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ma1dita · 2 months

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play pretend

a ‘partners in crime’ installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 5.1k (holy shit)

summary: (established relationship…at the end of it lol) suggestive in nature but sfw , underage drinking what do you expect from a dionysus!kid, mentions of vomit The one where Mr. D catches you two in the act, but you and him aren't exactly together yet. Everyone knows you two are together except the both of you, apparently. It’s hard to not run away from something good. (luke castellan x dionysus!reader)

a/n: happy first i love you to you and luke! yall are together now! crazy! thanks for being patient during my lil vacay :)) its been a little over a month since i started the trouble!verse!! ilysm

(posted 2/23 betad by my one and only @mrsaluado )

—

There’s something you’ve always loved about mornings.

Waking up with the first rays of light peeking through your window, the sun’s arms stretched around your sleepy frame pressing warm, featherlike kisses across the expanse of your back.

It almost feels real.

Apollo must be feeling generous today, the heat of a warm breath brushing against your neck, and your alarm sounding an awful lot like soft snores. You ought to get up and close the blinds; it’s too damn bright. But your weighted blanket feels immensely heavier this morning as it envelopes your senses—smelling of citrus, musk, and a tangible dream of last night that seems to have stayed in bed with you. As soon as you try to untangle your legs from below the covers, warmth presses you deeper into the mattress with a…familiar sigh.

Your eyes pop open.

Quick and calculated, your eyes survey the surroundings of your room—the mop of licorice tresses nestled against the crook of your neck, both of your clothes scattered on the floor, as well as the alarm clock and a few other things knocked off your nightstand from Luke’s enthusiasm. The quiet of the morning is quickly disrupted when you hear two pairs of little hands pounding on your door, and for a moment you wonder if this is one of those hyper-realistic dreams that you don’t want to wake up from.

“Sissy! You missed breakfast,” Pollux bellows as Castor continues to slap his palms on the wood like a bongo drum.

The sheets start rustling as you squirm out of Luke’s grasp, bumping against the muscular ridges of his torso which brings him back to consciousness.

“Be out in a minute!” you slur against his shoulder, and he opens his eyes blearily at the sight of you sprawled over him to try to reach the alarm clock on the ground. As his eyes focus he can’t help but admire the planes of your body, soft and pretty in the morning light like a painting come to life. Waking up in one’s company has never felt more right, even with the usual chatter of campers wafting through the open window. Here in the swaddle of pink and purple sheets, you two are something singular—not camp counselors with jobs to do, not demigods wanting to achieve glory, just your angelface and his trouble.

It’s intimate, even if it doesn’t have a label, him and you.

His large hand catches you at the plush of your tummy when you almost topple off the bed.

“Shit. Shit! They’re not kidding—Luke, it’s 9:30!”

You fling yourself upwards and off of him, clambering to find clothes from your dresser and tossing him his from the day prior. His belt buckle almost hits him in the eye and he groans, flinching as it smacks him in the cheek.

“Gods, woman. You think camp will crumble because you slept in for once?”

The glare you throw in his direction is his answer, so Luke slowly tugs his pants on–though he quickly gets distracted by a half-dressed vision of you rummaging around your room.

“Castellan.”

He grins like a little kid in a candy store, and to that, you throw his shoe at him.

Idiot.

Too bad you’re in deep shit for sleeping in.

“SISSY!!!”

“IN A FUCKING MINUTE, THING ONE AND TWO!”

Screaming at the closed door as you throw some shorts on, you spin around and bump into Luke who’s already got his hands around your waist as his nose nudges the space between your jaw and your neck.

“You were supposed to leave before daybreak,” you sigh, a smile creeping onto your lips, “if you did as you were told, I wouldn’t have slept in.” Fake annoyance leaks through your voice though he knows it not to be true, he wouldn’t be able to latch onto you like this if you were. His nose continues to graze up towards your ear as he presses a kiss behind it—like how you both deal with your feelings and the truth nowadays, a hidden secret kept for both of your eyes only.

“Dunno trouble…I can get used to waking up next to you,” he mumbles. You can feel the imprint of his smile searing into your skin.

Is this what going into cardiac arrest feels like? Genuine question.

You’ve both been sneaking around for the past few weeks, but neither of you has made anything official. They say it’s easier to fall for a friend rather than a stranger—to know someone so intimately (and now in more ways than one) should make falling the easy part.

But that’s kind of the problem.

Luke is your best friend—both knowing how the other feels from a single glance, so pray tell to all the gods on Olympus, why has this boy not asked you out yet? Whether this is all for fun or anything resembling a four-letter word that makes your brain go fuzzy, you think you’d rather swim in the Styx instead of putting yourself at a disadvantage. Love is scary, even if it’s Luke.

Especially since it’s Luke.

His words make you stop in your tracks and you can hear your heart pounding in your ears, so you’re not dead… But the noise turns out to be one of the twins banging on the door again, and now you look like an asshole for taking too long to respond. Luke’s awkwardly looking at you now, tongue in cheek.

“Last warning,” one of your brothers teasingly croons, before the other continues, “Dad’s almost at the door! Your boyfriend’s gotta go or he’s dead…”

Your eyes widen in fear and Luke loosens his grip on your waist, unsure if you look like you’ve seen a ghost at the thought of him being called your boyfriend or the very real possibility of getting caught by your dad.

What a way to go, you two.

“Get out. You gotta go now, out the window!”

You start pushing him towards the windowpane, your palms pressing against his marked-up and very bare back.

Holy shit, he still doesn’t have a shirt and he looks like he got mauled by a hellhound.

You can practically see the grapevines start to flourish outside your window.

He’s too close for comfort, way too damn close, you think, but can’t reason if you mean Luke or your dad.

“Seriously?”

He straddles the open window, and Luke doesn’t know what to feel about you pushing him away—it’s a feeling that’s foreign to him since he’s always by your side.

“Sorry. I’ll make it up to you later angelface,” you mumble, pulling him in for a mind-numbing kiss that almost makes him slip off the rain gutter, and by the time you’ve already closed the window he realizes he’s shirtless in broad daylight, feet hopping off the siding of the cabin.

This couldn’t get any worse (oh but it does in a second), and you’re definitely the asshole this time around.

Your dad barges into your room by the time you throw a shirt on.

“Kid, what the hell? You sick?”

Mr. D furrows his brows at the sight of you, face flushed as you simper up a lie about your head hurting. It’s weak for an excuse and even if you usually don’t have a tell—he’s the master of this game, so he pretends to not notice you chuck a shirt out the window when you open it to make it less stuffy.

He raises an eyebrow in disapproval when you both notice your shirt is too big on you.

Oh, he’s onto you, applying heat like a brand to make his only daughter squirm; Mr. D peeks out the window to see a certain Luke Castellan stomping across the path wearing your cropped camp tee—and concludes that if there’s anyone in hot water right now, Luke must be drowning in it.

—

Acting natural is a bit harder for you today, and it feels like a cruel and unusual punishment worth the deepest pit of the Underworld as you scribble words onto a page that won’t even be comprehensible once you read them after this meeting is over. You’ve been catching up on work all day (also known as the impossible task of avoiding Luke) to show your dad you haven’t been slacking off. But a late start meant you fumbled through your day and it was obvious to everyone that you were off your game. Archery ran into javelin throwing, capture the flag teams weren’t ready and had to be made on the spot, there were no new shipments delivered to the camp store, and the infirmary ran out of ambrosia— which were all things that you were expected to coordinate.

Gods, you’re getting too old for this shit.

And if you, the head counselor everyone depends on, is off her game, well—everyone’s on edge. The Stolls even dared to ask you if the world was ending today and you were less than impressed.

Being in love sure feels like it is.

The only thing left to get through is this counselor’s meeting before the party tonight at Fireworks Beach, and you’ll damn yourself to Tartarus if you can’t even get that right. You’re a Dionysus kid, so partying is in your blood. Party planning is your favorite hobby, and to be real, you deserve a drink after today.

Speaking of your father, he’s jabbering on about something you find yourself not particularly interested in, but well…someone’s gotta listen. Charles is dozing off at the table, and Lee jabs him in the side. You see Silena braiding Clarisse’s hair out of the corner of your periphery. And of course, out of all of them, there’s Luke who’s been trying to steal your attention for the past 30 minutes. Black ink smears across the page as you find yourself having every thought that ends supplemented with the memory of how Luke looked at you as he climbed out of your window this morning.

Could he actually want more?

The all-star camper, Luke Castellan— camp’s best soldier who’s envied by many and admired by all…wants to wake up next to you. You, the camp director’s daughter who keeps everyone in line and is seen more as authority instead of a person with feelings. You’re not always feared, but in a camp for demigod kids who’d rather hone their powers instead of lose special privileges for skipping class, you’re not exactly their favorite either. Once, someone said they’d rather face Mr. D instead of you.

“That doesn’t make sense, we’re supposed to send in the next progress report to Olympus before the last day of the month. That’s Wednesday, D. So it should be by the Sunday before,” you butt in after a statement your dad makes about scheduling.

All eyes are on you now— it’s the first time you’ve spoken up during tonight’s meeting which was out of character in itself, but your father catches you off guard when the sound of his booming laughter spreads across the room like dynamite tearing through a battlefield.

“Says who? We’ve got enough time,” The god remarks, a strange sheen in his eyes that reflects into yours. He’s on your ass a bit more today, pointing out your flaws from the day and making it his mission to get on your nerves. Few mortals would undermine a god, and though you do it daily to spite him for your existence, your confidence is lower today than it usually is—the reason being a boy with amber eyes boring into your soul from across the table. Everything else pales in comparison now, almost fading into the background, and even here in the hot seat you can’t help but think about if Luke could ever fall for someone like you.

You’re venturing into dangerous territory, you tell yourself, you’ve been hurt before.

It hurts less somehow when you’re cautious. To prepare oneself to be hurt is a defense mechanism ingrained in you—your mom raised you to always be ready for anything. Your self-identity has always been skewed by others’ perceptions. Mirroring the memory of your late mother’s ideals, exemplifying your actions through your immortal father’s personality, you find that fighting your bloodline is one of the most difficult things to come to terms with. A thought passes in your brain that you’ve taken after the worst of them—your mother’s ambition and your father’s unpredictability.

And who would want to love someone so difficult?

Tough love is the only way you know how to love. Perhaps someone as good as Luke deserves better than this.

“It’ll be less to worry about that way,” you swallow, and the other counselors sit back in their seats as tension fills the air, signaling another disagreement about to start between your father and you.

“Good thing you don’t have to worry about it since it’s my job, right, kid? Just because you woke up on the wrong side of the bed today doesn’t mean you can change things to better fit your schedule instead of the rest of ours.”

Mr. D scowls, and then again maybe you’re too much like your father—too brash, too mouthy, and self-serving, and your eyes meet Luke’s again as your mouth pulls into a bitter smile.

“It’s the first and last time it’ll ever happen. Gods know I don’t get sick days around here picking up after you,” you spit out harshly, words coming out like acid.

“Just saying kid. Haven’t seen you this careless in years— Maybe check yourself before telling us what to do, yeah?”

Your father’s words have a double meaning as he stares into your soul, glancing between you and Luke, who is none the wiser, still focused on you. Annabeth is holding his hand under the table as you watch his jaw flex. He can see right through the shoddy performance you put on of having it all together.

Does everyone know?

Your lips pucker as you roll your neck from locking, and a humorless laugh slips from you. Everyone else’s eyes are on Luke, who looks like he’s about to jump across the table and wring a god’s neck.

Fuck.

“Whatever. I’m not doing this today,” you grumble, feeling overwhelmed. The chair screeches against the wood of the floor as you push yourself up, fists stained with ink and clenched in teenage angst as you walk to the door to make a quick escape.

Your father crosses his arms smugly at the success of getting under your skin, and the last words you hear as you leave are, “You never want to hear the truth, kid. Must you always be so…. you?”

Your steps falter for a moment, feeling heavier knowing he’s right so you let go of the door to let it slam it behind you. There’s a commotion inside after you leave but you couldn’t be bothered to give a damn. It’s time to party and you’re sure as hell getting drunk, high, or both tonight.

—

It takes about two cups of wine for the inebriation to start kicking into Luke’s system. He’d never been much of a drinker, but with the way you’re throwing your head back at Lee’s jokes as he plays the guitar, he thinks he should drink a bit more to forget the fear in your eyes this morning and how Lee keeps touching your waist.

He’s been suspended from counselor duties for the rest of the month for mouthing off at Mr. D in your defense, and even if Annabeth tells him he’s lucky to have not met a worse fate, the way things played out today makes him feel like the most unlucky guy at camp. Fuck the gods, or at least…fuck your dads (that doesn’t sound right, but he’s too busy watching the moonlight glint against your skin that whatever his ex is whispering next to him goes in one ear and out the other).

“Lukey?” Skye mumbles against his neck, ��I miss you…you’re always busy doing who knows what!”

Well… she has a name, Luke thinks, taking a big gulp of whatever’s left in his cup as his eyes follow you across the beach. You’re dancing around the bonfire spinning a tipsy Clarisse who laughs without a care in the world. He thinks you’re the best of your parents—determined to achieve your goals, selfless when it comes to others’ needs, and passionate about what you want. Mr. D will never get to see this side of you—the one you show your friends and this place you all call home. He’ll never be deserving of the work you put into Camp Half-Blood (and to some extent, Luke knows he doesn’t deserve you either).

A dejected sigh brushes warm air against his shoulder.

“You know, Castellan. I wish I met you first,” the blond daughter of Athena slurs with tears forming in her eyes.

“What are you talking about?”

“The two of you have always… it’s always been you and her. Even if you both don’t want to admit it. It’s not fair,” she hiccups. Luke pulls the cup out of his ex-lover’s hand and she shakes her head.

“Skye, you’re drunk. I’ll take you back to 6.”

“You really don’t see it do you?” Her hands grapple onto Luke’s shirt like she’s pulling him down and pleading for him to understand.

“That girl is in love with you. The both of you are meant for each other—and you’re both spending too much time trying to fight fate. The rest of us aren’t as lucky, but we sure as hell aren’t stupid.”

There’s a moment of clarity that hits as he looks into Skye’s eyes, and he scratches the back of his neck.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I meant what I said when we broke up a few years ago. You’re both always looking for each other, even if you don’t know it. Just meet in the middle already, for gods’ sake…I’ll be okay,” she sighs, sitting up on the log they were resting on.

“Your girlfriend is sure as hell to give me a hangover worth her title of being Dionysus’ kid in the morning anyways,” she mutters, kissing Luke on his cheek as a farewell. But out of all of the things to catch your attention that night, Luke’s blush glows in the light of the fire, and he watches you frown and stomp off toward the forest.

For being the son of the god of luck, his dad really won’t give him a break.

It didn’t help that Skye suddenly started projectile vomiting seconds after you left (off of her only cup of wine; wonder how that happened).

—

Luke fights through his growing intoxication on the walk back towards the cabins, but boy are you difficult when you’re angry—you’ve always had a profound effect on his being, even more so with your powers. He makes a wrong turn somewhere through the woods, completely missing the cabins, which he doesn’t realize until he stumbles across the path leading to the Big House. When his eyes focus, he spots Mr. D sipping on a glass as he leans on the railing of the front porch. Be calm and don’t act drunk, Luke tells himself, but all of his concentration goes into not swaying in front of the god of wine that he can’t stop the words from coming out of his mouth.

“Good evening, um…sir.”

“Kid, it’s 3 in the morning. What the hell are you doing here? Gods know it’s not my window you’re trying to climb up. You’re a bit of a ways off.”

Now what the fuck was he supposed to say to that?

Luke freezes in his spot (in reality he bumps into the first wooden step and sticks a hand out to steady himself against the railing).

“Are you drunk?”

Mr. D looks at him knowingly like it’s almost funny to him, eyebrows furrowed and head quirked like he can sniff it off of him. He probably can, now that Luke thinks really hard about it.

“I’m not gonna answer that because I think you know the answer already,” the son of Hermes words carefully, but nothing smart can come of this. It’s like playing chess with checkers, and Dionysus of all gods would know—no breathalyzer needed.

There’s a beat of silence, before Mr. D says, “I’m gonna give you another chance to–”

“Yes, I’m drunk, but it’s not trouble’s fault—it’s mine!” he blabbers, walking closer to your father.

“She’s mad at me for defending her from you earlier besides the fact I act stupid around her and I only had a few cups, I swear, but she’s…your daughter is…extraordinary.”

“What?”

“Your daughter makes me feel drunk, sir. Even without the wine. I don’t know what to do with myself, just please don’t get mad at her. She has a lot more to lose…” He feels pathetic in all sense of the word, rubbing at his eyes until Mr. D snaps his fingers and the alcohol blanket lifts from his senses. Like a bucket of cold water splashed onto his spine, Luke is suddenly very awake, and all too embarrassed for the waterfall of words he’s told your father.

“Oh.”

“I didn’t know she knew how to do that yet. She’s learning quickly.” Mr. D looks out into the distance, the dim light of the cabins acting like a beacon of light in the middle of the campgrounds.

Luke wrings his hands, picking at his thumbs and he’s sure he’s about to get kicked out of camp for his behavior, much less the fact that he’s been fraternizing with the director’s daughter.

“Sometimes I think she knows too much.” He licks his lips, awkwardly standing next to the god and wondering if the dark liquid in his cup is wine.

“Do you think I don’t know that, Luke? Do you really think I don’t know about the parties? I let her have her fun too you know— I'm the one that keeps Chiron asleep. She doesn’t ask for much. I know I give her a hard time. I’m just….”

There are a few things about Mr. D’s statement that surprise Luke: the fact that he actually knows his name, how he safeguards his daughter’s interests, and the possibility of a god actually knowing how to be a good parent.

It still doesn’t take away from the countless times he’s seen you put yourself down because of your father, the inadequacy you feel from the responsibilities you take on, and how you’d do anything for simple applause. Tough love is still love with a heavy hand. And it leaves bruises, whether he meant it or not.

“Is that why you’ve never sent her on an actual quest? We all know picking up the twins doesn’t count in the grand scheme of things.”

“For what? To achieve glory? Recognition? I never understood why we Olympians do that. Send children off to their deaths to deserve a moment of their godrent’s time, or a gift to shut them up. I don’t need her to be a hero, she doesn’t have anything she needs to prove to me. I need her to be my daughter, and preferably alive. That’s enough for me.”

Luke takes a step back in disbelief. There’s something in his being that yearns to be loved like that, without having to prove it or needing to deserve it. It hurts almost, the way he wants to be loved like your family loves you. Your father, an Olympian, standing in front of him telling him that your existence is enough to be worthy of his presence. In the silence that follows, Luke wonders if he’ll ever have that.

“You should tell her that more often, sir.”

“Listen. She’s a good kid, I just give her a hard time because it’s hard to get attached to you mortals. Your lives are so short compared to the infinite timeline I live. I can do everything in my power to try to keep her safe, but I can’t stop her from leaving. So don’t blame me if I act like an asshole if it’ll keep her here for a bit longer. I’ll take all the time I can get.”

“Then how do I tell her I love her with without either of us running away?”

Mr. D laughs loudly now, his wrinkles crinkling as liquid sloshes out of his cup. It turns out to be grape juice you left out for him before the party.

“Mortals always busy themselves with trivial things, like pride and sorrow. Pandora’s box left you humans with nothing but hope. I say you swallow the negative and just say it how it is. You’ll have a lot more time being happier together that way. I already lost my bet against some of the counselors anyway.”

“What bet?”

Your dad swats at Luke like he’s a dog to kick, and tosses his glass over his shoulder where it disappears in the night air.

“Get off my porch Castellan, and just know if you hurt her…”

“I’d die before that happens, sir.”

“That would hurt her most of all. Think about what that means. For gods’ sake she’s left her light on for you, so go on before I set the harpies on you. And don’t call me sir, it freaks me out. You’re still not special to me.” Mr. D stalks back inside the Big House, and Luke takes that as his cue to leave. The cold night air pushes him back towards the cabins, the light in your window luring him in like a ship lost at sea.

—

“I know you’re still awake, trouble.”

You hear him move closer to the bed as you keep your eyes shut, evening out your breaths, but you’re never able to hide anything from Luke anymore.

“I thought I closed that window,” you mumble, turning your face more towards your pillow.

“You didn’t.”

Of course, you didn’t. You were hoping he’d chase after you this time around, even if you made him drunk in more ways than one.

“Skye keep you busy?” you say nonchalantly, and you hear Luke laugh as he tugs your duvet off of you.

“Your dad did, actually,” he says grinning, watching your eyes pop open in confusion as you turn and face him, propping yourself up on your knees.

“What the fuck?”

“You could’ve gotten me kicked out y’know? Stumbled onto his porch telling him about how drunk you make me feel even without a drop of alcohol and how I don’t know what the fuck to do with myself when I’m around you.”

“You shouldn’t be so brave to fight gods like that for me. Even if it’s my dad, Castellan,” you whisper, and he kneels next to your bed so he can look at you in the eyes from an equal standpoint. Because that’s what the two of you are— equal, singular, one and the same. And he’s never made you feel less than, even if your brain tries to convince you of it.

“Stop that,” he scoffs, shaking his head as he grabs your hands, “stop calling me my last name like it detaches you from how you feel about me. I want you to stop pretending when it's just you and me,” he pleads, whispering your name so softly that the sound of it brushes against your lips.

There’s something more intimate in the way he looks at you now compared to when you were naked and nestled against him this past morning. The act of knowing that it’s you and him, no matter how hard you try to fight it.

His knuckle brushes against your jaw, pushing your eyes to look back into his, and you can’t deny him any longer.

“Hey. I love you, and I know you feel the same; I'm tired of you acting like you're not and I’m going crazy he—”

His words are halted by your lips surging forward to meet him in the middle. The culmination of years of friendship has brought you to this special moment frozen in time, and sure, demigods die young but this must be what he’ll see in Elysium. If there’s a single memory he can bring with him to his next life, he hopes it’s this one—the taste of you and how it feels to be loved like this, without question or reason. You pull away with a sweet smile and he feels drunk again.

“You’re my best friend, angelface,” you mumble.

Okay, now that sobered him up faster than it should have.

Luke stiffens, his hands falling to your thighs as he starts to ramble, “If you’re actually friendzoning me right now I might just roll out of your window and feed myself to a harpy.”

The laugh that comes out of you booms across the room as you wrap your arms around him with a radiant smile. You always have so much to say, but right now only three words come to mind. Five vowels, three consonants, and the gravity of it pushes out of your mouth like there’s no better truth to tell.

“I love you. I think I’ve been in love with you even before I liked you and I’m sorry I’ve been too scared to say it. I’m not used to…”

Luke sighs in relief, as he presses his scarred cheek against your shoulder.

“You think I’m not scared of us either, trouble? I worship the ground you walk on, and everyone can see that.”

“Well I’m not a god, Luke,” you say tugging him up by his mop of curls as your legs wrap around him.

“Sometimes when I’m with you, I think you’re the closest thing to it,” he whispers, pulling your chin down for another kiss until you both get your fill. He thinks he can kiss you forever until the end of your short lives, until it’s senseless and maddening, like falling into a drunken stupor. Loving you is an experience he’ll never be able to rid himself of, heart stained with the best of you until both your fingertips are red and raw with the feeling.

You pull him back into your bed as your giggles fill the early morning air. He’s quickly becoming what you love most about waking up in the morning.

—

Chris Rodriguez wakes up to the sound of the morning birds and chattering children in the busy cabin 11. As he rubs at his eyes, ready to take on the day as an interim cabin counselor for the rest of the month because of Luke’s suspension, sunlight falls onto the one empty bunk in the corner of the room (Fact: There is never an empty bed in the Hermes cabin. Also a fact: he and Chiron will be able to cash in against the other counselors as fast as his feet can take him to the Big House).

—

“To love someone is firstly to confess; I’m prepared to be devastated by you.” Billy Ray Belcourt

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#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x dionysus!reader #pjo x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #luke castellan angst #made by ma1dita ♥︎#🪽#percy series #thank you for reading my love ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

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tkwrites · 8 months

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Shoot the Moon - Quinn Hughes x ofc

Photo from instagram

Title: Shoot the Moon

Author: Tory / @tkwrites

Relationship: Pre-established: Quinn Hughes x Original female character

Warnings: comfort, fluffy beginnings, smut (18+ only), oral m & f receiving

Summary: Quinn comes home exhausted from a rough road trip. After a good night's sleep, he decides to try out some new things with Sarah.

Word count: 5,500

Comments: this is my first fanfiction ever posted, though I've been writing them for a long, long time. I hope you enjoy!

Shoot the Moon

A Quinn & Sarah Snapshot

I made tacos at your place, so don’t pick anything up on the way home.

This simple text sent gratitude rocketing through Quinn. He just needed to get home. They were on the bus to the arena, then he would drive the 20 minutes to his apartment, and to Sarah who was waiting for him with his favorite meal. The bus seat was digging into the bruise on his right hip from where he’d hit hard two days ago. It felt better when he was moving, but sitting still was torture. It had been on the plane and it was here again.

He was so glad to be home. It was near the end of the season, and he was tired, his body, time and emotions drawn out well beyond their limits. He couldn’t wait to get a good night's sleep next to Sarah. He had never missed someone like this. He'd never noticed the absence of her weight in the bed next to him, or missed the smell of her perfume in such a tangible way. He was beginning to feel like he couldn't and didn't want to live without her.

The next road trip they went on, he needed to bring something with her perfume. Maybe that would help him sleep better.

When he finally opened the door to his apartment, Sarah walked around the couch to greet him. His bags hit the floor and he collapsed against her, nuzzling his nose into her collar bone and taking a deep breath.

“God, I missed you so much,” he said, pulling her flush to him. She was in an oversized t-shirt and a pair of leggings. It was the very thing he’d been hoping she would be wearing.

Her hand went to the back of his head to stroke her fingers through the dark waves there. “I missed you too.”

They stayed that way for a while, just holding each other. Quinn felt like he might cry, being back with her. Man, love had turned him into a sap.

He understood why the older guys were always so anxious to get home to their wives.

He moved just enough so he could catch her lips with his. A different kind of sigh moved through his body when she returned the kiss.

After a few minutes of gentle, loving kisses, a loud gurgling came from his stomach, and Sarah laughed as she pulled away. “Let’s get some food into you,” she said, taking his hand and leading him into the kitchen.

“You sit,” she said, gesturing to the table, “I’ll bring you a plate.”

After setting a full plate in front of him, she went back to make herself one. He was certain she’d eaten earlier, but didn’t want him to feel alone. It was eight already. All he wanted was to eat and fall into bed with her, letting her hold him. His eyelids seemed to get heavier at the thought.

“Don’t tell me my food is that boring,” she teased sitting next to him.

Shaking his head, Quinn tried to blink away the tears welling up in his vision.

Sarah set down her taco and put her hand on his forearm, “what’s wrong?”

He sniffled. He felt like a kid, coming home from a bad game and crying to his mom. Except this time, the disappointment of loss was soothed by a swell of gratitude like he’d never felt before.

His voice was thick and a little higher than usual as he said, "I don't know, just coming home to you, and to this,” he gestured at his plate, “I just feel so lucky.”

She smiled, and leaned over a corner of the table to kiss him, “I love you too. Now eat before you get too tired and wake up hungry in the middle of the night.”

He laughed, remembering the first time he’d done that very thing when she started sleeping over. She'd come out with his shirt on, voice and eyes bleary with sleep as she asked what was going on. Her eyes went wide when she flipped on the light and found him with a sandwich in his mouth.

If he ate too early in the evening, hunger pains would wake him in the middle of the night. Nothing was going to wake him tonight if he had anything to say about it.

His tears subsided, soothed by her knowledge of him, her scent and the food filling his stomach.

He put the plates in the dishwasher, as she went about putting away all the ingredients. There were a lot of moving parts to this meal. He didn't even know he had that many food containers in his house. Maybe she had brought them from hers.

“You can go lay down while I finish this,” she said, glancing over her shoulder.

Quinn shook his head. He’d been too long without her. He wasn’t about to willingly walk away now.

When they finally made it into the bedroom, he stripped down to his boxers, and washed his face in the basin beside hers. She removed her leggings, and threw some of the pillows onto the floor. Usually, she would stack them in a chair, but apparently, she was as anxious to get into bed as he was.

They lay on their usual sides. She’d already seen him cry that day, so he didn’t feel as hesitant to ask for what he wanted.

“Can you hold me?” he asked. It came out quieter than he thought it would.

Sarah smiled, and scooted closer to him so their noses nearly touched, and she could bring her arms around him.

“No like,” he felt his cheeks get hot, “can I be the little spoon?”

“Sure, roll over.”

“I can’t. My hip.”

“What’s wrong with your hip?” she asked. “You told me you were fine."

He winced, a flash of guilt in his face, "I don't have any major injuries."

"But you have minor ones?" She pulled back the blanket to get a better look at him.

“I took that hit and landed right on it in Ottawa, and it’s bruised to high heaven,” he said. “It's not really hurt, but it's tender.”

Her fingers brushed down his side, and despite his exhaustion, his skin still reacted - shivering onto high alert. She pulled back the band of his boxers to reveal a dark purple bruise that had gotten bigger since the last time he’d looked at it. Apparently sitting on the plane hadn’t helped him at all.

“Oh, Q,” she said, voice turned nurturing instead of the coddling or "buck up!" he got sometimes from the trainers or his teammates.

“Here,” she said, rolling on top of him.

If this was any other night, this would play out much differently. He kissed her still, because he’d been thinking about it for too long, and she was here. She was here. He was home, and she was here with her perfect mouth, and her cute, crinkly smile. He couldn't resist her.

She deepened the kiss, devouring him like she just couldn’t wait any longer. She'd missed him so much. She knew he was tired. He'd been tired all week, but she finally had him back in the city - back in their bed - and she couldn't not.

Quinn felt himself groan. His hands reacted instinctively, rucking her shirt up, anxious to feel more of her skin.

Breaking away, she moved her mouth to the spot under his jaw that she knew made him weak.

“Sarah,” he breathed.

She responded with a slow glide of her tongue.

“I want you so bad,” he whimpered, “but…”

She pulled away from his neck to look down at him. "But?” she repeated.

“I’m so tired, I don't think I can keep it up.” A hot flush spread down his neck and onto his chest, “I’m sorry,” he babbled, “I really, really want to, but can we wait until morning?”

She bit her lip and nodded, swallowing down the hot desire she felt.

"I'll make it up to you, I swear," he promised.

Her mouth melted into a smile. "I know you will," she said before pecking him on the lips.

Sarah rolled off of him, onto the other side of the bed. “Scootch over,” she said.

He did and she settled, tucking her body against his.

“Wait, I need my pillow.”

They did an awkward shuffling dance to switch pillows without sitting up.

Once settled again, she sighed into him. Every part of her was touching him, and he would have given her anything at that moment. He could even feel her nose against the back of his skull.

He felt supported and loved, and home. Finally home.

She draped her arm around his chest and he found her fingers with his own, lacing them together.

“I love you, Sarah,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

“I love you too Quinn.” Her breath tousled the short hairs on the back of his neck, “I’m so glad you’re back. I missed you.”

“I missed you so much,” he said, finding a way to somehow pull her closer.

As sleep overtook him, he found himself thinking for the first time in a relationship how much he wanted to be with her forever. How much he wanted to make a real commitment to her. He’d never felt that way before. He should call his dad to see if he could use his grandma’s ring. The thought was startling, and he realized he was getting ahead of himself. First, she needed to move in. He wanted her here. Everything was so natural with her. Finally, he really was home.

Quinn couldn’t remember ever sleeping so well. He’d slept fitfully on the road trip, despite his exhaustion and usual ability to sleep anywhere. His brothers had been quick to send him funny memes about him looking like a zombie. He came home feeling like a zombie.

Waking up now, things felt right. He wasn’t sure he could say it in any other way. It all just felt better and brighter. He felt rested, and invigorated for the first time in seven days. He was on his back, and Sarah was tucked against him, on her side. He finally had a day to himself, and he was going to spend every second of it with her.

Her t-shirt had ridden up through the night, and her bare thigh was pressed against his.

Spending some time memorizing that feeling, he waited for her to wake up.

“Hey,” he said quietly after ten minutes when she showed no signs of stirring.

Her eyelashes fluttered, and she tucked her face into her pillow, mumbling something he couldn’t understand.

He laughed a little, and tried again, this time squeezing the arm around her.

“What time is it?” she asked, her morning voice hoarse and a bit deeper than usual.

That voice stirred something in him. It always had. It took him back to the first time she’d slept at his apartment. Waking up next to her was something he could never forget. The way she’d wrasped, “good morning,” before kissing him softly. It was one of his favorite memories.

He glanced at his watch, “a little after seven.”

She groaned and tucked her face behind his shoulder, “it’s too early to be up.”

Laughter bubbled up his throat. “We went to bed at 9. That’s almost 10 hours.”

Looping her arm over his chest, she somehow managed to pull herself closer to him as her leg covered him, her knee to his opposite hip. “Still too damn early,” she said, settling her head on his chest.

“If you want me to go back to sleep, straddling my thigh isn’t the way to do it,” he teased.

“I’m not straddling your thigh,” she protested, “I’m cuddling.”

“I can still feel all of your skin.”

She rolled her eyes, “if you want me to be up at seven, you better have a damn good reason, Quinn.”

Rolling onto his side, Quinn cupped her cheek in his hand. He kissed her gently before rolling on top of her. “Is this a good enough reason?” he asked, working his leg between hers before licking farther into her mouth.

“Mmmm… I don’t know,” she said, making a big show of shrugging her shoulders, even as her fingers were winding into his hair.

He pulled back, “you want me to stop?”

Her big blue eyes looked up at him, looked right through him, and it sent a shockwave through his whole body. God, how had he ever managed without her?

“No,” she said, voice quiet, the morning hoarseness starting to wear off, “I’m up now.”

“Good,” he said, “because I am too.” Leaning down to capture her mouth again, his hands pushed her shirt up.

She pulled back with a groan, “did you just make a dad joke during foreplay?”

His smile was impish, “maybe. Did you like it?”

She rolled her eyes even as she was pulling him back down into the kiss, “It’s a good thing I love you, Huggy.”

He groaned at the use of the nickname. “Please don’t call me that in bed,” he begged, moving his mouth to her neck.

She giggled a little before it bled into a moan. The sound shot straight to his groin.

He had some theories he wanted to try out.

Half way through the roadie, he had shared a room with Elias.

The only explanation for the conversation that followed that night was Quinn's exhaustion. If he were normally rested, he likely wouldn't have brought it up at all. But sitting there mindlessly watching Sports Center, listening to Petey talk to his girlfriend in Swedish, he wondered if he was doing things wrong with Sarah.

It's not that he felt Sarah was unsatisfied. She didn't seem to fake it, and their connection was only made stronger when they slept together. Even on nights when sex was off the table, but she still stayed over, sleeping in the same bed seemed to solidify their relationship more.

Still, he worried. He wanted to be good for her, to be the best for her. And maybe their sex life was normal, but it didn’t seem like anything from the romcoms he’d seen, and he wondered if they were missing something. Maybe he wasn’t giving her something she needed.

Anxiety always came easier when he was tired. That was the only reason he asked Petey what he thought being a good lover meant when he got off the phone.

“Does Emma like everything you do?”

“Everything?” Elias repeated, laughing, “no.”

“No, like in bed?” Quinn felt his skin get hot. This was not the kind of conversation they usually had.

Petey's pale skin flushed red. “Are you asking me how my girlfriend likes to have sex?”

“No. I mean maybe? I just mean, I want to make sure Sarah's satisfied, but I'm not sure how to do that.”

“Have you talked to her about it?”

“Not really.”

“I think that's probably your best bet.”

“Yeah. I just feel like there are things I should know.”

“What kinds of things?”

“Like, foreplay stuff.”

“Do you not usually do that?”

“No.” He thought, then amended, “I mean we make out a lot. And she likes when I kiss her neck, so I do that. I get her off with my hands sometimes."

“Does she seem like she wants more?”

“I don't know.”

They ended up having an extensive conversation in which Petey talked about how Emma liked it. How on nights when they had the time he would give her two or three orgasms with his hands and his mouth before they had sex.

“She really likes when I suck on her breasts,” he said. “Actually every woman I've been with has liked that. I think Gretta told me that. She was my first girlfriend.”

Quinn had been mentally taking notes the whole time.

“Honestly,” Elias said, “it's best when I ask her how she wants to be touched and she tells me. That varies from day to day. Sometimes she doesn't even want foreplay.”

So now, Quinn mouthed his way up to her ear, and whispered, “how do you want me to touch you?” His voice was husky and deeper than normal. He’d never sounded like that before, but he'd never wanted to be good for any other woman like this before.

Her little gasp was followed by her hips tilting into his. Maybe Petey was on to something here.

“Show me how you want me to touch you,” he said, moving his mouth down to the soft spot under her jaw he knew she liked.

He nibbled it with his lips as their hips surged together.

Her hands were in his hair. And her fingers tightened as another soft moan escaped her mouth. The next thing he knew, she was sitting up, forcing him back onto his knees. She ripped her shirt off, tossing it somewhere in the room. She was left in a pair of cotton underwear styled to look like men's briefs. They had tiny green flowers all over them and green trim.

“These are cute,” he said, running a finger along the waistband.

Her skin quivered under his touch.

She pulled his mouth to hers before placing his hands on her breasts. “Here,” she breathed against his lips, “touch me here.”

God, if this wasn't the hottest fucking thing he'd ever experienced. Why hadn't he ever thought to ask her what she wanted before? He didn’t have to guess, he just followed instructions.

Her hands covered his, and she led his fingers to roll her nipples. She arched into his touch and a whine escaped her throat. Her hands slid up to cling to his shoulders.

Moving his mouth back to the soft spot under her jaw, he listened to her panting breaths for a while. He wasn’t going to last long if she kept that up.

Time to put another theory to the test. He mouthed down her chest before wrapping his lips around her nipple and sucking. Answers came immediately.

“Quinn,” she moaned. Her hand cupped his head, encouraging him to stay there. Her hips ground against his own. He couldn’t hold back a moan.

“Fuck,” she whispered, heat pooling between her legs, “that feels so good.”

He’d never made her swear in bed like that. A ridiculous amount of pride swam through him.

He moved to the other breast and reveled in the groan that fell from her lips, a little louder this time.

"I want your mouth all over me," she heard herself say.

When they first got together, Quinn had been fairly inexperienced. Some due to them learning what the other person needed, and some, she figured, because he was used to quick hookups and had never really been in the kind of relationship where a woman could teach him what she liked.

He got more bold as they got more comfortable, and she told him what she liked. Still, there were certain things she'd been dreaming about since they met that he seemed too nervous to try. He seemed willing now and she was teetering on the edge.

She whined when he lifted his mouth from her. He gave the puckered nub a kitten lick when she tried to pull him back down.

“Where else do you want my mouth?” it felt a little dirty to say out loud, but her response had him wishing he’d asked before.

Her head plopped back on the pillows behind her, and she groaned, louder still. He wondered if he might be able to get her to yell his name. The thought of it made him ache.

“I,” she panted, “eat me out, please.” Sarah was so turned on at the thought of him finally going down on her that her flirty filter was gone.

“You want it here?” he asked, sliding his hand down to cup her, still covered in the cotton briefs.

“Yes,” she moaned, “God yes. Please, Quinn.”

Quinn had only given oral sex once before. It was with a girl he dated in high school, and she all but forced him between her legs the first time they went further than making out.

When he had started, not really sure what to do, hoping for a little instruction, she shrieked about him being a selfish lover and stormed out. He hadn't even needed to jack off. The experience was so deflating he hadn't ever tried it again.

“How do you like it?” He asked now as he peeled the briefs down her thighs.

He knew what Sarah liked, but the thought of failing her made his heart heavy and his ego ache. He wanted to be good for her.

He had some idea from watching porn, but he knew by now that was an unreliable source.

She kicked her underwear off the bed, and she was bare before him. An ache opened up in his chest. How was it possible to love someone so much? It wasn't just lust, even though he felt that too. It was vulnerability and trust made into action.

“Like you do with your hands,” she said, "except with your tongue. I'll tell you if I need something more. I trust you.”

The anxiety fluttering in his chest calmed a little at her words. He decided it was better to just start. The baseline knowledge he had of her body told him things like the pressure she liked, and where she liked to be touched.

He stroked his hands over her hips, and settled between her legs.

“Tell me if you don't like something?”

She nodded, heart hammering with anticipation.

He leaned in and parted her with his tongue. The sensation was unlike anything he'd ever felt before. Soft and warm and delicate. Also delicious. Sweet, tangy and completely different from anything he'd tasted before. He loved the smell of her when they made love, and this was the same amplified ten fold. God, why had he waited so long?

She gasped and moaned, hips arching up to meet his mouth. Finally feeling his tongue on her was better than any of her fantasies.

"You taste so good," he groaned.

“Really?” she thought people only said that in books. Men written by women.

Now that he was here, a carnal, competitive need took over. He needed to get her off. It was more than a matter of pride. Now, it was something he couldn't live without.

“So fucking good,” he moaned against her as he licked and kissed trying different motions to see what she liked.

“There, there,” she said, body arching, hands fisting the sheets. “Right there. Don't stop.”

This was the most amazing thing he'd ever done. Part of him wondered why he'd waited so long. Most of him was thankful he'd waited to do it with someone he loved and trusted and who loved and trusted him enough to tell him what she needed. It was his favorite thing about Sarah.

"Quinn," she moaned, "suck please."

Sealing his lips to her, he pulled with his mouth.

Pleasure exploded through her veins.

The noises - the moans and mewls, the little grunts and gasps she responded with drove him on and nearly drove him out of his mind.

All of him was more turned on than he ever thought was possible just from giving her pleasure.

Fuck, why had he been scared of this?

Her fingers suddenly dove into his hair and tugged. He nearly exploded right then. Pulling back slightly, he breathed deeply through his nose to calm down.

“Quinn,” she whimpered, “I want your fingers.”

He was dreaming. He had to be. Lifting his head, he asked, “what?”

She whimpered at the sight of his face: chin wet, brown eyes soft with love, pupils blown wide with lust. “Your fingers,” she gasped, “I want your fingers inside me while you do this.”

He groaned. Where had this demanding, dirty talking girlfriend come from? Petey was a genius.

He went back to work, taking time to kiss and nip her inner thigh before licking her up and down.

“Keep your tongue there,” she begged. “Yeah, yeah, just like that.” Her hand slid to the back of his head, keeping him where she wanted him.

He eased a finger into her. Her hips bucked. “Quinn,” she moaned and it was louder than ever. “More.”

He slid in another, and she rocked with him.

“I… I…”

He lifted his head a little to look at her. She was practically writhing on the bed. “You look so beautiful right now.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, pushing his head down again. “Put that pretty mouth back to work.”

He laughed and lowered down. He found her pulsing nub, and licked it into his mouth, suction gentle but decisive.

There were a few more desperate moments of Quinn trying his best to please her and to not shoot off too early. It was like walking on the edge of a knife. Hopefully just because it was the first time.

“Oh, oh Quinn, I - I’m gonna…” she said before his name was wrenched out of her mouth in a strangled cry.

Her body pulled taught, legs flexing under his hand, as she clenched around his fingers before the tension snapped and she collapsed, limbs limp.

“Holy shit,” she said quietly as she came back to herself, gently pushing him away from her core.

Quinn rose onto his knees and wiped his mouth on his arm. “I know,” He said, flopping down next to her. “I had no idea you had that in you.” He felt euphoric, and he hadn't even gotten off. Hearing his name drip from her mouth like that gave him a sense of pleasure and intense satisfaction he hadn't felt before.

She giggled, riding a high she hadn't felt in a long time. “I knew once you got up the confidence to give me oral, you'd send me to the moon, but goddamn."

“You…” his brain was swimming, “how did you know it would be good? I've never done it before.”

“Really?” she asked, genuine surprise in her features.

“My first time kind of blew up before she could tell me what to do. I was only sixteen. How did you know?” He asked again.

“We kiss all the time, Quinn. I know the magic you can work with your mouth. I've been fantasizing about it pretty much since we first kissed."

“Holy fuck,” Quinn said quietly as her words sunk in. Four months. He’d been denying her of that for four whole months. “I'm sorry I didn't try sooner.”

She rolled on her side to face him. “I'm glad you tried it now.”

Leaning in, she captured his mouth, slanting into him and rolling them so she was on top.

Her mouth wound its way down his jaw, over his chest and down his stomach as she moved to kneel between his legs.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his chest rising and falling quickly.

She glanced up at him, and there was a spark of teasing desire in her eyes he wasn't sure he'd seen before. “Returning the favor.”

All the air left his lungs in one big whoosh. His thoughts spun.

“I… you don't have to –” but her mouth was on him again, and he lost the words.

She didn't love giving blow jobs. She'd done it twice before. Once when they clinched the playoffs, and once when he begged for it explicitly. He knew it was something she endured rather than enjoyed.

The thought of her mouth on him right now, though, sent his arousal into overdrive.

“I want to,” she said. “You did it for me. I do it for you.”

Yet another reason giving her oral was turning out to be one of the best decisions he'd ever made. Not only had it gotten her off and turned him on more than he thought possible, it made her want to get him off with her mouth. He was definitely buying Petey dinner the next time they were out.

She slid his boxers off, careful of the bruise, and continued her teasing, mouth tracing over the v line of his right hip.

“Sarah, please." He was so riled up, he didn't think he could take any of her teasing.

He felt her lips curl into a smile against his skin.

His begging had the opposite effect he was hoping for. Instead of sinking a little lower, her mouth started moving back up to his.

A desperate sounding whine escaped him.

“Does this work for you too?” She asked before putting her mouth over his nipple.

Three seconds before that, he would have said no, but her hot soft mouth on him shot a surge of pleasure straight down his spine. A deep growl ripped from his chest and his hips surged up, desperate for any kind of friction. He swore.

She moved to his other pec and he felt like he might just combust.

“Sarah, baby, please.” He begged, “please.”

Her mouth lifted from his chest and he tried to gain control of his breathing.

“I think that's a yes,” she said, a bit of laughter in her tone.

Shifting down, she let her lips trail over his stomach again.

When she finally took him between her lips, the shouted sound he let out was barely human.

His muscles corded tight, desperately holding himself back from thrusting into her mouth. He was panting praises at her.

She lifted her head and he whimpered. Had he ever done that before?

“How do you want it?” She asked before wrapping her lips around the tip of him.

"I-" He tried, but his thoughts kept getting jumbled. "Like that," he groaned when she ran her tongue under the head. "Can you - can you use your hand?"

Her fingers wrapped around him, and he mumbled something incoherent even to his ears.

“Hmm?” She asked not lifting her mouth.

He couldn't hold back from bucking up at the vibration.

When he settled, she added her hand into the mix, gently twisting with her fingers. Hot, heavy pleasure flooded his limbs, turning them to jello. Oh god, he was in heaven. Her name came out of his mouth, moaned like a prayer. He wanted to worship her for the rest of his life.

He was so strung out that he couldn't vet any of his thoughts. “I want to come in your mouth so bad.”

She looked up and their eyes locked. This image was going to be branded in his mind forever. He knew it would be a memory he called up on the road when he was missing her.

She nodded, just slightly and sucked a little harder.

“Fuck,” he said reverently. She’d never let him come in her mouth before. The thought alone had him tensing up right there.

He tried to hold back. But feeling her come apart on his tongue had brought him so close to the edge already. Now, she had her mouth and fingers wrapped around him giving him the most amazing head he'd ever received, telling him he could let go in her mouth. All after 10 days without her. It was a losing battle

“I -” he tried to warn her, but his body was its own master, demanding release. He came in a sudden flood of intense light and pleasure that pulsed out to his fingers and toes.

She made a small noise of surprise, but true to her word didn't pull away until he was spent. Everything in his body went slack except his heart that pounded in his heaving chest.

Vaguely, he felt her get off the bed and listened to her walk into the bathroom.

When she came back, laying next to him with her head on his shoulder, she smelled fresh and Minty.

“Did you brush your teeth?” He asked, an edge of a laugh in his voice.

She winced, “I know I'm supposed to be all sexy and swallow, but I just can't stand the taste of it.”

Laughter bubbled out of his chest. “I don't care if you swallow. I don't really even mind not coming in your mouth, that was just a heat of the moment thing. Thanks for letting me anyway,” he said, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead.

She adjusted so she could kiss his lips. “I'm glad you asked for what you wanted. Thank you for sending me to the moon.”

He pulled her on top of him and kissed her. It was slow and intimate. The kind of kissing no one told him was more intoxicating than all the quick makeout sessions he had when he was younger.

“Do you think I can get you past it?” He asked.

“Past what?”

“Past the moon,” he said.

She laughed. “I mean, I guess anything's possible, but I'm not sure how you're going to top what you just did.”

“Well, I've got all day, and my only plans involve me showing you how much I missed you. So, tell me what to do and I'll take you wherever you want to go.”

Want more Quinn & Sarah? Check out the Snapshots Masterlist

To read all my fics, check out the Fanfiction Masterlist

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes fan fic #quinn hughes smut #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #Quinn & Sarah Snapshots #quinn hughes fanfiction #hockey fic #hockey romance

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ivesambrose · 1 year

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2023 𝓜𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓪𝓰𝓮𝓼 🫧

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HAPPY NEW YEAR and my new year gift to you all. You thought I'd forget huh? 😉

Choose the gif / gifs you feel intuitively pulled towards the most ✨

To book a personal reading with me DM or email me at [email protected] with your name and query 🌙

Services offered

Winter & new years readings

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Gif 1

Themes :

Expansion, learning and exploration.

Messages :

You'll be feeling a lot more youthful and playful compared to the previous months. Like you've been serious and taking things to heart for so long and feeling like Eustace Bagge from Courage the cowardly dog most of the time but now you feel more like Bugs Bunny. This is the best analogy I can give.

Its your turn to inspire the people around you or those who get to meet you this year.

Some of you might pick up cooking as a hobby or profession or would want to start experimenting with recipes at home or better eating in general instead of eating out.

You'll be showered with compliments a lot this year so if anyone tries to dull your shine you know it's irrelevant.

You'll have some decisions to make in terms of career / study opportunities and you will feel indecisive at first as to which is the better option but trust in yourself to choose the best one.

You'll be getting out more or would simply be on your way to something that leads to a lot of financial bliss.

Things will take off soon and suddenly maybe even sudden travel plans and receiving everything at once that might seem overwhelming and you might get anticipation anxiety, certain jitters or just worrying about what's ahead or even improper sleep. But things will be alright. Keep your focus on the bigger picture.

Make that vision board for the love of God.

Romantically you'll have really high standards. Yet I see you nitpicking yourself. Stop that! (pretty please) I do see you being offered love by someone head over heels for you but you'll take your time opening up and be fixated on yourself and your goals for the most part so perhaps a slow burn in that department or you'll just relish in finding a sense of yourself and the career you've always wanted this year.

Gif 2

Themes :

Dreams, imagination, subconscious, spirituality.

Messages :

You'll be focused on the positive and positive only. Seeing things in your favour. Feeling more optimistic, manifesting friends with the same mindset and in turn finding more clarity. I see that some of you have literally put your foot down and decided that, "nope. Show me how good it can get."

You've matured so much and are at this point rather unfazed by the ups and downs life throws at you. You've always made or will be making peace with yourself. That you don't need to plaster a label on your personality and niche yourself down to be more palatable. You're a mix and match of several things and that's perfectly okay.

You may inherent some wealth. Some of you might move to a new house or redecorate your house in a way you've always wanted. You'll feel like you've achieved something tangible this year that you're really proud of.

There may be a moment where you look back at the past and judge yourself harshly. Please refrain from dwelling in this.

You'll be educating yourself on a certain topic you feel drawn to. Possible topics I'm seeing : how your subconscious works, neuroscience, mythology, language, music, skin (dermatology or cosmetology)

I see you letting go of your sorrows because you have faith that what's yours won't pass you by.

A lot of vivid dreams and possible precognitions. Learning to lucid dream as well.

Romantically I'm sensing there's someone that matches your energy. They will end up being your muse or you'll end up being theirs. You'll grow closer when you least expect it even though you'll intuitively see it coming.

Gif 3

Themes :

Overcoming a dark night of the soul, curiosity, collaborations and connections.

Messages :

Oh you're walking away. Literally. People, places, situations, mindsets, mostly manipulation. It's like you finally decided to pack up and leave and the right opportunity showed up for you to do it. I see relief after grief.

You may be managing two jobs/income sources/multiple daily life things. At first it might be difficult but you'll soon get the hang of it and also find time for yourself.

I see some of you getting into skincare and wellness. Even fragrances? Things that make you feel calm and are therapeutic. You have neglected yourself for a long time so now that you've finally decided to make yourself priority little things like this feel like therapy almost. As if you're pretending to be in a vouge beauty secrets video just for yourself.

I would like to remind you, if no one has. I'm very proud of you.

There will be a lot of boundaries you'll establish this year. Be mindful not to end up being too sharp tounged to people who really do mean well. Not everyone is out to get you.

Things are changing this year and even if this change feels uncomfortable due to its newness. Its something you've been wanting. Also, improved finances. Sudden windfall even. Making the right connections that lead you to your own growth be it personal growth or growth in business or otherwise. By the end of the year you'll feel like you have more than enough. That you don't need to feel on the edge all the time. Like the bright sunny morning has finally come after a long stormy night.

Gif 4

Themes :

Self expression, travel, foreign cultures and strength.

Messages :

I can hear Freddie Mercury sing, "I want to break free." loud and clear near my ears.

I see you rebranding and reconstructing yourself. It reminds me of Maxine looking at the mirror and saying, "I will not accept a life I do not deserve."

I actually see that something that has been challenging for you suddenly just being swept away. Like you really don't have to physically exhert yourself so much. Drop the baggage my loves. Not yours to carry this year.

Its okay to manifest or seek the easiest ways. Simplify things for yourself.

I see a lot of you just realizing your worth and falling in love with yourself. Looking the way you want, dressing the way you want, courting yourself and taking yourself out on dates to the point your standard is you yourself. Honestly? Truly? Love that for you.

You'll be very determined. Like nothing stands in between you and your desires. You know what is yours. Period.

You'll realize how a simple perspective shift and not forcing yourself to do something or reacting is the key to getting what you want.

Some of you will love to document moments for yourself a lot. Maybe invest in a Polaroid camera or digital or point and shoot camera for yourself.

There's so much creative spark around you, I just see you going at with no desire for perfection. Simply fun.

You'll reap your rewards especially monetary. And have several projects to look forward to. One symbol that might follow you are spiders or spider webs or little stars when something good is about to happen.

Romantically? Oh you will be pursued alright but why am I getting y'all just don't pick up on hints? I'm literally hearing the song Loco by Itzy for y'all. So you'll be having an impact on maybe many people but you'll be oblivious to it. I think you're choosing peace and harmony so you'll rather want to be around who feels the same and go with the flow.

If you're already taken I just see more harmony and cooperation in your existing relationship.

#Pick a card #PAC #pick a card 2023 #pick a card reading #2023 Messages #Spirituality #psychic readings #tarot readers of tumblr #Pick a pile

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runningfrom2am · 8 months

Text

i am a god

summary: after a fatal bar fire leaves the whole city distraught, your best friend can’t help but notice that you couldn’t care less.

pairing: jj maybank x fem!reader

wc: 3.9k

tags/warnings: possession, violence, blood, gore, s/h elements, death, all that fun stuff. also reader is a psycho. semi-platonic jj x reader, SOME jjiara (i couldnt resist- sorry kie girl ily), implications of a non-straight reader, manipulation.

a/n: this is for day one of obx week!! day one: au with jj maybank! if you couldn’t tell by now, i went with a jennifer’s body au. don’t ask why, it honestly just came to me in a raven simone style vision and i honestly hate the final product. but i thought it was so perfect getting into the spooky season :)

i hope you enjoy and i’ll see you again tomorrow for my first ever john b fic!!

disclaimer!! : please be mindful of the warnings on this one! there are references to assault and violence and self-harm so if any of this is disturbing for you please do not read this! come back tomorrow for some fluff :)

masterlists // nav

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join my taglist here

"JJ, it's literally not that deep. Don't be a baby. It'll be fun." You scoff, throwing your bag over your shoulder as you get up off his bed.

"For you, maybe. I don't get why I have to come." JJ sighs, following you down his hallway anyways as you sway your hips in the cocky way you always do.

"Because we're best friends. Duh."

"Okay, sure, but what am I meant to do when you ditch me to go hook up with the lead singer like you're insisting you will?"

"His name is Rafe Cameron, and he's an absolute rocket." You giggle. "You're not gonna join us?" You tease, turning to him and tilting your head.

"No, Y/N. I'd really rather not." JJ pushes your hands away as you reach out to fix his shirt.

"You're so boring, J." You pout, huffing and walking out the door. As usual, JJ follows like a lost puppy.

At school the next day, all anyone can talk about is how the bar you had been in got burnt down. All JJ can think about is that awful dream he had after he saw you off in the bands van, leaving him behind to go have sex with Rafe Cameron. The dream that you'd come back to his house, eaten all his food, and puked this awful black liquid all over his floor before trying to attack him, hesitating, and then running out- he even dreamt that he cleaned it all up. The uneasy feeling in his gut the only tangible evidence of the event.

"JJ, would you believe it if I told you he genuinely believed I was a virgin?" You whisper in the boys ear, coming seemingly out of nowhere and draping your arm over his shoulder in the school hallway.

"Honestly? No, I wouldn't." JJ replies, slamming his locker shut. "He must have been dumber than I imagined."

You giggle, taking a step back from him to lean against the lockers. "Even so, the sex was subpar at best. It was really upsetting. Almost traumatic, even." You sigh dramatically.

"Can't you have the slightest bit of empathy? People died last night, Y/N." JJ whispers, hoping you're not drawing too much attention to them in the quieter than normal hallway.

You roll your eyes. "Loosen up, Jayj. It's literally not that deep."

"It is, actually!" JJ replies, shocked as you start to walk away.

"Love ya! Catch you later." You blow him a kiss and strut off, leaving him to shake his head in embarrassment. You've always been a force to reckon with, and truly no one understood why the two of you were friends, but even this was out of character for you.

Later that day, Topper Thornton had turned up dead in the forest behind your school. You had paid no mind. It had been a month since then, and JJ saw you in person less and less, despite how close you always had been. You called him frequently though, hushed voices crackling over the landline late at night to make up for missed time.

He took the opportunity of you not incessantly calling him to invite over his girlfriend. Kie had always put up with your friendship, but she wasn't your biggest fan- the way you walked all over him never rubbing her the right way. Why would it? Regardless, she was thankful to spend some time with him one on one without you there to ruin her mood.

It's when JJ freezes on top of her, muttering about how something is wrong and he needs to find you, that Kie snapped. Internally, that is. That was the final straw. She would go to the upcoming formal with him, and then they were done. She just couldn't take it anymore. JJ didn't really care that when both of them fled his house to their separate cars, Kie had left in a huff with a slam of her door. He was only really worried about you.

The panic rose in his chest as he got on his bike, revving up the engine and taking off. He didn't know where he was driving, just that he was driving to you. He took a right onto a dead street he hardly ever drove down, scanning the dark street based only on his gut feeling that you were close. What he didn't expect, was seeing you stumble out of the woods, if that even was the word, covered in blood as the red fluid dropped down your chin.

He screams, swerving out of the way as you stop right in his path, almost rolling his bike in an attempt to not hit you. He screeches to a stop at the side of the street, looking around frantically with his chest heaving. You were gone. JJ thinks he's going crazy- did he see what he thought he saw? There's no way, right?

As he shakes his head to knock some sense into himself, he looks forward and sees you standing right in front of him again. "Hi, J." You smile. Did you always have fangs?

JJ screams again, hammering the reverse and flying back on the bike, frantically turning around and speeding off. Whatever that was was not you. That was not his best friend.

In his panic and fear, he made it home and screamed for his father who JJ, for the first time ever, wished was home. Of course he wasn't. He sighs and wipes away his fearful tears, running upstairs to his room and crawled into bed in the dark. He lets out a sigh of relief- finally, he should be able to sleep, hellbent on admitting himself to a psych ward first thing in the morning. He must be losing his mind.

"Hi." He jolts up when he hears you speak, cheery as ever and feels you shift beside him to sit up.

"Oh my god!" He screams, leaping out of bed and smacking the light on.

"God, JJ- enough with the screaming! You're such a pussy." You say, kneeling on his bed in nothing but one of his t-shirts and your underwear.

"Get out!" JJ shouts in response, cutting you off and pointing to the door.

You pout, placing your hands on your lap. "But we always share your bed when we have slumber parties." JJ takes in your appearance. You were clean, head to toe; not a hair out of place or a drop of blood to be seen.

He doesn't say anything, breathing heavily as he stares at you in partial relief. He may be crazy, but at least you're not trying to kill him. You sit up on your knees and move to the edge of his bed, reaching out to him with a small smile on your face. "I'm not gonna bite you..." You smile, placing your hands on his shoulders, gently rubbing them.

"I'm afraid you might." JJ mutters, uncertain as he feels you play with the hair at the back of his neck.

Your smile grows slightly and you pull your lower lip between your teeth. "Only if you want me to." You shrug, suddenly leaning in. Closer, closer, until your lips are almost touching.

JJ is horrified, frozen as you brush your thumb over his bottom lip before ever so gently pushing your lips together. He can't even bring himself to close his eyes while you kiss him, but something draws him into the temptation to kiss you back. Eventually, as you lay back on the bed, he lays over you and kisses you again, in some sort of trance as you hook your leg up over his hip.

"Wait- what the fuck is happening?" He quickly pushes himself off of you and sits up.

"My god, J bug, what's gotten into you?" You chuckle, sitting up again and tilting your head at him in a way he's all too familiar with.

"I saw you! I saw- I saw you in the street covered in blood and now you're just here like nothing happened and we're kissing and I have a girlfriend and you know that and I-" JJ rambles on in a panic, trying desperately to figure out what is going on with him.

"Blah, blah, blah-" You cut him off. "Slow down, tardy slip. You sound like a sped."

"I'm gonna call the police." JJ nods, settling on what he has to do, even if he doesn't know how they'll help.

"Uh, okay, why don't you narc me out? I have the cops in my back pocket. I'm fucking a cadet, remember?" You say smugly, crossing your legs and leaning back.

"What do you want from me?" JJ sighs. He knows you're right, and he's crazy anyways- so what would calling the cops even do?

"I just want to explain some things to you." You admit. "Besides, best friends don't keep secrets. Right?"

JJ just nods, waiting for you to continue.

"'Kay, so remember the night of the fire? I got really messed up. And those guys from Low Shoulder, Rafe's band, are like totally evil. They're basically like agents of Satan with really awesome haircuts." You explain the whole ideal- how you insisted you were a virgin and they should find someone with more experience if their plan was assault. True fear like none other completely enveloped you, up until you passed out from blood loss and pain from their masochistic ritual- all in an attempt to get famous. From the second you left JJ's side at the burning dive bar you knew something wasn't right. Fear was the last emotion you felt, but you left that, and the fact that you were screaming for him in what should have been your final moments, out of the story.

"They killed you..." JJ mutters, a tear dropping quickly from his eye and staining his shirt.

"Well I'm still here, aren't I?" You scoff, seemingly unfazed now by the horrific events. "I mean, they did go all Benihana on my ass with that knife and it should have killed me, but for some reason it didn't."

JJ shifts uncomfortably. "Maybe it did."

"Anyway," You quickly brush off his comment, avoiding his eyes as you pick at your nails. "I don't really remember what happened after that. I just know that I woke up and I found my way back to you."

"I remember." JJ nods. He wasn't dreaming- it was real. It was all real, and he curses himself for not checking his trash to see if he really had cleaned up your mess that night.

"I couldn't bring myself to hurt you." You smile softly at him, leaning now on your elbow. "I mean, I'm a really good friend, but I was just so hungry. And ever since then, I just knew what I had to do to be strong."

JJ goes to speak, trying to understand but he has so many questions, when you just continue anyways. "And when I'm full, like I am right now, I'm like, unkillable." You say, a smug tone to your voice. "Like, I can do shit like this. Watch."

You grab a pen from beside the bed, and before JJ can even get a word out you're plunging the tip into your forearm and dragging it down towards your wrist. His eyes widen in horror, reaching out for you as you remove the metal from your arm. "It's really cool! Just watch, look." You stop him, the lighthearted tone of your voice settling him only slightly as he watches the blood drip down your skin. Within moments, all of the blood retreats the way it came, back into your body as the deep cut seals back up.

You smile and make a sucking noise, mimicking the one your skin made as the cut completely disappeared. "It's like some X-Men shit, right?"

JJ watches in awe and confusion, staring at the place on your arm where your skin should still be broken. "What do you mean, 'when you're full'?" He asks after a moment, eyes returning to yours again. "Why were you covered in blood?"

Your smile fades quickly as you look back at him, unsure how to explain. Or if you want to.

"You didn't even look human." JJ adds, genuine fear and worry behind his eyes.

"You know, J-Bug, maybe you should talk to somebody about these disturbing thoughts that you're having..." You shake your head at him as you speak. "We're all really concerned. Especially Kie."

JJ shakes his head and stands up. He didn't expect you to gaslight him, especially when you just showed him to his face that you're invincible now, and now that he knows what really happened to you the night of the fire. "I think she may be having second thoughts about you." You continue, and he's fed up. He points to the door dejectedly.

"Leave." He tells you firmly.

"Come on, JJ, let me stay the night." You plead. "We can play boyfriend-girlfriend like we used to." It sounds like you're offering it to him, like it should be something tempting, but it isn't to him. Or at least he thinks it shouldn't be- but in reality he would love nothing more than to let you stay.

He sighs, looking away from you. He knows he wouldn't be able to say no. You nod almost sadly to yourself and get up, pulling your pyjama pants on before climbing up to the window.

"What are you doing?" He asks as he turns, seeing you go to the window instead of the door as you climb up onto the ledge.

"Uhm, you said to leave. See you at school." You reply snarkily, and before he says anything else, you're gone.

After attending another funeral for a boy JJ hardly knew and then one for a girl he also hardly knew, with new information knowing that his best friend was the one doing this, he couldn't just sit on it. He had to do something, he had to figure out what was wrong with you. He started with something he never did; reading.

He concluded after weeks of reading, that you're possessed. More specifically, by a succubus; and he's going to have to kill you. A blade to the heart when you're at your weakest. Even though he hasn't spoken to you since you left his room that night, he doesn't know if he can do it. But he certainly can't sit and watch while you kill every boy or girl in your school and eat them for brunch.

His breakup with Kie was hard- but she didn't believe him. He could see it in her eyes when he tried to explain that she thought he was crazy- that he needed help. To Kie, of course he would ditch their plans to go to the dance together just to "watch" you. She should have known that he was always going to choose you.

As she walks to the spring formal all alone, her lavender dress swaying in the breeze, she's startled by the sound of a bird flapping its wings not far away. When she turns back around, she's faced with you. "Kie, didn't you hear me calling your name?" You ask, ignoring how startled she already seems.

"You weren't." Kie looks you over. Under your makeup your eyes are sunken, you look tired and thin- despite any attempts made to cover it up.

"Yes I was." You insist.

"I-I couldn't hear it." She stutters, uneasy with the interaction already.

"Listen, I need to talk to you about you-know-who." You say, wringing your hands in front of you as if you're nervous. "Our little J-Bug."

Kie nods a little. While she's never been your biggest fan, it seems that you do have his best interest at heart. You're worried about him too. You grab her hand and lead her off towards the old pool building so you can talk somewhere more private.

"He's been... acting a little off." Kie says as you head up towards a wooded area.

You sigh, stopping and turning to face her. "Look, I think I know what's wrong with him."

"What? What is it?"

"You know how JJ has been really upset since Sophie Mally died?" You say, dropping her hand. Kie nods, looking confused. "Well, it's not just because she was like, brutally murdered and stuff." You hesitate, bringing a hand up to your head. "I don't want to say this, I-"

"Just say it." Kie insists, already battling with what she knew you were about to say.

"JJ and Sophie were intimate." You say, suddenly showing no hesitation. "And by that, I mean they were porking on a semi-regular basis." Any empathy in your tone and face was long gone, Kie could see that, but it looked like you were trying.

She just shakes her head a little, avoiding looking at you. It's not entirely beyond the realm of possibility that he was cheating, and hearing someone you're close with get murdered could cause a mental break like the one he was clearly having. She just expected that if he was ever to cheat, that it would have been with you. She didn't want to believe it, though.

"Trust me, they were doing things you've never even heard of. Total varsity moves." You add when she doesn't reply.

"Okay, Y/N! I get it!" She snaps, surprisingly making you smile.

"I just, you know- I can't believe he would mess with you like that. I told him it was wrong, that he shouldn't do that to you but I was totally caught in the middle. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner... I was just scared, I guess." You explain, smile faltering towards the end. "I didn't want to hurt him, but I see now how it could hurt you more. I didn't want anyone to get hurt. Truly. I care about you both so deeply."

Kie chews on her lip as she listens. If you were in her shoes, it would be really hard. She understands why you wouldn't tell her, even if she needed to know.

"I care about you so much, Kie." You add, grasping her hand again. "More than I have ever had the guts to admit."

You step closer, running your hand up her arm now. "JJ didn't deserve a girl like you."

As JJ stands inside the gym, basking in the sickening irony of Low Shoulder agreeing to play at their formal, he faces the nerves that he hasn't seen you yet. Thankfully, he also hasn't seen Kie, who he begged not to come. She was stubborn, like you, so he expected his ex to show up anyways just to spite him.

As he lifts the plastic cup of punch up to his lips, he gets a shiver that reverberates through all his bones like he just jumped in a frozen lake. Kie. Your voice echoes in his mind, and suddenly it's no wonder he hadn't seen either of you there.

He rushes out of the building following only his gut instinct- like when he got on his bike all those weeks ago. His intuition will take him to you.

By the time he runs away from the school, through the forested area and up to the pool house, he can hear Kie screaming for help. He rushes in through a window, stumbling over the overgrown vines and his eyes land on you and Kie in the dirty pool. "Kie!" He shouts, making only brief eye contact with her before you turn from where you had your back to him. Your jaw looked almost unhinged- and there were those fangs again, this time covered in the blood of his ex girlfriend while the colour drains from her skin.

He dives in without another thought, attempting to pull you off of her, shoving you away as quickly as he can. Under the water you see the two of them- JJ between Kie and you. You can't hurt him. You just can't. They scramble to get out of the water and you find yourself levitating out instead- it's more graceful, that way. Kie should be embarrassed, you think- suppressing the urge to laugh at her as they struggle.

"She can fly?" Kie coughs out, blood pouring from the puncture wounds in her neck now.

"I guess!" JJ replies, just as your feet land on the ground. "Y/N- this is insane! You can't keep killing people!"

"God, you just don't get it." You scoff, crossing your arms.

"No, I do. I do, I know what's going on with you." He insists, still standing between you and Kie.

You shake your head, rolling your eyes at him. "God, J-Bug, don't you care about me at all? If you know everything about me like you say you do, you should know I have to do this."

"You don't! If you were the Y/N I knew you would have killed yourself to avoid this." JJ says, and the air gets thick. "You were never a good friend to me! When we were little you broke my toys, poured juice in my shoes, not to mention all the weed you never paid me a dime for, but you would never do this."

"And now I'm eating your girlfriend." You scowl. "See? At least I'm consistent."

"Why do you need her?" He asks, dirty water dripping from his hair and down his face and neck. "You could have anybody that you want, Y/N. So... why Kie?"

"Ugh, god. Boys are so dumb sometimes." You chuckle to yourself. "You know why."

JJ's chest is heaving as he takes in your appearance. You look nothing like you used to.

"You're actually gonna make me say it?" You laugh, Kie jumping a little where she's sitting on the ground behind him, startled by the loud noise. "Because you're my boyfriend. I have loved you for years in a way no one else ever has. A way no one else ever will."

"Do you mean that?" JJ mutters.

"JJ!" Kie gasps, shocked that he would even consider believing this crap.

"Every word, babe." You smile softly, nodding as you step closer to him.

"JJ, come on! You can't be buying this!" Kie cries out.

"I mean it, I swear." You say again, attempting to drown her out as you place a hand on his cheek. He flinches only slightly before leaning into your touch. "I pinky promise."

For the first time in months, you were being real- you had the energy to be yourself, despite the fact that you were starving. You couldn't live a life like this without him, and you wouldn't leave him behind.

"Come with me." You whisper, leaning closer. "We can be perfect together, J."

He glanced briefly down at Kie, who no longer has the energy to protest.

"Don't you love me?" You ask, jutting your lip out in a familiar pout and you tilt your head.

"I.. I do, yeah." He nods, his voice barely above a whisper.

"This will only be a pinch, J-Bug." You smirk, kissing him briefly, softly, before moving quickly down to his shoulder and biting down on his soft skin. He cries out until you pull away, a small smile forming on your blood stained lips.

You've never looked more beautiful to him.

taglist: @outerbankszn, @wh0reforbucknasty, @enamoredofbella, @maybankspov, @always-reading, @casualsludgeshoetoad, @sagcas-latte, @taurusvic, @madelynie, @whore-4-drewstarkey, @slut4drudy, @winterrrnight, @totalswag, @sadfury, @peachprairie, @dilvcv, @justtrying2getby, @maybaenk, @chenslucy, @hxnnah-397, @s-we-e-t-t-ea, @ragingsammie, @ietss @maybankslover, @redhead1180, @lovelyxtommy

#obxweek23 #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #jj x reader #jj obx #jj blurb #jj maybank x you #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank imagine #outer banks #obx #obx fic #obx fanfiction

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lailoken · 11 months

Note

hello Lailoken. I've been practicing my craft for over 6 years now and I've spent so much time researching, experimenting and worshipping. I take my craft very seriously. but no matter how hard I work, I can't seem to see my gods and spirits visually. I feel them in omens and in the way magic works when they're called on, and I even interact with them in dreams. but no matter what I do, I can't see them manifested visually when awake. do you think i'm doing something wrong? 😔

I'm sorry you're struggling with these doubts, dear Anon, but know that you are not alone. I have had multiple people express similar concerns to me in the past. The thing is, what you are describing about your interactions is what actual communion with numinous wights looks like for the vast majority of seekers!

I'm not totally sure how the concept of spirits taking consistent physical shape has become at all widespread, though my guess would be that much of it comes from very literal readings of mythology and representations of spirits in fantasy media. The truth, however, is that such interactions with spirits are not the norm by any stretch of the imagination. I won't claim that this isn't the case for anyone, as I don't like to claim certainty of most things, and people can be quite unique. But to be extremely frank, if you are seeing a lot of practitioners talking about seeing their spirits as if they are clearly and physically visible, they are almost certainly lying in order to self-aggrandize or experiencing some sort of psychosis. I realize that's a fairly serious statement, but I firmly stand by it.

Can spirits be gleaned as if physically seen? Yes, I think so. There may even be some people who are more prone to seeing such things than others. But I think those sorts of experiences are extremely rare, and people who say otherwise should be treated with wariness.

In my lifetime of practice, I have had visual experiences of this sort only a handful of times, and none of them was anywhere near as cinematic or dramatic as some might claim. I have seen hazy, luminous, and humanoid shapes in the periphery of my vision when working with the Fae, which were gone as soon as I tried to look at them. I have seen shadows coalesce in the benighted woods to take on the hyperrealistic look of an eerily grinning face, only to dissipate as candlelight revealed the scene further. I have seen the foam of running water take on shockingly distinct animal shapes when working with a river spirit, which turn to rushing foam again as soon as I focus on them. Aside from one bizarrely palpable experience I had as a young child—which has never been repeated, despite my explorations— these are what physical manifestations look like for me, and even these situations are few and far between.

When my Kith interact with me, I, too, experience it through omens, feelings, and dreams, and they are not any less real or powerful for it. In fact, I would argue that dreams are the place where one has the best ability to truly interact with spirits in a tangible way; its just a matter of training yourself to recognize and interpret different types of dreams. Working on lucid dreaming can also be extremely useful.

So, to answer your last question: no, I don't think you are doing anything wrong. It sounds to me like you are cultivating a meaningful and honest relationship with your spirit kith, and I encourage you to keep at it without comparing yourself to others on the internet. After all, it's difficult to determine when someone is offering earnest wisdom or just playing dress up, but you know your own experiences.

#witchcraft #traditional withcraft #spirits #spirit work #spirit evocation #evocation #the sight #witch tips

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misteria247 · 4 months

Text

It's a quiet, bitter affair. Christmas, once a time of magic and wonder, now was nothing more than another brutal reminder. Another reminder that he was alone, another reminder that the ones he loved where no longer with him. A season meant for family and friends, was now nothing more than salt being rubbed into a wound that wouldn't heal no matter how long it'd been.

The Ronin didn't like Christmas. For very obvious reasons.

However this year he didn't really have a choice but to somewhat partake in the holiday. The lair, belonging to an alternate version of the Hamato clan, was decked out in lights, tinsel and other decorative items. Turtles, all of varying ages and time periods were in festive clothing or hats, whether they wanted to or not. Christmas music played in the background while the occupants of said lair was chatting with one another or doing something in the holiday season. The Ronin sat quietly in his corner, away from the festivities and cheerful atmosphere. Instead choosing to keep to himself as he usually did since he'd met his and his family's counterparts. The older turtle quietly watched all the younger turtles and their masters and friends, watching as the youngest turtles of each clan interacted with their loved ones.

He watched as each orange clad turtle clung to his family, each one of them with a bright smile or cheerfulness surrounding them. He watched as each group of turtles dotted on their respective orange clad baby brother. Whether it be through teasing or playful bickering or through small touches and head pats. The love between them tangible and suffocating.

'I've gotten you a gift my son, I spent a lot of time trying to find it. I hope you like it.'

The Ronin closed his eyes as he remembered his father's beaming face as he was handed a gift.

'Mikey, if you don't get me out of these Christmas lights you're gonna regret it!'

Visions of his big brother clad in red strung up in bright lights from their decoration escapeds.

'I managed to find a Christmas tree in the dump! I can fix it up and we can use it!'

Flashes of a brilliant purple clad brother, his immediate eldest one, showing up with a broken tree that they'd use every year once fixed.

'Wanna help me wrap some presents Mikey?'

Vivid images of a blue clad brother, the eldest of them all smiling at him with a twinkle in his eyes. Memories flickering in his head, like an old black and white movie. So distant and faraway and faint in some cases. Of Christmases shared and filled with warmth and laughter once upon a time.

The Ronin shook his head slightly, banishing the once beloved memories, now tainted with a bitter despair and grief. He forced himself to return to the present, where laughter and warmth were surrounding this strange lair, and where he felt like a bystander looking in on what was once his life. But now no longer was.

The Ronin didn't like Christmas. For many it was warmth and joy and happiness. For him it was empty and cold and lonely, it'd been this way for decades now. Never changing, even when surrounded by the holiday spirit, it never truly left him. But he wouldn't have to endure this feeling for much longer. The older ninjutsu turtle gripped his coat a bit closer to him, thinking about his mission.

Soon, if God allowed it.......he'll finally be free and back with the ones he loved.

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bibuddie · 1 year

Text

in a flash

1.1k | read on ao3

his brain didn't register the sensation of his body smashing into the asphalt, nor did it alert him to the chaos it sent his team into. no, his brain had a much bigger agenda to attend to. his vision turned white as searing pain made him breathless for a milisecond, before he allowed the darkness to consume him whole.

(or: buck has a near death experience, ruminates on the past, and thinks about his future.)

spoilers for 6x11! tw for mentions of canon-typical injury!

they say that when you’re about to die, your life flashes before your eyes. a highlight reel, showing you all the key moments that defined your time. nobody remembers their 7th birthday or what they had for lunch on the third tuesday of their thirty-second year. it’s the big things, that’s what buck always thought.

until lightning struck.

lightning struck, and suddenly buck was weightless, flying through the air. in the three or four seconds it took for him to hit the ground, he wasn’t afraid. he didn’t feel paralyzing fear about what he did say or what he didn’t. instead, he was overcome with a strong sense of calm. like nothing was wrong. like his life wasn’t ending. it’s funny, isn’t it? the way minds work?

memories swirl in his mind in flashes, his childhood giving him nothing really tangible to hold onto. he smells fresh pine and tastes the summer rain and hears maddie calling his name oh so sweetly, evan falling like music from her lips. flashing forward to his teenage years and he hears his mom sighing, his name coming from her lips feeling more like daggers. he smells his dad's overpriced cologne which seemed to permeate every crevice in the house, and thanks god he threw away the bottle he got for christmas during his fifteenth year.

early adulthood crashes over him like the waves used to hit the beach in peru next to the bar where he worked. he tastes the salt air on his tongue and feels the sand slipping through his fingers and wonders how to get the feeling back. he longs for things to be that simple again, and the yearning burns hot right in his chest, front and centre.

suddenly, the burning intensifies and feels like it's trying to split him open. he opens his mouth to scream, but nothing comes out. sound dulls out and he can't feel anything, and he fears that just like the sand all those years ago on his favourite beach, time is slipping too fast through his fingers. he almost gives in, almost decides to lean into the inky abyss set out before him, when—

you can have my back any day.

for the first time in what could be a minute or a second or even an hour, buck has something tangible to hold onto. he has something to ground him, something to tether him to reality. he hangs onto the words for dear life, holding them as close to himself as he possibly can. they’re weighty in his hands, full of promise and meaning that he can’t quite put his finger on and they feel like they fit. they feel like they belong to him, like he should be holding them.

sometimes a few choice words can be the life raft that gets you home.

his sternum is ablaze once again, knocking the air from out of his lungs and forcing him to his knees. he curls his fingers and his toes, mouth open in a soundless cry.

there’s nobody in this world i trust with my son more than you.

oh. it hits buck in an instant. eddie. he needs eddie. eddie’s always been the one to keep his head screwed on properly, making sure he’s thinking rationally. eddie’s always been his anchor and his saviour and his best friend and his partner all rolled into one, and buck’s overcome with the need to tell him. he swallows past the fire raging in his throat, clambering to his feet and looking for a way out. looking for a way to get to eddie. he opens his mouth to yell. once.

because, evan.

he opens his mouth a second time, sucking down gulps of air like he’s trying to consume all of the oxygen on the planet, simultaneously both smothering and stoking the fire raging inside.

you act like you’re expendable.

he feels like he’s getting somewhere, like maybe he’s getting closer to the surface of…wherever he is. he needs to find eddie. he needs to—

but you’re wrong.

buck loses time then, and he’s unsure how long’s passed before he comes back to his senses. his fingers twitch, and his left hand scratches against cold cotton, while his right curls around a warm mass. there’s the sound of metal scratching against linoleum, heightening the pounding in buck’s head and forcing him to fight the urge to vomit. he thinks he must make a noise, but is quickly soothed by a gentle touch to his cheek.

“buck? can you hear me?” eddie asks quietly, almost reverently, like he can’t quite believe what’s happening. buck thinks he manages to choke out a moan, his fingers curling around eddie’s once more. he hears a quiet, choked-off sob before he attempts to open his eyes the first time. he’s almost blinded by the harsh white light, immediately closing his eyes again. he swallows hard, opening his eyes a second time, his blurry vision landing on the tiled ceiling. he blinks a couple of times, clearing his vision as his senses come back to him slowly. he hears a choked off sob to his right, and he musters up the energy to roll his head to the side, locking eyes with a teary-eyed eddie. he wets his lips, managing to choke out a croaky “hey.”

eddie smiles at buck warmly, and the last piece of the puzzle slots into place, eddie looking at buck just as he always had. like he understood what he was trying to say without him needing to utter a single word. like he was well aware of just how buck felt. like he saw buck - all of the good, all of the bad, and that he loved him all the same.

to be seen.

to be found.

isn’t that what we’re all searching for?

buck’s fingers curl once again around eddie’s, a solemn promise he can’t yet put words to. a confession and an oath all in one. as his eyes begin to feel heavy once again, he knows he’ll look back on this day fondly. he knows this is the moment he’ll tell his kids about — about how his entire life changed, how his perspective shifted, and it all happened in a flash.

#evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #911 on fox #buddie fanfic #buddie fic #rebecca writes #911 spoilers #911 speculation #this is my first fic in six months pls be nice i beg thank u mwah

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the-valiant-valkyrie · 1 year

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okay you know what. i joked about it before, but i'm actually kind of tired of the automatic response to maxwell's actions in encore being "he has a plan" or "he's playing double agent" or something along those lines. he might be, he might not be- currently we don't know. but the point of the matter is in the grand scheme of things that doesn't really matter.

it feels as though people aren't really paying attention to the fact that charlie is. you know. manipulating him? that she's playing max like a god damned fiddle? that the entirety of encore was seemingly planned from the very start?

lets go through the short again piece by piece:

maxwell starts off alone. considering that- at the end of the short, the others eventually found him- they couldn't have been too far away from him. this implies that charlie was waiting for a proper moment to strike, rather than simply coming in at any random time.

not only did the rose vines actively trip him, and not ONLY did he fall directly in front of a newly overgrown statue of him, but he ALSO fell in the direct line of sight of a rook. this is not only a presumable act of emotional manipulation (she pretty much picked him up and dropped him right in front of a big sign with "Fuck You Idiot" written on it), but she also purposefully endangered him! do you really think its just coincidence that this animation completely dominated by chess metaphors begins with an attack from a rook? if it was just there from happenstance, it would have gored maxwell alive after he fell unconscious. its presence was entirely pre-planned. she wounded him completely on purpose.

i really don't even NEED to talk about all the flashback scenes. if you don't understand how that's manipulation i'm sorry but you're a little bit too far gone. seeing charlie as he knew her before- seeing the good memories he had with her, seeing the success he had, and seeing how he ruined it all with his obsession over the codex. pre-encore update he couldn't even LOOK at the codex without thinking about her. she could be about to kill him and he STILL tried reaching out to her. he's been waiting his entire LIFE for this conversation- to apologize, to speak with her. and when he finally gets it, it's charlie who dominates the conversation. who twists it so he can't even get the words out.

"if only you had let me in". accompanied with the previous flashbacks, that line alone is horribly insidious. and the worst part is, it isn't incorrect. he should have done that- back when he had a chance to fix his mistakes. but that isn't what charlie is referring to. the past can't be altered- they both know that. the only reason charlie is saying this at all is to goad him into siding with her. to picking the choice she's pointing him in the direction of. "you didn't let me in before. it ruined your life- my life. our life. obviously you're going to make the same mistake now."

whether its a hallucination or dream or not, being haunted by and in the clutches of shadow creatures is bound to take a toll on his sanity. even with the benefits from his suit. the terrorbeaks, the watchers, the flashbacks, the presence of the woman he hasn't seen in decades. if you don't think that's taking a toll on his mind you're lying to yourself. when charlie phantoms up the chess board, you can see it squeezing him, and him wincing in response. even after it lets him go, he can't do anything but pant on the floor. vision or not, it is having a tangible effect on him

after everything charlie does, she cleans him up. but the thing is, everything wrong with him (aside from his hair, pretty much) was her fault. tripping down the hill, the bruises from the rook, his mental disarray from her shadow creatures. she's undoing what she willingly plagued him with- but in a way that gains his favor, despite the fact she was the catalyst

the use of the rose- the same thing that linked the two of them when times were less troublesome- again plays into that insidiousness of linking the past and the present. if it was the correct course of action back then, it must be now, right? she's using not only his emotional attachment to her, but his remorse for the wrong course of action to make him think this one is the right one.

NOT TO MENTION, CHARLIE'S KIND OF LIKE? GOD? I DON'T THINK HE COULD SAY NO TO HER EVEN IF HE WANTED TO? SHE'S GOD?

in conclusion, if the nightmare conglomerate that used to be your ex waited until you were alone, jumped you on the street (which hurts), sicked one of her goons on you (which hurts), uses her nightmare creatures to psychically and physically torment you, brought up the parts of your past that you- to this day- are horribly scarred by, tells you that she'll forgive you "but only if you make the right decision this time", cleans you up and fixes your wounds from the jumping and the gooner attack and the psychic torment (all her fault), then "gives [you] a chance to right [your] wrongs", AND she's also god? sorry. you're not going to say no.

sure, he could feel regretful about it. he could be planning to go against her. he could have figured out her game from the very beginning. but everyone who's clutching their pearls over maxwell's 'betrayal' is acting like charlie just shot him a business card or something. i would NOT blame him if he thought- in that moment- he was doing the right thing.

#dontstarvetogether #dst maxwell #i still dont know how to tag encore #dst encore #idk #ALSO DON'T COME ONTO MY BLOG WITH CHARLIE HATE EITHER. I LOVE CHARLIE. I THINK SHE SHOULD HAVE MANIPULATED HIM TWICE ACTUALLY.#BUT SHE *DID* MANIPULATE HIM. THATS KIND OF IMPORTANT. TO THE PLOT RIGHT NOW.

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autumnpens · 1 year

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✧ immortal insistence ✧

Immortality has its way of insisting upon itself. How do they handle your fleeting moments before you’re gone?

Characters ◦ Venti, Zhongli, Ei, Albedo

Warnings ◦ not proofread, mentions of loss, chronophobia warning (fear of passage of time)

Thoughts ◦ a valentines post?? :0 very last-minute I wrote this up during my study period so there's probably a few spelling/grammatical errors

Words ◦ 631

Venti, who latches himself to you at the hip at every opportunity. He’s lost someone before, and he doesn’t know if he can stand to again. He cherishes every bloom of rose on your cheeks, the resonating sound of your laugh, your hands cascading through his hair. When you leave on a mission, he’s confronted quickly with the idea of your mortality- what’s a bard to do? The better question, what’s a god to do? The cecilia you left him twirled in his hand, he reminisces in the breeze atop starsnatch cliff. He hopes you are feeling the same wind as well, the idea of you being somewhere the wind cannot blow frightening him. Soliloquizing, the windswept bard writes the symphony of your adventures, fashioning a tale worthy of your accomplishments for him to shower you with when you return.

Zhongli, who is disturbed at the idea of losing one another close to him, not to war or destruction, but to the ever-constant erosion of the water of time. Time’s water erodes the rock of stability, the very force capable of breaking his shields aside from you- the one he wishes to protect the most. The retired Archon consults with the only people as well-versed in the flow of time as he; the adepti. He remembers the God of Dust, her subjects, and everyone he has lost to the flow of time. He takes a sip of the tea you had left, calm flooding his veins as he remembers to cherish the time he has with you, however unjustly stilted. If only he could forge a contract to keep you by his side for his immortal life, if you so wished. Impossible, he thinks, though the thought plays in his mind regardless, a melancholy feeling as he awaits your return.

Ei, who nearly latches steadfastly back to her dream of eternity. She fears the idea of losing someone so cherished to her, the memory of Makoto blurring her vision. She breathes, remembering what she had said to an errant traveler an eternity ago- “Even the bitterest of teas, once swallowed, leave a sweetness in the throat.” She lets her concerns ebb and flow, clutching the sakura blooms you had left. How cruel a reminder, the twin petals to the one she has lost, and the one who will fade long before their eternity has been realized.

Albedo, who feels an unfamiliar feeling in his artificial heart. No, not unfamiliar- unsteady. He has felt this before, the skeleton of Durin a stark reminder. He had taken his passing in stride, however, and this is nothing approximating that. This pain is near tangible, like he could grab it if he touched his chest. He is accustomed to being alone, but has grown weary in your abrupt absence. So, he does the only thing he can think of- he throws himself into his work, and when that blows up in his face (quite literally), he turns to art. He sketches the first thing he can think of- you.He fears for the future, one that you are not in, hundreds of years from now. Your mortality crushing him, he fills sketchbooks, fills canvases with oil paints and studies, trying to be able to memorize how light hits your face, the exact fragments of color in your eyes, committing every brushstroke that forms your appearance to memory so that he may be able to still see you long after you're gone. He selects his favorite to show you when you return, imagining your smile that lights a room upon receiving any of his works previous. He smiles, feeling more at ease than he had in the weeks you were gone. You’ll be with him for longer than his anxieties think. Not forever, but long enough.

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talesfromtheasterism · 4 months

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The Starweaver

To the Recipient, Whose Name Will Be Safely Withheld,

I have decided to answer this lofty question of yours. For I do pity your described imposition, stepping from such grand adventures to the suffocating quiet of the Commune. It would be unwise for you to seek this knowledge from your current residence, and through my efforts of trade, despite my reservations on the topic, I must be one of the most well-equipped people alive to inform.

Know this firstly: transit between the realms of the Asterism is a poorly understood process, even to those as well-travelled as myself. They share no tangible borders, separated instead by the fathomless unworld, untouched by the New Tapestry. Yet each realm contains a region where the fabric is frayed - a wide, invisible rift that casts those who enter across the gulf to whatever destination they feel a strong enough requirement to visit. Traders and smugglers such as myself require clarity of purpose to will themselves through time after time, or we simply end up where we started with a moderate headache.

I have made every effort to remain conscious of my surroundings during these aetherial river crossings. Neither the warm alchemies of the Floodlands nor the chilling medicines of Bloodstar could maintain my waking. All I manage is to more keenly feel my lucidity fade as the dream state takes me, and as the faint visions of the unworld dance within the blinding shine of the blue haze. No matter where I enter or exit, or with what narcotics in my veins, she is there every single time.

Only in echoes and shimmers is the Starweaver detected - sometimes only felt, through sixth and seventh senses beyond human reckoning - but her presence is clear and absolute. I hear chrysolite eyes burn through the sapphire. Her radiant painted hat and impossible crystalline robes reach my eyes, with their paradox patterns and non-euclidean folds of gold night and azure sun. What is her pale skin, now? Flesh, still, or the light-bending porcelain of fallen deities? Grooves and spikes, subtle, hidden in her form - have the nephilim changed her, or did she take their traits willingly, as respect? I know she was not born so. I remember times I have never seen or known, as though I knew her as an old friend before godhood. She was younger, lighter, before her blooming of the Weave tempered the spirit. I can almost taste the secrets of where, the land she walked before she fell, before striking their bondage and shattering this prison for gods.

No matter how close I come to further revelations, I suffer the same fate as other pilgrims. I wake from the reverie in my realm of termination, equipped with whatever mercy required to see me safely to mortal civilisation. Should I journey for Port Poiseuille, I stir with sore arms, having rowed a gondola of smooth, iridescent gemstone across the Sea of Solace for an unguessable time. My returns to the Mirror Capital see my eyes open slowly, slumped against the window in a seat of a shuttletrain, coasting upon the star-seas of the Lucid Weave. I've an inkling that the Starweaver herself bridges the realms to allow Asteri to cross, summoning these accommodations to ensure we arrive in good health.

There is no doubt in my mind: she wishes her presence known within the dream, for one of such power could just as easily shield herself from mortal senses. Perhaps this is how she reminds us of her vigil from within the Skyloom - or, more fantasically, perhaps her image steals our attention from horrors of the unworld we are not ready to know. I hear her whispers, sometimes. Her strifeless voice reverberates with many heights and depths, like strings, chords. The words themselves are always obscured, as though of a foreign language - not Ancestral, which I can interpret with some competency. A tongue of gods.

But I can make out one word, occasionally. A name. The one we are chastised as children for uttering in vain, and oft never speak again. Some say, when they think our gods cannot hear, that it is a name stolen from a star in an old world. I wish she could wear it more proudly again. To take identity in theft from the heavens, to rail against ultimate power - that is the mark of defiance the leader of the Asteri should bear.

Her name was Vega. And her dream is our awakening.

Please, make especially certain that this letter is destroyed along with the others. While it is my privilege to convey such exalted topics, the repercussions if we were discovered would be far worse. The Commune does not tolerate attempts to understand those above us, for reasons you are well aware.

We will meet in person again soon. I trust we will have much to organise.

Your Friend in Commerce

Editor's note: this letter was written to one of the Friend in Commerce's anonymous business partners in the Commune of Whispers several years ago. It was originally meant to be burned to hide their dealings, but the recipient handed it back to the Friend when they next met, insisting it be preserved as a testament to the Starweaver. I am again tagging this as OC as is convention, so hopefully describing patron gods as my property doesn't have negative consequences.

#creative writing #fantasy #fantasy world #stars #writeblr #writers #writers on tumblr #writing #asterism #tales from the asterism #oc #original character

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percysoddity · 1 year

Text

Robin knew this was too good to be true. Things had been going a little too smoothly for her taste; a risk free stroll through the hell woods, the coast being totally clear of demon bats and all those other creepy ass venus fly-traps on legs that haunted her and Steve's increasingly frequent sleepovers.

What? It's not like Robin's ever had a girlfriend—sue her, she's touch starved. She's making the most of her equally desperate and clingy best friend.

The giant flesh-monster that stars in most of Robin's night terrors hasn't even made an appearance!

But it wasn't until now, as she looks down at the scorched pavement where the Big Bad should be laying, burned alive and half-blown to bits, that she realises that, 'oh. my worst fears are pretty tangible, actually'.

Because this is the age-old story of 'no body, no dice'.

If they can’t theoretically bury a body, they can’t theoretically put anything to rest.

He’s still out there.

Or not. Either way, they’ll never know, and he’ll always be haunting them. Whether in the creepy ‘I-have-government-sanctioned-mind-control-powers’ way or the plain old ‘you’ll-never-know-if-you’re-truly-safe-and-I-will-be-joining-the-revolving-door-cast-of-your-worst-nightmares’ way (along with the flesh-melty Billy Hargrove zombie and his big pet meat-spider. And Russians, of course).

Robin doesn’t look away from where Vecna/Henry/One should be, and distantly, she wonders why she isn't looking away. She's been staring at nothing but empty space a lot lately.

"We did it?" Steve shouldn't be saying that like a question, Robin muses, eyes starting to go out of focus a little.

Surely he couldn't just… reappear there.

"Yeah… We did it." Nancy manages to actually state it, but it still doesn’t feel like a fact.

Or he could. The kids said he was a wizard. And he disappeared. What’s to stop him from finishing off the magic trick? That's usually how they go, isn't it? Disappear then reappear?

"—Robin?"

"Mmm?"

Robin blinks through the haze and furrows her brow, confused. She doesn’t even have to look up to see who's speaking, Steve’s grabbed her shoulders and turned her. When the hell did he manage that without her noticing?

"Oh, thank God," Nancy gasps from her right, hand loosening on her elbow.

Oh? When did you get here?

"Are you ok?" Nancy continues, "what happened? What did you see?"

Huh? Oh. Oh.

"Ooooooh, no, no no, I didn't—that was just me," Robin scrambles to assure the clearly distressed pair getting in her face. She waves her hands either side of her temples, blowing raspberries. It feels like an especially comical action to make in the Upside Down. You can still blow raspberries in hell, whoda thunk it. She continues talking, ignoring the wayward train of thought in her head, "brain, baaah, bleeehh, uuuh, things. Spiral, or whatever."

Steve hits himself in the head and sags in relief so hard it knocks him back a step. Nancy half-catches him with a hand to the shoulder, and rolls her eyes, but Robin can't tell if the 'pinching the bridge of her nose' thing is directed at Steve's dramatics or Robin's… Whatever it is. It happens.

Robin does clock the way that Nancy pulls her hand away like she's been burned though, even after she gives Steve a very bro-y pat on the shoulder. Hmm. Maybe all that wasn't going the direction Robin thought it was, then.

Ok, so, obviously you can still blow raspberries in hell, but it’s… Like, it's the juxtaposition of it that makes it weird.

"You know," Nancy keeps going, "I think I prefer it when you spiral out loud."

Steve's gaze is stern, which is a weird look on him. "Me too, Jesus.” Then Steve turns to Nancy, a surprisingly steady hand on her shoulder. “Did you see anything like this in your… Vecna Vision or whatever?"

She shakes her head. “Maybe we’ve won. Changed it. Maybe we stopped all the rest from happening.”

Robin realises her gaze has slipped down and out again when Nancy puts her hand against the back of her neck, thumb against her jaw. Whoa. Robin’s gaze snaps up.

“Are you sure you’re ok?”

Robin hears Steve let out a breath through his nose. It’s his worried kind. The one when he’s trying to keep it together for someone else. He does it after nightmares all the time. When did Robin start to know him so well that she can categorise his breaths?

“Yeah,” he says, hand squeezing Robin’s shoulder where he’s still holding her upright, “this happens a bit. when things go a bit…”

“Fucky?”

The experience of hearing Nancy ‘The Priss’ Wheeler say ‘fucky’ out loud makes Robin bark a laugh. One that she immediately reels in.

"I—yeah, sorry guys, I didn't mean to—"

Theoretically, you could also turn your eyelids inside out in hell. Steve might be a little jumpy for pranks at the moment though, so Robin will resist. Hell, even she's jumpy right now.

Hooooo boy, shake it out, Bobby.

She shakes herself, mentally and physically, to expel the energy, and throws her thumbs up. "I'm all good. Now lets—"

An ear-splitting sound feels like it punches Robin in the back of the head, and all three of them whip around to stare into the haunted house they just escaped.

The Clock.

It fucking chimes.

on ao3!

#stranger things #robin buckley #st #fanfic #fic #stranger things fanfic #missing scene #steve harrington #nancy wheeler #ronance #steddie #EVENTUALLY #platonic stobin #platonic soulmates stobin #stranger things season 4

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ac-liveblogs · 1 year

Note

Sorry to bring this up again, but I need to vent a little.

The thing is my biggest problem with 3.3's scaramouche quest is how he didn't really change at all as a character. What has he learn through all this? He learn that his friend never betrayed him and? How does that change his worldview? How is he affected? It's not like I'm saying that he should have undergo a 180 in personality or anything, and I understand that niwa's death and supposed betrayal is far from being the only reason he becomes like this.

But after all this, after basically a suicide attempt, after this whole ass quest, I expect him to at least have some sort of character development.

He gets a cool cutscene of recieving a vision and that's basically it. Apparently, according to his character stories, he did learn something but not everyone got him, so that doesn't change the fact it felt hollow.

But this is genshin so screw playable characters actually changing and developing, that's for NPCs.

(I just need to get this off my chest, cause it feels like I'm the only with this opinion, even if someone doesn't like this quest, it's because of the memory erasure or the 'redemption', both of which I thought the quest did alright. Not great but it could be worse)

Yeah, no, that's literally it. At the end of the day, it's "oh, I was wrong about Niwa, I shouldn't have hurt those people, I need to undo that now". Not, "I shouldn't have hurt those people, period", because he now just wants to hurt the Fatui instead. The Big Lesson was "you were wrong... about the lore!", not "you were wrong... to do awful things!"

And I firmly believe that Scara's suicide attempt was purely an excuse to facilitate him being willing to use Irminsul in the way he did in the first place, rather than something the writers wanted to actually explore in detail. I can say that with great confidence due to the absolute lack of interest HYV had in... actually making Scaramouche culpable for anything he did in a tangible way that involved any members of the main cast or resulted in any kind of karmic retribution, and as an amnesiac he responded to everything he learnt extremely calmly.

It isn't just that Scaramouche never interacts with any playable characters involved in any of this - it's that there are, specifically, playable character whose arcs relate to this event, and there was a whole event about them finding out about it in great detail, and then nothing comes of it. We're really going to spend so much time learning about the decline of the Kaedehara Clan and how that impact Kazuha growing up and his current ideologies, or hover over how Ayato had to salvage the Kamisato Clan from the ashes, and Iradori is gonna be all about Kazuha and Ayaka learning there is someone to blame for it and then just. Nothing

God help me Kazuha's fucking quest-

I genuinely have to wonder what the point of doing any of that was. Was HYV so incompetent that they genuinely used Iradori just to lay the groundwork for the Tatarasuna Mystery without realising that they had also laid the groundwork for... stories involving those characters?

And yeah, it does not escape my notice that HYV conveniently had Nahida's fairytale about kitten!Scaramouche to show us the scenes where Escher told him about Niwa via narration, and as a result they didn't actually have to write those scenes as flashbacks themselves.

Because god knows we wouldn't want to see the character, who is defined by betrayal, react to the betrayal that defines his character. In the chapter where we can see the past via a magic tree. Let's have a fairy tale metaphor. That sounds fun.

It's just so shockingly lazy. It feels like HYV did the bare minimum they could to avoid engaging with Scaramouche's feelings regarding anything that was happening, but slapped the Vision and Nahida's "you deserve to live!" monologue on at the end anyway to make it seem like growth had happened.

#replies #ac plays genshin impact

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good-beanswrites · 1 month

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So, uh, may I request a director's commentary on your attack against me?

Why do you do this to meeee (and masterminding everyone else!!) Lol, well thank you for the ask regardless -- drabble is under the cut with my little commentary in pink!

“Amane, you must – please – !” Shidou’s voice changed from pleading to an icy calmness. “Kazui, hold her still.”

So uhh I made myself sad realizing that no one would speak respectfully to Amane in this state -- Shidou would either use a placating kid-voice or a completely detached doctor voice. Kazui and Mahiru would also be tempted to use a protective kiddy voice, or they just talk amongst themselves and not directly to her...

Amane struggled from his grasp, but there was no hope of success. Even if her little form stood a chance against Kazui’s strength, even if her uniform wasn’t locking her arms in place, she knew she would not manage to draw up any power with all this pain rocking through her body. Her chest stung so that she could hardly breathe. The throbbing from her right eye made her dizzy.

I'm pretty sure the pain would be so overwhelming that it would stop her on its own, but I wanted to point out that she has so many obstacles in her way -- it really does feel like everything in the universe is against her. I wanted to do a lot more with her relationship with her god in this piece (feeling like he isn't there because everything is against her) but it kept sounding detached from the action. I ended up focusing on her tangible relationships rather than spiritual ones

Through her spinning vision, she could see Fuuta nearby. She was struck with the selfish thought that she wished she couldn't. He looked awful. Shidou had rolled him over so he wasn’t lying facedown in blood, but it still clumped in his hair and over his eyes. His arm was stuck at an odd angle.

RIP FUUTA SORRY I INCLUDED HIM DIEDED 😭 Though I did include it to drive home the fact that at this point, even though we the audience knows he makes it, Amane is convinced this is the end for him.

“No,” she gasped. “Stop…”

It was unclear who she was commanding. Shidou? Fuuta? God? Maybe all at once.

She doesn't blame Fuuta per se, but this and a later line hint that she sees him in control of his fate. She was taught that life or death has nothing to do with medicine -- it's willpower and spirit -- so she's urging him to live as if it's something he can control for her sake. Similarly, she's feeling like she can control her own safety, as long as she makes god happy in these moments (which she currently thinks she's failing at by "letting" Shidou do his work)

The room wobbled as a wave of pain washed over her. Shidou’s hands were around her face. Though seeking her eye, he may as well have been covering her mouth with how suffocating it felt. Amane shook her head violently back and forth in an attempt to stop him.

I love Shidou but he definitely needed to be painted very villainous in this. Amane isn't one of his typical patients, and what would be really comforting to anyone else (speaking with calm precision, having strong and unshakable movements, reassuring hands offering care) is really traumatizing to someone who sees it as condemnation to hell :(

There was the ceiling – then Shidou’s face, far too close – a blood-spattered wall – Fuuta’s ginger hair caked in blood – the ceiling – intense gray eyes – the wall – a broken arm – ceiling – scowling lips – wall – ginger fur caked in blood – ceiling – a screaming mouth – blood-spattered floor – a paw bent the wrong way – ceiling – green eyes filled with fire –

Crazy about the cat parallels!!! She is reliving her dooming moment over and over again! She cannot escape her "mistake"!! She will forever be haunted by that day, and it's repeating itself a little too perfectly for her liking!! Oh hey do we know what color Ms Momose's eyes are? I figured green was a safe bet

A hand clamped down on her head to keep her still. Her vision swam. She released a cry of anguish. The others probably thought it was from the pain, but she knew how to bite her tongue through pain. No, this was utter frustration.

Obligatory reminder that she's used to physical abuse because I hate myself apparently. I also wanted to highlight that there's a big gap of understanding between her thoughts and everyone else's

Then came a glimmer of hope. An angel.

Mahiru stood over her. Amane only had so many people left in this world who treated her kindly, didn't lead her towards sinfulness... and weren’t beaten to death. With the recent turn of events, Mahiru may be the only one left.

Between the cat, her mother, and Fuuta, this girl has witness a lot of bloody beatings :( It's impressive she still likes cute things and has fun, colorful dreamscapes seeing how dark things have been to this point in her life

There was some arguing as Mahiru was told to leave, but she convinced the others to let her stay by Amane’s side. She smiled, though tears streaked down both her cheeks.

“It’s alright. I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

That was it. Mahiru had been sent to save her. Everything would be alright.

Shidou’s tone was as cold as the disinfectant he was applying. “Tell her to hold still.”

Mahiru gave her a gentle nod. “Please, you have to listen to him.”

And just like that, the breath was knocked from her lungs. As quickly as her savior had come, she disappeared. Mahiru had turned against her, for the sake of that damned doctor.

Now Amane had nobody left in the world.

I'm still not sure if this part hit the way I wanted to, but at least writing it, I was struck with that gut-wrenching shock of betrayal. Mahiru, who always let other people stick to their beliefs and codes, is turning against her in her darkest moment.

She lashed out one last time before her injuries overtook her completely. Her adrenaline was receding.

“This is for your own good.”

It wasn’t.

She’d experienced things for her own good. When her mother punished her, she’d repeat the reason for it over and over. When her father brought down his wrath, Amane knew exactly why he was doing so. Her teachers would ask her, when they’d finished giving out their discipline, if she’d learned her lesson. It made sense. It was fair.

Trying to build up a painful dissonance between making the reader think "yeah, this isn't for her own good!! Please, stop doing this to her!! She's right!!" and being plagued with "oh god that wasn't for her own good either... oh... she's not right about that..."

There was no lesson here.

I was tempted to go into detail that technically Kotoko tried to offer a lesson, and drag the reader through all the awful things Kotoko told her while beating her up, but Amane wouldn't see that as a lesson, either, thinking she and Es are mislead. Including all that for no reason would have just ruined the flow of these paragraphs, but I was sad thinking of what she must have been yelling at Amane, much like her abusers...

One must work towards holiness. Amane had been working her whole life. She’d fought to learn from each punishment. She tried so hard to be good. But now, there was nothing to learn, nothing to strive for. There was nothing at all. Yuzuriha Kotoko was killing her, Kajiyama Fuuta was leaving her, Kirisaki Shidou was dooming her, Shiina Mahiru was betraying her, and there was absolutely nothing she could do.

Hopelessness was a trial all on its own.

This last line read "Unfairness" until literally two minutes before I posted asdfsd. I was worried it was too melodramatic to say hopelessness, but unfairness kept bugging me since it was SUCH an understatement 😭I figured it was better to lean into the drama than not do her pain justice. I was already drilling it in with that last paragraph summary, so I wanted to keep saying things exactly as they were.

#more sad amane thoughts for you now >:(#asdfsd and let me know if theres anything that didnt line up to your view of the au! or just extra thoughts you have about amane #i always want to hear em...#i know a lot of these emotions are short-lived since fuuta lives and mahiru is still on her side but there would be a lot of strong emotion #in this specific moment ;-;#commentary

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