#i just have some vague sense of what I want to be told
Note
WIBTA for leaving a DND campaign abruptly?
Some backstory: I had joined a DND game about 5 years ago right after breaking up with my toxic ex at the time. Me and my ex were both trying to be cordial at this time and ended up both joining a DND game run by a mutual friend.
In our first session, I had noticed my ex made her character be a parody of me that she made look like an awful person. She then kept dm-ing me during our sessions to tell me how to play my character better and other general backseat gaming stuff.
Very quickly, maybe about a month in, I contacted the DM about leaving the campaign due to wanting to distance myself from my ex. She was very upset I wanted to leave and offered to kick my ex from the group instead. I declined saying it would only cause more drama. The DM agreed to let my character go off at the end of the activity we were gonna do that session so it would make sense story-wise.
But this departure did not happen. after that conversation she vague-posted onling about how people dont want to be her friend. She then purposefully kept extending this part of the plot, just so I wouldnt leave the game and could realize it could still be fun. I told her outright I could not do this anymore after 3 more additional sessions and telling me she'll get to my character's exit soon. I always felt like an ass to the other players in the game for leaving them abruptly but I could not do it anymore.
Fast forward roughly 4 years, the DM tells me she is going to make a new campaign and would like for me to join since my ex was no longer in it. I agreed as I had missed playing DND a lot.
For the past year or so I have been in this campaign and it can be fun at times but I still feel out of place. This new session is a direct continuation of the previous campaign's storyline and regularly references it. Now, as far as I know my ex's character has not been referenced at all but I am constantly reminded of this situation whenever they mention a character's name I don't remember (because honestly I don't remember her characters name nor do I want to). I know I said to not bring her up around me but I don't quite trust this friend to keep her word. Simply because I don't think she ever remembers anything I tell her out of a place of... just not caring.
The DM and I just don't quite mesh that well. I don't really like her DM-ing style of making it up as the session happens. I don't like that she will constantly decide what my character is doing, even if I ask to do something, she tells me to roll to see if i can, i can get a nat20 and she will still decide what my character will do next based on what she thinks is funnier to her but makes my next action harder to accomplish.
I have dm'd her to talk about the progression of my character arc (after she constantly implys in session my character is the comedic relief and doesnt have any character development) and she'll go ooo and aaa (literally all she would say) but never actually implement anything I recommend.
I kept saying to myself it will get better in time. I have voiced my wants for my character, and they are ignored. In session, my character actions are essentially decided for me no matter how I roll the dice. It feels weird to be around half of the party bc they spent 4 years in a campaign with my ex who played a parody of me. esp hard after the DM keeps making me be the comedic relief even though I keep trying to play more seriously. other players constantly joke about how my character is gonna be the one that gets them all killed etc because of actions I dont necessarily decide.
Now as mentioned before, DM is also known to vague-blog about how "her friends secretly hate her" at any moment as well. This has happened before after I tried to "real talk" with her a handful of times over unrelated topics too (even if she initiates this conversation)
Given everything above, I want to leave this DND game after giving it a try for a year (really giving it an opportunity to improve). We left off with my character running off alone to get supplies for the party. I was thinking I could make a statement saying I had some personal things come up and I need to leave the game abruptly and leave it to the DM to decide what to do with my character.
Now I feel like I may be the AH because: I am leaving the game abruptly for a second time technically. I would contact the DM on how to make it make sense for my character to depart, but I feel like she will do the same thing as before with the previous campaign and keep putting it off, especially after ignoring my character growth ideas for a year in this current campaign. I also feel like I may be the AH because in character my group does need those supplies, but there is nothing stopping the DM from controlling my character to deliver supplies within the first 5 minutes of the next session.
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this winding labyrinth, ch6
chapter six: awakening
pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader (reader is not gendered, race-ambiguous, and no physical descriptors are used)
summary:
You wish you never met Hannibal Lecter. But you yearn for his presence. You want to forget him. But he never truly leaves your thoughts. Now, you’re left to pick up the pieces of a broken design. A battle of instinct rages on in your mind—one of bittersweet relief and cloying grief, fearless resolve and poignant regret; a clashing between affection and antipathy, pride and pain. What will win, in the end? Only time will tell.
this is chapter 6, act 2 of this broken design. if you haven't read act 1 or chapters 1-5, this won't make too much sense.
ao3 version | Spotify playlist
warnings: typical fare (canon-typical blood, violence, gore, etc.)
Your greeting falls flat in the tense air. You can vaguely hear footsteps and shouts from the other cells, but it all fades away when you meet those ever-familiar gleaming crimson eyes. For a long moment, there is nothing but horrid anticipation. He’s forcing you to sit in this stifling silence as penance.
“I’ve been expecting you,” Hannibal eventually hums. It doesn’t take long for you to remember that Hannibal has been expecting you from the moment he turned himself in. You try to envision him rotting away behind these walls, ignorant of the developments occurring all around him. It’s a bit hard to imagine—namely because you suspect it didn’t happen that way. You didn’t need to speak to Hannibal today to confirm your suspicion that someone has been feeding him information from the outside. After all, his surrender was entirely tactical. Hannibal knew what he was doing when he folded his arms behind his head and knelt before Jack—knew what he was doing when he left you with everything but an explicit promise that he would see you again.
Yes, Hannibal has been expecting you. And you, in some regard, have been expecting him. You weren’t so foolish to think that Hannibal’s captivity would remove him from your life forever—things are rarely so simple. You had a feeling you’d return to the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane for a house visit—you just didn’t know when. Indeed, it’s been years since Hannibal’s surrender. You idly wonder if you should be proud of yourself for how long you maintained your distance. This brutal eye contact through glass that feels far too thin; these clenched fists and gritted teeth… They were bound to happen eventually. Perhaps you were just prolonging inevitability.
You digest his words for a few moments longer, before taking a deep breath. “I’m here to speak with you about the Tooth Fairy.” You announce. Hannibal doesn’t seem surprised by your statement, as he surely knows that you’re only visiting him out of necessity. There is no trace of amusement on his face, yet you can see his twisted delight regardless. He planned for this—painstakingly waited weeks, months, years for you to arrive. You willingly walked into this trap.
“Did you receive my letter?” Hannibal asks, before you can elaborate any further on the Tooth Fairy. You had forgotten how smoothly Hannibal can manipulate a conversation, steering it masterfully into any desired direction.
When you manage to process his words, you feel frozen in place. “I… did receive it, yes,” you say, wincing as you’re forced to remember what you’ve spent years trying to forget. You’re thrown back into the uncertain time following Hannibal’s surrender…
You hadn’t spent long at your house in Wolf Trap—you needed to get away from it all. You hadn’t told anyone about your relocation except Jack, Bev, and Alana. You wanted a break from the caution tape and bloodstains. A break was what you wanted, and a break was what you got: two months of time to yourself. Just before it got to be too much, you were back at the Bureau, continuing your work. The move was a great decision overall. Perhaps best of all, it put even more distance between Baltimore and you. The further you were from Baltimore, the better.
Then, one afternoon, you returned home to find a letter in your mailbox. You were suspicious at the time. After all, by then, Hannibal was growing to be a popular figure in the news—which had forced you into the spotlight as a result. Even despite your relocation, you occasionally received strange mail from impersonators. You convinced yourself this letter, hidden in a burgundy envelope with an elegant wax seal, was another prank. Still, against your best judgment, you opened it. The elegant cursive writing immediately threw all realistic explanations out the window. At that point, you had only read the first few words—but you knew it was no prank.
You wanted to throw it into the fireplace and let it burn to ashes. However, the thought of never getting to see the message was even worse. You took a slow breath and moved to your dining table, laying the letter flat and reading it under the dim light.
My dear,
You need have no concern as to your fate. You have no better nor more respectful friend than myself.
I have been reading rather frequently these days. There is not much else to be done. I suppose I should instead be grateful that I am provided with books, a desk, a bed, and similar luxuries that the other prisoners do not have. Yet a gilded cage is still a cage.
Your image wanders the halls of my mind palace quite frequently. Even in the darkest depths of this winding labyrinth, your gleaming eyes tear through the shadows with ease. Your voice reverberates through these confines, drawing me from slumber and compelling me to take measured breaths with renewed vigor. I wonder if I have grown to wander the recesses of your mind in return, slipping into your mind palace despite your most concentrated efforts.
I do wonder how you are faring. I find myself looking at the night sky through the skylight often. Some of our stars are the same, after all.
Are your stars burning too?
Yours,
Hannibal Lecter
The signature at the end of the letter captured your attention for a moment, before your mind fell to the uncomfortable realization that Hannibal had found your new address. You moved away from Wolf’s Trap to escape your memories, to escape him. Yet he found you with ease, even when in captivity.
A polite cough brings you back to reality. Hannibal is staring at you expectantly, and you remember that he is waiting for an answer. “Thank you for the letter,” you say, albeit with a bit more irritation in your voice than usual. You don’t have the freedom to say what is truly on your mind, lest he grow disinterested and refuse to give you more information. Regrettably, you’re forced to play along.
Despite your somewhat snippy tone, Hannibal is dissuaded. “Of course,” he smiles, a sharp thing. You truly cannot tell if he is taking pleasure from your gratitude (regardless of its veracity). Silence stretches across the space once more. The two of you are assessing one another.
“Now, about the Tooth Fairy,” you finally manage to say, “I was hoping you could give me some professional insight.” Hannibal nods and you pull out a crime scene photograph and a picture of Mrs. Leeds, ensuring that nothing is attached to them (Chilton was very strict about that) before sliding them through the mail slot fused into the glass wall. Hannibal gets up from his chair and takes the photographs, studying them with a careful gaze. You think you see his eyes gleam brighter as he evidently looks at the corpses in the first picture and your stomach turns at the observation.
You’re not sure how much time you spend watching him as he looks at the photograph. You get the feeling that he’s luring you into a false state of security by allowing you to look at him, and you can’t get rid of the unreasonable conviction that, somehow, he is watching you right back.
“And what have you gathered so far?” Hannibal asks once he has thoroughly scrutinized the first photograph.
“In terms of physical characteristics… he’s right-handed; has blonde hair; and has size eleven shoes.” You recall. “Otherwise, we don’t have much, unfortunately. I’m trying to establish some sort of connection between the two families, the Leedses and the Jacobis. They’re both white, middle-class nuclear families. Not much else sticks out, save for the special attention the killer paid to both of the wives.”
“The wives,” Hannibal repeats, his eyes now locked on the second photograph you handed him. There’s a strange look on his face—it almost looks like revulsion. You know he wouldn’t be disgusted by the act—he’s committed murder before and will do it again without hesitation, you have to remind yourself. Maybe his contempt is for the fact that he’s trapped, while this killer roams free? You’re honestly not sure. It’s been a while since you’ve devoted significant time and energy to thinking about Hannibal, so you get the feeling your characterization of him may be a little tarnished and inaccurate with how much time has passed.
“He found the wives beautiful,” you continue, following his gaze to the crisp print. The image is burned into your mind: Mrs. Leeds glances at the camera, shimmering hair flowing down her shoulders. Her eyes are gleaming and her lips are twisted into a conspicuous smile, as if sharing a secret with the onlooker. “He was fixated on them.”
“A sexual obsession, perhaps.” Hannibal hums. That thought had already crossed your mind, of course—Jack and you discussed it shortly before you left. Even so, an obsession of that nature doesn’t elucidate all of this killer’s actions.
“He exhibits a lot of the indicators of psychopathy…” You break off.
“Yet, he is not typical,” Hannibal finishes for you. You nod.
“Not from what I can see,” you admit. “Plus, he left frighteningly little evidence. The few pieces of evidence we found almost seemed to be deliberately placed.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “He will kill again on the next full moon,” you continue, crossing your arms over your chest. You feel strangely vulnerable standing in front of Hannibal after all this time. “Which leaves us… less than a month to capture him.”
“Jack must be stressed,” Hannibal intuits.
“Of course,” you acquiesce. It’s a reasonable assumption to make, so you don’t feel like you’re revealing any information by agreeing with the statement. A killer on the loose is never a good thing, and will cause any FBI agent considerable stress. “We all are.” You affirm.
“Is there anything else?” Hannibal asks. You desperately want to deny him any more information but, damn it, you need some sort of lead on this killer. And this discussion, riddled in ambiguity and riddles and philosophy, does challenge your existing assumptions in a way nothing else has.
These thoughts convince you to share one more tidbit of information—arguably one of the more important pieces of evidence. “The killer shattered the mirrors at both crime scenes.” You answer. You blink and you’re standing over shards of jagged glass scattered across the ground. The fragments crunch underneath your feet and a twisted thrill runs up your spine, a cruel smirk distorting your face. You blink again and are abruptly thrown back to the present moment, standing across from Hannibal Lecter with only a wall of glass separating both of you.
“Intriguing,” Hannibal remarks. His tone is rather flat, and you’re unable to tell if he really thinks it’s intriguing or not. You think he must be telling the truth—he psychoanalyzed people for a living, after all. The more puzzling and perplexing, the more entertaining. “Perhaps it’s born out of a sense of frustration. The killer feels disconnected. He feels as if he isn’t where he should be. He may even be attempting to experience… a becoming.”
A becoming. That’s an interesting way of phrasing it. “But what is he trying to become?” You hear yourself say. You’re not sure if you’re even asking Hannibal at this point, or if you’re just reciting your thoughts aloud. “Or… who?”
“I believe that’s your question to answer,” Hannibal responds smoothly.
The smile on your face hurts and you feel it slide off within moments. You take a deep breath and try to calm your racing thoughts. You’re not sure why you’re fighting so hard to maintain pretense, even now—when Hannibal is caged behind a wall of thick glass. “The biting leads me to believe that he thinks himself to be some sort of creature. Maybe.” You’d venture to guess that he has some sort of physical deformation or abnormality, leading to debilitating self-esteem issues (in addition to a host of other far more pressing issues). The killer holds contempt for how others see him. Yet… he arranged the Leedses so that they were watching him—watching his performance as he took Mrs. Leeds’ life from her. Perhaps he only feels whole when he is committing acts of unspeakable violence. Perhaps… he is striving for some sort of unattainable ideal. And the smashing of the mirror is a release of his frustration with the laborious process of “becoming” that Hannibal mentioned. He does not believe he has achieved his “becoming” yet. You need to do more research. You get the feeling you have more reading to do when you return to the Bureau.
“I’m afraid I haven’t been of much assistance,” Hannibal then says regretfully. His eyes are twinkling and his lips are twisted ever so slightly, informing you that he is feeling more amused than apologetic. You’re not sure why you expected anything different. Any other person would be weathered down by years in prison; Hannibal only seems sharper.
Besides, it was foolish of you to think you could get all the answers you desired within one conversation. You suppose Hannibal has given you something to think about, at least. Still, it feels as if your visit was ultimately a mistake. All you have gotten is the unnerving confirmation that Hannibal had been waiting for you to appear. He sprung a trap for you years ago, and you thought time would erode its netting. Yet you foolishly wandered right into it. It was silly of you to think of yourself as anything other than the prey.
Your thoughts spiraling into self-deprecation, you bid Hannibal goodbye and start walking back down the hall. He returns the sentiment, albeit with a slightly different departing remark—likely to imply that you will be seeing him again. You try not to think about it as you continue walking down the hall, but you can’t quite stop your racing thoughts. Besides, there is merit to considering everything you’ve discussed with Hannibal today. There is value in dissecting his emotions and determining his conceptualization of the killer, because it could better inform your search. He may have been withholding information, but his characterization of the killer’s actions as a journey towards a “becoming” is still immensely informative.
You get the feeling that his ambiguity and evasive answers were primarily for the purposes of establishing a need for future conversation. He has given you just enough to prove useful, but not so much that you’ll never come back. You feel somewhat akin to a wild animal that just fell into a trap, successfully earning a reward but sustaining injuries regardless. Your pride is wounded, and your immediate recollection of the trap will succeed in deterring you from trying it once more. But, as time passes and you slowly let your guard down, you will stumble across the trap the hunter has set for you once more, and fall into it all over again.
You shake your head and continue walking, pretending not to notice the jeering and shouting coming from the nearby cells. It feels as if you’ve been walking forever, but you’re hardly ten steps away from Hannibal’s cell. Your momentary pause in the hallway seems to tempt one of the prisoners, as he races forward and slams his hands against the bars of his cell.
You freeze, your heart hammering in your chest. The prisoner is now almost crushed against the barrier, staring at you with enough intensity to melt through the iron bars of his cell. You make the unfortunate mistake of returning his eye contact, and he purses his lips before spitting at you. Disgusted and revolted, you wipe his saliva off of your face with the back of your sleeve. There’s no point in attempting to retaliate—the guy will be confined here for the rest of his life. Besides, your momentary glance at him was enough to inform you that the man is severely unstable. There’s no telling if he even sees you right now—he could easily be seeing a shadow of his past standing under these fluorescent lights, jeering at him with venom.
You hear a whisper of your name in the hall, but put it down to your imagination and take another step away from the prisoner. You don’t make it far before you hear your name again, and you’re forced to come to terms with the fact that someone has been calling your name. And, not just someone—Hannibal himself. You want nothing more than to ignore his remarks, but, somehow, you can’t take another step. As if a puppet on a string, you feel compelled to return to your original spot in front of the Ripper’s cell. “You have Lecter on a leash, don’t you?” But you’re the one on the leash, and he is the one dragging you back. The walk back to the end of the hall feels far too quick.
Hannibal is standing close to the glass wall, his gaze flitting across your face. You’re startled to recognize the fury glittering in his eyes and the rage forcing his posture ever straighter. Despite these glaring abnormalities, Hannibal’s voice is unsettlingly tranquil. “Did Miggs spit on you?”
That must be the prisoner’s name. The last name doesn’t ring any bells, and the man remains little more than a shadowy visage in your mind. Seconds later, Hannibal’s expectant gaze forces you to remember his question. As you process just what he’s asking of you, you realize that you really have no choice but to answer truthfully. There is no point in attempting to lie to Hannibal—not only does he detest dishonesty, but he was also a short distance away from where it happened. He’s only asking out of courtesy. “...Yes.” You eventually murmur.
“How discourteous.” Hannibal frowns. There’s a dangerous gleam in his eyes and it unsettles you. You’re briefly satiated with the knowledge that Hannibal can do no one harm from his glass confines; yet, at the same time… in the back of your mind, you can’t help but instinctively fear for impending violence.
“I’ll survive,” you say, trying to smile and manifest an unbothered attitude. Your effort quickly falls flat when faced with Hannibal’s insistence. “Thank you for your concern, Dr. Lecter.” You finish with a small nod.
“You’re attempting to distance yourself from me by referring to me with that honorific,” Hannibal states clinically. His voice is entirely void of emotion now—instead laced with a professional frigidity that you haven’t heard from him in a long time. His mask briefly cracks, as his expression shifts to one of mild curiosity. “Is it working?”
“Not quite.” You mutter. Hannibal must hear your answer, because his lips tug into a smirk for a moment before it is smoothed over. You pretend not to notice—something you’ve been doing rather frequently within this stretch of time that you’ve shared with him. “Goodbye.” You remark, turning on your heel to walk away.
“I think we both know this isn’t goodbye.” Hannibal says in lieu of a farewell. You don’t bother to respond to that statement (and, secretly, you’re not sure what you could possibly say to that). But your shoulders stiffen as you depart and his voice follows you down the hall, up the steps, and out into the open night air. Even when you’re back at home under your covers, his remark sits heavily on your eyelids and repeatedly pulls you away from a peaceful sleep.
FOOTNOTES:
1. In The Phantom of the Opera, the Opera Ghost leaves the following note for Christine: “My dear Christine, you need have no concern as to your fate. You have no better nor more respectful friend in the world than myself.” Hannibal has absolutely read The Phantom of the Opera enough times to quote it from memory, and that is a hill I will die on.
2. Hannibal sends a letter to Clarice in The Silence of the Lambs, where he writes: “Orion is above the horizon now, and near it Jupiter, brighter than it will ever be again before the year 2000. (I have no intention of telling you the time and how high it is.) But I expect you can see it too. Some of our stars are the same.”
In the books, Hannibal sends Will a Christmas card, but I had him send the reader a letter to make it relatable for a general audience (aka nondenominational). I simultaneously do and don’t see Hannibal as the type to write a Christmas card. On the one hand, it’s amusing to think about + he absolutely gives off the vibes of someone who writes messages in cursive with a nice pen. On the other hand, a Christmas card isn’t always super personal and I felt that a letter is more demonstrative of the depth of the relationship between Hannibal & the reader. Also, speaking of the books… Miggs is somehow far crueler and his interaction with Clarice is even more unsettling (if you’ve read SotL, I’m sure you can understand why I altered the scene here).
media i've watched/read recently: texas chainsaw massacre, halloween (michael myers fic pending); phantom of the opera (may make this a recurring section in my endnotes, 'cause it seems fun)
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Sea Cryptic! Danny AU- Pt.3
[Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.4][Pt.5][Pt.6][Pt.7]
“Aquaman.” Batman swept into the room, beelining straight for the suddenly apprehensive Atlantean king.
“Batman. What can I do for you?”
“Phantom. Does he pay taxes?”
“Pardon?”
Batman makes a low noise that had Aquaman’s danger senses buzzing.
“Does Phantom have to pay taxes. Towards Atlantis.”
“No…? Why?”
“He wanted money, in exchange for… information, of a delicate sort,” Batman said, diplomatically avoiding the topic of Phantom bargaining for the identities of corpses in exchange for a measly $100 dollars per identity. Like a flea market dealer, that one was.
“You encountered Phantom again?” Aquaman perked up.
“Yes. Gotham’s bay is… polluted.” Batman paused. “With victims. Of murder.”
The entire area quieted as heads turned towards the Dark Knight.
“Yes, I am… distantly aware of Gotham’s waters.” By that, Aquaman gets green around the gills whenever he turns his awareness in that direction. There’s a reason he doesn’t enter Gotham, and the Dark Knight’s ban is only half of that reason. “Ah, but you’re correct. For what purpose would Phantom need mortal currency?”
“Hn.”
“Maybe he needs some stuff?” Flash zipped to a stop next to Batman, feet tapping as he dug into the pile of snacks cradled in his arms. “Us mortals are always coming up with new things, maybe he wants to try some games or something?”
Batman tilted his head down, seriously considering Flash’s suggestion. “It’s plausible.”
“Barry, Barry, Barry. He’s old as hell, right? He probably wants to try the new booze!”
“Hal, my man!” Flash fist bumped Green Lantern, who came up. “You’re back! What happened to John?”
“Dunno. He got called somewhere that way,” Green Lantern waved a vague hand towards the left. “Had to deal with a politician or something from that area.” He shrugged, swinging an arm over Barry’s shoulders to put him in a headlock and stealing a chip.
“Huh. Anyways, would our mortal alcohol even work on a demi-god or something?”
“We should ask!” Hal turned towards Batman. “You should ask if he wants to go for a drink, spooky!”
“He’s a child.”
“He’s been around for more than a millennia, Bats.”
“Informational gathering, right, Hal?” Flashgot out of the headlock, quickly munching on his snacks to stop Green Lantern from stealing them.
“Totally. Yup.”
“…Fine.”
“Wait, are we just gonna ignore that Gotham’s waters are full of bodies?”
“Yes.”
——
“What?” Danny asked, mind half on the bags he’s dragging out of the water and the other half on the essay he has to submit in about four hours.
“Green Lantern wanted to invite you out for a drink.”
Danny turned to the stoic Gotham knight, who had his wrist computer out to log the bodies’ info the moment Danny gave him the information. Some of them even told Danny who murdered them, so Batman could start building cases with solid leads.
Danny’s only twenty. He’s not legal yet but he doesn’t want to give any clues to who he is. How is he supposed to…
Ah!
“Can’t.” Danny shrugged. “I’m not legal. I died when I was fourteen so…” Danny trailed off, speechless at the drowned puppy face Batman was giving him. What the fuck.
“Anyways, fork over my payment.”
Batman wordlessly hands him a wad of hundreds.
“What do you need cash for?” Batman suddenly asked.
“Huh? Isn’t it obvious?” Danny tucked it in. “Material things, obviously. I need a blanket,” because holy shit, Gotham is damn cold this time of year. “Anyways, see you same time next week, litterer.”
“I don’t litter.”
“Tell that to the batarangs I found under the water,” Danny grumbled. “But I’ll stop calling you that if you get a signature from Poison Ivy. I have a friend who loves her.”
“An alive friend?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know, weatherboy?”
Danny snickered and disappeared. He’s gotta cram that essay.
——
“There’s a possibility Phantom might be homeless.”
“Batman, I mean this in the nicest way, but for the love of Atlantis, please stop giving me headaches. It’s time like these I wish I stayed a lighthouse keeper.”
#batman#danny phantom#bruce wayne#dc x dp#bamf danny phantom#dpxdc#dcxdp#hal jordan#green lantern#the flash#Barry allen#mentions of Sam mason#phantom doesn’t pay taxes#but Danny Fenton absolutely pays taxes#his parents taught him how to file taxes#tax season is coming up soon tall I’m stressed#arthur curry#Aquaman#Aquaman and being interrogated on Atlantean history#Batman’s nickname is the litterer#you can’t tell me that batarangs don’t go everywhere#sea cryptic! danny au
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ghost, but as your fake boyfriend.
you were panicking.
your mother had called earlier, asking if you could come home for a few days. apparently, your brother had returned from overseas, and she called to let you know that every single member of your family would be there. a small family reunion, if you will. of course, she expected you to show up too, perhaps bring that boyfriend of yours you always told them about.
which was a problem because one, you don't have a boyfriend, and two, you have lied to your family for years and now it's come to bite you in the ass.
you didn't even know why you did it in the first place. perhaps the constant pestering and questions about "when will you get married?" is starting to bother you, especially when it came from so many of your relatives, wondering if you'd settle down already instead of being out there in danger all the time. perhaps you just want them to leave you alone and stop worrying about your wellbeing. after all, you're an adult, and it's just annoying to hear the same thing over and over again every single time when you went home for christmas.
so, you created this narrative of a "boyfriend", who you'd talk about when your parents called. a boyfriend who is tall, handsome, and loves you for who you are. a boyfriend who you'd live with and maybe plan on marrying too in the future. a boyfriend that is so much of a textbook nice guy that your family would approve of even if it sounds too good to be true.
you're not sure who to ask. soap would be your best bet, but he would be away on a mission at that date. which was unfortunate, he seemed really excited to play fake boyfriend with you. gaz just ran out of leave for this month, so he's out too. price is too old, your family would question it.
that leaves just one person...
"lt, can you do me a favor? please, just this once."
ghost turned towards you, leaning back and letting you explain. you told him that you need him to be your fake boyfriend for a family event.
unsurprisingly, he was very quick to stand up and leave you alone, not wanting to deal with your bullshit. still, you catch up to him, trying to convince him with whatever it is you could offer.
after a few rounds of convincing, tailing him for three days and nights, constantly pestering him, and some offers of the finest whiskey and whatever he wanted, ghost finally relented. it didn't take long for the two of you to fly back to your hometown two days before the family reunion, the two of you taking a week of leave from the base with very little trouble. you assumed that ghost had something to do with it.
before you arrived, you had to give him a rundown on what to expect, what questions will be asked and how to answer them for it to make sense in the web of lies you've created. he was definitely not thrilled, telling you that he got this... whatever "this" was supposed to be. you were nervous, hoping that things will actually go well.
surprisingly, ghost did keep true to his words. walking into your childhood home, he held your waist, keeping you close to him, even would act nicer to your nosy relatives (which, of course, was not surprising when you feel his grip got tighter around you).
dinner was quite cozy, everyone seemed to enjoy his presence and kept asking you if you two will end up married. ghost said something vague that made you blush, and while it embarrassed you, it got everyone to stop talking about it.
when the crowd dissolved, you took ghost to go see your childhood bedroom, closing the door behind him as you thanked him for doing you a good favor, and that you won't forget all about this. you didn't even realize that he stepped closer to you, too absorbed in gushing how successful the night has been, pulling you close and planting a kiss on your lips. it shut you up.
"... did you just kissed me?"
"mmhm. i reckon i deserve at least that, huh love?"
"i suppose you do..."
he kissed you once more. well, at least you won't have to lie about your fake boyfriend anymore.
#this has been in the drafts for so long#i lost track of where this is supposed to go#call of duty modern warfare#call of duty headcanon#call of duty#simon ghost riley#cod headcanon#simon ghost riley x reader#cod ghost x reader#fake boyfriend
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Some Theories about Anya's Name
Who would have thought a short chapter would bring so much information and discussion? But then again, we're talking about Anya, agent of chaos (according to her papa).
After that chapter, there's plenty of theories flying around, so I decided to make this post to compile, explain and expand these theories 😉
Ready?
Anya is an acronym: This one is pretty clear has been a popular general theory. It means that the letters of her name stand for something else. What exactly? We don't know yet, but it probably has to do with Project Apple and the infamous lab Anya was created.
Anya...Ania...OstANIA: If you live near small children, you probably know that when they are learning how to talk, they do it by picking up words adults say and many times they say those words wrong. While discussing with some friends, I imagined those scientists constantly saying the word Ostania in front of that little girl. Maybe baby Anya thought that was her name because she heard the word OstANIA all the time, but she couldn't say it right.
Anya, the foreign princess: This one is very simple. It means that her name was spelled differently in her country of origin. This theory is vague, but I do believe a third country could be involved in all this mess. Also, it would make sense for Anya to be hiding in Ostania, if she was born and kept captive in a different country.
Anya...A N/A: This one is one of the most interesting theories! A N/A would mean something like "Non-applicable". You probably think this doesn't say much, but it really does. In the first few chapters of the story we learned that Anya was adopted and returned 4 times. Instead of a child, she was returned as if she was a piece of clothing. Even though it's been barely mentioned, we've also learned that people that participated in Project Apple didn't treat the subjects nicely (see how they treated Bond). Those people called Anya "subject 007". They didn't even give her a name. If we think about it, Anya is very "non-applicable". She was created in a lab, she has a strange power, so she's not like the other kids, she's been adopted and returned 4 times...
The A N/A and Anya being treated like an object instead of a human being fits the Spy x Family premise of the story, which is: Humans like Twilight, Yor, and Anya are used as weapons instead of being treated like humans. The story is about them regaining their humanity through love and family.
So even if A N/A says nothing about Anya, it says a lot about the story.
Look at this little girl. This illustration was heartbreaking. Do you know when it takes place? It's right before he meets Twilight. We see that it's the same filthy orphanage Twilight visited on chapter 1 and this is not Anya's first orphanage, so that means this illustration happened after she was returned again. The way she's facing the door, her body language, the way she holds Mr. Chimera by the hand is so sad. Here she is, once again, in a place she doesn't want to be, where nobody will take care of her...alone 😭
Enough of that or we'll end up crying...🤧
Some other things to take into consideration about her name:
Mr. Chimera: Since this is a visual story, that panel of Mr. Chimera tells us that this plushie is involved in Anya's name. If you've read certain fic, you know where I stand on that. In this case, I think that yes, the person who helped Anya escape gave Mr. Chimera to her. However, I don't think it was exactly that character (you know who). It probably was someone else, maybe even a new character we don't know yet. It could also be a scientist who took pity on Anya or disagreed with the use of children as lab rats, and helped her escape. We don't know yet.
Twilight: One of the most beautiful panels on that short chapter was seeing Anya's eyes lit up when her papa told her the correct spelling of her name. Did you see it? Those were the eyes of someone who had just learned something new about herself and by doing this, Twilight made her even more human.
One more thing...I've seen speculations about the next arc of the manga being about Anya's past because of this short mission. In my opinion...I don't think it'll happen yet. Why? If it was the case, this would have been a longer chapter and the actual beginning of the arc.
I believe Anya's past will be one of the last things we learn, because there's plenty of things to resolve and a lot of information we don't have. Stories are like puzzles; this chapter was an important piece, but we're not working on that part yet.
#spy x family#spy x family manga#spy x family meta#spy x family theory#anya forger#sxf#twiyor#loid forger#yor forger
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Imagine drummer!steve teaching you to play the drums?? He has you sit in his lap and guides your hands and totally does not get hard from feeling you shift around! He’s such a sweetie you know he gets excited whenever something you do sounds good!
allusions to smut at the end!
kinda a part two to this fic but this can be read on its' own!
You aren’t quite sure what Steve and you are. You’re pretty sure you’re not dating but you’re also pretty sure neither of you are interested in anyone else. The two of you have been having lots of fun, both in and outside the bedroom.
After your hookup, you honestly expected to never hear from Steve again. Sure, you had a mutual friend but he just seemed to be more of a one night stand kind of guy. He had mentioned a proper date but the more you thought about it, the more it seemed to be a formality offer. Something you say after fucking someone in a bar bathroom so they don’t feel cheap.
Of course, that wasn’t a very comforting thought.
But luckily for you, he did end up calling. He got your number from Robin, who was now filled in on what happened and consequently rewarded with copious amounts of candy in exchange for minimal teasing.
The proper date hadn’t happened just yet but you’d been having your fair share of fun.
‘You busy?’ Your screen lights up with the text. His name is saved as ‘Steve🥁’ which he had insisted upon when you added his contact to your phone.
It’s around 4 in the afternoon on a Saturday which isn’t an unusual time to receive a text from Steve but they’re not usually this vague.
‘Not at all. Why?’ You can already sense the invite, pulling yourself off the couch and heading to your room.
‘Wanna see you. Meet me at the bar? The door’s unlocked for you’. This is what catches your attention. You know that bars’ hours pretty well by now, having gone a few times to see Steve play but you’ve never gone at this time because it’s never been open this early. You know he’s not talking about a hookup since those always occur either in his apartment or yours.
You hop in the shower to wash the morning off, keeping your hair dry since you don’t need to wash it. You dress casual-ish, still unsure of the vibe but you can’t go wrong with jeans and a t-shirt. Doing a quick makeup routine, you throw on your shoes and drive over to the bar.
Sure enough, the door is unlocked. It’s completely empty, lights illuminating areas you’d never noticed.
“Hey!” Steve appears from backstage. He’s wearing a tight black t-shirt and sweatpants that you have to tear your eyes away from.
“Hi! You wanna tell me what we’re doing here?”
“Sure. You know how you told me you always wanted to learn how to play the drums? Ta-da” He gestures to the drum set next to him.
“…That was more of a compliment on how you play the drums because I wanted more kisses. Not a real want.” His grin doesn’t waver as he gestures you over.
“It’ll be fun, I promise.” Your feet carry you over as the nerves sink in. What if you’re horrible and he decides you aren’t a good match? You hadn’t admitted it yet but you did really like him and you didn’t want to lose him so soon.
“I’m gonna suck you know that right?”
“You can’t suck because I’m the one teaching you and I don’t suck.” He sits infront of the drums and tugs you into his lap.
“Now I get why you wanted to teach me.” You grin as you adjust yourself on his lap. His grip on your hips tighten and you suddenly remember being in a very similar position a few days ago.
“Behave.” He mumbles into your ear, pressing a light kiss to your shoulder when you stop moving.
He passes you the sticks, covering your hands with his to show you the proper grip. You try your hardest to listen but he’s quite distracting.
“How about I show you some simple stuff and you try to replicate it, yeah?” You nod in response. Steves hands cover yours as he starts a slow beat. It sounds just barely familiar, like something you’ve heard him practice.
He pauses after a minute, letting go of your hands. You have to bite back a complaint as you attempt to recreate what he did. It’s kind of like those memory games you used to play as a kid.
“You got it!” He kisses your cheek, arms wrapped around your waist. It’s such a sweet hug that you just melt into it. You turn in his lap, legs swinging over to straddle him.
“Thank you for teaching me.” You mumble, kissing him softly.
“Isn’t that what boyfriends are for?” The word is dropped so casually you almost don’t register it.
“You’re my boyfriend?”
“…Shit did I forget to ask? Oh I knew this would happen.” He smiles sheepishly at your shocked expression.
“You forgot?” You ask incredulously.
“I was going to ask you that day we went to the farmers market I swear!” He can’t contain his laughter, hiding his face in your shoulder.
“Well, I would love to be your girlfriend.” You tug his face up, kissing him gently.
“Great!! Now let’s go to the dressing rooms!” He stands up, arms tight around you so you don’t fall as you’re forced to stand as well. He barely bothers to grab his stuff as he tugs you backstage.
”Why?” You hurry behind him, his urgency practically carrying you.
”You’re gonna sit on my lap again. But this time we won’t be wearing clothes.”
#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve harrington one shot#stranger things fic#stranger things x reader#stranger things#stranger things 4#x reader#steve harrington x fem#steve harrington x you#steve harrington smut#drummer!steve harrington x reader#drummer!steve#smut
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Eddie goes shopping with you.
eddie munson x gn!reader, ~900 words
“Okay, now what do you think of this?” You hold out a crisp white button-down shirt.
“I think that’s great,” he says automatically.
“Eddie,” you sigh impatiently, “you’ve said that about every article of clothing we’ve seen today. I need like, an actual opinion.”
“That is an actual opinion.” He sounds offended that you might suggest otherwise.
“C’mon, I’m trying to look professional! You gotta help me.”
“I am helping!” Eddie holds up both arms to emphasize his point — he’s laden with bags from the stores you hit earlier in your shopping venture, weighed down with the new clothes you’re purchasing so as to better look the part for your new job.
A small giggle escapes you in spite of your exasperation. “I told you you don’t have to carry any of those,” you remind him, folding your arms across your chest.
Eddie scoffs. “And what kind of gentleman would I be if I let you haul this crap around all day?” He shakes his head, dark curls tumbling about his soft face. “No way. Wayne raised me right, thank you.”
“Well, that he certainly did,” you admit, a rush of affection warming your chest. Unable to help yourself, you reach out and pinch his little cheek between your thumb and index finger.
He pouts at the gesture, pretending to be annoyed; but really, a thrill shoots through him at the brief moment of contact. Oh, what he wouldn’t give for you to be touching him always.
But it’s not like that. Not for you two.
Eddie tells himself that it’s okay, that he’s accepted it, he’ll content himself with daydreams and fantasies as he always has —
“Do you think black looks classier, though?” You’ve turned back to face the clothing rack again, thoughtfully fingering the silky fabric of a dark shirtsleeve. Your eyes narrow. “Or is it almost too formal?”
Eddie blinks dazedly, then shrugs. “I dunno. I wear black all the time, no one’s ever put me up for best dressed.” He frowns. “I suppose it’s a little different when it’s a Metallica t-shirt, though.”
You poke him playfully. “Or ripped jeans.”
Eddie swats your hand away, heart leaping.
You snicker in response, then soften. “For the record, I do like the way you dress. It goes with your whole thing, y’know?” You motion towards him vaguely, hands waving up and down his figure.
“My thing?”
“Mmhmm,” you hum. “The hair, the attitude, the music. Even your name. The whole thing.”
“What does my name have to do with any of that stuff?”
You shift your weight from foot to foot as you think about how to word your answer, tongue poking ever so slightly out of your mouth — an unconscious imitation of the face Eddie often makes when he’s focusing. He swoons a little when he realizes that you’re picking up some of his habits.
“I mean, if I didn’t know who you were, and someone told me to pick out the guy named Eddie Munson from a crowd of a hundred people, I could do it like that,” you tell him, snapping your fingers on the last word. “No one has ever looked more like they should be named Eddie Munson than you.” Your eyes cut over to his. “Does that make sense?”
Bewildered, Eddie’s eyebrows have shot up so high they’ve all but disappeared under his bangs. “…kind…of?”
You pat his shoulder, amused. “Don’t worry about it. Just look at the shirt.”
Obediently, his gaze flits back to the top. You smile expectantly, and he works to offer some sincere judgment.
“Um, it looks comfier than the white one? Not as starchy.”
You nod sagely. “True.” You examine it more closely, a flicker of uncertainty clouding your features. “Do you think it’d look okay on me?”
Of course he does. He thinks you look nice in everything. In your pajamas, in your dressiest formalwear — it doesn’t matter. He never wants to hold you any less. To him, you’ve always the most beautiful person in the world. Whatever you happen to put on your body is irrelevant.
But this is the whole point of him accompanying you; he practically begged for you to let him tag along, swearing that it would be fun and that he’d help you. You’d been a smidge embarrassed at first, certain he’d grow impatient with your indecisiveness and bored with the constant vanishing into dressing rooms, but you seem comfortable now, letting him tote your bags around and asking for his advice. He hopes you’ll take him again next time, and then the next time, and then again after that…
“Yes, I do. I think you’d look really wonderful,” he finally answers. “You look incredible in everything you wear. Honest. You don’t need to worry about anything you buy today.”
Your eyes shine, a bashful smile spreading across your lips. “Really?”
“Of course,” he replies, face reddening. “You — you could wear a potato sack and make it look good, frankly.”
You laugh. “Yes, I’m sure that would be very flattering on me.”
“Hey, I think you could rock it.” He knows you think he’s teasing you, but he means it. And he’ll tell you again, and again, and again, until you believe him.
He’s got nothing but time.
#just a quick lil thing here :^) kinda just jotted this one down#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson reader insert#eddie munson oneshot#eddie munson blurb#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson x gender neutral reader#eddie munson x gn!reader#lovesick!eddie#eddie x you#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson fanfic
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HE LIKES MY AMERICAN SMILE ━━ OP81.
love is a wild ride, and logan sargeant's sister is about to find this out the hard way.
( oscar piastri x sargeant!reader )
━━ part three.
“Are you sure this is gonna work?” You look down at the post. The photos, carefully taken a few nights ago while getting ready for a dinner gala you’d been brought along to as Sophia’s plus one, are pretty. She and you had scrolled and sorted and scrolled and sorted some more trying to pick the perfect ones, and then you’d written and rewritten the caption more times than you could count before finally settling on something vague but faintly implicit.
You study it for a moment longer, then look back up to your friend.
She smirks. “Trust me. It'll work. I got an ex-boyfriend to come crawling back begging for another chance by making him think I was already moving on.”
“It just seems… mean,” you murmur, frowning. You want Oscar to like you— you want it a lot— but you're not sure if this is the way you want to go about it. “Isn’t this just manipulating him?”
Sophia sighs and falls back onto the bed beside you. She gives you a look, gestures down to your phone, and then curls around your shoulder so she can peer down at the screen. “It’s not a soft launch. There’s no guy. The caption doesn’t mention anyone. If he gets the impression that you’re with someone else, then that’s on him.”
You trust her, of course, but this is Oscar. You’ve known him for years. He’s your brother’s best friend, and for the longest time, he was the closest thing you had to a best friend too. As twins, anything Logan did you tended to do with him— soccer, swimming, biking. You even had shared birthday parties growing up. Karting was the first real thing he’d done on his own, but even then you’d always been close by, and that meant you’d always been close by to Oscar too.
Like she can sense your continued hesitation, Sophia speaks up again. “If you post that, and he doesn’t react, then that’s that. You don’t have to do it again.”
“I just— I don’t know.” You worry your lip between your teeth. “I just don’t think it’s the type of thing that he’d go for. He’s, you know, polite like that, I guess? If he thought I was taken, or moving on, or something, then he’d respect that and wouldn’t bother me.”
The silence hangs in the room. She’s still leaning against you, one hand rubbing your shoulder comfortingly and the other hugging you into her. When you stand, she lets you go easily, watching as you begin to pace the length of your bedroom, phone clenched tightly in your hands.
When you finally come to a halt in the corner farthest from the bed, you turn and meet her gaze shyly, “What if he stops ‘maybe’ having feelings for me because he thinks I'm taken? Or, what if he thinks I’m not interested and so he doesn’t ever bring it up?”
“Then you take one for the team and you tell him,” she shrugs. “Woman up and admit that the entire time you were out in that fancy dress of yours with those roses, you’d wished it was him who had gotten them for you and you’d wanted it to be him you were getting dressed up for.”
You look back down to your phone.
You’ve never done this before— boys, at least. The chase. Europe hadn’t been a very easy place to live— not with a schedule that made keeping friends virtually impossible, let alone a boyfriend. When you moved back to the United States, you were focused more on your career, prioritizing yourself over anything else.
You’d been single for so long that you hadn’t been in any hurry to change things, but now the lack of experience is making you nervous. Apart from movies and books and the borderline horror stories Sophia has told you about her own disastrous love life, you don’t know the first thing about dating.
“Y/N, is this about Oscar or something else?”
You look up, still biting at your lip. “What if we break up and I’ve ruined a friendship?”
Sophia raises an eyebrow, “Is he the kind of guy that would throw away a friendship because things didn’t work out?”
“I don’t know! That’s the problem! I wanna say no, that he’d be totally fine and we would be able to pretend like nothing happened and go back to how we were before it all, but I can’t,” you cross the room and lower yourself onto the bed again. “Context matters too. What if it’s a really messy breakup and we can never look at each other the same? What if he does something so unforgivable that it ruins his friendship with my brother? Logan worked hard to make friends and this first season was rough for him. He’s the only American driver on the grid, and they weren’t exactly welcoming. But Oscar was there for him and I would never forgive myself if I did something to ruin that.”
“What could Oscar do that would be so unforgivable it would ruin a friendship?”
You fall back onto the mattress. “I don’t know that either! Realistically he wouldn’t do anything because that’s just who he is— he’s like the nicest most genuinely sweet guy I’ve ever met. But I’m not a fortune teller! I can’t look into the future and know that he won’t get tired of me and go find some other girl, or, I don’t know.”
You can feel tears burning at the back of your eyes and wipe at them harshly.
Sophia notices and lays down beside you, pulling you into her side again. She runs her fingers through your hair and lets you compose yourself a bit more before she speaks up again. When she does, it’s— “You’re so afraid of the worst-case scenario that you aren’t even letting yourself take the chance. Sometimes you just gotta leap before you look and believe that you’ll land on solid ground.”
“I hate when you get philosophical on me,” you murmur, a soft laugh slipping past your lips.
She sits back up and rolls her eyes, but there’s a gentle smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Puh-lease. As if you’d ever get anything done without my wizened words of advice.”
You sniffle and wipe the last remnants of tears from your eyes, then sit up with her and look back down at your phone. The unfinished post still stares back up at you.
“What if I just—” you delete the caption for the umpteenth time and let your fingers dance across the screen, “—say this instead?”
Sophia leans over your shoulder, reads the new caption, pauses, and purses her lips. She reads it again, hums, and then breaks out into a grin. An incredulous laugh slips out and she turns to you with shining eyes. “You’re a damn genius! I knew you were worried over nothing. You just gotta stop getting into your head so much.”
INSTAGRAM.
liked by logansargeant, landonorris, and 12,827 others
yourusername honey, i’m still free. take a chance on me.
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user WHAT???
user IS THIS A SOFT LAUNCH???
↳ user she’s literally saying she’s still free?? why would she say that if this is a soft launch?? 😭😭
logansargeant should’ve taken me with you 😒
↳ yourusername logie we both know you hate black tie events
user girl idk how you can do it i’d be spilling out of that dress with one wrong turn
user THE ROSES?? THE BABY’S BREATH?? I’M SO NORMAL ABOUT THIS
landonorris slay girl queen boss
↳ yourusername lando… what…
↳ landonorris i’m in my supportive era 😌💅 you should try it sometime
user i NEED to know where that dress is from omg
user oh to be a young rich and beautiful socialite
user not to be delulu but there’s a surprising lack of op81 in these comments 👀
INSTAGRAM.
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oscarpiastri it’s summer somewhere right?
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landonorris hm this caption seems familiar 🤨 i wonder what it could be referencing 🤔
user GOOD LUCK IN 2024 OSCAR 🧡🧡🧡
user wishing this were me rn
user i’m too delulu for this rn 😭
↳ user i’m waiting for y/n to show up in these comments
↳ user did they have a fight or smth??? they haven’t commented on each other’s last few posts
user gosh that’s the dream rn
When you answer the unknown number, on your way back to your room with a tub of ice cream and a plan to eat away your disappointment at the failure of Sophia’s plan, the last thing you expect is to hear Lando Norris of all people on the other end. There’s no greeting, no introduction, just an immediate— “Yeah, so, I’m gonna need you to fill me in on the sitch.”
For a brief moment, all you can do is stand there in the hallway with your phone pressed to your ear, wondering if this is real. You’ve had maybe a few brief conversations with Lando throughout your various visits to the paddock across the season, and though he was very nice and polite, and all of your interactions were friendly, you wouldn’t exactly call yourself friends. Certainly not “swap numbers and call one another” type of friends, either. Your most recent socializing has been strictly confined to the comment sections of Instagram posts.
“Hello? Y/N?”
You clear your throat, “Sorry. What?”
“The sitch? Situation? That’s an American slang word, I thought you knew that.” He says it so matter-of-factly. As if that’s the only thing you could be even remotely confused about in this whole interaction.
“No,” you answer, shaking your head as if it’ll somehow straighten out the spinning of your mind. “I know what the word means, Lando. I’m just wondering why you of all people are calling me right now? How’d you even get my number?”
You can hear music and voices on the other end of the line, muffled and distant, and then a door opens and closes and the extra noise is gone. Lando takes a deep breath and sighs, “If you must know, I got it from Alex, who got it from Lily, who got it from you. So, you know, transitive property means technically I got it from you, too.”
“I’m gonna choose to ignore how wrong all of that is,” you mutter, pinching the bridge of your nose as you continue down the hall and eventually slip into your room, shutting the door quietly behind you.
You do recall giving your number to Lily, and the two of you have shared a few messages since the end of the season— mostly typical check-ins and catching up with the happenings of your individual lives. Occasionally she sends you recipes she thinks you’d like, and you do the same. You knew she’d given it to Alex because she’d asked you first if that was okay, and all Alex had sent was a brief well-wishes when Williams had confirmed Logan’s re-signing, accompanied by a short message that Lily was looking forward to seeing you in the paddock again.
Ignoring all of that, however, you focus on the matter at hand. “Why are you calling? Isn’t it crazy late in Monaco right now?”
He hums. “I’m the slightest bit tipsy, but I cannot take it anymore. If I see one more caption with underlying subtext like this is a forbidden romance in a period drama I am going to, quite frankly, lose my mind. I need you to explain to me what in the fuck is going on between you and Oscar.”
You pause, and then you groan. “Oh my God.”
“Yes, ‘oh my God’ indeed. Now please explain.”
You heave a sigh, because you know he isn’t going to drop this, but you also know that if anyone could help you more than Sophia, it’s probably Lando. He’s Oscar’s teammate, and at the very least, if you can’t talk to Logan, you can talk to the only other person who probably knows him just as well.
“It’s a long story,” you mumble, curling up in your bed.
He makes a sound, like a scoff. “Okay? I have plenty of time.”
So you start from the beginning. Between spoonfuls of chocolate ice cream, you detail how it all started because of a message of condolence, how that had led to a rendezvous for drinks, and how that had led even further to him kissing you in the car as he’d dropped you off at your hotel.
He’s silent up until you mention that Oscar hadn’t acknowledged the kiss at all afterward, and then he makes an affronted noise and mutters something under his breath about stupid guys and heads in asses.
You admit that part of it was your own fault, that you hadn’t attempted to communicate either because you’d been afraid of the reaction and potentially the rejection, but that you’d been kicking yourself ever since for missing out on being able to talk face to face about things when you’d had the chance.
It all culminates in you explaining your current situation, and you tell him about your talk with Sophia and then your friend’s self-proclaimed mastermind plan, which had failed spectacularly when Oscar hadn’t even seen the post.
When you’re finished, there’s a moment of silence before he bursts into laughter.
You flush red in embarrassment and hug the tub of ice cream closer to your chest, feeling miserable and ashamed, but also like you deserve it all anyway. The tub isn’t freezing cold anymore, but the chill still seeps in through your shirt faintly, and it’s comforting against the heated blush.
“Sorry,” he says when his cackling has died down to chuckles. “I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you. I actually do want to help. I genuinely can’t take one more post with a caption that’s all thinly veiled pining.”
You pause, fiddle with your spoon for a moment, and then hesitantly ask— “Do you know if he likes me?”
Lando goes quiet, and then he hums and admits that he doesn’t. “But,” he adds quickly, “just because I don’t have total confirmation doesn’t mean it isn’t basically obvious. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I know Oscar.”
You sigh, “But how are you going to help? You can’t just ask.”
“I don’t need to,” he answers, like you’re crazy for thinking he’d do something like that. “I’ve got a plan.”
Great. You run a hand down your face and try to stay optimistic. Another plan.
━━ tags: @f1-is-lovely-33 @chasing-liberosis @405rry
━━ a/n: a bit more writing heavy this part, and a bit longer because of it, but i'm proud of how it turned out! we're finally getting somewhere, and now we've got lando joining the team. genuinely had so much fun writing him, so i'm excited to feature him in future parts!
#formula 1#formula one#f1#formula 1 imagine#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#formula 1 x reader#oscar piastri#oscar piastri x reader#oscar piastri imagine#social media au#f1 fanfic#f1 fic#logan sargeant#alex albon#lando norris
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Steve was hard of hearing and kept putting off getting a hearing aid despite Robin's instance. He's gotten pretty good at lip reading when he needs to. He can still hear when someone's close, but Eddie tends to move when he talks. At this moment, he was going on one of his rants, and Steve really wants to hear him better. Desperate, he hopped over the coffee table and jumped directly in front of Eddie. He cupped Eddie's face to keep him still.
"Okay. Now talk," Steve said.
"Uh. . . ," Eddie blinked at him.
"What?" Steve asked.
Eddie stared at him, and Steve could feel his cheeks warm underneath his fingers. Eddie's cheeks were surprisingly soft, and Steve couldn't help but caress his cheeks with his thumbs. He really liked holding Eddie like this. . . and if he were to lean in, he could close the distance, but Eddie wasn't a girl. Suddenly, Steve found that he didn't care that Eddie wasn't a girl. He wanted to kiss him anyway.
"I suddenly can't seem to remember what I was talking about," Eddie said.
"Yeah, me neither," Steve said softly, and he moved closer to Eddie.
"Steve. . . " Eddie trailed off, and he could feel Eddie's breath against his lips.
"Yeah?"
"I think I'm having a sexuality crisis," Eddie said.
"Me too."
Eddie's fingers ran up Steve’s arms to his shoulders as he moved closer, and he let his hands trail down until they rested against the small of Steve’s back. Steve shuddered.
"Fuck."
It was Eddie who closed the distance. Really closed the distance. He slammed into Steve, nearly knocking him over as he crashed his lips to Steve’s, and wrapped his arm's completely around Steve’s waist. Steve gasped against his mouth, causing it to fall open, and Eddie immediately slipped his tongue in. Eddie grinned as Steve moaned against his mouth. He let his hand slide down lower and cupped Steve’s butt before giving it a squeeze. Steve squeaked, and Eddie giggled delightfully before breaking the kiss. Steve wrapped his arms around his neck.
"What is this?" Steve asked.
"Well, it felt a lot like we just made out a little," Eddie said.
"Ass, I know that. Like, what are we?" Steve asked. "I mean, I still like girls, I think."
"Me too," Eddie nodded. "Are we boyfriends?"
"Do you want to be boyfriends?" Steve asked.
Eddie looked thoughtfully at Steve and cupped his face.
"Boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfriend. Boyfriend!" Eddie grinned. "Yeah, I like it."
"Heeeyy, boyfriend," Steve said slyly and squeezed his hips, causing Eddie to giggle.
"I've never really been boyfriend material. I've come close once, but I fucked that all up and I broke her heart. Not my proudest moment," Eddie said. "I don't want to fuck this all up and break your heart too. I want this to work."
"I want this to work too," Steve said softly.
A little while later, they were cuddled up on the couch with Eddie's head in Steve's lap as they watched TV. Eddie turned his head to look at Steve.
"Hey, you know Robin, right?" Eddie asked.
"I vaguely recall my platonic soulmate," Steve said dryly.
"You know how we both know about Robin?" Eddie asked.
"Because she told us. I was there when she told you. You called her pretty, and she was like, "Oh God, not another one. Why do I keep attracting boys when I want to attract girls? GIRLS?!" Steve said.
"I was being platonic when I called her pretty," Eddie mumbled.
"Anyway, yes, I know we both know about Robin," Steve said.
"Do you think on some level she knew about us before we knew about each other?" Eddie asked.
"You mean, because she's queer, too? Like some sort of spidey sense?" Steve asked.
"God, it's so hot that you read comic books," Eddie said. "But yes, like that."
"Hmm, maybe we could ask her to hang out and see," Steve said.
"Okay, because this is not going to be our first official date," Eddie said. "I'm going to woo your ass off."
"Looking forward to it," Steve grinned.
A little later, Steve went to pick up Robin so they could all hang out and left Eddie at the house.
"You are lucky that I am not seeing Vickie today," Robin said as they walked through the door.
Eddie jumped into the hallway, a grin spread across his face.
"There she is, one of my best friends, and there's my boyfriend," Eddie said.
"Settle down, Munson. You saw me two days ago," Robin rolled her eyes and walked past him. "So, what are the plans?"
"It didn't even phase her," Eddie said.
"Give it a moment," Steve said.
Robin came to a sudden halt, froze for a minute, and then whirled around. Her eyes were comically wide.
"Did you just call Steve your boyfriend?" Robin asked.
"As of today," Eddie said proudly.
"So. . . you two are dating?" Robin asked slowly.
"Yep," Steve asked.
"You two do know that you two are guys, right?" Robin asked.
"Yeah, I was very aware of that when he crawled into my lap earlier and felt him rise up against me," Steve said.
"I like girls but I also like Steve," Eddie said.
"I like girls, and I also like Eddie," Steve exclaimed.
"Yeah, thanks because I didn't know what bisexuality is," Robin rolled her eyes.
"There's a word for it," Steve whispered to Eddie. "Did you know there's a word for it?"
"No!"
"But you two apparently didn't," Robin said and shook her head fondly at them.
"So, you didn't know about us before we knew about us?" Eddie asked.
"I'm just as surprised as you are," she replied. "How did this start anyway?"
"Well, I was talking, and Steve suddenly grabbed my face. . . By the way, why did you grab my face?" He asked.
"You were talking, and I'm hard of hearing, but you kept walking away. I wanted to hear what you had to say, so I held you still," Steve said.
"That explains so much. . ."
"Get a hearing aid, dingus!" Robin exclaimed, and then her face softened. "Thanks for telling me, the both of you."
Sometimes, people just know who they are, and sometimes, it takes others a while to figure it out. Everyone grows their own way.
#stranger things#stranger things s4#eddie munson#joseph quinn#eddie stranger things#steve harrington#eddie munson lives#steddie#steve x eddie#steve harrington x eddie munson#bisexual steve harrington#bisexual eddie munson#bi4bi#robin buckley#lesbian robin buckley#platonic stobin#platonic with a capital p#platonic soulmates#platonic reddie#brief mention of#rovickie#stranger things fanfiction#rueleigh writes
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So far Jake Doubleyoo’s version of Loki is one of my favorites. The line “Wow this problem was actually super easy to fix. I wonder how I can ruin this situation for myself?” is perfect Loki.
Like most people who take an interest in Norse Mythology I went through the expected stages of Loki interpretations; He’s evil. No he’s actually good. He’s tragic. He’s actually a misunderstood hero.
But the truth is he’s just a trickster god who thinks he is too smart for his own good sometimes. He keeps doing stuff just because he thought it’d be funny or to see what would happen and well, he finds out what happens. He cuts Sif’s hair off for no reason while she’s sleeping and Thor immediately knows he was the culprit because he does shit like that all the time and when he’s told to fix it he keeps digging himself into worse trouble AFTER FIXING THE PROBLEM.
And thanks to Hollywood people think of Odin as a Zeus type but in reality Odin is a trickster god too. He and Loki have a lot in common and it makes sense that they’re blood brothers. In case you don’t know, blood brothers are men who were so close they decided to mix their blood, usually by cutting or pricking themselves and pushing the wounds together. They do a lot of the same stuff, only Odin is more focused on learning while Loki just wants to party.
I know “Loki turns evil because the gods treat him so badly” is a popular interpretation but if you actually sit down and read the texts you could just as easily interpret it as “Loki keeps fucking around and finding out and is mad that his actions have consequences” because the texts are so vague you have to do a lot of reading between the lines. Some texts even contradict each other. In one text both of Loki’s parents are jotun. In another his mother is a god. You can literally read the texts and their many translations in a million ways.
I personally like the version of Loki we get in the comic series Valhalla. In that version he is a trickster god to the bone who does stuff for shits and giggles or because he thinks he’s above the law. He’s never truly evil but he can’t be trusted either. You get a lot of funny scenes where he’s freaking out because the gods are onto him and he’s trying to talk his way out. Also, for the Aces out there, he’s implied to be asexual in this version. He does the sex sometimes but only to reach a goal.
This version is the base for a lot of Loki interpretations in Scandinavia and is worth a read.
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I immediately apologize for the bad English!
How does Caspian plan to keep the fem!reader underwater? Or does he have another plan? thank you, your work is very nice🛐
ill be making this gn since its a part 2 but if you want a one-off thing with a fem!reader, just request it! :3
Also sorry for the long hiatus again but here's the long awaited part 2 ! yaay you're not dead !! :D
Yandere!Siren x GN Reader Pt. 2
CW: Kidnapping, Slight Stockholm Syndrome, Non-con licking (reader is asleep), idk Caspian being a delulu icon
🌊 You wake up with a throbbing headache and a vague memory of what transpired before you blacked out.
🌊 The feeling of overwhelming pressure and deepness comes back to you, memories start to come back as you see a red mark on your arm.
🌊 You remember now, the screams and cries of your classmates ring in your ears before the memory of being dragged down to the depths hit you like a wave.
🌊 a splash of water pulled you out of your thoughts, it was then you looked around at the place you were in.
🌊 It looked like you were in a cave illuminated by algae and glowing sea creatures. the cavernous area was sandy and a bit wet with a deep pool which led to an underwater tunnel, it was the only entrance and exit to the cave from what you can see.
🌊 Behind you was a house built out of a shipwreck, the broken boards of the deck repaired with random planks and cloths.
🌊 "Honey~ I know you're a bit out of sorts right now but uhm..could you help me out a bit~?" a familiar voice echoed throughout the cave.
🌊 You gasp and instinctively stand up and back away from where the voice came from. Caspian was lying on the shore, a net full of what seems to be canned food and fish tied around his waist like a satchel.
🌊 "My treasure~! I know you're excited to explore your new home, but can you help me get to shore first~" Caspian coos as he smiles at you awkwardly, his large tail flopping on the sand.
🌊 You grab a piece of driftwood and hold it like a weapon. "D-Don't come any closer!" you yell at him nervously, afraid of what he might do after you saw his capabilities, and his sharp teeth..
🌊 "My sweet, you have nothing to worry about~! Why would I ever hurt you~? Those mean humans tried to hurt us! You'd never do that to me now would you~?" He tries to calm you down.
🌊 It takes a while for you to calm down considering how confused and scared you were, but with no way out and Caspians lack of intention to hurt you, the only thing left to do was to just sit and try to think logically about the situation.
🌊 Caspian tries to help you make sense of your little predicament, it was mostly him making an excuse to hold you close because "Am I not able to help you relax my treasure~?"
🌊 So you're in a cave after getting kidnapped brought to safety by a mermaid, how fun...
🌊 You has no choice but to accept your new lifestyle, after all, the only out was an underwater cavern, and you had no idea how deep or long it was. Caspian might not be the best at moving on land, but without him, you'd drown if you attempt to leave.
🌊 Once you told the siren that you weren't going anywhere soon unfortunately, He lit up and gave you a big, soaking wet hug. "Oh my treasure! You'll be happy here, I promise~!" He peppers your face with kisses, some making you shiver at the thought of his sharp teeth being so close to your flesh.
🌊 He'd go out every day to get food for you and him, sometimes surprising you with gifts!
🌊 He knows you like reading, so any book or parchment that he finds is immediately brought to you so you won't be so bored <3
🌊 More often than not they're too wet to actually read, but you appreciate the effort you suppose.
🌊 You also had to explain what cooking is to Caspian and that humans can't eat fish raw...and alive..
🌊 Get ready to be showered with pearls and pretty shells and treasure! Caspian is a bit picky when it comes to his own horde so anything that he considers nice but not on par with his tastes goes to you~!
🌊 He would always ask to sleep with you in your bed, and he doesn't take no for an answer.
🌊 "It's cold my treasure~! Could you warm me up~?"
🌊 "It gets so lonely in the water~ May I stay in bed with you my love~?"
🌊 "But I got all those nice things for you~!"
🌊 He would keep whining and fussing until you agree. He doesn't care at all that your sheets are all now soaked.
🌊 If you tell him to dry off first, he will! But you'll have to pay him with a kiss~
🌊 He may or may not sniff your hair while you sleep...and maybe lick your neck..
🌊 He can't get himself to sleep sometimes, he'd just watch you sleep the whole time. What can he say? You're too irresistible~!
🌊 Sometimes he'd even whisper sweet things into your ear, promising you the world if you'd let him.
🌊 More often than not, he sings you to sleep. The anxieties of never seeing your family again and living off of just fish and other sea creatures was getting to you, not to mention the many hours of being alone in a cave.
🌊 His siren song lulled you to bed every night. No matter how much you distanced yourself away from him, he was always able to calm you down with his voice.
🌊 "Hush now my dear~...You'll learn to like it here~ And one day, we'll be married and live happily ever after~ Just like in your stories~ Just you wait~..."
#yandere#yandere x gn reader#yandere x reader#male yandere#yandere oc#oc yandere#yandere male#yandere x male reader#tw yandere#x reader#mermaid#mermaid x reader#mermaid x human#merman x reader#merman x human#siren x reader#teratophillia#terato#monsterfucker#monster lover#monster x human#monster boyfriend#monster smut
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we need more language barriers in whump because it's so fucking good no matter if you use it for whumper and whumpee or whumpee and caretaker or especially carewhumper and whumpee or any combination!!!!
Whumpee not being able to know what the fuck is going on no matter how many times they ask, only being manhandled into various situations because they don't understand how to comply with whatever is being told to them (gently or not is up to you >:3c)
Having to rely on tones and facial expressions to get a vague sense of what the other person is trying to get across, despite all the repetition of sounds and slow pronunciations and childish gesturing
Those little moments where a word just finally clicks for someone, the one piece of common ground, even if they can't fully repeat it back due to an accent that maybe earns them an amused chuckle or a scowl
Endless frustration and exploding so many pent up feelings for a rant that falls on deaf ears, because why is this so hard to comprehend, why can't you just understand my words, why do I feel like such a fucking idiot??? And what do they get in return? Silence...or more foreign gibberish.
Not bothering to keep quiet about their thoughts, agreeable or otherwise, vulgar or polite -- what does it matter? No one is going to understand a lick of it, they can say whatever the hell they want (unless maybe someone does catch a couple words or phrases hmmm)
Whumpers using sweet coos and nice smiles while saying the most awful shit. Caretakers being endlessly patient in trying to foster some kind of trust and feasible communication. Carewhumpers being stern and hands on because there's no time to waste in getting Whumpee to grasp what they need from them.
The longer they're in each others company, the more quirks and micro expressions they start to pick up, long before they ever fully understand a word of what's being said, including when someone is lying or when a nerve has been struck
Realizing which words mean "bad thing" and which words mean "good thing"
#whump#whump community#whump scenario#whumpee#whumper#whump ideas#implied whump#whump prompt#caretaker#carewhumper#language barrier
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Double Trouble
Dad Series
Toji Fushiguro
Warnings: Pure Fluff
*I promise next update will be a fic update but it'll take a while!! Meanwhile enjoy this little holiday drabble🥹
Discord 18+ - Twitter - Ko-Fi
The twins are both extremely curious about the man who leaves Christmas gifts under the tree. More so because this person gets cookies and milks without having to beg for them. They aren’t interested in the man himself, but they wonder if he really does eat all those cookies that they leave out.
“At what time does Santa come?” Kisho asks, and Toji already senses they’re up to something. The twins are never up to something good, and he already feels the headache forming.
“We’re sleeping, honey. We don’t know.” You answer, and their tiny eyes go to Megumi. Their older brother has told them about Santa and how he’s caught the man in the act of giving gifts. He gave them a vague description of their dad, but the twins obviously didn’t catch on. Megumi shrugs, obviously not giving them any answer that could help them.
“Santa doesn’t give gifts to naughty babies so you two better not be planning anything.” Toji warns them, and they nod. They’re angels, of course they wouldn’t try to do anything!
Not until they’re sure their parents are in bed. Then Kisho wakes up a sleeping Koemi, reminding her of their plan: Eat some of the cookies that were left out for Santa– They made sure to leave out a lot, he surely wouldn’t miss one or two cookies, right?
“Shush! Don’t wake mommy and daddy up!” Kisho makes sure that their footsteps are barely audible and they don’t make any noise so they don’t get caught in the act. They manage to make it to the living room without getting caught. Their eyes see glory as they land on the cookies. Their mouths water and their arms stretch out as they walk towards it– Until they’re lifted off the floor.
They’re about to scream but they look up to find their older brother, one that uses every bounce of his strength to carry them and hide them behind their Christmas tree. When Megumi puts them down, he puts his index finger on his lips, telling them to be quiet.
Then the twins look at their parents. Toji takes a seat on the couch, licking his lips as he looks at the cookies. Then you come along, and take a look at the storage closet that’s downstairs. You make a comment, “I think we went a little overboard with gifts this year, Toji.”
“They deserve it, baby. They might give me a headache but they’re good kids.” Toji answers. Toji tries to act all tough but he’s a softie on the inside, especially for his kids.
“Did you make sure they were sleeping?” You ask, and Toji hums in response. The twins have never been this quiet in their life. They don’t want to get in trouble. Not until Toji reaches for the cookies, grabbing one and eating it. It’s just one cookie though, it should be fine. But then Toji eats one after the other, and Koemi can’t watch it anymore. Not when there’s only one cookie left.
“That’s for Santa, daddy!” She yells out, leaving her hiding spot. Both you and Toji are stunned to find your daughter there, and Toji furrows his brows. He walks over to his daughter, crouching down and tilting his head to the side. “What are you doing, honey? You should be sleeping.”
“I’m…” She begins, as you walk to the place she came out of and find your other two kids hiding, crossing your arms. Megumi covers his face with his palms due to the embarrassment of being caught, and Kisho mimics him.
“Looks like you didn’t check if they were sleeping, Toji.” You look back at your husband with a frown on your face. You then look at your sons, “And it seems like Santa might not come tonight.”
“Because daddy ate all the cookies?” Kisho asks, and you shake your head. Your husband answers for you though,
“Because Santa doesn’t give gifts to naughty babies– And teenagers, isn’t that right, Megumi?”
(Spoiler alert: Santa still came and gave all the gifts to the kids.)
#[dad series]#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#toji fushiguro#jujutsu toji#toji zenin#dilf toji#fushiguro toji#toji fushiguro x you#daddy toji#toji imagine#dad toji#jujutsu kaisen toji#jujutsu kaisen x reader#toji fushiguro x reader#toji x y/n#jjk toji#toji fluff#toji x reader
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gale & his mother, morena dekarios
i thought it'd be nice to have a place to compile everything i could find about gale's mother, morena dekarios.
the first time you as the player get a vague mention about gale's parents is after saving mirkon, when gale brings up a story about his parents denying him a kitten when he was still a child:
Gale: One time my parents denied me akitten, so I summoned myself a tressym.
if you play a gale origin playthrough, you get a mention of her much earlier from tara, after she joins the camp.
this is a camp dialogue with its variants from act i:
Tara the Tressym: Well, if it isn't my favourite fellow himself.
Player: How are things back in Waterdeep?
Tara the Tressym: More or less the same - though news of some mad faction calling themselves 'Absolutists' is starting to trickle in.
Tara the Tressym: I told your mother not to worry. That if they were anything to worry about, Baldur's Gate would handle things quick-sharp. Keep them from spreading their tendrils north. She still wants to know when she'll see you again, sir. I avoid giving any answers. But she misses you.
Player: I miss her too.
Tara the Tressym: I'll tell her. With my Cat Flap of Displacement, I can afford the occasional visit. I'd bring you along, if I could. Perhaps some day.
-
Player: I can't risk putting her in danger.
Tara the Tressym: I know that, but she doesn't. She'd keel over if she knew just how you'd tried to manipulate the Weave. Or maybe she'd just say something like, 'My Gale always was one to make the impossible possible.' Oh, but she adores you.
-
Player: No more guilt trips, Tara. Please.
Tara the Tressym: But then whatever will we talk about? Anyhow - I'm keeping my senses pricked for any sign of another item that might be of use to you. Hopefully something will turn up soon.
it's clear from the dialogue that gale's mother worries about him and loves him - adores him, really.
it also becomes clear that she doesn't know what happened to gale and that he nor tara has not told her.
another mention from act i, again from tara:
Tara the Tressym: Please tell me you've at least made inroads when it comes to finding someone to settle down with. Myself and Mrs Dekarios are starting to think you intend to die alone.
Player: You've been visiting my mother?
Tara the Tressym: Naturally. After you abandoned her, there was only me left to keep her company. She's very good company, though. Ah, the stories we've traded over toast and tea. You're a highly entertaining source of speculation. But speculation only goes so far! Tell me, Mr Dekarios - how have you been?
tara and morena are implied to have tea together regularly enough to trade stories about gale. tara is implied to be a sort of messenger between the two of them, likely after gale's isolation and subsequent abduction by the nautiloid, keeping morena informed, yet without revealing gale's secret and shame.
the devnotes also state that tara loves morena - high praise since other devnotes states that tara hates everyone except gale - and that she talks of her in an affectionate tone.
this is a dialogue in act ii after mystra has tasked gale to use the orb the moment he finds the heart of the absolute:
Tara the Tressym: Promise me, Gale. Promise me you'll find another way. Promise me you'll return home, when this is all over.
Player: I can't make that promise, Tara.
Tara the Tressym: You're going to kill me. And your mother. And then there'll be no one to mourn you when you've wasted yourself for no good reason at all.
i find it very interesting here in terms of other relationships that tara explicitly says that there will be no one to mourn gale except morena and her should he heed mystra's instructions and sacrifice himself. it speaks of the bond between tara, morena and gale - but also even more of gale's isolation and loneliness. we know from tara that she considers herself to be gale's only old friend and gale echoes as much. we also know that gale describes the dekarios family as the dekarios clan, that is "scattered" far and wide.
at the same time, the loud silence about gale's father becomes really apparent again. a while ago, i speculated about gale's father and i truly do still think that he abandoned morena and gale.
another snippet from an act ii convo, before gale reveals the details of elminster's letter to tara (or chosing to keep it to himself):
Tara the Tressym: I'm not one to pry. I'd rather make up all the juicy details myself over tea with your mother.
which again ties in with a similar line from act i, further cementing the fact that this is a regular thing between tara and morena.
still in act ii, tara says this if gale asks her if she'll still love him if he is a mindflayer:
Player: Will you love me when I'm a mind flayer?
Tara the Tressym: Depends. Are mind flayers warm-blooded? If so, my prize napping spot on your lap won't be compromised. In which case, I suppose we could find an accord. And, of course, your mother would still think you a prince, no matter how many tentacles you had. And with a nautiloid, you may even manage to visit her more often.
again, gale's mother truly adores him. tara is utterly convinced she'd love him even if he'd turn into a mind flayer. at the same time, the dialogue again hammers home the fact that gale's been keeping his distance from his mother after he has acquired the orb.
the following lines are a compilation of some of tara's lines from act iii, all once again stating that she is a messenger between gale and morena, keeping morena informed about gale's well-being, while also looking after morena in gale's absence from waterdeep:
Tara the Tressym: You're almost at the end of this, Gale. You're nearly there. And not a moment too soon. Myself, I must away to Waterdeep. Your mother will be worried silly not to have heard from either of us - and now I can bring her the good news. When this is all over I'll be waiting for you, with a crackling fire and good book at the ready. Good luck, darling.
-
Tara the Tressym: I'm well past due to return to Waterdeep. I'm going to tell your mother that you'll be home soon. Don't make a liar of me, darling.
-
Tara the Tressym: I'll have to make up some good news for your dear mother, then. I'm going home, Gale. To look after Mrs Dekarios, and to remind you that there are people waiting for you in Waterdeep.
going back to companion gale, the next mention of gale's mother after saving mirkon, is from gale in an ambient with karlach:
Gale: I don't suppose you've any clue where we are in relation to Waterdeep?
Karlach: From this distance between Elturel and Baldur's Gate, I'd say... a long way away.devnote
Gale: Ah. That will make getting word to my mother rather tricky. No matter - what she doesn't know can't hurt her. Not at this distance, anyway.
it echoes the lines of dialogue that origin gale has, believing he endangers his mother with his condition and thus keeping his distance.
gale mentions his mother in an act iii dialogue after meeting tara on the rooftop of the open hand temple:
Gale: My tower in Waterdeep boasts an excellent kitchen and a wine cellar to rival Ondal himself. Not to mention a larder stocked with my homemade hundur sauce.
Player: Hundur sauce?
Gale: A Waterdhavian delicacy, spiced to leave exactly the right amount of heat lingering on the tongue, and served with that most sharp-toothed of aquarian residents, the quipper fish. I make it to my mother's recipe. It packs quite a wallop. As does she.
we know that gale's the designated camp cook from a conversation with wyll, and i think the conversation makes it fair to assume that gale's mother taught him how to cook.
still, maybe it's because i'm not a native english speaker and i might be missing some cultural context here, but the line "it packs quite a wallop. as does she." stuck out to me:
wallop. to hit something / someone hard.
this could mean that gale's seen her hit someone and packing quite a punch behind it. with what's been described of morena so far, i doubt it's because gale's ever been on the receiving end of that.
or perhaps it's less literal and more in relation to her seemingly larger than life personality that gale also hints at later, describing his mother as "intimitable" and "sometimes unavoidable". this description is from the following conversation that is currently sadly still bugged:
Player: So your last name is Dekarios?
Gale: It is. Courtesy of my mother, the inimitable, dare I say it sometimes unavoidable, Morena Dekarios. It's been so long since I've used it. 'Gale Dekarios' cut a poor figure next to the wizard prowess of 'Gale of Waterdeep'.
Player: Gale Dekarios... I think I like him more.
Gale: You like to many things about me I'd have sooner discarded... Your generosity is quite wonderful. Gale Dekarios likes you too. Very, very much. Though let's keep his exitence between ourselves for now.
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Player: Doesn't your matter mind?
Gale: Oh, she's happy if I'm happy. Morena couldn't care one jot what I call myself. Tara's the real stickler for using it. Has done since I summoned her. I'd prefer you not follow her exmaple, if that's all the same to you. 'Gale' is more than sufficient.
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Player: You're right. Just 'Gale is better.
Gale: I agree. And on the plus side, if I get myself into any truly cataclystic straits during the remainder of our journey, my family name will go untarnished.
i love this banter so much and it makes me very sad that larian still hasn't fixed the issue of it not triggering. there's so much lore to explore here:
from gale dropping 'dekarios' in favour of 'of waterdeep', at first, to appear perhaps more grandiose, more suited to the ambitions he held when he was younger, to morena, apparently, not minding it, yet tara clinging to 'dekarios' (perhaps to keep gale's feet on solid ground as much as she could), to finally finding out that the reason that the gale we meet now is not using 'dekarios' still is because he doesn't wish to tarnish his family name should he indeed fall victim to the orb.
the last mention gale makes of his mother is during his act iii post final battle dialogue, in which he proposes to the player:
Gale: That being said, I wondered if you might consider accompanying me back to Waterdeep as a new member of the Dekarios clan?
Player: Are you asking me to marry you?
Gale: I suppose I am. Tara would be delighted. Not to mention my mother. But I'd be just as happy without such ceremony, so long as we're together.
this again mirrors what tara has been saying in her dialogue with an origin gale in act i: that morena and her were hoping he would find someone to find happiness with.
i think overall, even with only the very few bits and pieces we learn of morena, it's easy to tell that she truly loves and adores and cares her son, and that that love and care is clearly echoed back from gale to morena.
still, or perhaps more likely because of that love, gale keeps his secrets and his distance to morena because of the orb and the shame he feels he brought to his family.
it's all too easy to imagine that he wishes her to be proud of him and that he feels he has disappointed her and given her little reason to be proud of him in the same vein that he feels he has done with tara:
Gale: She'd [Tara] be most impressed by our efforts saving these tieflings. Proud, even. And I've given her little to be proud of recently.
anyhow, i hope i caught all mentions and that this was helpful to someone. 🖤
#gale dekarios#gale of waterdeep#morena dekarios#tara the tressym#baldur's gate 3#bg3#bg3 meta#ch: gale dekarios#ch: morena dekarios#ch: tara the tressym#vg: baldur's gate 3#series: baldur's gate#meta: mybg3
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Your Boss Will Do | Toto Wolff
Summary: your (ex) boyfriend screws you over so you end up screwing his boss and find love in the most unlikely of places
Warnings: infidelity (not between the main pairing), attempted violence, and vague mentions of spice
As you stepped out of the taxi, the heat of the sun embraced your skin and welcomed you to the bustling principality where the Monaco Grand Prix was about to take place. This was supposed to be an exciting weekend with a chance to visit your boyfriend, Lucas, who worked as a mechanic for Mercedes. Little did you know that your world was about to be turned upside down.
You had been together with Lucas for two years, and although there were some ups and downs in your relationship, you believed your love was strong. But as you made your way to the hotel, your heart started to feel a strange unease as if something was amiss. Brushing off the thoughts, you told yourself it was just lingering stress from the long journey.
Finally, you arrived at the luxurious hotel which was already buzzing with team personnel and fans there for the upcoming race. The lobby was a sea of energy and excitement but you just could not shake the nagging feeling that something was wrong. Still, determined to see Lucas, you tried to ignore the pit in your stomach and made your way up to his room.
As you approached the door, you heard muffled moans and whimpers coming from inside. Confusion and curiosity gripped you. You hesitated for a moment, unsure of whether to knock or just barge in, but ultimately you chose the latter, wanting to surprise him with your early arrival.
What you saw upon entering shattered your heart into a thousand tiny pieces. There, tangled among the bedsheets, were Lucas and a flushed woman you had never seen before. The shock paralyzed you as you took in the scene before you — their disheveled clothes, the guilty expressions on their faces, and the unmistakable sense of betrayal that hung heavy in the air.
Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision as you stumbled backward. Lucas and the woman quickly separated, faces pale as they realized they had been caught in the act. You turned on your heels, running out of the room, heart pounding in your chest as a tidal wave of more emotions than you could pinpoint flooded your entire being.
With nowhere to go, you found yourself seated at the hotel bar, seeking solace in a glass of whiskey. The amber liquid swirled as you nursed your broken heart, thoughts consumed by the image of Lucas and that woman now imprinted in your brain.
Lost in your despair, you failed to notice the man who had quietly taken a seat next to you. His presence disrupted your thoughts, and you turned to face the tall, distinguished gentleman in a white button down with serious brown eyes and a calm yet intense demeanor. You immediately recognized him from the Formula 1 broadcast on your television screen.
“Seems like you could use a friend,” Toto said, his voice smooth and comforting. “Mind if I join you?”
You nodded, appreciating the unexpected company. Toto ordered a drink and leaned back, his eyes studying you curiously. “I couldn't help but notice the sadness in your eyes. Care to share?”
As the tears threatened to spill over, you found yourself pouring your heart out to someone who was a stranger in all but name. You told him about Lucas, the love you had shared, and the devastating betrayal you had just witnessed. The longer you spoke, the more your voice trembled with pain.
Toto listened attentively, his gaze never leaving your face. When you finished, he reached out and gently wiped away a tear that had escaped your eye. “I'm truly sorry for what you are going through. No one deserves to be treated like that.”
With a heavy sigh, you confessed, “I don't even have a place to stay now. I was supposed to stay with Lucas but I can't bear to be near him.”
Toto's eyes softened with empathy. “You can stay with me. My villa is not too far from here. It's the least I can do to offer you some comfort.”
Surprised by his generous offer, you hesitated. “I don't want to impose.”
“You are not imposing at all,” Toto assured. “Please, let me take care of you.”
A mix of trepidation and desire coiled within you, weaving a web of temptation. In that moment of vulnerability, you made a choice to embrace the unknown and surrender to the passion that beckoned. Nodding in silent agreement, you allowed Toto to guide you away from the bar, leaving behind the splintered shards of your past.
In Toto’s private sanctuary, a world of decadence and desire unfolded before you. The opulent villa, with its dimly lit rooms and plush furnishings, became a playground for stolen moments and hidden pleasures. Each touch, each kiss, ignited a fire that consumed you both — a flame that burned away the remnants of heartbreak, leaving only an insatiable hunger for each other.
Amidst tousled Egyptian cotton sheets and whispered promises, you discovered the intoxicating power of surrender in a dance of passion and vulnerability that left you breathless. Toto explored the contours of your body with reverence, awakening desires you had long forgotten. In his arms, you found redemption, his touch mending the broken fragments of your soul, as overwhelming pleasure mingled with bittersweet memories of the past.
Days turned into nights and nights into a blur of fervid moments and languid mornings. Toto spoiled you with adoration, showering you with gestures that whispered of his devotion. He painted your world with colors that had only existed in dreams before him — the symphony of his kisses, the tender caress of his fingertips, and the way his voice melted into yours during whispered confessions of early love.
Race weekends came and went and your connection with Toto grew stronger with each passing moment. He showed you a different world filled with respect, kindness, and unconditional love. His home became yours as well — a sanctuary where you could heal and rediscover yourself.
Toto’s touch was gentle yet electric, sending shivers down your spine whenever his fingers brushed against your skin. His lips were soft and warm, his kisses both tender and passionate. With each intimate encounter, the tension between you heightened, adding an exhilarating edge to your blossoming relationship.
You were swept up in a whirlwind of romance. Between heated embraces and whispered pleas, Toto convinced you to join along for his travels and soon you were exploring countless cities together, walking hand in hand through the vibrant streets, indulging in exquisite cuisine, and immersing yourselves in the local culture. Toto was a fascinating companion, his stories painting vivid pictures in your mind and his presence making you feel alive in a way you had never experienced before.
As neither you nor Toto had any desire to keep your relationship hidden, Lucas was in for a rude awakening. Consumed by anger and jealousy, he confronted you one afternoon outside the Mercedes garage, spit flying with his bitter words. “So this is what you've been doing while I was working, huh? Sleeping with my boss? I hope you're happy. Keep opening your legs to anyone with some money in the bank!”
His words stung but you refused to let his cruelty break you. Standing tall, you looked him in the eye, your voice steady. “I may have ended up in Toto's arms but I was driven there because you broke my heart into a million pieces. I deserve better than the lies and betrayal you offered me. But in the end I should thank you, because you ultimately led me to the best thing that has even been mine.”
Lucas’ face twisted with rage but before he could respond, Toto emerged from the garage, his presence as commanding and solid as always. “I suggest you leave, Lucas. Your behavior is unacceptable and I will not tolerate it in my team or in my personal life.”
Lucas’ mouth opened and closed but no words came out. His anger turned to defeat as he stormed off, leaving you standing there with Toto by your side. The relief of having Toto’s support washed over you and you clung to him as your knees threatened to buckle, knowing that you had made the right choice in leaving Lucas behind.
From that day forward, Toto spoiled you with love and affection even more than before. He showed you what a true partnership based on trust, respect, and shared dreams should be. He supported your aspirations and encouraged you to pursue your own passions, all while cherishing every moment you spent together.
You stood by Toto’s side, attending races and witnessing the triumphs and challenges that came with the sport firsthand. The fiery passion between you never waned but it was no longer the sole foundation of your relationship. It had evolved into a deep emotional connection — a bond that transcended just physical desire.
You found yourself becoming a familiar face in the paddock and the lively Mercedes garage. The once-foreign territory transformed into a second home filled with friendly smiles and warm greetings from the team. Toto took pride in having you next to him and he delighted in showing you off to everyone watching.
With each race, you became more absorbed into the world of Formula 1. The team welcomed you with open arms, eager to share their knowledge and stories. You listened attentively, absorbing the intricacies of the sport and the dedication that fueled each member. Similarly, they admired your resilience and how you had overcome heartache to find love and happiness again.
The paddock buzzed with whispers and speculation as news of your relationship with Toto spread like wildfire. Some saw it as a scandalous affair while others admired the power couple that had emerged from the ashes of betrayal.
Lucas was unable to escape the reality of your newfound connection. The sight of you and Toto, locked in an embrace or sharing hungry glances gnawed at him like a festering wound. The anger within him grew, fueled by jealousy and entitlement. He resented the fact that you had moved on and found happiness in the arms of his boss.
One fateful day as the sun beamed down on the paddock, Lucas approached you, his face contorted in anger. “So this is what it’s come to,” he sneered, words dripping with venom. “You've officially traded me in for a richer model.”
You remained tall, refusing to cower as he wrongfully projected the blame onto you. “It was never about power or wealth. Toto has shown me what true love and respect look like. He cherishes me in a way you never did and never could.”
Lucas’ rage flared and he lunged forward with misguided fury. “I won't let him have you! You're mine. I won't stand by while he takes you away.”
But before he could reach you, Toto wedged himself between you and Lucas, a protective pillar of strength. “You will not touch her,” Toto pushed your ex-boyfriend back. “Your possessiveness and anger have no place here. Y/N does not belong to you or anyone for that matter. She is free to choose who to love and she has chosen me. If you cannot respect our relationship, I will have no choice but to take further action.”
The ugly expression never left Lucas’ face but he must have recognized the futility of his actions. Toto was nearly a head taller than him and at the top of both the Mercedes and Formula 1 food chain. With one final glare, he turned and disappeared into the crowd of people as his bravado crumbled.
Toto drew you into his arms, holding you close as if to shield you from the remnants of your past. His touch, once filled with merely desire, now possessed a deep set tenderness — a promise that he would always defend and cherish you.
As the season continued, Toto’s devotion to you only deepened. He spoiled you with grand gestures and intimate moments — helicopter rides over breathtaking landscapes, candlelit dinners under the stars, and stolen kisses in the hustle of the garages. He reveled in pampering you, eager to show you what a true partnership built on mutual respect and trust should be like.
It was in the moments away from the track, in the refuge of your private lives, that your relationship truly flourished. Toto was your confidant, your champion, and your partner. His love letters adorned your nightstand, his whispers of adoration reverberated through your dreams, and his touch ignited a passion that transcended feasible thought. In his arms, you discovered the depth of intimacy and connection, where pleasure melded with profound emotion and left you breathless and yearning for more. In the midst of the chaos and adrenaline, Toto became your anchor, grounding you in a love that surpassed all expectations. You navigated the twists and turns of the sport and of life together and faced the triumphs and setbacks hand in hand. The love you shared with Toto was a force that defied all doubts and insecurities, reminding you that you were worthy of happiness and bliss.
While celebrating a victorious race, you relished in the second family that had adopted you. Laughter filled the air as the team exchanged stories and you couldn't help but feel a sense of belonging.
As the conversation shifted to humorous anecdotes, Toto leaned in and whispered in your ear, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “Remember the first time we met at the hotel bar? I never would have imagined that sitting next to a beautiful woman nursing her whiskey would lead to all of this.”
You chuckled and playfully nudged him. “Well I suppose we have Lucas to thank for introducing us in his own twisted way.”
Toto raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “Yes, he was quite the unusual matchmaker. I doubt he expected me to take such an interest in his ex-girlfriend.”
A burst of laughter escaped your lips and you shook your head. “I'm sure he regrets it now.”
Just then, Lewis joined the conversation. He flashed a grin at both of you. "So is it true that Toto stole your heart faster than our car can drive a lap?"
You exchanged a playful glance with Toto before replying. “Let's just say Toto knows how to handle more than just the team.”
Toto shrugged teasingly. “What can I say? I have a magic touch both on and off the track.”
The group erupted into hoots and hollers and, reveling in the well-meaning cheers, you realized that despite the initial heartbreak and turmoil, life had brought you to a place where love and joy prospered. You couldn't help but feel grateful for the unexpected turns that had led you to where you were meant to be.
#f1 imagine#f1#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 fanfiction#f1 x reader#f1 x you#toto wolff#toto wolff imagine#toto wolff x reader#toto wolff x you#toto wolff fic#toto wolff fluff#toto wolff fanfic#toto wolff blurb#f1 fluff#f1 x y/n#f1 blurb#toto wolff x y/n#f1 one shot#f1 fandom#formula 1#formula one#f1blr
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Sweet Nothings -- OPLA!Sanji x Reader
I've only seen the Live Action, so this is new for me. I started reading the manga a few hours ago and the anime is bookmarked on my Crunchyroll. But for now, I'm working with what I've got. So this is exclusively the Live Action. Best friends to Lovers Trope cause I wanted to. I'm not entirely happy with how this turned out so I might redo it at some point.
Also, shoutout to @avidanadvocacy who managed to like and reblog this within, like, five seconds of me posting it. They're probably the only reason I sat down and wrote this lol
Warnings: vague mentions of canon typical violence, reader is very cautious of showing the fact they're rather soft (not sure if that counts as a warning or makes sense, I'm tired lol)
No use of y/n, or those weird descriptor things, reader is gender neutral. Reader is however you imagine them
Word Count: 2.5k
Masterlist
I spy with my little tired eye
Tiny as a firefly
A pebble that we picked up last July
Down deep inside your pocket
We almost forgot it
Does it ever miss Wicklow sometimes?
You had known Sanji since you were young. You had both been around twelve at the time Zeff took you in, after you had been abandoned rather unceremoniously at the Baratie. You couldn’t remember much about the pirates who had left you behind, not that it mattered to you. You were thankful, even after all the years since, that Zeff had taken you in. You weren’t a skilled cook, but you were diligent and hard working, so you worked as a head waiter.
Having grown up around Sanji, you were used to his…antics. He was a flirt to each and every female customer, but whenever you asked, he would wave you off and laugh about it being how he simply ‘gets the customers to keep coming back.’ And you’d roll your eyes and continue on with your business. He had been your best friend for years. When you had initially met, you had simply clicked and that was that. Nothing to it.
He would make you smile on your worst days and you’d do the same for him. Because that’s what friends do. Right?
The first moment you had doubted that his friendship was just that was the day he lent you his coat.
You had just stopped in the kitchen to drop off orders and take a quick breather. The lunch rush at the Baratie was merciless on a good day.
The winds had shifted earlier in the day and despite the hustle and bustle of the restaurant, a chill passed through you and you shivered.
Within moments, a navy blue suit jacket had been deposited around your shoulders.
You turned to see Sanji grinning at you.
“Wouldn’t do for our favorite waiter to catch cold now, would it?” He said before walking deeper into the kitchen.
You smiled at his retreating form, then slipped your arms into the coat properly and rolled the sleeves so that you’d be able to work.
A bit of time had passed since then, and you stopped to survey the tables around the restaurant, putting your hands into the pockets of Sanji’s jacket.
Your fingers brushed against something and you pulled it out in confusion.
A pebble sat in the palm of your hand. Just as blue as the day you had initially found it two years back.
Zeff had sent you both for supplies and you had spotted it. It was a stunning cerulean blue and you had immediately thought of your best friend. He had told you of the All Blue, and ever since that moment you had associated the color with him. Not every shade of blue, of course, but only the ones that were the most beautiful. One’s that caught the eye and seemed to shimmer.
You had almost forgotten the tiny pebble. But this jacket…Sanji’s favorite. There would be no way he’d be unaware of it being in the pocket.
You put the stone back. Your mind racing.
They said the end is coming
Everyone's up to something
I find myself running home to your sweet nothings
Outside, they're push and shoving
You're in the kitchen humming
All that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing
The one thing you didn’t like about the Baratie was the fighting. You knew it was inevitable, especially with pirates. You were old enough now to look past it. It was a fact of life. Sometimes it was genuine fighting, other times customers simply got into little spats that were easier to ignore.
You sighed and wandered into the kitchen. Zeff had stepped out to smooth the wrinkles on whatever argument had broken out. To be entirely honest, the dinner shift had taken it out of you and you were exhausted.
You plopped down in a chair off to the side with another heavy sigh and shut your eyes.
The clink of dishware being set before you and a chair scraping the ground next to you brought you to open your eyes again.
A rice dish sat in front of you, a glass of water next to it. Sanji’s eyes watched you carefully.
“What is it?” You knew the Baratie menu inside and out, and this was definitely not on it.
A signature smile graced his face. “Seafood risotto. Nothing terribly fancy, just terribly good.”
“Does Zeff know about this?” You asked, taking a bite. It was divine.
Blue eyes twinkled. “What the old man doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” Sanji paused, smile fading and voice growing soft. “You seem tired, sweetheart.”
You tried to squash the flutter in your chest. It had been months since you found the pebble in Sanji’s coat, and you had found out that he always carried it. Your heart had run away with that information. And while the blond had called you by the same pet name for years, it felt different now that your affections towards your best friend had shifted. You kept the information to yourself, afraid of change.
So instead you shrugged, continuing to eat. “I guess I’m a little tired? The dining room has kept me on my toes all day and I didn’t sleep very easy last night.”
Sanji’s brows furrow in concern at that. “Well, make sure you finish eating. And try and get some better sleep tonight. For me, yeah?”
You swallowed. He always looked at you so sweetly. Always treated you so differently than the girls he flirted with for good tips. Now he was giving you that small smile, blond hair in his face as always, but the softness in his eyes was unmistakable.
You nodded, “Of course, Sanji.”
Your heart was doing somersaults.
On the way home
I wrote a poem
You say, "What a mind"
This happens all the time
Monkey D Luffy came barrelling into both your lives like a cannonball. One moment life was as it had been for years, the next finds both you and Sanji preparing to leave the Baratie and join the crew of the Going Merry
You weren’t sure why Luffy had insisted you come too. When you had asked him, he had only shrugged with a smile, saying that it had felt like the right thing to do.
So, you made yourself useful where you could. Whether it be helping Sanji, or any of the other Straw Hats.
Luffy had soon after discovered that you enjoyed writing.
It was the day before everything went wrong.
You and Sanji had left the Baratie that afternoon, Zorro was on the road to recovery from his battle against Dracule Mihawk, and everything seemed fine .
A conversation of dreams had even arisen over a meal, and you had shyly mentioned how you enjoyed writing. Not that there was time for it while waiting tables.
Sanji was surprised and intrigued to find a new side of you. You had never mentioned it to him. It was just a silly little hobby in your eyes and, in the life you led, you had always kept those simple things to yourself. Not even sharing them with your best friend.
Luffy, however, had been delighted and immediately asked if you would document the voyage.
Granted, his wording had been more along the lines of “write down our adventures”, but same thing.
Later that night, Sanji had found you on the deck, a new journal in your hand.
“A writer, eh?” He had that soft voice again.
You nodded, refusing to look at him properly. “I want to be a famous poet someday.” You whispered, inwardly afraid of making such an admission.
The years on the Baratie had led you to shove all the soft spoken emotions deep down, gentleness was not a trait most pirates were fond of. But your new captain was the exact opposite, his kindness earning your trust instantly. You knew without a shadow of a doubt that you had found a new and true friend in Luffy.
But you’d never replace Sanji.
Your heart seemed to clench and you opened your mouth to apologize for keeping it from him, but when you looked at him, your breath caught and your voice failed you.
The chef was always sweet on you, but he looked at you in that moment as if you had hung the stars.
“What a mind.” He said quietly, as if he was simply in awe of you.
Unbeknownst to you, Sanji had been looking at you like that for years. There was a reason he called you sweetheart, why you were always the first to try his new creations, why he treated you so differently than all the other girls. A reason why he was so sweet on you.
Everyone could see it. Zorro knew. Nami knew. Usopp knew. Luffy knew. The young captain had made sure to bring you both from the Baratie. If it meant he had to separate the two of you, then Luffy would have never had Sanji come aboard as Chef.
Even Zeff knew. Which was why he had let you both go.
However, you couldn’t see it.
But in that moment, with Sanji looking at you, you were ready to throw it all away. Willing to possibly ruin years of friendship if it just meant you could kiss him once.
'Cause they said the end is coming
Everyone's up to something
I find myself running home to your sweet nothings
Outside, they're push and shoving
You're in the kitchen humming
All that you ever wanted from me was nothing
Nami’s betrayal had shocked you all to the core. You had only known her for such a short time, but it had still hurt.
Sanji was convinced that her alliance with Arlong wasn’t something she had chosen. Zorro seemed to only see it in black and white, positive that she had made her choice.
Luffy simply wanted to hear the truth from Nami herself. And only then would he believe it.
So the Going Merry was currently sailing for the Conomi Islands just to hear that truth.
It was once again late at night, but sleep would not come. The day’s events play over and over in your mind, keeping you wide awake.
So you headed quietly to the kitchen only to find the light on and an equally awake Sanji sitting quietly with a cup of tea, humming to himself.
You froze. You had almost kissed him the night before, fear holding you back.
But he had already seen you.
“Can’t sleep either, can you, sweetheart?”
You gave up on resisting, going to sit beside him.
Without speaking, he poured you a cup of tea, setting it before you.
“Chamomile. Should help.” Was all he said.
The day had left you both content with each other’s silence as you sat next to each other, shoulders brushing lightly. Sanji eventually went back to humming.
You couldn’t tell if it was the gentle movement of the ship as it sailed, the tea, or even Sanji himself humming softly next to you, but eventually your eyes shut.
Vaguely, you were aware of being carried and eventually set down gently in your hammock.
Something brushed your forehead and you thought you heard Sanji’s voice before you drifted fully into sleep. You felt almost certain it was a kiss, but you were too deep in the fog of sleep to deem that true. It had most likely been your imagination.
“Sweet dreams, sweetheart.”
Industry disruptors and soul deconstructors
And smooth-talking hucksters out glad-handing each other
And the voices that implore, "You should be doing more"
To you, I can admit that I'm just too soft for all of it
The fight against Arlong and his pirates had once again changed everything overnight. You wouldn’t lie, it was terrifying. But you had prevailed. The Straw Hats won in the end. Nami and her village were safe.
It had brought so many things to light for you. As soon as you had all reboarded the Going Merry, you dutifully recorded the events of the day, from the villagers of Coco Village to the fight at Arlong Park, you made your way to the kitchen, needing solace from your best friend.
Your emotions had been bottled the whole day. Yes, fighting was inevitable. You were a pirate, it was simply a fact of life. But you still didn’t like it.
“Sanji?” You called.
The kitchen was empty to your surprise, so you made your way to the deck, finding him by the tangerine trees.
He had the pebble in his hand as you walked up and your heart began to race. He slipped it back into his pocket as he noticed you and you pretended not to see.
Instead you wrapped your arms around his middle, and Sanji instantly returned your hug, holding you close.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
“I don’t know. I think…” you trailed off.
Sanji released you from the hug, but still kept you within his arms. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”
You nodded. “I think…I’m too soft for all this sometimes.” You admitted slowly. “I mean, I can do it, don’t get me wrong. But, Sanji, today was terrifying. And the Grand Line is supposed to be worse.”
That twinkle and smile were back again. “You’re not too soft, sweetheart. You’re perfect. You were strong today, and I know you don’t like fighting. But you’re brave, and you protect those you care about. Being soft doesn’t make you weak.”
“But what if it does?” Your voice dropped to a whisper. “Because–”
You stopped, confessions halting on your lips.
“Because what, sweetheart? Stop hiding yourself, it’s just me.”
“That’s exactly why I’m hiding.”
He frowned in confusion, silently imploring you to continue.
“Because you make me feel soft. I kept my writing to myself because somehow it always ended up being about you. Whether it be the way you look at me or even the fact you kept that pebble.”
His eyebrows shot up in surprise. Apparently he had genuinely thought you hadn’t noticed.
“We’re supposed to be pirates, Sanji. There’s no softness allowed in this profession.”
He gently pulled you a little closer, warm breath now able to be felt on your face as he spoke, “I think we’ve already proven we’re a different sort of pirate than what’s expected, sweetheart.”
You were drowning in an ocean of greyish blue. The little nickname. That tiny sweet nothing. It wore down any and all of the final doubts and reserves in your mind and the two of you melted into each other.
He held you tightly, arms around you as both your hands grabbed tightly to his shirt, the both of you lost in a kiss that seemed like forever.
Eventually it ended, and he rested his forehead gently against yours.
“I’m in love with you, sweetheart.” He said gently. “How’s that for being soft, hmm?”
A small smile formed upon your face. The both of you had been oblivious to the other, yes. But at the same time, all of Sanji’s little sweet nothings over the years–both in words and actions–played quickly through your head. The past week had pulled everything straight to the surface.
“I love you, too.”
All that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothings.
Not entirely happy with this but it's late. Let me know what you think. I'm still new to this fandom, and there's a lot of content that I've yet to learn about. But I'll get there.
#sanji x reader#opla sanji x reader#vinsmoke sanji#one piece live action#one piece x reader#one piece live action x reader#thismothwrites
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