#so inevitably you end up having to write something about it somewhere
Text
fixed point
“Would you like to know how much time you have left?” Clockwork asked.
Danny had never wished more that he’d died in something with pockets so he could hide his shaking hands. The endless ticking in the lair—hundreds of hands TICK TICK TICK -ing in perfect sync—had never sounded so ominous.
“I—” his voice rattled his throat, a raw thing “—I didn’t think you gave spoilers.”
With an absent spin of their staff, Clockwork shifted from adult to child and said nothing. Dread hung heavy in the air, Clockwork’s unblinking stare piercing through it all. Danny pointedly did not make eye contact. Instead focusing on the oscillating hands of the wall behind them.
He took a breath.
“Will it make it easier, knowing?”
Clockwork blinked once, face betraying nothing.
Dammit.
He wasn’t an idiot. There was really only one outcome of this conversation. Just as there had been the day he’d first pulled on his jumpsuit, walking—tripping—through the threshold. Life snuffed out of him in less than a second.
He brought his shaking hands together and met Clockwork’s even gaze.
And answered.
Thirteen days.
Seven hours.
Thirty-six minutes.
It was somehow both longer and shorter than he’d expected.
It was also a weight off his shoulders, at least in the beginning. It wouldn’t happen any earlier than the date Clockwork had recounted that night. Thirteen days of freedom. Peace. Liberation.
Because if he thought too much about the length of thirteen days, how three-hundred or so hours wasn’t enough time— it’s not fucking FAIR —he would be swallowed by the crushing anxiety that made its permanent home in his stomach.
So there was that.
He didn’t bother telling his friends. They were already all on edge, but if he could act like all was well he could ease their worries. Because ultimately they were just worried about him, and if he was fine they would be too.
He did, however, make contingency plans. Farewell videos on a USB drive taped to the underside of his bed.
He wanted Clockwork to be wrong. Some nights he laid awake, trying his damndest to find a way off this track. This self-fulfilling prophecy. But there was nothing. That moment had already passed with that stupid news broadcast that had glued him to the couch, shaking, as his parents had shouted and jeered at the screen. Dismissive. Furious. Invested.
They hadn’t noticed when he pushed himself off the couch and stumbled, shaking, to the bathroom to purge the contents of his stomach.
It was a miracle he’d only gotten a two-day suspension for slugging Wes in the face in front of the whole cafeteria. Even more so that no one had pieced it together from that.
No one saw him. But they would. When it was too late.
He couldn’t stop it. But as he didn’t acknowledge it in the waking world it wouldn’t exist. So he reserved his existential crises for when there was nothing to distract him from the looming, inevitable deadline.
He wished he could tell Mr. Lancer that whenever he was given detention that afternoon.
On the night of the twelfth day, he didn’t sleep a wink. No amount of coffee could keep his head above his desk that morning, and so, Danny spent his final hour in detention. He considered skipping. Detention was not the place for everything to come to an end.
But wouldn’t leaving—deviating from his normal routine—up the chances of putting events in motion?
Avoidance was his specialty, after all.
Jazz could write a paper on his coping tactics alone if she hadn’t already.
At nineteen minutes Mr. Lancer stopped in front of his desk. It was only him and Valerie today, and she sat somewhere three desks behind and to his left of him. Her hair was in a loose ponytail, loose yellow sleeves draped over her hands. The bags under her eyes rivaled his own, even though he was sure there hadn’t been too many ghosts in the past week or so—but then again, he’d not been the most attentive to things on the ghost front lately. It was probably his fault she was here at all.
“Mr. Fenton,” Lancer said. He forced his head to turn, a feat much more difficult than it sounded. His head felt full of lead. “Is everything alright at home?”
Danny forced himself not to cringe.
“Uh.” He ignored the sound of Valerie shifting in her seat behind him. Great. An audience. “Yes.”
“I’ve noticed you’ve been getting much less sleep of late, is all.”
Now this was a load of shit. Danny’s sleep schedule was normally trash. This current existential crisis was no more taxing than his normal night activities.
Lancer continued. “And your parents have—” he paused, eyes flitting somewhere behind him. “—in light of recent revelations, I just worry, Mr. Fenton.”
Hm.
Did he know, then?
Was this it?
Danny stared stupidly for a moment, forgetting to shut his mouth. And then shrugged.
Falling back on ignorance.
If he was honest, he hadn’t quite expected Lancer to be the one to put it together, but it also made sense.
Lancer’s mouth thinned. “I know they can be intense, especially with the scrutiny placed on our school now. No one should feel scared to come to school. Or go home,” he said, letting the words hang in the air for a moment. “This is a safe space.”
For a moment all he could hear was the drum of his heart in his chest. And then behind him, Valerie cleared her throat.
“With all due respect, Mr. Lancer,” she said, “nowhere is safe with that putrid ghost hiding among us.”
Danny didn’t turn around. Lancer’s reaction was subdued, but there was a protective fire in his eyes that confirmed Danny’s suspicions. He wondered how long ago he’d put it together.
“Ms. Gray,” Lancer said, “I see your point, but I’m just trying to ease tensions.”
Danny checked the clock.
Seventeen minutes.
Maybe he should’ve skipped detention after all.
(No escaping the inevitable. No do-overs this time.)
Valerie scoffed. “So what? We let our guard down?” he chanced a glance behind him, and Valerie’s eyes were red-rimmed—from lack of sleep or otherwise he had no idea. “Someone here is a walking weapon and we’re supposed to ignore this? Fenton at least knows he’ll be safe at home, but what about the rest of us? We don’t get to go home to ghost-hunting parents—we have to hold our own.”
Lancer nodded. “I understand. I just think that it’s very frightening for all of us, ghost hunters or not.”
Danny’s voice cracked when he spoke. “Yeah.”
Valerie’s expression softened. “I didn’t mean to make light—”
“No. No, you’re right,” he said. “It’s not safe with Phantom as a student here. Whoever he is.”
She sighed. “Danny, I don’t know what it’s like with your parents, but—”
“But what?” he cut her off. “Because they’re ghost hunters they’re automatically the safest people in the room?” He lowered his voice. “You would think that.”
She froze. “What does that mean?”
Hm. Whoops.
“People don’t know what it’s like, I guess.”
Danny turned back around. Lancer’s stare was dripping with sympathy.
Fifteen minutes.
There was a scrape of a chair, a thud of feet, and a warm hand on his shoulder. Valerie released him just as fast. When he met her eyes, they were as wide as saucers.
“D—Danny,” she said with a note of panic. “You’re cold.”
“Yeah?” he asked.
She took a step back. He hadn’t seen her this scared since they’d been stranded on Skulker’s island together. He could see the realization dawning.
“Val,” he said, knowing full well what was going through her head, “what’s wrong?”
“It’s not you,” she said, a desperate plea. “I can’t be this stupid.”
He sighed and Lancer stepped between them.
“Ms. Gray,” he said, “now let’s not jump to conclusions—”
“No!” she shook her head. “No, no, no! It doesn’t make sense. You’re—your parents hunt ghosts. Hunt Phantom.”
Danny crossed his arms.
“So do you.”
Lancer looked between them like Danny had announced that he liked eating golf balls. “What.”
Tears welled in Valerie’s eyes. “I trusted you!”
The minute hand inched forward.
Fourteen.
“You trusted me to what?”
Valerie clenched her fists. “Don’t do that! Don’t play stupid!”
“Ms. Gray—”
“I’m not playing.” Danny turned sideways in his desk, facing her head-on. “Tell me what you think I’ve done, Val.”
“Mr. Fenton—!”
“You replaced him. You replaced Danny. How long have you been pretending to be him? To be alive? How can you live with yourself, going home everyday and seeing his parents and—and—acting like you’re still—” she choked on her tears. “You terrorize this town, Phantom. I won’t let you take anything else from me, or anyone.”
Lancer’s eyes were wide. He’d never seen the man so shocked, in such foreign territory.
Valerie, on the other hand, was resolute. There was as much determination in her face as tears.
“I’m still me,” he said. “I died, but I came back. I never replaced myself, however that works. I am sorry, Val. There’s a lot that—”
“Shut up! Shut up shut up shut up! ”
“—that I didn’t mean to happen.”
Lancer slammed his hand on Danny’s desk.
“Can we all settle down!”
It all happened in a matter of seconds. The clock in his peripheral kept him tethered to the moment.
Valerie reached behind her and pulled a blaster.
A flash of red—
(The minute hand moves.
Thirteen.)
—and a burst of hot pain through his side.
He crumpled forward, his head meeting the linoleum floor with a SMACK and somewhere above him a distant shout.
Everything from his side to his cranium THROBBED and it wouldn’t fucking stop.
(He’d taken hits from Val before. This shouldn’t hurt so much. Why does this—?)
Iron pooled in his mouth.
Oh right.
Ectoplasm was thicker than blood.
Danny tried to push himself up from the floor but the world spun and his arms gave out below him and he slumped back down to the cold, hard floor.
The floor felt better.
Maybe he would…
Stay here for a while…
***
The television clicked on. A rerun of the six o’clock news.
He didn’t let Jazz turn it off.
“According to a recent report, there is speculation that our local ghost vigilante Phantom might be living among us. Care to tell us more, Lance?”
“Yes, Tiffany.” Lance Thunder’s stupid blonde hair was polished and perfect as usual and he wanted to wipe that stupid half-smile off the bastard’s face. “A ghost ID’ed as Walker —” at this, a crude picture that was mostly just a white blur appeared on the screen “— has publicly announced that our hero is a student at Casper High fooling us, flying under the radar.”
“And as far as we understand, tips from ghosts aren’t verifiable…?”
“Normally, yes, but there is evidence to suggest that—”
“This isn’t good for you,” Jazz hissed. “I know that it’s scary, but—”
“Exposure therapy,” he snapped back. “It’s gonna be the talk of the school anyway.”
She slumped back down onto the couch. “Take care of yourself.”
The door to the lab was thrown open. His parents marched through the kitchen and into the living room, perfectly eclipsing the TV.
“—telling you, Jack. The DNA scans are inconclusive at best. Their so-called ‘experts’ are out of their depths.”
“We’ll show them once and for all. If we can find out which student it’s using as cover—”
“—we’ll expose Phantom for the monster he is!”
His parents disappeared upstairs for the night, but he could still hear snippets of their vows to destroy him.
He shot Jazz a tired look. “Easier said than done.”
***
Someone was touching him.
Everything on his left burned. Far above him were LEDs and beige ceiling tiles. He wasn’t sure when he’d been rolled onto his back. But he was now, and someone was pressing down on the spot that burned burned burned—!
Blood trickled down his throat.
How many minutes had it been?
How many did he have left?
There were voices, somewhere, but everything sounded like it was underwater. Maybe it was. Drowning would be preferable to many of the other deaths he’d prepared for. Still terrible, sure, but vivisection lowered the bar considerably.
“—have you done!”
“He’s—” A girl’s voice wavered, quiet. “He’s Phantom. He’s not supposed to—to—”
Wow. Valerie had the decency to sound ashamed.
At least he could die knowing that his killer at least had a few shreds of regret.
(Is it sad that it’s more than he expected?)
“—little first aid.” The pain came in waves, and all Danny could hear was the rush of his stupid heart in his ears. “—expecting shootings in America, but not from a—”
Just as fast as it came, the world melted away. His last grasp on consciousness slipped away.
(As fast as the click of a button.)
***
Wes had a punchable face.
But hey—that’s what you get for talking to the press. The accusations were written off as pretty baseless, but the damage had been done. He got inquisitive stares now and again. After all, Wes was a joke, but his interview put Danny’s name on the list of suspects and that was enough to fuck his entire life over.
After his two-day suspension, Danny had little opportunity to survey his work. Honestly, more people asked him about how bad he fucked up Wes’s face than whether or not he was Phantom.
(From what he had seen, it was in a perpetual state of purple and that was enough to curb his anger for now.)
So. He had two days off from school.
Danny went to see Clockwork.
Long Now welcomed him with welcome arms, and he broke down into a fit of whines and gripes about how it seemed like everyone was out to get him, that everyone wanted to put his head on a pike. Everyone wanted to ferret out the wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Clockwork shared their sympathies.
“No matter what I do, I just—I’m a wreck. I think someone’s figured it out. That they know, but then I mention it to Jazz or Sam or Tucker and I’m just paranoid and I think I’m paranoid now and—” he groaned. “I don’t know what to do. I’m losing my mind.”
“You do know that it’s inevitable that the truth comes to light.”
He froze. “What.”
Clockwork shifted from senior to adult. “Your paranoia isn’t for naught. It’s a matter of time.”
No. This couldn’t be happening.
He’d figure a way out.
There had to be something.
“I thought nothing was inevitable.”
“Not nothing,” Clockwork hummed. “Often, it is nothing. But not this time.”
Their words shook him to the core. He’d suspected it, sure, but confirmation was—
“I know it isn’t fair.”
“Don’t tell me what is and isn’t fair!” Danny snapped. “Your entire life isn’t—isn’t under scrutiny for everyone. If they know that I’m me, I—”
He pressed his hands to his chest.
He would be finished.
One way or another, someone would find a way to put him on their table.
The government.
His parents.
Maybe someone else out for his blood.
(His body.)
“I can’t see what will happen past them learning the truth,” Clockwork said. “But it is a fixed point. Everything past that diverges, a thousand roads. Timelines. Possibilities. I can’t tell you what to expect. The best, the worst. I cannot offer that reassurance.”
“Oh.”
They nodded. “It’s a lot to take in.”
“I don’t want them to find out,” he said in a pathetic whine.
For a long moment, Clockwork said nothing. If not for the constant ticking of clocks, he would have thought they were frozen. But then Clockwork’s expression shifted.
And they asked:
“Would you like to know?”
***
…
……
………
Warbled voices were around him again. Different.
But this time more in focus.
“Sir, Ma’am, if you could leave the room—”
“I will NOT. That is my son, and I am not leaving until someone tells me why there is a HOLE in his chest—!”
And somewhere else, a shriek of sobs.
“We’re transporting him to the hospital, you can’t—”
“I did it,” said that same, sobbing voice. “I shot him. I shot him.”
More people were touching him and Danny didn’t like it oh god no no no —
“—get him on the stretcher—”
“—the hell DID you—”
“—Ms. Gray, you—”
“—no! I want to know why—”
“—securing him, just—”
And now time did slow.
The EMTs lifted the stretcher.
And his face lolled to the side, giving him a clear view of the clock.
The minute hand moved one last time.
Just as:
“I didn’t mean to! I didn’t—he’s Phantom, I didn’t think that it would—!” Valerie, cut off, sobbing. “I’m so sorry, Danny. If you can hear me, I’m so sorry.”
And then there was silence.
Crushing darkness.
***
If he had any last doubts that his secret was out, they were snuffed out when he woke up in the hospital to the pained faces of his parents. Jazz was in the chair to his left, hair mussed up and asleep. His parents’ eyes were red with tears. In his delirium, he also noticed Sam’s backpack discarded in the corner.
How long had—?
“Two days.”
Clockwork appeared before him in their adult form. They swung their staff, looking rather pleased with themselves. Danny then realized the occupants of the room had been frozen as long as he’d been awake.
“You’re recovering well, all considered.” Clockwork tapped a clipboard on a nearby table. “I will say, I am surprised that we took this route. It is what you might call a ‘spoiler,’ but it’s kinder than most.”
“Is it,” he said, voice hoarse.
Clockwork waited for him to finish coughing up his lungs before speaking again. “They’re handling it as best they can. I won’t say it’s great, but you’re on the way there.”
“I—what happened, again?”
And as he asked, it came rushing back.
Lancer. Valerie.
And paramedics?
Clockwork gave him a knowing smile. “Your teacher called an ambulance. In his panic, he might have let it slip that you were having a reaction because of a ghost weapon, and your parents were looped into the call.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Danny’s eyes found his frozen heart monitor, time stopped between beats. Below, his mother had tied off the top half of her HAZMAT suit and was wearing a black shirt beneath. He did notice that the contents of her weapons belt were emptied.
He turned back to Clockwork. “How did they take it?”
They shrugged. “Why don’t you ask them?”
“Wait—wait, I'm not ready.”
“How about this? I tell you how much time you have left.” They raised their staff. “Three—”
“Clockwork—”
“Two—”
“Don’t you dare!”
“Time in.”
#Danny Phantom#Danny Fenton#Valerie Gray#Clockwork#Danny Phantom Fanfiction#Fanfiction#Phicc#Phic#Danny Phantom Fic#wrwritings#angst#ectober#ectober week 2023#ectober week#ectober 2023#ectoberweek2023
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cinnamon whiskey | ln4
lando norris x fem!writer!reader
summary: you meet a famous race car driver in one of the last places you’d expect— the adirondacks.
word count: 4,578
warnings: drinking, minor injuries (small description of bruising)
masterlist — join my tag list here!
© arieslost 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.
Your editor was going to kill you.
Every day brought you closer to the deadline for your manuscript, and every day you could hardly help yourself out in getting to your self-imposed goal of 1,000 words. It wasn’t a difficult feat; you’d done it before, and you didn’t have anything else to be doing. You had absolutely zero distractions: it was just you, your notebook, and your computer. There was only one problem.
The words just weren’t coming to you, and you’d already gotten a two week extension on the deadline. It felt like all your writing abilities had been rescinded.
“I’m screwed.” You professed to your best friend, falling into a pathetic heap on her couch. You needed a serious pick-me-up after struggling to write a measly paragraph, and she had readily offered a girls night.
“I think you’re being a little dramatic. Scoot over.” She replied, shoving your legs out of the way so she could sit. “Maybe you just need to get out of your house.”
“And go where? I can’t just pack up and take a vacation right now.” You grumbled into the couch cushion.
“Why don’t you go upstate?” She suggested after a moment of silence.
“Upstate?” You repeated.
“Yeah, go to the Adirondacks. My dad owns a house up there, remember? We had a blast the last time we were there.”
You and your best friend had gone up to the Adirondacks when you graduated college, and you always prefaced the retelling of it with, “It was one of the best weeks of my life.” You almost felt silly for not thinking of doing something like that in the first place.
“It might be a good idea… Do you think your dad would be okay with me staying there?”
Your best friend laughed. “Yes, you idiot. He’s let me stay there by myself, he’ll definitely let you.”
A mere 24 hours went by, and you were settled in a cozy cabin in the Adirondacks with the desperate hope of having the rest of your manuscript ready by the end of your stay. Otherwise, you might as well just fire yourself and save your editor some time.
It wasn’t the only cabin in the area– it was more like a very small community made up of six houses built exactly the same. The area was usually used by people with a decent amount of cash lining their pockets, so you were extra grateful to your best friend’s father. He had taken one look at the dejection on your face when your best friend had mentioned her grand idea, and simply handed you the keys with the promise that your stay would be free of charge.
You did feel a little out of place, though– you could have sworn one of your neighbors was in a movie you’d just watched, and another one was just so ridiculously attractive there was no way he wasn’t famous for something. You’d seen him out on his front porch when you arrived, and had to force yourself not to stare or salivate over his bare torso.
The change of scenery around you helped tremendously. At first. You always felt refreshed when you went somewhere new, particularly if it was somewhere you felt more connected to nature. You had gotten into the habit of taking walks to calm yourself when you got frustrated, and having new sights was definitely an exciting prospect for when you inevitably slammed your computer shut and stormed out the door like you just did a few moments ago.
You’ll be the first to admit it: the story just isn’t coming together. Your main character has a goal, a purpose, but she is entirely lacking any kind of driving force to get where she needs to go.
She has no motivation.
You can appreciate irony, but there’s nothing funny about it right now.
The dirt and leaves crunch under your feet as you walk down the first trail that you see. It branches off from the main path that runs between all of the houses: yours, the attractive guy’s, and one other, and then the suspected movie star’s and the other two on the other side. Right now, you just want to see nothing but the path before you, the trees in your peripheral vision, the gentle summer breeze in your hair, and maybe a chipmunk or a squirrel here and there.
But, of course, you can’t even have that. You’re alone with your thoughts for all of two seconds before you hear a crash off to your left that sends a few birds flying. You would have ignored it if not for the groan that immediately followed.
“Um… hello?” You call out, doubling back to try and see just what the hell had happened.
If you were in a horror movie, this would most certainly be your death scene.
“Ah…” It’s definitely a man, and he definitely sounds like he’s in pain.
“Are you okay?” You step off the path, getting closer to where the noise had come from.
That’s where you find him— your insanely attractive neighbor, practically in the fetal position, entirely focused on the camera in his hand. His jaw is clenched, whether in pain or concern for the camera, you don’t know. You just know he has a sharp jawline, long eyelashes, and curly hair.
Ugh, you could cry because he’s so good looking.
He looks up at you, eyes meeting yours, and he has the decency to look embarrassed.
“What the hell just happened to you?”
“I, um… I fell out of that tree.” He confesses, pointing to a branch, not too high up, but now dangling in half.
“And you were in the tree because…” You trail off, gesturing for him to explain further.
“Right, well, I was taking pictures and had an idea for a good one from a higher vantage point, so I climbed the tree. Thought I had a good balance, but—” He winces as he pushes himself up into a sitting position. “I didn’t.”
“No kidding. You’re lucky you didn’t break anything.” You marvel, hands held out in front of you just in case he falls over when he starts standing up.
“I’m not too sure about that.” He huffs out a pained laugh.
“You wouldn’t have been able to stand up so easily if you had, and your wrist and shoulder look fine.” You point out. “I have no doubt that you bruised your side up pretty badly though.”
“Yeah? How would you know?” He leans against the tree he just fell out of, his miraculously unbroken camera hanging from the strap around his neck.
“I’m a writer. I’m like a black hole of useless information.”
“I don’t think it’s useless anymore.” He takes a step forward and his face immediately contorts into a grimace. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Well, you’ve already asked so much of me, but if you really have to, then sure.” You tease, and he laughs again.
“I’m probably going to need some help getting back to the house,” he begins, and then continues after taking in the surprised look on your face. “But you don’t have to. I can just crawl or something. Maybe I’ll get lucky and make it back before nightfall.”
Not just attractive, but funny too? You might as well make the most out of these two weeks and use whatever you can to help you finish that dreaded manuscript. Besides, the only other person you’ve ever met who can hold a torch to your sense of humor is your best friend. This has to be a sign of some sort.
“Alright, but at least tell me your name first.”
His name is Lando, you’ve known him for an hour, and you think you’re in love with him.
Sure, you’re frustrated that he completely ruined the solitude that you craved, but the ice maker in his house is broken and he desperately needs some for the bruise that you know is darkening by the second underneath his t-shirt. So he’s sprawled out on your couch, and you’re in the kitchen collecting ice cubes to wrap up in a hand towel.
“Alright, lift your shirt up,” you instruct, walking into the living room and taking a seat beside him.
“I usually take a girl out before I let her see me half naked.”
“But it’s okay if everyone else sees you out on your porch half naked?”
“You were looking?” He tilts his head down a little and raises his eyebrows. “Liked what you saw, did you?”
You blush. “Just shut up and lift your shirt.”
He hums a little to himself as he pulls his shirt up, revealing the beginnings of a bruise on his tan skin that is already swollen and definitely going to get worse over the next couple of days. It looks like it continues below the waistband of his boxers, but you’re not about to tell him to pull his pants down.
“That’s ugly.”
“I’ve had worse.” He shrugs, biting his lip when you gently rest the makeshift ice pack against his side.
“You have a habit of falling out of trees?”
“I have a habit of being in potentially life-threatening situations. It’s kinda part of my job.” He says it like he’s waiting for you to figure something out, waiting for something to click.
You take a moment to just look at him again. His fluffy curls, his infuriatingly handsome face, his thick neck, his toned stomach. And then something you’ve heard your best friend say a million times echoes in your head.
I bet every F1 driver’s contract has a clause that says they have to be hot in order to get in. I mean, you have Daniel Ricciardo, Charles Leclerc, and don’t even get me started on–
“Oh my God. Lando Norris?” You exclaim, almost jumping up from shock but stopping yourself so you don’t jostle him. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”
“I thought you knew!”
You glare at him. “Cocky much?”
“Well, what did you think when I told you my name?” He asks defensively.
“I don’t know, I thought your parents really liked Star Wars or something.”
He scoffs at this and smacks your hand away, holding the ice himself. “That’s real creative.”
“I’m sorry! My best friend is really into Formula One, but the most I’ve seen is bits and pieces of a race. I’ve never seen you, y’know, not in your car.” You feel like your eyes are practically bugging out of your head. “Wow, this is insane.” You knew he was too good looking to not be famous.
“Want me to sign something for you?” He wiggles his eyebrows at you.
“I will punch you right in your bruise.”
He stays for a couple more hours, readily enduring your endless stream of questions that follow your revelation of him being a Formula One driver, only getting a reprieve when the ice melts and you have to go get more.
He compensates for recounting his entire journey to Formula One by asking you his own questions the moment he’s done. You tell him more about how you became a writer– how you got your bachelor’s degree, got out into the world, and realized you had no clue what you wanted to do with your life, so you took a retail job. It paid a dollar above minimum wage, but it was worth it when something you heard a customer say once inspired you to craft a narrative that your editor liked enough to pick it up. She’d taken a gamble on you; you were her fourth client and the book wasn’t finished yet.
“So that’s why I’m out here,” you pause to catch your breath. “I need to have the manuscript done two weeks from yesterday, and I wasn’t getting anything done at home.”
“Needed a change of scenery.” Lando nods, like he can read your mind.
“Exactly.” You say quietly, suddenly feeling a bit self conscious under his intense gaze but refusing to look away.
The energy in the room shifts as the two of you look at each other, and you break the sudden eye contact when you take note of the fact that it’s dark out.
“I guess that’s my cue to leave,” he breaks the silence, pulling his shirt back down and letting out a quiet groan as he gets up. “I’ll see you tomorrow? There’s no way someone will be able to get up here to fix my ice machine by the morning.”
You blink at him a couple times, still trying to wrap your mind around the fact that you just spent hours talking with Lando Norris, all because he fell out of a tree. You didn’t even offer to make him dinner or anything, and he’s making plans to do this all over again.
You still haven’t spoken, so he waves his hand in front of your face. “Oh! Yeah, of course. Be careful, okay?”
He gives you an obnoxious salute. “I’ll try to survive the 50 steps it takes to get to my place from here.”
You go running for your laptop and start writing as soon as he’s gone.
He’s at your door in the morning, and spends the whole day with you. Then the next, and the next, and the next thing you know, you only have four days left in your best friend’s dad’s house and it feels like you and Lando have known each other your entire lives. He isn’t able to do much in terms of physical activity, and when he trips over a root after insisting he’s fine you make the executive decision to go back to your house.
“Make some room, would you?” You sigh, looking for a place to sit thanks to the fact that he’s taking up the entire couch.
He simply lifts his head up.
“You’re joking, right?”
“I’m in pain. Don’t you want me to be comfortable?” He pouts at you.
“You’re insufferable, and a liar.” All the same, you sit down, and he rests his head in your lap.
He ignores you, eyes closed with a satisfied little smile on his face.
For his antics, you decide to disturb his newfound peace by putting the ice pack directly on his face and laugh when he bats it away.
“That’s just mean,” he whines, pressing his lips together when you put the ice on his bruise.
It’s mostly yellow and green now, like a weird rendition of Van Gogh’s Starry Night. Lando had made a game out of poking it two nights ago that ended just as quickly when he poked himself too hard and blamed you for it when you had been in the middle of telling him not to. After that, he hadn’t touched it, and now it looks a lot better. The ice probably isn’t needed anymore, but you’d prefer to err on the side of caution.
“You’ll live,” you say now, patting the top of his head to distract him from the discomfort.
“The last time I had a bruise this bad was when I crashed in Vegas last year.” He says, blinking up at the ceiling. “Took a while to go away.”
“I think I remember hearing about that. You crashed pretty early, no?”
“Yup. Barely got to race.” The sentences come out very clipped, like he’s still upset about it.
“It was a bad crash, huh?”
“Pretty bad.” You don’t have anything to say in response to that, so you start brushing your fingers through his curls. He relaxes instantaneously.
He almost falls asleep with his head in your lap, and that’s when you can’t take it anymore and have to kick him out. He’s almost to the last step when he stops and turns back, making direct eye contact with you.
“Y’know, it’s too bad you weren’t there when I crashed.” He gives you a soft smile. “You’re pretty good at taking care of me.”
Well, shit.
There’s a bottle of cinnamon whiskey sitting in one of the kitchen cabinets that you’ve been waiting for an excuse to open. You should drink it now when you’re thinking about him, but you decide to wait until you see him again.
You open your laptop and write until you fall asleep.
By the time you let him in the next morning, you’re stumped again. You only slept for a few hours and expected to get right back into your groove the moment you woke up, but when you read over what you wrote last night, your brain just refused to comprehend it. It feels like you’re back to square one, but you can’t be too upset about it when Lando makes his way through the door. He doesn’t mention anything about ice like he usually does, which makes you equally happy and disappointed. Happy that he’s feeling good enough to forego the ice, disappointed because that means that there’s really no reason for him to come over anymore.
But if there’s one thing you can expect from him, it’s his spontaneity.
“We should go out tonight.”
“And where exactly would we be going?” You ask, watching him kick back on the couch like he’s the one that lives here.
“I dunno, just outside, I guess. You like stargazing?”
“I love it.” You reply enthusiastically. “I bet the stars are gorgeous out here. I’ve been cooped up every night, I haven’t had the chance to see them.”
“It’s settled then. Cancel your plans, you’re all mine tonight.”
“I didn’t— never mind.” You silently will away the flush creeping up your neck. “Actually, I wanted to ask you a question.”
“Shoot.”
“How’d those pictures come out? The ones you were trying to take when you fell?” You lean over the back of the couch in order to actually see him as you’re talking to him.
“That was two questions.” He laughs when you smack his shoulder. “I got a couple action shots as I was falling. They’re terrible, but I’m thinking about keeping them for the memories. Fun story for the kids, don’t you think?”
“Sure.” The kids?! You’re definitely breaking out the whiskey tonight. It’s the first (and only) thing you grab when he goes back to his place to get a blanket.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” You ask the moment the two of you step onto the trail, and he puts a hand over his heart.
“Your concern for me is adorable.”
“I’m only asking because you almost ate shit last time.” You burst out laughing at the immediate change in his expression.
He ends up leading the way for a mile or two before you reach a clearing that you would’ve discovered had he not fallen out of the tree.
“This is beautiful,” you muse, taking in your surroundings as Lando lays the blanket on the ground.
The sun is just about set, a light breeze passing through; a few different wildflowers are waving throughout the clearing. You look around and can’t see any sign of civilization. While that should make you nervous, since you’re with a guy you’ve only known for less than two weeks, it instead makes you relax. You forget entirely about your computer waiting for you back at the house and busy yourself with getting the top off the whiskey bottle.
“Found it the second day I was here. I’ll have to show you the pictures I got once I upload them all.” Lando says, furrowing his eyebrows as you struggle with your task. “Need some help there?”
“Be my guest,” you hand it over and have to force yourself to remain calm when he pops the top off like it was nothing.
“Ladies first,” he hands it back.
With pleasure, you think to yourself. Maybe getting drunk will help you stop acting like a schoolgirl. You take a generous drink, squeezing your eyes shut and breathing out slowly. “That is strong.”
“Hand it over.” He lets out a low whistle as soon as he swallows and returns it to you. “Wow.”
“I actually had a dream like this once,” you say, wincing at the burn of the whiskey as it slides down your throat. “I was just laying there, staring at the stars, with no worries. It was so peaceful.”
Lando takes the bottle from your outstretched hand. “I don’t dream.”
“What?!” The high pitch of your voice slices through the night. “Are you serious?”
“Yup.” He takes a long sip from the bottle before placing it down in the space between you. “Never have.”
“That’s- that’s crazy.” You shake your head.
“I’d think it’s nicer that way, no?” he counters. “I probably sleep better than you.”
“I mean, I guess. But then you don’t have any crazy dreams to share.”
“You always remember your dreams?”
Now, you blush. You’re not sure why you’re embarrassed. “I, um… I keep a journal.”
Lando’s eyes widen. “No way.”
“I have dreams written down all the way back to 2015.” You confess, reaching for the bottle again.
He starts laughing, like he thinks you’re joking.
“I’m serious!” You exclaim, shoving his shoulder. “In my defense, I’ve actually come up with some ideas from my dreams. Fat lot of good they’re doing for me right now, but…”
Lando hums, eyes skimming over your now crestfallen expression. He passes the bottle back.
“Thanks,” you mumble, tilting the bottle up to your lips.
“I’m sure you’ll find some type of inspiration while we’re out here.”
“I only have two days left, Lan.”
He gestures for you to pass the bottle back, and you do. You watch as he takes a sip, looking from his lips, to his jaw, to his neck, to his Adam’s apple that bobs as he swallows. You’re really going to miss this view. He lets out a quiet hiss. “Damn, that’s strong whiskey.”
“I told you.”
There’s a lull in the conversation, and then he speaks again. “My ice machine got fixed.”
“That’s—”
“Last week.” He cuts you off, doing that stupid thing he does where he stares directly into your eyes.
Your heart is in your throat, and your voice is small when you reply. “Okay…”
“And I was supposed to leave three days ago.”
Now your jaw drops. “Why… Why are you still here?”
“Because you’re still here.” He answers evenly, the alcohol clearly working in his favor. “I initially came here for the same reason as you– needed a change of scenery. It’s summer break right now, and my friend Logan told me it was super nice up here. It is, but then I had my little mishap and… it’s been a lot better since you showed up. So I decided to stay a little longer.”
He’s close to you now, so close you can smell the whiskey on his breath, so you say the only thing you can think to say. “I can’t believe you fell out of a tree.”
“I can’t believe you took care of me this whole time.” He brushes your hair out of your face, and his fingers linger on your cheek.
Your internal giddiness rises when you realize he’s actually about to kiss you. Your stomach is doing Olympic level gymnastics and you don’t trust yourself to speak, so you let the whiskey do it for you: you kiss him first.
You can’t remember the last time you kissed anyone, but the moment he pulls you on top of him you know that you won’t ever forget kissing him.
“Lan…” you break away from him to catch your breath, smoothing his curls back from his forehead. You can just see the glint in his eyes as he stares up at you, and it’s borderline painful knowing that you only get to enjoy this view for two more days.
You don’t remember what you were going to say to him. It’s way too soon for “I love you,” and not the right time to say “I already miss you.” You still want to say both.
Like he can hear your inner turmoil, he silences it by touching his forehead to yours. “Kiss me again, please,” he whispers.
You don’t waste a second in giving him what he wants, wanting nothing more in this moment than to feel his lips against yours again. You’re careful to avoid his side as he lays back on the blanket, keeping a firm grip on your hips so you don’t go anywhere. You try to convey everything you want to say into the kiss: I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you. I know I’m going to miss you. Please don’t let me go.
He holds you closer and gently slips his tongue into your mouth, and you melt into him, knowing the whole while that Lando Norris has effectively ruined all other men for you.
Six Months Later.
Your phone is ringing in the other room as you’re in the middle of recounting the kiss to your best friend for the millionth time.
“Sorry, I’ll be right back,” you apologize. “It might be important.”
Thinking it’s your editor, because who else would call you at this late hour, you don’t look at the caller ID before you answer. “Hi, listen, I wanted to talk to you about—”
“The love interest falls out of a tree, huh?”
Your mouth falls open. “Lando?”
“That would be me. Or should I change my name to Darren?”
You roll your eyes, unable to stop yourself from smiling. “I thought you were never going to call me.”
You’d finished your manuscript the day before you went home. He’d been sleeping right next to you as you wrote the final words, and you should’ve brought it up that morning. Instead, you left your number on his porch the day you left, too deep in overthinking mode to actually face him and properly say goodbye. You truly didn’t expect him to call you after that act of such cowardice, especially after the two of you spent almost the entirety of your last days together at various levels of undress.
“I really wanted to,” he admits. “At least ten different times. I think Oscar might have assaulted me if I chickened out this time.”
“Yeah, because you won’t shut the hell up about her!” A voice in the background exclaims, and you hear something go flying.
“Get out!” Lando snaps, and you can hear Oscar’s laughter fading.
“Sweet of you to subject him to hearing all about me.”
“Come to the race at Silverstone.” He says before you can even finish your sentence. “I’ll pay for the flight, the hotel, everything. Just come.”
You feel like the floor just fell out from under your feet. “Lan—”
“I can’t stop thinking about you.” It’s said in a nearly unintelligible whisper, but his tone changes so suddenly you have to sit down.
“I can’t stop thinking about you either.” You confess. “That’s… kind of why I wrote you into my book.”
“Please, come to Silverstone,” he repeats, practically begging. “Come be with me.”
And when he finds you in the crowd after taking the win at his home race, and he wastes no time in wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing his lips to yours for everyone to see, you’re immediately taken back to those two weeks you spent in the Adirondacks, where you finally found the inspiration you’d been missing your entire life.
note: this one goes out to my fellow writers who desperately wish their inspiration would fall out of a tree— writer’s block will never defeat us.
this got a little long, so if you’re reading this, thank you thank you thank you.
requests are OPEN, and my inbox is always open for comments, criticism, and conversation! feel free to pop in!
reblogs are always appreciated <33
beautiful dividers by @/saradika !
tags (i’m sorry if i couldn’t tag you!): @venusacrossthestars @anathedivine @xfuckoffx @architect-2015 @violetiss3lfish @havaneselover08 @paigeworlds @whatever7justchillin @xoredmoonlightxo @dovieloovie @totowolffstablexoxo @maddie-bell @lalisgs11 @rrrraaaalllluuuu @formulasportworld @madisonbidaddy @anedpev @estherapz-blog @jess-wither @loveyatopluto @athena-artemis-dorian-gray @lou-larcher5 @clearlyabi @fizzpopsnap101 @fluerlaurent @mcmuppet @positiveaspirations @notturlover @crazymofo-96 @chanthereader @apollo-axolotl
#full fic#lando norris x reader#lando norris x you#lando norris imagine#formula one x reader#formula one imagine#lando norris#lando norris fluff#lando norris fanfic#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#ln4 x reader#ln4 imagine#ln4 fluff#ln4 fic
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Could I request Welt, Dan Heng, Sunday, Gepard, and Argenti finding their s/o's poetry collection of them?
Argenti:
Would sit himself down somewhere nearby and read every last poem, each one leaving him with a full heart, butterflies in his stomach and another addition to the list of reasons why he adored your creative soul.
He’s extremely honoured that you decided to chose him as your muse for your poems, for he could feel the love and respect you have for him through your writing, before holding the collections of poetry made in his name against his chest as he beamed with happiness.
He’d even openly praise you for your works if he were to see you later on in the day, which would make you understandably upset and embarrassed that he went through your things, but with the way that he passionately talked about your writing and the look upon his face that clearly shown his appreciation and admiration for poetry.
At the end you’re the one who ends up being flustered whilst Argenti was still sending appraisal after appraisal your way, all the while re-reading your works and proudly reciting his favourite passages without shame.
Sunday:
He thought it was sweet that you write poetry about him.
He didn’t feel as though he was invading your privacy at all, seeing as how he’d like to claim that whatever of yours was now also his by osmosis…totally not because he’s fishing for stuff to hold over you and maintain control should you act out…
Anyway- he’s taking his sweet time reading each and every poem you’ve written with him in mind and smiling at the hold he’s taken within your heart, finding it fascinating what adoration could make one do just to express their whole array of emotions.
It was almost as though they were on some timer that others couldn’t see just to express all their innermost feelings towards the special person in their life. Then again love tended to make people feel as though they were invincible, so the unthinkable and accomplish things that they never thought that they were capable of achieving in the first place.
So it didn’t matter whether or not you were able to wax poetry before him, but it was obvious to Sunday that the moment he had taken hold of your life and your every thought, poetry has became your primary outlet for feelings that you weren’t nearly brave enough to say aloud to him. Rest assured however for that day will come for you to open up about those unspoken feelings of yours…sooner or later.
Gepard:
He feels as though he was invading your privacy by reading your poetry collection and wanted to leave before he’d inevitably get caught, but just as he was about to take his leave, he stopped when the title of the first poem caught his eye;
Everlasting winter
He found himself reading through the first few opening sentences and immeditly made connections between himself and the person within your poem. To say it didn’t take long for Gepard to realises that the similarities between him and the person in your poem were purely intentional, and that he was the one the poem was actual about.
His face was blossoming red upon the realisation and averted his eyes elsewhere as he takes in the fact that you found him a perfect enough muse for your poetry. Him, the man who couldn’t hold a tune to save his life, grows flowers that unfortunately don’t last long, and wasn’t possessed with the basic skills of drawing.
And yet you found something about him that was worth writing poem after poem about. He didn’t know why that was but he was appreciative that you found something in him that urged you into written it down on paper, where your affection and admiration for him would be forever immortalised…He also may or may not have taken a poem to read to himself later on at night.
Dan heng:
He had noticed that you left a piece of paper laying about one day and was about to call out to you and give it back, while scolding you for leaving your messes everywhere for him to pick up after, only to see that it was in fact a poem about him.
Red faced, Dan Heng still planned on taking the poem back to you and journeyed to your room where he found that the door was left ajar, but could immeditly tell that your room was empty. Sighing, Dan Heng opened the door and quickly made his way towards your desk, where’d he found more poems in regards to him.
Much like Gepard, Dan Heng felt as though he was reading something he shouldn’t but he found himself unable to look away as he was secretly tempted to know how you viewed him. What he found was nothing short of you portraying him in a way that he’s never quite thought of himself before. If he wasn’t already so easily made flustered by your words alone, your writing was enough to put the poor man into a catatonic state.
Dan Heng wasn’t use to being smothered in a love like yours. Where you felt as though speaking your love for him wasn’t nearly enough, so you had to expand and start writing it instead in the form of poetry. He doesn’t feel as though he’s deserving of it but isn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth and is more then willing to try to accept the fact that you care deeply for him; especially when he can not find it within him to find anything about him remotely worth being with.
Welt:
He’s made copious amounts of drawings of you that he’s kept hidden in his room. So upon coming across your poetry collection about him, it only made him feel more comfortable knowing that he wasn’t the only one to express his innermost feelings through an art form.
Besides it wasn’t like he was actively searching your room for your poetry collection, he really wasn’t as he just came across them out of pure coincidence. He was currently about four poetries deep and was finding it extremely endearing how you viewed him in most of your writing: which was mainly as an well educated, wise man with a young man’s heart and restlessness sense for adventure, who had a talent for drawing.
Welt would chuckle under his breath at all the moments you’ve shared together, before you’d then went on to write about how beautiful he was in every possible way. From his sweet, insightful eyes that seemingly held all the knowledge you could ever ask for, to his calming, velvety voice that could lull you into a deep sleep within seconds.
You posed him as this figure of comfort, a figure of warmth and Welt soon finding himself not so subtly sneaking some of your poetry into his pocket to read for later. Your poetry only gives Welt the confidence he been looking for, as he would then starts to leave his drawings of you in places where you’d be able to see them; all in hopes that you would know that you had just as much of a huge place in his heart as he did in yours.
#hsr x y/n#hsr imagines#hsr x reader#hsr imagine#Honkai star rail#honkai star rail x reader#Honkai star rail imagine#Honkai star rail imagines#hsr argenti x reader#argenti x reader#Argenti imagines#Argenti imagine#hsr sunday x reader#sunday x reader#sunday imagines#Sunday imagine#dan heng x reader#Dan heng imagine#Dan heng imagines#welt yang x reader#welt Yang imagine#welt Yang imagines#gepard imagine#gepard imagines#gepard x reader#hsr dan heng x reader#hsr gepard x reader#honkai star rail x you#hsr x you#dan heng x you
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Regarding Death Wolf...
Hear me out (NO, it's not the kind you are thinking)
We know Death has a job, right? To collect souls and most likely release them to the afterlife.
And for this job, he has to be there when somebody is about to die, as demostrated with him being there moments before Puss' eight death.
Supposing he is THE Death and he has been doing this since the beginning of time (or at least when there were enough stories of the Grim Reaper to adquire a physical form) that means he has seen a lot, A LOT of awful things.
Murders, suicides, massacres, death of infants, people who didn't deserve to die alone, animal cruelty, some other heavy stuff I won't mention here, etc etc etc.
And we thought "man, how is he able to cope with all of that? That job has to be utter torture for someone."
Probably many of you could think that he is able to do that because he is Death, and he was "born" with that purpose and only him can reap souls perfectly.
But while he is a force of nature, he also WAS a force of nature. Let me explain it well: He adquired a personality enough to be angry, excited, frustrated, amazed, happy, among other emotions.
While he has supernatural power and is most likely the most powerful being in the Shrek Franchise (or in Dreamworks as many say) he is also a PERSON.
Someone with a code of honor, morals, opinions, beliefs, etc.
Returning to the question "How can he bear all of that?" taking into account he is no longer an inevitable force, but a character of his own.
The answer is something you may relate to, and that is: Creativity and escapism.
To be the embodiment of Death, the guy is a very creative fella.
First of all, his design. I heard many people saying here and in Twitter that his design is something they would come up in their edgy, teen years of drawing their first fursona.
Guess what? They are right, the wolf form is someone's fursona. It's DEATH'S fursona. He clearly came up with this badass, piercing canine form to blend with the Fairy Tale Land assuming the form of the "Big Bad Wolf". He most likely had other forms he designed over the centuries and was able to present as them like if he were on a role play game in the living world.
His sickles? The weapon of choice with the little crossed cats on it to have a bigger effect of terror for Puss? Those who can become knuckles and join to create a scythe? Those are his creation, probably after thinking it for a while and writing all of those functions on a paper.
The way he presents himself? In the bar? The coins in his eyes as a "watching you" sign while being a cool reference to the Ferryman of souls? He transforming Perrito's forest into the background of a skull? The chilling reveal at the Cave of Lost Souls? The fire ring? It was all him.
As for the escapism part...
When the world becomes too heavy to deal with as real life issues tend to make us feel bad, depressed, angry... we tend to escape it somewhere. And in our time the common place would be the internet as in webpages or comics, stories, etc.
But what has to do with Death Wolf you may ask?
Well, while he would NEVER be able to escape his job entirely, he can have moments where he can enjoy a good hunt of people who don't appreciate life, like the whole plot of the Puss in Boots sequel could demostrate.
He managed to have a little time outside his eternal routine to chase an arrogant cat who took life for granted. He enjoyed it, it was thrilling, it was exciting.
It was a way to escape a monotonous, grim "life", if just for a short moment.
So, when the chase ended as his prey no longer feared him and now was ready to fight for his last life, the wolf retreats, happy for Puss' character development but resigned because he once again had to return to "The Eternal Duty"
And that's not even counting all the times Jack "I'm dead inside" Horner had to interrupt Lobo's hunt and remind him of his job even in his "spare time"
Death knew the chase had to end eventually, but he didn't want it to end.
He didn't want to return to his own world
And if we look at Death like that, then he is probably one of the most relatable characters Dreamworks has ever make.
In the Shrek Franchise:
Monsters can be loved
Princesses don't have to fit the perfect standards of beauty
Handsome guys can be possesive jerks
Love at first sight doesn't work like one would think
Happily ever afters had to be built and not just obtain them with magic
And Death is the most creative and "full of life" being in the world
Because he would absolutely go crazy with his life/work if he wasn't.
Because in a world of Kings, Poets and Soldiers, he's the Supreme King
And he's also a perky goth but none of you are ready for that conversation.
#100% sure that if Tumblr was a thing in the Shrekverse...#Death would have an account#puss in boots#puss in boots 2#pib#pib 2#pibtlw#pib the last wish#puss in boots the last wish#the last wish#death wolf#death the wolf#lobo muerte#pib lobo#puss in boots lobo#puss in boots wolf#pib wolf#pib death#puss in boots death#puss in boots analysis#character analysis#escapism#creativity#shrek#dreamworks shrek#dreamworks#this is probably the discovery of the decade#or the stupidest thing I ever wrote on this website
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obviously the Historical Figure Episode(TM) of Doctor Who that I’d write would of the Noted Author subset endemic to the RTD Era; it’d be called “Spiders in the Trenches” and be set in the middle of World War One ft. one Lt. John Tolkien.
idk if the main aliens are spiders or if they're just using giant robotic spiders as soldier-minions. Either way, Tolkien is a little too defensive when he says he's not afraid of spiders.
The alien invaders want some sort of shiny mcguffin, maybe as a power source for their ship? Or for a mega-weapon? We do not want them to get it, at any rate. Race to find the Shiny Power Jewel-Thing which has been lost somewhere in this like 20-mile radius of the Western Front.
When our heroes narrowly beat the spiders to the SPJT, Tolkien realizes that the spiders only ever attack at night because light hurts them somehow, so he holds the SPJT up as it flares and shouts, "Get back, foul creatures! Back into the shadows from whence you came!"
(They're from the dark side of a tidally locked planet, and made for extremely low-light conditions? The SPJT flares because it's controlled telepathically and it connected to Tolkien's mind when he touched it?)
Ideally Tolkien's first encounter with the Doctor is that he wakes up in the trench one day (after losing some men to a mysterious monster in the darkness a couple nights ago?), and there's 2 random strangers in weird clothes idly singing and playing an instrument which they stole from someone a couple bedrolls down. (This works well with Fifteen & Ruby's established inclination to music!)
We do need an Eowyn Moment, because that's iconic, but I'd split it: for dialogue, at one point the head boss evil alien boasts, "No human can defeat the Tenebrarachnid Empire!" and the Doctor replies, "Good thing they've got me, then."...
[I don't know if this is a Fifteen line yet. I know it's a very Eleven line]
...and there's a soldier in Tolkien's unit who is revealed to be secretly a woman! Who disguised herself as a man in order to enlist for ??? reasons, and who dramatically pulls off her hat to reveal her long hair.
The third notable local character is the sort who inspired Sam Gamgee, "...the English soldier, [like] the privates and batmen I knew in the 1914 war, and recognized as so far superior to myself.”
^those two can have a romantic subplot if it fits (comrades-in-arms is also extremely good). Tolkien, however, at some point shows Ruby the picture of his wife Edith which he carries at all times, she of the black hair and bright grey eyes, and is obviously ready to monologue about how wonderful she is.
In the same scene(?), Tolkien looks up at the stars and says their brightness shining afar, clear of all the horrors on the ground, is always a source of hope and strength to him.
Maybe also in the same scene? Tolkien is shown to make up stories for fun, or to read them in his little spare time - fairy tales and mythological epics. Maybe he tells them to the men around the fire, maybe he keeps a little notebook, maybe he just admits to daydreaming... When asked why, he paraphrases his quote from later life, " Fantasy is escapist, and that is its glory. If a soldier is imprisoned by the enemy, don't we consider it his duty to escape?"
At some point (Star-watching scene? when the Doctor inevitably has to explain that aliens exist? when they're all saying goodbye in the end?) there's a line drawing attention to the Doctor's parallels with Eärendil - eternally wandering figure of hope, sailing the stars in a ship with a light on top, not quite mortal...
Tolkien DEFINITELY tries to figure out the alien language, in writing or speech.
Something the aliens are doing is making people sick. Maybe the attacking robo-spiders are venomous, maybe there's a toxic byproduct of the alien ship, maybe it's a deliberate first assault of the planned invasion... By the end of the episode, Tolkien is very ill. The Doctor has figured out an antidote and given it, but Tolkien says goodbye to him and Ruby only to stumble to a medical outpost - from where, the Doctor explains to Ruby, he'll be sent home with this bad case of what's assumed to be trench fever. Between the fever and the brief psychic entanglement, and unentanglement, with the SPJT, he won't even remember most of this, and what he does remember, he'll put down to fever dreams amidst the horrors of war.
But he'll remember some things! He'll remember an eternal wanderer of the stars, unaging and undying and ever-hopeful, heralded by light (and a vworrrp vrorrrp noise).
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Retrieval
Alastor x Reader // word count 4.4k
Pt 3 to Spring Cleaning and Clean Slate
In which you attempt to leave.
Tags/warnings: yandere, intimidation, noncon kissing, choking, Alastor’s shadow doing things a shadow should not be able to do
A/N: Really thought this was gonna be a one-off but here we are. I usually don’t even write one follow-up, much less two, so this is unfamiliar terrain for me. Alas, I could not resist. Enjoy (or don’t. I’m not in charge.)
You remember a time when this was good. Well - no. You’re sure, now, that it was rotten from the beginning. But there was a time when it felt good. When you invited it in. When you wanted more.
Time for bed, my dear.
He’s said this to you many times. Now, each repetition deepens the never-ending pit in your stomach. But the first time…how long ago was it? You don’t remember. You don’t even remember how long you’ve been here. Here at this hotel, or here, in hell - each one distorts hours and months in its own way. They tug at you until you slip through the fingers of time, and end up on a day you don’t remember arriving at, in a place that is only yours if you forget what has happened there.
It’s far too late for you to be thinking as deeply as you are.
You’d been sitting on the top of the stairs for a long time that night, however-long-ago, fending off the inevitable onset of your dreams. He’d been gone all day, and when he had finally returned (from where, you never found out), he’d seen you from the lobby. Called out to you, in a voice far too quiet and gentle to carry to your ears as well as it did. It wasn’t the first time he’d spoken to you, but it was the first time he’d spoken to you alone. And even if that wasn’t true, there would have been something different about it.
And, in my opinion, far too fair a night for such misery.
From the beginning, you’d known that nothing about him was entirely unfiltered. The first time you’d met, he’d given a wonderful little performance. Shaken your hand, taken you by the shoulder, quickly escorted you away from the people who would soon warn you not to trust him. And you’d known it was fake. Of course you had. You weren’t, perhaps, the most excellent judge of character, but you knew no one acted like that by instinct. It was calculated. Not to be trusted.
It struck you oddly, then, to hear such an allegedly inhuman character talk about something as mundane as the joy of pleasant weather. It felt entirely real, even at an hour when almost nothing seemed real at all. Hell did have its decent moments, now and then; there were no seasons, so to speak, but very occasionally you’d get a day that felt like summer, and a night to match. It was nice, when it happened. Delightful, even.
But, if you insist upon staying awake - and I admit, I do understand that impulse better than most - I suggest you do it somewhere with an open window.
The realization had hit, somewhere in the middle of this, that he was being kind to you. You hadn’t wondered why at the time. You’d take anything you could get, in those early, confused days after your death, and receiving it from an unexpected source somehow made it better. He didn’t do things like this out of obligation. He cared, for some reason you could only guess at.
You’re still guessing, now. But that night, you hadn’t thought so deeply about it. You’d only stared back at him, and nodded almost imperceptibly at his suggestion.
He’d paused, matching your silence for a long stretch. Considered your expression, in the way those unblinking eyes always seemed uniquely suited for.
Shall I escort you to your room, my dear?
You’d nodded mutely, and he’d ascended the stairs, offered you his hand, helped you to your feet, guided you to your door.
And then, a mistake. Grateful, exhausted, feeling utterly alone in a strange world - you’d invited him in.
He’d opened your window for you, and lingered beside it for several quiet seconds before you asked him to sit down in your desk chair. He’d smiled strangely at that, softer than you were used to, and left quickly, almost hastily, after only a few minutes. But he’d stood motionless in the hallway for several seconds before you’d heard him walk away.
After that night, you never invited him in again - you didn’t have to. He came of his own accord. Only occasionally, at first. Then, more often, until hardly a day went by without it. It was almost pleasant, at first, and then a slow, unyielding creep towards what you have now. Something you don’t understand. Something you only started resenting after it was too late to back away.
You’ve spent a long time wondering why he chose you, of all people. Why he feels so entitled to your space, to your life, why he wants it to begin with. Why he holds onto you so tightly. You’ve even asked him, in roundabout ways, to no avail. But somewhere in your mind, a shoved-down place that only now rises to the surface, you think that it might be your fault. Your fault, for being so desperate for solace, for company, that you’d take it from anyone you could. For feeling proud to have gained his attention, long after the point where it stopped doing you any good.
Now, lying above your bed covers, you toy with the hem of your slip, which you’ve absently pulled up to mid-thigh. Perhaps you don’t need to be wearing it tonight. Alastor has been mysteriously absent from the hotel in the two days that have passed since his last appearance in your room. You doubt whatever’s called him away has left him much time for spying upon you. And still, you feel compelled to act as if he is watching. As if he might return to your bedside at any moment.
Your memory flashes back to two nights ago, and you try to yank it away. You don’t want to think about what he did to you then. You certainly don’t want to think about why. The way his eyes were fixed not on your body, but on your face, as if it was your shame he wanted to see, and nothing more.
It was unsettling. But perhaps not surprising. If it was only your body that he wanted, after all, he wouldn’t be trying so hard to control the rest of you. That, you don’t understand. That - it’s what really keeps you awake.
The light from your lamp, which you have no intention of turning off, stings beneath your closed eyes as you lie rigidly on your back. You barely slept the night before, either, so this day passed in a sort of stupor, the adrenaline of early morning giving way to a numb, heavy feeling as the afternoon dragged on.
But the numbness is good, in a way, you think. It lets you do things you wouldn’t otherwise. With your eyes still closed, you bring your other hand to the hem of the slip. The lace and the silk above it are delicate, and you pull hard with both fists. The light ripping noise that follows is beautiful, for a moment.
Then, the familiar dread snaps back into place, worse for your act of stupidity.
He will be back, before long. His sudden absence has not been a reprieve, but a looming threat, a two-day stretch in which you have not taken one proper breath, and you have the feeling that he will know what you have done the moment he returns.
If he does not somehow know already. If you haven’t already summoned him back by the rebellious movements of your hands. There is panic coursing through you, fear not of what is here now but of what has been, and what will be. It’s not the panic you’d feel at an immediate threat, like a wild animal baring down on you in a dark forest - instead, it’s the sort of inescapable head-buzzing sensation you experienced often in life, when you’d been in a room for far too long, and were not yet allowed to leave. An overwhelming feeling that you are trapped, not by physical bonds, but by the consequences that might ensue if you walk away.
If you were to walk away, to run away…what would happen? You do not know, and you don’t want to think about it. You want to leave. No - you need to leave. If you do not do it now, now, you never will. And the idea of never leaving, of this stretching on until he decides that it’s time for it to end - if he ever does -
You sit up, and swing your legs over the edge of your bed. He will be back soon. You’re sure of it. And you cannot bear the thought of being here when he returns.
What can you do about it? You can do something. You can stand up. You can find the large backpack stuffed into the corner of your closet, and start shoving things inside. You don’t have many things at all, and most of the things you do have are not important enough to keep. You’re certainly not bringing any of these clothes with you.
All these things, you do quickly, in a sort of daze, driven by a single motive. Get out, get out. It is easy, if you don’t stop moving. If you don’t think more than you have to, if you let this one idea drive you all the way out the door. One set of clothes, you do have to bring - the one that goes on your body. The only one that you feel even remotely comfortable wearing. Black trousers, red sweater. The contents of the small compartments of your dresser have been replaced, so you do not feel comfortable with the things you are wearing underneath these clothes, but they are quickly hidden. You are not in strong enough possession of your body to feel them clinging to your skin.
You’ve discarded the slip onto the floor, and with the way it’s crumpled, you can’t even see the small rip in the hem. It’s not enough. You pick it up and rip it further, until it is torn all the way to the neck, before dropping it like it’s on fire. Perhaps it would be better to take it with you, to get rid of it in a place where he won’t see the remains, but you do not want to have it for a second longer. It flutters back to the floor, and you cover your clean, white, unfamiliar socks with the ragged sneakers you’ve somehow been allowed to keep.
Where do you go? Where can you go? For reasons that you certainly didn’t come up with yourself (reasons that seemed like cloying but utterly convincing advice, at the time) you barely speak to anyone outside of these walls. You haven’t even got a phone. And even if you did, you can’t imagine pulling anyone into this mess - your mess, a quiet voice in your head reminds you. This is your creation, and you will see it through alone. There is a motel, you remember, a shoddy building a few streets away that you’ve taken notice of every time you’ve passed. You will go there, and you will sleep, and tomorrow -
Tomorrow does not matter yet. Tonight, you only need to leave.
You’re sure that no one in this building is awake. Or at least, no one is awake enough to check on the noises your feet make as they collide, painfully loud, over and over, with the creaking hallway floor. And yet, you advance as slowly and carefully as you can manage, barely keeping at bay the adrenaline that urges you to run. The night is pleasantly warm, but a shudder runs through you as you crack open the front door of the sleeping hotel. This, too, you keep at bay, instructing your feet to keep moving until you dislodge the disarming chill from your bones, and settle back into your skin. You are walking quickly, but not running, as you wade into the dark streets before you. It is a bad idea, being out here alone, at this hour, and running is loud.
Then again, you think your breathing might be harsher, at this moment, than any noise the soles of your shoes could create.
You didn’t realize until now that you already had this route mapped out in your head, so clearly that you can follow it without thinking. It’s not far. Quicker if you slide through the little alley to your left. Quicker still if you speed up, just a bit, just enough that your breath catches oddly in your throat, exertion mixing with the faintest glimmer of hope. There is a breeze flowing out from behind you, gentle against the nape of your neck. The streets are mercifully quiet.
You are not thinking. If you were, you might not be able to tell yourself that all was well.
As it is, you buy yourself a few more seconds of hope. But your eyes are wide. Too wide and too alert to miss the strange thing that comes your way. Once you see it, you cannot look anywhere else.
Your stomach drops. You slowly ease your bag off of your shoulders, and let it fall to the ground beside you. You will not be taking it any further than here.
You know this, because there is an inexplicable shadow pressed against the side of the alley. It is cast by nothing, darker than the night that surrounds it. A long, abstract shape unfurls bit by bit, extends its tendrils across the worn brick, and drips down until it spills onto the polished boots that have appeared suddenly on the ground in front of you.
There’s a horribly familiar sigh, but no words. No touch. Not yet.
Soon. Too soon, you’ll hear his voice.
But you find that you do not have the impulse to scream, like anyone else might in this situation. Nor do you want to run. You do not want to take so much as a step backwards. You do not do these things, because you are not scared like you might have expected. No. The thing that quickens your pulse is not fear, but anger. You were so close. You could have made it. And you should have made it.
You should not have had to run to begin with.
You answer a question that you didn’t realize you were asking until this moment. This is not your fault. None of it. Nothing that makes you feel like this could possibly be your doing alone. So, instead of looking up and apologizing, you stare at the ground, and imagine that your eyes shine as intensely as the ones above you. It’s a striking contrast, your worn, comfortable shoes toe-to-toe with polished leather. A victory, in its own small way.
You feel Alastor lean over you, and your hands curl into fists of their own accord.
“Do you have any idea,” he murmurs, his voice deceptively calm, “what a terrible risk you’ve taken?”
“Some idea.” You’re seething, just as you know he must be underneath the surface - the only difference is that you aren’t bothering to hide it. “You’ll forgive me.”
“Oh…I’m not talking about my own impulses, my dear. Running was a terrible idea for many reasons.” His glove catches you beneath your jaw - you press back against it for a moment before following its guide. Before looking up into the eyes you never wanted to see again, and the grin that bears down upon you. “You might find it hard to wrap your head around, considering its current misguided state, but I assure you that I am far from the only threat that the nights of hell have to offer.”
“But you are a threat.” He’s shown his hand, you think. It’s satisfying to point out - until it’s thrown back in your face.
“Only when provoked, darling.” His eyes are a brighter red than you’ve ever seen them, glowing with some intense emotion - whether it’s hatred or a deep appreciation, you don’t know, and will never know. He releases your jaw, runs his finger slowly down the line of your neck. “But you’ve no need to worry…it would take quite a lot of provocation for me to hurt you. Even now, I’m not even close to taking such drastic action.”
Your teeth grind together, clenched as tightly as his pasted-on smile, as the fist wrapped around his staff. “You think you haven’t hurt me already?”
“Oh, my.” He laughs gently, dismissively - but it’s not quite as convincing as usual. He’s standing rigidly, pressing the bottom of his staff tightly against the ground, holding his free hand not behind his back, but at his side. Fingers stiffly curled, practically trembling with the effort of holding still, as if they’re itching to grab onto something.“You are feeling bold tonight. Not as if I couldn’t tell by the little present you left behind in your room…but it is rather strange to experience it in person. You’re usually such a sweetheart.”
You tune out the syrupy condescension of his voice. You’re done with listening to him. Done with beating around the bush, done with getting brushed aside again and again. “What do you want from me?”
“Cliches don’t suit you, my dear,” he intones darkly. “Especially not when paired with that expression.” He slowly raises his hand, and reaches for your face, as if he hopes to rearrange the features he finds so unpleasant. Without a second thought, you jerk backwards, and slap his hand away.
He holds it frozen. Poised in midair. The last time this happened, it was enough to make you tug back everything you’d just done.
Not this time.
“What,” you hiss, taking another full step back, “do you want from me?”
The corner of his grin twitches so severely that you can almost imagine it dropping from his face. “At the moment, I only wish for you to return home.”
“That’s not what I mean.” You hold your fists at your sides. Spine straight, shoulders pressed back. Toes curled inside your shoes. You can feel the unfamiliar undergarments clinging to your hips, your ribcage - you want them gone. You want him gone.
“Then pray tell, my dear”-
“All of it.” You hold his gaze as his head tilts slowly to one side. Listen to the cracking of bones, and press on, before you can think better of it. “You won’t let me go. You can’t. And I don’t even get to know why.” There’s a desperation in your voice, rising with the volume of it, quickly spiraling out of your control. “All I know is that you’re - you’re trying to control me, and that I hate it, and that I don’t fucking understand it.”
Images from two nights before descend upon your mind, and your train of thought comes entirely undone. It’s more than images, really. You can certainly picture him standing over you, his red eyes flaring as you stripped yourself bare in front of him, but you can also feel it, the awful heat under your skin battling with the chill of the air, the brush of his finger along your hip, the gentle kiss to your forehead. The hands pulled tightly behind his back. And the way you felt then, the thing you’d be afraid of, if it was anyone else.
“You - you don’t”- You feel strangely distant from your body, as if your mind is a separate entity, floating somewhere slightly outside of your skull. Your mouth takes a sharp breath, and more words cascade out before you can return to stop them. “I was fucking naked in front of you, and you didn’t feel anything. If you don’t want - that”-
Any other stupid words you might say are cut off by a rising buzz of static, which emanates from him as his staff disappears before your eyes, and his newly-free hand takes on the stiff, barely-restrained posture of the other. You wonder, in that detached manner your thoughts take on when you are frightened, if he’s doing this on purpose, or if it’s somehow leaking out in a way that’s beyond his control.
You feel tears welling in your eyes, and try in vain to shove them back down. You don’t know where they came from. “I don’t understand.”
For the first time, you see his grin drop - not all the way, but enough that the line of it changes, enough that it becomes a grimace. It’s so unsettling that you wish the usual, terrible smile would return. “That much is obvious, my dear. I wonder if you even realize how tragic what you just said really was.”
You freeze as your wrists are snatched by coils of shadow, smooth and inexplicably solid. Your arms are yanked straight down, and when you try to tear them away, you fail. Your hands are free to form fists, but remain trapped against your sides.
“That you can only fathom being desired in such a shallow way…”
His image flickers before you. You’re already half-turned around when he reappears behind you a moment later, but there’s nothing you can do to stop his hands from curling, one finger at a time, around your shoulders, far too close to your neck for comfort. You stare straight ahead as his face twists into the periphery of your vision.
And he whispers in your ear, his voice bare of any effect, just the hint of some old, earthly accent slipping through. “I’m afraid that I want much more than that.”
He slides around you at the same moment the bonds around your wrists release, and effortlessly turns you by your shoulders - he does not push you against the wall that now stands behind you, but you step back out of instinct and flatten yourself against it. He matches your steps with his own, traps you between himself and the rough brick at your back, and latches his gloved hand beneath your jaw, wrenching your face upwards. With his other hand, he reaches down, flips your palm so that it’s no longer facing the wall and interlocks his fingers with your own. His grin springs back into place, and oh - you wish you could run now. You would, if you could.
His eyes slide away from you for a moment as he puts something together in his head. “These little acts of rebellion from you…I think I ought to thank you for them.” He blinks slowly, and returns his gaze to your face. “I don’t think I would have realized just how close I wanted to keep you, if you hadn’t attempted to leave. And now…oh. I understand perfectly, now. I know exactly what I want.” He bows his head, lowers his lips to your ear, so that you can hear the shudder of his breath. “I’ll have your soul one day, my dear. A day when you’re already bound so tightly to me that such a contract will be a mere formality.”
“And until that day comes…” He draws back from the side of your face, stares not into your eyes, but through them. His teeth part. His tongue flicks out from between them, and slides quickly over their jagged edges. “I feel as if I’m prepared to do anything, if only it will bring you closer.”
The last vestiges of your anger burst forth, and you attempt to wrench your face out of his grasp. He lets you, and moves his hand to the back of your neck, his long fingers pressing harshly into the sides. You look up, eyes wide with terror, as the palm that has been flattened against your own releases your hand from the wall, and rises to curl tightly around your waist.
He pulls you close. You do not see the moment that his smile disappears, as it surely must - your eyes are already closed when he kisses you, screwed tightly shut as his hot, rancid breath works its way into your lungs. There���s a hint of whiskey beneath the rot, and something metallic, the same taste that floods your mouth when you bite the inside of your lip a bit too hard. His hand slides around from the back of your neck, and closes at your throat - he keeps it there after he’s pulled away, and watches as you struggle against his grip.
“You have a decision to make now, darling.” He takes a deep, satisfied breath, the tension leaving his posture even as you fight to breathe beneath his hand. “You can return all by yourself…” His fingers curl tighter around your neck, and tendrils of shadow lash at your wrists and ankles, slowly twisting their way up your limbs. “Or, I can bring you back. I imagine that would cause quite a scene..but the choice is yours.” He tilts his head, stares down at you through narrowed eyes, and - after another moment of watching you struggle - eases his grip just enough for you to answer.
You don’t hesitate for a moment. Even if you had the air to argue, you wouldn’t dare. “I’ll - come back” -
“Lovely.” He releases you, and takes a step back. Pulls one hand slowly behind him, as if doing so takes a tremendous amount of effort. “Since you’re so attached to your freedom, I’ll allow you to walk back unsupervised.” He traces the back of his other hand gently down your cheek, stopping only briefly to press the tips of his fingers against the hardened clench of your jaw. You let it go slack - only then does he pull his hand away. “But as I told you before, darling…there are many threats lurking in the shadows of these streets. So I do suggest that you watch your step.”
His image fades away before you. In the same moment that you watch him disappear, there is a shift in the surface under your feet. You no longer feel the familiar soles of your shoes, but the ground beneath, rough with the texture of cracks and debris. Cold. Not damp, exactly, but carrying the faint suggestion of something wet having only recently become dry.
Your toes curl inside your pristine white socks, which will soon be stained by the filth of the ground beneath them. There’s a new shadow against the wall - it slides along with you as you carefully retrace your steps home.
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Can you write HDC where Smoke, Kaui Liang and Bihan take care of their girlfriend who's sick? :)
of course! i'm gonna make this for a gender neutral reader tho, since i have a lot of female asks! this might be one of my favorite tropes
cw: fluff!!!, Bi-Han's just a little bit distant, proofread
ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪɴ ᴋᴜᴇɪ ᴛʀɪᴏ + ᴀ ꜱɪᴄᴋ ᴘᴀʀᴛɴᴇʀ
Tomas...
worries over you. He's by your side, 24/7, even if you insist he'll get sick too. He doesn't care, he wants to make sure your okay. Tomas is at your beck and call, making sure your comfortable. Feeling cold? He's got three blankets picked out for you, take one, take all. Want a warm bath? Already drawn, he's even got some florals, candles, and soaks picked out. Thirsty? He's got some green tea already brewed. Or, if you don't like tea, he has some orange juice, or water if you so choose. Tomas has some soup for you, too. Česnečka, a Czech garlic soup. Something he says will cure anything. He'll even sing you a Czech lullaby every night, if you ask nicely.
Eventually, when you recover from your cold, and Tomas inevitably ends up falling ill, you'll be there to give him the same treatment.
Bi-Han...
doesn't quite know what to do. Yes, he's worried, but amongst being the grandmaster of the Lin Kuei, and his cold demeanor, he believes he doesn't have much time to worry over you. It is only when Liu Kang- of all people- pushes him in the right direction. With his trust over the Lin Kuei in his brothers hand, he never leaves your bedside. Unless you ask, of course. Bi-Han is very soft with you, and really, all he wants to do is hold you. He knows he can't, but it's kind of hard to hold himself back! While he doesn't know what to do, he will do anything you ask of him, short of kissing you. Bi-Han, unlike Tomas, has some restraint, and he'd rather have you save your strength, and not have to worry about him after your sick. Ask, and ye shall receive. Down to the very specifics. As many blankets as you want, as many pillows as you want, the exact temperature of your bath, what herbs could make you feel better, how to carry you, etc.
And, as much as Bi-Han wants you to rest, ultimately, he'll end up giving into those pretty eyes of yours, and go on a walk with you. It's okay, though, the fresh air will do you some good.
Kuai Liang...
dotes over you. He's afraid of you being sick, even if it is just a common cold. Somehow, seeing you weak and bedridden makes his stomach churn. He's worried sick. It's only when Bi-Han tells Kuai Liang to be with you that he fully devotes himself to your care. He is very physically present, he has to be touching you somewhere. Mainly, he keeps your pinkies linked, even in the slightest. The minute he was freed of his duties he had gotten you everything you could possibly need. He has so many teas chosen for you, and even more spicy foods. He wants to make sure you eat well, but Kuai Liang can't say no to you, so when you ask for a cookie, a slice of cake, something sweet that you maybe should avoid, he's still going to get it for you. He will always carry you to your bath, too. And wash your hair. As long as whatever he's doing helps you feel better in any way, he doesn't mind. And afterwards, he'll put new, clean sheets on your bed. Kuai Liang doesn't give himself much room to fail, much less to fail you.
So, when you finally regain your strength, it is almost as if Kuai Liang is a new man, more focused and lethal than ever.
© freyito, 2023 | masterlist | queue | kofi
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I BET ON LOSING DOGS❞ - aventurine
summary: even if you’d lose, you’d always bet on this doomed love no matter what
warnings: reader is gn, 2.1 penacony quest spoilers, angst, hurt/no comfort
notes: i love this song so it was only fair for me to write this out for aventurine, i’ve been in the mood for angst lately so this came to be. had to repost this two times because tumblr kept hiding my post from tags 😭
taglist(open): @akutasoda , @yvnaology , @tragedy-of-commons , @ryuryuryuyurboat
there’s a resounding silence that eats you up in the aftermath of it all. people would describe it as thick enough that you could slice it and plate it like a cake. not this time, it’s empty, like someone is missing, and that absence has torn a rip in the very fabric of your soul.
it was your fault anyway, for betting on losing dogs when this all started. you knew that this outcome was inevitable; for what else would a gambler love more than betting his all even with stacked odds? AVENTURINE was different—oh, so different—than all the other people that had tried to woo you before. with carefully calculated moves and a meticulous plan to win your heart, he had struck gold with you. but the two sides of him were in stark contrast, hiding the other vulnerable side of him that no one could ever see. that was, until you came along and tore down his stone walls like they were paper.
and you would have done it all over again, betting on losing dogs even if it meant that your heart would get smashed into smithereens. he never needed to give you money or whatever luxuries he’d bribe others with to make a deal, for your heart would drop whenever you heard his name.
a bad ending was inevitable to this doomed narrative, an outcome far outweighing the positives. did it matter whether you’d get broken over and over again, trying to love someone broken? you’d rip out pieces from your heart and give them to him so he could fill the missing pieces of his. but you both still stayed anyway, despite knowing how this would all end, and you’d always call him your baby.
he was reluctant to love; it’s easier to bet it all when you have nothing at stake if you fail, but you were on the line. it would be a lie to say that he was fearless and always confident in his abilities, which would wiggle him out of any situation. sometimes, a blessing from the gaiathra triclops could only bring you so far, and he worried about when that luck would run out. he could never match the love you gave him, unable to leave this loop and cycle of self-hatred that had followed him all his life. how could AVENTURINE tell you, who treated him like he was the world to you, that he was only worth 60 tanba?
the air in the dreamscape always had this sickly sweet smell of soulglad that would tickle your nose and make you sick to your stomach. was that how you felt about this doomed love—feeling sick knowing that this could only end badly?
“i’m afraid that i’m going to have to bear this burden; this feeling of knowing something inside you is constantly missing. and that something is you.”
he doesn’t look at you; his expression is hidden behind the shadows, obscuring his face. some would compare him to a peacock, his train feathers in a dazzling display like the cards in his hand. but the feathers will eventually fade, like how luck eventually runs out.
“one day, it won’t be there anymore. i don’t know when that day will come, but i want you to know that i…will always love you.”
“but i love you more than you could ever imagine, and that’s why that feeling will stay with me till the end of my days. it’s because you’re going far away, somewhere i can’t follow.”
this time, AVENTURINE doesn’t offer you solace or comfort; he stands with such stillness that you could have mistaken him for a statue. no words, no movements, no comfort, no reassurance. he knows that his time is up; the very thing that he’s craved for so long has come, but at the price of your heart. torn between you and the freedom that he’s sought all his life, he chooses himself. so he chooses to walk out the door, with his heart in his throat and it’s like all of you leaves with him.
the aftermath is silent and cold, unforgiving like the cool waters that would rain down from the sky of sigonia scarcely. it’s deep, and it’s bone-chilling, pushing your head down under the raging waves relentlessly as you sink helplessly into the water with no one to pull you out. the dreamscape is in disarray. the family and their loyal dogs scrambling to keep up appearances and re-opening the theme park despite its stage being decimated by his show, his performance, and the grandest death that he always dreamed of having.
looking at the torn sky of this horrid nightmare, you can’t help but wonder why you bet on this failed dream when you’d know that you’d lose and pay for your place by the ring. perhaps it would have felt better if you could have looked into his eyes when he was down—one last time with those eyes that had pierced your soul and crumbled your walls.
AVENTURINE would always win the gamble, even if it meant that he would lose the bet and everything else in the process. you had lost dismally for you’d always wanted him, even if it meant destroying yourselves in the process. and it wouldn’t have been as bad if he had been over you, looking into your eyes as you came right back to him like always. but this time, you were the one who let him slip through your fingers and you were left with nothing but your broken, bleeding heart and false promises of a home you could never return to. he told you forever, that was how long you’d be together and how long you’d call him your home. but forever was too short and the house was haunted now.
and you’d cry thinking of all the words he’d said to you. his affirmations, his compliments, the whispered ‘i love you’ behind closed doors paired with a kiss, and the arguments that’d have your heart racing faster than the speed of light. and you’d cry even harder thinking of all the words you could have said but never did.
© AVENTURNE 2024. DO NOT COPY, REPOST, SHARE, TRANSLATE OR REUPLOAD MY WORKS ONTO ANY OTHER SITE WITHOUT MY PERMISSION
#🗞️ - honkai star rail fics#—stellaronhvnters.#・ nouveau livre ˎˊ˗#honkai star rail x reader#honkai star rail x you#hsr x reader#hsr x you#aventurine x reader#aventurine x you#aventurine angst#honkai star rail angst#hsr angst
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A MAN OF ACTION — ༉‧₊˚.
ft. zoro roronoa !
꒰ SYNOPSIS ꒱ : after all this time traveling with the straw hats, zoro can no longer deny the inevitable, it was time for him to share his feelings with you — or attempt to. he just wished it didn’t spark from jealously over that shitty cook.
꒰ CONTENTS ꒱ : MDNI. language, zoro battling with his feelings, might be a lil ooc, suggestive at the end ! — WC : 1.2k
꒰ NOTES ꒱ : something came over me and i needed to write this out. the zoro brainrot has been intense lately >_< enjoy !!
reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ! (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)♡*.ﾟ
the very thing zoro swore would never happen, happened. he’d never admit it out loud but he knew deep down, it was true. and it only infuriated him more.
jealousy warped his brain and had him doubting himself, all because of that shitty cook. each time he saw him effortlessly waltz up to you, armed with a thousand compliments on the tip of his tongue, sent his mind reeling.
even if zoro wanted to go up to you and say something like that, he doesn’t think anything he could say would amount to what he says to you. for sanji, flirting was as easy as breathing. he could do it with absolutely no problem, no shame, nothing but overly cheesy lines.
and yet zoro could barely open his mouth to try and articulate how much he cared for you. could mere words even sum up the feelings he held for you?
he wishes he could just spit it out in a manner like how sanji does. just breathless admirations of desire from his mouth to your ear. even though he knew the lines never really landed with the ladies, he still found himself wishing for a little more charisma to carry the rest of his way to your heart.
falling for you rivaled any other battle he’s had to face. normally, he’d fight it off with his three blades, but not this time. instead, this fight had him laying awake well past his bedtime, trying to sort through thoughts he’d never had before. finding himself missing naps left and right because he’d rather think about you and what you were doing. but he couldn’t let you in — wouldn’t. not when he had so much on the line. he was to be devoted to only two things : his dream and his captain.
but somewhere along the way, something new started to take hold in him – a sense of newfound devotion slipping through the cracks of his heart anytime he caught himself looking at you. so many feelings woven into his mind that he didn’t even know how to unwind it, let alone decipher it. but oh how his blood would boil anytime sanji paraded around you, offering you your favorite drinks and snacks — yet another thing he couldn’t give you.
but today he mustered up all the courage he had, his body buzzing like it usually does the night before a big fight. but mixed with something else, a fluttering feeling that had nausea crawling up his throat and threatening to close it. shaking it off, he set out to find you.
it didn’t take long, you were out on the deck of the sunny in your favorite lawn chair, soaking up the rays like you normally do when there’s downtime. the serene expression you had on your face almost made him feel bad for coming by to interrupt your alone time. almost.
steeling himself, he made his way over with every intention of telling you how he feels — or at least try to. but of course, it didn’t go as planned.
“hey.” he greeted as he shuffled up towards you, mentally kicking himself for sounding so unbothered — so gruff. his mind flickered to how sanji would normally greet you, all cheery eyed and smiling. trying to replicate that sounded like a nightmare but he didn’t want to act so stoic around you. not right now.
“hey zoro.” you smile anyway, looking up at him.
“what are you up to?” another kick. it was painfully obvious what you were doing but you just let it slide with another easy going smile, expelling his nerves with each moment it rested on your face.
“sunbathing while we still can. it’s rare to have days like these.” you lean back in the chair a bit, sprawling out more and accidentally exposing more of your skin. he had to look away for a moment before a blush crept up on his face. “i love the way it makes my skin feel, so warm and fuzzy, you know?”
he did know, in fact, that’s how he felt when he was with you. a perfect segway into the flirting he was trying to accomplish. but you beat him to it with something unexpected.
“wanna feel it?” you suggest, holding out your arm. he looks at you briefly before hesitantly pressing his fingers against your skin. and sure enough, it was warm, very warm. and so soft. he didn’t realize how swept up he was in the moment before you let out a gasp — quickly realizing he accidentally pulled you up into his arms. sometimes his strength gets the best of him.
your other hand lightly pressed against his chest to steady yourself and the warmth sent him reeling. your faces were closer now, sharing a silent understanding as you both held eye contact for a long while. he watched as your eyes trail down his face and landing on his lips before quickly snapping back up to him.
his chest heaved, the weight of your hand was something he never wanted lifted off of him, in fact, he only wanted more. he couldn’t stop imagining how warm you would be all over if he were laid up with you instead of standing merely inches away.
“zoro-“ you begin, falling short on words. the electricity between you started coiling around you both, pushing you towards each other. to resist was too suffocating, but to finally indulge? the gap needed to be closed somehow, he needed to say something to lure you to him even though you were already set in a trap.
“can i kiss you?” a final kick. everything that came out of his mouth was falling short. he never claimed he had a way with words, but the sparkle in your eyes told him that it didn’t really matter.
after a whispered yes, he surges forward – completely driven by a frenzied instinct. his lips consume yours as he pulls your body flush against his. there weren’t any words to describe how good your lips felt when they joined his and the soft, sweet sounds it elicited from deep within you.
it was a whirlwind, one full of passion, lust, and more emotions that zoro didn’t have the time to unravel. not when all he wanted to feel was your fingers clawing through his hair, deepening the kiss as you slip your tongue into his eager mouth.
the kiss itself was not graceful, it was sloppy and unpracticed but soon enough, you two fell into a rhythm. one that was so harmonious that it had him doubting if he really needed air to breathe or if he could live on your sweet kiss alone.
but ultimately, survival instincts took over, the two of you pulling apart with a string of saliva still connecting you. the string broke, falling on your lips and down your chin a little bit. without a second thought, zoro caught it on his thumb before glossing it back over your lips. the soft, pleading eyes you were feeding him had reaching out for you once again, pulling you closer by your hips.
“we should go somewhere more private.” you whisper breathlessly, lips swollen from zoros passion. without another moment to spare, he takes your hand and starts leading you exactly where you needed to go.
because zoro may not have a way with words, but he was always better as a man of action.
#⁺. ʚ now streaming:#zoro roronoa#zoro roronoa x reader#zoro x reader#one piece x reader#op x reader
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Personal Brand of Heater | Jacob Black x Fem!Reader (Oneshot)
Word count: 1,899
Summary: The first time I had kissed Jacob was entirely an accident. That was how I wanted to think about it, at least.
Silly notes: So... it was 4am... and it was cold, so at the time writing this made a lot of sense. Plus I was lonely and destructively pining for the one and only, Jacob Black. *hands you this fic* Enjoy!
The first time I had kissed Jacob was entirely an accident. That was how I wanted to think about it, at least.
Winter was just by the horizon, approaching with a certain quiet inevitability, and a blanket of darkness was beginning to unfurl itself across the landscape—and Forks, being the cold and sleepy town that it was, made the first hints of a wintry burden a lot more obvious.
So it was cold. And it was just that there was something about cuddling with Jacob in the middle of the night that did it for me. It made total sense: I was freezing, and Jacob was hot. Literally. Like my personal brand of heater. And maybe I also liked him a little bit. Or a little too much. Or maybe I was in-love. It was the only explanation, even though before what had happened I'd hardly given myself enough time to even name what I'd started to feel for Jake.
It sounded stupid at first, being in-love with Jake. There was no way. But the more I thought about it, the more convinced and horrified I became. That stupid fluttery feeling in my stomach whenever Jake looked at me. I'd thought about the way my chest sometimes felt like it was going to explode when he hugged me, or the way my stomach dropped and twisted at the thought of Jacob hugging a different woman that wasn’t me. God, I was in-love. Of course I was. But even that wasn’t reasonable enough to accidentally kiss him.
So when I had had the clever idea of hitting Jacob up to “hang out” at two in the morning and he didn’t reply, I'd assumed that would be the end of it, and that I would have to curl up in bed, alone and feverish from the chills the night brought.
But that wasn’t the case, and I had only realised this when Jacob was already launching himself through my second-story window and then into my room with a stealthy thud. The dumbass.
I looked at him, stunned. “Jake, what the hell?”
“Whew, I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Jacob said, a wide and pleasant grin of mockery spreading across his face—the one that made my stomach do the dumb flip thing. GAH. “I’m sure you don’t really mind.”
“I don’t,” I said automatically. I wasn't stunned at seeing him anymore, because he wasn’t wearing a shirt and I was stunned at something else instead. The pale moonlight sneaking in through my open window made his russet skin look richer. He looked ethereal. The dangerous kind of ethereal. “Do you ever get cold?” I asked dumbly, trying to shift my focus.
Jacob laughed. “Didn’t you already ask that before?”
“I did? Maybe I forgot.” And maybe I had also forgotten how to talk.
He opened his mouth, looking like he was about to crack a joke, but something made him change his expression. Instead, worry creased his forehead, and he inched closer to me.
He was huge, and he leaned over me, so huge that his shadow made my little room look darker. I was looking up at him, completely overwhelmed—my head was pounding and my chest was freaking out and the fever, which I had momentarily forgotten about ever since he came in, came hitting me again. I swayed unsteadily, legs going slightly limp. Jacob grabbed me easily by the waist. “Hey, hey. Is everything okay?” He whispered anxiously, slowly easing me towards the edge of the bed. “You’re shivering, why didn’t you tell me you were sick? Are you cold?”
I only managed to nod before my legs gave way, plopping into a weak heap on the bed.
His hand was really warm. “Jesus christ, you’re freezing. Don’t you have a heater somewhere?”
I shivered uselessly on the bed, delirious. He watched me for one long moment, hesitating. Then he snuck to my side and began settling down onto the bed, and before I could even begin to protest, his arms were already wrapped around me—one arm under my head and the other tightly snug around my waist. And then I wasn't protesting anymore.
I let my head rest against his bare chest. “You’re so warm,” I muttered, the words muffled out by his chest. The heat was so inviting, so comfortable that I didn’t want to pull away. Not that I could ever, even if I had the energy to. The warmth seeped into my skin, the icy grips of the night slowly melting away.
Jacob chuckled, pleased. “That better? Don’t move too much, alright. Save your energy for me. I’ll warm you up.”
“What about you?” I exhaled heavily. “You’re going to freeze.”
“Not really,” he promised. “Hey, say, why don’t you try sleeping? What’s kept you up this late?”
I thought for a second. "Hypothetically," I said, my mind gaining clarity. "If you weren't a werewolf anymore and you lived in the city, what's the first thing you'd do?"
I felt his chest stop at a chuckle, and then there was silence. When it dragged on for a moment too long, I tilted my head to look at his expression. He was staring into the distance, where I'd put up a bunch of city photos for my vision board. His eyes seemed to light up. "If I weren't a werewolf anymore," he mused. "I'd try out all the burgers in the city and check out what they sell in Walmart. I heard they sell weird stuff there... and then maybe I'd go shopping in one of those big malls... get a job... go to a university."
I snorted. "Wow okay, I understand the rest, but Walmart? Really?"
"Don't judge me," he met my eyes, suddenly defensive. He smiled playfully and pushed my hair out of my face. "Let's hear yours. If you decided to live in the city, away from... all of this. What would you do?"
There was hardly any need to think, because it was all I ever thought about during my first summer in Forks. And it was hardly even a summer, really, because it rained all the time and it was still cold even on the good days where the sun was slightly more visible. "I would live by myself in the city, in a small apartment. Like a normal person," I said, wincing at the last part, because all things considered, I thought the word *normal* just didn't exist in Forks anymore, and saying it felt like a major offense. He nodded, and I went on, "I would go to bookstores and those loud concerts... and then go for a late night drive after, you know? Just drive for hours without a destination. It kind of sounds nice. It's like surrendering all your worries for one night. I think that kind of freedom would make me feel lighter."
I watched his face. He laughed at first, saying, "Your answer makes mine look like child's play."
"I'd try out every burger with you, and go to every Walmart conceivable." I offered.
"You'd do that?"
"Why wouldn't I?"
He grinned. "Well, I'd carry your books for you, and I'd drive you across the city for as long as you want. Sounds fair?"
"So it's a promise." I smirked.
"Hah well, not that my being a werewolf can stop me from making you happy," he said. Then he tightened his grip just a bit and lifted me effortlessly, setting me on top of him. "Is this better?"
I hummed a yes, suddenly finding it very, very difficult to breathe. "You're... really warm," I sighed.
He smiled softly. It looked so much better up close, so much so that my stomach did that weird flippy thing again. "You said that earlier. Although," a sheen of mischief lit his eyes up, "if you want to feel warmer you could always just take your clothes off."
"Jacob," I warned, a smile threatening to break out of my face. "Shut up, will you?"
"Survival one-oh-one," he teased.
"Saying that isn't really a friends thing."
He raised one eyebrow, curious. "Oh so taking your clothes off is where you draw the line?"
"Like every sane person, ever, duh."
"Well, cuddling like this isn't really a friends thing either," he retorted.
My face flushed red. "What do you mean?"
"The way I hold you," he said quietly, with a sudden hint of seriousness to his voice. "Is this how friends are supposed to roll?" He asked, his face speculative.
I stayed quiet. I wasn't breathing again. It was the question, and maybe the way the gentle glow of the moon was casted upon his face. His eyes twinkled in the light, like pools of rich and velvety chocolate. He was sort of beautiful that I didn't want to breathe ever again. He stared right through me, watchful and interested. His eyelashes fluttered as he blinked, and our breaths mixed with how close our faces were. It was so warm and so right.
My gaze flickered from his eyes to his mouth, then back again. His mouth tugged up at one corner, as if he had the faintest idea of what I was thinking—and maybe, just maybe, he thought the same.
It was slow, but also quick in a weird way—not quick as in like something in the heat of the moment, but quick enough that I couldn't register what was happening, and slow enough for me to remember every single detail—slow enough for me to conclude that it really wasn't an accident.
His hand gently made its way to the small of my back. He rubbed gently, and I leaned in, our faces inching even closer; I could hear my heartbeat loud against my chest, so loud maybe he'd heard it too. But his eyes were fixed, mesmerised as I moved in. Our noses touched and he inched to the side, nudging forward with the tip of his chin; he glanced at my mouth, then flickered quickly back to my eyes.
There was a momentary pause where our faces both hovered, so close and mellow and sure, and I ached in anticipation. I stole one more glance at his mouth, and then I was sighing into the kiss, the aches and worries leaving my body. His lips were hot, and it scorched against mine, but god he was so gentle—like a gentle rush of air through leaves. The kiss stayed warm and slow, almost exploratory, but there was also a sliver of hunger shoved in between—like Jacob had been dying to do this for a while, and when he finally did he couldn't stop anymore. My lower lip caught delicately in his teeth, and he sucked on it; I allowed him, because I loved exploring his mouth just as much—in an almost obsessive manner. My tongue wandered, the pleasant taste of something woodsy settling into my mouth.
When we pulled apart, it was with soft gasps and fitful smiles and chuckles. He patted my head. "Was that also a friends thing?"
"Nothing about us is friendly," I finally admitted.
"So that means...?"
"I want to be your girlfriend, Jake."
His face stretched out into a huge grin. It was contagious. "Took you long enough, my little moon."
"Is that a yes?" I pinched him lightly.
He chuckled. "Do you want to go at it again for an answer?"
#twilight saga#jacob black#the twilight saga#edward cullen#jacob black x reader#jacob black fluff#fluff#twilight fluff#twilight imagine#jacob black imagine#fanfiction#fanfic#oneshot#self insert#imprint#breaking dawn#twilight new moon#twilight eclipse#twilight revival#the cullens
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Your writing is so enthralling, I hang on to every word! I loved the Lucifer and Alastor pieces with the touch starved reader. ^.^
Can you do like a hurt/comfort to fluff oneshot with Husk? Mutual pining with him and fem!reader. Husk doesn't think he's good enough so he pushes her away even though she makes her feelings obvious. Maybe the group goes out somewhere for a "bonding" exercise and reader gets hit on and the lovable grumpy cat gets jealous and is kind of mean to her because he doesn't know how to deal with all these feelings. Reader is confused and maybe confronts him about it and it leads to him finally confessing?
Ahhhh I love this guy.
Also take your time with this, I know life can be chaotic so there's no rush. Thank youuu!
omg thank you so so much!!! you are seriously so kind. i'm thrilled that you enjoyed those fics though!
I can totally do a fic about husk! i love the pushing away but also him getting jealous? ummm yes. that is amazing. the conflict and the inevitable yearning and then ending in a confession?? this has my heart.
warnings: cursing
"hello husky. how's your night going?" you ask, sliding up to the bar as husk was working. he barely spares you a glance, but you see a slight smile.
"it was great until you came up, getting ready to ask for some stupid fuckin' drink." husk glares at you, no malice behind it. causing you to laugh as you sat down.
"you know me so well husky! i heard lucifer talk about some appletini he drinks?" you say, leaning on your right hand. "could you make me one?" you bat your eyelashes a few times at him and he huffs a laugh.
"an appletini... what happened to appreciating the liquor?" he asked. this caused you to laugh.
"appreciating liquor? husk, you drink absolute shit, like the cheapest stuff to get drunk off of." you roll your eyes and adjust your body so you were sitting with your legs crossed. "i'm not sure you can talk about liquor appreciation."
"i'm a bartender. i can appreciate, i just have a preference." he muttered, sliding over an appletini. you took a sip and hummed appreciatively. you turned to charlie approaching you, and started in a conversation. not noticing how husk was now cleaning the glasses facing you, watching how you were so lively and vibrant. his mind whispering to him how he didn't even deserve to look in your direction. he was abrasive, and downright horrible. he had no redeeming qualities about him, he felt like his crush on you was almost like it was tainting you.
your laughter brought him out of his thoughts as he finished up shining the glasses. his mind steeled in resolve. he didn't deserve you, so he would distance himself from you. he owed it to you, you deserved to have a happy life and to be redeemed. he didn't want to hold you back.
________________________________
this is how husk's distance and avoidance started. he'd stand on the opposite side of the group if they were doing an activity, the farthest distance he could muster from you. if he wasn't working and he was in a room before you, he'd find an excuse to leave the room when you walked in. he was polite when you would go up to the bar, but it wasn't the same.
you couldn't pin point why husk started acting like this. there was no reason in your mind, and you had even asked alastor if something was wrong. his response of not seeing anything wrong and that husk was doing his job was as unhelpful as you expected.
did you go up to husk though and ask him what was wrong? no, of course not! there was something that felt taboo in doing so. like it was crossing a line that you didn't know was there. you weren't sure where that had come from, whether is was husk's distance or perhaps this boundary was enacted by your own mind, because you were scared. scared to know the real reason on why husk started to distance himself.
it was all brought to an end when the group went out to do a group bonding exercise, that charlie had said was to ensure that they were a real team.
you sighed as you got ready for a game of what looked like flag football but mixed with dodgeball. you didn't really pay attention to the rules as you were confused in the first part of the explanation. you were taken out of your thoughts when a sinner came up to you and started talking to you, asking what you were doing. you took it as an opportunity to talk up the hotel.
as you were talking, you saw the sinner getting more uncomfortable looking until he ran off. you looked confused and shrugged, not seeing that husk had been glaring at the sinner the whole time. you turned and realized the teams had been decided already. you walked over to your side and realized you were on the same team with husk.
"at least we're on the same team, huh?" you asked. husk just nodded at you and was watching the ball that the other team had. you frowned as charlie blew a whistle, signaling the start of the game. the ball was thrown and you jumped to grab it. you caught the ball but lost your balance and let go of the ball, the other team continued playing it, and you looked at charlie.
"can they do that?" you asked.
"yup!" she nodded. "good catch though!"
"not good enough. hold the damn ball next time." husk muttered walking past and toward angel and nifty fighting for the ball. you looked shocked, as did charlie.
"what's gotten into him?" she asked you. you shrugged and started walking toward the others. as the game progressed so did husk's insults toward you. finally, at an intermission, you saw husk walk back to the hotel, getting a drink as the rest of the patrons were drinking the gatorade charlie had in a cooler. you followed husk and sat at the bar as he was rummaging through a cabinet and grabbed a similar bottle to the one he had before, this one just full. he jumped seeing you there, until his expression grew dark.
"what do you want?" he asked gruffly.
"to know why you're being such a jerk." you said coldly. a look of barely contained anger on your face.
"that's just me. get used to it." he said, trying to walk away.
"no, it's not." you said grabbing his hand and stopping him from leaving. "that's not you. what's going on? did i do something?" you ask, trying to understand.
"no you didn't. this is just me, because you don't fuckin' know me. so leave me alone." husk says, ripping his arm from your grasp.
"no!" you yell running and then standing in front of him blocking the door. "what did i do that has made you act so awful to me. please. allow me to at least apologize for it." you say, pleading. he finally looks at you, actually looks at you. your eyes widen as you see hurt in his eyes, but anger.
"you want to know what you did?" he asks, his voice sharp. you nod. "you..." he stops. you reach for him and he moves out of your grasp, turning from you. "you made me care."
" what?" you ask, confused.
"you deserve someone who is more than me. more than the shitty things i've done. you deserve someone who can take care of you and isn't on a psychopath's leash." he whispers. "you deserve more than me, but i want nothing but you."
"you... you like me?" you walk closer to husk, hesitating before reaching for his forearm to try and turn him to you.
"yes. i have. for a while." he mutters. your eyes widen.
"you're an idiot." you tell him as you look at him. he looks at you angry and you speak before he can take what you said the wrong way. "i like you too. for a while." his eyes widen in understanding and you see a blush cross his cheeks.
"oh." he mutters, not looking at you.
"'oh' is right." you laugh gently. "i just didn't think you would see me like that or else i would have told you."
"we're both idiots." husk laughs and wraps his arms around your waist.
"we are, but we're idiots together. right?" you ask a bit hesitantly.
"idiots together." husk confirms, his clawed hand reaching up and caressing your face and drawing you into him.
#hazbin hotel imagine#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel x reader#husk hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel husk#husk x reader#hazbin husk#husker#hazbin husk x reader#hazbin husk/reader#husk/reader#husker/reader#hazbin hotel husk/reader#hazbin hotel husk x reader
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Twenty Years Later: Joel Miller x Reader - One Shot #3
Talking to the Sky
Plot: While doing some gardening, Y/n deals with unpleasant memories.
Word Count: 753
Warnings: loss of a child, ptsd, (16+)
A/N: Miss me? I know it’s been a while but to be honest, fic writing has just not been a priority. But I wanted to finish this one and get it out since I promised to continue this every once and a while. Since we’re all preoccupied again because of award seasons, I thought it was a good time to revisit Rosebud and Joel.
This one’s a bit more sad than the last few, but I really wanted to do one just of Rose dealing with some of her s-it. Hope it’s somewhat enjoyable!!
————
Winter was somewhere in that middle bit. Jackson had weathered the worst of the storms, but the fierce cold hadn’t let up yet.
Y/n cursed her gloves, two times too big for her hands, as she dug up the soil of her backyard. She was attempting to plant a garden, emphasis on attempting. She’d done a fair amount of gardening pre-Cordyceps, but that was purely for pleasure. This had more weight to it.
Those who worked the greenhouses had helped her during their shifts. They’d taught Y/n which plants grew during which seasons, some blooming best in winter and others in the summer. There was a science to it more important than ever to know.
Y/n was planting a medley of vegetables, fruit and herbs. She couldn’t feel her knees anymore, the cold having sept into her joints within minutes. She built a few mounds, burying the seeds below and allowing enough space between piles.
She sat back on her feet, struck by a memory she’d been trying to ignore.
Flower bushes.
The looming warmth of a Texas spring.
Sarah’s laughter.
Dirt under their fingernails.
Y/n sighed, her chest aching from something far sharper than the cold.
Finding Joel in Boston hadn’t been the catalyst to bringing back life to her memories. Sarah had lived in her mind every minute of every day since the girl had left the Earth. Etched in her heart till the end of time. But between settling in Jackson and marrying Joel, living some strange version of the life they’d wanted, it breathed new air into Sarah’s ghost. Sometimes it rendered Y/n speechless, frozen somewhere between the past and the present.
She looked up the sky, the cloud coverage shielding her eyes from the sun.
“You hated when I made you do this,” Y/n spoke to the air, “You never liked getting your hands dirty but you were smiling. The whole time. So there was never much weight to what you said.”
“I remember that time we were planting those flowers in the backyard,” she continued, “Daisies or roses…I don’t really remember, just that they were beautiful when they bloomed that summer. That your dad wouldn’t admit to them prettying up the place because ‘What’s there to pretty up?’”
Y/n chuckled, Joel had never made a big deal about the little changes Sarah and her made to the house. They both knew he secretly liked them and loved the two of them too much to ever say no.
“He’s gotten worse, if you can imagine it,” Y/n looked down at her shovel, wiping some of the dirt off, “If you thought he was bad in the morning then,” she whistled, “But he’s also…better. He’s him.”
Y/n sunk into the snow a little deeper. The cold didn’t matter anymore. “The other day, I caught him humming to himself. He was doing the dishes and I came in from patrol and…it just reminded me of all the times we’d catch him singing and he’d deny it,” she smiled, “We’d literally be standing right there and he’d say it was the fridge or something.”
Her little laugh quieted, turning somber. The sweet memory inevitably turned sad.
“God, I miss you,” Y/n whispered as her throat tightened, “I miss you so much. Everything I do in this house, I keep looking over and expecting you to be right next to me.“
She paused, beginning to feel just a drop of the sun’s distant warmth. “And then your dad comes in or Uncle Tommy and it’s like you’re there. Making us laugh, calling us old…and for two seconds, it feels okay. Not perfect, but alright, and I can get through the rest of the day,” Y/n rubbed her running nose and looked back up at the sky, “Just keep doing that. Don’t ever leave us down here on our own.”
Y/n had long lost track of time since starting her work, and she didn’t hear the front door open. Joel was home from patrol duty. He walked through the empty house, looking more and more like their home each day, looking for someone to greet.
“Rose,” Y/n heard Joel call from inside. She wiped a melancholy tear away and got to her feet.
Taking one more look at the grey sky, she smiled, as if Sarah was radiating her presence down from the clouds. Telling her to get inside and hug her husband. Help make dinner. Make their remote corner of the world a little brighter. Just as Sarah would have.
——————
TYL Taglist: @bachiracore @stolenxkissess @kayleezra @the-wistful-reader @allthesesonsofbitches @goth-detectives365 @trippovert @rh1nestonecowg1rl @emiliaserpe @khaleesihavilliard @frietiemeloen @gracie7209 @dorck26 @thegirlnextdoorssister @alanis-altair @mariwinns16 @whosscruffylooking @endofthexline @alexiaricciardo @eonnyx @pedrosmexicangf @scarlettequinn @ao-sleepy @toinfinityandbeyonce2 @deanlovescassie @turmoil-ash @sorrowjunky @kpopslur @xxlilyxx90 @midgetpottermills @presidential-facts @scoopsnini @tubble-wubble @jamesdeerest @burninggracesandbridges @star-wars-lover @lucyhotchner @cococola-cocaine @witheringhqarts @fall-writes @alwaysdjarin @xxmoonn @emilia-the-artist @wand-erer5 @boneyarrd @lizard-zombie @themultifandomofmadness @cassidylea123 @paleepeaches @mxltifxnd0m @kettlekatie @ultimate-cinephile @gloryekaterina @caramelkatsukis-bitch @whovianayesha @memeorydotcom @deadunicorn159 @get0ut0fmyr00m @siriuslymooned @emmyeed @superbreadsoul @hellu-people1 @ourautumn86 @inas-thing @noraapple05 @givemylovetoall @luvwanda (more tags in comments 🩵)
#the last of us fic#the last of us fanfiction#the last of us fanfic#the last of us imagine#joel miller x reader#joel miller imagine#twenty years later
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Howdy, so I don't know if you have seen The Last of Us, but if you have, you know the scene where Joel saves Ellie from the hospital and he just ploughs through everyone and its like wow -///-
I just think it would be a really cool like drabble if this was a Din x reader fic? Only if you wanted to write it though!! Also I'm so happy that I'm on your taglist for inevitable because I jump to read it every time that I see that I've been tagged, it has me in a chokehold and the way that you write the reader is so damn good.
Your writing is something that brings comfort to me every week, and the way you interact and talk to your followers is so sweet. I love coming back from a stressful day to sit down somewhere comfortable to enjoy your work.
Anyways thanks for reading this ramble of an ask and I hope that you're doing well :)
[a/n]: combining some stuff here! this is for the anon who asked for this scene AND for @cockscombkingdom who asked for a fic in Din's POV where he takes care of reader and keeps her safe. I started with the plan to make this very sweet and fluffy and I'm not gonna lie a little darkness seeped into it. my bad.
also in case it isn't abundantly clear i am a joel miller apologist thx
Din Djarin x Female!Reader
Warnings: Violence, death, injuries, mild dark!din (if you squint and/or have a problem with murder)
Word Count: 1,440
Summary: You were selfless. You gave and you gave and you gave. The universe planned to only take more, but Din Djarin would be damned if he let it.
LOOK FOR THE LIGHT
.
"you'd just come after her." -Joel Miller (TLOU)
.
Din was worried about you. He was always worried about you because you were always on his mind. It couldn’t be helped. Somebody had to because it seemed like you were perpetually too worried about everyone else. Din admired that about you. He always had. You went out of your way to help anyone and everyone who approached. You had a heart that was always willing to give, and it left you too little to use for yourself.
When the two of you first began traveling together, he noticed that about you. Sometimes you’d get so preoccupied watching Grogu you’d forget to eat. Peli had once put you to work, organizing her tools as part of the payment to fix the Razor Crest, and you had been so focused on getting the work done well that you had taken no breaks and ended up dehydrated and weak under Tatooine’s hot suns. It’s why the mission he was delivering you to made such simple sense to him. You were special, is what you told him. Din knew you were special, felt it, but it was for very different reasons. According to you, there was something in your blood, some type of cell, that could cure a lot of people of some terrible, terrible disease spreading through a world in the Outer Rim.
Din tried to keep his distance from you. Tried to not get attached. But you were so selfless, that it naturally brought out his protective side. He couldn't help but care for you, but caring for you as a responsibility had quickly turned to loving you along the way. Din didn’t know a lot about love. Didn’t have much experience with it, lust was easier to grasp, and that left him confused most of the time. Din had no idea how to express what he felt for you, how to explain it in words, so he did the only thing he could do. Din took care of you. Kept you safe when he stopped to pick up quarries, made sure you remembered to eat and drink water, reminded you to go to bed and when you would eventually forget anyways he’d carry you there himself. Din didn't know what love was supposed to feel like, but what he did know was that being without you made his heart physically ache and protecting you brought him happiness.
Maybe that’s all he needed to know.
‘It’ll be okay.’ You had promised him with a smile that made your features glow. ‘Shouldn’t take long.’
That had been hours ago. Din delivered you to the medical facility as he had been hired, but when you hadn’t come back out he sought after you. It’s why he now sat in a small room, Imperials flanking the door, as he simmered in disdain. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.
“Mandalorian.” A man stepped into the room. A doctor from the looks of it with thin, round rimmed glasses. The name ‘Pershing’ pinned to his lapel. Din stayed silent. “I was under the impression that you had been paid. Was there an issue?”
“No.” Din replied. “Where is she?”
Dr. Pershing paused and shook his head as if confused. Din tilted his head a bit, an obvious threat in body language, and the doctor was smart enough to realize this. He nervously cleared his throat. “She is being prepared for her operation.” Din narrowed his eyes in confusion. You told him they’d just need your blood. “There is no reason for you to stay.”
“I promised her a ride back.”
There was a tense silence that filled the room at his words. Din watched the doctor squirm where he stood and he needed no further clarification. He shoved up from the table, prepared for a fight, when the Imperials leveled their own weapons at him before he could reach his blaster.
Dr. Pershing held his hands up in a placating manner. “She will be a hero. After we drain her of all her blood, we can make a cure. There’s a 65% chance this will work and save the people of this world.” Din was fuming under his armor. Drain your blood? They were going to kill you. They were going to kill you for something that only had a 65% chance of even working. “She will not be in pain! She’s been put under! She will not feel a thing, and we did not scare her with the news.” Din staggered back as if he had been physically hit. Was this man saying… Dr. Pershing confirmed Din’s thoughts. “We did not tell her this would kill her. We spared her that misery. She went under anesthesia peacefully.”
The words echoed in Din’s head loudly. As if a bomb had gone off right beside him and left him deaf and blind. He walked on autopilot as the Imperials escorted him through the building toward the exit. They were going to kill you. They were going to kill you for a shot in the dark cure. Din was literally paces to the door when his boots stilled. The Imperials shoved him, tried to get him to move, threatened to shoot him, and then Din snapped.
With the practiced precision of a bounty hunter and Mandalorian who spent most of his life in a fight, Din spun and cut down the Imperials in one swift movement. The darksaber glowed angry in his hands, casting threatening shadows down the hall. Never before had the sword worked so well for him, but as Din marched through the facility it was practically an extension of himself. Blaster fire pinged off his beskar and he did not hesitate. If a person stepped into his path he eliminated them. Cold. Ruthless. A predator. Din stalked the medical facility searching for you, and he left a wake of death and destruction in his path.
When he finally caught sight of you, through a window into some kind of clean room. Din felt his heart flutter in his chest. The first twinge of emotion since starting this rampage. It was a reminder of why he was doing this. A reminder that his actions were necessary.
Din stormed into the room, his eyes not leaving your unconscious form as you laid on a table in a hospital gown. The staff in the room panicked in a flurry, and one of them⏤ maybe the doctor maybe a nurse, Din didn’t even register who the kriff it was⏤ rushed him in a poor attempt to stop this onslaught. Din cut them down without blinking. Without taking his eyes off of you. The second you were in his arms, Din felt marginally settled. He wasn’t going to lose you, couldn’t lose you. Din had sworn to himself that he’d take care of you, it was all he knew how to do, and he wasn’t going to stop for the sake of anyone.
Not even the sake of a world.
As Din carried you out of the building it occurred to him that he may be dooming an entire population of people. This world’s chances of survival were dropping from 65% to 0%. He knew that he should care. He knew that this information should bother him. That it should make his steps more hesitant and make his chest ache in indecision, but it didn’t. His choice had never been more clear to him. It was either this world or you. Din was choosing you. He’d always choose you.
When back on the ship, Din had only carried you a few steps when gasping could be heard. He turned around to see Dr. Pershing at the end of the ramp holding a blaster at him. The man was breathing hard, face red, as if he had sprinted all the way here to stop this from happening. Din had to admire his dedication. The man believed in this cause so much he was willing to go head to head with a Mandalorian who had just single handedly cleared out a medical facility.
“I can’t let you do this.” Dr. Pershing snapped. “You’re dooming this world if you take her!”
A blaster fired. Dr. Pershing stumbled back, a hole in his chest, and Din held his blaster firm in his hand. Your legs draped over that arm had hidden his weapon well. A strangled gasp left the man’s lips and he collapsed into a motionless pile. Din shook his head, responding to a dead man’s words, “I don’t care.”
Din would protect you under any and all circumstances.
Was that love?
#the mandalorian#din djarin#din djarin x you#din djarin x reader#dark!din djarin#sort of#if you squint#the last of us#joel miller inspired#mando x reader#mando x you#mandalorian fanfic#mandalorian x you#mandalorian x reader#female reader#reader insert
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hiiii love ♡˖꒰ᵕ༚ᵕ⑅꒱
i saw your post aksing about request for anyone other than the marauders and i was wondering if i could request some asexual comfort :o with whatever character you think is the most fitting !!
i was thinking maybe reader coming out to them and being very nervous about it since they're a sex repulsed asexual??
if your uncomfortable with this request pls just ignore this, i just really enjoy your content and am always looking for some ace comfort hehe
hope ypu have a great day, love ya <33
Hi lovely, thank you for requesting! Sorry for the wait, I tried re-writing this a couple of different times and tbh I'm still not very happy with it (which has nothing to do with you or your request, I just couldn't seem to write it the way I wanted to) <3
cw: mention of boner, reader experiences uncomfy feelings around Eddie's arousal, and lastly I’ve been told that sex-repulsed asexuals can still enjoy kissing as a sensual or romantic experience but I apologize if that’s inaccurate !
Eddie Munson x fem!reader ♡ 937 words
You like kissing Eddie, but you don’t get lost in it the way he does. You can feel him curtailing himself, turning his grip from ravaging back to gentle each time he realizes you’re only tracing the curve of his jaw with your forefinger, trailing a hand down his shoulder, twirling a piece of his hair.
He keeps his kisses soft the way he guesses, rightly, you like them. Slow and sweet explorations of your mouth without any of the heat you know he nonetheless wants. His hands splay over your back, pulling you closer to him, and you like being closer to him.
You don’t like what he brings you closer to meet.
It’s not Eddie’s fault, you know. He can’t control the bulge pressing into your leg, and even if he could he couldn’t know how you feel about it. It’s revulsion mixed with anxiety, dread heavying it all until it sits low in your stomach where you’ve been told the heat is for most everyone else.
You tense a bit. Eddie takes it for enthusiasm, his hold on you tightening. And you feel like crying, because in a minute it’s all going to be over. You’re going to have to tell him no.
You like Eddie. You like Eddie so, so much, love him even. You don’t want to end things. You’ve been putting off even thinking about it, the inevitability of this conversation and the certainty of its outcome. Eddie is kind, he’s been patient with you, but you’ve let him think you’re just setting a slow pace, and that sex is on the horizon. He doesn’t ever push you, because to him it’s an eventuality.
Tears sting your eyes. You’re so in your head you almost don’t acknowledge them until one escapes, catching in your lashes. You blink, and the next slips down your nose, transferring to Eddie’s cheek.
His lashes part like they’re stuck together with syrup, reluctant. His eyes meet yours where you’re already watching him, and you both pull back at the same time.
“Whoa,” he says, voice rough around the edges as you sit up on his lap to wipe under your eyes, “what the fuck? What’s wrong?”
“Sorry,” you tell him, croaky for your own reasons. “God, sorry.”
You move a few inches back on his lap, into a safe zone just above his knees, and Eddie sits up too. “Shit, am I really that bad?” he asks.
You laugh a little, but it’s too close to the truth. You tent your fingertips over the bridge of your nose as fresh tears blur your vision.
“Hey,” he sits up, looking somewhere between bemused and panicky as he sets both hands on your thighs, rubbing in an attempt to soothe you, “hey, what’s going on? Did I do something?”
“No,” you say, though that’s not exactly honest. “It’s not you.” That sounds like the beginning of a cliche breakup. You make yourself say it outright. “I don’t want to have sex.”
Eddie’s hands still on your legs, his eyebrows rising so sharply it makes his eyes look even huger than normal. “Wait,” he says, “that’s what’s got you so wound up? That’s fine, baby, we don’t have to. Shit, I wasn’t trying to.”
“No.” You shake your head, face hot beneath your fingertips. “I mean ever.” Eddie’s head tilts. “I don’t…I don’t have sex. I don’t like to.”
Eddie’s hands remain on your thighs, but they ease back as he sits up. You understand now why some people deliver news in letters or phone calls. You wish you could give your boyfriend the time and space he needs to pick the words to break up with you. You don’t mean to make it hard on him. He nods again, again, and again, brows bunching tighter with each one.
“Ookay.” He draws out the first sound, nodding again like that’s that. “That’s okay.”
“I’m sorry,” you say again. It’s easier, now, your tears slowing since you’ve ripped off the band-aid. “I wasn’t trying to lead you on, I just…” You just fully were leading him on, letting him think there’d be more when there wouldn’t. “I know this isn’t what anyone wants.”
Eddie’s mouth pulls. “Well, I’ve got bad news.”
You flinch internally. “Yeah?”
He nods, uncharacteristically grave. “I’m, like, super fucking into you.”
You pause in wiping under your eyes. “Huh?”
“Yeah.” Eddie shrugs. “I mean, obviously this was some way to get me to break up with you, but you’re going to have to try harder than that. This isn’t gonna work.”
“Eddie, I’m serious.”
“So am I, sweetheart.” He hooks his hands under your knees, tugging you closer on his lap. You find it’s a comfortable place to be, now that everything has calmed down. Eddie takes your hands, pulling them away from your face and looking at you intently. “I like you a lot, you know? This may be hard to believe, but you’re more than just a piece of ass to me.” You crack a smile at that, and he mirrors it. “So if this is your way of trying to get me to break up with you, you’re going to have to think of something else. Or just do it yourself, coward.”
“I don’t want to break up,” you say quietly.
He raises his eyebrows. “Seriously? Because it really seems like you’re trying to convince me to.”
You shrug. Your face is cooling now, but Eddie’s hands are warm around yours. “I thought you’d want to.”
“Yeah, well.” He makes a face at you. “Give me a little more credit next time, huh?”
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x self insert#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fic#eddie munson hurt/comfort#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson scenario#eddie munson drabble#eddie munson blurb#eddie munson oneshot#eddie munson one shot#stranger things#stranger things 4#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things fanfic#stranger things fic#stranger things fandom#stranger things x reader
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Dangerously Yours (Vox x Reader)
I had this idea after listening to "Dangerously Yours" (1944) Masquerade episode on Spotify, and couldn’t help but write for it. I was originally going to write three chapters for it, but ive been very busy with college work and life so you can have the bullet points that was going to be the script for the story.
This is also kinda piggybacking off my original post of "Y/N as a star", but this time with a twist.
I hope you enjoy this post- and also reminder: My requests are open!!
Alastor and you both know each other from when you were alive! Not only were the two of you close, but you were cousins.
This story starts off with you, who is one of Alastors most trusted colleagues in hell (but are not an overlord). You are sent to the Vees tower to spy on them, and Alastor entrusts this task to you because of how closed off you are from the rest of hell and that no one should know you well enough to question who you are.
Not only that- but no one knows your familiar relationship with Alastor so they wont be able to use that against you.
In the event that you needed to escape, Alastors shadows would follow behind you from a distance to ensure your safety, and when you stomped you foot three times, you would be whisked away to a safe place.
With that all said and done, You make your way to the Vee’s tower on a day you knew a bunch of reporters would be there and questioning/ interviewing the Vee’s
People are naturally drawn to you (not in a hypnotizing way- but in a way you are able to alter your aura to have people perceive you in any way you want them to)
You end up making it a point to charm a bunch of reporters near the Vees tower to catch their attention. Not only that, but you play coy by pretending to not know the Vee’s and their influence. Now that really catches their attention because they are extremely prideful about their importance.
You claim it’s because you have barely left your old employer who kept her under a close watch and rarely let you use the internet/ technology (Not 100% false- you just preferred to stay away from the technology originally)
Not only do you catch the attention of the Vee’s, but you catch the attention of Vox in particular, Who (after watching your playful and intentional nature) is determined to make you into a super star.
Its all going according to plan, just as Alastor predicted. Something new and shiny shows itself to Vox and he cant resist trying to control it.
You agree to work with Vox for a certain period of time before you actually sign a contract with the Vee’s (so that you are granted time to get in and out quickly without having to sell your soul to any of them).
You start to slowly get info on the Vees and how they run things, as well as creating a way for alastor to take them all down. They each have their weaknesses that only those who are allowed close to them are able to see. Its easy to assume a persons weakness, but to evaluate and calculate the best way to ensure their down fall is the best course of action.
And whats that saying? Keep your friends close, Keep your enemies closer.
Meanwhile, while working for the Vee’s, you are becoming more known throughout hell and are rising in popularity.
You are the talk of the pride ring, with all the demons wondering where you came from and how you were so quickly able to captivate your audience. Only two demons on this side of hell are able to work such an audience after all- The radio demon and the Video demon.
Its inevitable that you and Vox start a relationship with one another (very lowkey ofcourse, with no knowledge from the public, however people still suspect it)
You know its fake, and somewhere deep inside, vox suspects its fake, but both of you cant help but lean into it regardless.
Its also inevitable that both of you develop feelings for one another, though neither of you can admit it…
Eventually your act comes to a head though- as Vox finally admits to you that he knows who you are and what your plans are- Its not hard for him to find whatever information he wants, and that includes about you. He did a “background check” on who you were before coming here and found out about how you are related to the Radio demon.
however as he confronts you, there is no aggressiveness in his voice, just an unsettling calmness that is even unusual for him…
You are forced to stray from the original plan and now must protect yourself and what you know.
You debate back with the video demon. He has it all wrong, that no matter what he does, he wont get the information he wants from you, and that you will end him if it comes down to it- if he forces you to (you both know this is a bluff but regardless, you refuse to die without a fight)
Vox doesn't argue with you- instead, he tries to get you to join the Vee’s and actually commit to being a star as well as joining him and the Vees in ruling. Forget Alastor, forget your ties to him or whatever debt you may owe him- he is giving you a choice that is up to you alone to make, and that is to join the Vee’s.
Afterall, he cant bring himself to exist in his unlife without you- essentially admitting he loves you.
He also admits that regardless of weather you join them or not, Alastors time as an overlord is coming to an end soon…
You can help but break down. Here you are given the chance to finally do something for yourself and act on the love you have for Vox- and you admit that to him, however you also confess that there will always be a part of you that wonders if he actually cares about you, or if he justs cares about the power you can bring to him…
Not only that, but your loyalty will always be deeper to Alastor than it is to Vox, and Vox’s loyalty to winning against Alastor will always be deeper than his love for you.
You end up stomping your foot three times on the floor, and then before Vox can say anything or move from his spot to stop you from leaving, you are engulfed in a circle of shadows and whisked away from the scene- ending up in your room at the Hotel. You collapse to the floor from the emotional exhaustion and heartbreak of it all-
maybe in another death you could have been together… maybe if you were born a different person in your life you could have been together, but you both died in your current forms and are the demons you are- and you cant change that.
Alastor walks up to you and ends up chuckling at your patheticness, as he helps hoist you up and walk you to the kitchen to make you something to eat to cheer you up. Maybe an old family recipe will bring you some comfort, and he can relish in your misery at missing home even more.
Vox’s mission to end Alastor becomes even more intense, as now he believes that ifd he kills Alastor, you will finally be freed from the guilt of being forced to follow and obey him, and finally be free to make your own choices.
Vox also never informs the other Vee’s about your betrayal, and insist you were kidnapped and he is working on getting you back.
The end.
#hazbin hotel#hazbin vox#hazbin hotel vox x reader#hazbin headcanons#vox hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel x you#hazbin hotel x y/n#vox x reader#headcanon
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all of the girls you loved before
Carlos Sainz x reader
summary: In which you and Carlos reminisce your relationship on your wedding day.
based on the song All Of The Girls You Loved Before by Taylor Swift
warnings: -
author's note: AAAH. I'm not so sure about this. I just wanted to write something overly cute. I hope you guys enjoy this :) And please, let me know your thoughts!
word count: 2.4k
You were nervous but excited. With people rushing around you, helping you get dressed and put on your makeup and doing your hair, everything started to feel so much more real. The day was finally here. You and Carlos were finally getting married.
You could still remember the first time you laid on eyes on the man that you were soon going to be calling your husband.
It was race day in Miami and your friend dragged you to the GP against your will. You had never been interested in Formula 1 but agreed to go with her so that you wouldn't have to listen to her whine about it any longer.
flashback
The sun was shining high up on the sky and it felt almost burning on your skin. You were annoyed because your friend had went running off on her own somewhere and you were lost. The crowd off people walking around didn't help and even though you tried to call your friend over and over, she didn't answer.
Frustration was building up in the pit of your stomach as you desperately pushed past the sea of people in search of your friend. You had just about had enough of the aimless wandering when you suddenly ran into something — or rather someone.
"Oh," you let out a gasp, "I'm sorry I didn't mean to-"
Your trail of thought came to a stop as you looked up at the handsome stranger you had bumped into.
Deep, brown eyes stared back at you as a small, apologetic smile was dancing on the strangers lips. He seemed to be in a rush and the driver suit hanging low on his waist should have been an indicator as to what was causing his rush.
"No, no, no, it's okay," he hurried to say.
You could hear the accent in his speech and it, along his very cute smile, made your legs wobbly. Your hands became clammy from the sweat and you could swear you were blushing just a little bit.
Something came over you. You weren't usually like this. You didn't really put yourself out there when it came to guys. But this time was different.
You extended your hand and said, "I'm y/n."
The stranger gladly accepted your handshake, taking your hand in his.
"Carlos," he said as he introduced himself. "Nice to meet you."
You could hear someone call his name from a distance. His gaze hesitantly pulled away from yours as he looked in the direction where the voice came from.
He let go of your hand, his eyes returning to yours. "I'm sorry, I have to go," he looked around for a moment as if he was waiting for a miracle - something that would inevitably tie you together.
Carlos, as much as you, didn't want this moment to end. From the very first time your eyes locked and your bodies touched, it felt like everything you had ever been searching for was right there in front of you. As if the stars aligned.
"Can I give you my number?" You quickly said. The words came out so fast out of your mouth they almost merged into something unrecognizable.
Embarraced, you started to rummage around your purse for a piece of paper and a pen.
"I'm sorry, I know you're in a rush," you scribbled numbers on the tiny piece and handed it to Carlos, "but if you want, you can call me. Or text me. Or something. Whatever you want. You don't have to-"
A laugh escaped Carlos' lips. He took the paper from your hands and you stopped rumbling.
"I'll call you. Or text you," he said and gave you a wink before he disappeared just as soon as he first appeared.
For a moment you stood still, thinking what just happened didn't really happen. You had to pinch yourself but it still felt so unreal.
You shook your head as your gaze dropped down on the ground, smile hanging from your lips. What did I just get myself into, you thought.
end of flashback
The door to the dressing room opened and your mom walked in. She had her hands on her mouth, hiding the fact that her mouth was wide open in awe as she saw you in your beautiful wedding dress.
"Oh, darling," she said, trying to carefully wipe the tears of happiness falling down her cheeks.
A wide smile grew on your lips and this time it was you who was trying to stop the tears from falling.
"You're gonna make me cry and they just finished my makeup," you told your mother as you pulled her in for a hug.
"I know, I know, I'm sorry. I'm just so happy for you." She held you by your shoulders, looking at you with a sentimental look on her face. It was a proud moment for her - seeing you get married.
There were times when you, along with everyone who knew you, thought this day might not ever come around. It wasn't like you didn't have men lining up, left and right, pining over you. But they just were never right or the timing was wrong. There was always something. It felt like no matter what you did, your relationships always came to a dead end.
That is, until Carlos came along.
flashback
Butterflies filled your stomach as you waited for Carlos. It was your first date and he had promised to come pick you up.
You looked around, the street busy with people coming and going. It felt reassuring to you to know that no one knew how nervous you really were. To know that you probably weren't the only feeling nervous at this moment.
Two teenagers walked by you. Their faces were lit up with bright smiles as they clung to one another. It looked like they were in their own world - like no one else mattered. You couldn't help but smile as well at the sight.
Soon enough Carlos was in front of you. He rushed out of the car with a bouquet of flowers in hand. Carnations. They were your favorite and the smile you had grew wider.
"Hey," Carlos handed you the flowers, "I got you something."
You graciously accepted them, taking in the smell and the colors of the flowers.
The two of you stood there for a moment, neither of you really making a move. The bouquet of flowers still in your hands as your eyes draw to it yet again.
A small, slightly nervous, laugh came out of your mouth. "Sorry, I-" Your sentence didn't find a satisfying ending. Instead, you just sort of shrugged and gave Carlos a hug.
"Thank you," you said, "for the flowers."
The vibration as Carlos hummed as an answer made you giggly. It was a new feeling for you, one no guy had ever made you feel.
"Should we?" Carlos shuffled over to his car, opening the passenger door for you.
You had no idea what he had planned for the two of you but you were eager to see what the night was going to bring your way.
end of flashback
The guests where sat down. Everyone was in awe at how beautiful the church looked as they waited for you to walk down the aisle.
Carlos was standing at the end on the long walkway leading to the altar. Lando, who had been chosen to Carlos' bestman, was by his side, holding a small box in his hands that contained your rings.
On the other side of the altar, your best friend was waiting for you almost as eagerly as Carlos. She was wearing a beautiful bridesmaid dress and she had a hard time keeping her composure. The two of you always had felt like you were long lost sisters and it was a big day for the both of you. Your best friend more than happy to see you tie the knot today with the man you loved.
Soon enough, music started playing. Everyone turned their heads towards the big double doors.
Carlos was holding his breath and Lando gave him a small pat on his back as a way of reassurance. Your mother was wiping tears of joy from her cheeks.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the doors opened.
flashback
"Babe?"
The house was quiet as you walked in. No lights were on and it seemed to you like Carlos might have been out somewhere.
You took your jacket off and put your bag down on the table near the door. Sighing, you walked over to the couch in the living. You had had a long day at work that left you tired and you couldn't wait to get off your feet.
As you were looking for the remote, hoping to turn on the tv and binge-watch whatever show you were addicted to at the moment, a voice coming from the other room startled you.
Carlos was calling your name and you finally realised he was, in fact, at home and not out as you had at first assumed.
You dragged yourself up from the couch, walking towards the sound.
Carlos was waiting for you in the dining room. Candles were lit and the table was set for the two of you. Flowers were arranged all around, giving off a nice smell. There was a bottle of champagne on the table with two champagne flutes to go along with it.
"What- what is this?" You asked, almost embarrassed with the state you were in after your long day at the office. The last thing you were expecting was a surprise dinner. Though, you were thankful since a hunger was creeping in your stomach.
Carlos had a wide smile on his face. He was nervous, his hands shaking slightly and he hoped you didn't notice.
"I wanted to do something nice for you," he said as he embraced you in a hug.
"Are you hungry?"
The timing was perfect as there were noises loud enough for the both of you to hear coming from your stomach right after Carlos' question. You laughed and told him yes.
Carlos took a hold of the back of the chair, pulling it as he gestured for you to sit down. He took the bottle of champagne and poured you a drink before sitting down himself and filling his glass as well.
The two of you wined and dined as you talked about your days. There was music playing quietly.
"Thank you, this was amazing. And the food was really good," you said with a smile as you put the cutlery down on top of your plate.
You were going to but didn't have time to get up. Carlos beat you to it. Pulling something out of his pocket quickly.
It was a small, black, satin box and as your eyes caught it, you knew exactly what Carlos was going to do next.
He was kneeling in front of you. The box flew open and it revealed the most beautiful engagement ring you had ever seen. The jewel shining bright as light reflected on it.
The surprise and happiness was evident in your face as Carlos' eyes met yours. He was trying to find the right words as he cleared his throat.
"Y/n," he started, "you have made me the happiest man on Earth. And sometimes I still can't believe this is real. That I get to wake up next to you, that I get to call you mine and share my life with you - with all the good and the bad."
Tears of happiness were beginning to form as you listened to his words.
"So, y/n, will you please do me the honor of becoming my wife?"
You jumped up from your seat, pulling Carlos up from the floor as well. The two of you holding each other in your arms tightly.
"Yes, yes, a thousand times yes," you screamed.
end of flashback
The look on Carlos' face was filled with so much love as he looked at you walking down the aisle. He was sure you had never looked more beautiful as you did in that moment.
Your father had his arm wrapped around yours and you couldn't have been more thankful. You needed the extra support as not to fall down in the high heels you were wearing.
Your mother was wiping tears away with a small handkerchief. There was a smile on her face. From the corner of your eye you could see your father look at your mother, a smile on his face as well.
The walk down the aisle felt long but it finally came to end. Your father giving a kiss on your cheek before he went to find his seat. Your best friend giving you a thumbs up.
A laugh escaped your lips. This was all you had ever wanted and you couldn't be happier.
The ceremony began. The priest giving a small speech. You and Carlos exchanged your vows. And finally the moment you had been waiting for since the day you first met Carlos.
"Do you, Carlos Sainz Vázquez de Castro, take y/f/n y/m/n y/l/n as your lawful wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish until death do you part?"
Carlos held your hands in his as his brown eyes looked in yours.
"I do," he said.
The priest turning to you, he said, ""Do you, y/f/n y/m/n y/l/n, take Carlos Sainz Vázquez de Castro as your lawful husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish until death do you part?"
"I do, I do, a thousand times I do," you said, referring back to what you had said when Carlos first asked you to marry him.
Your words made Carlos and your families let out a chuckle and you looked around the church.
The priest held a genuine smile your way. His gaze shifted between you and Carlos as he said, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."
Carlos pulled you in for a kiss. Your lips colliding as the crowd cheered loudly.
#formula 1 x reader#formula 1 imagine#carlos sainz x reader#carlos sainz#cs55#writingcs55#writing allofthegirlsyoulovedbefore
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