head from lolling too far back. His bite became less fervent, his grip less cage like and more affectionate. His survival instincts started to give way to civility and charm. You barely noticed as he twisted himself so he could slowly, gently lay you down onto the bedroll that had moments ago been his sickbed. He laid you on your back, onto the generous stack of pillows he kept in his tent. He tangled his fingers into yours, just as you had done for him, his knees holding him in a predatory crawl over you, all without breaking from your neck. 

Barely registering the softness, it was the thud of your other hand against the floor that roused you, just a bit. It was also what drew Astarion’s attention, it took everything in him to withdraw his fangs. He gave each puncture would a diligent cleaning with his tongue before pulling away completely, lest he lose control and dive right back in. (Really, how could one person be that tempting?)

But, you had arguably saved his life, it’d be terribly impolite of him to kill you. When Astarion’s eyes met yours, your gaze was more than half lidded as you watched him- what little of your eyes he could see were glossy and fighting to stay focused, he could hear your heartbeat markedly fainter than he was comfortable with. 

You were watching him as intently as you could. In the dim lantern light of his tent, surrounded by potion bottles and bloody rags, Astarion was up and moving and breathing again. Revived and strong, his eyes practically glowing scarlet, and, if you really focussed, you could make out the tips of his ears becoming pink. Something that only happened when he was freshly well fed, nothing was left of his stab wound but the hole in his shirt, the frayed edges dyed from the poison and his blood. He could have looked like a angel, complete with the fire’s reflection creating a halo effect on his snowy curls, had it not been for the sheen of sticky blood drenching his chin and neck. Your blood- the blood that gave him enough strength to heal. How could you not smile? 

Astarion tried to come up with a snarky comment, but for once, nothing came to mind. Instead, he kept glancing between your intertwined fingers, glassy eyes, and that idiotic little smile. Your giddiness was beginning to unnerve him, had you been charmed or perhaps taken a hit to the head? With the parasite, he reached out briefly into your mind. His brow twitched when he was only met with waves of relief and gratitude, you were too tired for structured thought, but too relieved to give into the exhaustion. How could someone on the verge on exsanguination look so happy? And why in the nine hells did it seem to be directed towards his well being? 

The vampire was stricken, taking count of everything you’d truly done that night alone: fought beside him, tried to take the death blow in his place, comforted him, held his hand, cleaned him up, hadn’t let the others undress him anymore than necessary, stayed with him, circumvented his vampirism to find a way to heal him, and had genuinely tried to bleed yourself dry for him. Hell, you’d cut your own neck for him- not even metaphorically, but literally cut your throat for him. He could feel your warmth, your kindness and everything good about you settling into his very marrow. Something uncomfortably… gooey… stirred in his chest, something more and more worrying common as of late, when it came to you. Had his manipulation really worked so well? A feeling too close to sharp guilt gnawed at that warm gooey feeling. Was it really manipulation anymore? Gods, your morality was infecting him.  

“This is that Insufferabe admirability I was talking about ." He muttered into the tent, shaking his head as he watched your chest rise and fall, using his free hand tame some of the hair at your crown. It was then Astarion realized your eyes had slipped shut, your fingers, now just as cold as his, going limp against his. Weeks ago, he would have polished off the last of your blood and left you behind. But at present, he felt the sickening need to return even half the care you’d shown him. He’d have to dissect his emotions later. The rogue was glad the other companions had left supplies within arms reach, as it meant he could gather them without dropping your hand. 

"Ah, ah, ah," He called quietly, gently pulling you back to the real world, pleased to watch your scrunch your nose in the exertion of waking back up. Finally, that contented little smile on your face slipped into a frown, a protest against his interruption of your sleep. Astarion’s smile was almost apologetic as he helped you into a slightly more upright position, "Not quite yet, little love. It’s your turn. No sharing this time."

Another healing potion was pressed into your hand and opened for you, and you allowed Astarion to guide it to your lips, his pale hand guiding your own. This time, the warmth of the elixir was welcome, a comfort instead of a taunt, assurance instead of a plea. Astarion carefully watched you as you swallowed the potion down, noting how you shivered less and a bit of color returned to your face. When the potion bottle was empty, he traded it for a small cup of water, keeping a guiding hand on the silver chalice he’d nicked from a tradesmen weeks ago until you had enough strength to hold it. 

Though still exhausted and dizzy, you had the energy to throw him an obstinate look. Astarion feigned a dramatic sigh but kept a firm enough grip on you that you couldn’t lay back down, "All this for me, yet you won’t even let me give you water?"

Ignoring how it made the dizziness worse, you rolled your eyes, taking a few sips of the water at a time even if it was mostly just so he’d let you lay back down. Astarion was in one piece and you were exhausted, you couldn’t bring yourself to think about anything else. But, Astarion seemed very pleased with himself, squeezing your hand once again, "Good girl." 

If you weren’t on the verge of blood loss, you could have choked on the water. Still, there was a part of you that whispered in relief he must be better if he’s back to teasing you. Astarion watched you take a few more sips before you sagged back against the pillows. Your eyes closed again, but your breathing was deeper now and the hand he held didn’t feel as cold. Outside, Scratch and the cub seemed appeased at your improvement as they stopped their pacing and whining to settle at the tent flap.

This time, he didn’t pull you back up, instead muttering to himself as he gently tilted your head to the side, exposing his bite marks. No wonder you seemed so tired, they were much messier than usual. Vicious, was the better word. Not only had his two fangs pierced your delicate skin, but his bottom canine teeth had punctured through as well, and he could see the outline of his other teeth in the deep bruising grooves they had left behind. In unfortunate addition, it seemed in the height of his blood lust he’d made more than one bite, leaving your neck littered in marks. Astarion grimaced, it really was more of a mauling, “Apologies, darling, I’m not typically so brutish. Forgive me?" 

Astarion pointedly ignored how his heart lifted at the slightest nod you gave him, instead focussing on cleaning you up as gently as possible. The potion had stopped the bleeding, and he watched as the wounds themselves were slowly closing. Each swipe of the rag was feather light, almost not even there. The elf noticed you give back into sleep, this time not bothering to wake you again. Instead he kept working and fussing until the only sign of his feeding was the stained neckline of your shirt. Then, he gently ran a clean, wet rag over your face and hands, taking away the evidence of your tears and worry. Finally, he threw a cloak over you like a blanket, to hopefully ward off the last of the shivers from the warmth he’d stolen from you. 

Not stolen, he reminded himself, though the truth somehow felt more dangerous, it was freely given to him. The vampire settled in, laying across from you, the only part of you he could touch was the hand still holding his. Though, already in your sleep you had shifted towards him. Astarion frowned, eyebrows furrowed, the more he came to know you, the more he knew that you would give and give and give. Truly, he knew that he didn’t need to manipulate you anymore, maybe he never needed to, and for the first time in centuries, he didn’t want to just keep taking. He didn’t want to bleed you dry and loot you for all you were worth. Astarion was surprised to find he wanted give something back to you. He just needed to figure out what.

The nights events caught up to him once again as his eyes closed, listening to the evermore familiar sound of your heartbeat as it became steadier and the even sounds of your breathing as you slept, letting it guide him towards meditation. 

Gods damn you and your insufferable admirability.

___

Part Two Here!

Again this was my first time writing for Astarion. I also tried to balance things into being equal parts in each persons perspective. I just love when two lovestruck idiots have to confront their own feelings about being in love.

[fischlkin]

✦ i'd take a bullet for you.

in which they come to your rescue.

part 1.

characters -> diluc, wanderer. more characters coming soon!

info -> sfw!!, fem!reader, established relationships (married in dilucs), angst to comfort, if your fav isn't here feel free to request and i'll do a part 2!

diluc had some business matters to attend to at the angel's share, which kept him from coming home to you until after sunset. you reside with him at the dawn winery, on the outskirts of mondstadt, which are not always safe at night. as long as you stayed inside, which is what you usually do, diluc had a peace of mind. the matter at his tavern had taken hours to diffuse, and by the time he was done, his desire to spend the night with you in his arms lured him home.

after executing the usual couple of slimes on the trek from mondstadt city to the winery, your lover let out a relieving sigh. as he stepped into the darkness of the mansion, he assumed you were sound asleep. his jaw dropped with a yawn as he climbed up the stairs, reaching your shared bedroom. but when he opened the door, he found an empty bed, and you nowhere to be seen.

in not a moment's notice he had his coat back on. fear wrenched its way through his gut, something told him that you were not at home. if so, where could you be?

diluc's eyebrows furrowed and his jaw clenched as he made his way around the house, thinking perhaps you were just up late, but only meeting empty room after empty room. it was then that his fear was realized. you were nowhere to be found, and no one was around to help him find you. a thousand questions raced in his mind as he dashed out the door, but he paid none of them any attention. he was ready to scour all of teyvat just to find you.

meanwhile, you had been out picking fresh grapes. it was nighttime, yes, and all of the staff had left for the night. but you figured that staying close by the building in the light would keep you safe. besides, you were desiring a midnight snack, and were lucky enough to live on the best vineyard in the seven nations. you kneeled to the ground, twisting ripe purple grapes off the vine, and popping them into your mouth. just a couple were enough to satiate your midnight hunger, so you stood back up and started to head back inside.

the clacking of footfalls on cobblestone perked your ears, and you turned around, excited to reunite with diluc. though, what you came face to face with was three treasure hoarders. the blood drained from your face, contorting into a look of pure horror as you recognized their outfits. a chill raced down your spine and you instinctively took on a defensive stance.

"don't come any closer. my husband will hurt you" you breathed. you were bluffing a little, hoping diluc would be coming back any second now. though even if he didn't come to save you now, he would get to them eventually. you just had to put faith in the former knight.

but what the hoarders said next sent your heart thumping against your chest.

"we know diluc is at the angel's share. and that the staff at dawn winery are all home for the night. it's the perfect opportunity to have a bit of fun," the leader of the trio smirked, taking one painstakingly slow step toward you. you took one back, but every step you made he made another, and eventually you had backed into your home. with a burst of courage, you reached for the door and slammed it shut, but the three criminals were strong. they threw themselves against the wooden door, which easily gave way.

the next thing you knew, you found yourself blindfolded with your hands tied behind your back. the sound of wagon wheels reached your ears, and a faint breeze tickled your skin. your heart skipped a beat as you realized you were being taken away. how would diluc find you now? no, you had to have faith in him. he's the darknight hero, after all. though, you couldn't help but be terrified of what the criminals would do until your hero got there.

though, you ended up not needing to worry about that, because the wagon came screeching to a halt, followed by the high pitched squealing of horses. you were thrown forward, colliding with a barrel. a searing pain ripped through your temple, and you found yourself fading from consciousness.

diluc grabbed the leader of the treasure hoarders by the collar, effortlessly lifting him up out of the front seat of the wagon, before throwing him to the ground.

"please! i'll give you whatever you want! i'll take you to our camp, we have mora!" what a pathetic little dog, begging for his life at diluc's feet, tears streaming down his eyes.

"I don't need mora. i need my wife," your husband snapped, raising his claymore. the hoarders shrunk into the ground, instinctively lifting their hands. but diluc never struck. instead, he leaned down and whispered into their leader's ear. "the knights of favonius are on their way to apprehend you. don't even think about running away, or i will find you, and your death will be long and miserable."

in one swift movement, diluc struck his blade into the ground, and rushed over to your form. a pained cry escaped your lips as he removed your blindfold, revealing a shallow wound on your forehead.

the breath caught in your lover's throat, and his heart stopped beating for a moment as he reached out to caress your cheek.

"i'm so sorry... i'm so sorry. i failed to protect you," his voice trembled as he wrapped his arms around you, tears streaming from his eyes.

he carried you all the way back to the winery, gently laying you down on the bed. he tended to your wound, dabbing at it with a cold, wet towel. you winced, reaching out your hand to take his. he gladly intertwined your fingers, rubbing his thumb against your knuckle.

"my darling, i'll never leave you vulnerable again. i can't express how deeply sorry i am for failing you." his voice began to shake again, so you reached out and touched his lips, silencing his sorrows.

"you came to my rescue, that's what matters. i never doubted you for a second. i know you will always find me."

with that, you pulled him into your arms, and he pressed his lips on your neck, breathing in your scent.

⸻

wanderer took you on a trip to inazuma, to show you his birthplace. he refused to leave your side in a land that was foreign to you, with culture and laws you weren't familiar with. he worried you could be easily taken advantage of. the two of you stayed at an inn in inazuma city, with a view overlooking the sea. on the last night of your vacation, after everything had been going smoothly, so your partner decided to take you for a stroll on the beach, under the stars.

the two of you held hands as you trudged along the shore. you took off your shoes to sink your toes into the cold sand, while your lover watched you with a smile. the sea's waves pulled back and forth, trickling across your bare feet. it felt cold, but not too cold. it gave you an idea.

"let's get in the water," you suggested excitedly, taking a step forward into the ocean, the water gently guiding you further in. wanderer reached out to you, his smile fading. doubt was visible on his face.

"that might not be a good idea," he tried to warn, but you were already waist-deep in the water. the thing about inazuma's surrounding ocean is that it was very prone to vicious currents and thunderstorms, especially around narukami island, which is where the two of you were. but you didn't know that, he didn't think it would come up. "y/n, you should get out. i can't guarantee it's safe to swim-"

a sudden shriek cut him off, and his eyes widened as a sudden wave engulfed you, dragging you down under.

"fuck!" he screamed, wasting no time sprinting into the water. his heart pounded in his chest as he dove down and shot back up, down and up, searching for you. you couldn't scream, couldn't breathe as the rip current heaved you away. you were barely under the surface, but it was still out of your reach as you had no strength to fight the stream. as you held your breath, your chest burned. your brain pounded against your skull, and your eyes seared from the salty water.

"y/n! fuck, y/n, where are you?" your partner screamed, a visceral, agonizing scream. he realized he didn't have a choice but to wait for the current to dissipate. if he went in to save you, it would only end up killing you both. so he tread water, chest heaving with breaths. his eyes darted around, waiting for the ocean to spit you up somewhere. when it finally did, he was already scissoring through the water.

wanderer hooked his arm around your body and swam back to the shore, laying you on the sand. looking down at your unconscious form, his eyes darkened, and he found himself fighting the urge to hurt something. anger bubbled up inside him. anger at himself, anger at the ocean. he leaned down and opened your mouth, pressing his to yours, attempting to breathe life back into you.

soon enough, you were coughing and spluttering water, your throat raw from the salt. you sat up and heaved air into your lungs, eyes welling up with tears.

wanderer's eyes brightened immediately and he threw himself onto you, holding your head against his chest.

"i don't know what i'd fucking do if i lost you," he breathed. even just the thought of your death started to take over his mind, forcing shallow breaths from his lungs, and tears streaming down his cheeks. from the looks of it, he was having a panic attack. you looked up, meeting his eyes, and cradled his face in your hands.

"you didn't lose me, i'm right here. i'll be by your side forever," you promised him, pressing a kiss to his lips. he quickly melted into it, closing his eyes and releasing the tension in his jaw.

"and i'll always be here to save you."

⸻

[saytrrose]

Can we see More about your racing AU please?

Looks so amazing and i love It so much

I do suppose I could share the character design line up!

I really just need to finish designing all the go karts, (atleast most are done!) and then I can make proper cards for them and really get into the written details.

To be honest it’s a little hard to just ramble about info and details without specific questions to go off of, so I’ll try my best hhh

for starters, the tent? Not a tent!

It’s actually a stadium, the amazing digital race!

And rooms? Sort of tweaked, they are more like each character owns a personal garage, a large open space where they store their vehicles and then have a loft above that showcases their cozy safe havens. Bed, entertainment, basically a small room in a much larger one.

I haven’t revealed Ragatha, Zooble or Gangles karts yet but I’ll go ahead and just talk about all of them!

Caine:

Caine has a motorcycle, specifically one inspired off of the motorcycle I’m saving up for this summer, a Kawasaki Eliminator. It’s a cruiser, I’m thinking he has a 600cc model but considering Bubble is his right hand man and operates as the races pit crew- he’s definitely tinkered with Caines bike, making adjustments and improving the engine. God only knows what the little psycho did, but it’s a damn good bike that’s not supposed to rev as loud as it does.

Pomni:

Her kart is inspired off a Volkswagen Beetle, seemed very VERY Pomni to me. Her car mimics her outfit design a lot, I might do some color changes to be honest but it will be super minimal, it’ll be final when the cards are done! She definitely stops at the pit the most often despite her placement in a race, are my tires okay?? Do I need my oil?? I know you just filled it but it went down- is anything damaged?? Sweetie you did one lap..

Jax:

Jesus Christ he has a giant supercharger on the hood of his car, and he is absolutely one of those annoying mfs that reva their engine OBNOXIOUSLY loud all the time like he’s super cool. If you’re wondering who most of the skid marks on the track are from, that’s also Jax. Hes the best as drifting, and he loves to show that off. His car isn’t based too much on an actual vehicle?? I stared at Mario karts and pieced it together, but also gave it a very sports car look, the wing on the back fr fr I think Jax would dig that.

Kinger:

OHHSOSK I was so creative with his little wagon,,, it’s castle shaped!! And the best part? Operates like a rocket. In the back past the battlement (the crown looking thing you see atop castle pillars) ARE GIANT exhaust pipes and yes, they do spit fire !! Operates like a rocket. It’s very cool! (Also he has a great muffler because unlike Jax he’s considerate of others hearing 💔) Oh also, he has one of those silly horns, I forgot how to describe it but you can just look at how I drew it on his kart and you’ll know heheh!

Zooble:

Our second motorcyclist, owns a trike! If you don’t know what that is, picture a bike with training wheels but super badass. 3 wheels! It’s inspired off the Harley Davidson freewheeler, I like that design a lot but it’s def not actually a Harley because istg when you buy those bikes your just paying for the fancy name brand- expect it to be in the shop all the time, smh not good- BUT ANYWAY!! The looks are inspired off it though and I can’t wait for this one because it’s just as crazy kooky as Zoobles design is.

Gangle:

Her kart is based on my favorite car, classic style but not too cool because you can bet she has anime stickers on the back and a decal that says “please let me merge before I start crying.” It’s similar to a karmann ghia convertible, 1963. Cherry red (so so pretty) She always has the top down, unless competing because damn you gotta go fast. That car itself is really slow, top speed normally is 68mph, however people have modified them enough to get up to 120mph. Thats still pretty slow compared to others, but her kart only reflects the appearance of the ghia! It’s much faster and I assume Bubble works on all their vehicles if asked to.

Lastly, Ragatha:

Our 3rd motorcyclist. 4 Karts, 3 cyclists. Her bike is a futuristic style, if you want a good idea then look up “icare bike”! Not so much a straight forward posture, she leans over ofc, you’ll likely get the idea when you see her bike. I’ll be honest, I haven’t gotten too into her design yet because I haven’t started drawing but!! Dark blue leds,, everywhere yes yes so cool ❤️

Sorry that’s so much 😭 but yeah! Just need to finish 3 kart designs for you guys and I can make official ref cards 👀

[seat-safety-switch]

Like any honest, well-adjusted human being, I've often had reason in my life to daydream about owning my own 1,600-ton sheet metal press. I don't want to have to go to the junkyard for a fourth time this weekend just because I forgot the passenger door is also rusted out.

Why should the automakers have all the fun? Sure, they have millions upon millions of dollars, whereas I have about fifteen bucks in my wallet. They have enormous facilities capable of serving the mechanical and electrical demands of such an intense machine, and I have a motorcycle gas tank on my kitchen table because there's simply nowhere else to put it. Automakers can source kilometers-long rolls of precision-engineered high-strength steel, and I think I might be able to weld some stolen road signs together with enough advance notice. This, it turns out, is all details compared to the big problem with setting up my own autobody foundry in my backyard: the noise.

Yes, friends. Like in many well-meaning jurisdictions all across this once-great land, the bigwigs at City so-called Hall have decided to stick their noses where they don't belong. Regulating that residential neighbourhoods are not allowed to operate massive industrial machinery in the backyards is against what the founding motherfathers intended when they stole this country from the people who were already living there. Back then, people made wagon wheels in their backyard. They didn't have the luxury of going on RockAuto and ordering them from a distant trading partner, somewhere that they still built things.

What am I saying? We need to shake up government in this country. I envision a world in which the government pays you to punch out new tailgates for a 1993 F-150, immaculate bumperettes for a Valiant, and rust-free patch panels for Escorts. They will tell you it can't be done, which is even more proof that we need to go do it ourselves. If you manage to find someone willing to back this political project, send them by my house. I'll be there all weekend trying to figure out where the Princess Auto warranty on $10 hydraulic bearing presses and $3 ball-peen hammers becomes invalid.

[haveyouheardthisband]

[blues824]

Once Upon A Dream

Gender-neutral reader, a tad self-indulgent. References a train, but could reference a dress, tailcoats, a cape of some fabulous sort, etc. 

Use of the word officiant, but I meant it in a way where he marries the two of you, and I did not use any religious traditions; just headcanon fae traditions. Also uses the word bridesmaids, but I did not describe reader as a ‘bride’.

Pricking of fingers on a spinning wheel, blood.

Malleus Draconia

It was a joyful day within Briar Valley. Everyone was rushing to put the finishing touches on their homes and stores, decorating with the most beautiful flowers anyone has ever seen. The whole town was bustling with excitement and magic. Farmers from the outskirts of the land were coming in on their wagons filled with even more flowers so no one would worry about running out.

You looked outside of your window in your silk pajamas to see all of the preparations being made for your big day. You took a huge whiff of fresh air, and you could smell the freshness of the floral arrangements. Someone then knocked on the door, and you smiled as you gently opened the door to reveal a maid and a manservant holding your attire. Just seeing the outfit brought joy to your heart and a smile to your face.

For years, you had been imagining this day: your wedding day. 

The maid helped you bathe and moisturize and spray perfume on, before helping you into the wedding attire. It had a bit of a train in the back, so she had to call over the manservant to help hold the train in place. Your hair was arranged with a crown of blossoming flowers, and you were given a bouquet. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you let out a gasp at how different but similar you looked.

The servants who were helping you get ready were all very friendly and excited, despite you being human and they being fae folk. Actually, a lot of the citizens within the town and all of the land of Briar Valley thought you were beautiful and kind, just like your friends back at NRC did… just like your fiancé did as well. 

Oh yes, everyone was making a big deal of the wedding that day because you were marrying Malleus Draconia, the Crowned Prince of Briar Valley. Queen Maleficia herself approved of this match, as she had never seen her grandson so in love and so happy with someone by his side, and said that after your wedding ceremony, she would relinquish the crown to the prince so that he would be King and you would be his Spouse and Co-Ruler.

Unfortunately, your bridesmaids would be some of the ladies you had made friends with here in Briar Valley. All of your family were still back in your world, a place you still couldn’t get to yet. It didn’t sadden you too much, though, because you could start a whole new life here in Twisted Wonderland.

You had already been through the training and lessons on how to be both a person of the court and a ruler. However, you did not see your fiancé for much of that time. Instead, you became quite close to both the current Queen and Lilia. You went through a lot of harsh history lessons, mostly consisting of the disagreements between humans and faes.

Your marriage would be one of genuine love between human and fae kind, not one of convenience or alliance.

The sentence was heavier on your head than the floral crown you were wearing, probably because of the truth it held. You loved Malleus with all your heart, which is why you dealt with walking with books on your head, with sword fighting, with saying hello to multiple different nobles within the kingdom, with not seeing him as you were in training…

You had no magic, and you were fully capable of doing all of this to prove your love and dedication not just to your husband-to-be, but the kingdom you were going to rule. It was enough for the people and the Queen to be proud, because you cast aside your differences and tried to learn.

Eventually, the maid that made her appearance this morning led you by the hand out to the castle’s entrance while the manservant followed behind, holding up the train of your outfit. The other servants were all at the sides of the corridors and halls as you made your way, congratulating you and wishing you good fortune. You would see them later, at the actual celebration once the ceremony had commenced.

One thing that was part of fae culture, specifically with weddings, was that the newlyweds had to prick their finger upon a spinning wheel so as to bind their beings together as one whole. You saw a wagon being loaded up with such a wheel. It was going to be the front of the procession, as you made your way to the meadow where the wedding was taking place.

The maid helped you onto the unicorn (yes, a unicorn), as it would have been a bit of a walk in the shoes you had on. You let out a gasp at how beautiful it was, and you ran your hand through its soft mane before you were joined by Sebek and Silver (dressed in the groomsmen attire) at your sides. They were on horseback, and they were there to make sure you made it to the altar safely. After all, Malleus and Maleficia would have their heads if you were kidnapped or harmed at all.

You looked and saw that Sir Zigvolt was close to tears, and you, with a smile, asked if he required a handkerchief. This just made a hint of a smile appear on his and Sir Silver’s face as he wiped away his tears. No matter how much pressure you were put under, you always managed to put your friends first as well as maintain a sense of humor. 

Lilia rode up next to them and told them to straighten their posture. He was in his more mature form, taking you a bit by surprise. In all of the years you have known Lilia, you would never have described him as serious. But here he was, in his general’s formal attire, hair long and tied up in a ponytail, commanding a small battalion to trail behind you.

This was a bit much, wasn’t it?

Well, it was too late to ask, since now your handmaidens and manservants had taken their place right behind you and in front of the battalion. Then, the procession started. The castle gate rose to let you and your parade through, and all of the citizens of the town were making their way to the same meadow you were going to right now. All of the decorations upon the houses and stores were so beautiful up close, rather than when you saw them on a balcony.

Looking forward, you saw that you were coming upon the gates of the actual city where the castle resided. You forgot how big the entirety of Briar Valley was. It hit you extra hard when you realized that this meant that the lords and ladies would be there as well. Royalty, nobility, the gentry, and even the common folk. The entire land would be there and attending the festivities that would come after you and Malleus pricked your fingers.

On the side of the road, there was a little child who pulled at his mother’s skirt and pointed at you in amazement. You gave a small wave and he squealed in excitement, making you smile. But, you continued onward through the main street. It wasn’t too long before you reached the edge of the forest.

Inside the forest, there would be a green meadow where everything should be set up, aside from the spinning wheel. You’ve been there when you and Malleus were planning the wedding, and it was one of the few times you were actually able to see your fiancé. He looked very happy to hold you in his arms again… even if it was just for about five minutes.

Yeah, they were very strict on you both not seeing each other too much, as it could cause a distraction for either of you. You slept on entirely different ends of the castle just so the two of you wouldn’t be up to anything suspicious. However, you were able to dine with each other in the dining hall, as there were servants who were monitoring the both of you. It was very annoying, but once you and him were joined in matrimony, you would see each other much more.

The trees were beautiful, and covered with moss. The sun shone through the leaves in little patches of sunlight on the ground. Whenever you passed through the rays, it made you feel its warmth upon your skin. Seeing all of the green made you feel more and more excited about what was to come in a few short moments.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Malleus had to admit that he had never been more nervous than how he was now. He was standing, awaiting his fiancé at the altar. Everyone was making their way to their seats, excited for the reception after the ceremony. None of them could see how sweaty the prince’s hands had gotten in the short amount of time he had been there.

Perhaps you had second thoughts? It was understandable, considering this would be a huge responsibility placed on your shoulder as a magicless human, something you were kind of used to but also very tired of. But you expressed such excitement when he proposed to you, so that wouldn’t be very reasonable.

What if you were kidnapped or hurt on the way here? Oh, if something happened, someone would die. Whoever would have been audacious enough to rob him of his wedding day to his beloved would pay the hefty price. Suddenly, there was a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see his grandmother looking up at the sky to see a dark cloud that was forming. Malleus shook his head to snap out of it, when he heard the ‘all rise’.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You took a deep breath and stepped forward into the meadow from off of the path. The sun was shining bright, and you were fighting for your life to try and see where you were stepping. There were gasps as you got to the row furthest from the altar, which is when everyone stood up. The spinning wheel went first down the aisle and was placed on the left side of your groom. The wheel was followed by the groomsmen and bridesmaids. 

Speaking of, your heart fluttered upon seeing Malleus waiting for you. You could feel yourself tearing up as the realization hit you once again: you were getting married. Suddenly, all of the eyes on you didn’t matter. All that mattered was Malleus, since you both would be bound together as one for all of eternity.

Then, you started walking down the aisle. More gasps sounded, and you laughed while tearing up even more. Your fiancé also started tearing up a bit, smiling. Queen Maleficia thought the scene was absolutely adorable, reminding her of her wedding to her husband oh-so-many years ago. She wished you both the same amount of happiness in your marriage that she had with her true love.

Once you made it to your spot at the altar, your very-soon-to-be-husband whispered to you that you looked like you were getting married, trying to distract you from the tears that were swelling up in his eyes. You giggled as you said that yeah, I’m getting married to you. His smile said a million more things than words ever could portray, and the officiant started performing the ceremony.

“We are gathered here today to celebrate the joining of Crowned Prince Malleus Draconia to Y/N L/N, for the betterment not only of themselves but also for the Kingdom of Briar Valley. Now, without further ado, Your Royal Highness, if you wouldn’t mind taking off your gloves and pricking your finger upon the spinning wheel.”

You watched as the dragon fae removed his black gloves and leaned over to prick his finger. A spot of blood remained on both the wheel and his finger, and he brought his digit to his mouth to lick off the blood. He saw you watching him and gave you a wink. 

“Y/N L/N, if you would please prick your finger now.”

Your hand was shaky as you reached it to the wheel. Memories of a certain film you watched in your childhood flashed in your mind, and you smiled as you recalled what happened to Princess Aurora when she pricked her finger. However, the two of you were living two completely different fairy tale lives. You see, your knight in shining armor was the dragon.

It brought a bit of a sting to your finger, but nothing absolutely painful. You also brought your finger to your mouth, before denying Malleus any look at you (with love, of course) as you turned back to the officiant. 

To anyone else in the audience, you both were taking this relatively well for a couple who was about to be married. However, both your hearts were pounding against your chests. This was the most excited either of you have been, even more so than when Malleus first asked to court you and then proposed to you years later. 

“This spinning wheel is magic, and it turns typical wool into gold. This is a metaphor for the memories you both will make from this point onward. Any injustices suffered before you pricked your fingers shall be washed away and never repeated as you go forward in your marriage and make golden memories. May your happiness and love be eternal.”

At this point, Sebek and Silver lifted up the spinning wheel and walked back down the aisle to load it on the wagon before going back to their spots behind Malleus. At this point, there were a few stray tears running down your face and your husband gently wiped them away. You then turned back to the officiant so that everything could be wrapped up.

“Now, you may kiss your spouse. Congratulations.”

Malleus wasted absolutely no time in dipping you down and kissing you with such burning passion, it left you breathless after. The fae folk and your former peers from NRC all cheered in absolute excitement before he pulled you back up and helped you stay balanced. Then, he offered you his arm for you to wrap your own around before he gently led you back down the aisle.

You were followed by a procession of people; Queen Maleficia was first behind the two of you, then the bridesmaids, and then the groomsmen. Everyone headed to the reception area, excited to dance, party, and eat. You were excited to have a dance with your new husband, and to see him dance with his grandmother. You would be dancing with Professor Crewel, since he was a close father figure to you.

However, once you reached the area, Malleus pulled you to the side to kiss you again. The excitement and pure adoration in his eyes made your heart melt, and you couldn’t help but kiss him back in return. 

“My dear, I have waited many years for this. I’ve foreseen this once upon a dream, but I had no idea that it would come into fruition.”

“As have I, my love. Now, I believe everyone is waiting for us at the banquet table,” you giggled before you both made your way to your spots at the dining table.

[hotvintagepoll]

Okay, but now I must know your opinions on Putt-Putt games! (Gotta disagree with you. Putt-Putt Goes to the Moon is clearly the Best of them all)

i haven't played all the games (including Goes to the Moon, sadly), but here are my unfiltered reviews for all the ones I have played!

Putt-Putt Saves the Zoo: a classic. a slowburn. the same every time but that adds to its aura of stability, the old world, a pocket out of time undisturbed. also there are cheese puffs and you can have putt-putt eat them over and over if you don’t care much about saving the elephant

Putt-Putt Travels Through Time: more hectic, meandering, a loop in a loop: the clues ever spiraling outward, the chaos of time unlocked vying with old prospector stereotypes and a deeply inaccurate Middle Ages. a singing hourglass asks putt-putt to resolve reality and he responds “and my homework?” Notable for its wagon wheel fruit snacks (edible if you want to sacrifice the entire old west portion and shoot your gameplay in the foot) and the talking floating lipstick wearing car i had a crush on as a 4 year old.

Putt-Putt Enters the Race: a!!! banger!!!!! yes you get stuck in the vegetable garden too long. yes you wonder why Outback Al, a supposed zoologist, doesn’t know what a baby yak eats. but there’s a cat stuck in a tree and a dog with buried treasure and sometimes the shed is on fire! this is riveting domestic drama and the cherry on top is the number of milkshakes one can order. (a lot.)

Freddi Fish and the Stolen Conch Shell: the most perfect of the freddi games in my opinion for channeling noir coral reef aesthetics into a chiming, dark-hue’d mystery. shady characters galore (also a monkey). an intense climax with true stakes. a squid with a cabaret act. freddi peaks. (the seaweed looks soooo edible.)

Freddi Fish and the Hogfish Rustlers: ok this one kinda beefs it ngl. yes there’s an old timey bar yes you can order a root bear soda. but the vibes? the QUEST? the menace of the deep? lacking. there is one cool part where you can intentionally drown a ship, but otherwise the aesthetic is too brown to really go full High Noon.

Freddi Fish and the Case of the Creature of Coral Cove: the character design in this suuuuucks I couldn’t tell you why I just hate all of them. BUT there is a taffy machine and I love the finale of running around the house flipping open secret doors and bribing dogs, so I give it points for that.

Freddi Fish and Maze Madness: aptly named because this game has been driving me insane for years. I played it last week and I’m still stuck on level 31. what the fuck. humongous entertainment said let’s make a game for 8 year olds so we can really let those little suckers know they ain’t shit because this thing is impossible

[inglorionamy-ammy]

Of Home and Haven (Ch 1/6)

[Yes I love them and I am drawing them a cover lol]

Summary: A tender tale between an outlander barbarian and a scholarly wizard, navigating life, love, and belonging (aka. What "being together" means for them) in Waterdeep and beyond.

Pairing: Half-orc Barbarian F!Tav X Gale SFW

Word count: 3.2k

Notes: Welcome to my first venture into fan fiction!

A gigantic shoutout to @senualothbrok for guiding my newbie writing every step, for being my beta and English coach, and for being so enthusiastic about Gale AND Ta'V in general. Without you, I wouldn't have the courage to post the story.

For whoever ventured here, please enjoy :)

AO3 Link: Here

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

It still feels wrong to venture outside without the Nyrulna, your faithful trident.

Logically, you understand it’s a horrible weapon choice for the crowded streets of Waterdeep, its thunder damage a guarantee of passerby casualty. You are not expecting battles anyway — Compared to your last two months of tadpoled adventures and the previous ten years of your mercenary life, this is a significant change of pace. The violence rate here is obscenely low.

Ha. Astarion would have giggled at that, followed by a disapproving-but-amused headshake from your gentlemanly wizard. Gale Dekarios, your human, your man. Even counting your pillow, he is still the softest, finest thing you have ever laid hands on in your nomadic life. What a strange twist of fate, that a scheme of the Dead Three has led you to this treasure you'd never encounter otherwise. Perhaps a “thank you” is in order.

A lady always says thank you. Ma’s voice rings in your ears, a distant memory. You snort, not to her but to yourself. She had never lost faith in your ability to be civilized, even when you believed otherwise.

Now, it is Gale who has given you the courage to try out polite society again. The last time you set foot in a city, not including the cultist-infiltrated war-torn Baldur's Gate, was for an escort mission at Elturel. You and a few others were hired to travel with a half-elf noblewoman, her frail yet elegant frame reminiscent of the fawn you hunted a day before. In daylight, you rode next to her, vigilant for any potential danger. At night, you postponed your rest to hunt so that her private chef could prepare her precious meal, while you feasted on cheap rum and dry meat. You had no protest over such an arrangement, being right at home living simply in the wild. It was only when she deliberately changed her wagon into what you could only describe as a "show-off cart" to enter the city, that you felt a pang of distaste. Despite her so-called concern for safety, she wanted a crowd anyway, and a crowd was what she got. Unsurprisingly, when the crew marched past the city gate, the people of Elturel gathered to stare at her in awe and at you in fear. As you walked alongside the heavily decorated four-wheeled cart at a painfully slow pace, you silently thought, "That could be me sitting in there. I am half-human too, you know?"

But that’s where you stop. Focus. You have two missions today, the first being to bring a surprise lunch to your fiancé at Blackstaff Academy. You have roasted a pig leg as best as you could with his magical hob, picked out the freshest berries of the season, and scouted a rich full-red you know Gale will enjoy.

Wait. Is drinking allowed at school? You wouldn’t know, as your education came from your parents and the road. In any case, he can store it in his big, nice teacher’s room he gleefully described in detail when he first got his position a week ago. You had been celebrating at the Yawning Portal that night, and your drunken wizard had lovingly leaned on your arm, so overjoyed that, despite being in public, he cheekily rubbed his beard against you like a spoilt kitten. You just couldn’t resist giving his soft hair a good pat.

“T-This is surreal,” he sighed, with a lazy gaze under half-lidded eyes. “Please, my love, join me someday. I have so many stories to share —it is my second home after all!”.

You liked the place already. If that is where he belongs, then you must go there as well.

In the end, you decide to give up the Nyrulna and pick a simple axe, just for safety measures. It should be a perfect choice: small enough to hide under your cloak and cheap enough not to make a fuss, even if it got confiscated by an academy guard. Tracing its metal notches reminds you of Karlach, a fellow barbarian soldier. You miss that woman.

You check yourself in the mirror one last time, adjust your dreadlocks, and take a deep breath. Time to face polite society.

---

"STOP."

You hold up your hands as two steel sentinels halt you at the gate of the renowned Blackstaff Academy. It is a gesture you have practiced many times, wary and expectant. Behind them, the arcane tower looms over you. The voice of the guards sounds too hollow and unified, a single echo shared between the duo. Remotely controlled guards then, you think, impressed.

“STATE YOUR PURPOSE.”

“I am here to see Gale Dekarios, Professor of the Illusion School.” You practiced this also, more times than you’d ever admit.

“School of Illusion,” the voice corrects you. Now it sounds like a sentient being, not like that weird projection of Lorroakan’s at Sorcerous Sundries. The masculine voice has a pinched, haughty tone and an air of tired condescension. You are immediately reminded of wizards and their pride in education; how a long time ago, when you had miraculously succeeded in channeling the Weave for the first time and shared your joy with Gale — “I didn’t know channeling the Weave was so easy” — he wasted not a second to remind you that, in fact, it is not. Somehow, that awkward moment has now turned into a soothing memory.

“Hm-Right.” You cough to hide a snort. “I am his wife. I would like to bring him lunch. May I pass the gate?” As an afterthought, you add, “Please?” Your Ma would be proud.

“LIAR. Piss off before I chase you out.”

Of all the responses you expected, this is not one of them. You are growling before you know it. “I suggest you KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT.” The words rush harshly out of your fanged mouth.

…uh.

In an instance the two sentinels spring into a battle stance. Worse still, you can feel onlookers start to gather, and your skin itches under their gazes. You force an exhale.

“…What makes you think I am lying?” You try as calmly as you can manage, holding onto the mental image of your smiling wizard, just beyond reach. Volo’s book better gets published sooner so that everyone will know who you are. Better yet, you will make sure he highlights the word ‘wife’.

“Professor Dekarios is not married.” The sentinels, with the smuggest voice you have ever heard in your life, drop their final blow.

And that is when you remember. Yes, you are still technically his fiancée, even though the man himself has often forgotten that, already showering you with affection far deeper than a ring could ever capture.

Perhaps someone more eloquent would continue to argue, ask Gale to come out, and demand proper treatment for a lady. But right now you only feel overwhelmingly exposed, with too many prying eyes and wiggling tongues for you to maintain your civil façade any longer. So you retreat, trying to ignore the unsubtle snickers. The sentinels were not as clever as they thought they were anyway. What kind of guards reveal personal details to a potential enemy like that? Amateur.

---

What would Gale do to remedy the day? He would strategize.

You decide to call upon Tara to deliver the meal, and if the sentinels deny her entry they will know true horror. Her outrage upon hearing your encounter was enough to cheer you up. After all, your goal is to get your love fed, and the means—who is doing the delivery — are less important than the ends.

With that dealt with, you now need to focus on your second mission—to pass a job interview. You have decided that settling down in polite society means less fighting, but there is no way you’d just stay at home and rely on Gale’s income, even though he wouldn’t mind. The man is more than willing to provide for you, but you wouldn’t want to lounge around in the tower, hanging off his coattails. Truth be told, this is for your own good too—you truly wish to be a part of Waterdeep by playing an active role in it, not just as a tag-along of Gale’s.

Of the ten positions you applied for in the past month, you only got one reply: a counter clerk at the Aurora's Realms Shops next to the Market. Gale had frowned when he heard about the demanding dusk-till-dawn working hours, but you assured him you’d only take shifts six days out of a tenday. He had tried to argue further, but upon seeing your determination, swallowed his questions. You both know that if you had applied to be a city guard, a dock laborer, or even a weaponry store assistant, you’d get better offers. But you have decided that you want a change. More sitting, less fighting. To be polite. Chit-chat with people. To smile without malice.

So, on leaving Blackstaff, you arrive at the shopfront five minutes before your interview. You scan the two queues before you: one inside the shop and one outside. A queue for a counter clerk job at this paid rate? You lament, Waterdeep and its gods forsaken job market.

You push open the glass door, and upon seeing you enter, a human woman with a clipboard swiftly calls, “Oh. The interview for security guards is outside.”

“I am here for the counter clerk one.” Several candidates from the queue indoor turn to you curiously. To be fair, all of them are tinier than you; you’d have no problem reaching the top shelf, or lifting one, if you ever needed to.

“Ah. Right.” The lady is polite enough to look embarrassed. “And your name?” She shows you her clipboard as you tower over her, and as you scan through the long list she adds helpfully, “Or you can just tell—” “I know how to read.” You stop her mid-sentence, your harsh tone making her wince, and you wince too. Gods, you need to get better at this. Apologetically, you soften your voice, “This is me,” pointing to your name on the list.

“Ta’V Riversong?” She is surprised. Does she recognize the Hero of Baldur’s Gate? She does not start praising your great deeds, so you assume no, you aren’t that lucky. It must be the other reason then.

 “Yes,” you explain. “Riversong is my Ma—mother’s surname, she’s a human.”

This is one thing you share with Gale: taking your mother’s family name. Your father, however, did not abandon the family like Gale’s father did. Instead, your father understood—theirs was a runaway marriage, and your mother had sacrificed a lot to settle down with a barbarian deep in the woods, away from civil society. Her name was her last connection to her noble past, and your father could never deny her that. Idly, you wonder if this woman has heard of your mother’s family. Growing up, you never cared enough to learn about this illusion of a heritage.

“I see,” she says meekly. “Sorry…It’s just that from your application, I didn’t expect you to be a half-orc.”

---

And that is why you end up shit-faced in a random tavern. You don’t even bother to look at the tavern sign as you stumble in, determined to leave behind the interview, the Academy, and polite society as soon as possible. You order whisky first, then firewine, because you can’t afford to waste money, given that you definitely won’t get the job. You understand. They want someone less intimidating. Of fucking course.

You are almost delighted when you feel hostility flushing towards you.

The hair at the back of your neck stands. At the corner of your eye you spot the flash of a cunning dagger, which you recognize as a Murderous Cut. Ah, local Bhaal cultists then. You may have had a bad day, but at least you can make theirs worse. You down your drink in one go, and without further ado, send the mug right into a cloaked figure’s face.

In an instant the whole tavern breaks into chaos. As the others reveal their weapons, you realize something: You have missed this. The axe you wield breaks through wind and skulls. Frenzied roars explode from the depth of your lungs, your charge unstoppable and inevitable. This is the part of yourself you used to be most proud of, the warrior that you were trained to be, born from ashes and forged in flames.

FIGHT ME! You father shouted, signaling the start of the match.

Two figures charge at you. You ground your stance before taking a full-body swing, slashing open both poor souls at once. With a kick you send one of them towards the side, knocking over a clamour of plates and glasses.

SIDE! He took advantage of your open stance.

A blade cut scratches your cheek, but you promptly ignore its stink of poison. You grab the man and throw him right at a ranger in the corner, knocking both of them out. Perhaps you are enjoying this too much, but when you look at the screaming Waterdhavians, your grin is wide and true. You will not be tamed.

CHARGE!

As you knock down your last enemy you feel free, freedom that you haven’t tasted for months since you arrived in this godsdamned city. You rise, wobbling, and you see your father grinning proudly. On the day you had beaten him down finally, he had pronounced you a worthy adult. You were sixteen, ready to hit the road. You laugh maniacally, in joy and sorrow and everything else you can’t name. You know Gale could name them. Yes. Gale. The smartest, sweetest person you’ve ever known.

And then you collapse.

---

You were inside his purple tent. Late at night, he illuminated it with floating orbs, reclining between your legs as he read his tomes. He was so focused, and you couldn’t help but distract him with a kiss on top of his head as you gently traced circles on his stomach.

He chuckled, low and warm, then leaned back against you.

“This is one mystery I’ll never solve,” he began, closing his tome. “Why oh why would such a wonderful, ferocious, tenacious warrior ever set her sights on someone as brittle as me?”

“I could ask the same in reverse, but I ran out of adjectives,” you muttered sleepily and he laughed, setting his hands on top of yours as his thumb stroked your calloused skin.

You knew he was unsatisfied, so you tried your best, despite the pulling weight on your eyelids, to set his ever-churning mind to rest.

“You smell good,” you managed, and he laughed even louder.

But you needed him to understand. You pushed out one last word.

“Home.”

He went quiet as you fell asleep.

---

You hear…

“Ta—”

Something. Familiar. Wings.

“Ta’V—”

It’s the smell that gets you.

“TA’V!”

“WHAT? I’m awake, I’m awake. Don’t fret!” You jerk up, snapping out of your coma. It is Gale who holds your face urgently, his brows tightly knitted, knees rough on the hard ground. Next to him, Tara flutters her wings, startled by your sudden movement.

You are elated to see them, and you want to tell them so. But something in his glistening eyes makes you pause.

“Don’t fret?” His voice is an octave higher than usual. “You were lying on the ground alone, bleeding, unconscious, surrounded by godsdamned cultists, AND YOU TELL ME TO NOT FRET?”

Dead cultists, you want to counter, but your overflowing relief finally spills over.

“I love you,” you say instead, and Tara twists her tail in amusement.

Gale stares at you for a long time. Finally, with a deep breath, he relents.

“And I you. Let’s go home, shall we?”

---

While you have never been well-versed in sentimental things, you do understand that this situation calls for a hug. So you gather him into a squeezing embrace as soon as the two of you stumble out of the portal. Tara, in the meantime, settles herself on the kitchen counter, waiting for the drama to unfold.

To cheer him up, you decide to start with something happy. “So…did you enjoy the meal Tara brought you?”

You feel him tense, so you hug him harder. A moment later, he nods against your chest.

“It was wonderful,” he mutters. “I savored every bite, sang the chef’s praises to anyone who’d listen.” He pauses. “I learnt from Tara what happened at the gate.”

“Oh, well. Perhaps I shouldn’t have dropped by without a head’s up.”

He pushes himself away from your chest and stares sternly into your eyes. “That is not the point. I swear, the first thing I’ll do next time I return to the Academy is to teach that young man Endorick a very serious lesson on manners. That was pure disrespect, not only to you but to everything the Blackstaff stands for. In fact, the only reason I was delayed was because of the next bit of shocking news Tara relayed to me.” His gaze turns sorrowful. “My love, would you please tell me what happened?”

You grunt. Talking has never been your strong suit, but it is Gale’s preferred mode of communication, so you push through it. You tell him about the failed interview, the resulting drinking, and the fight. You try to describe your feelings along the way, knowing that it will comfort him to know more about you. At the end of your narrative, he falls silent.

Then he announces abruptly, “Let’s pack.”

“What? Why?”

Gently, he presses his hand against your cheek. His voice is firm and tender when he says, “It was never my intention to cause you such pain, or to mold you into something different than what you are now.” He grimaces. “In fact, I can scarcely believe I truly deserve to have someone as wonderful as you by my side as a friend and a wife. So we can go, far away from here, travel again, meet your parents perhaps! Anywhere that makes you happy, I will follow.”

“But what of your teaching?” You counter, and you are almost appalled when he shrugs. “I have barely started. I’m sure the esteemed, resourceful Blackstaff Academy can manage without—"

“NO!” You stumble, hands gesturing frantically. “This is your dream! Your second home, you said!”

“And you are my first,” he declares without hesitation. “I know my choice.”

Your head hangs. You feel dejected. He doesn’t get it.

There are too many thoughts swirling in your head, words starting to slump and melt and break. You can’t explain yourself, and you can’t keep up with this conversation anymore. Unlike Gale, you must see and touch to manipulate. As you fall silent, you can sense Gale’s increasing concern.

Finally, you proclaim, “I will show you tomorrow.”

---

This is why, when the morning comes, your fiancé will find himself awake before you — a rare occurrence — and reading a great puzzle in the form of a simple note, carefully pried from your fist as you doze. It reads, in handwriting he finds as endearingly boorish as its owner:

“I want to work at Blackstaff Academy too.”

Chapter 2

---

Thank YOU for reading this story. Tell me what you think! It would make my day :)

Other things that I do

[hellinistical]

fem! reader x rafayel. royal! au. sea horror! au. heavy angst. minor and major character death. slow burn. romance. fluff. explicit smut. trauma. religious themes. gore; hinted torture, cannibalism, decapitation, self-cannibalism. violence. wc: 4796 | status: on-going

masterlist | playlist | taglist | prev. | next.

II: GOLD STRUCK

The wagon wheels were obviously wobbly, the axles needing immediate tightening, not that anyone would care to repair them, though. The rainy season was in full effect, and the roads were the sky’s first victim. A dog chased after a squirrel, it’s barking annoying the merchant nearby. He cursed the dog and his bloodline. 

“To hell with Linkon! To hell with this damned town!” His broom thwacked at the wood sign on his stall. “When I catch you, you damned dog, why, you’ll be roasted with your litter!”

“Oh Mr. Heggins, relax! It’s just a dog!” “Just a dog? Why you- you let him out, didn’t you, Caleb? I should get you fired from the mines for this!”

Caleb laughed, crow's feet forming by his eyes as he smiled big. His hands held orchids. He had picked them from his mother's garden earlier that morning, meticulously picking the best ones without her knowing. In his pocket, a small box rested.

Mr. Heggins eyes note the flowers and the small lump in his pocket. 

“Today's the day, eh?”

Caleb nodded, his cheeks tinging with red. 

“Yes, sir. I plan to ask tonight.”

“Ah, before the king's carriages come? Bad timing, no?”

“No, sir.”

It's quiet for a moment before the old man speaks up. 

“And out of everyone you could have, you chose the L/n's daughter.” He lets out a pitiful chuckle. “I won't question it, but to each their own.” 

As the old man walked off, Caleb hummed, his hand going to his pocket, patting it affectionately as he walked on through the streets.

He grabbed some pumpkin bread, the honey, and roasted almonds on it making it smell heavenly. 

He collected some gifts. A doll, a kite, perfumes, and a watch. 

And then he headed off towards Linkon's hill village. 

*** Hot water splashed onto the weathered wood floorboards, the basin full to the brim. Sprigs of lavender, rosemary, and orange slices floated on the water, and Mrs. L/n poured fresh milk into the tub. 

“Is this really necessary?” Y/n huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m not getting in there- I won’t even be selected.” “Yes, you are. And I’m tired of you not listening to me.” “Mother- owowowowowowow!” 

The older woman grabbed her ear, pinching it lightly as she pulled her daughter towards the tub. Y/n held onto the wall, protesting. “I’m not going in there you; put milk in there! It’ll feel weird!” “Take the damn bath, child! Eva! Call your sisters and come here!”

“Coming, Mother!”

In moments, Y/n’s sisters came into the room. Eva smiled cheekily. “Today’s the day~!” “Like hell it is.” She shot back, wriggling in her mother’s grip. “You all act like you want me to get picked! Does Gran even know what you’re doing? Ma?” Her mother looked away, her hands going to the clasp on the back of Y/n’s dress. She undid it quickly, and the fabric pooled at her feet, ignoring her question.

“Strip out of your garments- Gods, you reek- is this wool? Y/n! You messed with the sheep again!” “I did not! I was with the ram- hey!” She placed her hand on the back of her head, the sting from her mother’s popping strong.

Lucy laughed, her chubby hands taking the stripped clothes to the wash.

“You’ve all gone mad. I hope you know that.” It comes out as a grumble, but she goes into the tub. But as soon as she stepped in, she complained. “The water’s freezing!” “That’s what you get for talking so long.” Her mother quipped. Her face sours as an orange slice touches her knee.

Raising her leg, Eva takes it, scrubbing it down as her mother starts to work on her hair. She hisses, her scalp tender as it gets scrubbed as well. 

“The weather is lovely, isn’t it?” “Just dandy.”

“What time is it?” “Half after 12, mother.” “Lord! We need to hurry then.” “Did you always have such a strawberry complexion, sister?” Y/n kicks water at her sister. “Quiet, you-”

She’s interrupted by her mother pouring a bucket of water over her head. Her hair gets thrown in her face, and she swallows some soapy, milky water, sputtering and coughing.

“Both of you, quiet. I’ll be damned if our good name is tarnished because you both decide to act like Neanderthals.

Y/n coughed out some more water. “I think calling me a Neanderthal isn’t fair- but Eva on the other hand- Oh my fucki- can you stop getting soap in my eyes?!”

“Language!”

***

Y/n shivers as she steps out of the basin, her arms crossed, knees turned, and locked. 

Some of the rosemary was tangled in her hair, but she paid it no mind.

Wrapping a towel around her body, Eva grabbed a comb, getting to work on untangling the knots and rosemary in her hair.

“This is ridiculous.”

“You would still get picked if you were covered in cow shit, so cease your bitching,” her mother shot back, not missing a beat as she scrubbed her daughter’s hair with renewed vigor.

Y/n's mouth dropped open, and she groaned. “You’re impossible!”

But her mother only raised an eyebrow. “And yet, here you are, complaining like always.”

Lucy waddled into the room, her small arms bundled up with a light blue chemise gown, the fabric soft and worn from years of storage. The short sleeves were cuffed, and though the dress had once been elegant, it was now out of date- the gaudy stitching showing the era it was from. Y/n’s eyes widened in horror as she realized what Lucy was holding.

“You can’t seriously expect me to—” Y/n began, her voice rising in protest.

But before she could finish, her mother yanked the towel off her body with practiced efficiency. “Of course not,” Mrs. L/n replied, her tone calm and unwavering. “Not until you’ve been plucked.”

Eva stepped forward, smirking as she handed her mother a razor, her grin mischievous. Y/n stared at it, her lips parting in disbelief. “Oh, come on...”

Mrs. L/n motioned for the sisters to leave. Eva, Lucy, and the others filed out, whispering and giggling amongst themselves as they shut the door behind them, leaving the room unusually still. The bright daylight streaming through the window seemed too cheerful for what was about to happen.

Y/n sighed heavily and sat on the small stool, arms wrapped around herself in half-hearted defiance. Her mother wordlessly knelt beside her, taking the razor and beginning the task of smoothing over her skin with slow, deliberate strokes.

For a few moments, the only sound in the room was the quiet scrape of the blade against her skin, the soft splash of water, and the occasional sigh from Y/n. It was a silence filled with things left unsaid, the weight of what was coming pressing on both of them.

Y/n looked down at her hands, picking at a loose thread on the towel. "I still don't think this is going to work. They'll want someone else," she murmured, not meeting her mother's eyes.

Her mother didn't respond immediately, her hands steady as she worked. Finally, she spoke, her voice softer than before. "It’s not about what they want, Y/n. It’s about what you’re worth. Remember, the better you do, the better we all do."

“Why do you want me to get picked so badly?” Y/n asked quietly, her voice trembling despite her attempts to sound nonchalant. “You know I’ll mess up.”

Mrs. L/n paused mid-stroke, her hands hovering for a moment before continuing, the razor gently gliding over her daughter's skin. She didn't meet Y/n’s gaze, but her words were firm.

“I don’t want you to go. What gave you that idea?”

Y/n blinked, caught off guard by the blunt response. Her throat tightened, but she said nothing, the silence suddenly heavy between them. 

Her mother’s eyes were fixed on her task, but the strain in her voice betrayed her emotions. “You think I want to see you paraded around like livestock? Gods know I don’t.” She set the razor aside for a moment, finally looking up at Y/n. “But if you’re chosen… at least you’ll be safe.”

Y/n swallowed hard, not knowing what to say. For once, she had no sharp retort.

"...They'll smell the farm on me," Y/n tried to joke, a small smirk tugging at her lips. "And it's not like the town doesn't have a reputation for me."

Mrs. L/n froze, her brow furrowing before she snapped, "Y/n M/n L/n. You will stop talking this instant!" She threw her hands up in exasperation, the razor clattering against the basin. “Ugh, by the Gods, you will jinx yourself, and no amount of rosemary will be able to fix it!”

Y/n bit her lip, stifling a laugh despite the tension in the air. She knew her mother meant well, but the whole situation still felt so surreal—so out of place for someone like her.

There was a knock on the door. Y/n's head snapped toward it, her brows knitting in confusion. Her father’s voice called through the wooden frame, calm and warm as always. 

“The boy is here, my loves.”

Y/n frowned. "Caleb? What’s he doing here?"

Mrs. L/n didn’t answer, her focus entirely on finishing the task at hand. She ignored Y/n’s questioning gaze and continued to move the razor carefully, finishing her legs before working up to her cunt.

"Never mind that," her mother finally said, her tone clipped. "We need to finish."

She turned toward the door, calling out in her usual brisk, commanding voice, “There’s a roast in the oven! Check it for me, please!”

“Aye, I will,” her father replied, the sound of his footsteps retreating down the hall.

Y/n slouched slightly on the stool, still puzzled. “He does know today is the collection, right?” Y/n asked, a hint of uncertainty creeping into her voice.

“Perhaps he’s wishing to bid you good luck. But it will have to wait,” her mother replied, still focused on her work.

“Oh.”

Y/n sighed, the thought lingering in her mind. It made sense enough. They had talked about their plans—what they would do if she didn’t get picked. Caleb would take his father’s horse, and they’d ride out of Linkon together. A smile tugged at her lips as she recalled the silly memory of him telling her the same thing every year. 

But she hadn’t seen him lately; he was always busy with family matters, tending to the farm, or preparing for whatever life awaited him. 

Once Y/n was dressed, she stood stiffly, adjusting the light blue gown that felt foreign against her skin. “I can feel every stitch, Mama.”

“It’s because your skin’s bare. It’s a good feeling. A good thing,” her mother replied, a hint of pride in her voice.

“I’ll get cold easier.”

“Oh please. You weren’t even furry,” her mother teased.

Y/n let out an unexpected laugh, the tension breaking for just a moment. But then the door swung open, and her father stepped in, whistling a cheerful tune.

“There she is. My darlings!” He kissed his wife and then pressed a warm kiss to Y/n’s cheek. He pauses. “You smell like the farm.”

Y/n shot a look at her mother. “Told you so.”

“He's messing with you,” her mother said, rolling her eyes.

Just then, Caleb ducked his head under the doorframe, a bright smile on his face. “Good evening, Mrs. L/n. I’ve brought gifts.”

“Gifts? You shouldn’t have!” her mother exclaimed, a warm smile spreading across her face.

“I wanted to,” Caleb said, his tone sincere.

“Oh, you sweet boy. Come, let’s go talk.” Mrs. L/n took Caleb’s hand, pulling him out of the washroom. 

As their eyes met, Caleb’s purple gaze sparkled with a kind of mischief that made Y/n’s heart race. She felt her cheeks heat up but managed to wave, a shy smile breaking through her earlier worries.

Once they left, Y/n found herself alone with her father in the warm, sunlit room. The air was thick with the lingering scents of lavender and rosemary, remnants of her mother’s frantic preparations. Mr. L/n glanced out the door, ensuring it was securely closed before turning to face her, his expression suddenly serious.

“Are you nervous, child?” he asked, his voice low and steady, a contrast to the bustling energy that had just filled the space.

“Nervous?” Y/n echoed, furrowing her brow in confusion. “About today?”

“Hm... no, can’t say I am.” She crossed her arms, trying to project confidence, but the truth was a tangle of emotions lay beneath her surface.

He studied her for a moment, the lines on his face deepening with concern. “You’re a horrible liar. That’s my fault. Should have taught you better.”

“Papa—”

“Listen. You’re no fool. You’ve got a good head on you,” he said, placing a hand on his chin, his thumb tracing the stubble there as he exhaled slowly, the weight of his thoughts pressing down like a storm cloud.

Y/n felt a knot tighten in her stomach, her heart racing as he continued. “That boy is going to propose. And you need to accept.”

Her eyes widened in shock, disbelief flashing across her face. “Huh?”

“That's how you don’t get picked,” he insisted, his tone firm yet gentle, as if trying to shield her from the harsh realities of their world.

“But—”

“Listen to me, child. You need to accept—today. Before it’s too late. Once you’re engaged, they can’t collect you.” 

“To Caleb?” she asked, her voice trembling with a mix of hope and uncertainty. The idea danced in her mind like a flickering flame, both enticing and frightening. Would it truly save her? 

“Yes!” he affirmed, leaning closer, his eyes locking onto hers with a fervent intensity. “You think we have luck when it comes to this sort of thing? We don’t,” Mr. L/n continued, his voice lowering even further as he leaned closer. “We should have married you to him months ago, but there was never an opportunity. We have the papers. You just need to have some witnesses—”

“You cheated the system?!” Y/n whisper-yelled, her eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and indignation.

“Of course I did!” he replied, a hint of pride breaking through his urgency. “I did it to protect you. You have no idea what they do to the girls they collect. We have to outsmart them.”

“I can’t marry Caleb! Are you crazy? I don’t even want to get married—” Y/n protested, her voice rising in disbelief.

“This isn’t about what you want! You love the boy; he loves you!” Mr. L/n countered, his frustration simmering beneath the surface.

“Yeah, but—” she started, her mind racing as she tried to find the right words.

“Listen to me,” he urged, his voice softening as he stepped closer. “This is about survival. The kingdom doesn’t care about your dreams or desires; they only see you as another name on a list. But if you’re engaged, they can’t touch you.”

Y/n took a deep breath, the reality of her situation weighing heavily on her chest. “What if Caleb doesn’t want this? What if he thinks I’m just using him?”

“Caleb knows—he's been helping orchestrate this!” Mr. L/n interjected, a mix of urgency and relief washing over him.

Y/n’s eyes widened in disbelief. “What do you mean he knows? How could you—?”

“I spoke to him. He understands the situation, Y/n. He’s been looking out for you, and he wants to keep you safe.” Her father’s voice softened, but the intensity of his words remained.

“Caleb is in on this?” she asked, her mind racing. The idea that Caleb had been part of this plan, that he had considered her fate alongside his own, sent her heart racing.

“Yes! He cares for you deeply, and he’s willing to do whatever it takes to protect you,” Mr. L/n explained, a hint of pride- and something else- in his voice.

She closed her eyes for a moment, envisioning Caleb’s kind smile and the playful banter they shared. Could he really be ready for something so serious? The thought of it both terrified and thrilled her. 

***

Caleb sat in the dingy dining room of the L/n household, his hand absently resting in his pocket. The scent of roasted meat wafted through the air, mingling with the musty smell of the worn furniture. Truthfully, the L/n farmland was rich and fruitful, bursting with potential, but the home itself felt shabby and neglected.

“Once we’re married, I can fix this place up…” he mumbled to himself, envisioning the changes he could make. The walls painted fresh, new furniture, perhaps even a small garden where Y/n could grow flowers. His heart swelled at the thought.

In the corner of the room, her sisters and mother were clustered together, giggling and gushing over the gifts he had brought—colorful ribbons, handmade trinkets, and sweets. Their excitement filled the air, but Caleb was lost in his own thoughts, barely noticing their chatter.

It wasn’t until Y/n emerged from the washroom, her father beside her, that he realized she was near. His heart skipped a beat as she stepped into the room, her vibrant orange hair catching the light. She looked radiant, even in the simple gown she wore, and a smile spread across his face as their eyes met.

“Good evenin', Y/n,” he greeted, warmth flooding his voice. “You look lovely.” 

Y/n’s cheeks flushed as she returned his smile, but there was an uncertainty in her gaze that made him wonder what was going through her mind. He wanted to ask about the selection ceremony, about her feelings, but for now, he simply stood there, hoping the moment would allow for the words to come.

“Er, hello, Caleb,” Y/n replied, her voice slightly shaky but warm.

He chuckled, a playful glint in his purple eyes. “You look like a strawberry.”

Eva snorted from the corner, unable to stifle her laughter. Y/n cleared her throat, determined to hold her ground. “Yes, well, thank you. They’re in season.”

“Are they now?” Caleb’s tone was teasing, and Y/n couldn’t help but smile despite the slight embarrassment. Strawberries weren’t in season, but he enjoyed the banter.

“They are,” she insisted, a spark lighting up her eyes.

“Then I trust you know where the ripe one is?” His gaze was warm, his smile contagious.

Y/n felt her cheeks flush deeper, but before she could respond, he gently took her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers. The touch sent a pleasant shiver down her spine. Together, they walked out of the house, the chatter of her family fading behind them.

As they stepped into the sunlit yard, the gentle breeze carried the scent of the sea, mingling with the earthy aromas of the farm. Caleb turned to her, his expression shifting to something more serious. “I’ve been thinking about what’s happening today…”

Y/n’s heart raced. She knew this was the moment to speak up, to share her fears and her father’s plan. But for now, she let the warmth of his hand and the softness of the afternoon settle around them, hoping to find the right words as they moved further from the house and deeper into the lush fields.

“Listen... I wanna marry you—” Caleb began, his tone earnest.

“Yes,” Y/n interrupted, her heart racing.

“What?” His expression shifted, surprise flashing across his face.

“Yes! I’ll marry you,” she declared, her excitement bubbling over.

“Let me finish,” he said, his brow furrowing slightly.

Y/n looked at him, confusion evident in her eyes.

Caleb’s smile faded, replaced by a serious expression. “Y/n. Don’t get me wrong. You’re a beautiful woman. And we’re good friends. But really, it’d be more of an exchange. I’ll marry you. But I want your father’s farm.”

Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

“I mean it,” he pressed, his voice steady but tinged with urgency. “If we’re going to make this work, we need to secure the land. The L/n farm is rich, and with your hand in marriage, I’d have both a partner and a stake in something that could thrive.”

Y/n felt her heart drop. The warmth of the moment had evaporated, replaced by a chill of realization. “You want to marry me for the farm?” she asked, hurt creeping into her voice.

Caleb’s expression hardened, his jaw set. “You thought this wouldn’t have an exchange? Marriage is a contract. I keep you safe, I get the land.”

“I can’t give you what isn’t mine,” Y/n shot back, her voice rising in disbelief.

“Look, you’re inheriting the farm. Your father is old. When I marry you, I inherit the farm instead. You’ll still have your sheep and goats, but I want you to stay in the gardens with the flowers.” He stepped closer, his eyes earnest. “Think about it. I’ll spruce the place up, combine our land. We can make a name for ourselves!”

Y/n stared at him, the weight of his words settling heavily on her shoulders. “You’re talking about my life as if it’s just an asset, Caleb! What if I don’t want to be tied to the farm? What if I want to travel, to explore beyond Linkon?”

He paused, the intensity in his eyes faltering. “But this is our home! This is where our lives are. We can make it better together.”

Caleb’s expression softened momentarily, but he quickly masked it with determination. “I’m not trying to control you! I just see potential—”

“Potential for what? For you to fulfill your dreams at the expense of mine?” Y/n felt anger bubbling inside her. “You’re reducing our relationship to a business deal!”

“I’m trying to think practically!” he insisted, frustration creeping into his voice. “We live in a harsh world, Y/n. If you get chosen today, it could be the end of everything for us. I just want to protect you!.... I care about you. But this isn’t just about us. It’s about doing what’ll be best.”

Silence hung between them, heavy with unspoken words and emotions. Y/n looked at him.

...Why did it feel scripted?

She ignores the brief thought, letting it slip just as quickly as it had arrived. “I need time to think,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

“You don’t have time to think,” Caleb said suddenly, pulling a small box from his pocket. He opened it to reveal a simple yet elegant ring. “I got the ring. Just wear it.”

“You’re kidding,” Y/n replied, disbelief flooding her voice.

“I’m not,” he insisted, his gaze steady.

“Caleb—” she started, but he interrupted her.

“That farm is precious, and your family doesn’t even see it. Just marry me and let me help you.”

Y/n’s heart raced as she stared at the ring. “You can’t just expect me to decide everything right now! This is my life we’re talking about!”

“I know it is! But we’re out of time. If you don’t make a choice before the selection, you could end up as one of those girls, the ones that don't get anything good!”

The gravity of his words settled in her chest like a stone. She thought of the stories her grandmother had told her, the dark legends woven through the village about the gathering and the sacrifices. The idea of becoming one of those girls made her stomach churn.

“Caleb, this isn’t the way,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t want to feel like I’m being sold off or bartered for land.”

“But you wouldn’t be! You’d be marrying someone who loves you, who wants to protect you!” He took a step closer, desperation flickering in his eyes. “Please, just wear the ring. We can figure everything else out together.”

Scripted. It felt so scripted. But why?

Y/n felt torn, her heart battling against her mind. The prospect of safety and partnership clashed with her desire for freedom and choice. “I… I need to think about it,” she said, her voice trembling.

“Look, if you’re not gonna marry me, I can wait for Eva. Or I’ll marry Lorraine—”

“Eva? Lorraine? Excuse me? Them of all people?” Y/n shot back, incredulous. The idea felt like a slap. Lorraine was the village gossip, always getting into trouble and never taking anything seriously. And her sister? Absolutely.

Caleb shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. “I’m just saying, she wouldn’t mind. If you don’t want me, someone else will step in.”

“Right, because that’s how love works,” Y/n snapped, her frustration boiling over. “You can’t just jump from one sister to another like we’re some kind of game to you!”

“It’s not a game!” he argued, stepping closer, the tension thickening the air between them. “This is about survival, Y/n! Don’t you see? You can either have me fighting for you or risk being taken away, offered to the sea. I don’t want to lose you!”

Y/n’s heart raced as she considered his words again, the weight of the impending selection pressing down on her. The fear of the Dark Sea loomed larger than ever. “But I don’t want to feel trapped,” she said, her voice quieter now, almost pleading.

Caleb softened, his expression earnest. “You won’t be trapped with me. We can make it work, and build a life together. Just think about it—before it’s too late.”

As she looked into his eyes, Y/n felt a swirl of emotions—fear, anger, and- disgust? But the thought of marrying him out of desperation gnawed at her conscience. “I need more time- stop saying we don't have it."

“Time is the one thing we don’t have,” he replied, frustration creeping back into his voice. “Please, just wear the ring. Show me you’ll consider this. I can’t bear the thought of you being chosen—”

“Y/n! Come on, we’re waiting for you!” Eva’s voice called from the house, pulling her back to reality.

Caleb took her hand, his grip firm but gentle, as he slid the ring onto her finger. “Insurance. Just in case,” he said, his voice steady despite the uncertainty swirling around them.

Y/n blinked, her heart racing, but before she could respond, laughter echoed from inside the house. Her family had gathered, and when they saw Caleb placing the ring on her finger, their cheers erupted like a sudden storm.

“Oh, look at that!” her mother exclaimed, beaming. “My darling Y/n is engaged!”

Y/n’s eyes widened in shock. “No! Wait!” But the joyous noise drowned out her protests. Eva clapped her hands, and Lucy jumped up and down, her chubby cheeks flushed with excitement.

“Caleb! You clever boy!” Eva gushed. “We knew you’d come through!”

“But you don’t understand—” Y/n started, but her voice was lost in the commotion.

“Come here, you two!” Mrs. L/n pulled Y/n into a tight embrace, tears of joy glimmering in her eyes. “I’m so proud of you, my sweet girl. You’re all grown up!”

Y/n felt the weight of her mother’s affection, but dread settled heavily in her chest. She glanced at Caleb, searching for a flicker of understanding, but he was caught up in the whirlwind of celebration, a victorious grin plastered across his face.

“Now we can start planning the wedding!” her mother continued, clapping her hands together. “This is wonderful news! The whole village will be thrilled!”

Y/n’s heart sank. The idea of a wedding felt like a chain, tightening around her, and the implications of her father’s words crashed over her again. Marrying Caleb was supposed to be a lifeline, a way to escape the selection—but something was off.

“Are you really happy about this?” she whispered to Caleb, who was now being congratulated by her father.

He turned, his expression earnest. “Of course I am. This is our chance. You’ll see.”

But Y/n could only nod, a forced smile on her lips, as the celebration continued around her. 

And in the distance, carriages were coming, adorned with the rain clouds. 

taglist: @0chemicalwaste0 copyright © 2024 Hellinistical all rights reserved. no part of this story may be reposted, edited, or reproduced without the author’s permission.

[jo-harrington]

Corroded Coffin Fest - Day 5 - On the Road Again

Summary: Gareth enrolls in the Eddie Munson Driving School.

Word Count: 993–CUTTING IT CLOSE GOD DAMN

Rating: T

Warnings/Themes: Angst, some swearing, coming of age friendship fluffiness.

Check Out the Main Post for @corrodedcoffinfest here! Even if you didn’t start on Day 1, you can still join!

Tagging: @the-unforgivenn at her request

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

Gareth Emerson was shitting bricks.

Or, rather, he would if he wasn’t so constipated from stress.

“Ew,” Dave pushed his lunch tray away. “Do you have to say that while we’re eating?

“Yes, Dave, I do,” Gareth snarked right back, arms curling around his midsection. “God. My stomach hurts.”

It was Gareth's first day of Driver's Ed and, unfortunately, he had done horrendously.

And it wasn't just bad, it was almost-crashed-the-driving-instructors-car bad. If anything could go wrong, it did, and nothing would make Gareth feel better than to go home and forget it all happened.

Better yet, if he could drop dead...

“Hey,” Eddie clapped a hand on the drummer’s shoulder. “Everything’s gonna be fine. The DMV let you have a permit, which means you're smart enough to drive...you just need practice."

"I hit the gas instead of the brake," Gareth deadpanned.

"An easy mistake," Eddie offered.

"I didn't check my blind spots, and almost hit Higgins while I was backing up."

"He deserves it."

"And then I pulled the steering wheel clean off."

Jeff and Dave both clapped hands over their mouths to stifle their laughter as Eddie used every piece of willpower on earth not to react in an extreme way.

"That..." He took a deep breath, searching for the kindest way to continue. "Yeah, damn...I don't know how the fuck you did that."

Gareth threw his hands into the air and was about to leave, over his friends judgment and just ready for the day to end, when Eddie pushed him back into his seat.

"Hey, I get it," he began. "Driving's a big deal. And it's hard when you get behind the wheel for the first time. But, hey, you weren't born knowing how to play the drums; you had to practice to get good. Same thing for driving."

"But what if I'm never good enough?"

"Impossible."

"Coach Simmons is never gonna let me drive again," Gareth moaned.

"Then we just find another car," Eddie shrugged. "Your mom's station wagon or...what if I let you drive the van? Show you a few things? I'm a great driver!"

Gareth didn't exactly have any other choices though, especially once he started getting the stress sweats on the days he had Driver's Ed.

So every Tuesday for an hour before their gig at the Hideout, he was officially enrolled in the Munson Driving Academy.

"Driver's Ed with Ed," he joked, earning groans from the others. "What, come on, it's funny."

Eddie had even made a sign to tape to the side and back of the van.

"So no one honks at us," he revealed with a flourish. "And if they do? Lesson Number One? You honk right back. The horn is your friend."

"Got it," Gareth nodded, and then climbed into the driver's seat.

"Or you just flip them off. You're already a pro at that Gare," Jeff snickered from the back of the van, where he and Dave were sitting, cramped, amongst their equipment.

Truly, Gareth was grateful for the lessons and the time and effort that Eddie put into them. Shit, he was even grateful for Jeff and Dave not saying a damn thing in the back while he was driving, even though they'd worn their bicycle helmets during that first lesson.

The thing was...

Eddie wasn't that great of a teacher.

At least when it came to driving.

There were certain things that he was a pro at.

He got Gareth to feel comfortable backing in to parking spots and making three-point turns. He'd even shared all of his tips about avoiding the cops and getting out of a ticket, knowing Mrs. Emerson would drop dead if Gareth ever got pulled over.

But despite half of Eddie's "tricks" being useful, for the other half of the time spend with Gareth, he had his nose in the exam booklet learning some of the things himself.

"Alright, we're coming up to this hill," he flipped through the pages. "Let's try parking."

"Where's your emergency brake?" Gareth asked as he pulled to the side.

"Uhhhh, it's next to that other switch right there, why do you need it?"

"I need to the emergency brake to park uphill Eddie!"

"Oh yeah," he flipped through the booklet again. "Good job!"

Gareth swore that he could hear prayers being muttered behind him during those lessons. And damn if he didn't say a prayer or two himself.

Needless to say, when the day of Gareth's driving exam finally arrived, all of the boys showed up to the Roane County DMV along with Gareth and his parents.

It was a momentous occasion, and Jeff and Eddie made a whole show of fussing over him.

"Our little buddy's all grown up," Jeff sniffed.

"Hey isn't that supposed to be my line?" Mr. Emerson joked.

Dave had even gotten a little package of cupcakes for them to celebrate once Gareth was out.

An hour passed, then two. All of the boys got restless as they waited in the van for the Emersons all to emerge.

But when they did, all of their hearts sank.

Gareth had his head in his hands, his mom's arm around his shoulders, as his dad simply shook his head in disappointment.

"Ah shit," Eddie cursed as Gareth shook his parents away to break the news to his friends. "How bad was it?"

"Did you miss a stop sign?" Jeff asked.

"Did you tank whole written test?" Dave questioned.

"It was one of the worst experiences of my life," Gareth moaned, eyes wrenched shut in pain.

And then, like the little shit he was, he pulled a laminated card out of his back pocket and proudly held it out to show his friends.

"It's a good thing I never have to do it again!" The other boys hollered and whooped and jumped around in celebration. "You guys wanna go to the arcade to celebrate? I'm driving."

[thestartax]

Eren Jaeger x Reader

Synopsis: You get injured attempting to help Eren

Tropes: Hurt/Comfort, shared bed, nightmare comfort, found family (obviously with the others)

"That was one of the more stupid things I've seen you do," Levi comments idly as Hange lifts you into their arms and lays you in the wagon.

You wince and hold your arm, “I’ll say.”

"I thought it was very brave," Hange tries to reassure you.

Levi looks as bored as always when he says, "Make sure Eren stays in his titan form. We can't afford for him to bow out of the fight now just because he saw his little friend get hurt."

You lower your eyebrows in confusions. "Wh—" you gasp at a sharp pain in your arm but continue, "why would he stop fighting? He knows how important this is."

Hange and Levi share a look you don't understand, whether it be because of the pain or simply something you can't decode—you're unsure.

"You should wheel y/n to a scout we can trust. Eren needs all the motivation he can get. No need to risk cutting any loose," Levi says to Hange.

Hange nods. After they pick up the handles of the wagon and start to cart you away they look over their shoulder with a sly smirk and say, "You sound more like a commander than I do."

Levi looks at them for a moment before looking away and shaking his head, "Just go."

"Yes, sir," Hange teases before actually doing as he says.

As they carry you through the ruined town you can't help but start to ask a stupid and sort of selfish question, "How... how long do you think...”

Hange looks over their shoulder at you with a small, knowing smile. "How long before we might be able to get you back to the base and get you patched up? How long until this fighting might be done?"

You nod, feeling mildly ashamed and embarrassed.

Hange continues walking. "Not too much longer now, should we all make it out, and by some people's standards... win—if you could even call it that."

"Would you call it that?" You ask without thinking.

Hange shrugs. "What constitutes winning?"

You think for a long time—fighting through your pain to form a proper thought. "Being able to go home to the people you love and be proud of yourself."

Hange nods. "Well... are you proud of yourself?"

You scoff. "I'm being carted around in a wagon by someone who's well over qualified to be doing it. But... I guess... I guess l'm proud of killing that titan…”

"The one going for Eren?" Hange guesses. You nod, they can't see you but they know they're right. "Even if Levi thinks it was stupid... and most of the others probably do... I think it was noble."

You blush a little. "Wasn't trying to be noble."

“What were you trying to be then?" Hange asks.

"I was just trying to help Eren," you say it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

"Eren was in his titan form. He could've handled it," Hange reasons.

You frown. "He didn't see it coming. It was nearly the size of him. It could've caught him off guard, it could've—"

"So you stepped in," Hange offers.

You nod firmly. "So I stepped in."

"And nearly got your arm taken off." Hange reminds you.

You go red in the face again. “A minor set back.”

Hange laughs. "Yeah, a minor set back that nearly got you and Eren killed."

You're confused again. "How did that nearly get Eren killed? He turned as soon as he heard the titan get ahold of me. He took it down in seconds."

"And was nearly over run by the other titans while he sat you on the wall," Hange counters.

You frown and your eyebrows lower again. "I guess I didn't notice that part."

Hange nods their head from side to side. "You wouldn't have. You lost a lot of blood real fast before Levi found you and wrapped that arm. You're probably going to lose consciousness here soon."

You gulp. "Is this a lose consciousness and never wake up kind of nap or..?”

Hange shakes their head. "Shouldn't be. More like a lose consciousness and stay down for a few days kind of nap—so long as someone survives long enough to get you back to a medic!"

You nod, not all that reassured but unwilling to admit that. "Who are you going to leave me with?"

"A new recruit. He just switched from the MP's. Name's Marlo. He's scared out of his mind right now but he passed Jean and Levi's tests so he'll get the job done," Hange explains.

You nod again.

After a little while longer Hange puts you in an abandoned house on the outskirts of the destroyed town and promises to return with Marlo. You don't actually see anyone make it back to you because you finally fall unconscious when the pain becomes too unbearable after the adrenaline wears off.

When you open your eyes next, you're in the infirmary. You look down at your bandaged arm in a sling, happy to still have it. You look around the room and see two or three other people still in beds, asleep. A doctor is walking away from you so you assume that's what finally woke you up.

The only other thing you notice is a weight on both of your hands and one, much heavier, weight on your legs. You look down as see Armin holding on of your hands between both of his with his legs pulled up to his chest and his head laying on them while he sleeps. Mikasa is laying her head on her crossed arms on your legs. Your other hand is being held tightly in one of Eren’s while his other arm lays across your waist and his head lays on your gut, facing you.

You shift a little so you’re sitting up. Immediately Mikasa wakes and sits upright. She smiles a small smile when you make eye contact.

“Happy to see you awake, y/n,” Mikasa says warmly.

“How long have I been asleep?” You whisper, not wanting to wake the two boys at your sides.

“Just about three days,” Mikasa answers.

“Three days?” You exclaim and then quickly slap a hand over your mouth.

Armin yawns and sits up slowly. He rubs his eyes and smiles at you. “Y/n! How are you? Are you in pain?”

You stop and focus on your arm. It’s a dull pain but shockingly less than before. Whatever they have on this wrap if very helpful.

You shrug. “It’s not too bad.” You shake your head. “Enough about me, what happened? Did we win? Did anyone… die?”

Armin shakes his head quickly. “Noone since before you left the fight. We all made it out. I’d… I’d say we won.”

You relax into the bed and nod. “Okay. Good. That’s… good. That’s great.”

There is a comfortable pause. You think it’s so quiet because your friends are letting you adjust to your surroundings and really take in that everyone is safe and whole. Really, it’s because they’re both trying to figure out how to tell you…

“Eren’s been pretty antsy these past few days,” Armin tries to say casually.

Your eyes snap open. “Why? What’s wrong?”

Mikasa and Armin exchange a look, another that you cannot seem to understand.

“You’ve been down for days now, don’t you remember?” Armin asked, nervous that you’d hit your head after all.

You nod quickly. “I know but why would that make Eren antsy?”

Mikasa narrows her eyes and titles her head slightly to the side. Armin smiles sympathetically. You look between them, still confused.

“Y/n, Eren has been worried about you. He hasn’t left your side. The only reason he is not awake right now is because he’s slept, maybe, twenty-four hours in three days,” Mikasa explains.

When your jaw drops Armin adds, “Recently, there was a bit of talk about the possibility of you not waking up if you were unconscious for much longer…”

You stare at them with wide eyes. Slowly you look down at the boy who’s head is on your gut. “Oh, Eren…”

At the sound of you saying his name he slowly stirs. For a moment his eyes flutter open and your eyes meet and he just smiles. Then, it’s like he remembers everything all at once. He jumps up and tosses your hand away—only to take it back a second later.

In mere moments he’s sitting on the edge of the cot and gently taking your bad arm in his hand slowly extending it in different directions to see if you bled through the bandage. Then he’s taking your face in his free hand and using it to tilt and maneuver your head around so he can examine it better to see if you really did acquire a head injury (as if the doctors or captains wouldn’t have noticed). He holds your hand all the while.

Once he seems satisfied with his inspection of your health he just looks at you for a moment longer. He slouches a little in his spot on the edge of your bed. He holds your hand between both of his and just looks at you. It’s like he’s trying to memorize your face. He has this gentle look on his face.

Then, as quickly as it came it goes.

He’s angry very, very fast.

He drops your hand and stands.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He snaps. “Why the fuck couldn’t you just stay with the rest of the unit? Why would you put yourself in the direct line of fire? Did you want to test my reflexes? See how fast I can be? Was it Hange’s idea? To make you bait? That’s a low fucking blow, even for them. I’ve been very understanding about their research but if they fucking—“

You shake your head the entire time he speaks but that doesn’t do much to shut him up so you just shout, “Eren!”

His jaw snaps shut and he looks down at you from where he stands. He’s shaking with anger, his face is red, he’s breathing heavily—but he’s quiet.

“Will you sit?” You ask quietly.

He hesitates but he does as you ask.

You let out a short breath of relief before you start explaining, “Hange had nothing to do with my, as it’s been continuously called, stupid decision. They had nothing to do with it. No one did. No one knew what I was going to do. Not even me. I didn’t plan it, it wasn’t premeditated. It was just something I did. I saw, what I presumed to be, you in danger and I reacted. That was it. I couldn’t let you get hurt so I did what I thought would help. That’s what happened.”

“But you could’ve died! You came pretty fucking close!” He snaps again.

“I’m keenly aware, thank you,” you deadpan.

“So why would you do it? You can’t say it was to protect me because why would you risk your life just for that?” He asks.

“Like I said, it was like an instinct.” You shrug. “Besides, we all risk our lives for each other, even when it’s against our better judgement, all the time. What’s so special about this time?”

“You can’t just put your life on the line on a whim!” Eren shouts.

You startle backward in confusion. “It’s like you didn’t hear anything I just said.”

“Never do that again. Never. Do not risk your life for me. That’s fucking stupid,” Eren says seriously.

You scoff in disbelief and look to Armin and Mikasa to see if they are also acknowledging how hypocritical and crazy Eren sounds. They both avoid your eyes. Mikasa looks at the ground while Armin stairs at the ceiling like words of encouragement from Erwin are written on it.

“Eren, you are being the biggest hypocrite of all time right now. That doesn’t even make sense! Everyone can risk their lives for everyone but I can’t? How does that make sense! I’m fine! I made it! I’m okay! So what’s the problem?” You shout.

“The problem is that if you died out there, especially for something as fucking stupid as protecting me, I would never forgive myself! I would never forgive the world! It’s already taken so much from me! How could you possibly be willing to let it take more!” He seethes.

“Your life is worth so much! If I died to keep you safe I will have done my due diligence! If you died when I could’ve prevented it it would have been the most disgusting injustice the world ever faced, to have this world without you in it!” You counter just as loudly.

“You are worth 12 of me!” Eren continues.

“And you are worth double for every person on this expanse of the world!” You argue.

The room falls deadly silent. No one moves. No one breathes. Nothing happens for a long time.

Eren still shakes with rage. You pant with your own. Your arm aches suddenly. Armin and Mikasa have gotten closer together and seem to be attempting at an exit.

After a few moments longer, Armin gently squeezes your arm and you pretend it doesn’t hurt. He smiles warmly. “We’ll let you rest, y/n. See you soon, I’m sure.”

“We’ll let everyone know to visit you tomorrow. It’s late,” Mikasa says, to which you’re eternally grateful.

You nod and smile at them the best you can. “Thanks, guys. See you.”

They both leave very quickly, only sparing Eren a quick glance.

There is only silence for a long time. You won’t look at each other. Neither of you wants to be the first one to give.

He eventually sits in the chair next to your bed again. He holds up his head with his hand, shielding his face with said hand. This makes you feel safe enough to spare him a glance. He looks disheveled and distressed.

Shockingly, it is him who breaks. “You can’t…” he swallows thickly, “you can’t be careless with your life. Not for me or anyone.”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” you counter sharply.

“I’m asking,” he says simply. “I’m asking you to care about yourself. To make yourself a priority. Be selfish.”

You shake your head. “That’s… that’s wrong. If everyone did that there’d be no Survey Corps. There would be so much fighting. It would be—“

“I’m not asking everyone else to be selfish, I’m asking you,” Eren cuts you off.

“Eren…” you shake your head again. “That’s… that’s…”

“Selfish and terrible. I know. But I’m asking anyway,” he looks up at you. You don’t think he’s ever looked so drained.

You lower your eyebrows in confusion but also worry. “Eren, are you okay?”

“Will you be selfish and terrible?” He ignores you.

“Eren—“ You start again.

“Will you?” He asks.

“Will you be selfish and terrible with me?” You snap.

He startles backward a little. “What?”

You sit up straighter. “Why should I sit out of the fight, off in safety, while you go and fight?”

He seems momentarily speechless.

“And don’t bring up your titan form. Mikasa could take out just as many titans as you in the same amount of time as you. Captain Levi could take out more. So don’t,” you say quickly.

He sighs. “Why is everything a fight with you? Why are you so stubborn?”

You choke on a laugh. “Me? I’m the stubborn one?”

He smiles and lets out a small chuckle.

You resolve dies in an instant. It’s like you were never angry, like you’ve never been angry once before. The boiling hot rage dissolves into a soft warmth that worms its way to your heart.

“Maybe I’m a little stubborn, too…” Eren admits almost sheepishly.

You scoff. “Yeah, like a bull.”

He laughs. Then, after a moment his face twists into confusion. He seems hesitant but clears his throat and slowly asks, “…What’s a bull?’

You immediately shake your head with wide eyes and laugh, “I have no idea! I think I heard Armin say it once!”

He laughs much louder now. You laugh for a long time. You both almost forget. Neither of you do.

When Eren stands you can’t ignore the way your heart all but jumps to your throat.

Hesitantly he says, “It’s late. I should let you sleep. I’ve been here for ages anyway, I’m sure the doctors are sick of me.”

You try to smile at his joke but it falls flat. You’re nearly sweating by now. Since the moment you saw that titan approach Eren from behind you’ve been in protective mode. The only thing on your mind was him, even while you slept you dreamt of him. You had nightmares of him leaving your sight for only a second and then dying as soon as you looked back. The idea of him leaving for the entire night brings a new wave of panic over you.

As he starts to grab his cloak off of his chair you quickly say, “Eren!”

He turns to look at you immediately. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

You clear your throat and try again at a smile. “What if you— um… what if you just… stayed? Why don’t you— why not stay? It’s um… its late, like you said. Why head all the way back to the barracks. It’s ages away from here. Why not just… um… just stay?”

He says nothing while you fumble around for the right words. He only watches and does his best to keep a straight face. Really, internally, he’s thankful and reeling with relief. He had no desire to leave your side now. He’d been with you since the moment he could be—he wasn’t all that eager to part ways now.

When you finally stop and stare at him with a red face, glassy eyes, and shakey hands he pauses before nodding. He drops his cloak back onto the back of the chair and pushes it back out.

You feel this cold wave of relief wash over you that’s so strong it makes you lay your head down and close your eyes as you take a deep breath. “Thanks,” you mumble.

He doesn’t say anything about that and just asks, “Do you want anything? Food? Water?”

You shake your head and you go to say ‘no’ but for some reason you mouth gets ahead of your brain and can’t stop itself before saying, “No, just you.”

Eren had already turned to get water when he heard what you said, it makes him stop dead in his tracks. You smack a hand over your mouth and your face feels hot. He just stands there for a long time before walking away.

You think, vaguely, that he might not come back—just fetch his cloak when you fall asleep, but you know Eren better than that.

When he returns he offers you the cup of water he’s clearly been sipping on the way back from fetching and even though you rejected it before you gladly take a drink of it now. Eren knows you well.

“Have you slept in that chair for all three of the days I was out? Or did you sleep in your on bed for at least one of them?” You ask, trying desperately to keep him distracted.

He shakes his head. “No, I stayed here the whole time. I never left.”

You swallow thickly and nod. “…Okay. Well,” and for some reason you decide that you’ve already dug yourself so deep so why not go deeper, “I’m sure that’s uncomfortable and I mean… you’re staying another night, per my request, so um… I just— I wouldn’t want you to… to have to sleep all hunched over again… so um…” you clear your throat and refuse to look at him. “You could always sleep up here. If you, um, if you wanted.”

There is a long silence—or maybe it isn’t so long, it just feels that way to you.

When you finally look up at him he’s taking off his over shirt and kicking off his shoes. “Would you uh… would that make you feel safer?”

You clench your jaw and swallow your embarrassment enough to be honest and nod.

He nods too before climbing into the bed next to you. You throw the blanket out of the way to let him crawl under it and he does. It’s not the largest cot so you’re shoulder to shoulder—thankfully on the side of your good arm.

Shockingly, even though you’ve been unconscious for days, you’re tired. It’s likely all the energy excursion after having used none for days.

So you just roll onto your side, facing away from him and lift your arm up so you don’t crush it. “Thank you, Eren.”

“Anytime, y/n,” he says quickly.

You fall asleep quickly but it feels like you’re instantly met with a nightmare. Another of Eren being violently attacked. The two of you are running through the woods from titans but without ODM gear. You look behind you to try to spot the titans and see how far away they are for just a moment. As soon as you look back you see a titan cut in font of you and grab Eren.

Just before it can lift him to it’s mouth you’re being shaken. You wake in a cold sweat, panting, and with wide eyes. You grab tightly onto the figure in front of you, sitting up very quickly.

You look up and see Eren and relief washes over you instantaneously. “Oh, Eren…” you breath.

“Nightmare,” he acknowledges.

You nod. “Yeah… but,” you catch your breath, “you got me out before it got to the awful part.”

He nods too. “Yeah, I’ve gotten good at that.”

You run a hand through your hair to push it out of your face and look up at him. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs. “You’ve had a lot of nightmares the last couple of days, even while unconscious. We couldn’t figure out what it was at first. The first times were the worst. The most you’d say was… well… my name.”

You nod, too confused to be embarrassed. “Yeah, my nightmares are usually about you getting hurt or killed.”

He nods too. “I assumed as much. It was like if I could catch you before you got too far into it and you heard my voice you’d settle down again. It was hard to catch the signs fast enough at first but I figured it out. I’m just happy it worked even when you were conscious.”

“It definitely did,” you sigh. “Thank you, again.”

He shakes his head. “It’s no problem.”

You think about arguing that but decide against it. Instead you just lay back down. He follows right after you.

This time, you lay facing him and he does the same. You lay together with your faces inches apart. You can feel his breath on your face, warm and constant—it’s very grounding.

The silence is comfortable and it feels like it could go on forever, like it could lay over the expanse of the night.

Again, just as shockingly, it is Eren who breaks it.

So quietly, just barely audible, “Hi.”

You smile because it feels so juvenile, so secretive and small. “Hi.”

He looks over your entire face. He reaches out and so gently moves your hair from the side of your face and pushes it back to join the rest of your hair. “You’re so beautiful… like the sea.”

Your face heats up and it feels like you’re the only two in the world. “Would it scare you away if I said that I jumped in to help you because… because I love you?”

You think, at first, that he doesn’t hear you; because you said it so quietly but also because, for a short moment, he doesn’t react at all.

Then, very suddenly he pulls you to him. He holds you against his chest. His kisses the top of your head and just holds you.

For a long time, you lay there like that, wrapped in his arms, clinging to him like he’s the only thing tethering you to this earthly world.

Eventually, he says, “I love you. I love you. I love you,” over and over again like a chant—like a prayer.