#its a moment between Beau and Carrie and its just

[blissfulbarbie]

Just Once a Year / Pedro Pascal x Reader

Sequel out now: Maybe Twice a Year

The grand ballroom was alive with the shimmering glow of chandeliers, an ethereal scene that provided a backdrop for the most prestigious awards ceremony of the year. This was the first time Pedro was being nominated and he was nominated for not 1, not 2, but 3 awards. As a first timer, he has broken records for this achievement - and yet what should be a night pure of celebration and joy for him is tinged with sorrow. 

He found himself seated in a sea of Hollywood's elite, his heart a complex interplay of anticipation and trepidation. The vacant chair beside him was a stark reminder of the impending arrival of his ex-girlfriend.

Pedro's fingers tapped rhythmically against his thigh as he waited for the inevitable moment. He stole glances at the entrance, his chest tightening with each passing second. And then, there you were - radiant as ever in a gown that shimmered like stardust, hair cascading down your back. A small part of him felt relieved that you didn’t appear with your new rumoured beau, but had taken your brother as your plus one instead. 

Your eyes met briefly, a connection that carried years of memories and emotions, before you turned away, gaze drifting toward the stage. Pedro's heart raced, and he fumbled with his cufflinks, trying to mask his turmoil with a composed facade.

"Hey Pedro," your voice, warm but cautious, pulled him from his thoughts. "It's been a while."

Pedro's lips curved into a polite smile, one that concealed the storm of emotions raging within him. "Yeah, quite a while."

As the awards ceremony unfolded, a symphony of applause and cheers filled the air, a stark contrast to the uneasy silence that hung between Pedro and you. You exchanged pleasantries about the weather, your recent projects, and the industry's ever-shifting landscape, all while the ghosts of your shared past danced beneath your words. 

“How is it we’re talking about the fucking weather when I know what you look like at 2am when you’re too anxious to sleep?” Pedro thought to himself silently. 

"You look absolutely stunning tonight," Pedro ventured instead, his voice carrying a note of wistfulness.

A soft smile tugged at the corner of your lips. "Thank you. You look handsome as always. And God I can’t believe I forgot to say this already but congrats on everything. You’ve been in some amazing stuff lately.” 

He chuckled softly, his gaze fixed intently on you. "Thank you. So have you,” he replied but he was finding it hard to produce words in his mouth when all he kept thinking about was that you had been keeping up with his projects and had seen his shows. He wondered if you liked them. He wondered if you were proud of him. 

The nominees for each category were announced, and the room brimmed with palpable tension. Pedro's name was called, and he graciously accepted the award, his gaze briefly locking with yours as he did. The applause that followed felt distant, as though they were enveloped in a world of their own making. He didn’t know if it was appropriate to hug you before he went to get his award, although he dreamt of this moment his whole life. For you to be the first one he embraced when he finally made a name for himself - it’s all he’s ever wanted. But he knows he shouldn’t, so he turns to his sister instead before making his way on the stage. 

When he returns you give him a polite congratulations and the show goes on. In a momentary lull between awards, you turned to Pedro, a soft sigh escaping you. "Can I be honest? This.. sucks. I don’t know how to make small talk with you anymore.” 

Pedro nodded, a shared understanding passing between the both of you. "I know. I don’t either.” 

As the ceremony neared its conclusion, Pedro found himself stealing glances at you. There was something different about you—an air of newfound confidence, a sense of independence that he hadn't seen before. Pride mingled with a touch of melancholy as he realized that both of you had evolved since your tumultuous breakup.

Just before the event drew to a close, you leaned closer to Pedro, your voice a soft whisper in the cacophony of the room. "Congratulations on your award, Pedro. You truly deserve it. More than anyone else in this room."

"Thank you," he replied, his voice holding a tenderness that belied the complexity of the situation.

As you stood to leave, you turned to him, your eyes holding a mosaic of emotions and words left unsaid. "Take care, Pedro."

"You too, sweetheart," he responded, his voice a gentle murmur.

Walking away from each other felt like a symphony of unfinished sentences and unspoken feelings. Pedro couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia, of the love you once shared and the heartache that followed. Yet, an unexpected thought bubbled to the surface of his mind: "I get to see her. At least once a year, I get to see her." It was a sentiment that resonated deeply within him, a small solace that fueled his determination to excel in his craft, to secure nominations, and to continue crossing paths with you in these fleeting moments. You were a brilliant actress and he had no doubt you’d continue climbing your way to the top. He wanted to be there when you did. Even if he didn’t get to be by your side when you did, he’d settle for being in the same room.

As he exited the grand ballroom, Pedro cast a final glance back at you, who stood amidst a constellation of fellow actors and industry luminaries. A surge of pride swelled within him as he watched you shine, your accomplishments standing as a testament to your talent and resilience. In that moment, despite the awkwardness and pain that had punctuated your encounter, Pedro felt a genuine admiration for you—a reminder of how far you both had come and how he’d never stop rooting for you.

He walked away with a heart brimming with emotions, knowing that the annual awards ceremony had become more than just a gathering of stars for him—it was a canvas upon which your shared journey would continue to unfold, inspiring him to strive for greatness and to keep crossing paths with the woman who had once captured his heart. He would settle for watching your life through pictures and screens if it meant he could have this moment with you - once a year.

-

Dedicated to my babycakes: @just-some-random-blogger who co-erced me into writing <3

#pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #pedro x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro x you #pedro pascal x actress!reader #pedro pascal x famous!reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #pedro fic #pedro fanfiction

[quantummindclassicalheart]

rainy days and twisting braids

for @beauyasha-week day 2: hair

During her travels in Xhorhas, one thing Beau’s noticed is that distances seem a lot farther when you don’t have a convenient wizard around to teleport you from place to place. Yasha is leading the way trying to find her old tribe, so the two of them have been trekking across the wastes, but Xhorhas is wide and their moorbounders can only carry them so far in a day. Beau doesn’t mind, though. All told, she could do a lot worse for company.

It’s early afternoon when the gray clouds start to pour, and rain—sharp, acidic droplets—begins to fall from the sky. The two of them barely make it into a nearby cave before the edge of the rain catches up to them.

There’s a breathless moment before they both relax and try to set the moorbounders at ease. Yasha does her Aasimar thing and lights up her sword so they can check for any other creatures lurking in the cave, but it’s thankfully empty.

“Guess that’s as far as we’re going today,” says Beau. Outside, the rain has turned into a downpour, its heavy rat-a-tat rhythm accented by the hiss of acid on the rocky earth below.

“I guess so,” agrees Yasha.

Yasha finds some rocks to which she can tether the moorbounders (who are clearly none too happy to be inside a dark cave). Beau sets up a fire to counteract the chill that’s setting in, and its orange light shifts and flickers on the cave walls. They sit in stillness for a bit, Yasha gazing into the flame and Beau looking over at her.

“Hey, Beau?” says Yasha, breaking the silence. “Since we’ve got some time… would it be all right with you if I braided your hair?”

“Sure,” says Beau, “that sounds pretty nice.” She’s had it tied into a ponytail for a few days now. Come to think of it, she can’t remember the last time someone else did her hair for her.

So Yasha comes over behind her. Beau adjusts her sitting position, legs crossed under her, and closes her eyes while Yasha's hands weave her hair into twisting braids. They're strong hands, and large ones, with just a hint of calluses at the fingertips. Beau has seen those hands clasp a sword in their powerful grip, and she has seen them pluck flowers to press. She’s felt those hands running along her neck and her shoulders and her sides and so much more. She knows Yasha’s hands almost better than she knows her own.

Even without looking, Beau can feel Yasha behind her, quiet and reassuring. It's in the little noises Yasha makes as she's working out a tangle, in the thoughtful humming as she chooses a flower to weave in. It's in the way Yasha's hands softly graze her neck, right where the jade dust tattoo marks her skin, and the touch sends tingles down her spine.

There was a time when Beau had tried to grow her hair long, tried to be the perfect daughter and the perfect son all in one. And there was a time when she had shaved almost all of it off, trying to prove (to herself, and to anyone else who might care to see) that she didn't care anymore, about anything or anyone. What time and distance (plenty of both) had taught her, though, was that the truth—her truth—lay somewhere in between.

"Let me know if it's too tight, okay?" Yasha’s voice, almost a whisper, snaps Beau back to the present.

"No, it's perfect," Beau responds. "You're perfect," she blurts out before she can stop herself. Fuck, that’s corny.

“Aw, thanks,” says Yasha. She finishes the braid and ties it tight, then leans down to give Beau a kiss on the forehead. 

The rain has lightened to a drizzle by now. It’s less intense and almost comforting, and the modest fire is keeping them both warm.

“You know, today could have been really bad,” remarks Beau. “It’s all cold and windy and shit, and the rain’s fuckin’ acid or whatever, but… you’re here. With me. In this cave. So it’s not, like, completely terrible, is what I’m saying.”

Yasha just looks at her and smiles. “I love you too.” And Yasha leans over and kisses her again and again and again until the rest of the world—acid rain, biting winds, pointy rocks, and all—all of it just fades away.

#beauyasha #beauregard lionett #yasha nydoorin #critical role #writing #BeauyashaWeek2022 #day 2: hair #it has been a hot second since i've written any fic at all #but i'm soft for these two #and i do love writing beau's voice #please enjoy this little post-campaign scene

[delirious-comfort]

Beau's nestled in between Jester and Yasha, which is both a dream come true and her worst nightmare.

Yasha is closest to the exit of the dome. Ready to bolt at any moment. Although, lately there hasn't been much running. She's even mentioned how The Mighty Nein feel like her family. Perhaps it's time to file it away as growth on Yasha's part and to stop herself from thinking of it as one of Yasha's defining traits.

Yasha also isn't wrong. They are a family now. Just an incredibly fucked up one where mostly everyone is pining for, well… everyone.

Jester pines for Fjord. Although, that's no longer entirely correct. After the whole Avantika debacle, Jester has become more quiet and reserved as far as her affections for Fjord are concerned.

Of course there's the whole, 'Jester Thrives On Attention From Everyone' thing. It makes sense, growing up as isolated as she has. She's sure they all feel that same sense of sorrow for Jester. Not pity. Never that. Just a deep sense of wanting to protect Jester's inner child, especially when she comes out to play with The Mighty Nein.

There is something very innocent about Jester, an essence that hopefully will never go away. But she can only imagine how confusing Jester's feelings for Fjord must be, when all she had as an example for relationships are the ones the Ruby of the Sea has had.

Fjord most likely pines for Jester too, but is nowhere near ready to admit it. She's pretty sure his feelings come from somewhere deep within him and he will not give his heart away unless he is absolutely sure that he is ready to do so and on his own terms. Perhaps everyone is like that, though

They'll make a good couple, she thinks. When they are ready. They have so much time to figure it out.

It does mean that her own pining for Jester will never go anywhere. She's pretty sure that Jester will forever hold a tiny piece of her already tiny heart either way.

Caleb had said once that he has a tiny crush on Jester. It's a strange concept to her. Not the crushing on Jester part. That part is easy. Caleb is just nothing like Jester. But perhaps that's where the admiration comes from. Jester is free in every thinkable way. Caleb is locked in his own brain. They'll help him fight his way out, but his path will never lead to Jester.

Then there's Caduceus. She's confident the only thing Caduceus pines for is a nice cup of dead people tea and a good conversation with the Wildmother. It's entirely fair enough. It seems simple and peaceful. Just like him.

She's not entirely sure who Nott pines for. She always thought it was Caleb, but then Nott had said that their relationship was that of parent and child and that she was the parent. Maybe Nott is the only one who isn't actively pining for a fellow member, and is just entirely pining for some juicy piece of seagull to devour.

The thought of Nott pining for seagull makes her snort and when Yasha gives her a gentle shove against her shoulder, she stiffens.

"Ssh. Go to sleep."

Yasha's voice settles itself deep within her own skin. It's sleepy and dark. She wants to wrap it around herself like a blanket. Feel its comfort and carry it with her throughout the day as if its her most priced possession.

Ah. Yasha.

She doesn't know if Yasha pines for anyone. If she does, she keeps it to herself, just like she does most things.

Still, when Yasha's hand moves from her shoulder to her waist and rests there, she inhales deeply and lets herself dream.

They really should have called themselves The Mighty Pine.

#critical role #mighty nein #critical role fic

[dreaminpeaches]

There's a part in the first part of Humble Pie, I refer to as the Sleep Shuttle and everytime I think about it I just...

#awww! #immersive daydreaming #maladaptive daydreaming #paracosm #paracosm: humble pie #its a moment between Beau and Carrie and its just #paraportal

[sun-critrole]

This is too short for Ao3, so here, enjoy. A drunken first-kiss ficlet. Shadowgast brainrot go brrrrrr

.

Essek had been staring at Caleb’s hair all night.

It caught the firelight so entrancingly. It fell in a straight curtain, but there was a slight wave to the ends - maybe because he had pulled it out of its tie and let it flow loose and alluring over his shoulders. The color of it, too, was intriguing - an even, brilliant copper, except where the firelight turned it gold.

Essek was partial to silver, himself, but leave it to Caleb Widogast to change his mind.

Caleb himself was laughing, his right hand supporting his chin and his left hand palming a heavy tankard filled with foul-smelling ale. The Mighty Nein never seemed to care much for the finer things in life, contenting themselves with cheap booze and cheap beds whenever they could find them. Essek supposed if you were used to sleeping on the ground in a bubble, then an inn with private rooms seemed like a luxury. For him, it had been an adjustment. He was used to it now, though - the sour taste of ale was almost nostalgic, and the closeness and laughter of his friends made the small rooms seem endearing.

But back to Caleb. He was now reaching over the table to ruffle Jester’s hair affectionately, his eyes fond and smiling. She let him, giggling, even though she had not had a drop of alcohol all night. Beside her, Fjord was all but snoring into his own ale.

“You better get this old lug up to bed, ja?” Caleb suggested to her. “He will not get any easier to carry if he passes out.”

“‘M not asleep,” Fjord protested, though he didn’t bring his head up to do so. “‘M resting.”

“Of course, mein Freund,” Caleb agreed, good-natured. “Do you need help getting upstairs?”

“I got him!” Jester said cheerfully. “He’s really not that bad, once you get him on his feet. C’mon, Fjord. Up you go.”

“Good night, lovebirds!” Beau called from the other end of the table. Essek was pretty sure she didn’t have a leg to stand on in the lovebirds department, since her legs were currently wrapped around Yasha’s waist.

“Ah, they will be fine,” Caleb murmured to himself, taking another drink. “Jester and Fjord, they are good together.”

“They are,” Essek agreed.

“Essek,” Caleb hummed, as if surprised to see him. “I am glad you are here. This has been a good night.”

“It has,” Essek agreed, staring at Caleb’s hair again. He wondered if it shone like that in the sun. He wondered if it would run between his fingers like water.

“I am not so sad about things, on nights like these,” Caleb mused. “Everything just. Makes more sense, I suppose. Or less sense.”

“Definitely less,” Essek replied. “I don’t remember how to cast Fortune’s Favor at the moment.”

Caleb hummed, then turned to look at him. The effect of his crystal-blue eyes peeking from behind his dark red eyelashes took Essek’s breath away. “Why would you need Fortune’s Favor right now?”

“Because I have been wanting to make a mistake all night,” Essek admitted, “And if I had Fortune’s Favor, maybe I’d have a better chance of not making it.”

Caleb shook his head, causing his hair to shift and shimmer in the low light. “People make mistakes when they’re drunk,” he explained, as if it was the wisdom of the ancients. “It is unavoidable.”

“Okay,” Essek said, shifting so he straddled the bench. Then he reached out and brushed a silky strand of Caleb’s hair carefully out of his face, tucking it behind his rounded ear.

They stared at one another, speechless. Essek did not withdraw his hand, letting it card through the length of Caleb’s hair and settle softly on the nape of his neck. He was warm, his blood rising to the surface of his skin and turning it wonderfully pink.

“Oh,” Caleb mumbled. “Is that the mistake?”

Essek considered. “I don’t know yet. Do you think I made a mistake?”

“No,” Caleb breathed, so low Essek almost missed it. “Not a mistake.”

Before Essek could register that he was moving, Caleb had already pressed his lips to the corner of Essek’s. He held there for a moment, two, then drew back just enough to meet his eyes.

“Was that a mistake?”

Essek shook his head. It made the room spin. “No,” he whispered, before pulling Caleb in by the hand on his nape to kiss him once again.

#fic #fanfiction #shadowgast #ficlet #alcohol #critical role #campaign 2 #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #bg beauyasha and fjord/jester

[wearywinchester]

Hold On

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When you’re injured on a hunt with a shapeshifter, Dean’s there to make sure you’re okay.

Requested by Anonymous: “Come here, I’ll carry you”

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: injuries, mentions of blood, mild swearing, fluff, kissing

A groan.

That’s all you could manage as you tipped your head back and let it thud against the wall, eyes squeezing shut as another groan fell past your lips. You were nothing short of exhausted as you slumped against that wall, one that surely had the outline of your body indented in it from where you’d been thrown earlier. Just how early it’d been, you weren’t really sure about that part.

What you were sure of was the incessant burning across your knuckles and the pressure behind your cheekbone, knowing for certain there was a cut running along your skin there. You were increasingly aware of the way your knee had a dull throb to it, your ankle a million times worse. That familiar pressure radiated behind your eyes as the tears stung and burned, frustration having built up and nearly boiled over. Between the pain of your injuries and the embarrassment you felt for getting them, it was enough to have them rolling down your cheeks, hot on your skin.

It was a shifter. One that’d turned into your very own twin, adding to the strangeness of it all when it cornered you in a room by yourself, the room you currently sulked in with the inability to get very far.

The saying you are your own worst enemy had taken on a meaning you never quite thought of in that moment, one that had your brows furrowing and the anger simmering within you. You knew it’d used your looks to it’s advantage for the brothers you came with, for Dean. You were his sweet spot and it seemed as though every monster in the very world you lived in knew that very fact and took full advantage of the seemingly universal knowledge.

But that wasn’t important right now. What was important was the fact that you’d gotten separated from the pair and were reduced to a hobble should you want to get up and find your way to them. That would be simple if you knew where they were—you’d heard some yelling and a miscellaneous shot fired, but it wasn’t enough to pinpoint where your beau had been.

Your hands were trembling as you brought them up to your face, adrenaline still having its hold on you as you rub your hands down your face despite the jolt of pain making itself known when your hand ran over your cheek. You grit your teeth and curse under your breath at the sensation, fists balling in your momentary irritation before they relax once more.

All around you were heaps of broken glass from windows and cabinets, shards of snapped wood joining it on the floor and you were fairly certain you were sitting on more than a few of those pieces. The couch was overturned and it’s cushions splay around the room in places cushions shouldn’t be, the table split down the middle and sitting in a pile of rubble much like the rest of the room. The paintings and pictures on the walls were torn, the glass in some of the frames broken and from where you’d thrown them in self defense. Something that also took on a new meaning.

You were tired, fatigue weighing you down as your heart hammered in your chest and sweat coated your skin. You were tired and miserable and desperately wanted to call it a day. A bubble bath seemed like a dream to you in that moment, contrasting to the way you felt having currently been covered in dirt and blood and sweat and most freshly—tears.

Your jaw tenses as tightly as you could manage when you rolled to your side, palm pressed to the floor as you leaned on your good knee. It was no easy feat getting yourself up off that floor, the smallest bit of pressure upon your ankle nearly sending you over the edge as you stood to your feet with a tear rolling down your cheek. Balance was something you lacked in that moment, never something you had down to begin with but it paled in comparison to this as you caught yourself on the wall.

“I am never hunting again,” you grumble to yourself, huff leaving your lips though you knew it was a lie.

“Y/n?”

You gaze lifted to the owner of the voice, relief washing over you as he crossed the room in as little as three strides. “Dean? Please tell me it’s really you because I can’t do a round two with that thing.”

“I could ask you the same thing, sweetheart,” he says, brows furrowing as his hand comes up to your cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing over your skin as the tips of his fingers hover over the very curve of your ear.

You could see every emotion that expressed on his face, that filled his eyes as they bounced over every inch of your face at each and every scrape and scratch and bump and bruise. You could see the myriad of questions and arguments sitting on the tip of his tongue on how you should have been more careful, how he shouldn’t have let you leave his side this time. It wasn’t hard to see, even if he’d deny it till he was blue in the face if you’d said those very things you saw.

His eyes fall closed for a moment as the relief falls over him, his forehead pressing to yours as his jaw tenses. He feels the anger simmering in the pit of his stomach at the thought of what’d happened to you and at the very fact that he couldn’t do anything about it. Wasn’t there to help you. If he was, your hands wouldn’t be shaking so much and you wouldn’t have those tears in your eyes that pull at his heart every time he sees them. You wouldn’t be shifting on your feet as you try and stand on a messed up ankle and you wouldn’t have felt scared. You hadn’t said it but he knew you were.

You wouldn’t be hurt.

“You okay?” He asks instead, nose bumping yours softly in the close proximity.

“Take a wild guess, Winchester,” you said, lips quirking up in a soft smile.

He pulls back to look at you then, lips pursed as the crease between his brows deepens. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

“Yeah, I do,” you say, getting yourself an eye roll.

You muster up the strength to push past him, all hobbles with just an ounce of balance as your face twists in immediate discomfort. The groan you try to muffle doesn’t get past green eyes behind you, especially not the gasp you’re quick to inhale when that ever familiar searing pain burns up the length of your leg. It was beyond you how you thought you could play it off, but even then you still didn’t give up your efforts.

“Y/n,” he started, a warning tone in his voice mixed with exasperation.

“I’m fine, Dean. I got it,” you insist, though the half cry leaving your lips right after is less than helping your case.

“Would you quit it with the macho tough guy act?” He says and you’re quick to flash him a glare. His brows raise and he throws his hands up. He was right and he knew it. “Come here, I’ll carry you.”

“Are you crazy?” Your glare remains as your head tilts, his hands dropping to his sides.

“Don’t be ridiculous, sweetheart, ‘m not letting you walk so deal with it.”

You sigh as a smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, one you try desperately to stave off as you roll your eyes. He turns on his heel and squats down, head turning and brow raising as he waits. A huff sounds and so does a stifle noise of discomfort as you move, your hands pressing to his shoulders as you climb on his back. His hands rest behind your thighs as he stands tall, your arms wrapping around his neck as your head rests against his.

A quiet apology is immediate at the sound of your muffled complaints when your ankle is jostled more than you’d prefer, soft and sweet. You tightened your grip around him then, your chin resting on his shoulder as he kicked the busted door open, careful not to let it hit you.

The rain was drizzling outside as he started along the trail back to the car, the droplets cold against your skin as they pelted down over you at a steady pace.

“You’re taller than I thought,” you mumble, a teasing smile on your lips. “Maybe I should stop calling you short stack.”

His chuckle rumbles against you and you can’t see the grin on his face but boy was he sporting the sweetest smile as he shook his head at your words. “Oh really?”

“Yeah really,” you say, laughing to yourself. “But you are shorter than Sam, so I’m gonna have to take it back, short stack.”

He squeezes your good leg in playful retaliation, head shaking some more as he hikes you up further on his back. Even when you’re hurting you never miss the chance to pick on him and he swears you’re the embodiment of sunshine, he knows you are but he doesn’t know how he got so lucky.

“I meant it when I said you were a pain,” he says, his grin in his words.

You laughed then, one that has him smiling like a fool. You sigh softly, another laugh falling from your lips.

“I can’t believe I kicked my own ass,” you say, brows furrowing as you thought about it and his own laughter was immediate. It wasn’t all too amusing half an hour ago but in the current moment, it was kinda comical you will admit.

“You kicked mine too.”

You sigh, quiet and gentle as you look ahead over his shoulder. His stubble is rough against your cheek as your skin brushes against it, your hand that dangled over in front of him patting his chest.

“De?” You say softly, eyes focused on his boots with every step in the mud and gravel. He hummed. “You really are sweet.”

Sweet. It was something you called him often, something he’d beg to differ on because he feels you deserve more, but that isn’t even something he’d argue with you on. He knows full well he’d lose. But it’s got him smiling, one that only widens when you kiss his cheek and your smile presses into his skin, paired with a soft press of your lips to the corner of his mouth when he turns his head. He stops in his tracks and tips his head back, kissing you once, twice, three times before he turns once more and continues by the path.

It’s his wordless I love you, his wordless acceptance of your words as he’s got that goofy smile on his lips he’s glad you can’t see. You know you’ll be just fine as long as you’ve got him, and he knows he’s not going anywhere.

—

Tags: @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @dean-is-sams-apple-pie @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes @campingmonkey

#dean winchester #dean winchester oneshot #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fic #dean winchester imagine

[shirophantomvox]

How Illumi, Hisoka, and Chrollo would react to their S/O in the hospital

Hi, anon! You are welcome to join my Discord Server if you are a fan of Hxh, Voltron, or both! I promise this is a safe environment! This is an interesting topic for sure! To the other anon(s), I am working on your request! This will contain both fluff and angst. I forgot to include Leorio in this, so I’ll include him in the next HxH post. You’ll have to forgive me, I have 2 more requests in my inbox and I am not feeling the best. I just got my second Covid shot and it is hurting like hell. Nevertheless, I encourage you all to get your shot if you can. I will be on this site one and off and I should be on it for real next week. I have run out of ideas to write and I began to think I was annoying people with my HxH content (no one said this I just assumed). This post has 1974 words. After these requests are finished, I plan on doing a character analysis for Leorio.

Anyway, let’s get into the post!

We’ll start with Hisoka this time.

Hisoka

In all honesty, this man has heard of a hospital (since he sends a lot of people to it after fights) but has never been in one.

The signs, floors, staircase numbers, and elevators all confuse him. He has only been in one once when he was a kid and has never been again.

He isn’t a social butterfly in this setting because this is a professional establishment and not a college party. Asking for directions takes quite a toll on him because of his established pride. You know guys act when they want to find a destination on their own and will go miles out of the way instead of just asking for direction.

He doesn’t talk to anyone; all he wants to do is find you and make sure you are alright.

He is the tallest person in the freight elevator. So tall that everyone at turns to look at him at once for at least 10 seconds and turn back around surprised.

“How tall is he,” one of the nurses ask.

“Tall enough to be my house!”

This annoys him. He takes out the Joker card and lays it against his thigh but realizes he cannot make any hasty decisions. His bloodlust was activated merely out of irritation and not by threat. You were on his mind and destroying these worthless humans wasn’t an option for today.

He approached the guest desk and waited for about 2 minutes before he was acknowledged.

“May I help you,” a smug receptionist asked. Wow, these people do not know who they’re talking to.

“I’m here to see y/n.”

“Y/n is in room 345. Go down the hall and to the right all the way down.”

This man nearly ran with a quickness! His jester shoes somehow made the floor shake as he ran.

You were awake, eating the horrible food the hospital provided and watching TV. It seemed like you were doing ok, but you had just been in a car accident. Your arms and right leg were still sore. It was so bad that you’d be fine with Hisoka carrying you everywhere.

When you two are alone in serious public places, he doesn’t play games or tricks. He is often portrayed as a ruthless man, but in settings like this, he places the jokes and games aside for later. When he enters your room, he is silent for 30 seconds. Much too long. He was shocked; he walked around your hospital bed, pulled up a chair, and stared at your cast. It had many names written on it.

“Yes, I am ok.”

“I apologize for not being there for you,” he began to say.

“Shh… it’s ok. This is life. It hurts like hell, but I’m a trooper!”

Admiring your cast and its multiple fonts of handwriting and messages, he grabbed a sharpie marker, wrote his name, with a heart and spade next to it. Surprisingly, his cursive was very neat and legible.

“I didn’t know you knew how to write in cursive! Why don’t you write me letters?”

“I see you every day and it hurts my hand.”

The doctor wouldn’t be in for another 1 ½ hours, so Hisoka used your thigh as a pillow as he took a nap. He had been up for countless nights thinking about you. He was screwing up so bad, Chrollo let him leave early.

“As soon as your better, we will fight again. I won’t go easy on you. You won’t be in the hospital but you get the jest.”

Illumi

Illumi isn’t the type of man to overreact in these types of situations. When you both agreed to date each other, you knew you all were tough cookies. You were aware of the dangers of dating an assassin and he knew about the dangers of dating a bounty hunter. People hated you both and you targeted.

One night you both were caught in a vulnerable state. While you both enjoyed chocolate milkshakes at a laid-back 1950’s styled diner, two men were previously thrown out for fighting. While your back was turned one of those men shot your arm, causing you to carelessly throw your body to the ground due to impact.

While everyone else was screaming, Illumi jumped to the ground and tied his hair tie around your arm to temporarily stop the bleeding.

“Illu, why does it feel cold in here,” you managed to breathe out.

His heart dropped to his stomach for the first time in history.

“Don’t say things like that!”

Illumi is already horrible at displaying emotions, but all he could do is frown in fear. Once the EMS came barling in, he demanded that he ride with you.

Illumi hadn’t experienced anything like this since Killua had been injured when he fell from a tree.

You and he were separated when you were rushed into surgery leaving him alone in the waiting room.

When Illumi is stressed and cannot properly display how he feels, he tends to act in “odd” ways.

He begins to furiously turn pages in magazines or bother the receptions every 2 minutes about the status of your surgery. When the woman finally says that you’re still alive, he tones it down a little.

Illumi is open to conforming advice from strangers; he has been receiving it secretly from strangers. Since Silva was busy abusing him, he often found comfort from “the streets”.

He has a bad habit of pacing back and forth and fidgeting in his seat while horrific images fill his mind. All he has seen is pain and even though he was used to it, he didn’t want you to go through it as well.

While sitting in his seat (finally!) and head in his lap, doubled over indescribable sorrow, a little girl walks up to him with her hands folded and a doll under her arms. Illumi feels her presence and looks up. The girl’s curly hair covered her endearing eyes and her smile is wide.

“They’ll be alright. I just know they will,” turning around returning to her mother, the girl said with confidence.

On cue, Illumi placed his hand over his heart, smiling just a little.

He walked quickly to your room once you were out of surgery.

His speed walk mimics one of a soldier; his left arm in since with his right leg. His shoes echoed throughout the hall.

As soon as he enters the room, he shuts the door harder than usual and gives you a tight embrace. This surprises you! You’re lucky if he lays his head on your shoulder!

Illumi had been working out lately. He wanted to beat you in the “squish the melon” contest. He is very competitive and even if he lost, that doesn’t hurt his ego. Not in the slightest. Since it was just the both of you alone, he bends down to hug you tight, so tight that your face is squished against his.

This behavior is only surprising because he usually doesn’t coddle you even when you get hurt, but this time he realized that you could have died from the gunshot wound.

After that he kissed your forehead and almost simultaneously the doctor barreled in just missing the sweet moment between you and your beau.

Chrollo

When Chrollo is holding meetings with the Phantom Troupe, he always appears to be neutral. That is very important. A leader has to show strength even through the worst/hurtful times of their lives.

Chrollo had gotten a call from Nobunaga that you had gotten hurt on a mission and had actually gotten captured by the enemy. Phinks was able to get you back but you suffered horrible injuries.

This is protocol; they do this for any of the members. The troupe was oblivious to the fact that you and Chrollo were dating. They thought you were here to replace Uvo.

In situations like this, he is calm on the outside but screaming on the inside. Common sense will tell you if you are startled by the news you’ve just received and you begin to drive, you could cause more harm on the way to your destination.

Chrollo is very silent; he doesn’t call to check on your status or anything; he would rather see it for himself.

You were a trooper! After all, you are dating a dangerous robber.

Chrollo already knew what room you were in so he just went.

“I knew I should have kept y/n by my side. Y/n insisted on doing my dirty work that they almost died! How foolish could I have been?” He constantly cursed himself for letting his guard down with you.

He always gave you room to think and complete your own tasks but he can’t help his protective nature; one he has for the troupe but times 10.

His childhood friends had been shot by law enforcers, his home was horrific, and the last thing he needed was for you to be gone. You were keeping him afloat in society.

When he opened the door, Phinks was sitting in a chair, one leg over the other, laughing at a TikTok video.

Nobunaga on the other hand was watching the world news and seemed invested that he didn’t hear Chrollo enter the room. Once they both saw, they stood to their feet.

“Y/n is ok boss. They suffered a few cuts and burns, but they're breathing.”

Chrollo’s straight face remained as he stared at you.

Chrollo’s silence is something the troupe has internalized as a sign of anger, rage, or both. When he didn’t speak and just stared, everyone knew that their next mission was going to be a brutal one.

Chrollo is a man that isn’t afraid to express how he feels. He could cry right now if he wanted to and no one would dare laugh at him or insult him. After all, Nobunaga cried when he realized Uvo was dead.

Nobunaga and Phinks excused themselves as they saw him place his hand over his mouth.

Once the door closed, He pulled up the chair, grabbed your hand, and gently squeezed it. His warmth woke you up instantly and you turned your head. You winced in pain causing Chrollo to jump from his seat, moving to your right side so you wouldn’t turn your head too much.

“I’m glad you're alive, darling. What were you doing putting yourself in danger? Feitan could have handled the beast!”

He isn’t trying to doubt your ability to fight, he’s just concerned for your safety. Even so, why would he insist that you join the spiders?

A tear dropped from his face as he silently kissed your hand three times. You smiled warmly and placed your right left hand on top of his.

“I am fine, boss. You need not worry. I’m a trooper, remember?”

He placed your hand against his dry cheek and continued to kiss it. You were his lifeline and he wanted to spend every moment with you.

#hisoka morow #hunterxhunter #hunter x 2011 #hunter x hunter #illumi zoldyck #hxh 1999 #hisoka #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo #hxh illumi #illumi #hisoka morrow x reader #hunter x hunter x reader #hunter x hunter x you #hunter x hunter x y/n #illumi x reader #illumi x y/n #illumi x you #chrollo x y/n #chrollo x oc #chrollo x reader #chrollo x you #hxh headcanons #hxh imagines #hxh chrollo #hxh x reader #hxh 2011 #gon hxh #hxh fanart #y/n

[ohheyitsokay]

Home

this all takes place in my poly frontier universe

pairing: triple frontier guys - Will “Ironhead” Miller, Santiago “Pope” Garcia, Francisco (Frankie) “Catfish” Morales, and Ben “Benny” Miller x (f) reader

wordcount: 3k

warnings: obviously a poly relationship, which includes kissing, domestic intimacy with all of them (not just with the reader, but not in-between Will and Ben because nope), mild sexual themes

summary: scenes at the beginning of making a house with five people feel like home

<<

The manicured grass is soft where it peaked around the edges of your sandals. Hands running over the grooves of they key in your pocket, you gaze around the little front yard, mind conjuring daydreams that fit on the weathered porch of the house.

Two bathrooms will be enough right? Your thoughts are running - creating and erasing images of the future, trying to squish them like magic into the home in front of you. The yard is big enough to extend the garage and for plenty of home projects…

Across the fence and a long stretch of field, a woman is hiking her skirts up, making a beeline for you. The neighbor’s house is a considerable distance away, being out in the countryside, but she must have been watching your tour from her garden with interest.

The others had left moments before, Santi promising to come back whenever you were done. After weeks of looking at houses, it became a little ritual of yours, to spend a few minutes looking around without the clutter of wonderful distractions.

“So which one of those strapping young men is your beau?” She asks conspiringly, eyes gleaming. It catches you off guard – the lack of introduction, but she seems harmless enough.

Your smile is equally mischievous, and your head tilts a hair.

“Well, which one do you think?”

The woman considers, boot tip tapping away at her grass. You replay the moments she could’ve seen, which were few, wondering if you’d leaned in any particular direction, and wait.

“Now that I think about it, I haven’t got a clue,” her smile is wide, softer and more genuine than before - polite. “As long as you’re good neighbors,” she explains, “I guess I wouldn’t care if it was one or all of you next door.”

You smile, thanking her as salutations ring in your ears, watching with grateful eyes as she hikes back towards her home. Then you move, wandering through the empty rooms for long, quite minutes before you peak over the fence again. The woman had gone inside, and if you squint you can see who you think is her husband, sleeping with a dog on the porch.

In the other directions, there isn’t a house within a reasonable distance. A knot loosens in your chest, as an unexpected feeling of freedom from judging eyes blooms in its place.

When Santi comes back to pick you up, you take his hand across the console. His skin is warm, and his thumb automatically begins to gently move across your knuckles.

“I think it’s perfect, Pope.”

He looks at you curiously, minding his thoughts for a moment.

“Yeah, love?”

The sun was beginning to set, and you look at the peaceful little home in the rear view mirror, and smile.

“Yeah.”

-

“What?”

“We need to … break in every room.”

“I’m just saying -"

“Oh he’s talking about – wait are you really horny, right now?”

“There are boxes everywhere, idiot.”

You walk in carrying a single plant and a stack of pizzas and the conversation hushes.

“Ah – payment,” Frankie kisses your cheek, moving the plant by the window as Santi clears the table.

Someone makes a quip about it being Santi’s house and you wince, the utopia popping.

“We don’t get paid to move our own stuff, Catfish.” His dark hair is damp with sweat but he seems otherwise unaffected by the hours spent hauling. It was still surreal – that this is actually happening, that this unanimously became a long term desire.

He has the most money and Will has the best credit score, so they bought the house to save you all from questions. The movement isn’t lost on your Ironhead, and he rubs a soothing circle on your shoulder as he reaches for a plate. Of everyone, he was the one who most understood your anxiety – close proximity always led to arguments at first.

“You got lucky,” Benny takes the first slice, accepting a napkin for an additional piece. “You fell in love with a pretty good moving crew.”

“I think so,” you grin, trying to ignore your anxiety. He inhales the food, pulling you into his lap as he bickers with Will about whether or not more needed to get done today.

Eventually Frankie dictates that at the very least some cleaning should be started and the bedding should be unpacked for the evening. The agree with varying degrees of enthusiasm and after a handful of innuendos your loves begin to disperse, too dutiful to let work go unfinished. The bedframe practically builds itself, and a portable speaker makes Santi’s hips twitch as he floats through the half-barren rooms.

When Will rolls his eyes at Frankie’s choice of screw, you duck away, nerves thrumming.

And you wander around, fake cleaning, until you find your Benny clearing pizza plates. Even amongst boxes and bins and old blankets, he could be at a photo shoot. The evening light make his hair look like silk, and his eyes shine like he’s making you promises this very moment.

“I wouldn’t worry too much,” he says, drawing you into his arms as your head tilts. “We spent years in bunks and tents, and we were younger then.”

His chest was warm and you press your cheek to it, nodding. You hadn’t thought he had noticed, how anxious you’d been about the change, but you had been foolish. Even through his shirt, you can feel the thumping of his giant heart, steady as a drumbeat.

Replaying the evening in your mind, you let go of some of your worries, one by one, and he kisses the top of your head. It’s a thoughtful thing, and it never ceases to amaze you how easily he can wrap you around his finger.

“Ben?”

He makes a noise, somewhere between a hum and a grunt.

You pull his face down to yours, kissing him hard. It was a kiss that says you're grateful, and a kiss that says you love him for being… him.

He accepts it eagerly, and tiredness from the day long gone ad he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses to your lips. The world spins and you feel him shove something heavy off the couch before replacing it with you.

The cushions are dusty from everything but he makes space, and you stop caring as he moves on top of you.

The others would find you soon, their instincts kicking in, but you savor it. Benny, pressing into you, kissing you in the evening light.

The beginning of their conversation from earlier blooms in your mind and you grin as his lips trailed down your neck. It suddenly didn’t seem implausible that he planned this.

“Breaking in” aside, this was the first room you where you truly felt like this could be home.

-

You feel his hands gently replace yours on the zipper and you jump a little - he stands just outside the mirror reflection as you watch the skirts around your ankles. Behind you the big bed is made neatly, there’s a ridiculously large closet, and a tangle of phone chargers.

The bedroom: the place that set apart your home from others. The room that housed five individuals, a web of relationships, a miracle of mixed bodies and minds and hearts.

It looks big, behind you.

Warm, daft fingers tie the extra strings, a neat little bow hanging just between your shoulder blades. The silence is thick, weighted with adoration, but when he breaks it, it’s as if he can’t resist.

“You’re beautiful,” he moves closer, kissing your temple and drinking you in. Turning, your heart aches.

Will is in his dress uniform, crisscrossed with crisp lines and newly shined awards. His hair is lighter after the summer, and he tried to comb it neatly to one side. Compliments catch in your throat as you stare and he smiles, turning you gently so he can kiss you properly. His mouth tastes like mint and you can smell hints of his cologne lingering on his skin.

“Look at you,” you murmur, lips still brushing over his. Letting your hands wander over his face, smoothing his eyebrows, you feel almost in awe of him. Still, he flushes, pleased at your reaction.

“Thank you.”

His chuckle is warm, almost raspy as he tries to enjoy the quietness of your conversation, and he shakes his head. Really, you were sure he was thankful that he was been the only one free for your special evening.

“Thank you,” you correct him. “You didn’t have to do any of this.” The dinner, for your job.

In the mirror, he looked like diamonds and sapphires and gold. Will was like an action figure sometimes, solid and sculpted and stoic, but… he was looking at you like you’d hung the stars in the sky.

It made you blink, his eyes sliding over you, pupils just a little more blown than the lighting required - a gentle reset demanding your attention.

Looking back in the mirror for a moment, the room didn’t seem quite as big, or quite as revealing. It was comforting, how out of place the two of you looked, dressed to the nines because… this was your place. The softness surrounded by details perfectly woven into your life.

Turning, you slip your arms around his neck, gently musing his hair, and his eyebrows draw together, accepting, but confused.

And as you tuck your hand into his elbow and step into your heels, you resist the urge to thank him again.

“I like it better like this,” you admit, and he flushes again, beaming. Looking around, you realize you’re actually looking forward to coming home more than you’re excited to leave. It’s a new feeling, in this space with the four of them and it hits you, hard in your chest. Still, the man beside you is unwavering and you let the feeling consume you, knowing that you’re safe.

-

“Frankie, what is that?”

He flinches, nervousness cutting the excitement on his face.

“Rhetorical question,” Santi says, grinning at you. “He got it from a friend who was going to toss it out.”

It’s a hot tub, taking up a decent chunk of your back porch.

“If anyone can make it work like a dream, it’s Catfish.” Will’s tone is matter-of-fact, all honesty and pride.

Your sweet Francisco drops his tool and grabs your hand, his dark eyes big. “¿Cariño, por favor? From me, to you?” You can see his laptop up, replacement parts on saved tabs, and you tiptoe to kiss his cheek. He likes to have projects, needs to have somewhere to do things, fix things, create things. Maybe at one point it was because he liked the distraction, it was a … replacement coping mechanism, if you will, but it became his pride, to use his hands to improve your lives.

It doesn’t take long, two weeks at most, between his job and his loves, and his long list of honey-dos, but he does it.

“Please and thank you,” you say, and when he kisses you, slow and deep and happy, you hear cheers and high-five and you almost can’t kiss him because he’s smiling.

And it takes awhile to fill, (Will thanking the stars that the water bill is reasonable,) and even longer to heat, and then it’s ready. The boys yank on swim trunks, thanking Frankie with enthusiasm, and you watch them sink into the steaming tub with as they sigh.

You have a bathing suit, of course you do, but you pull on one of his work shirts, knowing he won’t mind the chemicals from the water making the stains blur. And you pair of shorts you caught him watching your butt in, thinking of acknowledging his hard work in your own way.

The volume of your bodies makes it overflow, hot water sloshing onto the ground, but it’s bliss. It’s big, and they shout over the bubbles, talking excitedly about the future, and your heart feels warm in your favorite way.

The others leave early, taking loud laughter with them, and it leaves you and your Catfish. You let yourself float, moving right on top of him, and his hands grab at your hips, slipping and sliding over your skin as he kisses you once, twice. Slow.

It’s late – the stars stretch, there’s a bit of a breeze, and there’s not a light on for miles.

“You like it?” his voice is raspy, quiet, intense, but almost shy. Like if you said no it would break him in two.

“Of course I do, Frankie.” He looks pleased, hand absentmindedly running under his shirt and over your side. Even with the heat of the water, his hand feels like socks warmed in the dryer some cold winter morning. Comforting, maybe a little electric.

You let out a long, happy sigh, and settle against him, content to stay with him until you’re pruny.

“I think…. This is exactly what this house needed.” He starts a little, surprised, but it’s not an exaggeration.

There was always work to do and things to change, but it was the first time you looked out, and didn’t feel a twinge of fear, that anyone was looking in. It would’ve felt vulnerable, intimate to be so exposed, but… it was perfect, because he created it for you. Confidence and pride bubble around you, and Frankie’s eyebrows dip as he smiles – understanding.

-

“Yeah.” Its simple, not too hot, not too cold. Just… right.

It feels like… tar and lava, hot and dark and thick, bubbling and sticky and you want to punch something. Or scream, or cry.

Your Pope finds you standing rigid, smudges of flour on your skin and clothes, pans and spatulas strewn.

“Are we out of sugar?” To your credit, you try to keep your voice even, but he knows you better than that.

Santi shakes his head, plucking it from the pantry and looking guilty. Your mind pauses it’s rampage, and you wince, because you should be the one making that apologetic face, not him. Hot tears bubble in your eyes and you hate it, hate that they’re coming for what feels like no reason.

“Baby,” he says, tone pleading, setting the sugar down and reaching for you. The afternoon sun makes his eyes like rich, deep pots of gold, his hair somehow both soft and statuesque.

When he pauses, the tears fall against your will, just two thick drops down your cheeks. His hand encompasses your whole jaw, thumb gentle as it rubs away the saltwater, and he looks a tad helpless.

And there’s understanding in his eyes and through the blur you think maybe it’s pity. He stands, and your heart clenches, knowing he’ll go get Will, or someone because you’re being ridiculous but… he doesn’t.

You’re saying something about how the kitchen is wrong, how it’s been building for days, you’ve been here almost a week and you can’t fucking find anything. Panic and frustration locked horns in your chest and you couldn’t breathe and all you wanted to do was make something nice –

Instead, he’s pulling out things and piling them onto the floor in categories around you. It’s almost comical the stacks he makes but he seems determined and in your confusion the tears slow to a stop.

“Santi –” he hushes you. The cupboard doors hang open, and he guides you, lifting you up and up and into his arms. It’s solid and grounding, and he’s not as tall as the others and you needed him desperately.

And slowly, you begin to put things away where it makes sense, to you, and he helps. Not once does he argue with you, not even a moment when his dark eyebrows knit together in judgement. Dutifully he cleans and places everything just where you tell him, and you can almost feel the steam rising off of you as you begin to cool.

The final pile is a mountain of cloth, aprons and oven mitts and… something you’ve never seen before. Or actually, something you had, just not in your house. A set of hand towels you’d wistfully looked at awhile ago, before talking yourself out of the purchase. You had dozens at this point and didn’t need more but…

The man seating on the floor, folding them into perfect squares, is the answer to the question your mind produces.

You feel like you’ve been hosed down from head to toe, almost cold from the absence of frustration in your blood.

Pushing the pile to the side you climb into his lap, as determined as he was, and he looks surprised. It’s silly: sitting in your lover’s lap on the kitchen floor, but it feels more real than a movie. It’s your kitchen, yours and his, in this moment.

You kiss him, slow and purposeful and –

He knows you like the back of his hand.

-

You’re sitting on the bathroom counter distracting Santi as he shaves when Benny bursts in to tell you a story.

Will trails behind him, patiently waiting for his brother to take a breathe so he can set the record straight. Absentmindedly he weaves between them to pick up a fallen hand towel, passing it to Pope to wipe the shaving cream from his jaw. They share a moment and Benny’s story stutters out. Looking up from your nails you see Frankie leaning against the doorframe, a toothbrush hanging from his mouth.

There’s hardly room to move – and you couldn’t have it any other way.

His eyebrows are bent as he takes in the four of you, crammed into the spare bathroom, and Ben laughs.

<<

taglist:

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms @beautyagegoodnesssize @princess76179 @mrsbentallmadge @horton-hears-a-honk

for the poly frontier:

@grogusmum

#triple frontier poly fic #poly frontier #will miller x reader #santiago garcia x reader #francisco morales x reader #benny miller x reader #maybe i dont know people

[eponymous-rose]

Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E121 (Jan. 19, 2021)

Aaaand we're back! The epic pet montage at the start is still the greatest thing ever.

Tonight's guests? Matthew Mercer and Marisha Ray!

We begin with an extensive discussion of waffle farts. As you do.

Matt is asked what it's been like to get to build out the characters in the Tombtakers. Lucien is Matt's favorite, but they've all got some fun traits to them. "It's one of those rare experiences as a dungeon master where you get to watch your players combat with the necessity of playing along. The instinct is: fuck these guys, I want to fight them, we'll take their shit... or I guess we have to play nice. And they begrudgingly grit their teeth and I smile internally."

On the Lucien accent: "You guys are all so mean to Taliesin!" Matt knew his own take would be a "weird mutation" of Mollymauk's accent anyway.

How's Marisha feeling about a lot of her predictions panning out? "Aw, I mean, gee, me? What? Noooo. It's definitely vindicating, I'm not gonna lie, and rewarding, but I also know that I write a lot of shit down in that notebook that's never relevant ever again. It's definitely a good feeling to know that I didn't go on that fifteen-minute deep dive and was utterly wrong about everything I said." Matt: "I was super proud. I was just silently cheering you on as you went on these long tangents."

What does Lucien think of the Mighty Nein? "Lucien is definitely curious about why they're getting involved in his shit and what they're planning alongside them. One, he hates Beau because he doesn't like people who challenge his authority. He gravitates towards Jester to an extent because she's the most open, which from his standpoint makes her easiest to manipulate. He loves toying with curiosity, and so between Jester and Caleb, those are the two people that he's the most comfortable interacting with. Caduceus makes him feel a little weird. He's amused by them. Fjord to Lucien is one of the more guarded and less accessible at the moment."

Is Beau enjoying getting under Lucien's skin? "Beau's picking and poking still kind of stems from her defensiveness and guardedness and her feelings, in a lot of ways, and the way that she's coping with things. It's a few steps removed from her default and what she often resorts to when she starts throwing up those barriers. She still has in the back of her head that she's looking at her dead friend. It's her way of protecting herself if she can go, fuck you, I don't care about you. This isn't too dissimilar to the way she reacted when Yasha was brainwashed." Matt: "It's a unique social sparring match the whole time they're traveling side-by-side. It's unique to have an antagonistic force that you're--" Marisha: "That we're going camping with."

Navigating the Tombtaker/M9 relationship as a DM is "challenging. At any given moment, a wrong statement could escalate matters one way or the other. It's having to pay attention to a lot of things at all points in time to be ready for how those chain reactions can happen and where it might go." He likens it to trying to follow and participate in two different conversations simultaneously at a party.

On the note from Yasha: "Oh man, you guys. Oh, it was so sweet. I don't think Beau was expecting Yasha to be so forthcoming with everything, and so complimentary and eloquent. Beau is awkward with healthy relationships, so she doesn't know how to handle them. She's still processing that and wants to not ruin it. No, it was magical." Ashley told Marisha after the episode that she was trying to think of what to say and wound up basing it on what she would say about Marisha.

Cosplay of the Week: an amazing Vax (by stormfeather_cosplay, photograph by travi_b, both on Instagram)!

On using variations on the Wild Magic table: "I wanted to give it some variation to consequences. They took some of the tooth out of it from earlier editions. I knew it would be fun once I gave them the specifications of when these things would happen - players are just waiting for someone to roll a 20 or a 1 at all times."

Why is it so important to Beau that she and Yasha have a proper date? Part of it is a fresh start. "So much of Beau's past relationships have been rooted in some toxic behavior. Beau feels like, well, maybe we should just start from the beginning in the most us way possible: fighting through the tundra with our dead-ish friend."

The sci-fi-ish theme came toward the end of developing Aeor, but it mostly comes from rationalization. Matt is intrigued by how all these different societies want to usurp the gods... which has parallels with modern society. He notes that focusing more on the science of the magic means the aesthetics pull away to "instead facilitate the utility or the most direct route to the answers you want. You streamline as opposed to focusing on the aesthetics."

Beau’s reaction to all the weird magic stuff? “I think Beau’s just so focused on the pragmatic aspects of it all right now. There are greedy people with motives and the will and want to corrupt across all spans of cultures and times. She’s trying not to get lost in the magic, both proverbially and literally, of it all, and just trying to focus on the motives of these people at hand.”

In some ways, Matt was surprised by Caduceus’ strong reaction to the creepy woods. “It was the first major reveal that there are some other sides to the coin that he hadn’t learned about. I had no idea how he would react. It pushed him away more in ways than I expected.”

Fan art of the week: an amazing Lucien! (by oratorkayla on Twitter)

What’s Dagen’s motivation? “He’s definitely a man of his word when it comes to fulfilling a contract and getting the other half of his pay, but it’s not hard to see they’ve grown on him a little bit. He’s really good at getting around the tundra unseen and unnoticed.”

Brian: “In true Sam fashion-” Marisha, instantly: “OH MY GOD.”

Marisha: “Here’s the thing. Here’s the tea, okay? If I ever hear one more fucking person trying to claim that I’m ruining things by metagaming, I’m going to point to Sam. I’m expected to respond accordingly to Veth being a Sam troll. Gods damn him! Raven Queen curse upon him! Let chaos reign! He made me pull out my earphones, I can’t hear anything you’re saying. It’s frustrating because I’d be mad at it if it wasn’t so god damn funny.” Matt notes that at a different table this wouldn’t be great behavior, but they all know each other well enough (and check in with each other enough) that it’s comfortable teasing.

With a bit of a deeper pull, Matt is asked whether he knew Avantika would return someday? “I knew she was a fun, interesting option out there. The M9 still have in their grasp the single most important artifact, in Uk’otoa’s opinion, at the moment. As long as they carry that artifact, his eye of Sauron is upon them.” Matt notes that he has more encounter tables going, so a lot of the time even he’s not sure what’s going to happen.

Caduceus suggested contacting Essek, but Beau and Caleb nixed that idea. Does Beau trust him? “Gods no. Absolutely not. She can like Essek personally. As a person, he’s fine, I guess. But I think a lot of people might be forgetting that he’s kind of a war criminal and kind of set off a lot of bad things in motion with this war with the Empire and the Dynasty, because he wanted power and to know things. So now here he is, also in Aeor. Yeah. Just kinda putting two and two together there. It is another one of those things of, you’re walking that line on trying to keep him on your good side and having a mutually beneficial relationship before it could easily go completely south.”

On the Star Razor being a Vestige: “I don’t want this to be--- the Vestiges aren’t always a thing where it’s like, you get a Vestige and you get a Vestige! I want them to be still considered special and rare. This is one that had to be earned, it had to be reforged. I didn’t know the circumstances that would involve it coming about.” He based it on the circumstances of Fjord’s evolution into a paladin. “In essence, not only did he finish the creation of the sword, but he Awakened it at the same time as he made this transition. It is Exalted at this point, it’s in its final form.”

What does Beau think might lie ahead? “I have no idea. I am trying to abandon expectation when it comes to that. I know what we don’t know, and that’s it. Beau is trying to compensate for the known unknowns and the unknown unknowns. I hope we can keep this tenuous relationship through to Aeor, because we need more answers before it explodes in our face. Beau, and Marisha, is hoping for a little more information before shit hits the fan.”

#critical role #critical role spoilers #talks machina #talks machina spoilers #long text post

[ithinkthiswasabadidea]

An Act of Healing

When Essek gets seriously injured during a battle in the ruins of Aeor, he thinks his end might be closer than he imagined.

The Nein help him heal and prove him wrong, and show just how much they care about him.

.

When Essek gets hit in battle for the first time, it comes as somewhat of a shock to him.

He had been briefed about the capabilities of the Tombtakers, of their arcane abilities, and so he expected his first injuries to be arcane in nature. What he didn’t expect was the fight just to get to the place in Aeor’s ruins that the Nein said they needed to get to, lest the world end.

He was on his guard. Of course he was. But horrors unseen for centuries would be enough to startle anyone.

So yes, he was shocked when the beast took a swipe at him and he was less nimble than he thought himself. It hit him right in the ribs, tearing like butter through his cloak and the warm, layered fabrics underneath. Talons raking horribly through soft flesh as he feels a cold, burning sensation at the same time as there is a hot screaming pain bleeding from his side. An unexpected nausea bubbles inside him as he reels from the attack, forced to his knees from the weight of it. He huddles next to a frozen boulder, deep, deep below and far from the sanctuary of his chambers where he could rest and recover.

His mind scrambles to make sense of what just happened and he tears his eyes away from the beast to steal a glance at his ruined body.

He never expected to die a clean death.

No matter if he was caught by the Empire or the Dynasty, they’d get his information one way or another, he’d be trialed, sentenced to death, or worse, life imprisonment.

He silently laughs a moment at his change of fate. The Mighty Nein. Of course. They would even change the fate of his death – bleeding out, fighting a huge Aeorian beast. Poetic, he supposes, that he should die helping his… friends.

An opening for him comes up to attack the beast in retaliation, he raises a hand towards it but it shakes, distracting him from the spell he would have used. So he stays kneeling, one hand pressed to his side, the other shuddering in effort from the lingering coldness and pain of his wound.

A moment later, he feels movement beside him, a figure skips up to him – Jester. No, not quite Jester. From his years honing his arcane arts, Essek can recognise the faint tessellation of her body indicating a duplicate. What he doesn’t recognise is the hand reaching from the duplicate to touch his shoulder briefly, a wave of purple and green sparkles emanating from the point that touches him.

Immediately, the horrible freezing sensation in his body fades, like Jester herself had wrapped him in one of her beautiful big hugs, the hugs he covets so dearly, and appreciates so deeply, yet would never ask for.

His side is still bleeding, but the residual cold that was sapping his strength by the second has dissipated. He shoots a wry smile at the Jester duplicate, hoping maybe the real Jester can feel his intention.

Slowly, over the course of a few seconds, he makes his way back up on to his feet, leaning heavily on the rock beside him for support as duplicate Jester skips away again.

One hand still clutching his side, slick with dark blood, he chances another spell. He spies Beauregard, nearly climbed on top of the thing, beating at it with her clenched fists. He remembers his success of Hasting Yasha earlier, and sends the same effect towards beau, her grim expression turning elated as she feels the extra adrenaline course through her body.

Soon after, he feels another body thump against his rock haven, Caduceus having been pushed there with a huge tail swipe from the creature. Caduceus wheezes a little, the breath knocked out of him before he surveys the room and situation, spotting Essek right next to him.

Essek quirks an eyebrow, rasping out, “This thing is no joke, eh?” Not expecting a response from the tall, quiet man, just looking to release some of his own tension and anxiety.

“That looks pretty bad. Stay with us, we need you,” Caduceus replies to Essek’s surprise, and a soft furred hand reaches over towards him.

Essek is about to protest as he sees Caduceus about to touch his injured side, seeing no point in wasting time on his wound, until he remembers ‘Caduceus is a cleric, this is his job’.

The hand on his side, darkened with blood now, pulses with a soft gold and pink light from Cure Wounds. There is an uncomfortable sensation as the air he breathes is suddenly warm and moist, like a forest after rain, rather than dry and cold, and the sharp pain that he’s been clutching onto fades. He chances a look at his side, nausea rising up again as his skin under the Firbolgs hand knits itself back together, closing the talon marks that raked through it.

Essek barely has time to choke out an incredulous thank you before Caduceus is moving again, away and back into battle.

While he mentally prepares himself for another bout at the beast, two figures move into his sight, both carrying fearsome, glowing swords more than half his height.

Yasha.

Fjord.

The two of them form almost a wall between him and the creature, taking its attacks like nothing. Shielding him from the rage of the beast.

There is a new feeling in his stomach, not quite nausea, yet it makes him feel uncomfortable, strange. He feels… protected. And worthy of protection. His friends… are helping him, because he has helped them. In the back of his mind, Essek quashes down his feelings of guilt and remorse, and allows himself just a moment of unburdened appreciation.

With new eyes he views the battle before him, the formidable force that is the Mighty Nein, and he realises and remembers just how good it is to watch them do what they do best.

In the end it’s Fjord who gets the killing blow, driving his sword through the chest of the beast as its death wails ring out in the chamber.

Essek feels drunk, or exhausted, or both, as the adrenaline begins to leave his body, making his movements slow and the room swims. There is still an ache in his side that is yet to leave.

A small voice calls his name, Veth, who hops down off a nearby rock and beckons him over.

“Yes?”

“Come on, we’re sitting down now, Caduceus is doing a Prayer of Healing,” she nods over to the space Caduceus has set out with a small candle and scented incense as the rest of the Nein form a loose circle sitting or slumped around him.

“Oh. I don’t want to intrude on his…”

“Don’t be stupid, you’re hurt, and he always does this for us.”

Essek shuffles over, towards the edge of the circle and sits himself gingerly on the cold ground.

“Essek, if you need healing, you gotta get a little closer,” the low voice of Caduceus rumbles.

“Oh, I… I need it less than everyone else.”

Before Caduceus can reply, a warm and steady hand is placed on his back and pushes him forwards, the weight of it heavy and familiar.

“Nonsense, friend, you need it.” Caleb says, gently but firmly pushing at his back until he is within Caduceus’ spell range.

Caleb plops down next to him, knee touching knee, and whispers lowly near his ear, “You fought, you were hurt, do not think that you do not deserve to be healed, Essek.”

Essek shoots an almost pained look at Caleb, conveying more than he could possibly say out loud.

“You are a far cry from the man we met in Rosohna, Essek. Your help, of what we are doing here? We could not do this without you.”

“You underestimate yourselves.”

“Don’t we all,” Caleb looks knowingly at Essek. “We grow from our trials and tribulations. So shall you. That is the nature of forgiveness, and friendship.”

There is a warmth blooming again in Essek’s chest. He’s unsure if its from the healing prayer that Caduceus is mumbling under his breath, or from the words of comfort and encouragement from Caleb, but Essek feels warmer than he has in months.

#Essek Thelyss #Critical Role #The Mighty Nein #mini fic #Caleb Widogast #Jester Lavorre #Caduceus Clay #Beauregard Lionett #Fjord #Yasha Nydoorin #Veth Brenatto #c2e132 #critrole

[loquaciousquark]

Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E111 (Sept. 29, 2020)

@eponymous-rose‘s internet is out tonight, so I’m here late and without coffee! Let’s see how many typos we can fit into an hour and a half episode.

Tonight’s guests: Ashley Williams JOHNSON, oops!! & Liam O’Brien!

We open with Brian in light-up vented sunglasses and Henry at his side, as always. Dani is very excited to be back and has fun-buns in her hair tonight. So cute! Everyone talks about how much they’re Zooming these days for work, and Liam mentions he and Matt & Marisha did a digital cocktail night. He and Dani arrange on camera to have a distanced, masked meetup in the park so Dani can see Liam’s dog again.

No announcements! Tonight, we’re discussin’ episodes 110 and 111.

Starting with the end, Brian jumps right to it by asking how they feel that Molly is alive. Liam 100% thought we’d be back to him, but still wasn’t ready when it happened. Caleb doubted he was alive. Both Liam & Ashley marvel at the numerology that keeps cropping up throughout the show. Brian hates not being able to see it at the same time the show happens live; Ashley was biting her tongue not telling him spoilers. (He doesn’t want to hear spoilers unless Yasha dies so he can be there for Ashley if needed.) Brian says he has a little reality trauma from the night Pike died in the pre-stream game; it was the first time he’d realized how much it affected the players.

Ashley’s realized how much she misses unpacking the game with Brian when they get home. She just has to sit with it until everyone else gets to see it. Brian: “Instead she comes home and I have to fill her in on the Real Housewives of Amarillo, Texas.”

Reunion dinner with Trent! Liam talks about how the way things unfolded with Trent is not at all how he imagined it in his pre-game creation; he’d expected more of a fracas, more of an unexpected clash. “Caleb might have been a different person if he’d run into these people earlier in the story. The M9 changed him before [Trent & co] came back and got to him.” He’d imagined Astrid & Eodwulf to be complicated encounters, but says what Matt’s designed has been even harder than that. A fight on a mountain is one thing, but walking into a room with “what Trent dropped, is impossible to cope with.” It also means that if what Trent said is true, anything Caleb does now is effectively of Trent’s design, even killing him.

He doesn’t think Caleb would have gone anywhere near Trent & co without the M9. “The Mighty Nein--it took a long time--but they cracked Caleb open like a walnut.”

He thinks what Matt has done is much more murky than the simplicity of murder, such as the Briarwood arc. He can’t just exact his revenge now.

Liam says that the tempation to tinker with time is no longer as all-consuming as it was. He might still be tempted if Matt dangles a bunch of carrots in front of him, but he thinks that now it might be better to make sure that that kind of thing doesn’t happen anymore for anyone else (!!!). “It’s still a nugget in his brain and it’s still possible he could be tempted by the drug, but what he wanted in the beginning was entirely selfish, but now that the M9 are involved he owes it to them, to the people of the country, even on the Dynasty side--is so complex that if Caleb were to get that carrot and chase it, he would be risking everything.”

Ashley agrees that most of their choices are no longer black and white. Many of the situations feel more like real life. Liam agrees and says he’ll sometimes make decisions that he’s both really happy with and regrets at the same time. They both look forward to what Matt will reveal in Act 3.

Brian feels it’s tough to gauge how deep they are into what Matt’s planned for the campaign. Liam says that thanks to Matt’s skill, he really doesn’t know what Caleb wants right now.

Ashley agrees, and talks about how she created Yasha to have more to overcome than Pike. She loves what Matt’s doing in terms of allowing each of them to overcome more emotional hurdles than physical ones in this campaign.

Going back to Molly’s grave was very exciting for Ashley since she wasn’t able to be there when he died in the game & wanted to do what she could to honor him. Yasha, however, was very hesitant but knew what needed to be done. She’s not very open with her emotions, but both she & Ashley were stressed. They all could feel the energy in the studio & knew Matt was about to do something mind-blowing. Liam: “You could feel all the dust in the air coalescing around Taliesin.”

Brian trips over Eodwulf. Liam tries to help him find some pronunciation shortcuts. Ashley: “You say it so beautifully.” Brian: “Thank you.” Ashley: “Not you.”

Caleb knows how wickedly intelligent & ambitious Astrid is, and was heartened by the wavering he saw in her at the dinner. However, he can’t trust her until he knows why she’s where she is.

He really feels that if they’d had this dinner 60 episodes ago, Caleb might have tilted back along the evil axis and he would have had to retire the character. He had a playlist entirely for if Caleb turned evil and left the party.

The vision of Zuala was a huge deal for Yasha, even along every other instance she’s had of being mind-controlled, etc. “That’s guilt I think she will always carry with her, but at least she’s starting to forgive herself.” Losing the chains, sprouting wings again--Ashley reiterates that she didn’t know that was even a possibility, she just picked the skeletal wings because they were dope--were huge moments in the character development. Ashley’s glad Beau was there at the moment of the first flight; Ashley thinks of the quotation “Happiness is only beautiful when it’s shared,” and because Yasha tends to keep things very much to herself, having someone there to share it made it more impactful. “That was a cool moment. There’s been a lot of healing for Yasha these last episodes.”d

Ashley also says sometimes in that moment, when all eyes are on you in a one-on-one with Matt, everything goes muffled like Saving Private Ryan. “Wub wub wub.”

Dani feels that the only way she could even have the conversation with Zuala was to let her go in the first place.

Liam thinks one of the things that Yasha & Cad share is that still waters run deep. He loves how much Yasha hangs back sometimes, only to then reveal some new moment like the fighting pit. Apparently Ashley also has a knife collection, and uses that metal side of herself when she wants to let that new side of Yasha show.

Cosplay of the Week: Crystal Armstead (@riyuski on twitter) in a Reani cosplay. Beautiful!

How does Liam feel about the return to Rexxentrum? Very, very complicated. Caleb loves magic and lights up when he sees it, which is wrapped in the Soltryce Academy; he brought folks to the dance hall for the same reason, which was wanting the M9 to see the things that he loved about the city.

Yasha felt the same way about visiting the Chantry of the Dawn. It was a memory of a very traumatic moment (almost killing Beau), but given everything that’s happened between then and now it was cathartic to see again. There’s been a lot of healing in the past few weeks. It also felt like a physical representation of Yasha’s growth, the last time she was controlled against her will like that (or at least, until she was mind-controlled by Vokodo. Ashley sighs, aggrieved.)

Brian: “The tower really feels like a love letter from Caleb to his friends.” Liam: “It is, and a love letter from Liam to his friends.” When he looked at Caleb’s spell list, he remembered how amazing the mansion was in Campaign One and how many role-playing moments it led to and knew he wanted to incorporate it. However, he knew it could never be the same as Scanlan’s mansion because Caleb doesn’t have the same improvisational genius as Scanlan does. Liam has been “tinkering with this machine” for over a year, waiting for the moment to reveal it. He loves that he got a chance to see Jester’s room in time to have her tower room reflect reality. He’d discussed the tower extensively with Dani & Matt. Brian: “Hey! What am I, chopped--what’s the saying?” Ashley: “Chopped cabbage?”

Ashley marvels at the design of the dome. Liam talks about how Caleb knowing Caleb has been abused has been slowly getting better, but he also loves now being able to juxtapose that healing with his innate love of magic and how beautiful he finds it, how he loves to use magic as his artistry. The Soltryce Academy wasn’t “Welcome to DEATH SCHOOL,” it was the Sorbonne. It was amazing, everything he wanted. It was only one bad apple within that recruited him and turned it all bad.

Liam also points out how much it means in real life to be able to express his love and care for his friends in person too.

Ashley talks about how much she loves Yasha’s armor in a meta sense because it’s so cool and useful, and great for her armor class, but struggles with what it represents in game. She might not be able to let it go due to its sheer utility, and she may have to find an in-game reason to justify keeping it.

Ashley segues a moment into talking about her velvet top which apparently has a matching velvet scrunchie. She’s asked to demonstrate the scrunchie and ties her hair up in a way that I have never in my life seen someone do with a scrunchie before, and my hair’s been waist-length most of my life. I watch it again in slow motion. How did she DO that??

Caleb’s been looking for the right time to tell Jester about his past for a long time. She’s a good person and makes him feel like he might be capable of becoming a good person at the end, because that’s how she saw him. Liam knew from Laura that Jester wouldn’t condemn him, but Caleb put it off as long as possible. He also wanted to take the time to make sure Caduceus & Yasha knew the whole story too before they went to dinner with Trent.

Liam was also relieved to get it out, because he could never remember who knew and who didn’t, and now he doesn’t have to track it anymore. “Now we can move forward. Now we can heal wounds, maybe.”

Ashley feels Cad picks up a lot, more than most people realize. Yasha was really affected by Cad’s line: “Patience can be good, but it can lead to apathy.” She really feels it opened her eyes, and she appreciated the simplicity of him pointing out her hair’s growing back white again. Having a friend notice “hey, you’re changing for the better” really means a lot. She’s interested in seeing how this means things might change with Beau.

Dani points out that it also reinforced for Yasha that she can want things too--she can be patient and just continue to be with the group, as she’s wanted, but it’s okay to want more than that too. Ashley remembers Veth asking her what her purpose is. There’s a part of her that knows Yasha is still figuring that out, and she’s interested to see how Yasha will continue to change. She’s always spent her life serving somebody--the Sky Spear, Obann--and then even after she joined the M9, it was very centered on “what do you need, what does the group need, how can I help with our next job?” She’s going to have to take some time to figure out what she wants.

Fanart of the Week! Lovely Yasha & Beau flight art by @JMNP7888. The wings look amazing!

Brian: “One of the things we want to talk to you about, Liam, is about the Vokodo fight and the FUCKING disintegrate spell.”

Liam: “That was one of the most insane 60-90 seconds of gameplay that ever existed for the table, and definitely for me, in the entire history of the show. A lot of people think I just went, oh man, just bet it all on black. But what if I told you that...I Larkin’d the first 20 seconds of that fight and then at a quarter to midnight, I forgot that the reflection was a thing? I just forgot it was a thing! I spent that whole battle thinking I’m just here to banish things. I might buff my friends a little bit, maybe I’ll counterspell, but I’m just here to banish. And it didn’t work and it didn’t work and then it did! Finally it did and Jester made it work and then he was GONE. And then everyone got greedy and it was done but we brought him BACK. And it was a quarter to midnight and I’m not an animatronic D&D lesson machine, I’m just a guy playing D&D at 11:45 at night, and he came back and everyone started Goodfellas circling him and kicking him, and Beau & Yasha are gonna kill him, and then it’s my turn? Disintegrate! And then the room was quiet, and then time passed, and Matt asked, you really cast Disintegrate? And I said yes, of course, and Matt started rolling dice, and in the back of my head I started wondering why he asked if I was rolling Disintegrate. Oh no. In the back of my brain, I was like, well, just tell him that’s not what you did. Tell him you didn’t remember the reflection thing. But he’s already rolling dice! You can’t take it back now. Hold on a second. I’m going to take you on the journey I went through. I was thinking: you have a spell save of 17. This thing wasn’t that fast. +1, +2, maybe? Anything under 14 is okay. That’s 70%. 70%. That’s okay, right? And still no one said anything to tip me off that I was in ELDRITCH MADNESS at that point, no one said anything about the reflection! And then I realize it can reflect back on us, and I realize this is...disintegrate. And then I started becoming morbidly, macabre-ly fascinated at the puppet dance of death I had created. Well, this is a mess. I have made a mess. Let’s just sit in it. And somehow, nonsensically, spectacularly, it worked out in my favor. I went home that night and I got in bed next to my wife, who was fast asleep, and I stared at the ceiling going, dude. Duuuuuuuude. Duuuuuuuuuude.”

He apparently also told his therapist about this and how terrible it was and how close he “danced myself to the precipice like a crazy person!” Marisha (as told by Liam): “Epic roll, though.”

Matt told Liam that night that if it had been reflected, it would have gone back on him. “If a player throws an M80 in the middle of a room, it would reflect on that player who threw it.”

Ashley talks about how interesting that Yasha is not performative, and yet has been doing these public performances with the harp. It’s a great experiment for Ashley--Yasha doesn’t like the attention, but feels like she is making something beautiful for the world.” She’s trying to change something about how she views herself & her place in the world. She was raised to be a weapon for the Sky Spear, but she’s also extremely gentle and loves flowers & beautiful music, and the further away she’s gotten from the tribe, she’s falling in love with gentle, beautiful things. 

Liam also points out it easy (real, but simplistic) to make an entire character centered around a single personality trait: “I’m angry all the time. I’m sad all the time.” He thinks it’s more realistic to see nuance in personality.

Liam can see some paths for Caleb to find peace & do good. He doesn’t know if Caleb is conscious of those. He thinks it’s a huge step forward to admit he was molded in this direction at all and that it wasn’t all his choice, but doesn’t know if this is the same possibility as redemption.

He also mentions Essek in this answer: there was/is attraction there, both intellectual and physical--the forehead kiss was a big marker of that--and he’s interested in seeing where that goes because he’s invested in Essek’s redemption arc on its own, but Essek is not as high on the list as other things Caleb/the M9 need to work on. He loved the “high spy times” of the Essek arc and the tangled-up-ness of feelings getting involved at the same time as intense commitment to duty.

Liam always felt Matt would bring Molly back in some aspect, even though Caleb always demurred because he doesn’t believe in fate. Dani and Brian agree that this is the start of a new act.

Ashley cried at the Vilya reunion. She thought that was an incredible moment and was so glad to see Keyleth. Liam: “Keyleth as part of our story is everything to me. That story is really important to me, so getting just a glimpse of her again was so important to me.” They could all see how that affected Marisha & how special it was to her. Liam: “It was such a great note in her song or color in her painting. She achieved magnificent things and was powerful and great, but had a very heartbreaking and sad ending, so to have this sliver of joy go back in is so complex and beautiful and masterfully done.”

Aaaaaaand that’s all for tonight! Remember, no Critical Role this week. Talks will be back in two weeks. As always, don’t forget to love each other. <3

#talks machina #critical role #talks machina spoilers #critical role spoilers #long post #long post for ts

[beauregardlionett]

hands and tears and bedsheet fears

AO3 Link

Yasha wasn’t sure why she was leading the way to Beau’s room, but it felt right. Beau was so clearly eager to keep going, to lie in bed with Yasha and find infinity. But there also remained a quiet hesitance to everything Beau said and did around her.

Especially tonight.

Yasha knew Beau didn’t want to push her too far too fast—which was sweet—but Yasha was in the mood to be a little dangerous. She was in the mood to press Beau into the mattress with her body weight alone, to taste the salt on Beau’s skin, to chase the pleasure of her tongue. Call her reckless, but Yasha sometimes did better that way.

Besides, they had the whole tower to themselves. Yasha figured they could afford to be a little stupid for one night.

She turned to glance over her shoulder at Beau, a giddy grin tugging the corners of her lips upward. Beau looked somehow soft and wild all at once, her visage sending a shock of thrill through Yasha’s veins. There was a flush high on Beau’s cheekbones, her bright blue eyes glinting with unshielded desire. But Beau was also drowning in Yasha’s tunic, her bare legs only visible from just above her kneecaps down. Her hair fell loose and damp, leaving dark patches of water against Yasha’s shirt.

Yasha squeezed Beau’s hand where their fingers wove together, chest full of indescribable emotion.

They pushed open the door to Beau’s room at long last, Yasha tossing aside the bundle of their mismatched clothing. Beau barely stepped through the door before Yasha had her pushed up against it.

Without hesitation, Yasha’s lips pressed against Beau’s, kissing her with the same fervor as before. Months of repressed feelings and desires that she had attempted to funnel through stunted conversation and longing glances poured out of Yasha. Her lips were the floodgates and Beau’s the receiving river.

Yasha eventually came up for air, forehead pressed to Beau’s as they gasped in each other’s space.

“Bed?” Yasha asked, breathless.

“Bed. Definitely,” Beau agreed, giddy and hoarse.

Yasha laughed, soft and clear, as she ducked in to seal her lips against Beau’s neck. A low noise of pleasure slipped past Beau’s lips as her fingers sunk into Yasha’s messy, damp hair. Fingernails scraped lightly at Yasha’s scalp and she doubled her efforts, hands moving to hold the underside of Beau’s thighs. She straightened up, bringing Beau with her. Beau yelped at the sudden shift before hooking her ankles together around Yasha’s waist and leaning her weight into Yasha’s mouth so she didn’t fall backward.

Yasha turned and carried Beau further into the room, humming her approval against Beau’s carotid she had captured between her teeth.

Her bare feet against the cool stone of the bedroom floor echoed dimly against Beau’s quiet sounds of approval. The fabric of Yasha’s tunic clung almost uncomfortably between their damp and sweaty chests, the only barrier to them being skin to skin. But Yasha found she didn’t mind so much since Beau was wearing her shirt.

Yasha’s knees eventually knocked against the edge of Beau’s bed. She took a moment to firm up her grip on Beau’s thighs before tipping them both onto the mattress. Beau’s breath huffed from her upon impact, dissolving into a moan when the jarring motion caused Yasha to bite at the spot on Beau’s neck she had been attending to. Her fingers tugged at Yasha’s hair with unsteady desire—an encouragement.

Yasha kept at her task of pressing the most obvious hickey into Beau’s neck for another handful of moments before pulling away. She deemed her work satisfactory and grinned down at Beau’s flushed countenance, inordinately pleased with herself. The color in Beau’s cheeks and the dazed but excited light in her eyes gave Yasha all the reassurance she needed. Teasing her fingers against the hem of the tunic, she pushed the garment up and off Beau’s chest.

Beau’s hands moved faster, circling Yasha’s wrists with gentle pressure, but enough to halt the movement.

“Wait,” Beau’s hoarse voice stopped Yasha.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Yasha’s instinct was to fret, to worry that she had made a mistake. The hesitation that had so quickly overcome Beau’s expression left a terrifying chill that settled like a rock in Yasha’s gut.

“Yeah, I just…” Beau rolled her head to the side as she looked away. Her hair—loose and damp—splayed out on the pillow like a halo, her skin still glowing with a light shine from the hot tub. For all that Yasha bore the blood of angelic ancestry, Beau was a celestial vision. (Perhaps her bias was glaringly obvious, but what did that matter when your lives were at risk in a frozen wasteland?)

Yasha slid careful fingers against the sharp line of Beau’s jaw and cupped her cheek, drawing Beau’s attention back to her. All the confidence and bravado that Beau usually wore was absent; left in its place sat everything tender and vulnerable that she kept secret and safe behind the innumerable walls of her daily facade. Yasha knew it was an honor to be privy to Beau’s honesty, one she refused to take for granted.

“What is it, Beau?” Yasha murmured. “Talk to me.”

“This date has been…incredible,” Beau whispered after a moment, tone awed as much as it was hesitant. “And I know this is what others might think is the natural conclusion to a date they have a good time on. But I don’t…want you to think this is an expectation. I meant what I said earlier about no expectations, no matter what we confessed earlier.”

Yasha blinked down at Beau, stunned. They truly must be the biggest fools in all of Exandria. She could see it all now, in hindsight. The glances, the lingering touches, the blatant concern for each other piled and slid between healing hands and violent acts of protection. They had been pining after one another for months. The tension reached a breaking point ages ago, but they somehow stalled the shattering until now. And here Beau was, keeping their fragile composure held together with her bare hands. The jagged edges digging into her palms from the desire to transform into something new, but held back just in case.

All for Yasha’s sake.

Beau seemed to take Yasha’s stunned silence as some kind of confirmation because she started babbling reassurances.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’d love to do this if you want to, but I don’t want you doing it because you think I expect it. And if you don’t want to, we can stop here. We can go to sleep. We also don’t even have to sleep in the same bed—or even the same room. Hell, we can sleep on different sides of the tower if that would make you feel more secure. I mean—”

Yasha scooped her hands beneath Beau’s back and lifted her up, holding her close as she turned to sit on the edge of the bed. Beau’s legs straddled Yasha’s, her knees either side of Yasha’s hips. The movement silenced Beau, her lips clamped shut, eyes upset and guarded all at once as her fingers clung to the damp skin of Yasha’s shoulders. She looked down at Yasha before her gaze flicked to the side, looking almost ashamed.

“Beau,” Yasha murmured, her hands settled on Beau’s hips. “I want this. To be specific, I want this with you. There is no more hesitation on my end—I am all in. But if you don’t feel the same, that’s okay. I meant it too when I said no expectations.”

Beau seemed to deflate under Yasha’s hands, breath gusting out of her chest with a mighty exhale.

“I know that, and I want this, but—” Beau looked a little reluctant here, but she pushed on, gesturing to the bed over Yasha’s shoulder. “I’ve done this part before—quite often—and I know you’re aware that. There is the logical part of me that knows that you understand you aren’t just another one-night stand to feel something. But the other part of me is terrified of the morning.”

The pieces fell into place for Yasha. She firmed up her hold on Beau’s hips in response. Yasha leaned in, pressed her forehead to Beau’s jaw, and left a chaste kiss against her neck.

“It’s okay, Beau,” Yasha murmured with her lips against Beau’s neck. “I’m here. I’m staying.”

She thought she said the wrong thing when Beau choked on a sob above her. But before Yasha could pull back or say anything else, Beau wrapped her arms around Yasha’s shoulders and hugged her fiercely.

Yasha wound her arms around Beau’s waist and held her, let her cry into Yasha’s hair for as long as she needed. At some point, Yasha started rubbing a hand up and down Beau’s back over the tunic in soothing, even strokes. She kept up a steady litany of reassuring murmurs, hoping Beau would understand.

Yasha would not so easily leave again, not if she could help it.

Eventually, Beau’s tears subsided and Yasha got her to pull away so that she could thumb away the tears from Beau’s cheeks. Beau sniffled softly and murmured an apology that Yasha immediately dismissed.

“You do not have to apologize, Beau,” Yasha said as she brushed away another stray tear. “I want every part of you that you are willing to share with me. And that includes this.”

Beau looked like she might cry again, but there was also something lighter to the sheen in her eyes Yasha hadn’t seen before.

“I would like to kiss you again,” Yasha confessed as she continued to hold Beau’s face between her palms. “But only if that is okay with you.”

For all that she looked a mess and her voice croaked from crying, Beau’s answer was eager and immediate.

“Please. Please kiss me.”

They met in the middle, Yasha tipping her head to one side and Beau the other. It was easy and gentle, unassuming. They were content to linger on the other’s lips for as long as they both needed.

Yasha provided the inertia, however, when she moved her hands. Her fingers had gone a little numb where they rested against Beau’s hips. She slid her hands up Beau’s back, just to get her limbs moving, and her hands caught under the hem of the now dry tunic. The pads of her calloused fingers were a warm contrast against the small of Beau’s back, a comfortable heat.

Beau gasped into Yasha’s mouth at the touch, back arching slightly and fingers tightening on Yasha’s shoulders.

Yasha grinned up at Beau’s flushed face, amused and endeared. Perhaps a little reckless again as she put more pressure through her hands to Beau’s back.

Beau would never admit to pouting in that moment, but her lower lip stuck out as Yasha teased her gently.

The tunic didn’t stay on much longer.

#cr #critical role #beauyasha #my writing #writing #beauregard lionett #yasha

[ariadne-mouse]

For the physical affection prompts, maybe 22 for Shadowgast?

#22 - Kissing someone’s cuts and scratches (857 words)

Caleb spent the larger part of the battle as what Essek had recently learned was called a Tyrannosaurus Rex.  It was an intimidating name for an intimidating creature, and Essek had never seen its like before.  The best he could describe it was some kind of wingless dragon.  The tiny forearms were a bizarre joke next to the nightmarish teeth set in a mouth that could swallow a horse nearly whole.

Essek had no idea where Caleb had learned enough about the Tyrannosaurus Rex to Polymorph into one.  No doubt it was a story for their dinner table another time.

The most important thing for the moment was that Caleb, thus shaped, was able to bite at the flock of juvenile wyverns that had descended upon them on the mountainside.  When the wyverns took to the air, Caleb - and his teeth - could still reach them.  He tore a wing off more than one, leaving them grounded and vulnerable to the rest of the Mighty Nein.  And Essek.

(“It’s not the Mighty Nein and you,” Jester had told him once. “It’s just the Mighty Nein!  You’re with us now, aren’t you?”  He still had trouble believing it.)

It took long minutes, but finally all the wyverns were slain.  The Mighty Nein limped and shuffled about to investigate the bodies and begin patching their wounds.

Caleb lingered in his Polymorphed shape, as he so often did.  He loped slowly from one member of the Mighty Nein to the next, blowing hot air from his nostrils over each of them, and turning his huge head this way and that to examine them with an enormous beady eye.

The Mighty Nein did not seem at all perturbed by the close proximity of Caleb’s monstrous teeth. More than one of them gave him a pat on the snout or a scritch under his jaw.

At last he turned to Essek.  

It’s only Caleb, Essek reminded himself as he was covered by shadow.  Caleb, who he trusted as much as he could trust anyone.

Teeth, said another part of his brain, the baser part of him that made him flinch when birds took flight. Big teeth, very close, run.

Essek stood stock-still as Caleb inspected him.  It seemed the best compromise between his two conflicting urges.  Up close, he could see that the orange scales of the Tyrannosaurus Rex were a very close match to Frumpkin’s coloring.  He smiled, then winced as the movement pulled at a cut on his cheek.

Caleb made a mournful noise.  He wuffled loudly against Essek’s hair, covering him with hot, musty breath that carried the tang of wyvern blood.  Essek made a face and closed his eyes against the onslaught.

He almost wished he hadn’t, because the next sensation arrived completely by surprise: an enormous damp tongue that slathered the side of his face and half of his hair in gooey saliva.

“Eugh!” he protested. “Caleb!”

The Tyrannosaurus Rex made another mournful noise and turned his huge, boxy head to bring his eye close to Essek again.

“I’m fine,” Essek soothed, exasperated.  He overcame his hesitance and pet his hands along the scaly hide that he could reach.  Caleb turned into the touch, his massive size knocking Essek back a pace.  “You are ridiculous,” Essek informed him. “That was absolutely revolting.”

Caleb answered by sneezing.  Veth, who was thirty feet away, straightened up with a yelp and wiped at her arms as droplets reached her. “Ugh!  Gross!”

“Bless you,” shouted Beau from his other side.

Essek rolled his eyes. “Disgusting,” he said again.

There was a sound like approaching thunder as Caleb rumbled deep in his chest, then sat down as delicately as several thousand pounds of Tyrannosaurus Rex was able.  His enormous head rested at Essek’s feet, nearly as tall as Essek himself.    

Essek spied several long, deep scratches along Caleb’s snout.  Wyvern claws were cruelly sharp, and not even Caleb’s thick hide had been able to withstand them.

Caleb made an inquiring noise like the rusty hinges of a giant’s door.  His large round eyes became much softer and more pleading than should ever appear on such an apex predator’s face.  When he saw Essek was looking at his scratches, he scooted his head closer and made the noise again.

Essek glanced around.  No one was watching them.  

“I’m not going to lick you,” Essek sniffed. Then he sighed, and ducked forward to press a kiss to the top of Caleb’s enormous scaly nose.  “There,” he said. “Your wounds have been tended to.”

Caleb exhaled heavily and sent a cloud of dust over Veth.

“I’m moving upwind!” she announced, irate.  She did not, however, demand that Caleb change back.  No one did.  Everyone seemed in tacit agreement that Caleb would stay Polymorphed until he wanted to change back of his own accord.

Exhaustion prickled at Essek’s limbs, and he sat on the ground and leaned against Caleb’s heavy jaw.  The teeth weren’t so unsettling now, not when the Caleb’s personality was shining through so strongly.

He absently gave a pat to Caleb’s chin.  Caduceus or Jester would get to them in a few minutes.  For now, it was comfortable enough to wait.

#ariadne writes CR #shadowgast #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #critical role #physical affection prompts #tumblr snippets #polymorph as a coping mechanism #only a few more prompts to go!! #gonna finish before the hiatus ends #op

[gryffindors-weasley]

Only You

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Summary: Even though the odds seemed to be stacked against the two of you, you always find little moments.

Warnings: mild angst, fluff and kisses

(not my gif)

The lavishly designed ballroom was filled with just about every Slytherin within the wizarding world, the select ones chosen by his mother anyway, joined together for no particular reason other than to bask in their luxuries. Above all else, this carefully chosen group of individuals felt as though they were superior despite the events of the war.

Draco has stopped believing that thought to be true long before this night, having little to no interest in subjecting himself to thoughtless conversation with his parents many acquaintances. Especially not when such conversations inevitably carry the undesirable subject of the Dark Lord. He never wanted to utter a word about him. As far as he was concerned, the war concluded nearly five years ago and the threat was gone. He found there to be no reason to talk about him anymore. Not one of them had ever asked how he had been doing, or anything personal about him for that matter. Though with more thought, he doesn’t believe he’d ever divulge that information to them.

He wanted nothing to do with this, wanted to strip away his title as the Slytherin Prince and the awful mark on his arm that came with it. It wasn’t worth it in the slightest. However, his parents were not privy to this information, nor had they asked if he wanted any of this. He didn’t hold any malice toward Slytherin as a whole, but the things it’s put him through were something he’ll never forget.

He finds he’s grateful these kinds of events are very few and far between, but there’s never specific dates set in stone for them. It always takes him by surprise whenever his mother appears in his bedroom doorway informing him of such a thing, telling him to wear his best suit and not to leave his hair be as unruly as it had currently been. They’re the only times of the year that the Manor isn’t filled with silence save for the ticking of the clocks and the tap of his fathers unnecessary walking stick. He’d prefer it to this. The silence is much less nauseating than the constant clinking of glasses and humorless laughter, but it seemed to be of the few things keeping Narcissa happy while her husband was in Azkaban. He’d much rather hide away in the privacy of his room with a book than to be there, he’d only been standing along the same wall for the last forty-five minutes anyway.

Though subtly, he could sense something different, whether everyone else had been aware of it he wasn’t sure. But he knew exactly the cause and he found himself setting down the overly expensive goblet he drank from on a nearby table, slipping out of the large room with a cautious gaze over his shoulder. Not a single person had batted an eye at his absence, not that he expected them to. For being so important as the Malfoy heir, no one ever seemed to notice him.

His strides were quick and purposeful as he navigated the dimly lit halls, gaze flickering around every darkened corner he passed by. Nothing ever seemed to make him feel quite so excited as you did, even if your visits were far riskier for your safety than he’d like. But his heart leapt in his chest in anticipation as his instincts lead him where to go, hoping you’d actually be there rather than his gut feeling being false. Though any break, large or small, from that terribly boring formal event was one that would suffice. But he’d rather it be with you. He’d always rather be with you.

Arriving at the large mahogany double doors, he gave one final look at his surroundings for wandering gazes and prying eyes. He made his leave through the door on the right hand side to be specific, having learned from his numerous late night rendezvous’ that the left has got the noisy hinges.

He made his way down the old stone steps, taking in the expanse of the garden before him as the fresh air hits him. It takes a bit of searching before he spots what he’s looking for.

There you stood, hand lightly sweeping along the delicate petals of the numerous flowers residing in the large garden. Your dress was rather fitting for the summer evening, flowing and casual, holding far more color than the sea of dark green and black attire filling the entirety of that ballroom. It was a contrast to the suit he wore, which was comparable to the night sky he stood beneath.

“Love?”

You turned around, smiling warmly at the sight of your beau. The space between you was quickly closed as you rushed over, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“What are you doing here?” He continues, brushing a few stray strands of hair behind your ear with a gentle swipe of his fingertips before he settles his hand to rest on your cheek. He watched as your expression changed from fond to that of a playful one.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you don’t want to see me,” you say, tilting your head to the side with a raised brow. His expression was quick to change at your words, eyes widening a fraction in mild panic.

“No!” He rushes, pressing a kiss on your lips that was very much not rushed, rather one of reassurance as his fingers splayed across your cheek. “All I want is to see you. But if anyone finds you here, I don’t know what would—”

His flustered explanation is promptly silenced by your lips once more, any form of tension beginning to dissipate from his body as he relishes this very moment. One he feels is over too soon when you part, a teasing smile on your lips.

“That always seems to be an effective way of shutting you up,” you quip as you laugh softly, tracing the pad of your thumb along his lightly flushed cheeks. Despite the very cute fact that he was blushing, he rolls his eyes at your very true remark, resting his forehead on yours. “Besides, the moment you told me about that ball it was all the more reason to come and see you.”

His smile is almost unseen in the close proximity, his arms encircling your waist in an embrace so tight it sends you stumbling back a step or two with a squeal. Soft kisses were peppered on your neck, leaving hushed laughter in their wake. He basked in your very presence, soaking in every second he had with you as if it was his last, all while hoping there’d never be a last to worry about.

“I believe I’m supposed to be the knight in shining armor saving you, not the other way around,” he says with a soft smile when he looks at you again. The moonlight makes his gray eyes sparkle, his platinum hair seeming silver-like in the natural lighting. He seemed to have abandoned his mother’s wishes of styling his hair for the event. Regardless, the happiness adorning every inch of his face was something only reserved for you.

“When have I ever followed the rules?”

He gives you a fond look in answer as his smile widens, letting go of your hands and you frown as he leaves your side momentarily. You watch as he inspects the vast floral arrangement in front of him, and he plucks a single flower from its rightful spot amongst a sea of others similar to it, offering it to you with a softer grin. It was not a rose, he felt that would be too cliche. He didn’t know the specific name for this one but it was not a rose. His mother wouldn’t notice just one flower missing, at least he’d hoped not. But the way you beamed at him made any and all repercussions worth it should there be any.

The flower was bright, it’s petals colorful and ruffled and rather beautiful. He felt it was symbolic to you. Of the light you brought to his life, making his otherwise black and white outlook on the world turn to one that’s full of color and promise. And of course he thought you were the most beautiful person he has and ever will lay his eyes on. To him that was a known fact, one that was not open for debate.

He watched as you smelled it, a pale blush just barely visible coloring your cheeks at the sweet gesture.

“Do you know what a pink hydrangea means, Draco?” You ask softly, your arms resting around his neck.

You always seem to know a little something about everything, he thinks to himself.

“Do enlighten me, love,” he murmurs distractedly, his breath tickling just under your ear.

You laugh quietly at the sensation, your heart fluttering when he pressed a chaste kiss there. It had stolen your train of thought for only a brief moment, his mere presence intoxicating, but the delicate flower in your hand quickly jogged your memory. “When given to someone, a pink hydrangea is said to symbolize sincere emotion and love.”

He pulled back to look at you, a gentle smile adorning his lips as his eyes took in every inch of your face. The rosy tint in your cheeks deepened a shade as his thumb traced along the curve of your bottom lip, his eyes glinting with what could only be adoration.

“I knew I was drawn to it for a reason,” he says, dropping his hand to envelop your own. The cold metal of his ring sent a shiver along your spine despite the warm summer evening. “Because sincerely, darling, I am completely and madly in love with you.”

Without hesitation, you lean on your toes and press your lips on his, fingers carefully tangling in the platinum hair at the nape of his neck. It felt as though your heart was bursting in your chest, set aflame at his very words. Or how it somersaulted as he held you as close as he possibly could.

“I love you,” he whispers between soft kisses, again and again, until he’s too breathless to continue.

“I love you,” you murmur with a kiss to his nose, then to his cheek, and another to his lips. “Completely.”

The blush traveling up his neck is immediate, his toothy grin a rare sight in recent days but it was one you never failed to bring out. He never fully understood how he deserved the affections of someone he deemed to be the most wonderful person he’s ever known, he knows he’ll never grasp that concept. But it’s one he finds himself fortunate for with every day that passes with you.

The echoed sound of his name tugs him from his lovestruck daze and has him turning to look over his shoulder, dread pulling at his heart when he turns back to you. He grasps your hands in his own with a lingering squeeze, sighing deeply as he gazes at you. “Wait here for me?”

In that moment, he swears to himself to start looking for other places to reside in, perhaps a place of your own now that you were no longer just two kids in love. Surely he had enough savings to do so because he was growing tired of loving you in secret.

You nod at the soft question, a silent promise and he kisses you once more. He’s unwilling to let you go, always was, but moments pass before he finally does and he turns away as he walks. Though he finds himself looking back to cast one last glance your way before apparating to a place much less obvious to the person who’d called him, hoping his kiss swollen lips aren’t terribly noticeable.

No matter who disapproved, you’ll always have those little moments.

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy fic #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy one shot #harry potter fic