#banter

[constantcrisis19]

Found Family

Simon "Ghost" Riley x GN S/O

AN: So, I changed a bit about the reader and Ghost's backstory in Domestic Bliss, I went ahead and linked it just in case you might wanna go back and reread that to see the new lore. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy the newest installation to the Married series!

Word Count: 2,647

Main Page

“Evening.” Price said as he stepped into the lounge, giving the group of you a quick nod of acknowledgement on his way to the pot of fresh coffee that was sitting on the counter. He got scattered responses from the other four occupants of the room as he dug a chipped mug out of the cabinet and set it onto the counter before filling it all the way to the top with the bitter beverage.

He either wasn’t affected by the heat or was simply too impatient to wait for his drink to cool because he didn’t even hesitate before lifting the mug to his lips and taking a large gulp of what you were sure was scalding coffee while showing no signs of discomfort.

"I made some chicken carbonara for the boys if you wanted some, Captain." You mused with a grin, using the plate in your hand that you had just cleaned to gesture at the large pot of pasta that was currently sitting on the stove top.

You had started cooking on a whim earlier and Soap had wandered into the kitchen with Gaz, the two curious Sergeants immediately swarming you where you’d been standing at the stove and needling at you until you caved and admitted that you were making lunch and yes there was enough for them to have some as well.

Soap’s eyes lit up with delight as he leaned closer to the pot in order to get a better look and your eyes narrowed in suspicion as you watched him. You opened your mouth with the intent of thoroughly scolding the nosey Scot for practically shoving his face into the pasta you were preparing but, before you could even get a single word out, Gaz distracted you by pulling you into a one-armed hug.

“Soap–” You barked at the man, scowling at the side of Soap’s head when he ignored your warning in favor of carelessly dipping the tip of his finger into the sauce before popping the digit into his mouth, the Scot humming happily before pulling his finger out and going for seconds.

“Would you quit that? I swear you're worse than a toddler.” You snapped as you stubbornly pushed out of Gaz’s hold and aggressively grabbed Soap’s wrist in order to stop him from further contaminating the food, squeezing until you could feel the delicate bones grinding underneath your fingers and you saw Soap wince.

Guilt hit you like a boot to the gut once you noticed his discomfort and you immediately relaxed your tight grip so that your fingers were just loosely encircling his wrist before gently leading him away from the stove, insistently shooing the two troublemakers over to the table to wait until the food was done.

Ghost also found his way to the lounge at some point, the man as silent as his namesake as he approached you from behind and draped himself over your back, expertly ignoring the wolf whistles and jeering from the other two occupants in the room as he nuzzled his face into the side of your neck, pressing a soft kiss against your skin through the worn fabric of his balaclava.

“Hmm…” Price gave a thoughtful hum, the sound pulling you from your reminiscing and bringing you back to the present. “I suppose I can spare some time for grub… I’d be a fool to turn down your hospitality.” Price gave a dry chuckle as he walked into the kitchen.

"Well there's plenty left. I made sure to make a lot because all of you are big boys." You laughed, watching Price as he sauntered over to a cupboard to retrieve a plate before moving over to the pot of bubbling pasta in order to serve himself a heaping pile.

Price nodded to himself at the compliment, the plate in his hand looking comically small in comparison to the sheer amount of carbonara that he’d managed to spoon onto it, before he walked to the table and sat down opposite Gaz, who was in the process of messily shoveling a forkful of noodles into his mouth. 

"I think you’ll like it, Captain. Simon’s on his third serving already, which is practically a ringing endorsement coming from him.” You snorted, shooting a smug look at Ghost as you gracelessly flopped down into the seat next to him with your own helping of food, your lovely husband not even bothering to lift his head from his plate as he used his free hand to eloquently brandish his middle finger.

“You don’t say? I have always suspected that Simon didn’t have a sense of taste.” Price stated, slightly amused, and you could tell that he was genuinely relaxed and in a good mood, which was rare for him.

"How dare you insinuate that he only likes my cooking because he can't taste it. You better sleep with one eye open tonight, Captain." You growled playfully as you brandished your fork at where Price was sitting across from you threateningly with a faux-insulted expression plastered on your face. “Right, darling?" You demanded in true theatrical fashion as you turned to level Ghost with an expectant stare, your arms crossed.

“Sure, dove.” Ghost answered dryly, his emotionless voice giving nothing away. Though, because you’ve known him for several decades, you knew exactly what to look for in order to tell whether or not he was enjoying himself. You knew how to look past the cold facade that he put up and saw the mirth sparkling in his dark eyes, the way the corners of his mouth curled into a barely-there smile, his body language much more honest about how he was feeling.

"Ha! See? Two against one, Captain… and I don't like your odds of seeing the next sunrise." You cackled openly, a wide grin spreading across your face when Soap and Gaz joined in, the Scot letting loose a bark of laughter that quickly turned into a coughing fit when he choked on the mouthful of food he’d been in the process of chewing like an idiot.

You glanced over at Ghost when the man dutifully pushed his full glass of water to the wheezing Sergeant, your eyes narrowing in disapproval before you smacked his bicep with the back of your hand in a wordless reprimand when you caught his mouth quirking up at corners in sadistic amusement as Soap hacked up a lung, because he was an asshole like that.

“Yeah, I’m shaking in my boots.” Price replied with a little shake of his head, his sarcastic tone slightly dampened by the genuine amusement in his voice.

"As you should be." You nodded firmly, taking a quick bite of your food and chewing thoughtfully before swallowing. "Have you seen Ghost and I in the field? We are an absolute unit. Aren't we, honey?" You declared before turning your attention back to Ghost, leveling him with a shit-eating grin.

“Affirmative.” Ghost agreed easily –like the absolute ass-kisser that he was with you– and you straightened up in your seat and leaned forward in order to press a sloppy kiss to the sharp line of his jaw, the man obediently tilting his head to give you more space to work with.

“It's time to move aside, Soap, I’m taking your spot as Ghost’s favorite. I've already got him agreeing to everything I say.” You crowed good-naturedly as you pulled away from Simon and fell back into your seat, pointing at Soap with a wolfish grin.

“Yeah right. Even if ye were the favorite, it's only ‘cuz he’s biased. Ah mean, it is his ring ye got on yer finger, ye numpty.” Soap scoffed with a roll of his eyes, the Scot taking a particularly vicious stab at the food on his plate, causing the tines of his fork to scrape over the ceramic unpleasantly.

“Aw, you sound pretty bitter about that, Soap. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you have a little crush on me.” You said with a shit-eating grin, the man in question taking his sweet ass time noisily slurping up a mouthful of noodles with a grunt of effort before lazily wiping his sauce coated chin with the back of his hand like a disgusting brute.

“Nah. Yer not mah type, love.” Soap scoffed with a dismissive wave of his hand and you raised a brow at him, placing an elbow onto the tabletop and slowly leaning forward over the table separating the two of you until Soap’s eyes flicked up from his rapidly emptying plate in favor of warily eyeing you as if you were a lit fuse.

“Is that so? Well, if it's Ghost you're interested in then I suppose I could lend him to you for a night, on one condition… I get to watch.” You whispered teasingly as you fluttered your eyelashes, watching with sadistic glee as Soap flushed a bright red and began to defensively stutter out panicked protests.

“Tryin’ to pimp me out, are we?” Ghost huffed as he kept his eyes down, his gaze stubbornly locked onto his newly refilled plate to avoid looking at anyone as he tucked into his fourth serving. How he managed to get up, get himself more pasta, and sit back down all without you noticing, you had no idea.

“It’s your fault for being so alluring, babydoll.” You purred salaciously as you sat back into your seat properly, turning to press a firm kiss to Ghost’s broad shoulder before blinking up at him as if you were an innocent angel that could do no wrong, knowing damn well that it never failed to soften the man up.

“Keep it PG, would you?” Price demanded, sounding mildly annoyed by the turn that the conversation had taken.

“Yes sir.” You said amicably as you turned away from Ghost, who had stopped eating in order to stare at you in that intense way that told you that he was imagining things that certainly weren’t appropriate to entertain during lunch with your colleagues, giving Price a half-assed salute that no doubt had him silently begging the Lord for the patience to deal with your antics.

“So, if you're disqualified from the competition on account of being married to Ghost, then we're back to square one aren't we?” Gaz asked lifting his hat up by the bill in order to scratch at his head before dutifully resettling it into place.

“Well, Ghost an’ ah have the best correspondence on comms.” Soap offered after a moment of silence, the Scot radiating a smug air that was –in your opinion– totally unfounded as he pushed his plate aside, placing his full focus onto the debate at hand.

“You call what you two cunts do over comms professional? I’d classify it as softcore porn or blatant foreplay.” Gaz blurted out with an incredulous laugh, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek until you tasted iron in order to avoid grinning like a loon when Soap’s previously self-satisfied expression was ruthlessly wiped from his face and replaced by a petulant pout.

“It still counts as proof of our unbreakable bond–” Soap began to argue adamantly, that telltale determined glint lighting up his eyes –the one that usually only reared its ugly head when the Scot was about to disobey orders and pull something crazy– and you decided to butt in and do some damage control before Soap could get too worked up.

“Now, now, boys. Let's not get too hasty, Simon can easily settle this debate for us." You interrupted Soap mid-rant and the three of you all simultaneously turned to stare at Ghost expectantly, who was scraping up the last of the sauce and noodles from his plate with his fork. "So, Ghost, who do you like being in the field with the most?" You asked, your narrowed stare looking into his uncannily blank eyes in a searching manner.

Ghost didn’t hesitate for a moment. 

“You.” He replied in a flat, matter-of-fact tone and you saw Price raise an eyebrow in your peripheral vision, Soap and Gaz looking similarly stunned by the declaration.

"Hear that, losers? I'm the unequivocal favorite." You gloated as you laced your hands together behind your head and leaned back in your chair, all but preening as you smiled triumphantly at winning a competition you weren’t even technically a candidate for, at least according to Soap and Gaz.

“We just established tha’ ye weren't even allowed tae be a fuckin’ contender. It's no’ mah fault Ghost 's a shit listener.” Soap complained as he picked up his plate, sullenly pushing away from the table and bringing his dishware to the stove in order to refill it, the aggressive way he was moving telling you all you needed to know about how he was taking the loss.

“You're just mad cause he didn't pick you.” You needled at him just to be an ass, sticking your tongue out at the Scot when he flicked you off without even bothering to turn away from the pot he was digging into with the pasta spoon.

“Don’t let it go to your head.” Price told you in a mock serious tone, his mustache twitching in a way that signaled that he was trying to suppress a smile before he continued. “Don’t want you getting an ego so large that it takes two helicopters to carry it.”

"Are you kidding me!? Captain, look at him!" You spluttered incredulously, flailing an arm at Ghost, who looked utterly unbothered by the chaos that his answer had stirred. "You expect my ego not to go through the roof when a big, scary, skull-obsessed tank says that I'm his favorite teammate? I’m practically untouchable."

“So much for maintaining a sense of humility.” Gaz muttered under his breath with an exasperated shake of his head.

“Don’t get too excited. You’re still insufferable, you’re just less annoying than the others.” Ghost stated before you could reply to Gaz’s comment, causing you to shut your mouth with a click as you contemplated whether or not you were going to take offense to Ghost’s apathetic correction.

"I'll take it." You said with a decisive nod, giving Soap's arm an affectionate pat when he passed by, the Scot knocking his foot into yours under the table when he sat down to let you know that there was no bad blood between the two of you and you looked down at your wrist in order to check the time on your watch on a whim, your eyes widening when you saw how late it was.

"Ah, shit. I gotta go train the new recruits on gun safety at the range." You blurted as you rounded the table, heading for the exit to the dining room and kitchen before you paused and looked back at the four men who were seated at the table in a beseeching manner.

"Could one of you guys put whatever's leftover into the fridge when you boys are done eating?" You asked, your expression hopeful as you stared at them, waiting for one of them to volunteer themselves for the task.

“Yeah. I can do it.” Price replied with a quick nod before grabbing his empty plate and pushing to his feet. He moved to the kitchen and grabbed one of the serving bowls, a small smile on his face. It was a small task, but Price seemed perfectly content with doing it.

"I really appreciate it, Price. I'll cook you a nice breakfast tomorrow as a thank you!" You promised as you walked out of the kitchen and into the hallway, giving the four men one last parting wave before starting down the corridor.

"Alright. Who's washing the dishes?" He quipped dryly as he looked at the other three that were still in the room with him and, unsurprisingly, no one seemed particularly enthusiastic about the prospect.

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw22 #cod mw2 #call of duty modern warfare 3 #cod mw3 #call of duty mw3 #cod mw23 #reader insert #simon ghost riley #ghost #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #married y/n #reader is in the 141 #john soap mactavish #soap cod #kyle gaz garrick #john price #childhood friends #friends to lovers #domestic fluff #banter

[shaykai]

Found some old DA but Solas is there banter drafts- y’all I was cooking

#also bonus with Soraan (my adaar) and my Surana #dragon age #dragon age origins #dragon age inquisition #dai #da #solas #Soraan adaar #aerin Surana #alistair theirin #shale #da shale #da alistair #da solas #adaar #Surana #banter #dialogue

[moonyspride]

regulus: honestly, I am so evil. So full of darkness. I feed off the souls of the living I strike fear into-

remus: you sleep with a teddybear.

regulus: he’s sECOND IN COMMAND IN MY ARMY OF DARKNESS!

#marauders #marauders era #incorrect marauders quotes #sirius black #james potter #remus lupin #wolfstar #prongs #sirius being sirius #james and sirius #regulus and remus were besties #regulus black #remus and regulus #banter #remus john lupin #regulus being regulus #regulus arcturus black #regulus and remus

[gleafer]

Another sneak peek at my Buffyverse slams fist first into the Good Omens Gaimanverse comic “Crowley’s Very Bad, No Good Day”.

Full comic lands on my Patreon/Gleafer Jan. 15th!

God I love banter. I could draw bantering all day long. Bantering banter.

Banter.

#banter #illustrator #illustration #digital artist #artist on tumblr #crowley #good omens #good omens art #aziraphale #good omens aziraphale #gleafer art #buffy fanart #buffy fanfic #buffy art #buffy summers #buffy the vampire slayer #grrl #parody #digital comics

[mediumgayitalian]

Nico really fucking hates capture the flag.

Well, not always. Last week was fun. Last week was the annual Everyone Against The Stolls (to atone for their crimes), and Nico got to chase Connor around at top speeds, cackling, committing his shrieking and begs for mercy to memory. That was nice. That almost made him forgive the fucker for digging a trench under Nico’s unwelcome mat for him to fall into at seven thirty in the godsdamn morning.

But tonight’s game is boring.

He’s been standing, alone, at the base of the flag for the past forty bajillion hours. He’d raised a few dozens skeletons to spar with at first, since animating them to fight himself isn’t technically against the rules, but that got dull fast. (It isn’t much fun sparring with a partner who doesn’t have a brain. He already has to do that enough with Percy when he comes to visit camp.) He’d climbed the various trees around the clearing, or at least he tried until he got reamed by the dryads for climbing on a manner that was too annoying (?), and tried his hands at a few summoning spells. Nothing held his interest long.

And now he’s just standing, doing nothing, and he’s not allowed to leave. He has to stay in this stupid spot on the off chance that someone comes stumbling over to fight him for the flag.

“You’re our best swordsman, she said,” he says mockingly, beaming the nastiest vibes he can manage in Piper’s vague direction. “We need you on our defensive line, she said. Nyeh nyeh nyeh.”

His checks his watch. He groans. He looks critically over the grass, looking for a softer patch, and when he locates it he throws himself dramatically upon it, groaning louder.

“This sucks!” he yells, to no one.

“Will you shut up!” shouts back the dryad he pissed off earlier. “For the love of photosynthesis! Fuck!”

He bites his tongue hard to hold back laughter. (If he can avoid getting his entire cabin overgrown with prickle bushes again, that’d be great.) “Sorry,” he calls, trying with everything he has to sound contrite. Convincing his father to fight the Titan War was easier, actually. Acting is not his calling.

“Hmph!”

At least listening to see if she’ll come out and yell at him again provides something to ease his boredom. Yes, he’s going to regret bothering her, but in his defense, solo guarding is cruel and unusual punishment. He’d rather sit by an outlet with a fork and see if he can poke and let go fast enough to avoid dying. That at least would be interesting.

A rustling of leaves recaptures his attention, and he pauses.

“Holly?”

When no one answers, which is odd because she’s taken every opportunity in the last hour to either insult him or pelt him with stones, he lifts his head.

“You’re not going to scare me, dude. I had my fear glands surgically removed to become a better soldier.”

Not true. Obviously. But a fun bonus of being the camp weirdo is that no one doubts anything he says. He’s working on convincing everyone younger than him that he needs weekly tributes of chocolate delivered to his door every Friday or the dead are going to take over the world. So far, it’s working.

“Look, Holly, I’m sorry about the zombie, okay, I promise it didn’t mean to sneeze part of its brain on you —”

The rustling sounds again, only this time Nico can see that it’s not Holly’s tree, and in fact she is nowhere to be found. Alarmed, he jumps to his feet, shifting so he’s balanced on the balls of his feet, poised to attack. Is Piper’s plan failing? Has someone actually managed to make it all the way over here without getting (gently, probably, although they lost the last game and Piper gets cranky without dessert) maimed?

The rustling sounds for a third time. This time, an armoured someone stumbles out of the underbrush, tripping over their own foot and nearly landing flat on their face.

Nico has his sword at their throat in a millisecond.

“Wo-oah, Morbius. That’s probably my least favourite sword you could stab in me.”

Nico goes bright red. “I have never wanted to stab you more than right this second.”

Will, chest plate skewed to the right, quiver completely empty, and black paint smeared under his eyes, snickers. He puts a finger on the tip of Nico’s sword and pushes it away from his neck.

“The opportunity was right there, babe. I couldn’t not.”

“You really, really could. In fact at all times, you should remember these words of wisdom: shut up.”

“…Damn. Inspiring.”

Nico rolls his eyes, but the effect is somewhat lessened by the smile on his face and the obvious pleasure in his expression. He’s even feeling merciful enough to accept Will’s kiss, although his sword keeps a good amount of distance between them. (Will’s on the blue team, after all. It would be unprofessional to be fraternizing with the enemy.

…Well, too much, anyway.)

“What’re you doing here? You’re supposed to be with the other archers, sitting in trees and causing havoc.”

Will shrugs, grinning lazily. “I quit. This game is senselessly violent and I’m Against It On Principle. I’m a pacifist, you know.”

“Uh huh.” Nico raises an eyebrow. “I assume this doesn’t count you choking Cecil out in a headlock, this morning.”

Will opens his mouth. Nothing comes out. He closes it again.

“Cecil is my mortal enemy,” he grudges after a moment. “He doesn’t count.”

“‘Course not. Not like you cried for two hours when he went to visit his mom last weekend or anything.”

“Will you — stop saying I cried. I barely teared up, okay. Barely.”

Nico can’t quite force down the stupid grin that pulls across his face, matching Will’s, nor can he resist grabbing the leather straps of his boyfriend’s armour and hauling him close.

“You better not be here to distract me,” he mumbles, leaning close and pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw, the corner of his mouth. Will hums, settling his hands on Nico’s hips.

“Nope. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Drama queen.”

“Excuse — I am the least dramatic, I’ll have you know. I’m a pinnacle of solemnity. I am a shining beacon of stoicism. I am — mmfh,” He trails off. “Okay, doing this now, mhm.”

Nico smiles triumphantly into the kiss. Will, he has found, is very easy to shut up, despite his long-running nickname of Motormouth. It’s almost like he has an off button that can be accessed only by Nico sticking his tongue in his mouth. Nico is doing his civic duty, honestly. He should be compensated for his service.

(‘Course, doesn’t hurt that Will smells, like, really good, all the time, and his lips are soft as hell and he is actually quite the kisser, in fact. That is definitely a fun bonus.)

He smooths his hands over Will’s shoulders, travelling up the sides of his neck and settling in his hair. Will keens, slightly, when he wraps a finger around a frizzy golden curl and tugs, slightly, when he scratches his nails along his scalp. The rush of power at the feeling makes Nico dizzy, and his sword clatters to the ground as he busies himself with more interesting — and important — things.

Like pulling more of those sounds from his boyfriend’s throat. Or making his knees buckle, again, like he did the other night — gods, that was good, it made Will flush scarlet and Nico feel like he was fuckin’ floating, to have Will so needy and touchy and totally at his mercy —

“Free line to the flag! Go go go go!”

Nico startles, whirling towards the sudden cacophony of noises. To his horror, what looks like half the camp, helmets shining with plumes of blue, comes pouring into the clearing, weapons raised, voices mixing in one long, victorious shout. He lunges for his sword, but before he can grab it, two strong arms tighten around his torso, pinning his hands to his side.

Immediately, he knows he’s been set up.

“Oh, you — fucker!”

He feels the curve of Will’s grin against his neck. “First shower privileges for a whole month, baby.” He noses along his jaw, pressing an apologetic kiss to his cheek. “Couldn’t resist.”

Nico struggles, aghast, watching the once-red flag shimmer in Lou Ellen's hold to a bright, shining blue. “I am breaking up with you, you traitor, you Iago, you vixen — ”

Will snorts. He ducks down and pecks Nico on the lips, again, and again, and then shifts to his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, his temples, his forehead, and all over his face, making louder and louder mwah sounds until Nico is laughing, punching his shoulder and shoving him away.

“Okay! Okay. Let me go, you villainous toad. We will discuss how much you’ll have to grovel for my forgiveness after Piper finishes yelling at me for getting distracted.”

Will presses one last kiss to his nose, smiling cheekily before stepping away, heading towards his boasting team. “Enjoy that lecture! Love you!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Nico rolls his eyes, resting his aching cheek in his hand. “Love you too, asshole.”

#love this one it’s so fun teehee #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #nico di angelo #will solace #nico di angelo/will solace #nico/will #will/nico #solangelo #established solangelo #fluff #humour #banter #100 ways #100 ways to say i love you #my writing #fic #longpost #making out

[autocrats-in-love]

Prompt (307)

“Ooh, I like your haircut,” the villain said as they slammed the hero into the wall.

“Thanks,” the hero said, head butting the villain and sending them crashing to the ground. “Your new shoes look nice.”

#villain x hero #hero x villain #my prompts #hero prompt #villain prompt #writers on tumblr #banter

[autisticlancemcclain]

“No.”

Lance groans loudly, forgoing smacking his face in his hands and going straight for banging his head repeatedly against the elevator doors, which Keith thinks is a touch dramatic. But regardless he crosses his arms over his chest and stubbornly refuses to budge from his position.

“Keith. For the love of God.”

“God is dead and I’m not climbing out of a goddamn ten thousand foot elevator hatch with you.”

Keith admittedly puts a tad too much emphasis on the ‘with you’ part of the sentence. It’s obvious in the way Lance stops and lifts his head up and glares at Keith so icily he doesn’t need to squint to make out Lance’s expression in the low emergency lights; his eyes practically burn a hole through Keith’s forehead. Keith winces but doesn’t say anything.

“You have gone toe to toe with a goddamn zombie dictator,” Lance grinds out, “but you’re too much of a pussy to climb an elevator shaft?”

Keith stiffens. “I’m not — shut up!”

Smirking, now, visibly delighted that he’s managed to press Keith’s buttons (God Keith wants to punch him), Lance leans against the elevator wall, hip cocked, feigning nonchalance.

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” he says, inspecting his nails like it doesn’t matter. “I just never would have thought that the best pilot out of the Garrison and literal pilot of the Red Lion is, you know, a chicken.”

Keith clenches his fists. Lance is frustrated and bored and pushing Keith’s buttons because there’s fuck else to do. He is. Keith knows this.

But he is so goddamn good at it.

“I’m not a fucking chicken, Cargo Pilot.”

‘Cargo Pilot’ is usually a hole-in-one insult that’s guaranteed to make Lance bristle, sure to make him bare his teeth and go bright red and generally lose his absolute shit. Keith is even sparing in his use of the term, careful not to let it lose its potency.

But because the universe hates him and also Lance is the most annoying motherfucker alive, his smirk only widens, and he flexes his fingers, still fucking casual, still not even bothering to look up in Keith’s direction.

I hate you, Keith thinks, with feeling.

“Sure,” Lance says, without. He shrugs. “Prove it.”

For a second Keith thinks he’s so mad that he might. But then he imagines it fully, pictures his bare back pressed against Lance’s, feet planted on the slippery castle walls, lights probably still out, struggling to put one foot in front of the other and drag each other upright. He thinks of how much effort that would take and how easily he would start to sweat, how easily every shift of their muscles would loosen the friction-borne grip between them, how easily his foot could slip. He thinks of how long a ten thousand foot drop would take, how long he would have to accept that he’s going to die before he splats on the pristine floor.

His stomach turns. His face goes green.

Lance’s jaw drops.

“Oh my God, you’re afraid of heights!”

“I am not!” Keith snaps, because he isn’t, he just has a fucking brain. “It’s just — it’s ten thousand fucking feet, Lance!”

“A pilot!” Lance screeches. “A pilot afraid of heights!”

“You are so goddamn extra!” Keith cries.

Lance makes more vague screeching noises. He gestures furiously at Keith, then pauses, then makes a sound in the back of his throat akin to a loudly dying whale, then gestures back at Keith, then at the ceiling, then at the elevator as a whole. Then he lets out one loud, long, final yell, completely wordless and directed at what Keith can only assume is the heavens, and stops, closes his eyes, breathes deeply, and very calmly crawls onto the floor, belly first, and lays perfectly flat with his face pressed to the tiles.

“I hate it here,” he says serenely. He pauses for a minute, thoughtful. “Also, I hate you.”

“Ditto,” Keith mutters, finally giving up and joining him on the floor. He tips his head back until it thumps on the elevator wall and sighs, loud and long, wondering vaguely if this is punishment for the hundreds of times he mocked Shiro for his fear of squirrels. He truly thinks it might be.

All he wanted was twenty goddamn minutes in the pool. That’s all. He’d have even taken ten. He just wanted to swim a few laps, maybe float for a bit, and pretend he was in a lake somewhere without pressing problems such as saving the universe and the fate of every single soul in it.

Eight minutes, really. Seven.

The lights flicker back on. Lance lifts his head, hopeful, then stretches out one ridiculously long leg (seriously what is the deal with that he’s basically a giraffe, it’s too much, Keith should talk to someone about it because since when were legs allowed to be that — long and shapely, or whatever, it’s weird) and presses the closest button with his toe.

It does nothing. Lance stares at it for a few minutes, as if attempting to bring the elevator alive by manifestation alone, but no life is forthcoming. Lance huffs sadly and returns his face to the floor.

“That’s really disgusting,” Keith says, although he has his fair share of Floor Time. “People walk on this floor all the time.”

Lance doesn’t bother looking up, groaning loudly for several minutes before simply rolling away to the opposite side of the elevator.

“Shut up,” he says finally, after so long Keith almost forgets his original comment. “You just —”

Abruptly he straightens up, pulling the towel off his neck and crawling forward to place it in the middle of the elevator. Keith rolls his eyes so hard it actually hurts, a little.

“You and your commentary stay on the loser stinky mullet half of the elevator,” Lance says. “The pretty half that’s not infected with your rancid vibes belongs to me.”

“Were you trained to be this annoying?” Keith ponders, half out of genuine curiosity. “Like, do you do this on purpose?”

“Ignoring you now,” Lance says primly.

Keith scowls. He’s not — Keith isn’t the one who’s too irritating to be around without going insane.

“I’m ignoring you, asshole.”

Lance doesn’t respond. Keith closes one eye and holds up his thumb and forefinger to the approximate shape of Lance’s face, pretending he’s squishing his head. It brings him great peace.

After a while, though, he starts to get restless. His legs starts bouncing, up and down so fast it’s blurry, and then his fingers start to tap, but the feeling of rustling under his skin only gets worse, spinning faster and faster and coil tightening more and more in his stomach until he just — implodes, really, until his brain goes boom and says if you don’t get moving right this second, and Keith says in response to it, believe me I’m on it. He’s scrambling to his feet before he has the conscious thought to do so, hands moving before he tells them to and pushing him upright, bare feet padding rapidly on the floor as he paces, three steps until he hits the wall then pivot then three steps then pivot then three steps again. Over and over and over. His fingers stop tapping but his shoulders get twitchy; itchy under his skin and on it, sweaty because there’s no airflow and this goddamn elevator is sweltering. Or he’s just hot. He usually runs hot. He’s not sure and he doesn’t care to know, because the pool would have been refreshing but instead he’s stuck in a ten by ten by ten cube stuck somewhere on a ten thousand foot tube and to his right his rival-slash-teammate keeps huffing and rubbing his hands on his arms and muttering to himself.

“Could you maybe cut that out,” Keith snaps, which is entirely unfair because his pacing isn’t quiet, but Keith is three seconds away from attempting to climb the walls and it’s Lance, anyway, when are they not arguing, so it doesn’t matter.

Maybe when you’re having a crisis-brought bonding moment, says a voice in his brain. Stuck elevators are kind of a crisis.

Shut up or I’m going to give myself a concussion, Keith responds to it.

“Not my fault it’s goddamn freezing in here,” Lance snaps.

Keith pauses. He looks down at Lance. He frowns.

“Your lips are blue,” he observes, bewildered.

“Eat shit,” Lance responds, predictably. He’s fucking — he’s shivering.

Keith is made astutely aware of the cooling sweat on his back and grimaces.

“Lance,” he says slowly, “it is not cold in here.”

Lance blows out a breath like the goddamn weight of the world is on his shoulders. He flicks his eyes up to meet Keith’s, who is standing behind his head and leaning down, and somehow manages to seem like the more put-together person between them, which is bonkers.

“I’m anaemic, stupid.”

Keith blinks. Suddenly the air feels very solemn, and he shifts uncomfortably, unsure of what to say.

“I didn’t know you had an eating disorder,” he manages eventually.

Lance’s faces scrunches up in confusion for seven whole seconds before it clears, and he looks at Keith like he is the dumbest man alive and then bursts out laughing.

“That’s — anorexic, you idiot! I don’t have enough blood!”

“Oh,” Keith says, face heating. He scowls as Lance continues to laugh way harder than what was called for, clutching his stomach with tears rolling down his face. He pokes Lance aggressively with his toe, and by that he means his kicks him. “Will you stop — it’s not that funny, dickhead!”

“It really is,” Lance wheezes.

Keith scowls harder. His face is as red as his shorts and the flush is starting to spread down his chest and Lance notices and it only makes him laugh more, because he’s a shithead of the worst kind. “I hope you choke.”

Keith flicks his towel over his head and yanks, embarrassed, stomping to the other side of the elevator as if that will somehow make Lance shut up faster. It doesn’t, obviously, and he hears Lance laugh for several minutes until he finally winds down to giggling, then eventually nothing.

Keith harrumphs quietly to himself. He resolves to sticking in his corner like he should have from the very beginning, until the elevator starts moving again or someone on the team comes to save them. At this point he’s so done he wouldn’t even care if it was Shiro, wouldn’t even care if Shiro gloated about it for eternity (Keith saved his ass from government experimentation, anyway, so he wins by default for the rest of time). He faces his corner and pulls his knees to his chest and starts picking at a loose thread in the seam of his shorts to amuse himself.

Several minutes later, he hears Lance shifting. He ignores it. He pulls at the thread until it comes loose, then busies himself with tying the thread into the most complicated and random knot he can.

A few more minutes later, and there’s the sound of fabric rustling and draping, then quiet cursing. Keith untangles and retangles his knot for the fourth time.

After what must be a half hour, Keith hears the sound of teeth chattering.

He sighs. He looks forlornly at his knot.

“I could just ignore him,” he mutters to himself. “He probably won’t die.”

He thinks of how short Lance’s shorts are. He pinches his own towel in his fingertips, so thin he can practically feel his fingerprints. He remembers blue lips and a clenched jaw and raised gooseflesh.

He sighs loudly, more of a groan, and flicks his ball of thread away.

It takes Lance a few seconds to respond to Keith looming over him, which is worrying. But eventually he cracks open one brown eye and flares up at Keith.

“What,” he mutters. His teeth are chattering so bad it sounds like two words.

“You’re freezing,” Keith says. His voice is softer than he expected it to be.

Lance huffs, closing his eye again and curling further into himself. “No shit.”

Keith frowns. “I’m not.”

“Well, rub it in, why dontcha.”

Keith frowns. “You’re not understanding.”

Lance ignores him. Keith has a sudden and vivid memory of the year Shiro and Adam drove him up to Seattle in the winter so he could be more cultured, or whatever (or less of a desert menace, Adam had argued, and perhaps more inclined to stop biting people), and spent the whole car ride lecturing him about hypothermia.

“It doesn’t take very long to set in,” Shiro had said.

“And once you have it you need to warm up or your heart can stop,” Adam had finished, very serious.

Suddenly Keith starts to feel very panicked.

Lukewarm tea, warm blankets, skin to skin contact with someone who’s warm, were Shiro’s instructions. And then possibly hospital.

Well. Keith has one of those things.

Before he can talk himself out of it, he wraps a gentle hand around Lance’s shoulder, tugging him upright, then pulls him forward so his cradled hands are pressed against Keith’s chest and his head is tucked into the junction of Keith’s neck.

Worryingly, it takes Lance almost thirty seconds to start complaining.

“You smell like mullet,” he whines. But he doesn’t move away. In fact, he burrows closer.

Keith swallows down his worry. “Mullets don’t smell like anything, dumbass.” He brings his hands up to press against Lance’s back. Lance groans, curling deeper into Keith’s hold. His nose is icy and burns a trail across Keith’s shoulder, down his collarbone. Keith’s flush from earlier makes an enthusiastic return, because nothing good still exists in the world.

“I still think you’re annoying,” Lance mumbles. Every move of his lip brushes against Keith’s skin.

“Shut up and focus on not freezing to death,” Keith snaps.

Lance snorts. “I’m not gonna freeze to death, doofus. It’s just a dead elevator. Once I fell asleep on the Garrison rooftop in January and only had to spend three days in urgent care, so basically I can withstand anything.”

Keith pauses. He tries to reconcile the Lance who just said that to the Lance who came up with a life saving plan in thirty seconds on the Balmera to the Lance who threatened to stick Keith in a wormhole to the Lance who smiled and said they made a good team before passing out in Keith’s arms.

“You are a very confusing person,” he says when all the reconciling does absolutely nothing.

“Thank you,” Lance says, sounding pleased.

Keith snorts and tightens his hold. Lance sighs and sags a little. Slowly his fingers stop feeling so much like ice blocks, and his breathing doesn’t sound so erratic. Keith doesn’t know how long it’s been. He stopped trying to count somewhere between when Lance’s cheek squished against his chest and his fingers started tracing featherlight patterns across his skin.

Lance yawns. Keith tries to fight his but ends up yawning anyway.

“Is it bad to let a person with hypothermia sleep?” he mumbles, half-slurring his words.

Lance hums. “‘M not hypothermic.”

“Dunno. Could be.”

He sighs again, a puff of air against Keith’s neck, and spreads his palms against Keith’s chest, flat. “‘M not. You’re too warm.” He pauses. “Freak.”

His tone is fond. The corners of Keith’s lips quirk up. “Weirdo.”

“Mhm.”

He falls asleep trying to count Lance’s breaths. It’s — groundbreaking, somehow.

———

(“Oh, my God.”

Keith cracks open bleary eyes, lifting a hand to rub his face. Lance groans from his place on Keith’s chest — in a puddle of drool, why is that not nearly as revolting as it should be — and snatches Keith’s wrist way faster than he should be able to as groggy as he is, placing it back around his waist.

“Oh, my God,” the voice repeats, gleeful.

“Shut up, Shiro,” Keith mutters. “Fuck.”

It takes him a minute.

His eyes fly open at the same time as Lance’s, and they look at each other, and then Keith is being shoved and kicked at the same time somehow and Lance is scrambling backwards at the speed of light, screeching. A loud bang makes Keith look over and he discovers his brother, who is dead to him, collapsed on the floor, laughing so loud Zarkon can probably hear him.

“What — Shiro — go — stop fucking laughing, you piece of shit!”

Lance continues to screech. Keith whips a towel at him.

“You gay pining loser!” Shiro shrieks. “I’m going to tell literally everyone!”

Keith puts his head in his hands and wishes he’d fallen down the goddamn elevator shaft.)

#hehehe 😈😈 #vld #voltron #lance #lance mcclain #keith #keith kogane #klance #pining keith #adhd keith #keith has adhd #brown eyed lance #anaemic lance #which is so goddamn funny to me #elevator scene #broganes #enemies to lovers #banter #lance is a shithead #i love him so bad #my writing #longpost

[ms-write-a-lot]

Villain rolled their eyes. ‘I can’t believe I’ll have to work with your pathetic ass. Honestly, just try not to weep at every dead wasp we find on the way.’ Hero scowled, looking at the Villain who grinned at having effectively aggravated their favourite enemy. ‘What is your problem?’ Hero snapped.

‘At this moment, my problem is the same as the media.’ The Villain leaned down. ‘It’s you.’

‘Do you have needles in your heart?’

‘I don’t have a heart.’

‘I can tell.’

‘I was going to say because you stole it, but now? Fuck you.’

#writeblr #writing #my writing #character dynamics #hero x villain #writing prompt #character tropes #villain x hero #dialogue prompts #banter #ms write a lot

[hype-blue-fixation]

AAAAA UR TK AUDIO OF AL IS AMAZING!!! If u do requests, maybe some ler!Al and lee!Vox??? I just think their dynamic is cute lol :3. Also you don't have to if you don't want to or don't feel comfy!

Your wish is my command! The banter was really fun to write/act for this one!

Poor disaster TV man...I don't feel bad for him lol

#ler!alastor #lee!vox #hazbin hotel tickles #sfw tickle community #banter #asks #voice acting #weights #my audio

[steddieas-shegoes]

bubbles on the nose

for @steddielovemonth prompt “love is doing the dishes’

rated t | 662 words | cw: suggestive language | tags: domestic fluff, banter, established relationship, future fic, steddie dads

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

Eddie assumed his position at the sink, sleeves rolled up, game face on.

“It’s not the final seconds of a championship game, Eds. It’s just the dishes.” Even with his back turned to him, Eddie could hear the smile in Steve’s tone. “They can’t win.”

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. They’ve won before.” Eddie gestured to a small scar on his palm from grabbing a butcher’s knife from the depths of the sink full of soapy water over a year ago. “I simply can’t let them know my weakness.”

Steve snorted, and the sound of the chair at the kitchen table scooting across the floor made Eddie smirk. Apparently, Steve was gonna watch.

He didn’t mind putting on a show.

“I don’t mind doing them if you’d rather sweep the floor,” Steve suggested.

“I’ve seen what under that table looks like. I’ll stick with this,” Eddie reached his hand into the bubbles and pulled out the first of five plates. “Next time we agree to babysit Dustin’s army of children, can we make a rule that they have to eat outside?”

“Sure, if you wanna listen to Grant complain about the bugs and Sam complain about the grass making him itchy,” Steve started. “I think I’d rather clean up the mess.”

Eddie hummed in agreement.

Arms were suddenly around his waist, tugging him upright and slightly away from the sink. He let his wet hands rest on the edge of the counter and closed his eyes.

“Lizzie is a perfect angel. Don’t think she dropped a single crumb,” Eddie muttered.

“She dropped half her dinner while you were clearing the plates, baby. She just knows how to clean up after herself,” Steve kissed his shoulder.

They stayed like that for a moment, soaking in the rare silence. Lizzie was a hyper kid, talkative and fun, and they absolutely loved having her energy in the house. But they so rarely had moments like this that weren’t about rushing to bed, or rushing to shower together. They wanted to soak it in.

“We should have another one,” Eddie whispered, less confident than he meant to.

Steve tensed behind him.

They’d talked about it a lot early on, when they moved to Chicago and found an adoption agency that was willing to work with them. After they officially adopted Lizzie when she was two, they decided to wait. It was a lot taking care of a toddler, especially one as active as Lizzie, and they didn’t want her to feel like she wasn’t enough for them.

But the discussion for more kept getting pushed further and further away from them, and Eddie needed Steve to know he didn’t forget what they wanted.

“Yeah?” Steve asked breathlessly, like he’d been holding his breath for the last four years and waiting for Eddie to be the one to bring it up. “You want another one?”

“I promised you six nuggets didn’t I?” Eddie finally turned around, putting his still-damp hands on Steve’s hips. “Why do you think we got this big house? Lizzie should have siblings, right?”

Steve bit his lip, nodded. “You aren’t saying that just for me?”

Eddie reached up to cup Steve’s face, both of them laughing at the bubbles popping against their skin.

“I’m saying it for us. We both want this. And we have plenty of love to give.”

“Doing the dishes and talking about more kids? You’re lucky I haven’t stripped naked and dropped to my knees,” Steve teased with a wink.

But his eyes were shining with unshed tears, and Eddie felt the same buildup in his own eyes.

“Go strip and wait for me by the bed. I’ll finish these dishes and be there in five minutes,” Eddie kissed the corner of his mouth, lingered for an extra second to make a silent promise of more.

Steve ran out of the kitchen and up the stairs, leaving Eddie to finish the dishes.

They could sweep in the morning.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddielovemonth #love is doing the dishes #established relationship #domestic fluff #banter #suggestive language

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Sleep. || Simon "Ghost" Riley fluff

[MY MASTERLIST]

Rating: G Words: 1K~ CW: none Tags: ghostxreader, fluff!!!, gn!reader (you/your pronouns), light angst/plot twist at the end. Summary: Neither of you can sleep. Comforting and Cuddling ensues. a/n: I saw this in a vision. That's it. That's the tweet.

A knock on your door stirred you awake. Not that you were actually sleeping. Sitting up in bed, you inquired a loud “Hm?!” in response to the knock.

You didn’t need to ask who it was. Only one man in this whole godforsaken base would dare make his way to your room at 1:48 AM on a Thursday and disturb your (not) sleeping.

As such, there was no need to haphazardly throw on a face covering of some kind while making your way to the door hastily. So you simply remained sat amidst the pile of blankets of your hard wooden bed.

The door popped open with a light woosh and he stepped inside the room without a word. In the few seconds that he was illuminated from behind by the hall light, you saw nothing but a hulking silhouette carrying a rolled-up sleeping bag under one arm, and a ratty pillow under the other.

The door closed, letting it all return to darkness again. He blended with the nothingness of the room quite well. The only reason you knew where he was, was due to his footsteps, his workboots making rhythmic thuds on the vinyl flooring of your room.

You heard the rustling of the sleeping bag as he rolled it out on the floor, so close to your bed that he could probably slide his way under it if he felt like it (and if he fit). Then, he tossed his pillow down onto the sleeping bag with a light thud.

His clothes rustled in the darkness as he laid down on the bag and then he let out a soft huff muffled by the mask you knew he was undoubtedly wearing.

He wasn’t even lying inside the bag. You certainly didn’t hear him unzip it… He didn’t try to fit his enormous height inside the standard-issue bag, which would likely fit him like a potato sack to a kid trying to win a sack race… aka hanging loosely around his chest as he clings on for dear life.

You allowed yourself to lay down too, snuggling onto the warm blankets again as you fixed them atop you.

For a while, there was just silence, unsettling, deep silence that you could feel in your bones… And the pair of deep breaths in the air.

“You alright?” You asked, almost checking up on him.

“Dandy.”

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“Nope.”

“Mkay.”

Another long period of silence.

You knew better than to question Simon on his decisions. Not that coming to sleep on the floor beside your bed like a dog at its owner's feet isn't quite the head-scratcher.

“Does my company help with the lack of sleep?” You found yourself asking.

“No.”

“Hm.”

You considered your curiosity sated, or at least, sated enough to allow you to go back to (fruitlessly) attempt to fall aslee-

“I just like hearin’ you breathe.”

The blankets rustled as you abruptly rolled over, your head hanging your head over the edge of the bed to peer at him forgetting that, in the darkness, you can’t see shit, let alone see him on the floor.

“Need to know I’m alive?” You tease sarcastically.

“Need to know you 'aven’t been kidnapped in the night more like.” His tone is dry and sincere.

You just let out a single dry chuckle. "Alright.”

You make no motion to return to your previous spot. You just keep looking at the empty darkness of the floor where Simon is lying.

“Y’wanna come up here?”

“You askin’ me to share a bed?”

“Mhm.”

“No.”

“Why?

“It’s stupid.”

“You’re scared you’ll end up cuddlin’ me?”

“Not bloody scared. Just don’t wanna risk it.”

“We can sleep back to back.”

“I’ve seen how you sleep. You’re always on your stomach. The only way to sleep back to back with you is if I’m on top of you and suffocating you into the mattress.”

“You act as if that wouldn't be fun.” You quip.

No response.

You take a deep breath and finally roll over, turning to face the wall your bed is pressed up against.

There are no sounds besides breathing again. Long minutes go by with neither of you talking… and neither of you sleeping.

After having had enough, you huff.

“Get up here.”

He doesn't move immediately... But after a solid 10 seconds, there’s a rustling, and then comes the sound of laces being undone and his boots being slipped off and set aside.

Soon, you feel the warm blankets being lifted, momentarily exposing your back to the cold air outside of the comfy cocoon you've secured yourself. The mattress depresses behind you as he shifts his legs next to yours, and then he drapes the blankets around his own back.

It’s a bit of a tight fit. The standard-issue British Army beds are already on the narrow end for one Simon Riley lying on his back, so two people lying on their sides (one of them being Simon)… is cutting it very close.

But you don’t mind. In fact, he shuffles closer, his chest coming to press against your back, as he wordlessly spoons you from behind.

A smile graces your lips as you feel the strong and unrelenting muscles that compose all of Simon's body press against your softer build.

His robust, scarred arm slides over the dip at your waist and wraps around you tight, constricting you to him, as his big, calloused hand rests across both of your forearms near your face.

It should feel awkward... but surprisingly, it doesn't.

In return, one of your feet nudges against Simon's and so he slips his leg in between your own from behind, rolling you ever slightly over onto your tummy, so he can keep you 'lodged' between him and the mattress.

A soft, content sigh escapes your lips as you feel the pressure of his body pressing on yours, his weight reminding you that he's there, holding you.

It's... nice.

You never thought there'd ever come a day where you'd experience the mixing scents of his aftershave and his laundry detergent due to the balaclava he never lifts... Or the sound of his rhythmic breathing just behind your ear as he nuzzles into your hair... Or his heartbeat slowing and relaxing against your back.

You find that he fell asleep almost instantly upon holding you, finally lulled into the comfortable, safe sleep he so desperately lacked.

It's a shame that soon you'll have to kill him...

#ikea writes 💚 #cod fanfic #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #masterlist #cod modern warfare #fluff #light angst #banter

[jlz7]

Pete really is the duality of man on this tour.

#fall out boy #pete wentz #tourdust #patrick stump #joe trohman #andy hurley #so much for (tour) dust #heaven iowa #live #concert #fob #falloutboy #lava boots #art #banter #wine #angst #emo #speech

[pennyblossom-meta]

Gale/Karlach banter

Similar to my previous post: Gale/Wyll banter.

Warning: VERY long post.

Because the dialogue lines are so many, I won't add screenshots in some sections.

I'll add more items from Gale's side either here on a separate post.

Update: added some more dialogue lines

Act 01

Gale intervenes on Karlach's behalf (currently impossible to trigger)

Gale: Easy, Wyll. She's no devil. There's no fight to be had here.

Recruiting Gale

Karlach: Well done getting the wizard on board. He can zap from afar while I smack up close. But if he tries to get me to read any tomes, I will scream. devnote: Context, Karlach does not like to read

Recruiting Karlach

Gale: An ally fresh from the Hells themselves. Our company grows stranger by the minute - and all the better for it.

If Wyll is the avatar

Gale: Hunting one devil, allying yourself with another. Our journey gets more curious by the second.

First night at camp

Karlach: Gale's pretty lost in his thoughts, isn't he. Poor guy. Roughing it like this can't be his style. devnote: Genuine empathy

—

Taking a walk through the forest

Gale: Nothing like a brisk stroll through the forest to invigorate the spirit. devnote: Brisk, invigorated Karlach: I was just thinking the same thing, but less poetically. devnote: dreamily Gale: And without so much as a stirring from our tadpoles. Karlach: A girl could get used to this. devnote: relieved and happy

—

Blighted Village

Karlach: Looks like this town was ransacked - by soldiers, if my eyes don't deceive me. Gale: Quite cruelly, too. Karlach: Must've been an awful day for the people who lived here. Gale: If nothing else, I hope it was a mercifully short one.

—

At the Grymforge

Gale: The architects who built this must have been remarkable. A pity their vision didn't stand the test of time. devnote: Observing, not sure what to make of it Karlach: All's not lost. I mean, just look at this place. devnote: Impressed with what she sees Gale: You've quite the knack for finding the bright side of things, haven't you? Karlach: Hope keeps you going.

—

Underdark

Karlach: Just when I was getting used to the sky again... Gale: Fear not, Karlach. Sun, moon and stars will still be there waiting for us. devnote: Reassuring Karlach: Meanwhile, this place is pretty spectacular, isn't it? Gale: No book or painting could ever do its strange beauty justice. But perhaps our stories might, when we return to the surface. devnote: Agreeing with Karlach, enjoying the sense of wonder as you explore

—

Act 02

Plains, near the Temple of Lathlander (or is this in Act 01?)

Gale: I don't suppose you've any clue where we are in relation to Waterdeep? Karlach: From this distance between Elturel and Baldur's Gate, I'd say... a long way away. devnote: dreamily Gale: Ah. That will make getting word to my mother rather tricky. Gale: No matter - what she doesn't know can't hurt her. Not at this distance, anyway. devnote: Black humour/finding the bright side

—

Mountain Pass

Karlach: Man, adventuring is thirsty work. Gale: There used to be a monastery in this region known for producing a wonderful ale. Karlach: That sounds like heaven! Wait. Used to? Gale: Oh, yes - long ruined, I'm afraid. No chance of a frothing pitcher awaiting us there, but still - at least your thirst for knowledge is quenched. Karlach: Ugh. devnote: Groaning at Gale's cringe joke

—

On the road to the Shadow Cursed lands

Gale: Do you feel that? A darkness, pulling at the strands of the Weave. devnote: Alert, sensing something Karlach: You'll still be able to do your wizard thing, though, right? Gale: Of course, but that doesn't make the shadows less dangerous. devnote: Reassuring Karlach, whiloe remaning concerned about the wider dangers Karlach: Joy. devnote: sarcasm

—

Shadow Cursed lands

Karlach: Doing all right, Gale? Gale: Oh, you know... Still alive and kicking, despite being surrounded on all sides by an endless manifestation of darkness and decay... devnote: Almost with a sigh - that's just how things are. Grim humour to it Karlach: I feel it too. Here if you need a pick-me-up.

—

Last Light Inn, Shrine to Selûne

Gale: A hidden shrine, dedicated to the Moon Maiden herself. Even amidst this darkness, Selunites are stubborn enough to cling on. Karlach: Pretty beautiful, isn't it?

—

Tollhouse

Karlach: Whoa! Almost slipped there. Gale: You wouldn't be the first, I'd wager. It's been some time since these walkways felt the carpenter's hammer. Karlach: You gonna catch me if I eat a brick? Gale: With my reflexes? I'd catch you before you so much as stubbed a toe. devnote: Confident

—

Brewery

Karlach: Huh. A brewery. Why does Reithwin Ale ring a bell? Gale: It was known to be quite the tipple - a cask or two still exists, if you know the right alekeep... devnote: Enjoying being the expert on this. He definitely knows 'the right alekeep' Karlach: You must have good taste. Not me. Can't afford it. Gale: A common misconception. Even the simplest of flavours are elevated by the choice to appreciate them. Don't deny yourself such pleasures. devnote: Kind/encouraging

—

Moonrise approach

Karlach: Ready to enter the belly of the beast? Gale: It's the stairs I'm dreading. I shall close my eyes, and pretend I'm climbing my own, far superior tower in Waterdeep. devnote: Facing an obstancle with cheery determination Karlach: In that case, welcome home.

—

Moonrise Docks

Karlach: We're not taking a boat to Baldur's Gate, right? Gale: And give the Absolute free reign to use us as target practice from the banks? I think not. devnote: Yeahhh… no. Karlach: Phew. My mum always said the Chionthar was unlucky.

—

At the mind flayer colony, under Moonrise Towers

Gale: It strikes me that, for a mind flayer colony, there are remarkably few mind flayers about the place... devnote: Observing, not sure what to make of it Karlach: Squiddies have gone to war, is my guess. Gale: On the Absolute's behalf? Now there's an alliance I'd have been quite happy without.

Act 03

Blushing Mermaid

Karlach: Man, it's good to be home. First round on who? Gale: She who thirsts buys drinks the first. devnote: Like it's a well-known saying (first half) Karlach: You won't pin me down with a rhyme, wizard! devnote: Jockeying with Gale Gale: She who declines gets the worst of the wines. devnote: Like it's a well-known saying (second half)

—

Counting House

Gale: They say wealth offers a form of magic. Alas, it's one I've rarely dabbled in. Karlach: Nor I. Never had more than a few coppers in the city, and any soul coins in Avernus went straight to Zariel. Gale: Make no mistake. Souls are sold for coins up here as well. All too cheaply, in most cases.

—

Sorcerous Sundries

Gale: Look around you. Indulge your curiosity. Sorcerous Sundries is the finest purveyor of magical miscellany for miles around. devnote: Showing his friends around, trying to sound impressive Karlach: Where's the axes? devnote: looking for battle-axes to the dismay of bookworm Gale Gale: What they sell is far more precious than mere sword or shield. They sell knowledge, ingenuity, the wisdom of mages past. devnote: Showing his friends around, trying to sound impressive Karlach: Sounds like more your thing than mine.

Romance

Breakups and relationship status

Karlach's side

Player breaks up with Karlach over Gale

Karlach: Fuck off if you're here to talk about Gale. I already know. devnote: Wounded/ sadPlayer was partnered with Karlach, but ended up choosing Gale. Karlach found out on her own and is now reacting. This shouldn't be a mega aggro 'fuck off,' more like a 'go away'. Karlach: Couldn't tell me to my face, huh? Had to wait 'til I just... just figured it out. devnote: sad/bitter

Karlach: Whoa. What? You... want to be with Gale...? devnote: Copping on that the player is here to breakup with her Karlach: Since when?! devnote: angry and hurt

Karlach: I should've known Gale would weave his spell on you. Who could resist? devnote: Bittersweet. Player is dumping her for Gale. She's sad but still on good terms and trying to keep things light. Karlach: I know I had... well. You know I liked you. Like you. But I want you to be with someone who can make you happy. If that's Gale, that's Gale. devnote: Heartbroken but mature. (...) Karlach: Hope you don't regret throwing over all this fire for all that hot air. One'll get you through winter, the other'll recite you a lot of codices. But hey. To each their own. devnote: Heavy on the subtext. She's putting a lighthearted/ sarcastic spin on the fact that the player just friendzoned her for gale.

Karlach: When Gale's on page one hundred thirty six of a supremely boring recitation, and you look over and there I am throwing a lasso around a giant centipede and riding it to Chult, I'll have my comeuppance. devnote: Still keeping it a bit light/teasing

Karlach: Gale climbed out of the Weave long enough to waggle his eyebrow in your direction, huh? devnote: Still a little light. She does like Gale, despite his high-falutin-ness, so she doesn't mean this to hurt him.

Player chooses Karlach over Gale

Karlach: I thought you and Gale were... I don't know. Karlach: Gale will be all right, right? Of course he will. He's Gale. If he can take a hit from Mystra, he can take it from you.

Gale is the player and is in a relationship with Karlach

Player: My future's no more certain than your own. But when I dare to imagine having one, it's always you I see beside me. Karlach: I'm seeing you at a desk. Pile of books up to the ceiling. And me barging in with a brace of rabbits for supper. Karlach: You start chopping carrots. I stoke the fire. And every night is the best night we've ever had.

Date with Karlach, Gale is the player character

Karlach: You know, it does. There's always a bit of a veil about you - I guess it's the magic, but there's something else, too. Something I want to discover first-hand.

Q: Tell me a secret

Player: I once claimed to have read all six volumes of 'Lichen and Its Curative Properties' to impress a comely botanist. Alas, a falsehood. Karlach: You mean you haven't read all six volumes?! Gale Dekarios, I'll never look at you the same. devnote: Teasing

Player: I'm afraid I'm doomed to repeat past mistakes, no matter how I try to avoid them. Karlach: I know what you mean. Changing is hard. Every time I think I've figured it out, boom, there I am again, behaving like some version of me that never learned a damn thing.

—

Gale's side

Gale: And what of Karlach? Her heart can surely break, though it burns.

Breaking up with Gale for Karlach

Gale: Karlach, yes? You burn for each other in more ways than one. Gale: I... I thought you would show me the respect of telling me first, but no matter. You can tell me now - who is it to be? Me, or her? Player: I'm sorry, Gale. I want to be with Karlach. Gale: Don't be - she has a good heart. Poor phrasing - she has a terrible heart. But she's surprisingly caring, considering it.

At the tiefling party

Gale: You might be in for an adventure with Karlach. More than you bargained for - with a bit of luck. Gale: Or perhaps more than you bargained for - full stop.

Talking about Tara

Gale: You remind me of her somewhat. You share her fierceness, and her passion.

Be my God, boat scene

Gale: I'll always have you, Karlach.

Act 01

Gale had first stage of romance/attraction with player - not yet anything official. Gale: Karlach... a hypothetical question for you: devnote: Attempting nonchalance Gale: If someone - not me, of course - detected a hint of romantic interest in them from another, unnamed individual, what might that someone do about it? devnote: Attempting nonchalance Karlach: Whoever it is, just talk to them, Gale. And leave out the hypotheticals. Gale: Talking. Right. I'm good at that.

Gale: You know, Karlach, there are other ways to express love beyond run-of-the-mill physicality... devnote: Hint of flirtation, mostly just trying to be helpful Karlach: Ugh. Are you going to try and teach me about exceptional uses for a mage hand or what? Gale: Actually, I was thinking of poetry. Karlach: Oops, sorry. But... now that I think of it... is mage hand especially hard to learn?

—

Act 02

Gale: I've always felt flames to be a rather perfect expression of love, Karlach. devnote: Romantic, indulging in the poetry of the image Gale: Passionate, primal, capable of bestowing the most life-affirming comfort, or inflicting the profoundest damage. devnote: Listing the qualities of fire. Romantic, indulging in the poetry of the image Karlach: That's... pretty nice. Never thought about it like that. But now I will.

Karlach: So, Gale - got any book recommendations for me? devnote: With concern Gale: You can read?! devnote: Taking the piss - knows full well Karlach can read, and that she's always claimed not to enjoy it Karlach: Very funny. Yes - I can read. School put me off big boring tomes. Sometimes I wonder what I'm missing. devnote: Friendly rather than flirtatious Gale: Say no more - I'll find the perfect book for you. I might even lend it to you from my library in Waterdeep. devnote: Jumping on the opportunity to give a book recommendation (a favourite hobby) Karlach: Ooh! Something with magic, please. And no devils. devnote: i.e. 'anyone who would reject you, Wyll, just can't appreciate you.'

—

Act 03

Gale: Am I to understand that you are in love now, Karlach? Karlach: I sure am. If there's hope for me there's hope for anyone.

Karlach: How's the orb treating you, Gale? devnote: With concern Gale: Oh, quite well as a matter of fact. Since it was stabilised, it's been humming along nicely. devnote: Upbeat, things are looking up Gale: I have noticed one adverse side-effect. I seem to be losing hair in some, er, unexpected places. devnote: Upbeat mood wavering - this is a bit embarassing Karlach: I can only imagine. devnote: i.e. 'anyone who would reject you, Wyll, just can't appreciate you.'

—

Karlach dies at the end of the game, Gale is the player character

Player: Karlach, please... I'm not ready to go on without you. devnote: Distraught, lover is dying.

variant 01: Karlach is dying, Gale is a friend

Gale: No, Karlach. Stay with me, please. We've shared too much to part like this.

—

Game finale (not epilogue)

Karlach is the player character

Gale gave the Crown to Mystra

Gale is in a romance with Karlach

Option 01

Gale: It's curious. After all the wonders and monstrosities we've witnessed, waking beside you seems more unreal than any of it. devnote: Wistful/peaceful - spent a romantic night with the person he loves Gale: I'd forgotten what it felt like, to greet a sunrise without fear of it being my last. devnote: Wistful/peaceful Gale: Oh, hells. I'm sorry. Barely awake a moment and I've already put my foot in it. devnote: Kicking himself, he's accidentally rubbed salt in his partner's very sore wound Player: Don't be. At least one of us will get the cure we were hoping for.

Option 02

Player: Don't be. It's not your fault. Gale: Come now - resignation doesn't suit you half as well as optimism. We'll find some other means of fixing up that infernal engine of yours. devnote: Caring/Encouraging

Option 03

Player: Knowing you, I'd expect nothing less. Gale: You always find a smile where others would soak in their sorrows. And I promise - you'll have reason to smile soon enough. Gale: When we get to Waterdeep, we'll search in my library. It's bound to contain the odd scroll on hellish thermodynamics. Or a spell that might diffuse the heat in such a way that - Gale: Ah. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Do you... that is, would you consider returning to Waterdeep with me? devnote: A bit nervous to ask - this is Karlach, after all Player: I can't. My only hope of survival is to return to Avernus - and I'm not going back. Gale: What, then? You intend to die here? Now? devnote: Refuses to believe it - essentially been told his partner is submitting to her illness

Option 04

Player: I'd love to, Gale, but I can't. My engine is done. Fully cooked. Gale: I - I don't believe it. I won't believe it. Gale: If you go were to return to the hells - temporarily - it would buy us some time. I could put something together, a means of keeping you stable at least. Please, let me try. devnote: Trying to convince her, scared by what she's saying (that she's ready to die) Player: And hand myself to Zariel on a platter? No thanks.

Option 05

Player: Say nothing. Concentrate. You feel like you might explode any second. Gale: I know that look. It's your heart isn't it? Not to worry - you have one of the finest wizards in the Realms at your fingertips.

Gale suggests going to Avernus with Karlach

Player: I'm not going back, Gale. I can't. Gale: What if... what if I went with you? devnote: Scared by his own suggestion

Option 01

Player: I couldn't let you do that. You deserve better. Gale: I deserve the chance to live my life with the raging inferno I love. If that means relocating to the hells, so be it. I've heard Avernus is quite lovely this time of year. Gale: Besides, it would be quite something to study infernal magic in its natural environs. I say 'natural' in the loosest sense, of course.

Option 02

Player: If you were with me, I might be able to handle it. Gale: There's nothing we can't handle - I promise you that. devnote: Essentially his partner just refused treatment for a terminal illness. He's putting a brave face on it so they can enjoy the time they have left. Gale: It's taken me long enough to find you. I'll be damned if I'm letting you go.

Option 03

Player: No, Gale. Neither of us is going to that pit. It all ends here. Now. I just want to see the sky one last time. Gale: If this is the end, then we face it together. That, at least, I can promise you. devnote: Heartbroken - his lover is dying next to him, thanking her for loving him

—

Gale is the player character

Karlach is a mind flayer

Gale goes back to Waterdeep

Player: I think this is where we part ways, Karlach. Karlach: I accept your assessment. You would have been an excellent helpmate in my exploration of what it is to live. But perhaps we are both of us too... changed. Karlach: Where will you go now? Player: Back to Waterdeep. I've a warm fire and a long-neglected reading list to get through.

—

Epilogue

Karlach is dead, was partnered with Gale. Karlach: I can see Gale? Withers: Indeed. His story has marched on since thy great victory - as inevitable as time itself. Let us observe.

Note: will do the rest in a separate post.

Misc banter

Gale: I think your new form rather suits you. It has a certain... cephalopodic charm to it. A tentacular tingle. devnote: Karlach will live! Yay! But she is a mind flayer

Gale: I can imagine no finer ceremorph for the job.

Gale is the player character, hasn't shared his backstory Player: I've a... condition I need to manage. I'd still be looking for a cure. Karlach: We have more in common than I knew. I won't pry for details. Right now, at least. devnote: Karlach wants the goss but won't pry

Gale is the player character, shared backstory Player: Wandering the wilds of Faerûn searching for a cure to the orb. If I lived that long... Karlach: Living a normal lifespan is so yesterday. Believe me.

—

Gale: Revenge is a dish best served hot, it seems. At least when you're in charge of the menu. devnote: Dark humour - your friend achieved her goal, but you know she'll not live long enough to celebrate

—

Gale: Ceremorphosis is Karlach's only chance of survival. It must be her. devnote: Impressed, finding this all very interesting

Gale: No sense dawdling. Karlach has precious little time left to her - we'd do better than to waste

Gale: I've not seen infernal flames like that in quite some time. Why go to Avernus, when you can bring Avernus to us? devnote: Curious/pondering - a rhetorical question, no response from player

—

Gale: I know well the pain of seeing your life's hourglass running empty, grasping at any means of slowing the grains as they slip inexorably through your fingers. devnote: Sincere, a note of pity - Gale once thought he was fated to die because of the orb, so her truly understands what she's going through Gale: Your fate may be ordained, but your actions are not. Make each breath count, and what time you have with us will never be wasted.

Gale: Karlach's fate may be ordained, but her actions are not. She will make each breath count - we can be sure of that devnote: Finding solace in the thought

—

Ilithid transformation

Player: It's okay, Gale. Karlach wants to transform. She'll do it, for herself and for us. Gale: Then I will hold my peace. But if the time comes when even her sacrifice is not enough, call on me, and I will be ready.

Gale thinks that becoming a mind flayer is his best chance at getting the Crown

Gale: I know Karlach has the best intentions, but her kind heart is not going to help me get that crown. Let me do this.

About Gale, Mystra, Elminster, etc

The dialogue lines for this section can be found in the file /Dialogs 2/Companions/Karlach_InParty_Nested_TopicalGreetings.html

—

Karlach: I couldn't help overhearing what Elminster said to Gale. Not every day a god asks for a chat. Karlach: Hey! Maybe I'm invited too. I can be the muscle.

(variation)

Karlach: I couldn't help overhearing. So Mystra wants to talk, does she? Not every day a god asks for a chat. Karlach: ...can I come?

—

Karlach learns about Mystra's message

Karlach: Fuck me. There's devotion, and then there's stupidity. If the god of magic can't handle this without sacrificing Gale, she's no god at all.

Player: I don't think he'd do that to himself, even if Mystra commanded it. Karlach: Good. I'm one hundred percent sure there's another way to bring down this cult. No true god would ask such a thing from her faithful. That's for certain. Karlach: Poor Gale. He must be in bits after hearing that. I'll distract him. Tell him I haven't read a book since secondary school, watch his face melt off. devnote: Being cheeky

Player: I'm not sure. I think he's of several minds. Karlach: Well, tell him to pick the right one. Better yet, I'll do it. Fucking wizards, man! They always need help picking the simple, obvious option. Karlach: If Mystra can't think of another way to stop the Absolute than sacrificing Gale, she's no god worth worshipping. I'll say that to Gale - in, you know, gentle terms.

—

Meeting Elminster Karlach: Aw, was that Gale's granddad?

(variation, if the player is Gale)

Karlach: Aw, was that your granddad?

—

Gale is the Player, talks about Elminster's message from Mystra

Karlach: Aw, was that your granddad? Player: That was Elminster Aumar - the most famous wizard in the realms. Player: Yes it was. Good old Grandfather Dekarios, come to check in on his doting grandson. Karlach: Lovely! You should've introduced him around. Elders love me, and I love them. Player: I'm joking, Karlach. That was Elminster Aumar, the Sage of Shadowdale, one of the greatest wizards to ever live? Karlach: Huh. Doesn't ring a bell. But all right! Must've had something important to say, if he came all this way. Good news, I hope. Player: It relates to a 'condition' I have. I carry an orb of corrupted Weave within my chest. It seems Mystra wants me to detonate that orb and destroy the 'Heart of the Absolute.'

Player: He brought instructions from Mystra. I'm to find the Heart of the Absolute, and destroy it by detonating the orb in my chest. Karlach: The orb in your chest? Shit - I knew something was going on with you, but I didn't know the particulars. Karlach: Well. Turns out we have more in common than I knew. Except I'm trying not to blow up, and you've been instructed to do just that.

Karlach: Wow. That's... that's big, Gale. This is Mystra we're talking about. Goddess of magic - and she's asking you to sacrifice yourself. Karlach: What are you thinking? devnote: As in, 'What are your thoughts about this serious revelation?' Player: This could be my chance at redemption. I have to at least consider dong what she asked. Karlach: Only you can decide if that's really true. If you owe her your life. As for me, I'm positive we can stop the Absolute without losing you, Gale. Karlach: Keep that in mind, all right?

Player: I'm not quite sure yet. It's a big decision. Karlach: No kidding. What could be bigger? Look, I know what it's like to house something dangerous inside you. But I don't know what it's like for someone else - someone I trust - to ask me to use it against myself. Karlach: If you need a friend, you know where to find me. Right here. Right now.

Player: Now that I'm over the shock, I'll probably ignore her request entirely. Karlach: I'm glad to hear you say that. It is shocking. Imagine asking someone to - to end themselves like that. Karlach: Nothing's ever simple anymore, is it? Whatever you decide, I've got your back. But I think we can defeat the Absolute without losing you, Gale.

Player: That remains to be seen. Karlach: Oh? What did he say? Player: I'd rather not talk about it right now. It's a lot to process. Karlach: All right, soldier. But look, if you're in a fix that can be solved by fire or fists, just point me in the right direction. I mean it.

Player: Elminster's no ordinary elder. He's the most renowned wizard in the realms. Karlach: Your grandfather is the most famous wizard in the realms? Karlach: I should've guessed. I mean, you're pretty powerful. Makes sense that it's in your blood. Player: No, Karlach - I was joking before. Elminster isn't my grandfather. But he did tell me something quite serious. Karlach: I'm listening. What did he say?

Karlach: Wonder if he's (Elminster) a wizard too. He's certainly got the beardliness for it

Karlach: Karlach doesn't worry, she acts. So if Gale needs me, now's the time to tell me.

—

Karlach: Wow. 'Chosen of Mystra.' I guess I should congratulate Gale. Right? devnote: Karlach is happy for Gale. Suspicious of Mystra but trying to be supportive. Karlach: I trust him to know what he's doing. To know how far to go for Mystra. I just hope he knows he doesn't need her favour to be fucking fantastic.

(variation, if partnered with Karlach)

Karlach: Wow, Gale. 'Chosen of Mystra.' Congratulations, I think? Karlach: I trust you to know what you're doing. To know how far to go for Mystra. Just know that even without her - even without any of the gods - you're still pretty fantastic. Karlach: 'Chosen of Karlach' has a ring to it, right?

—

Karlach: Whoa. I've seen a lot, but never been threatened by a god. Karlach: It sounded like Gale really meant it. He really wants to take control of the Karsite Weave. Karlach: He really wants to be a god. devnote: She's not bought in. She's assessing Gale here. Measuring him.

(variation)

Karlach: Interesting. devnote: Suspicious

If Gale is the player character

Karlach: Interesting. I'll keep that in mind. devnote: She's starting to lack trust in Gale here

—

Gale is noncommital about returning the crown

Karlach: Wow, Gale. So you spoke to Mystra, right? Karlach: Pretty spectacular stuff. But I think you were right not to do her bidding, no questions asked. Karlach: I respect the gods, but they don't always understand what they're asking of us. Maybe immortality makes it hard to know what it's like to be one of us piggies. Karlach: Proud of you, though. It takes some man to hold his own in front of the divine.

Karlach: Wow. So Gale really talked to Mystra, huh? Karlach: Pretty spectacular stuff. But he's right not to do her bidding, no questions asked. Karlach: I respect the gods, but they don't always understand what they're asking of us. Maybe immortality makes it hard to know what it's like to be one of us piggies.

—

Gale is blessed by Mystra Karlach: You're glowing, Gale. Mystra must be very pleased with you indeed. Don't forget us little people when you're the Chosen of the God of Magic, hm?

Karlach: Gale looks chuffed as cheese. Mystra must be very pleased with him. Let's hope she's got his best interests in mind.

—

Gale agrees to return the Crown to Mystra

Karlach: Wow. Gale is the 'Chosen of Mystra'. Congrats to him, I think? Karlach: Hope he knows what he's doing. We haven't fared very well with other Chosens so far.

—

Gale uses Shadow Weave

Karlach: Hope you know what you're doing, Gale. I'm no paladin for Mystra, but she probably has good reasons for forbidding Shadow Weave.

Karlach: Gale's walking a thin line. Let's hope he doesn't fall headfirst over it - again.

—

Orin kidnaps Gale Karlach: That bloody freak won't get away with this. That's my wizard she took. And we're going to get him back. devnote: Seething

—

Gale is resurrected Karlach: This fella Gale has as many lives as a cat. Handy guy to have around, huh?

—

Karlach: You all right, Gale? Looking a little shadowy about the gills.

(variation)

Karlach: Is Gale all right? He's looking a little shadowy about the gills.

—

Items and Netherese orb comments

Karlach: Wide berth, buddy. I have some good equipment I don't want you swallowing.

Karlach: The people you meet, I swear... devnote: A little bemused

Karlach: Much as I commiserate with your, you know, thingie. devnote: 'tough ticks' is a karlachism

Karlach: I like Gale, but I'm keeping all my good gear well out of sight. Karlach: Everything fancy he touches meets a grisly end. Karlach: I commiserate with his situation, though. It's tough ticks housing something you can't control.

Gale is the player character

Karlach: Hey now, what happened to that fancy bit of gear? Player: It's a long story involving the Weave, an ancient tome, and a failed attempt to please Mystra, goddess of magic. Karlach: Hm. And now you have to consume gear Karlach really wants because... Player: Because I have an orb of corrupted Weave within my chest. If I don't keep feeding it with magic, I'll explode with enough force to destroy a city. Karlach: Well, shit. And I thought I had it bad. Karlach: That's a tough hand, Gale. But I'm glad you told me. A chest-bomb shared is a chest-bomb halved, or whatever. Karlach: If I spot anything that'll help, I'll hand it right over, pal. We're in this together.

Player: Because if I didn't, I'd be dangerous to all of us. Karlach: Are we talking some kind of were-wizard situation here, or...? Player: I have an orb of corrupted Weave within my chest. If I don't keep feeding it with magic, I'll explode with enough force to destroy a city.

Player: Just because. Karlach: Wizards and their secrets. Buddy, I could ruin that mind of yours with the stories I could tell. Nothing you say could scare me. When you're ready to talk, I'm ready to listen.

Player: I had to consume it. Sorry if that scuppered any plans you had for it. Karlach: I'd mind less if I knew the full story. Never seen a fellow suck the magic-marrow out of an item before.

#bg3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 meta #bg3 spoilers #karlach #karlach cliffgate #character dialogue #bg3 dialogue #banter #bg3 gale #bg3 karlach

[mediumgayitalian]

“Oh, come on, there’s just —” Will blows an errant curl from out of his eyes, cheeks red with exertion, balancing nimbly on his feet to put both hands on his hips. “There’s no way, Nico.”

Nico, not blessed with such balance, has to hold all footholds with all limbs, staring warily at the lava wall’s snake holes.

“What? I’m just not as good as you.”

Will flops his right arm outwards, narrowly avoiding smacking it against the rock. “But you are!”

Nico shifts his wary gaze from the snake holes to Will’s rope harness. Is it tight enough? It better be tight enough. Will is putting a lot of faith in it, right now.

“You scaled those cliffs in — in the place —” he trips, still, over the pit, on the odd time he mentions it, and it always makes Nico wince — “like it was nothing! And whenever Percy visits and challenges you you’re suddenly the lava wall expert!” He turns stern blue eyes to face Nico’s head-on. “Not buying it, di Angelo!”

A gush of lava forces him to resume climbing, but there’s an aggression to his movements — a specific, stiff, curated aggression, that Nico has learned means anxiety in people known as William Andrew Solace. That, and coupled with the rapid muttering which, in between the roar of molten stone, Nico believes is a a repetition of “dumbass” “always tryna act a goddamn fool” and “I’m gonna kill him before he sends me into cardiac arrest again”, interspersed with random swears in English, Latin, Ancient Greek, and also — gods — Klingon.

“Will.”

Will ignores him, scampering the last few feet up the wall and slapping the top before relaying down. Nico sighs, following him (albeit significantly slower).

“Will.”

“You’re hiding something from me.” He practically rips the harness off his body — do not think about that do not think about that do not think about that — and shoves it on the hook so hard it damn near snaps off. The look he levels in Nico’s direction practically turns him to stone, it’s so frigid, and he has to resist a shiver. “I can tell.”

It takes a good amount of pushing to make Will all testy like this. Sure, his buttons are easy to push, but most of that is for show. He likes to be dramatic. (Especially because he knows Nico will indulge him, more than anyone else ever has. He relishes in it, Nico thinks; he likes that Nico will watch his productions. An Apollo kid through and through.) He’s not usually one to show his genuine frustration.

But, hoo, boy, when he is frustrated.

Nico has a bad, bad habit of making it worse.

(As if it’s his fault that Will’s hot when he’s mad.)

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nico says, forcibly lightly. He sticks his hand out defiantly. “Check me, why don’t you? Not hiding anything.”

He really isn’t. No injuries, no illness, hell, he’s not even tired. Had a full three meals and everything. Even his perpetually achey joints aren’t bad today.

All of this, obviously, is communicated when Will touches him, squinting suspiciously at their joined hands.

“You’re heart rate is high,” he mutters petulantly.

Nico looks at him patiently. “That’s ‘cause my smokeshow boyfriend is holding my hand.”

Grumpy as he’s trying to be, his ears redden. A smile twitches at the corner of his mouth.

“Shut up.”

Nico grins, pulling his hand up to his mouth and pressing a kiss to the knuckles.

“No.”

“Whatever,” Will says, snatching his hand back. His smile spreads widely across his face, now, and he looks away, as pleased as he is exasperated. “You’re still being a weirdo. I should not be so far ahead of you on the wall, Neeks.”

Success — back to nicknames. Crisis averted.

“Have you considered that you’re the camp-wide record holder for a reason, you spider monkey?”

“Still!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Nico gets up on his tiptoes, pressing a lingering kiss to the bridge of his freckled nose. “Stop worrying about me, Solace. I’m fine. Burn off some steam, I’ll watch.”

Will huffs. “Fine. But I’ll find out, y’hear me? Truth can’t hide from me for long.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

He watches as Will suits back up, helping him with his more complicated straps (because Nico was raised to be a gentleman, obviously, why else) and shooing him away when he opens his mouth for more interrogations. He switches to sticking out his tongue, and after a moment of hesitation, bounds back over to his first true love — being a big nerdy jock dork.

Nico settles on the grass several feet away from the wall, pretending to clean his sword. After a few minutes, he hears footsteps, and two people sit next to him on either side.

“So,” says Lou Ellen, ignoring Nico’s suspicious look as she tosses a glowing ball of something around, “how come you’re not climbing?”

Nico shrugs. “Only so many times you can climb before it gets boring.”

On his other side, Cecil makes a loud buzzer sound.

“Nope! Wrong answer. Try again.”

Nico is a dignified grownup who refuses to stoop down to Cecil’s level by responding. Instead, he reaches over and pokes him in his ridiculously sensitive ribs, hard, sending him sprawling with a screech.

“Shut up,” he says mildly, as his friend flails. “I’m trying to be a supportive boyfriend, and I can’t do that with all your whining.”

Will has, in the ten minutes since he started, made it halfway up the wall. He seems to have it programmed to the Super Extra Mega Evil Insane mode that the Athena and Ares kids invented just for him, since he smoked all the other levels. He dodges a shot of lava with a laugh, throwing himself to the side and hanging on with three fingers and one scuffed sneaker poised on the tiniest sliver of rock. His attention is broken when Lou Ellen sticks her face right in Nico’s field of vision, tracing Nico’s eyeline with narrowed eyes.

“Ah,” she nods knowingly. “You’re staring at his ass.”

Nico falters, damn near slicing his own fingers off. “No idea what you’re talking about,” he says blithely. He gestures without looking at his sword. “I’m busy, see?”

She scoffs. “Real busy. That’s why you almost just did emergency surgery on yourself.”

“Exactly.”

Will pushes up a foot, shifting his hips and launching himself upwards. He makes a little shout of victory, plastering himself to the wall to keep balance, every muscle tensed.

From his place on the floor, Cecil makes an appreciative noise. “He does have a nice ass. Can’t blame you for looking.”

Nico frowns. “Hey. Stop objectifying my boyfriend.” He reaches out and smacks a hand over Cecil’s eyes. “That’s my job.”

“You guys are ridiculous.”

Nico reaches over and puts a hand over her eyes, too, ‘cause there’s no missing where they’re pointed.

“Shut up or I’ll literally put shadows into your retinae and blind you forever,” Nico threatens. (Is this a thing he can do? No. Do his friends know this? Also no.)

“You’re a dictator!” Cecil protests.

“Depriving us of basic human rights!” Lou Ellen agrees.

Nico shrugs. He glances back up the the climbing wall, where he has a very perfect view — and a great reason to never even try to climb faster than Will does. He grins.

“Too bad for you guys.��

#he’s a simp what can i say #and understandbaly so wills a heartthrob #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #nico di angelo #will solace #nico di angelo/will solace #solangelo #establisbed solangelo #flirting #nico/will #will/nico #banter #lou ellen blackstone #cecil markowitz #nico di angelo & lou ellen blackstone & cecil markowitz #nico is a dog #will is hot #longpost #my writing #fic

[shebunie]

𝐁𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐬

𝗠𝗶𝘇𝘂 𝘅 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝗶𝗻𝗷𝘂𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝗺𝗶𝘇𝘂, 𝗰𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗲𝘆𝗲𝘀 𝗗: 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟮.𝟭𝗸 𝐀/𝐍: 𝗜 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝗻𝗮 𝗺𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗮 𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀

"I pray for the day you’d finally choose someone else to treat you. "

The man's eyes lingered on you for a while, he let out a sigh and took a seat on a rock by the river’s shore facing you. A grunt came out of his pale lips from the sting of his wound, breath wavering "Shouldn’t you be doing the opposite? You would go out of business without me." 

You stood there, contemplating. Whether to help this man or not, he seemed capable enough but the wound seemed to look like it needed stitches. Without a word, you neared the swordsman with careful steps. Pulling out your handkerchief from your kimono, dipping it in the warm waters of the lake, squeezing out excess water as you kneeled beside him.

"May I?" head tilting up to look at him to which you noticed more details about the samurais' appearance. An angular yet soft face, straight brows, and heart-shaped lips. The swordsman hummed turning his head away from you and his wounded shoulder. Slender yet calloused fingers grasped the hem of his yukata and slid it off of one side.

The air around you felt heavy with unspoken words, and as you worked on his injury, you couldn't help but wonder about the man in front of you. How did he end up like this? What battles had he fought, and what demons was he running from? But those questions lingered in the back of your mind, overshadowed by the more immediate task at hand.

“We’ve been crossing paths quite too coincidently, and I must ask, where you are headed?”

Silently grimacing at the sight. With hesitation, you carefully tried to dab the cloth around the wound. The swordsman flinched instantly and went to constrict your frail hand from disinfecting the gash, the other squeezing the side of your hip in an attempt to push you back "Aghh!" he seethed, licking his chapped lips, glaring at you.

"I'm sorry that was not meant to hurt."

You pulled your hand away, maintaining a composed expression despite the sharp pain in your hand. His grip loosened on your hip, and you resumed cleaning the wound, this time with even more caution. The tension in the air lingered as you worked, the only sound being the soft lapping of the river against the rocks.

"Your apology doesn't mend my wound," he muttered through gritted teeth. "But I appreciate the effort."

You continued your task, skillfully cleaning the wound and examining it closely. The gash was deep, and stitches were indeed necessary. You glanced at the swordsman who had been observing the entire scene with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

Their gaze remained fixed on the horizon, his eyes clouded with a distant intensity. "I'm headed to fill a vow," he finally replied, his voice carrying a weight that mirrored the burdens etched into his features. "A man that I’ve sworn to kill."

Your hands paused in their ministrations, the gravity of his words settling over the scene like a sudden storm. The air grew thicker, and the gentle rustle of leaves seemed to hold its breath. You met his gaze once more, the flicker of the river reflecting the turmoil within his eyes.

"A vow to kill?" you echoed, the words hanging in the air, heavy and pregnant with the weight of untold stories. The swordsman's jaw tightened, a subtle nod confirming the gravity of his quest. "He's taken everything from me," he continued, his voice low, a storm of emotions hidden beneath the calm facade.

The river's current seemed to echo the turbulence within his soul, a silent witness to the pain that fueled his journey. In that moment, understanding evolved into a dance with the shadows of his past.

"Vows can be shackles," you mused, breaking the silence that stretched between you. "But they can also be the flame that guides you through the darkest nights." The swordsman's gaze flickered, a subtle acknowledgement of the truth embedded in your words. The river murmured in agreement, its rhythmic flow a backdrop to the shared understanding that wove its threads through the night.

The revelation hung in the air like the heavy mist rising from the river, a revelation that shifted the atmosphere between you. The weight of your words settled over the landscape, casting a shadow that stretched across the rocks and water, intertwining with the encroaching darkness of the night.

"What drives a person to such extremes?" Eyes met his, searching for the story etched in the lines of his face.

The wielder's gaze held yours, a mixture of determination and a weariness that seemed to transcend time. "Betrayal," he spoke, voice a low murmur, as if revealing a secret that had long been guarded. "A betrayal that carved scars into my soul. I made a promise."

The revelation echoed in the quiet night, the river's soft lapping against the shore forming a backdrop to the swordsman's tale. His wounds, physical and otherwise, became more apparent in the dimming light. As you absorbed his story, a realization dawned - his journey was not merely one of aimless wandering, but a quest fueled by a profound purpose.

The silence that followed was pregnant with unspoken empathy. You contemplated the weight of his words, the burden he carried, and the path he had chosen. The makeshift bandage you had prepped seemed insufficient, not just for the gash on his shoulder, but for the wounds that lay hidden beneath the surface.

"Why carry this burden alone?" you questioned, your words soft but earnest. "There's strength in shared struggles, in the companionship of those who understand."

The swordsman's brows furrowed, as their eyes flickered a vulnerability surfacing once again. For a moment, it seemed as though the walls he had built around himself wavered, allowing a glimpse of the person beneath the stoic exterior. "I've walked this path for so long," he admitted, "that it became easier to carry the weight alone."

You listened in silence, the stillness of the night amplifying the weight of his story. You gently placed a hand on his uninjured shoulder, offering a wordless gesture of understanding. The swordsman's gaze shifted from the horizon to you.

"Why are you helping me?" he asked, a note of vulnerability cutting through the layers of his stoic demeanour. "I've walked this path on my own accord, but tonight, you chose to ease my burden. Why?"

Eyes holding a quiet resolve. "Because vengeance can consume the soul, and sometimes, a moment of respite is needed," you replied, words carrying wisdom that transcended the simplicity of their arrangement.

Your gaze met his briefly before returning to your work. "I may pray for you to find someone else to treat you, but that doesn't mean I'd leave a man to bleed out."

The swordsman chuckled, wincing as the movement pulled at his injured shoulder. "Quite the contradiction, aren't you?"

"I prefer to think of it as balance," you replied, finally satisfied with the wound's cleanliness. "Now, let's get those stitches in place, and wrap it up."

Without a word, you resumed your task, the man watched as you skillfully threaded the needle, your hands steady despite the tension in the air. While you worked, the swordsman winced occasionally, but he didn't protest. His wound now carries a weighty significance. Once the last stitch was in place, you leaned back, wiping your hands on the damp handkerchief. 

The swordsman flexed his shoulder experimentally, a hint of relief crossing his face. After wrapping the makeshift bandage on his injury. Each fold of the fabric became a silent promise, a pledge to stand beside him in the face of the darkness that clung to his every step. The night deepened, and the stars overhead bore witness to the quiet exchange unfolding between you.

"Balance," the swordsman mused, his gaze drifting towards the stars as if seeking answers in their distant glimmer. "A rare concept in a world that often feels tipped towards chaos."

You nodded, your eyes following his to the celestial tapestry above. "Sometimes, balance is found in unexpected alliances and moments of kindness," you remarked, the rustling leaves and the distant hoot of an owl providing a natural backdrop to your words.

The swordsman's gaze lingered, contemplating the truth in your words. It was a truth he had seldom encountered on his solitary journey of vengeance—a journey marked by blood, betrayal, and a relentless pursuit of satisfaction.

"You're not like most people I've met," he confessed, his eyes returning to you, seeking a glimpse into the enigma you presented. "Most would either turn away or try to exploit my vulnerabilities."

A small smile touched your lips, the moonlight catching the subtle curve. "Perhaps, I see something beyond the surface. We all carry wounds, visible or not. Sometimes, a shared burden makes the journey a little less lonely."

The swordsman's gaze held yours, a silent acknowledgement passing between you. The night, now draped in a velvety darkness, seemed to hold its breath as the unspoken connection deepened.

"Thank you," the swordsman said, gratitude layered in his voice like the petals of a blooming flower. "I didn't expect to find this on my path."

With a hum and quiet understanding. "Paths have a way of converging when least expected. Perhaps, this encounter is a reminder that even in the pursuit of vengeance, there's room for compassion and shared moments of relief."

The night pressed on, and the river's gentle murmur accompanied the shared silence between you two. Companionship, ignited by a chance encounter by the river, continued to glow, casting a comforting light on the uncertain road ahead. The swordsman, his wound tended to and burdens shared, found himself tethered to a presence that promised more than mere stitches—it promised a companion on the winding journey that lay ahead.

You looked up at Mizu with a playful glint in your eyes. "Well, now that I've saved your life and mended your wounds, I suppose you owe me a favour or two."

Mizu raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips despite the lingering soreness in his shoulder. "Oh, is that how it works? I didn't realize healing came with a price." The sword wielder chuckled, a hint of warmth softening his stoic features. "I suppose I do. A debt of gratitude, and a pair of nimble hands with a needle."

"Ah, yes, the nimble hands that saved you from bleeding out. Quite the valuable asset, wouldn't you say?" you retorted, a playful smirk gracing your lips. Mizu's gaze met yours, a spark of amusement in his eyes. 

"A healer with such a sharp tongue. It's a rare combination."

"Well, one must keep things interesting, especially when dealing with brooding swordsmen on a quest for vengeance," you replied, feigning an air of nonchalance.

The tension from earlier dissipated like morning mist. "I suppose I should be grateful for the unexpected twists on this journey."

"Gratitude suits you. Perhaps it will become a regular companion on your quest," you quipped, a playful glimmer in your eyes.

Mizu raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "So you say? I'll have to get used to it, then."

You chuckled, the sound echoing in the quiet night. "Consider it a down payment for future rescues. Who knows when you'll need another skilled healer by your side?" Leaning back on the rock, his gaze meeting yours. “Fair enough. But I hope your future rescues involve less blood and more pleasant conversations.”

You grinned, the moonlight catching the mischievous glint in your eyes. "I cannot promise that maybe just some casual chatter and tea." Mizu scoffed, the tension of the night dissipating in the warmth of the moment. "Tea sounds good. I could use a break from the constant clash of swords and the sting of wounds."

As the night embraced its darkest hours, a playful smirk graced your lips. "Trouble seems to have a way of finding you. Maybe it's time you start offering it some tea instead of drawing your sword."

"Tea might perhaps be the key to resolving conflicts. A cup of tea and a good conversation."

"Who knows," you replied, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "Maybe you'll find your sworn enemy sipping tea at a local tea house, and you can settle your differences over a matcha ceremony instead of a duel." 

The swordsman shook his head, a smile playing on his lips. "A novel approach, but I doubt my sworn enemy has a taste for tea."

"Well, then," you said, rising from your spot by the river. "We'll just have to introduce him to the finer things in life. A well-brewed tea might just be the key to unlocking a truce."

Mizu followed suit, the night now alive with the shared promise of an unexpected encounter. The moonlit path ahead seemed less daunting, and the weight of vows and vendettas felt momentarily lifted. 

And maybe that tea ceremony would come sooner than expected.

#blue eye samurai #mizu brainrot #blue eye samurai x reader #fanfic #mizu blue eye samurai #mizu x reader #mizu x you #bes #fic #series #slow burn #banter #thirsty for some action in this economy #fluff #comfort #writing #bes mizu #bes x reader #blue eye samurai fanart #bes x you #mizu bes #medic reader #mizu blue eye samurai x reader #i want this #i need #let me free from my confines #balling my eyes out #look at her #she is so pretty #shaking crying throwing up

[autisticlancemcclain]

“Keith, I need a favour.”

Keith stops in his tracks. Slowly, he sets down the helmets he’s holding, freeing his hands, then holds the phone out in front of him. He ponders it carefully.

“I could throw you into the sea,” he says to it. He does some quick calculations. If he drives to the nearest seafront now, he will be approximately twenty-three hours late to his date with Lance by the time he gets back. However, if he skips the fanfare and drops his phone into the disgusting oil-filled puddle right next to him, he can proceed to his date on schedule.

“Decisions, decisions,” he muses. Fanfare is important. Dropping his phone into a puddle is whatever. It’s derivative. But dropping his phone into the North Atlantic…now that is revolutionary.

“Fucksake. Keith,” sighs the voice coming from the phone. “If you don’t answer me, I am going to change the Netflix password.”

Keith frowns. “Hey.”

“Thank you,” says Shiro emphatically, “you brat.”

“Netflix is sacred,” Keith protests. “You can’t joke about the Netflix. I am a delicate orphan, Shiro. What will happen to me if my primary care figure breaks his promises? I’ll regress and act out and end up in prison. Do you want me to end up in prison?”

“A little, honestly.”

“Gasp, Shiro. Gasp. How dare.”

“I think you should consider a degree in the dramatic arts.”

“I think you should eat my farts.” Keith snickers. “Hey, that rhymed.”

Shiro sighs, long and loud, and Keith can practically see the smile twitching on his face. “Where did I go wrong. Truly. To think I tried to raise an upstanding young man, respectful to his elders, happy to help when needed. Shame that you’re a gremlin and a changeling.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Blah blah. Get to begging for my help. I have places to be, old man. A new jacket Adam bought me to wear in front of pretty people. Well, one pretty person. Anyways.”

“God, you’re whipped,” Shiro says, and Keith ignores that because if he doesn’t he’ll combust. “You and Lance going out?”

Keith tucks his phone between his ear and his shoulder, picking the helmets back up and continuing his walk to his bike. “Yep.”

“Where’re you going?”

“Dinner at Caribella. It’s an excuse for a ride, really. Maybe walk around downtown for a bit.”

“Sounds fun. How much more fun would it be with your little sister, huh?”

Keith stops for the second time. He can see Red maybe fifty metres away. He looks at her mournfully.

“So close,” he despairs quietly, then turns back to his phone. “Not super fun, Shiro. Since she’s, you know. A year old. And a date is something you traditionally do with your boyfriend. Alone.”

Shiro makes a weirdly strangled noise halfway between a laugh and a stressed croak. “Well! The thing is.”

Keith waits. No thing is listed.

“Shiro.”

“It’s no big deal! Really.”

“Oh? I guess I’ll just hang up, then —”

“It’s just that Adam and I are at his sister’s, right, and —”

“There we go.”

“And we have a sitter. Obviously. All is well. Except, you know. The storm forecast. And everything.”

“And you’re four hours away with a car that you haven’t put snow tires on yet,” Keith surmises. He looks forlornly at his bike, sitting all pretty in her parking spot, freshly polished red paint gleaming under the fluorescent lights of the parking garage. So, so close. “You dumbass.”

“The forecast was clear this morning!”

“You’re a dad! You’re supposed to know these things!”

“Well!”

“Can’t the sitter just — stay? Overnight, or something?”

He feels bad. Any other day, he’d be happy to have Hana over, or go stay over there. He does it all the time. Hana is the coolest. He has no idea how she’s the daughter of the two biggest goobers he knows. Hell, he’s already got plans to watch her this Thursday, so Adam and Shiro can go to their old person museum date thing.

But he has plans tonight.

Fuck.

“She’s sixteen, Keith,” Shiro explains, sighing. Keith envisions his brother slumped against a wall somewhere, rubbing over the scar on his nose. “She’s too young for that. She’s Adam’s friend’s daughter, and she’s a sweetheart, but she’s got school. She can’t be responsible for a baby overnight.”

“No, I — I figured.” He drags his free hand down his face. “You need me to go over there?”

“Yeah. Mara – the sitter – can’t drive yet. Her parents are coming to get her in an hour.”

Shiro’s voice is quiet, subdued. He sounds guilty. Keith hates when Shiro is guilty. He covers his hand over the phone so Shiro can’t hear, screams a little, breathes deeply, then forces a smile wide enough that it will bleed into his voice. Hopefully.

“It’s fine, Shiro. Seriously. Lance and I’ll reschedule, Hana and I will make sure to fuck up your Netflix profile. All is well.”

“Thank you, Keith. I owe you.”

It is a dire thing when Shiro doesn’t complain about Keith messing up his Netflix profile. Once, three years ago, Keith forgot to switch the TV in their living room and watched some Hallmark movie as he sketched, just to make noise in the background. Shiro made snide comments about his taste for three months, because he’s a pretentious indie loser who watches shit like Empire unironically.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll start a tab.”

That, thankfully, makes Shiro snort. “Brat.” He brightens. Keith can almost hear the ding of a lightbulb going off in his head. “Hey, I know it’s dorky, but maybe you and Lance can still go on your date! Me and Adam used to when you were little, in the old apartment.”

Keith furrows his brows. “What, like when you marathoned Lord of the Rings on the shitty futon and ordered the greasiest pizza known to man? That’s not a date.”

“Is so! We enjoyed it, you had pizza so you weren’t having a tantrum, what else could we need?”

“You guys have been weird old people your whole entire life. Did you know that?”

“Only because you aged me. You pain. Anyways. Go pick up my daughter, or you can stay at our place. Minivan keys are where they always are. I gotta go. Love you, kiddo.”

“Ugh. Love you too.” He hangs up, blowing a raspberry at the phone. “Minivan keys are where they always are, he says. What a soccer mom.”

He stares, hands on his hips, at his bike.

What to do, what to do.

He really doesn’t want to cancel on Lance. It’s been a couple days since they’ve seen each other, because Lance’s job hates him. Plus, Hana isn’t very fussy. It’s kind of dweeby and embarrassing, but. Well. Lance likes kids. So it could be fine, honestly.

“Hana first,” Keith decides, nodding to himself. He lifts the seat compartment under the bike and shoves the extra blue helmet in, strapping on his own and starting Red up. To bring Lance to Shiro’s for an embarrassing old person date, or to cancel. That is the question.

Eh. He’ll decide on the ride.

— — —

He does not decide on the ride.

“What do you think,” he asks his sister, lips pursed. She gurgles happily at him from her high chair, shaking her soggy-Cheerio-covered fist at him. “I mean, you go to bed in a couple hours. So it’s not like it’s pure babysitting.”

“Abdalalala,” she says, which Keith translates to mean actually, now that I know you want me to sleep, I will spend tonight completely resistant to sleep, as karma. Enjoy.

“That’s rude,” he informs her.

You’re batshit, says the Pidge that lives in his brain. Also, quit procrastinating.

“Ugh,” he says, out loud. He pulls out his phone and hesitates over Lance’s contact.

to: lance <3

hey you like kids right

from: lance <3

oh my god

from: lance <3

keith, are you…

from: lance <3

pregnant??????

Keith laughs.

to: lance <3

you are not funny

from: lance <3

i’m hilarious actually it’s a tragedy

from: lance <3

i carry the burden of knowing i am solely responsible for my friends’ good humour

from: lance <3

heavy is the head that wears the crown. pensive face emoji solidarity fist emoji broken heart emoji

Keith refuses to dignify that with an answer. Also, he has been informed by Lance’s best friend that if he ignores the emoji bit it will go away eventually. So far it’s been going strong for three months, though, so Keith’s not certain. He can only hope Hunk is correct.

from: lance <3

anyways yah i like kids why

to: lance <3

how much cooler and charming would i be if i picked you up in a minivan. with my sister

from: lance <3

aw, keith!

from: lance <3

to be coolER and MORE charming you have to be cool and charming to begin with :)

from: lance <3

and you are a dweeb 💖

from: lance <3

sounds good tho

from: lance <3

Bring Forth The Child

from: lance <3

oh also bring forth burritos on ur way over

from: lance <3

i’m hungry

Hana yells and bangs on her tray. When Keith looks up, she lobs a Cheerio at him. It hits him squarely between the eyes.

“You’re right,” he says sagely, peeling it off and flicking it back at her. She shrieks in joy. “I cannot let this shit slide. I cannot simply allow myself to be roasted, Hana. I must have self respect.”

She blows a raspberry at him and bangs harder on her tray. Baby conversations are, honestly, riveting.

“Exactly, squirt. You get it. Let’s get cleaned up and go, hm?”

— — —

He picks up burritos on the drive.

Hana laughs at him.

— — —

He’s hardly pulled up in front of Lance’s apartment building when a blur streaks across the front walkway, yanking open the van’s side door.

“Oh, hell-o, precious darling!” gasps Keith’s boyfriend, tumbling into the backseat and slamming my the door shut behind him. “Hi, Hana! Hi hi hi! Aren’t you the bestest ever? You are!”

Hana, evidently pleased with the attention, babbles something incomprehensible and pats Lance’s cheek. He melts, babbling something so quickly it’s equally incomprehensible and shaking her hand. Keith watches, torn between endeared and affronted.

“Hello, boyfriend I have not seen in days,” he deadpans. “Yes, I missed you also. No, I don’t mind at all that you leave me to wither away, alone, in the front seat. Excellent chat.”

“You have a very very grumpy brother, don’t you, Hana,” Lance coos. His shoulders shake with held back laughter.

“Lance, get your ass in the front.”

“But I’m meeting the baby!”

“She is not going anywhere! Meet her at home! You turd!”

“Name-calling is not very nice,” retorts Lance primly, crawling over the console and finally settling in the passenger seat. “What kind of example are you setting, huh?”

He leans over the armrest once he’s buckled in and kisses Keith gently, cradling his hand against his jaw and tilting their heads together. He smells, as he always does, of flowers and sunshine, and Keith sighs as he sinks into the softness of him, the curve of his smile and nip of his teeth.

“Hi,” Keith murmurs, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, his chin, and then squarely on the mouth again.

“Hi,” Lance responds, a little breathless, grinning widely. His hair is damp and curling at the edges. He’s left out his contacts for the night and the gold lenses match the gold flecks in his brown eyes. Everything he’s wearing is stolen right from Keith’s closet, except his socks, which are bright purple and covered in obnoxiously orange weiner dogs. Keith is so in love with him that the intensity of it embarrasses him, and he pulls away, face red, very interested suddenly in adjusting is rearview mirror.

Lance, knowing, only smiles.

“These are for you,” he says gruffly, shoving the paper takeout bag at Lance’s chest. Lance wastes no time digging through and shoving half of one in his face.

“Aw, baby,” he says, mouth completely full. “You’re literally the best. Sweet, attentive, manipulable, obsessed with me. Everything I intended when I did the love spell on you.”

Keith eyes Lance from his peripherals. He’s digging through his patched backpack, face completely serene. Keith is reminded of the actual sigil he has tattooed on his ankle. (He’s very familiar with it. It’s often right at eye level. Hard to miss, really.)

“…You’re a strange, strange man.”

“Anyways!” Lance continues, visibly gleeful. Keith reminds himself to focus on the goddamn road and remember his sister is watching with her giant wide eyes in the backseat, probably committing all his embarrassing actions to memory to report to Adam the second she is capable of speech. “I brought lots of movies. Mostly Jurassic Park, but also some educational stuff for the baby. Ghostbusters, High School Musical, you know. All that good stuff. And I stashed popcorn behind your microwave last time I slept over so we’re set for snacks.”

“Oh, we’re going to my brother’s place, actually, ‘cause Hana’s more comf— wait, behind the microwave? Why behind?”

“Wait, wait, hold on. We’re not going to your place?”

“No,” Keith says carefully. “I have some baby stuff in my apartment, but not a lot. Plus, Shiro has a better T.V. and also Adam just bought Moose Tracks. So.” He slows to a stop at a red light, noting Lance’s odd expression. “That okay?”

Lance screws up his face for a second, thinking. “I’m pretty sure? As long as there’s an extra toothbrush there. I have one at your place so I didn’t bother bringing one. And I guess I can survive a night without my face serum, but if I get one single wrinkle we’re beefing.”

“You’re not gonna get a stupid wrinkle,” Keith grouches. “And why would you get pissy if you get a wrinkle? We’re gonna get them eventually, and you —”

“‘We’?” Lance teases. “You gonna grow old with me? Gonna marry me someday, Kogane?”

“—can even use Shiro’s face stuff, anyway, I’m sure it’s the same.” Keith clears his throat. “And plus —”

His voice cracks horribly. Lance makes a valiant effort to keep his giggles to himself, but as Keith face continues to get hotter and hotter he loses control and laughs, head thrown back, adam’s apple bobbing with every hitched breath. His laughter sets Hana off, too, both of them encouraging each other’s ridiculousness until they’re as red as Keith is, gasping for breath.

“I hate it here,” Keith mutters darkly. “I’m turning around and bringing you back. You’re the worst. Why do I go out with you.”

Lance, barely recovered, makes kissy faces at him. “Because you want to maaaarrryyyyy meeeee, you think I’m seeeeexxxyyyyy, you want to kiiiiisssss meeeee —”

He cuffs Lance in the back of his head, pretending to check his blindspot and ignoring Lance’s cries of spousal abuse. “I actually just want you to watch Miss Congeniality twelve percent less often. For your own mental health.”

“Lies and slander! Peddling of falsehoods! Perjury and defamation!”

“I’m burning your thesaurus.”

“And now threats! Hana, you shall be my witness! I will testify against you in court! You will be jailed! I will visit you twice monthly!”

“That’s the second person today who wants me in jail,” Keith comments, pulling into Shiro’s driveway. “You’d visit me even if you put me in there?”

“Well, duh. Have to make sure you don’t go around kissing cute criminal boys or I will become a cute criminal boy.”

“Right, of course. I should have known.”

“You should have, yes.” Lance leans over and kisses him on the forehead with an exaggerated ‘mwah’ noise. “But it’s okay, I like ‘em a little dumb.”

“Help me get the diaper bag, goober,” Keith snorts, shoving him away. “I want to get inside so I can have a burrito before you eat them all.”

———

Lance was not kidding about High School Musical.

Obviously.

“Do you want her to grow up with no understanding of community, Keith,” he scolds, and pays no mind when Keith replies, “Well, she has a family, dude, so I’m not worried.”

They watch the stupid musical.

Keith is horribly endeared by Lance’s extensive knowledge of the choreography. Lance is horribly appalled at Keith’s ignorance. Hana is intrigued, mind body and soul, by every scene with Sharpay Evans. Keith assumes this will be a problem for Adam in the near future, and resolves to make that problem worse.

All this to say he’s having a very embarrassing night, in terms of mushy thoughts and feelings.

“I can’t wait to have kids of my own someday,” Lance sighs, a very sleepy Hana tucked into the crook of his arm. He watches her, soft, and Keith pauses with a DVD held loose in his hand, enraptured, because there’s a curve to Lance’s smile that he’s never seen before, and suddenly his left hand looks bare. “I know it’s supposed to be stressful and everything, but I used to force Hunk to play house with me when we were kids. Literally every day. And when my neice and nephew were born I hogged them all the time, even when they were screaming. I dunno. Being a parent sounds awesome. You get to…like…grow a person. It’s like growing a plant but a bajillion times better, probably.”

“Yeah,” says Keith, softly, and without meaning to he’s thinking of Shiro’s tired smile and the gentle hand Adam lays on the back of his neck, of their door that was always open for Keith’s nightmares, of Shiro’s clothes ruffling as he slid to the floor and sat for hours as Keith screamed himself hoarse and cried for a mother who left. Of Adam’s boiling pots and gentle hands as he guided Keith around a chopping knife. Of both Shiro’s choked-off sobs and Adam’s right embrace as Keith came back, thirteen, in the middle of the night, scared and no longer angry, and their quiet I’m so glad you’re safe. Thank you for coming back. “Yeah, family is important.”

Lance hums. He’s quiet long enough that Keith looks up, realising for the first time his gaze has been locked, unseeing, on the pictures on the wall, of Shiro and Adam and the two of them together and with Keith and with Hana and with Keith and Hana. Lance is watching him, quiet, dark eyes knowing, Hana finally asleep in his arms, beautiful and strong and everything Keith has ever wanted, suddenly, at once.

“I love you,” he blurts.

Lance smiles. “I’ve noticed.”

“Oh, you dickhead.”

“I’m saying it back!” Lance says, snickering, free hand held up in surrender. Keith walks over and slots their fingers together, squeezing slightly, leaning in and holding, a second, a hair’s breadth away from Lance’s mouth, watching his lips part, feeling the heat of his breath. His words are breathless, near silent, mouthed as much as spoken. “You changed my life, you know. I made you chase me because I thought it was funny, but — I made Hunk get me your number from Pidge the night I left the bar. I was going to text you if your brother’s tweet didn’t go viral and cement your dorkiness for eternity.”

“That’s a lotta words to say ‘I love you’, dorkbrain.”

“I know. You make me nervous.”

“You never get nervous.”

“I do with you.”

“Yeah?”

They’re so close now that their lips brush with every word, and Lance is grinning, eyes crinkled and lashes fluttering against Keith’s cheeks, and Keith has a hand careful on Hana’s head so he doesn’t crush her and is smiling just as wide. Cheesy, dorky, corny, and everything Keith wished for after every romance novel he’d steal, fooling no one, from Adam’s shelf and read long after bedtime.

“Yeah. ‘Cause I love you. Even though you’re a dweebus and a simp.”

He is, really, because he lets Lance get away with that, kissing him to shut him up, to feel his laughter right up close. It’s sparks flying and warmth spreading and heart slowing, and in the gentle darkness of the night.

It’s the promise of more to come.

#i just love writing simp keith genuinely. ANS FIRST LANCE APPEARANCE IN THE HANA VERSE #vld #voltron #keith #keith kogane #klance #lance #lance mcclain #established klance #soft klance #whipped keith #broganes #keith & shiro #dad shiro #hana shirogane #baby hana #hana verse #my writing #longpost #banter