#did I make the conscious decision to abandon it? no | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

joelscruff · 1 year

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one thing i'm missing (joel miller/reader) PART ONE

hi there ! i'm new to the tlou fandom but not new to fic, and watching the show over the past few months inspired me to return to fic writing. the idea for this has been milling around in my head for a good chunk of time now and i finally felt ready to put pen to paper and get this thing started. i've already posted this to ao3 if you prefer that medium, but i'll also be posting it here now. let me know what you think!

summary: you and joel accidentally end up falling asleep together, and what follows is the beginning of a quiet and tender relationship neither of you saw coming. rating: 18+ explicit (this part is not explicit but this fic will be) warnings: (for future parts) smut, age difference (reader is in her mid 20s and joel in his mid 50s), praise kink - will add more as fic progresses word count: about 2.6k

You don't, under absolutely any circumstances, talk about it.

It started about a month ago, after all the shit that happened with that monster, David. After Ellie had decided she wanted to start sleeping alone.

It hadn't really been a conscious decision on her part, but you'd noticed that first night how she'd distanced herself from you and Joel when it was time to sleep. She'd curled up against the far wall of the basement with barely a word, shutting herself off entirely while you'd tended to Joel's injury. Prior to this – ever since Joel was stabbed – Ellie had started sleeping at his side, head on his chest, listening to his heart and hoping against all hope that it kept beating. You'd slept a few feet away, hoping desperately for the same thing.

After David, she avoided physical contact entirely. You and Joel wordlessly understood, though you could tell it alarmed and concerned him. Though he'd been in and out of consciousness for the past few weeks you know he'd become accustomed to having her at his side, curled into him with that familiar daughterly affection he'd been missing for twenty years. Seeing her ultimately decide that she no longer wanted that closeness, probably feared it, distressed him greatly.

“Fuckin' bastard,” Joel had murmured to himself that first night as you cleaned his wound – you'd learned what to do from watching Ellie, “I'll fucking kill him.”

“Shhh,” you'd hushed him, keeping your voice low in case Ellie was still awake, “He's dead and gone, she took care of it.”

“Shouldn't have had to,” he'd hissed, “Fuckin' bastard.”

He'd slept poorly. You knew because every so often you'd hear him mutter something else to himself about David between short fits of sleep. You didn't sleep much either, partly because in the wake of Ellie's sudden distance it was now your job to monitor Joel's wound, but also because you felt the same way Joel did. The thought of that monster... what he'd done to Ellie and what he'd tried to do... you'd never felt so much disdain and hatred for one person in your life. Every time you closed your eyes all you could see was the look on her blood-spattered face when you'd both found her, the way she'd barely been able to speak... you could only imagine how much worse the images behind Ellie's eyelids were.

So she slept alone now, which meant Joel slept alone.

For a little while, that is.

After a few days of short spurts of travel and staying in more abandoned houses (Joel wasn't well enough to walk much, though he tried to deny it, much to the frustration of you and Ellie) you'd set up camp on the outskirts of a small community. Ellie hadn't talked much and Joel hadn't been fully in his right mind since you left that first house, so the decision-making had fallen to you for the time being. Truthfully, you were done with the mouldy mattresses and hard concrete of those suburban basements, the smell of rotting food and being bothered by mice and cockroaches while you tried – and failed – to fall asleep. Neither Joel nor Ellie argued when you suggested setting up a campsite in the woods for a change of scenery.

The snow had melted quite a bit and there hadn't been anything fresh in almost a week, the temperature rising rapidly the further you walked. The idea of sleeping underneath the stars again with fresh air in your lungs and the sound of the wind blowing through the trees was enough to keep you going that day. That night, you'd watched as Joel made a fire with the materials you'd collected, Ellie already bundled up inside her sleeping bag a few meters away.

“Hey, you sure you're not gonna be cold over there?” you'd called to her gently, already knowing the answer.

“I'm good,” she'd replied, sounding earnest enough, “If I get cold I'll move.”

You'd sighed quietly, turning back toward the fire. Joel was blowing lightly on some kindling, eyebrows furrowed in thought. You used this rare moment of him being distracted to analyze his face; the dark circles beneath his eyes had been growing more prominent over the past few days, and he'd gotten into the unconscious habit of blinking very slowly, like he was always just a few seconds from sleep. You'd never seen him look this exhausted.

“You need to sleep,” you'd murmured, and his eyes had snapped up to meet yours instantly, “I'm serious, Joel, you look...”

“I'm fine.”

“You don't look fine,” you shifted your eyesight to the fire, lifting your hands to warm your palms, “You look like you haven't slept in days, which you literally haven't, by the way.”

“I've slept,” he'd grunted, turning his attention back to the fire as well.

“Yeah, for maybe twenty minutes at a time.”

“Well, maybe if I wasn't bein' woken up every twenty minutes by you checking if I'm still breathin',” his voice was hard and cold, but you were used to it.

“Don't be dramatic,” you'd snapped back, “I check you maybe twice a night now, if even that. Sorry for wanting to make sure you're okay.” The last few words had come out shakier than you'd intended.

He'd inhaled deeply, and you could see him looking at you again in your peripheral vision, “You're right, I'm sorry. I'm being an asshole. As usual.”

“You're not an asshole,” you'd muttered, “you're tired. And so am I.”

You'd sat together in silence for a few moments before Joel had reached behind him for his pack, digging out the blanket he'd started using in lieu of his old sleeping bag. He'd decided to leave that behind; it was what you and Ellie had used to get him back to that first house, the one Callus had dragged across the icy terrain with a bloodied and near-death Joel as its only occupant. He'd pissed himself in it, which he'd attributed as the main reason for leaving it. But you knew the truth: he'd spent too long wrapped up inside of it during that period of time to ever get a good night's sleep from it again. It needed to be put out of its misery.

Both you and Ellie had offered to give him your own but he refused every time, repeatedly stating that the blanket Ellie had found was warm enough, if not even warmer than the sleeping bag had been. You honestly didn't know if he was telling the truth, but he gave you no choice but to believe him.

“You take first watch, then.” he said quietly, “We're out in the open again, gonna have to stay alert.”

“Got it,” you were a bit embarrassed by your brief moment of vulnerability, but you'd quickly busied yourself with picking up the rifle to hold it in your lap.

You'd watched as he spread out the blanket on the ground, carefully kneeling down and wincing at the pull of his stitches. He laid down on the edge of it, then reached over and pulled the other side over his body like a makeshift sleeping bag. Sighing contentedly, he'd closed his eyes.

Despite how much older than you he was, the word adorable couldn't help but cross your mind.

“Goodnight,” he mumbled quietly to you, and you'd forced yourself to look down at the rifle so he wouldn't catch you staring.

“Night, Joel.”

You'd quickly learned that Joel's new blanket was in fact not warmer than his sleeping bag. After a few hours of keeping watch, you decided to check on both Ellie and Joel to make sure they were doing alright. Ellie was fast asleep and didn't look to be shivering or experiencing a bad night's sleep; she actually looked more peaceful than you'd seen her for a long time. You'd smiled fondly, fighting back the urge to push her hair out of her eyes; she'd made things very clear and you weren't going to overstep.

You wandered over to Joel and the contrast between he and Ellie was staggering; there was no peace here. He was wide awake, shivering ferociously and hunched in on himself with his hands cupped around his mouth as he blew on them for warmth.

“Jesus Christ, Joel,” you'd immediately dropped the rifle and leaned down to him, “why the fuck didn't you tell me you were freezing?”

It actually wasn't a very cold night, but the combination of Joel's thin blanket, his injury, and the fact that he was overwhelmingly exhausted were just making everything ten times worse. He also hadn't slept outside for weeks. You immediately began to regret the decision to camp tonight.

“Hold on,” you'd said quickly, scrambling back up to grab your own sleeping bag. You unzipped it so it was wide, then draped it over Joel's shivering form, “I'm gonna give you some body heat, okay? Don't make it weird.” You'd only said the last part because you knew he would protest.

You'd crawled underneath both layers of material and without any hesitation wrapped your arms around Joel, ignoring his shaky mutterings of “I'm okay” and “you don't need to”. He'd surrendered very quickly, relaxing into your embrace as you ran your hands up and down his arms at the fastest pace you could muster. You alternated between his arms and hands, taking them in yours and rubbing your palms against them like you were trying to start a fire, huffing hot breath against his skin. Beneath the blanket, you entwined your legs with his, pulling his socked feet against your ankles and trapping them there to warm them up.

It only took a few moments for the heavy shakes to stop and for Joel's breath to even out again. Despite this, you stayed where you were and kept doing what you could to keep his temperature stable. As he warmed up, he began to feel more like himself; he was no longer a cold statue but the warm and solid man you'd come to recognize, and you were hyper-aware of the fact that despite spending so much time with each other you'd never actually been this close to him. His arms, strong and steady beneath his coat, the same arms that carried around that heavy pack all day, the arms that cradled the rifle, they now laid loose and tender under your touch. His hands, calloused and rough around the edges but soft at the palms, the same hands that set the fire still burning a few feet away, the hands that once held his daughter and had learned to hold Ellie's – and now yours, feeling like in some way they belonged there.

You'd known you felt something for Joel, but you'd never realized how strong and real that something was until it was literally in your embrace.

Without speaking you'd laid your head on his chest, closing your eyes and doing your damnedest to fight back the sudden tears that were threatening to well up. Holy shit, was all you could think, a warmth you'd never felt in your entire life radiating in your chest and somehow extending toward him. Holy fucking shit. It was like time had stopped and all you could feel was him.

You'd looked up at his face, needing to see if he felt it too, felt you the way you felt him, but your eyes widened slightly when you saw that his were closed, mouth slightly agape. There it was, that peace you'd seen on Ellie's face, now transferred to Joel's. For a brief second you felt panic, but it was immediately interrupted by the light snore that emitted from his open mouth. He'd fallen asleep.

And a few moments later, so had you.

That was the first night you'd slept solid without waking up even once. Not just since Joel had been stabbed, but since the pandemic had started to begin with. You can't recall ever having such a peaceful, dreamless, absolutely soul-refreshing sleep. And neither had Joel; when you woke the next morning he was still fast asleep in your embrace, that peaceful expression still sculpted on his face like he was a living Michelangelo. In the night you'd only gotten closer to him, legs still entwined and head still on his chest. The only difference was that your arms had obviously stopped their rapid movements to keep him warm, and they'd ended up snaked around his torso, the palm of your left hand laying flat against the hot skin of his waist, just above where his stitches were.

Maybe you should have pulled away when you realized, gotten up and pretended it didn't happen. The thought did cross your mind, but then Joel had shuffled a bit in his sleep and you'd become aware of the fact that his arms were around you, hand pressed flush against your bare back underneath your jacket and shirt, holding you to him. And that was enough to make you stay.

About fifteen minutes later, he'd woken up.

He didn't flinch or yank himself away when he realized the position you were in. He'd blinked slowly at you, and you'd peered up at him just as quietly. His lips had parted and then closed again, as if he was going to say something but then thought better of it. Instead, he just kept staring at you, and you started to feel his hand on your back slowly and tenderly stroke the skin there. In return, you gently brushed your thumb against the bare skin of his waist. It was a moment that felt like it went on forever, both of you touching those small intimate parts of each other without saying so much as one word.

You felt butterflies in your belly when the hint of a smile twitched at his mouth, and you smiled back, sleepy and soft. You never wanted to leave this small piece of existence. You just wanted him to keep looking at you like that, his gaze holding yours with an expression you could only describe as contentedness. You'd never seen him look so relaxed; the dark circles had faded and even the lines on his face had receded into his skin. He looked younger, healthier, like all the bad things that had happened to him had vanished in one good sleep.

“Uggghhhh,” Ellie moaned a few meters away, and both your heads snapped in her direction. She was sitting up in her sleeping bag, back facing you. You could see her arms stretching above her head as she began her typical morning wake-up routine: stretch, groan, flop, repeat.

Without saying anything you'd both untangled yourselves simultaneously before she could see the sleeping arrangement you'd found yourselves in. The loss of warmth and familiarity was palpable as you quickly stood up and grabbed the rifle, walking over to the now completely burnt out fire. Joel silently folded up his blanket and your sleeping bag behind you, then muttered something about needing to look for more shit to burn.

That's how it started.

And you don't, under absolutely any circumstances, talk about it.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #joel miller fic #tlou fic #*#fic: one thing i'm missing

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in1-nutshell · 3 months

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Oh goodness! The Megatron’s daughter post has plagued my brain with so many sad ideas! Can you picture how she handles the situation when Megatron got injured after the space bridge explosion? The amount of complicated feelings swirling around seeing him hurt on the medical table like that? And you just know that Starscream is going to take advantage of it in some way: would he use it as a way to bypass Buddy’s authority on the grounds that she is “in no state of mind to lead”? Does he use her grief to manipulate her and influence her actions?

And none of this is even getting into what would happen if she ran into Optimus and the Autobots! Would she resent him based on what she had been told for millions of years? Would he feel guilty for how things have gone for her? So many thoughts and I love the angst

Okay lets do this!

I actually have another request that is similar to this one, so I am dividing the writing into two. This part is centered more around yours, but there are things that are left out for the sake of getting to the other one and completing the story.

If you really love the angst, this one is definitely for you.

Buddy needs a hug after all this is over.

There will be tears

Hope you enjoy!

Megatron's daughter with the opposite personality: Soundwave's Plan

SFW, ANGST, You have been warned!, Mention of wounds and violence, nothing too gory, familial (Soundwave is best uncle), Cybertronian reader

TFP

Soundwave had enough.

His niece’s life was in danger, and he knew well enough that her father wasn’t going to do anything about it.

Megatron’s mission main priority was Prime, not Buddy.

Soundwave could live with that; he swore his loyalty to Megatron after all.

But he also swore to be Buddy’s uncle and default caretaker after… that day…

Soundwave coming to Buddy’s quarters with an energon cube in his servo.

Buddy sleeping on the makeshift desk, face plate on a data pad.

Soundwave placed the cube down and carries Buddy to her berth.

He places the cube by her desk and leaves.

When Megatron did not come back to the Nemesis after the spacebridge and Starscream came back alone, they both knew something happened to the War Lord.

He was surprised to see Buddy try and stay together as she assumed her position as Leader of the Decepticon Army once again.

This face was for the sake of the troops.

Not hers.

It was never about her and her needs.

Soundwave had seen through the cameras, Buddy grieved in silence, she made it her mission to never let anyone of the troops see her in that state, something he hated to see.

It didn’t help much when Starscream started enforcing more of his ideas, taking advantage of Buddy’s state.

Starscream and Buddy in the throne room.

“Starscream are you suggesting that we simply abandon the mining operation just like that?”--Buddy

“Of course, My Lady. It no longer serves us purpose and the mine has been stripped dry. We need to move to the next deposit before the Autobots do.”--Starscream

“And I agree that we need to go to the next one, but you’re suggesting we destroy the mine now. We still have our own down there with our machinery. We cannot leave them. We will not leave them.”--Buddy

“They are expendable—”--Starscream

“Those soldiers are not expendable!”--Buddy

“…You poor thing.”--Starscream

“Excuse me?”—Buddy

Starscream walking slowly towards Buddy, circling her.

“Still thinking we can save everyone don’t we?”--Starscream

“Starscream—”--Buddy

“We can not save everyone Lady Buddy. You know that firsthand don’t you?”--Starscream

“…”—Buddy

Buddy hanging her helm a bit low, avoiding Starscream’s hot glare.

“You let your grief blind your decision making. The Decepticons cannot have such… an impaired leader.”--Starscream

“What are you hinting at Starscream?”--Buddy

“Well, we need a leader with a clear conscious, not one who is barely holding everything together.”—Starscream

Buddy looks up glaring at the Second in Command.

“That’s enough.”--Buddy

“We need a ruthless leader—”—Starscream

Buddy’s servos clench tightly.

“I said enough.”--Buddy

“We need a ruthless Decepticon who can make tough calls, not some useless weakling! What would Megatron—”--Starscream

“ENOUGH!”—Buddy

Silence fills the room.

Buddy servos firmly clenched staring angrily at the Second in Command, who has a smug look on his face.

Buddy vents deeply looking down.

“…We will go to the spot you suggested Starscream, as soon as everyone is back on the Nemesis. No casualties unless necessary.”--Buddy

“BAH! And you call yourself Megatron’s offspring. What a pitiful creature.”--Starscream

Starscream walks out of the throne room leaving Buddy there alone, looking at the floor with tears filling up her optics.

The comments about her not being mentally fit for the role of leader were passed around the Nemesis like energon rations.

Soundwave knew about it.

Everyone knew about it.

But barely anyone said anything about it, as most chose to stay loyal to Buddy.

Not out of fear for Megatron potentially returning, but because they liked Buddy.

She made sure everyone who went on the scouting missions were accounted for and that they were fed.

She cared for them.

Buddy in the med bay with Knockout and breakdown with some wounded Vechicons.

“What’s the report Knockout?”--Buddy

“Nothing too bad. It looks worse than what it is.”--Knockout

Buddy holding the servo of the Vechicon Knockout was working with.

“Really?”--Buddy

The Vechicon squeezed her servo a bit.

“True. I’ll be out of here soon enough!”--Steve

Buddy squeezes a bit before letting go.

“Don’t go back to the heavy work immediately, work with smaller lighter things before going back.”--Buddy

“I’m the doctor here Buddy.”--Knockout

“And I’m unofficially a nurse. Am I wrong doctor?”--Buddy

“…”--Knockout

“She’s got you there Knockout.”--Breakdown

“Shut it!”--Knockout

When Megatron came back to the Nemesis alive, it was the first time in a while that he had seen Buddy light up with joy.

Her father was alive.

Megatron walking into the main room with Starscream by his side.

The room is filled with most of the Decepticons welcoming their leader back.

Buddy starts running towards her father.

“Megatron! Megatron you’re back!”--Buddy

Buddy picking up her pace a bit with open arms ready to hug him.

“I mis—”--Buddy

SLAM!

Buddy’s limp body is now on the other side of the room.

A slash is across her chassis, not too deep, but a good amount of energon was drawn.

Megatron’s saber glinting with Buddy’s energon.

Everyone is frozen in place not quite understanding what just happened.

He spares one glance.

“Pitiful. Everyone! Back to work!”--Megatron

He leaves the room with Starscream hot on his heels.

As soon as they both leave Soundwave and Knockout are by Buddy’s side as Breakdown and Steve try to keep the other worried Vechicons at bay.

“We need to get her to the med bay. It looks bad. Breakdown--”—Knockout

“Got it.”--Breakdown

Breakdown gently picks up Buddy as some of the crowd goes to follow Buddy while the others linger before going back to their own business.

Soundwave stands still in the place where Buddy went limp.

Snap!

Megatron hit her without cause.

This was not training.

This was done with malicious intent.

He would honestly understand it more if Buddy was a Starscream, the punishment would have been seen as fair.

But Buddy was not Starscream.

She was by far one of the most loyal Decepticons there had ever been.

Yet he discarded her like trash.

Soundwave had enough.

Megatron was going to offline his own daughter if he didn’t do anything about it.

Thus, The Plan was created.

He knew this was extremely risky and relied heavily on luck, but he gambled with worse odds. This was something he was willing to work with

It killed Soundwave to see Buddy losing more and more of herself as the training sessions became longer and the wounds were becoming more and more severe.

Breakdown and Knockout walking by the storage sectors and training hall.

BANG!

“AGAIN!”—Megatron

Knockout and Breakdown hiding near a corner outside the training room.

“Please, I can’t—”--Buddy

SLAM!

“AGAIN!”--Megatron

“Megatron—”--Buddy

BAM!

Knockout flinches a bit.

Breakdown puts a servo on Knockout’s shoulder while the other one was clenched.

“AGAIN!”--Megatron

“MEGATRON, PLEASE!”--Buddy

BANG!

Knockout grabs one of Breakdown’s servo tightly hearing the loud sound.

Breakdown squeezes his optics shut as if he were in pain.

“AGAIN!”--Megatron

“FATHER, PLEASE!”--Buddy

SLAM!

“AGAIN ORION!”—Megatron

“I AM NOT ORION!—“Buddy

SLICE!

Silence.

“…oh Primus… you don’t think…”--Breakdown

SLAM!

Megatron exits the training room angry.

No Buddy to be seen.

Soundwave comes out of nowhere sprinting to the training room.

Knockout and Breakdown follow.

Soundwave on his knees holding an extremely injured Buddy.

“Help—Buddy!”--Soundwave

Buddy needed to leave the Nemesis.

And Optimus Prime was his last hope.

He was her last hope.

Now time to wait for the next part!

#transformers x reader #maccadam #bot buddy #tfp #tfp x reader #tfp soundwave #tfp soundwave x platonic reader #tfp megatron #tfp knockout #tfp breakdown #tfp steve

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cherryrainn · 1 month

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Omgigmgmgkgmg imagine striker finding an injured exorcist whom is hurt so bad and she doesn't want to be an exorcist, after awhile she's able to escape being an exorcist and lives with striker in a relationship

𝙎𝙊𝙁𝙏 .

༄ ⠀𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | striker x exorcist! reader.

༄ ⠀𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | injury, striker might be a bit ooc

༄ ⠀𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 | i have absolutely no clue if you wanted me to make the exorcist a reader or some random exorcist so i just did reader hehe. anyway i'm super proud of this. also i changed the ending up a bit so sorry about that </3

Striker sauntered down the dimly lit alley, his long tail swaying lazily behind him. He was bored out of his fucking mind. He kicked at a pebble, sending it skittering across the pavement as he idly scanned his surroundings.

Turning a corner, his eyes caught sight of something not quite out of the ordinary—a figure slumped against the wall. Striker's first instinct was to ignore it and move on. After all, bloodshed was as common as rain in a storm.

He was about to turn away, but then something caught his eye—something that made him pause in his tracks. The figure was bleeding gold—strange, shimmering rivulets that stood out against the backdrop of darkness. intrigued despite himself, Striker approached cautiously, his curiosity piqued.

As he drew closer, he realized with a start that the figure was an exorcist—her spear lying abandoned beside her, her mask shattered in half.

For a moment, Striker entertained the idea of finishing the exorcist off himself and putting an end to her misery with a swift stroke of her own weapon. But before he could act, a voice pierced the silence, starting him.

"You... you're not going to kill me?" The words were barely a whisper, barely audible above the din of the city.

Striker's gaze snapped to the exorcist, surprised to find her conscious and aware of her surroundings. He remained silent for a moment, his mind racing with conflicting thoughts and emotions.

"No," he finally replied, his voice a low growl. "I'm not. Not yet, anyway."

The silence hung heavy between them. Striker could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on him, the gravity of his decision sinking in with each passing second. He could easily end her here and now—she was defenseless, powerless to stop him. But something stayed in his hand—something he couldn't quite explain.

"The fuck happened to you?" Striker finally asked, his tone betraying a hint of genuine curiosity.

Her response was a bitter laugh, a hollow sound that echoed through the empty alleyway. "Does it matter?" she muttered, her voice barely audible above the distant rumble of traffic.

Striker fell silent, his grip on the spear loosening slightly as he considered her words. Did it matter? Did anything matter?

And then, just when he least expected it, she spoke again, her voice trembling. "I don't wanna be an exorcist anymore."

Her words hit Striker like a punch to the gut, stirring something deep within him that he couldn't quite name. He never thought he'd ever find an exorcist willing to abandon their calling, willing to forsake everything they had ever known for the chance at a different life.

For a moment, Striker found himself at a loss for words, his mind racing with a million different thoughts and emotions. And then, without a second thought, he made a decision. Fuck, he was crazy.

"Come with me," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. "I'll take care of ya."

The exorcist's eyes widened in surprise. "But... why?"

Striker shrugged, his expression unreadable. "I don't know. Call it a moment of weakness."

With that, he gently lifted her into his arms, her weight surprisingly light despite her injuries. careful to avoid drawing attention, Striker maneuvered through the streets, his boots echoing softly against the cobblestones.

They reached his cheap, rundown hotel room without incident. Striker pushed open the window with his foot, the hinges creaking in protest as they entered the cramped space.

Setting her down on the edge of the tub, Striker turned on the faucet, filling it with warm water to soothe her wounds. He rummaged through his meager belongings, searching for his med kit. He can't believe he was doing this. Was he finally going crazy?

"What's yerr name?" He asked, his voice softer now as he located the med kit beneath a pile of dirty clothes.

The exorcist hesitated for a moment, her gaze fixed on her legs. "Y/N," she finally replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Striker nodded, acknowledging her response, responding with a "Striker." before he moved to tend to her wounds. His touch was rough, and as he worked, Y/N winced at the pain of his touch, but she remained silent, enduring it as best she could.

She knew she should be grateful—he was helping her, after all—but she couldn't help but feel a sense of unease at the roughness of his messages.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Striker finished patching her up, his expression unreadable as he stepped back to survey his handiwork. She took a deep breath, relieved that it was over, and she mustered up the courage to speak.

"Thank you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Striker glanced at her, his eyes narrowing slightly, before he nodded in acknowledgment. "Don't mention it," he replied gruffly, his tone betraying none of the emotions swirling inside him.

With that, Y/N gathered her strength and made her way to the window, her movements slow and unsteady. She knew it was probably time to go anyway.

Before she climbed out of the window, she hesitated, glancing back at Striker one last time. "I'm sorry," she said softly, her voice barely carrying over the distance between them.

Striker said nothing in response, but he watched her go with a sense of resignation.

A few days later, Striker was sauntering down another dim alley, thinking about how much time had been wasted since he’d helped Y/N. Maybe he was getting soft, but the thought of her was lingering in his mind.

Lost in thought, Striker nearly missed her—a figure slouched against the wall, this time with no wings, no halo, not really bleeding anymore but obviously bruised. At first, he didn't recognize her. But then it hit him like a ton of bricks.

"Shit!" he exclaimed, breaking into a run.

Reaching her, he skidded to a halt, his eyes wide with shock and concern. "What happened?" he demanded, his voice laced with genuine worry.

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes meeting his, and she smiled—a soft, sad smile that made Striker's black heart clench in his chest.

"I'm not an exorcist anymore," she said softly.

Striker stared at her, the pieces falling into place. He didn't know much about this heaven shit, but he could only assume one of the higher-ups had ripped her wings and halo off like some fucking sicko. So much for being good.

For a moment, Striker was at a loss for words, his mind reeling from the revelation. And then, without thinking, he reached out, pulling Y/N into a tight embrace, as if he could shield her from whatever she must be feeling.

"Fuck 'em," he muttered against her hair, his voice rough with emotion. "You're better off without 'em."

Y/N buried her face in his chest, her tears soaking through the fabric of his jacket. And as they sat there, clinging to each other in the dim light of the alley, Striker realized he didn't give a damn about getting soft.

Sometimes, he thought, moments of weakness weren't such a bad thing after all.

#STRIKER #striker #helluva boss #striker helluva boss #helluva boss striker #helluva boss x reader #striker x reader #helluva boss striker x reader #y/n #reader insert #x reader #ask #hazbin hotel

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iliveinyourceiling65 · 2 months

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Kotlc incorrect quotes

Keefe: If Bianca and I were drowning, who would you save? Fitz: You two can’t swim? Bianca: It’s a hypothetical question, Fitz! who would you save? Fitz: my time and effort.

Sophie: Can you please be serious for five minutes? Keefe: My record is four, but I think I can do it.

Sophie: I’m going to defeat you with the power of friendship! ... And this knife I found.

Sophie: You really put aside everything and came all this way for me? How did you even get here so fast? Fitz: Several traffic violations. Biana: Three counts of resisting arrest. Keefe: Roughly thirteen cans of energy drinks. Dex: Also, that’s not our car.

Keefe: How did none of you hear what I just said? Biana: I’ve been zoned out for the past two and a half hours. Sophie: I got distracted about halfway through. Tam: Ignoring you was a conscious decision.

Biana: If you can’t beat them, dress better than them

Fitz: This is such a bad idea. Keefe: Then why are you coming along? Fitz: One of us needs to be able to talk the cops out of arresting us when this inevitably goes wrong.

Sophie: We need more help. Maybe I should call my friends. Dex: ... Your what? Sophie: My friends. Fitz: Is she saying “friends”? Keefe: I think She’s being sarcastic. Biana: No, no, no, this is delirium, She’s cracked from being awake all night. Hey, Sophie! All of your friends are in this room. Sophie: I have other friends! You asked me to make new friends, I made new friends! It was a task. I complete tasks.

Della: There are seven chairs and ten kids. What do you do? Fitz: Have everyone stand. Biana: Bring three more chairs! Alden: The most important ones can sit down. Alvar: Kill three

Keefe: Well, well, well... if it isn’t my old friend: the dawning realization that I fucked up bad.

Sophie: Name a more iconic duo than my crippling fear of abandonment and my anxiety. I'll wait. Dex: You and me!!! Sophie, tearing up: Okay.

#sophie foster #keefe sencen #fitz vacker #biana vacker #dex dizznee #kotlc incorrect quotes #kotlc

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tidesreach · 1 year

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jiang cheng did not kill wei wuxian. like that is a pretty significant thing that did not happen but for some reason people keep stating as fact. and also quite significantly the reason he did not kill him is because he loves him.

jiang cheng's hatred towards wei wuxian is a defense mechanism born from his trauma and anger and fear of abandonment. his hatred is a construct designed to minimise emotional pain. his hatred only exists because it's trying to cancel out the love in order to protect him from rejection and abandonment and the extreme emotional pain that comes with them. there's actually a psychological term for this coping mechanism: it's called splitting. it's a distorted way of thinking that is black and white in nature and often caused by trauma. it means you are unable to hold opposing thoughts and feelings and you see people as either all good or all bad. jiang cheng is incapable of seeing any grey area so he does a very extreme swing from love to hate because he simply cannot process the complexity of his own polarising emotions. he cannot reconcile his love for wei wuxian with the pain wei wuxian has (unintentionally) caused him. he does all of this unconsciously too because splitting is not a conscious decision you make. he does not even realise it's happening.

for years it keeps all those messy and complex and painful feelings jiang cheng has for wei wuxian at bay. splitting is inherently self-destructive but it is considered a coping mechanism for a reason. for a long time it's the only thing that allows jiang cheng to keep going. it isn't until guanyin temple that all those complex emotions that the hastily put together hatred has been trying so hard to cover up come spilling out and jiang cheng starts to acknowledge them. the love and the loss and those gutwrenching feelings of abandonment and rejection and not being good enough. and he says desperately "shouldn't i hate you? can't i hate you?" because he wants so very much to hate him but he's now realising that he never has. because the hate was always just a mask for love and all its painful and contradictory complexities. the fact that acknowledging all of those feelings has him emotionally ruined and sobbing on the temple floor is exactly why the splitting happened in the first place. this is the pain and loss that he was unconsciously trying to protect himself from.

#i could write an essay #jiang cheng #once again the tag irked me #jc #cql #mdzs #yunmeng bros

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mrworldwideshoulders · 10 months

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i choose you || reader x knj

When your best friend abandons you at a wedding with a bunch of strangers and the guy she’s trying to set you up with is just not that into you, you decide to have some fun instead of sulking in the corner, which earns you the attention - and the affection - of a stranger named Kim Namjoon.

✓ Pairing: reader x Namjoon (very briefly feat. Jin) ✓ WC: 4.5k ✓ Rating: rated T / PG-13 ✓ Genre: mostly fluff, smidgen of angst, strangers to lovers-ish, love at first sight-ish ✓ Warnings: alcohol consumption, foul language, minho slander (he’s choi minho, he can handle it), seokjin is drunk, loud, and in love, bad descriptions of making out, dimple descriptions, reader is a hoe for namjoon’s forearms, namjoon is a big awkward cutie ✓ a/n: hehehe it's another wedding fic sorry lolololol. this is the prequel to where love finds us and the way you look tonight, if ya wanna check those out afterwards. i meant to have this out last month but oh well, here it is in july :) i like this one a lot because it's a lil bit goofy and i hope you enjoy it too! as always beta’d and bannered by teh amazing april (@onmypillow-onmytable)! thx! ly - robyn ✓ P.S. I do not own BTS or their likenesses, nor do I own the music of Bruno Mars (lol), they just inspire me.

part of the 24k magic collection (masterlist)

“Remind me again why I’m here?” you complain as your best friend, Ji-eun, pulls you by the arm into the reception hall. “When you asked me if I wanted to do something this weekend, crashing someone’s wedding reception was not what I had in mind.”

“It’s not crashing if you’re invited,” shrugs Ji-eun. “I was invited. And then I invited you. Ergo, you were invited.”

“That is absolutely not how weddings work. Who invited you, anyway? I don’t recognize anyone here.”

“The bride?” says Ji-eun, as if it should be obvious. “We’re co-workers, or something. She invited everyone from our department.”

You roll your eyes and sigh. “I’m totally underdressed.” You eye all of the women around you dressed in semi-formal gowns and you elbow Ji-eun in the ribs. “Why didn’t you tell me there was a dress code?” The strapless cocktail dress you thought was such a good idea earlier suddenly seems like the worst decision you ever made, and you didn’t even bring a sweater to save face either, all because the only instruction Ji-eun could bother to give you when she texted this morning was “wear a dress” and “something with lots of cleavage.” Ji-eun, you’ve decided, is bound and determined to drag you into trouble at every opportunity. It’s a wonder you’re both still alive – and not cellmates in jail – with all of the questionable situations she’s been pulling you into since middle school.

“You look hot,” she says. “Don’t even worry about it. You’ll blend right in.”

“Did you just say ‘hot’ and ‘blend in’ in the same sentence?”

“Ugh, you’re so self-conscious. You are hot. I think it’s time you embraced that.” She pouts at the look on your face. “Come on, y/n,” she wheedles. “Minho will be here, and I’ve been wanting to introduce you guys for ages. He’s such a great guy. Did I mention he’s hot? And dying to meet you? Please let me play matchmaker. Then later when you’re happily married to the love of your life, you can say it was all thanks to your best friend in the entire world who loves you enough to set you up with her hot guy friends.”

“Yeah, well, the position of ‘best friend in the entire world’ might be opening up sometime soon if you keep setting me up with these duds.”

“You’re so mean!” she whines. “I told you the last one was just a misunderstanding.”

“He ditched and left me with the check, Eun. It was not a misunderstanding. It was a calculated move.” The guy even had the audacity to call you later that night to see if you wanted to go out again, claiming “bathroom trouble” as the reason for sticking you with the check. As if you were dumb or desperate enough to fall for that – especially since he’d conveniently been hit by “bathroom trouble” once he was mostly done eating, not to mention your waitress had been kind enough to let you know that she’d seen him slipping out through a side door – apparently completely fine.

“Stop complaining. Come on. Sparks are going to fly between you two, I just know it.” She resumes tugging on your arm and you reluctantly allow her to pull you along as she weaves through the crowd, finally stopping you in front of a man who must be the fabled Minho. “Oppa!” coos Ji-eun. “This is y/n. You remember, don’t you?” She shoots him a knowing look.

“Ah, Ji-eun!” he greets her. “I remember. The one you were telling me about, right?” Minho glances at you. “Eun, she’s gorgeous. Where have you been keeping her?” He takes your hand and plants a kiss on it. “Choi Minho.”

“Y/n,” you reply, somewhat taken aback at his outward display of affection. “I’ve heard a lot about you, so it’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Have fun, you two,” teases Ji-eun in a sing-song voice. “I’m off to snag myself a drink or a handsome groomsman, whichever one comes first.”

“She’s really something else, isn’t she?” you say, looking to break the awkward silence that falls once Ji-eun is gone. “So how do you two know each other? I don’t think she said.”

“University,” says Minho. “We were in the same major. Same year, too, but she insists on calling me oppa.” He shakes his head and chuckles. Minho says it like it’s something that bothers him, but it clearly doesn’t, or else he would have corrected her before now.

“Oh, I guess you were a business major, too.” You nod. “Explains why we never ran into each other. I barely saw her the whole time, and we were roommates.”

“We went to the same university?” Minho seems surprised. “I never would have guessed. What major were you in?” Something about the incredulous look on his face rubs you the wrong way.

“Uh, yeah. We did.” You narrow your eyes. “I was a graphic design major.”

“Graphic design. Wow.” Minho inhales sharply through his teeth. “How’s that going for you? I hear it’s pretty competitive. You know, if you’re ever looking to change fields I’m sure I could find something for you at my company. A favor for a friend of a friend, yeah?

“Oh, um,” you say, “I…have a job. And I kind of like it, so I’m not really planning on moving any time soon.”

“Well, you let me know if you ever change your mind.” He winks and touches your bare arm. “Any friend of Eun’s is a friend of mine. And I’m sure we could take much better care of you than wherever you’re working now.” Minho’s eyes wander from your face down to your chest and then somewhere over your shoulder, where something – or someone – else seems to catch his eye.

“Uh…thanks,” you say, unsure how else to respond, feeling a little uncomfortable. You wish you had a drink to settle your nerves and a sweater to cover your chest. Why did Ji-eun have to leave? you curse internally. She knows I’m not good at this. “So,” you say brightly, hoping to steer the conversation in another direction. “What does your company do?”

“We’re in transportation, mostly,” he says, his eyes still somewhere behind you, “but we’ve got our fingers in a lot of pies.”

A few more minutes of conversation with him pass, and it’s already obvious that you and Minho don’t exactly have a lot in common – nor does it seem that you’re really his type, because he keeps glancing at a pretty bridesmaid in a lavender dress somewhere behind you. You’re beginning to wonder what exactly Ji-eun expected the two of you to talk about, because the two of you are polar opposites, and not in the endearing, meet cute, opposites attract sort of way, in the way that even if you did decide to date you’d probably end up butting heads over anything and everything. You steal a covert glance the next time Minho’s eyes wander away from your face and over your shoulder. The bridesmaid is chatting animatedly with what looks like another bridesmaid, cutting glances every so often in your direction – or Minho’s direction, more like. You sigh internally and try to hide your frown. Of course. Minho looks like he could be an idol or an actor; it only makes sense that he wouldn’t be interested in you. He probably only even agreed to meet you as a favor to Ji-eun. Well, if he’s not even going to pretend he’s interested – then why should you? “Minho?” you say sweetly. “I’m going to go get a drink.”

“Don’t miss me too much while you’re gone.” He grins.

“I’ll, uh, do my best.” You find your way over to the bar and watch as Minho approaches the bridesmaid he was making eyes at, any thoughts of you surely already forgotten. You shake your head and sip your wine. He’s probably better suited for her than he is for you. You blow out a long breath and order a glass of white wine from the bartender. Why does it have to be like this? Every guy, every date, every time you even attempt to put yourself out there – it just never works. Sure, part of it is probably your fault for having unrealistic standards. And part of you doesn’t even really want a relationship, not after watching your parents tear each other to pieces every time they set foot in the same room together. It’s not like it’s always been your dream to fall in love and get married, either. The only thing you’ve ever wanted for yourself is to be happy. If that’s with a man in your life – then so be it. Everyone always says that you’ll know when the right one comes along, but you’re starting to think that has about as much likelihood of happening as you becoming president.

You throw back half of your wine in one gulp. Ah, should I just leave? you wonder to yourself, scanning the room for Ji-eun. There’s no point in me staying if Minho isn’t interested and nobody else is either. What else am I here for other than that? You debate slipping out the front door, flagging down a taxi, and going home, but eventually decide against it, feeling a twinge of guilt at the idea of abandoning Ji-eun at this wedding by herself – even if she did technically do the same thing to you. Really starting to question who’s putting the most effort into this friendship, you gripe internally.

You finish the rest of your wine and request another from the bartender. What am I doing? you think suddenly, the first glass of wine beginning to hit you as you start on the second. Am I really just standing here drowning my troubles at a wedding, of all places? This is so dumb. You scan the room. The dance floor is crowded, with people moving back and forth, dancing, reveling in the moment, the music pounding all around. Instead of lingering by the bar, feeling pitiful and alone…the realization dawns on you that you should be out there, having fun. Or, at the very least, keeping your mind occupied enough to forget the disappointment of yet another man having no interest in you.

“Dance like no one’s watching, right?” you say to yourself, downing the rest of your second glass of wine and hopefully, washing away the nerves that normally plague you, the fear of being perceived when it comes to doing anything in social situations. As the wine hits you, you begin to feel pleasantly warm and tipsy, and you move toward the crowd, the lights bouncing off the lacquered wood floor. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you close your eyes and feel yourself start to move with the beat of the music. You don’t even know the happy couple, but you silently thank them for hiring such a good DJ.

Minutes pass, though it feels much longer, with you tossing your hair, moving your hips and head back and forth to the beat of the music, forgetting about the fact that your best friend is a terrible matchmaker, and the fact that it feels like she’s genuinely trying to set you up for failure, making you question everything about yourself, forgetting about the fact that you couldn’t even hold a man’s attention for longer than ten minutes, even in a stupidly revealing cocktail dress that your friend made you wear under false pretenses. And in those moments, it’s just you, and the music, remembering that you are pretty, and one guy’s stupid opinion of you doesn’t matter. Love will come, or it won’t, and you’re determined to be happy with your life either way.

The strappy heels you’re wearing prove to be your downfall, and you eventually decide to extricate yourself from the throng of wedding guests, limping back over to the bar. Your cheeks are flushed, and you’re exhausted, but there’s a sense of exhilaration pumping through you, feeling somewhat revitalized by making yourself do something you wouldn’t normally do on your own. You steady yourself against the bar, standing on one foot while you rest the other, and request another glass of wine from the bartender.

“Looks like you were enjoying yourself out there.” A low voice materializes next to you. Your head swivels in the direction of the voice to find a man standing just feet away from you, holding a bottle of beer and watching you with interest. He’s much taller than you, but not intimidating, with an approachable air about him, and warm brown eyes that remind you of autumn. A dark blazer is slung over one shoulder, leaving him in a simple white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, the folded cuffs tugging at his muscular forearms. His friendly smile accentuates the dimple in his cheek.

“Oh!” you say, cheeks flushing. You put your other foot back on the ground in surprise. “Yeah. I guess. I don’t normally do that kind of thing, but my friend dragged me here because she wanted me to meet this guy, but they both disappeared, and then I was just standing here all alone feeling sorry for myself.” You lift one shoulder in a shrug. ”I don’t even really know anyone here, but I figured I might as well make the best of it and have some fun.”

“Looks like we’re in the same boat,” he says with a chuckle. ”I sort of got dragged here too.”

“Well, from one wedding crasher to another, let me introduce myself.” You hold out a hand jokingly for him to shake. “I’m y/n.”

“Y/n,” he repeats, taking your hand. “Nice to meet you, y/n. I’m Namjoon.”

"There, now we both know at least one other person." You smile, taking a sip from the glass of wine that the bartender has just set in front of you.

“So this guy your friend wanted you to meet,” he says. “You didn’t like him?”

"No?" You make a face. “I mean, he was all right, I guess, but I don't think we had very much in common. Besides, he was making googly eyes at some bridesmaid the whole time I was talking to him." A rueful sigh huffs through your lips. "I’ve got to stop listening to Ji-eun. She means well, but one thing she doesn’t have is a talent for matchmaking.”

“Sorry to hear that," says Namjoon. "About the guy.”

“It’s okay. At least we didn’t waste too much of each other's time.” You smile. “Anyway, why aren’t you out there? Isn’t everyone supposed to be dancing? It’s a party, after all.”

“Oh, no.” He chuckles. His laugh feels affable and warm, just like his smile. “I’m a terrible dancer. It's better that I don’t. I’d probably end up breaking something, or someone. I’m just here for the atmosphere.” He sets his bottle down on the bar top. “Besides, I was having more fun watching you.” His brown eyes twinkle.

Your heart flutters in your chest and you find yourself trying to hold back a laugh.

“Not buying it?” he says teasingly. You shake your head, still smiling. “Sorry. I’ve never been very good at this. Whatever this is.”

“I’ll give you a point for trying.”

“Ah, good. That means I didn’t fail completely, right?”

“Right. Something like that.” You laugh. “So who dragged you here? Are your friends equally as annoying as mine?”

"My friend, Seokjin, who's been bugging me to get out for weeks. He claims to know the groom or something. No, wait, it was the best man…or maybe it was the best man’s friend? I’m actually not sure.” He scans the crowded dance floor and points. “Him, right there, with the shoulders.” You follow his line of vision over to a tall, broad-shouldered man, flailing his arms and virtually towering over his dance partner, who, come to think of it, looks a lot like…Ji-eun? "He might actually be more dangerous on the dance floor than me.”

“Funny,” you say. “That's my best friend he's dancing with.”

“Really?” Namjoon looks at you, then back at them. “Wow. I guess it’s only right that our annoying best friends found their way to each other.”

“No offense to your friend, but I don’t think it’ll last very long. Ji-eun’s not known for committing long-term. She’s a walking contradiction. Convinced she’ll be the one to introduce me to my one and only, yet has no interest in finding one of her own.”

“As luck would have it, neither is Jin. They’re a perfect match.”

You raise your glass. “In that case, may the Seokjins and the Ji-euns of the world always find their way to each other.”

He clinks his bottle with your cup. “Hear, hear.”

Namjoon is easy to talk to, and he's especially interested in your job illustrating book covers for a publishing house. "It's nothing special." You wave your hands. “It’s a really small company. And I’ve only been doing it for about a year, so I’m not very good at it yet.”

"Are you kidding?” he says, awestruck. “I’ve never met anyone who does that. And you must be good, or you wouldn’t be doing it professionally.”

“Well, it pays the bills,” you say, dipping your head modestly, “and it gives me plenty of free time to work on my own art.”

“Really?“ Namjoon looks intrigued. “What medium do you prefer?”

“I’m a painter. Mostly. But I like to experiment with a little bit of everything.”

“Wow. She designs book covers. She paints. And now I’m wondering where you’ve been all my life.” A tinge of pink colors his cheeks. “Uh…I just meant…” He rubs at his neck self-consciously. “Anyway.”

He’s awfully cute when he’s flustered.

The conversation takes a slight turn, and you find yourself listening with interest as he tells you about his work as a grad student, his dissertation on the intersection of art and philosophy, his plans for the future after he finishes his doctorate. Tenure, professorhood, the papers he wants to write. The art he'd like to buy if he had the money. If it were anyone else, you know you'd be starting to zone out by now, but there's something about Namjoon's low, even voice that draws you in and keeps you paying attention. Like a documentary narrator, or a radio host.

"You're staring at me," he says, his tone light and teasing.

You were listening so intently that you didn't even realize what you were doing. "Was I?" You turn away slightly, hoping to hide the blooming patches of pink on your cheeks. "Sorry."

"It's okay." Namjoon's eyes crinkle into a smile. "It's all I can do to get the freshmen in my courses to look at anything other than their screens, so trust me, I don't mind it at all. I'm just glad you don't think I'm boring."

"Boring?" you say, surprised. "Are there people out there who think you're boring?"

"Oh, definitely. You'd be surprised. Jin, for one. He swears up and down that he doesn't think so, but a few minutes in and his eyes are already starting to glaze over. You, on the other hand…well, I've been monologuing for ages, but you've just been standing there with that mesmerized look on your face the whole time."

"Mesmerized?" You chuckle. "I don't know about that."

"No, it's true," he insists. "Admit it. I fascinate you."

"And?” you ask. “What about it?”

“What do you say we get out of here?” he says, barely blinking an eye. The corner of his mouth quirks. “This party’s almost over anyway. We can continue this conversation somewhere we can actually hear ourselves think.”

You hesitate. You barely know this guy. But he likes you – you can tell. He’s the first guy in a long time to express genuine interest in you or your job or your personal life in general. It doesn’t hurt that he’s easy to look at, either, with his striking brown eyes and easy, dimpled smile. There’s just something about the way he looks at you that makes your palms tingle and you heart feel like it’s about to explode. And what is it about rolled up sleeves and exposed forearms that just drives you absolutely insane? Maybe it’s the alcohol talking, or the letdown from Ji-eun’s unsuccessful attempt to set you up with Minho – but you have to see where this goes. “Okay,” you say finally. “Where should we go?”

He’s about to speak when Seokjin and Ji-eun stumble up, arm in arm. “Namjoon-ah! My best friend!” Seokjin exclaims drunkenly. He throws his long arms over Namjoon’s shoulders from behind, pink-cheeked and grinning. “I think I’m in love.”

“Oh, really?” Namjoon eyes his friend with a dry expression. “Who is she, then?”

He looks at Ji-eun blankly, then back at Namjoon. "Ah, well, her name isn't important. What matters is…I'm in love." Seokjin pokes a long finger into Namjoon’s cheek. “And I’m going to marry her.”

“Oppa!” squeals Ji-eun, pulling him back toward her. “Really?”

“Uh-huh. I’ll bet.” Namjoon’s gaze cuts in your direction. “Sorry. Normally he’s better at holding his liquor than this,” he whispers. “I should really get him home before he gets any louder – and gets us uninvited from future events.”

“Same here,” you say apologetically. “If we can manage to split them apart again.” Seokjin and Ji-eun are once again furiously making out, hands in places you’re not even sure you’re supposed to be looking.

“They’ll have to come up for air sometime. I think we might have a chance then. You grab yours and I’ll grab mine?”

“Deal.” The second Ji-eun pulls away from Seokjin to take a breath, you take her firmly by the arm and pull her toward the door of the reception hall, ignoring her protesting about being separated from the love of her life, while Namjoon tugs Seokjin along behind you. There’s a line of people outside already waiting for taxis, given that you’re in the middle of the city, so you join the queue behind another couple, still trying to prevent Ji-eun and Seokjin from devouring each other whole on the sidewalk.

“Nicely done,” says Namjoon, the dimple in his cheek reappearing alongside his grin, while he maintains a firm grip on Seokjin's arm. “I take it you have experience with this?”

“Only every Saturday night since university.” You chuckle. “Between the two of us I’m definitely the responsible one.”

“Eonni!” whines Ji-eun. “Don’t tell him that! He’ll think you’re boring!”

You plant an elbow firmly into the side of her ribs, sending her into silence.

"That's okay." His smile doesn't waver. "I'm a little bit boring myself, so what's one boring person to another?"

Boring? you think. You're not boring at all. You’re passionate about what you love. You’re the first man to look at me that way: like I’m the most interesting person in the world to you, when really it’s the other way around. You’re sweet. You’re adorably awkward. You’re bad at flirting – but something about you draws me in anyway. And I know we’ve only just met…but I want to know everything about you. What makes you happy, what inspires you, what intrigues you…I want to spend hours listening to you tell me all about it.

The crowd waiting for cabs disperses until it's just you and Namjoon. "I guess this is it, then,” he says as a taxi finally pulls to a stop in front of you. “We should do this again sometime. Minus the drunk people, of course. Not that I don’t enjoy dragging a hundred and thirty pounds of dead weight around with me, but it does put a damper on things, doesn’t it?”

“Yah, you bastard! I’m not that heavy!” Seokjin bellows, as he's struggling to stay upright, his words still slurring together.

“Yeah,” you say. “I’d like that. Maybe we can actually finish that conversation we were having before we got interrupted.” You nudge Ji-eun, who seems determined to make herself as unwieldy as possible, not so gently into the cab, sending her tumbling into the backseat, and turn back to him. “By the way…I really appreciate it. You talking to me. It made me forget how totally out of place I was.”

“Ah, it was nothing.” He ducks his head sheepishly. “As a fellow wedding crasher, I’m happy to have helped. Thanks for putting up with me rambling all night.”

“Please.” You smile, waving your hand. “Nothing to put up with. I had a good time.”

“Well…good night, y/n.” Namjoon closes the car door after you. “Get home safe. Until next time?”

“Until next time.” You look up at him. “Good night, Namjoon.” You sit back in your seat, allowing the flutter of excitement that’s been slowly building in your stomach to take flight. This guy…he likes you. He really likes you. You’re going to see him again. And for the first time, in a long time, if not ever…you’re excited. Really excited. Your hand goes to your mouth, barely concealing the grin that’s forming on your lips.

As your taxi pulls away from the curb, a hand suddenly appears in the half-open window, causing it to jerk to a stop. Namjoon appears next to the car, shaking his hand ruefully and wincing. "Damn, that hurts. Guess that'll teach me, won't it?" He leans down, bringing his face closer to yours. "Sorry about that. You were just about to disappear when it dawned on me that I forgot to ask you for your number, and I knew I had to do something before I lost you."

“Oh! My number.” Your heart flutters again. “Yeah, you’re going to need that, aren’t you?”

Namjoon watches as you tap your number into his phone. “Good thing I remembered when I did. That could have been a disaster.”

“A disaster, huh?” you ask, handing his phone back to him.

“Catastrophic.” He laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “How else would we have found out if we were meant to be if we didn’t go on an actual first date?” He gazes down at you with a teasing grin. “Anyway – I’ll call you?”

“Soon, I hope.” You smile. “I’ll be waiting.”

“I’ll try not to keep you waiting too long.” Namjoon’s eyes meet with yours momentarily before he turns away, letting out an awkward chuckle. “Well…good night, y/n. I mean it this time. Really.”

“Good night,” you say, stifling a giggle. “Get home safe.”

The taxi finally pulls away from the curb, and you can’t help looking out the window after him as he walks back toward Seokjin. He’s handsome, even from behind. Ji-eun flops against you, and you shift her to a more comfortable position against your shoulder. “I knew dragging you along was a good idea. Did I call it, or what?” she mumbles proudly. “You know, I saw the way you were looking at that guy just now.” She pokes teasingly at your arm, eyes half-closed. “Like you wanted to dive right in and take up residence in his dimples. And sparks like a fireworks show. It’s so obvious! You are smitten.” Ji-eun sing-songs the last part.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, pressing your lips together to hide your smile. Ji-eun might not have introduced you to the love of your life – but it’s the first time in a while that you’ve felt this way about anyone – and you suppose you do have to thank her for that.

#bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts #bts series #bts x reader #bts au #bts fluff #reader x namjoon #reader x rm #reader x kim namjoon #bts x you #bts x fem!reader #namjoon fluff #kim namjoon #mrworldwideshoulders #namjoon x reader

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contemplatingoutlander · 11 months

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This is an important article by Linda Greenhouse, writing in The New York Times. Therefore, the link above is a gift 🎁 link, so anyone can read the article, even if they don't subscribe to the Times.

Below are some excerpts from the article:

To understand today’s Supreme Court, to see it whole, demands a longer timeline. To show why, I offer a thought experiment. Suppose a modern Rip Van Winkle went to sleep in September 2005 and didn’t wake up until last week. Such a person would awaken in a profoundly different constitutional world, a world transformed, term by term and case by case, at the Supreme Court’s hand. To appreciate that transformation’s full dimension, consider the robust conservative wish list that greeted the new chief justice 18 years ago: Overturn Roe v. Wade. Reinterpret the Second Amendment to make private gun ownership a constitutional right. Eliminate race-based affirmative action in university admissions. Elevate the place of religion across the legal landscape. Curb the regulatory power of federal agencies. [...} That was how the world looked on Sept. 29, 2005, when Chief Justice Roberts took the oath of office, less than a month after the death of his mentor, Chief Justice Rehnquist. And this year? By the time the sun set on June 30, the term’s final day, every goal on the conservative wish list had been achieved. All of it. To miss that remarkable fact is to miss the story of the Roberts court. It’s worth reviewing how the court accomplished each of the goals. It deployed a variety of tools and strategies. Precedents that stood in the way were either repudiated outright, as the Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization decision did last year to Roe v. Wade and Planned Parenthood v. Casey, or were simply rendered irrelevant — abandoned, in the odd euphemism the court has taken to using. In its affirmative action decision declaring race-conscious university admissions to be unconstitutional, Chief Justice Roberts’s majority opinion did not overturn the 2003 Grutter decision explicitly. But Justice Thomas was certainly correct in his concurring opinion when he wrote that it was “clear that Grutter is, for all intents and purposes, overruled.” Likewise, the court has not formally overruled its Chevron decision. Its administrative-law decisions have just stopped citing that 1984 precedent as authority. The justices have simply replaced Chevron’s rule of judicial deference with its polar opposite, a new rule that goes by the name of the major questions doctrine. Under this doctrine, the court will uphold an agency’s regulatory action on a major question only if Congress’s grant of authority to the agency on the particular issue was explicit. Deference, in other words, is now the exception, no longer the rule. But how to tell a major question from an ordinary one? No surprise there: The court itself will decide. [...] My focus here on what these past 18 years have achieved has been on the court itself. But of course, the Supreme Court doesn’t stand alone. Powerful social and political movements swirl around it, carefully cultivating cases and serving them up to justices who themselves were propelled to their positions of great power by those movements. The Supreme Court now is this country’s ultimate political prize. That may not be apparent on a day-to-day or even a term-by-term basis. But from the perspective of 18 years, that conclusion is as unavoidable as it is frightening.

#us supreme court #18 years of the roberts' court #chief justice john roberts #affirmative action #second amendment #separation of church and state #regulatory agencies #women's reproductive health #linda greenhouse #the new york times #gift link

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sorry-i-like-romantic-fabriz · 2 months

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This post here lists everything that makes Riz "canonically AroAce". OP refuses to listen to anyone who doesn't agree with them, so I'm responding to it separately with my own post. This post isn't about denying his possible/potential aromanticism, this post is about debunking the "canon" everyone insists makes Riz irrefutably AroAce. As always, I'm not here to tell anyone Riz cannot possibly be aromantic. I'm just trying to push back against the concept that Riz can only be interpreted one way and one way only. Here we go!

"He doesn't want relationships. That is canon." He's disinterested in them, that is not the same as being against them entirely. He doesn't relate to his friends obsession with them, but moreover he specifically doesn't relate to being horny 24/7.

"He made up Baron because he wasn't dating anyone and felt pressured." He was feeling (unintentionally) alienated by his friends and didn't wanna seem "different". They were saying he'd understand the obsession specifically with sex, once he was in a relationship. They weren't saying he HAD to be in one.

"His entire nightmare forest experience was 'you are different from your loved ones because you don’t want romantic relationships like they do'. " That was by absolutely no means the entirety of his nightmare experience. His fear was being abandoned by his friends, something Kalina antagonizes him about throughout the ENTIRE SEASON. Yes his disinterest in relationships (which he clearly equates with sex) was part of his fear, but not the entirety of it.

"Baron is literally part of his imagination telling him that he does not experience romantic attraction." Baron appears for less than twenty minutes throughout the entirety of the season. While Baron is his "Roemaence Partener", and while yes Baron also antagonizes Riz about his disinterest in relationships, Baron is more a representation of Riz desperately trying to fit in rather than one saying "you don't experience romantic attraction".

"Everybody uses asexual to mean aro/ace, because they are not aware of the term aromantic." That's just straight up untrue. While it is a frequent misconception, insisting that that is what people ALWAYS mean is ridiculous. Which connects with your next statement:

"Brennan isn't exactly deeply entrenched in queer labels." While I can't argue about Brennan's knowledge of anything queer, Brennan knows about: sexuality being a spectrum, gender being a construct, polyamory (which I feel means he knows relationships are complicated), and he did a whole fucking campaign with drag queens of various labels.

I feel like insisting Brennan has absolutely zero concept of there being a difference between Ace and Aro is just to fit your belief that there's absolutely no way Riz could be anything but AroAce.

"Him using the word asexual does not and should not erase the explicit aromanticism of riz's character." There is no clear, canon information of Riz's romantic identity. Only his sexuality. Tbh if Murph made the conscious decision to make Riz asexual, I feel like he also knows Ace and Aro are not one in the same.

Look, I'm not denying that Riz could be AroAce. There's canon to support that interpretation along with the canon that states he's asexual. I'm not saying your interpretation is wrong, what I'm saying is your interpretation is not the only correct one.

Thanks for coming to my TedTalk.

#fabriz #man I would love to tag the character #this entire post is about #but I don't feel like having my notifications #flooded with messages about people wanting to kill me with hammers

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aquaquadrant · 7 months

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literally just zoomed through yalls htp au and i havent seen anyone talk about it but i find it SO interesting how Bravo, who is supposed to be the GOOD overworlder, is rather prideful and honestly just a dick while Tango, supposedly his EVIL counterpart, is just the sweetest guy. i cant imagine how Tango is derived from the worst parts of Bravo, if im understanding hels correctly. Tango is such a good person, while Bravo is rude to everyone with the worst attitude. it was just something i picked up so quickly. if the universe put him in hels in the first place, there must be a reason why the universe swapped his place with his overworld counterpart.

on another note! with the release of secret life, and what we've seen so far, how do you think htp!tango would fare in this new killing game? i cant help but imagine that with the entire gimmick being keeping secrets that he would be rather stressed, knowing he had hidden stuff from his friends already-- lying doesnt make him feel like a good person (but he isnt supposed to be that, some small part of him is whispering, knowing hes from hels, is all of the "bad" parts of bravo)

anyways! this is all i will be able to think of for the rest of the week /vpos and i hope you (and everyone who may be reading this at any given time) have a great rest of spooky month!

well THANK YOU this was a lovely message to receive, and i’m glad you’re enjoying the au ^^

i’ve talked a little bit about this here and there, but i’ll never pass up the chance to ramble more. there are a few key things about bravo and tango that make them different from the average overworld-hels pair.

ANALYSIS/RAMBLE BELOW

first off, most of what we’ve seen of tango has been set during double life, which is ten years after he escaped hels, so he’s had ten years of growth. we see very little of him before this, and in those scenes he’s got the benefit of being largely alone. the only player he interacts with is xisuma, who tango immediately realizes he needs to ‘trick.’ so his interaction with x in part one isn’t how tango would’ve interacted with virtually any other player in hels at that time.

we see from the flashback in part five that younger pre-hels tek tango was borderline feral- he chose to attack atlas on sight instead of trying to hide, or leave before he was seen, or even see why atlas was there. now, atlas wins him over fairly quickly because tango is young and naive and secretly craving positive interaction, but even in that brief interaction tango is a bit more prideful than his older self. that, of course, got beaten out of him at hels tek.

bravo, on the other hand, we follow closely during his ten years in hels. when he first arrives in part two, he’s a little snide and privately judgemental, sure, but he starts out perfectly decent towards timmy. he tries to maintain that civility and ‘niceness’ as he interacts with more and more hels players, but gradually loses his willpower as he gets beaten down and frustrated, even losing his temper. and after he fully snaps and gets his first kills, he all but abandons the notion of being ‘nice’, though privately he still thinks of himself as inherently better than hels players (atlas’s manipulation certainly doesn’t help matters, either).

but perhaps the biggest point is to look at what traits tango actually got from bravo, and that would be his rage. bravo is most similar to tango when he’s angry; his first little temper tantrum in part two is where it’s best illustrated, because all instances after that have been influenced by his time in hels. but you’ll notice that we have yet to see tango truly angry in the HTP series (he did revert back to an almost feral mindset when the ranch got attacked, but that was an instinctive defense mechanism. there was no conscious thought behind those decisions, and they were purely fueled by fear, not anger). that will be where his ‘hels’ really shines through.

there’s one other bravo trait amplified in tango that i haven’t revealed yet. it’s something that tango has figured out how to sort of ‘mask’ via other more acceptable coping mechanisms- if you can call it that- and actually forms a fairly significant part of his personality. stay tuned :3

as for secret life, it’d be a complicated situation for sure. on one hand, their goals are less outright malicious- just complete the tasks and try to survive (at least for now). in a way, it almost takes away accountability for their actions if they turn out to be harmful- “i had to, it was my secret task!” so that’s nice to fall back on. but still, tango would be very on edge. not only with the discomfort of having to lie to his friends, but never knowing if they’re lying to him, too. boi’s got them trust issues fr.

#hels to pay au #HTP ask #mmmmm I LOVE CHARACTER ANALYSIS #thank u for the opportunity to ramble

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trlvsn · 1 year

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this long ass trainwreck of a post is about two types of cards and two types of hands in apollo justice: ace attorney. also about beanix. like, a lot. i got carried away.

i have already written a post about phoenix wright in turnabout trump and his decision to make apollo present forged evidence, but i will repeat myself a little for the sake of making sense. before, i have stated three definite motivations for his behavior: teaching apollo to never make the mistake of blind trust ever again, making sure that he wins the case and completely cutting himself off from the law, submitting to the image of himself that others see. "maybe i did, maybe i didn't, but who cares anymore" - phoenix wright, 2019, dear genties and ladymen of the court. but anyway, as fascinating as his character is in aa4, the only way to really understand it is to focus on the bigger picture. phoenix wright has been collecting evidence for seven long years, working on the jurist system, playing the piano, looking in the mirror and seeing the cracks from the big big punch the system landed on him. phoenix wright might still remember how to be a lawyer, but he is no longer part of the current system, in fact, he refuses to be. he frequently says he "quit law", meaning him not going back or trying to was somewhat of a conscious choice. bringing me to my second point and fourth reason of him forging evidence: the rules don't matter to him anymore, because these rules are not the ones he agrees with. he is no longer playing by them.

once you understand that, the point of view shifts. his actions are only wrong from a legal standpoint (aside, of course, from betraying apollo's trust, not excusing that but also not really talking about that right now), he is acting as a man, not a lawyer. look at the forged evidence morally: did it do harm? we know the man who he was trying to frame with the evidence is guilty (kristoph), we know he knows and we know he knows what will happen. what happens is: with the price of a small lie, a bigger truth gets revealed, and millions of other wrongs that the system created break. this action has led to good consequences and was done with good intentions (well, i assume), meaning it was, objectively, good, righteous. it's just that the law is righteous no more.

furthermore, when you look at phoenix's actions overall, we understand that the fire burning inside him has not changed. he is fighting for a better system, one that will never leave an innocent alone and abandoned, as now there are 12 jurists and any of them could be on that person's side, not based on their position or job, but based on reason and common sense. see me making the word job bold? that's for a reason, i will talk about the significance of jobs later. anyway, phoenix's seriousness about the whole thing is really well-demonstrated by sprite.

now. you might notice klavier and kristoph here. that's because, as noted by countless other ace attorney fans, phoenix's expression mirrors theirs. if it was just kristoph's, this expression of phoenix's would frankly concern me: a parallel with an "evil" character is not exactly a good sign. however, this expression gains a new meaning with klavier having it: aside from indicating that phoenix wright remains a sponge that adopts people's mannerism, he is experiencing a similar mindset to the gavin brothers: perfectionism. not in the von karma way, though, a different kind. this perfectionism means "i have poured my heart and soul into this concert/murder/jurist system and everything has to go right. for the love of god". it means phoenix's heart is in it. it means the mask falls.

the make falls, and yet phoenix wright remains in his hoodie and beanie. the mask falls, and yet, by the end of turnabout succession, he says he might learn how to play piano, or, maybe, perhaps, someday, pass the bar exam. weird, isn't it? the system is fresh and just, his honor is restored, but he is embracing the freedom of choice and a chance at authenticity instead of deciding what that authenticity will be for him right away. that, at least to me, is because phoenix wright is no longer defined by his occupation, and neither are any of the characters, really. here is where i come back to the job thing.

a wise tumblr user out there somewhere once said aa2 is about identity, and i completely agree. in the introductory case, phoenix loses his memories and regains his sense of self by, essentially, doing his job, remembering why and how he does it. and, like phoenix, aa4 is much more mature in the subject of identity. (not calling aa2 an immature game, just pointing out the development of identity as a concept). phoenix wright is a piano player slash poker champion, and yet he brings the truth to light and turns the system upside down. klavier gavin is balancing being a rockstar and a prosecutor; despite being a singer, he is factually serious and determined in court, despite being a prosecutor, he sings for thousands and is the most glimmerous of fops. ema skye - and boy will i say a lot about her in a separate post someday - is a detective, and yet she keeps her soul alive with luminol and fingerprint powder, using forensics despite not being a forensic scientist. apollo justice is a successful attorney, and yet he presents forged evidence in his first trial, and, while it wasn't his choice to do so, he also doesn't make the choice to go ruin his career and reveal the truth of the evidence, does he?

point is, the characters make choices, no longer identifying themselves solely with their jobs. they do what they do, and what they are is what they put out into the world. while aa2 is about identity, aa4 is about actions, making a change. no longer is it acceptable to stand by and observe - you either build a new system brick by brick and break the old one with your bare fists, or you're a victim slash pawn of it. or you're kristoph gavin and those like him - the one who the old system relies on, and the one who relies on the old system.

either way, the matter of actions, well, mattering, is really well-demonstrated by the importance of hands in aj:aa. i already talked about hands for a bit in this post, reblogged from @/phantommarigold. what inspired this line of thought was phoenix's tendency to hide his hands in almost every sprite of his, except for the objection one (which is stated was for the reason of hiding his true intentions, aka his "hand" as in hand of cards). the other reason, however, was the significance of hands in aa4 overall. kristoph gavin's hand has a devilish scar on it, showing his true identity and being a tell of his; apollo's perceptive powers are enhanced by the bracelet on his hand, which he so impolitely points at other objection-style, and so does phoenix in turnabout trump. klavier is a guitarist, so hands are quite literally an important part of his; but they are also very detailed in general, drawn with rings and great detail. in moments of weakness and confusion, he uses his hands to cover his ears, subconsciously desiring to ignore the truth (but choosing not to, of course. eh, that's for another post). machi tobaye holds lamoir by her hand at all times in order to guide her. things such as letters, written diaries, handwriting and fingerprints play a crucial part in multiple cases. i am confident that if i tried hard enough, i would find even more examples. point is: hands are important. hands symbolize action, creation and ruin, hands are our instrument, which we use to leave an imprint on the world. again, choices and actions.

but let's go back a bit. this will be a little niche, and yet i am compelled to point out the possibly unintentional tarot symbolism in character design. kristoph gavin has a devil on his hand, and frankly, that is very fitting for a name of the fifteenth major arcana. the devil traps, conceals the truth and holds immense power, which is essentially what kristoph does. the card is also associated with manipulation, which is also undeniably what he does to klavier at the very least. the card suits him, frankly even more than the descriptions of the devil as a mythical being.

before i point out the most obvious tarot reference, bear with me while i talk about the more far-fetched ones. first and foremost, trucy wright as the magician, the first arcana: someone who holds all the tools (the necessary (and forged) evidence, two times throughout her life) but isn't exactly at a point of bringing them into full action, someone who motivates and powers (her being phoenix's light), and, well, literally a magician. apollo justice as the sun - named after the greek god of the sun, bringing light and joy into life (by assisting with the downfall of the dark age) and possibly being childish (the naive behavior of accepting forged evidence in turnabout trump). are my descriptions of the cards fully accurate? no, give me a break, divination may be in my blood but it's not in my brain. anyways, lamoir as the star - constellations on her clothes, divine-looking, and the seventeenth arcana, following the tower - a symbol of a wreck, a disaster, a change (losing memories, in her case, and ... well, being shot does resemble the lighting that strikes the tower). this might seem insignificant for those not familiar with tarot, but the major arcana are famous for telling a story of life if put in the correct order, so it made sense to me.

now, the most important tarot reference of all is the one at the start of case 2. take a look at the transcript/description of the intro from ace attorney wiki:

Intro

The camera slowly zooms away from a wheel that is turning.

As long as we draw breath, the Wheel of Fate turns...

There are brief scenes of Phoenix Wright about to get hit by a car, Trucy Wright chasing someone, and a man playing on his harmonica. Afterward, it is shown that the wheel is part of a stand being pulled by a man late in the rainy evening. Everything except the wheels is silhouetted in darkness.

Spinning big crimes and little crimes together.

The man suddenly stops.

And when the Wheel stops...

The camera pans to another man blocking the stand-puller's way. As the camera begins to zoom away, there is a flash from a gunshot. The camera accelerates, showing part of a park before obscuring the scene behind some city towers.

You die.

the wheel of fortune is the tenth major arcana, and it's meaning is quite obvious.

fate is an uncontrollable force, one that is the most powerful in the universe as it is the universe itself. in this case, it spins a complicated tale, connecting small and big crimes, unintended consequences and failed plans.

in the end, what's done is done, no matter what you originally intended. you may not have wanted to present forged evidence, but you did. you may not have wanted this job, but you have it. you may not have known and you may not have seen, but now you do, and what you do next is what matters.

so you better be careful. tomorrow is a new day no matter what happens; time is inevitable, and so is change, but if you get your hands dirty and play your cards right, then, perhaps, the sun will shine on that day and the day after that.

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lisforlarsony · 2 years

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Incorrect DPS Quotes

Charlie: Look. I may not be a saint, but it's not like I’ve killed anybody. I’m not an arsonist. I’ve never found a wallet outside of an IHOP and thought about returning it but saw the owner lived out of state so just took the cash and dropped the wallet back on the ground.

Cameron: Okay, that's really specific, and that makes me think that you definitely did do that.

Todd: Name a more iconic duo than my crippling fear of abandonment and my anxiety. I'll wait.

Neil: You and me!!!

Todd, tearing up: Okay.

Charlie: How did none of you hear what I just said?

Todd: I’ve been zoned out for the past two and a half hours.

Neil: I got distracted about halfway through.

Knox: Ignoring you was a conscious decision.

Charlie, at an awards show: Well, first of all, I’d like to thank Meeks, the love of my life, for telling me Cameron was going to win so don’t bother to prepare a speech.

Knox: I didn't drink that much last night.

Pitts: You were flirting with Charlie.

Knox: So what? He's my boyfriend.

Pitts: You asked if he was single.

Pitts: And then you cried when he said he wasn't.

#anderperry #cheeks #knarlie #dead poets society #incorrect quotes #todd and neil #todd anderson #richard cameron #knox overstreet #charlie dalton #neil perry #gerard pitts #gregory meeks

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writtenmemxries · 3 months

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(I can't get no) satisfaction

rated t | 3.6k words

He glances briefly at the guy still asleep on the bed, flashbacks of his black complexion glistening with sweat and his full lips smiling blissfully. From where he's standing, he can barely see the tribal tattoo on his chest, but he remembers what the inked skin tasted like on his tongue. He shudders as images of different tattoos and olive skin fill his mind. He closes the door behind him and doesn't look back as he goes down the stairs as quickly as possible. (He doesn't tell anyone about it.) ——— Or, when Buck's dad passes away, he downloads Tinder as a coping mechanism. A story of grief, guilt and gentleness.

When his dad passes, he downloads Tinder. It’s more of a reflex than a conscious decision, due to a feeling he can’t shake off—the knowledge he should have done something, he should have done more. He’s a trained firefighter with a basis in first aid: he should have seen the signs. His parents visited no more than a week ago; they wanted to see their grandkid, obviously, not him specifically, although he did have lunch at Maddie’s on his day off to spend some time with them. Something about trying to make up for lost time, being the better man, something Eddie was trying to do with his parents, too.

He should have noticed something then: how his dad complained about his digestive system, how he kept rubbing at his chest, like he could feel something coming. Buck should have known.

At first, he was angry at his father: angry for not taking care of himself, for not taking care of him when he was a kid. Then, guilt started gnawing at him, never leaving him alone: on the job, at night, he could always feel that heavy weight on his chest, like a huge worm was eating his heart piece by piece.

He wanted to talk to Maddie about it; after all, she lost a parent, too. She’s lost a brother, she’s lost grandparents—she knows how it feels, the grief, the hopelessness. But he never did. He didn’t call Dr. Copeland, either; too much time had passed since their last session together and he didn’t want to feel like he failed her, too, like he failed all of the women in his life: his mother, for not being able to save Daniel; Maddie, for not protecting her from Doug. His ex-girlfriends, for never being enough, never enough, not even now, for the blood of his blood.

So, he downloads Tinder. He tries to be there for someone else, he needs to feel like he’s still good for something, anything, be it sex or small talk, showing off his charisma and broad shoulders— anything.

The profile he hasn’t opened in over six years is still up, untouched, with a dozen of unread notifications staring at him from the message section he doesn’t have the guts to click on.

He cringes as he reads his bio and looks at his old pics, nothing but cocky smirks and muscles on display. He updates his account then, thinking about that time years ago when he helped Bobby write something catchy and interesting on his dating profile; how Bobby didn’t even need it, because Athena was there all along, he just needed to widen his horizons, see the bigger picture, and all those cliché sayings people tell you to make you feel like there is still a chance for you out there.

The worm in his chest laughs at him, and it sounds a lot like loneliness and vulnerability, abandonment issues and defencelessness he can’t remember how to fight off.

He briefly wonders whether he should add a pic with Christopher, just so that people know he has a kid. The worm quiets at that, the ever-present loneliness subsiding at the thought of the family he chose. But then again, it’s not really his kid, is it? Besides, Eddie is dating. He has a girlfriend now, one he seems to truly like, and he looks carefree and happy, a sight to see that makes Buck’s chest swell with pride every time he sees his best friend’s rosy cheeks and fresh smile.

He doesn’t dwell on the underlying jealousy that beats against his ribcage like a ticking bomb.

(He hooks up with a stranger that same night.)

[continue on ao3]

#i swear it's not as silly as it looks i actually poured my heart out into this one #there are some of my fears and feelings in it so. give it a chance if you want?#buddie #buddie fanfic #911 abc #sometimes I write #evan buckley #eddie diaz #maddie buckley #fanfiction

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praetorqueenreyna · 1 month

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Chapter summary: Tamlin's sentries remain vigilant as Amarantha's curse wears on

I decided to make the next chapter of lovely and lonely for Tamlin Week, Day 5: Shapeshifter! Click here to read on AO3, or continue reading below!

@tamlinweek

18 years after the curse

Branches and leaves rushed by on either side of Lucien’s field of view. His paws pounded against the ground, sending up a spray of earth when he made a sharp turn. As a High Fae he was faster, but there was nothing like running as a wolf. His body flexed and loosened, responding instinctively before he even made a conscious decision. At the speed he was going, tripping on a root would send him flying through the air. Luckily, wolves didn’t trip.

He had lost his pursuers after a few switchbacks and wading through the river. His pointed ears flickered, rotating to catch every whisper of the forest. He risked slowing down to a trot, red tongue hanging out of his mouth, panting. His breath steamed up in front of him in the cool morning air. Padding along, he put his nose to the ground and inhaled. He caught the scent of his quarry and took off in that direction. The scent was strong; he was close.

Suddenly, a shape barreled out of the trees from his left and slammed into him. With a yelp, Lucien tumbled head over heels, losing all sense of direction. Before he could come to his senses, his attacker slammed him in the chest with a pair of enormous black paws and howled triumphantly.

“Get off me,” Lucien snapped, shaking himself free.

“C’mon Luce, don’t be a sore loser,” the other wolf grinned, displaying wickedly sharp teeth. “I can’t believe you fell for that.”

The creature that Lucien had been seeking, a glorious golden wolf with elk antlers, emerged from the brush. “Did we win?” he asked as he sat down and began scratching under his chin with a hind foot.

“Not yet.” With a bound, Lucien leapt onto Tamlin, sending them both to the ground in a heap. Andras, the large black wolf, whooped with delight and joined the fray. Tamlin managed to wriggle free and take off running, and the chase began again.

Now that they no longer were sending fae across the Wall to fulfill Amarantha’s terms, the Spring Court had fallen into an uneasy limbo. The sentries patrolled the borders as usual, the citizens attempting to get back to their normal life. More and more dark beasts were making their way into the forest, and constant vigilance was required. Tamlin and Lucien spent hours every day poring over old manuscripts and sending messages to other enchanters, desperately searching for another way to break the curse. Still, more often than not, things felt right. Like nothing had ever happened.

*******************

34 years after the curse

When things were good, they were really good. Isolated from the other High Lords and usual Prythian politics and surrounded by those who knew what they were to each other, Tamlin and Lucien were in a blissful bubble. They held hands, they kissed, they drew each other into abandoned closets and hallways when the heat between them grew unbearable. Tamlin’s sentries loved him, and they had grown to love Lucien as well. When they were together, it was easy to forget how the rest of the world had fallen apart.

Unfortunately, Amarantha’s presence hovered over the land like a poisonous cloud, pressing in on their happiness. Whenever news came through of some new atrocity she had committed, Tamlin became withdrawn and surly. The monsters that she sent were attacking and killing his soldiers. Whenever it seemed things couldn’t get worse, they did. Just this morning, they had received a missive that three of the six High Lords being held captive had been executed, along with their families. Amarantha claimed that they had been conspiring against her. Who knew if that was even the case, or if she had concocted an imaginary plot in order to slake her thirst for violence.

Tamlin was inconsolable. He sprawled in his armchair, staring listlessly at the fire that Lucien had started with a wave of his hand. The only movement he made was to bring the glass of whiskey clutched in his hand up to his mouth. It wouldn’t be long before he discarded the glass in favor of the bottle. In this mood, there was nothing Lucien could do to comfort him. He thought that he needed to be miserable, that it was what he deserved.

Of course, that couldn’t stop Lucien from trying. He paced back and forth between Tamlin’s bedroom and sitting room, casting about for something, anything, that could drag his High Lord out of the darkness. On his fiftieth lap, his gaze landed on something that he had never dared try before.

“What are you doing?” Tamlin asked, too depressed to be suspicious when Lucien settled himself on the footstool next to him. His glazed expression sharpened when he realized what Lucien had in his hands.

“Cheering you up.” In all their time together, Lucien had never picked up Tamlin’s fiddle. It was something so personal, so deeply intertwined with the Spring Lord, that touching it would be tantamount to reaching into his chest and pulling out his heart. The instrument was heavier than he had expected, and it took some awkward finagling to get it braced under his chin. With his other hand, he drew the bow across the strings of the fiddle. Even he was surprised by the discordant wail that he produced—it was nothing like the light, elegant music that Tamlin was able to create. He struggled gamely onward, peering up at Tamlin through his eyelashes. At first, Tamlin merely looked confused. That quickly morphed into annoyance. He was clenching his jaw, the muscle in his cheek twitching every time Lucien played a particularly ear-splitting shriek.

“Give me that!” Tamlin lunged forward and snatched his precious instrument away, saving both it and their ears from Lucien’s offensive attempt at music.

“You didn’t like it?” Lucien asked, all innocent wide eyes.

“You’re a menace.” With a grumble, Tamlin settled the fiddle in its rightful place in the curve of his neck. He closed his eyes and began to play, a mournful dirge that made Lucien’s heart swell for reasons he couldn’t explain. Tamlin continued the song, which was not really a song but a melancholy story that rambled and swirled through the air like dandelion fluff. Lucien slid from his seat onto the floor, resting his chin on his folded arms that in turn rested on Tamlin’s thigh. He stared up at the High Lord, drinking in the flush on his cheeks and the soft smile that had emerged. Tamlin’s eyes were still closed, his blonde lashes laying prettily against his tanned skin.

The final notes of the song reverberated through the air. Tamlin laid his fiddle and bow down on the carpet next to his chair, alongside the abandoned whiskey bottle. “Come here,” he beckoned Lucien with a crooked finger. Lucien obeyed, crawling up Tamlin’s body and settling on his lap. It was his favorite place to be, curled up like a cat in Tamlin’s arms.

“You’re too good to me,” Tamlin murmured against his hair.

“Nothing’s too good for you.”

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