#(this is the thing I made that vague ‘I want to sob for hours’ post about btw)

[hitlikehammers]

strongly worded letter 💌

or: Eddie Munson’s long, weird road out of (the) hell(-side down) ☠️ and into love💗

rating: t ♥️ tags: post-S4, steve’s one-man search-and-rescue for eddie’s not-dead body, falling in love, fluff in surprising places, eddie’s chaotic internal monologue, alphabet magnets🧲 for the win ♥️

for @steddielovemonth day four: "I had not intended to love him. [...] He made me love him without looking at me." —Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte

To the external, uninitiated observer, Eddie is well aware his take on all of this will 100% appear both unhinged and as least vaguely self-destructive, bordering on suicidal.

But here’s the thing: if Eddie had been truly suicidal, the million times he could have just stood and let the mobs take him—bigots or mutant bats or a lichy-ballsac that made people float—he wouldn’t have even bothered fighting. Maybe he was questionably attached to self-preservation, but actively wanting to pack it in? Even the thought of sparing his poor uncle his bullshit—finally—hadn’t been a sweet enough deal. Nope: Eddie is selfishly attached to the whole living thing.

Which is why he is begging for it to be understood, in no uncertain terms:

He’d rather know for sure that he was dead in the endless, silent grey hellscape he’s been left in, than wandering in this half-formless, half-collapsing nothing-burger version of the town he grudgingly called home, unsure where he stands on the mortality-scale either way.

—

Here’s the deal.

Vents? Foolishly overlooked.

Epic concert? Rocked, no notes.

Bat-chow? Do no recommend.

Henderson sobbing? Recommend even less.

Being tagged as a corpse? Perfectly fine if that’s what you are; dead weight in an apocalypse simply cannot be justified.

The issue is when you’re tagged as a corpse, and you…aren’t one.

So you’re left behind.

Which brings Eddie to:

Meeting what they’ve been calling a demogorgon this whole time but that resembles no such thing, those goddamn lying liars: not fucking cool.

Having…enough demobat saliva or venom or poison or whatever, probably, where the misleading-as-fuck demogorgon sniffs at you like a dog with her puppies instead of eating you with those fucking petal teeth?

Neutral. Probably wouldn’t order it again.

Getting licked all over by said Petal Teeth, all lioness-grooming-its-young style? Disgusting.

Disgusting.

Figuring out demogorgon saliva has some kinda magical mystical healing properties and you’re basically just covered in fairly-smooth scar tissue now that looks months old rather than hours, and plus you got a bath out of it so most of the dried blood’s gone too?

Fine, okay, he’d leave a tip for service.

But now Eddie is as alive as he can think to test being—and he’s been running all the monster-category tests and he doesn’t pass for vampire, zombie, or any various other undead creatures, he’s hungry but mostly for like, Chicken McNuggets, and—

Stuck. He’s stuck here.

And he thinks they must have won, the Party that is, because nothing’s really happening except…things are falling apart, like rotting in slow motion.

Which is a concern. But. Cool, if it means they did in fact make the motherfucker pay.

But that also means nobody has any reason to be strolling back in to fight demons anymore, and come across his not-so-dead ass. Plus also, the place is probably going to keep crumbling—if a master of a realm is axed, the realm doesn’t typically survive. Mordor fell apparent when Barad-dûr came down. And he…

He did agree to go into Mordor.

Well, fuck him.

—

He mostly wanders around and pokes at random shit, collects some books, ignores the fact that the reality he’s looting is on borrowed time.

He doesn’t know if it’s healthier to deal with that part head on or keep pretending it’s not there, but he honestly could not give a fuck.

Because it’s just him. Save the demogorgon who gave him a tongue bath, he’s seen nothing living. Sometimes there’s a stray screech but it’s too distant to even guess where he’d find whatever made it, stumble upon whatever caused it. There’s not even a breeze to move the decaying trees.

There is nothing.

And it’s starting to drive him fucking insane. He might lose it before the reality caves in on him, actually, just for the sheer…void of it all.

He’s on the edge of that—losing it entirely—when he hears it, sees it.

Who the fuck took that magazine, it’s like three years old, only kept it for the tips on…

And then an echo, like a projection in the air, and it’s fleeting and its faint but where that voice what pretty unmistakable already, the coif of chestnut and the peek of a polo collar, and the seizing in Eddie pulse for both together—it’s almost more undeniable.

That’s fucking Harrington.

—

The vision is, seconds. At most.

But it shifts Eddie’s priorities entirely.

He starts the day—he’s guessing it’s the start of the day, it’s always fucking grey here but he’s just going off of when he’s hungry so—but he looks for cereal in one of these decrepit houses and eats it out of the box as he tries to get his bearings.

Tries also to remember all the weird shit the kids used to say before Eddie knew they were making any of it up.

Context clues give him that this is Hawkins. 1983 or thereabouts—makes sense for the magazine.

But what makes more sense, and is more helpful: Steve had bitched the magazine was moved.

And Eddie’s definitely the one who had it in his hand when he heard said bitching.

So there’s still some connection. Hope’s not totally lost.

Mostly, maybe. But not totally.

—

He decides to go back to Harrington’s and just wait until he goes there to sleep so he can tail him, have some sense of how he can try and make contact from his own side, let someone know he’s still here.

It takes forever; Eddie wonders just how different time runs, here, save that when he finally hears something, the vision is clearer in the air, ghostly but more complete.

And Steve looks fucking wrecked.

Like he hasn’t slept in days, like he’s about to fucking cry, like he—

He’s still the most beautiful guy Eddie’s seen in person, if this counts as in-person, but like—that was never not-true.

“Rob, I don’t know! I just, I just feel like—“

“I will handcuff you to your bed.”

Eddie tries to feel excited that whatever’s happening is strong enough that two voices come through, that Robin’s here, she’s safe too—

But he’s more invested in what’s causing the shouting.

”I know how to pick a fucking lock, Jesus,” and Eddie doesn’t not think about the lock he’s worn more than once around Steve at his belt, nope, he does not—

”The gates are closed, Steve. It’s over.”

Well. Fuck.

There goes the hope thing.

”Not all of them. Not totally.”

Or maybe not.

”Steve, I will hunt you down, I will dog your steps, I will follow you every single moment if you think I am leaving big you even consider going back to—”

“I love you, Robs, but you still can’t drive. Think you’ll beat me on your Schwinn?”

“I will slash your tires.”

“Sorry, birdie, got AAA to save me.”

And that’s all Eddie gets, but…

It almost feels like he’s got one single snowball’s chance in hell, here. Still. Just one, true, but.

If he’s learned anything the last few days, it’s that Steve Harrington’s maybe the most reliable snowball he could ask for.

His chest is all tingly about it, even—fucking traitor.

—

Eddie doesn’t even really have to follow where Steve goes next. In that he knows exactly where it is, just not why the fuck Steve wants to be there.

Especially since even the lack of evidence in ‘83’s version of the trailer still makes him look up at the ceiling and feel like he’s gonna puke.

”Oh sure Mister Munson sir, I just want to borrow your dead nephew’s cassettes, that are definitely in the trailer the fed have locked down to be sent to Area 51 or wherever, just in case he’s not entirelydead in another dimension, and he can hear me because I’m definitely not losing my fucking mind, and definitely not because being called ‘Big Boy’ didn’t fuck with my head more than mutant bats ever did…”

Steve’s frankly endearing muttering, and that last bit especially, distract Eddie enough from the fact that Steve is actively rummaging through his room.

Through his room, Jesus, Eddie moves because he even clocks that lunging at Steve here won’t do shit there to stop the questionable literature Steve’s already sifting through.

At least Steve can’t see him blush across planes of existence. Hopefully.

“Oh,” and Steve sounds shocked, but then looks…gutted?

”One more for the ‘you suck’ column,” and Eddie decides right then that he fucking does not approve of that tone, at all; ”not like I had a chance, definitely not his type…”

“But my type’s the paladin who protects everyone and needs a faithful bard to tend his wound and keep his bed!” Eddie blurts out into the nothing on his side of the divide.

“My type’s been you since fucking junior year!”

Because Junior-Eddie was admittedly much more lust-driven. Let that be said.

Now-Eddie’s equally if not more invested in the heart of a man.

And Steve Harrington, even remotely thinking that he isn’t Eddie’s type?

Maybe Eddie really is dead. And this is hell.

—

”Why do I need them?”

Eddie’s got a new box of cereal—Kix, could definitely be better—and has now trailed Steve to what looks like…the edge of town, which, who lives there…

”Nah, kid, nothing bad. Just want to see something. Promise.”

One of the kids. Maybe this is where the Byerses are, now, if they were right and they’d been on their way back? Because Eddie knows where the rest of them live, and this ain’t it.

Theresa are footsteps in one direction, and Steve wanders in the other, where Eddie sees a girl with a buzz cut he doesn’t know, but who stares Steve down in a way that…Eddie can kinda guess.

They’d all alluded to the super powered kiddo more than once.

”Can you look? Like, just to see if he’s—”

Eddie’s neck turns fast when he turns back in to the conversation, less for the words and more for how timid, how cowed Steve sounds and he…

Eddie just wants, more than anything really, to be able to reach out and touch. To comfort. To do…

Something.

”…would not feel him even if he was there. The connection is gone. The Upside Down is dead.”

And Steve deflates, and Eddie…Eddie remembers the lights didn’t they have to be emotionally unstable, kinda, to make the lights flicker, to let someone know they’re there, and Eddie’s definitely there because—

Not fucking all of it, not yet, Eddie wants to scream; or maybe yes all of it but I’m still fucking here.

Also: that man is 100% my type and I want a fucking shot, I want my snowball’s chance in hell, I want to bite him and call him sweetheart like I mean it and I want, I want, I want—

Also that.

Steve leaves with some…fucking magnets.

And the lights didn’t do jack shit.

—

Eddie spends most of that night playing with magnets.

Well, not at first.

First, he tries yelling, sobbing, focusing like a Force-user, really anything he could think of to get Steve’s lights to flicker. No such luck.

So then Eddie makes a side quest, after having dutifully made certain not to leave Steve’s side for…however many days.

He pops to Melvald’s because of anyone’s got kiddie alphabet magnets, it’s gotta be them.

And score. Definitely not the worst thing Eddie’s stolen. Plus this place is on the way out. Not really relevant, here, if he cared.

Which he fervently does not.

And proves by grabbing two fifths of tequila on the way out. Hah.

He finds Steve passed out on top of his comforter, plaid monstrosity that it is, and he tries very hard to brush his hair back—nothing.

And then Eddie…somehow that’s the straw that breaks the pack-mule’s back. Something in him just fucking snaps.

Because he distinctly remembers this whole fiasco being tied to the labs owned by the fucking Department of Energy, right?

And they can’t even keep the electrical connection between dimensions working?

That’s…that’s unacceptable.

He’s gonna…he’s gonna file a fucking complaint. He’s gonna show up at a picket line. He’s gonna write a strongly worded letter. He’s…

Actually, he’s got all night if the way Steve’s sprawled says anything for how long he’s gonna stay conked out. And he’s also got these handy alphabet magnets.

Letter it is.

—

”What the fuck?”

d3ar 3nergy d3pt he4d i ju5+ wan+ed to te11 th15 guy i w4n+ t0 b1+3 him but n00 y0u c4nt e73n d0 +h4t i h8 u

Eddie trips over some empty bottles, the answer of how they got there pounding in his head real quick—oh, hey, hangovers do transcend dimensions, seems suspicious—but yeah, okay, he does remember getting creative with the abundance of math magnets in the poorly-labeled alphabet pack last night, misleading to lead on letters by default on the packaging. He does recall being very convinced a sideways ‘7’ was a passable ‘V’. But.

He’s not looking at his side of things. He’s looking at Steve’s.

And so is Steve.

And then Steve—who Eddie wants to bite but also kiss and maybe just hold in his arms chest to chest to feel his warmth because when his control broke last night it conveniently knocked him upside the head with the clear realization of that fact that Steve Harrington?

Is doing all this shit for him. On the hope of a maybe.

And Steve Harrington had been disappointed not to have found his lookalike in Eddie’s porn rags.

And Eddie wrote a letter to the fucking DoE in magnets about it, and Steve can see it, stuck to his fridge in 1986 as clear as Eddie slapped it there in 1983.

”…Eddie?”

Steve’s voice is so small and so fearful to be wrong. His chest is heaving, he’s scared.

Eddie scrambles for the magnets left on the floor and smacks them violently to the refrigerator door in record time, prays to everything he doesn’t believe in that Steve can feel his relief spelled out in the bulky primary colors:

h3y 61g b0y v3

And goddamnit, when Steve falls to the floor with his jaw dropped loose, Eddie is 100% sold:

A ‘V’ turned on its side absolutely makes the bottom half of a heart for the three to butt-up to.

—

“Got these to play so if you were there, and couldhear me, you could find your way, if,” and Steve, Steve has been talking to Eddie since they both woke up and found those magnets, even if they haven’t been able to replicate anything, not the letter nor the faulty lighting trick Eddie’d complains about on the fridge in the first place: it could just be a fluke. Steve has no reason to believe Eddie’s alive, that Eddie did that, that Steve didn’t sleepwalk into sleep-spelling, that Eddie even alive in some form would be following his every move.

Of course he is, but. Steve can’t know.

It’s all on faith. For Eddie.

And fuck is Eddie’s heart doesn’t go playing ping pong with his ribs for how much it hits him, how wide and warm it swells in his chest like hope, only second to affection, to want, to—

“Vecna’s not gone, but he’s like, one step from it. I don’t know he can get you but,” Steve taps to the Walkman, to the headphone he gets on just one ear so he can hear and also so someone else—so Eddie—can hear Megadeath as Steve bustles around his house, packing a duffle that reminds Eddie of when they were peeping to storm the castle—

That’s what Steve’s doing. That, that’s what Steve is doing right now.

“I just,” Steve heaves a deep breath, hands on his hips before one pinches between his eyes; “I felt like you were still there, I can’t explain it,” and Eddie’s shaken to his core right now in the best possible way so when he blurts out in a croon:

“Power of loooove, Stevie!”

He can’t be blamed for that. He can’t. He’s…

This man is going down into hell, has not grantee of what Eddie knows in it being largely innocuous, now, save…undead Vecna lurking somewhere, so weak he’s not even noticed.

“But we know music works though, so.”

Steve’s still narrating his plan; Eddie is just staring. Wants to…wants so fucking bad to touch.

“We have to wait for night, for me to get down there. They’re shitty with security on the graveyard shift.” Then Steve’s smirking, and fuck, he’s so pretty.

”Plus Robin sleeps like the dead, she won’t have a chance to notice what I’m doing even on the off chance word got out.”

And the fact that Steve is willing to defy his own platonic soulmate for Eddie—barely knows him in terms of days and hours but at least, if it’s the same as Eddie’s realising more and more that he feels, and unshakable too: it’s like his soul knows Steve, and that cannot care a lick for how time runs, it’s bigger than that.

There’s too much of a sense of potential, a crackling possibility just being in his proximity, even with the distance of other goddamn dimensions—there’s too much swirling in Eddie already for it to mean nothing.

Plus, like: flip the script. Steve is risking everything on a whim, for him.

It cannot be nothing.

“I’m hoping you’re where we left you, which,” and Steve’s voice catches, he pauses, looks around like he’s hoping Eddie might pop into the visible spectrum, so he can see and know, but then he just looks up at the ceiling like—oh, fuck, like it’ll make sure no tears fall out and:

“I can’t fucking tell you how sorry—“ Steve starts to say be Eddie can’t bear watching like this, strides over in an instant and grabs Steve’s hand.

And Steve stills.

And Eddie can feel his pulse in his wrist.

“Is that you?” Steve barely breathes, stares now at his arm where…Eddie can only see the kind of glimmering overlap that means two things are happening in the same place on different planes, he’s grown used to that. But.

If Steve can feel him, if there are moments here that are probably limited where Eddie can prove some little tiny bit that he’s here and he’s listen and he’s with Steve—

He pulls Steve’s hand and drags him into the kind of full body hug he’s been aching for for…fuck.

Too fucking long.

“Eddie,” Steve sighs out, and Eddie can’t help himself. He runs hands through Steve’s hair, and holy fuck: Steve leans in.

Steve feels it enough to lean in.

“It feels like I’ve been falling for a ghost, man.”

Steve says it on a whisper, like he’s still not sold entirely, or else maybe afraid to break a spell. Eddie gets that second part.

“But I guess it kinda started before that, so maybe it’s not as fucking crazy,” Steve laughs a little wet with it and…Eddie has to, because what if he never gets another chance, and hell—if he does, how can he deprive them both the chance to know whatever the sensation will be, like this?

Eddie’s not up to risk never knowing what a cross-dimensional lip lock feels like, okay?

So he doesn’t.

“Please don’t be a ghost,” Steve breathes out and fuck, Eddie can’t taste it but he can feel the way the air moves and it’s, it is; ”I think if you are, I’ll live the rest of my life trying to make it work anyway, I,” and Steve doesn’t get to finish because Eddie pushes in again, and Steve’s as good as his reputation and then some, on wholly separate planes of being.

Eddie cannot fucking wait to feel it flesh to flesh.

“I fall fast, man, but this is kinda insane,” Steve pants, arms out awkward with any indication where to hold. He’s adorable.

He’s delectable.

“But you did say you wanted to bite me, assuming you were talking about me,” Steve smirks but then his eyes go wide:

“Oh, shit, are you a vampire?”

And Eddie has no idea how long he’s been down here alone, surrounding by the silence and the darkness and just the projection level overlay of Steve when he’s lucky, but Jesus H. Christ—

“Is that you laughing?” Steve chokes on his own kinda-giggle as he braces against an unseen and unseeable force barrelling into him: of course it’s Eddie.

Of course he’s fucking cackling.

Because however long it’s been, he definitely hasn’t laughed at any point at all in that span of time—and fuck if he didn’t need it.

—

Steve slips down the last burbling gate not without effort, not without lava-hot road rash no doubt fucking with his already not-yet-healed stomach.

When he’s tackled, thrown straight to the ground, weight pinning him to the ground that’s more dry, more deadened than Steve remembers from just days ago: when his back hits the ground—none of it matters.

“It was me laughing.”

And then Eddie’s mouth is on his—it’s the echo he was afraid he’d imagined that morning, just like the hand on his wrist, just like the laughter wrapped around him.

“You’re an even better kisser in person, holy shit, even your fucking glowing reputation shortchanged you.”

And Steve’s kinda breathless, not just for getting smooshed to the dirt; but then Eddie’s kissing him again, and breathing seems really kind low on Steve’s list of giving a shit.

“You are so my type it’s not even funny,” Eddie says, before diving back into kiss with a bruising kind of force, an unmistakable kind of intent; “I think my type has fully migrated to include kinda just you.”

And Steve’s heartbeat kinda stutters at that because…that’s new.

No one’s ever…well.

It’s just new.

“You weren’t wrong to leave me behind, you don’t ever have to apologize,” and then he’s kissing along Steve’s jaw, and it’s Steve’s laughter now, the tickle of dirty curls dragging at his stubble; “you got out, you’re safe, you’re here,” and Eddie sounds almost overcome with feeling, with relief, and then in the end, bubbling with joy. And somehow Steve can tell it’s not because Steve’s here to save him, bring him home.

It’s just because Steve’s here and that, that is—

Steve’s heartbeat’s just gonna do that tripping thing for the foreseeable future he thinks, at this point. Probably.

“I was trying to convince myself otherwise, because I didn’t think there could ever be a shot in hell but I was falling before it all fell apart, too,” Eddie says in a rush, leaning again to kiss the corners of Steve’s lips, like talking is just an inconvenient interruption to better ways of using his mouth and given how goddamn much Eddie Munson’s always talked, that fucking says something:

“And ever since, it’s felt like I was falling in love through a movie screen,” and he cups Steve’s face to angle it just so as he breathes, those eyes endless and glistening; “could see but never reach, until,” and then he’s kissing him straight on the lips again, a full-frontal assault, tongue seeking teeth, looking for the depths of his goddamn soul of something.

Steve isn’t even embarrassed for how he arches up, how he fucking moans. No one could ever feel this and do anything less.

Like: fucking impossible.

“I liked your letter to the editor,” Steve gasps when Eddie breaks apart and concedes to needing air, presses kisses up and down Steve’s throat while he regroups.

“Oh, shit,” Eddie’s face pops back up—dirt smears and ruddy and in need of a shower but on the whole in way better shape than Steve last remembers having to walk away from, and fuck, fuck—he’s never walking away from it again; “can we send that to the Post? No edits, I want my numbers intact, let them try to figure it out like Zodiac.”

Steve snorts, because god he really is half in love with this nerd, and he’s not a ghost, he’s sold and his chest is heaving into Steve’s and he’s grinning wills and he’s here and they’re here and this is realand—

He yells when the sting clamps through his much-less-extensive uniform of his Members Only jacket despite the weather—it’s freezing, but like, the gates were just cracks, he had to move like a ninja!

Just not a bite-proof ninja, apparently.

“You know, I should have expected that,” Steve deadpans, but his smile gives him away as Eddie pulls his mouth back from the stretch of Steve’s neck that runs to his shoulder, where honestly Steve thinks Eddie punctured the coat in the process. Fucking feral gremlin.

Steve really wants to keep him. Like, indefinitely.

“You really, really should have,” Eddie agrees, beaming like the sun when there’s only dark around them, making it all feel so warm in the chill.

“Honestly should have expect nothing less,” Eddie’s smile curls a little dangerous as he leans in again, apparently satisfied with having caught his breath enough as he mouths wet against Steve’s lips:

“Big boy.”

And then, again: he pounces.

♥️

also on ao3💫

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @dreamy-jeans137 @estrellami-1 @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here

divider credit here

[dimsilver]

oh friends I just keep catching myself planning out lessons and scripture passages I want to cover with my teen campers and getting so excited about addressing these issues with them and then realizing I don’t work at camp anymore :(

[hollowed-theory-hall]

do you have thoughts on harry and cho and what was going on with that?

Harry was projecting.

Harry's life is a dangerous mess, he always just wanted to feel normal. He's desperate to feel normal. And what does everyone around him start talking about during 4th year? Romance and girls.

So, Harry does the obvious thing for him to do, get a crush because everyone's doing it. Because it's what's normal.

Now, he isn't making this decision consciously, I don't think so, but subconsciously he mirrors the guys around him. Cho Chang happens to be the perfect target of said crush:

She's good at Quidditch, and a seeker like him.

She's pretty

She's nice

Not from Gryffindor, meaning Harry never interacts with her and can imagine whatever personality he wants. We see later, when they do date, that he has no idea who Cho is.

And most importantly, she is unavailable — she's a year older and already dating Cedric (learning she's dating Cedric seems to make Harry more interested in her). This means that even if he asks her out, she's likely to say no and therefore he'd never actually have to date her. (Until he does, but that's a different matter)

Basically, Cho was a "safe crush" to have. She ticks all the boxes of what Harry's crush should be on the surface, who she was didn't really matter. And we see it because once they do take, Harry finds her annoying and whiny and dreads speaking to her, not out of stress, but because he really doesn't want to.

I have more quotes about why I believe he never really liked Cho in this post, but this is one of them where Harry really speaks for himself:

“You just had to be nice to her,” said Hermione, looking up anxiously. “You were, weren’t you?” “Well,” said Harry, an unpleasant heat creeping up his face, “I sort of — patted her on the back a bit.” Hermione looked as though she was restraining herself from rolling her eyes with extreme difficulty. “Well, I suppose it could have been worse,” she said. “Are you going to see her again?” “I’ll have to, won’t I?” said Harry. “We’ve got D.A. meetings, haven’t we?” “You know what I mean,” said Hermione impatiently. Harry said nothing. Hermione’s words opened up a whole new vista of frightening possibilities. He tried to imagine going somewhere with Cho — Hogsmeade, perhaps — and being alone with her for hours at a time. Of course, she would have been expecting him to ask her out after what had just happened. . . . The thought made his stomach clench painfully. “Oh well,” said Hermione distantly, buried in her letter once more, “you’ll have plenty of opportunities to ask her. . . .” “What if he doesn’t want to ask her?” said Ron, who had been watching Harry with an unusually shrewd expression on his face. “Don’t be silly,” said Hermione vaguely, “Harry’s liked her for ages, haven’t you, Harry?” He did not answer. Yes, he had liked Cho for ages, but whenever he had imagined a scene involving the two of them it had always featured a Cho who was enjoying herself, as opposed to a Cho who was sobbing uncontrollably into his shoulder.

(OotP, 460)

The moment he actually talked to her and knew her personality all his projection of a "safe crush" evaporated because he never really liked Cho for who she is, just for the boxes she ticked as a crush. The concept of what she is. He was interested in her so long as he could project an image on her so he could be normal and have a crush. This projection couldn't hold up once he actually got to know her.

With Ginny, one of the only positive things he says about her is:

He chanced a glance at her. She was not tearful; that was one of the many wonderful things about Ginny, she was rarely weepy. He had sometimes thought that having six brothers must have toughened her up.

(DH, 103)

She isn't weepy and he can project the perfect personality on to her more easily, even if I don't think he actually knows or cares about Ginny either. Not really.

So, yeah, I think Cho was an easy pick because she fit everything his crush should be without him actually having to get to know her. Until he did and it all came crashing down.

This is why Harry is never particularly nice or considerate towards either Cho or Ginny. He doesn't actually know or care about them. Hell, he cares about Luna more than he does his two supposed crushes.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Am I the asshole for not noticing I hurt my friend's feelings?

I (24F) had a somewhat close friend (24F) whom I've known since highschool but only got closer to recently. I've had a friend crush on her forever and apparently she did too. We share a lot of interests and we're both neurodivergent (I'm diagnosed with adhd, and we're almost certain she has autism). We also sort of bonded over a shared trauma -- basically we got two-timed several years ago by a really abusive asshole.

Anyway something happened a couple of months ago and I feel our friendship has gone downhill since then. It was multiple occasions really: what would happen is that I would say something impulsively, and she would misinterpret it and get sensitive about it, we talk it out, I apologize, and we move on. But one time it was a bit too much that i burst into tears while texting her because I felt I really hurt her and I felt that all my friendships will go downhill because whenever I get comfortable with someone I just completely lose my filter and end up hurting them. What happened that day was that we were hanging out and a guy apparently told her something sexist but I didn't hear him. She came to me to complain and I sort of brushed it off because from the way she said it happened it just seemed he was vaguely pointing out something but I later understood that I was just wrong. Then her dress had a tiny hole which I pointed out to her in front of my boyfriend rather impulsively and she got really upset about that. Later on I was telling her about a book I'd read that had great autism representation that didn't have the character just be -- and here I did the dinosaur arms thing (no offense whatsoever to people who do that; I know full well it's a common thing, I was just saying the character had more to him than just that). The problem is that she didn't hear the part where I was talking about a book character because we were changing tables in a crowded cafe and I was just talking non-stop because that's what I do and she thought I just did the dinosaur arms out of nowhere and got offended but didn't say so except over text later and just looked unwell for the rest of the next half hour before she suddenly excused herself and left. That day she texted me about all of these things and we talked it out and I pretended that I was not literally having a meltdown all while apologizing (but not before I tried to plead my case a bit). This all happened on the same day, but before that there were other occasions too. One time she would be talking about something, then I change the subject, then she'd say I know you didn't mean to but I wanted you to give a reply to what I just said. Another time we had a particularly bad exam which I did okay on, but she was telling about how she botched it. I couldn't tell from her face how serious it was and I gave her what i thought was a sympathetic smile (which she later told me was a weird smile) because I really didn't know what to say and then turned away to look for my boyfriend to check on him as well. She told me that day that she felt that I brushed her off when she was having a difficult time and didn't console her enough.

It's just multiple things that made me feel that I need to be more on guard around her for her sake. She moved to another city recently and even before that we were texting less and less. I even asked her if she was upset about the cafe day and she said no since I apologized and we talked it out, but I could feel something in our relationship changed. It just felt like such a shame because I felt a great connection between us and I have massive difficulties when it comes to making friends. She was sort of my last friend that I felt close to aside from my boyfriend, and now I can't help thinking that the problem has always been me.

Sorry if the post was too long and sorry for the sob story lol

[achillesisnotcomingdown]

I finished ToA not long ago and I wanted to write down some thoughts/scenes that stick with me

(in chronological (ish) order, watch out for spoilers)

Theres an italian girl at camp ! It means Nico gets to practice and speak italian ! (which probably haven't happened in about 70 years)

Will introducing Nico as "my boyfriend". I already knew they would be canon, but reading that line felt weird /pos

Apollo sees Solangelo and think of himself and Hyacinth

That night when Kayla and Austin disappeared and Apollo left to look for them, it probably was the first night Will ever spent alone in his cabin

Apollo's insane body dysmorphia. He's a god, he can always take the physical form he is the most comfortable and confident in... Until now. He is stuck in a body that isn't his, he feels ashamed, when he sees certain traits in others he find them charming or pretty, but when it's on him then it's disgusting. He complain that everything is this body's fault (ex. he wouldn't have been touched by the Eurynomos if it wasn't for his chub.)(I could go on for hours)

Lityerses ! I love that guy. Idk why i love him that much. He is my best guy.

Apollo's reaction to Commodus' name. His flashback of him. So painful he was physically sick.

Apollo talking Helios out of killing them, because he just want to be free, not to hurt them.

APOLLO ATTEMPT TO KHS TO STOP THEM ?? IM A SUCKER FOR SOME GOOD PAINFUL SELF SACRIFICE.

Jason. I'm not talking about Jason. I can't speak about Jason.

Frank and Apollo ! They are so fond of each other !!!

Apollo heard all of Frank's prayers when he was unclaimed and wished he could've adopted him.

And Frank respecting Apollo as a god although he is *vaguely gesture at Apollo/Lester*

Reyna saying aloud that she doesn't want nor needs romance. It's so rare to see aromantic representation and Rick did it so well.

Literally Apollo singing his way out of situations.

FRANK'S SELF SACRIFICE!!! (He already had one of my favorite character development before that)

APOLLO KILLING COMMODUS ??? why do never talk about that it's one of the best deaths I've ever seen that was BADASS AND FULL OF EMOTIONS.

Apollo slowly dying out of poison and the Dodona Arrow doing everything it can to keep him conscious.

I hope Dakota didn't get killed off just to give Lavinia the role of Centurion. I love my boy Dakota, and his death felt kind of meaningless, except for her rank up :/ also i feel like it doesn't suit Lavinia. Some ppl are strong and good and trustable but just not made to order others. (ill prop make a full post about that)

Dionysos confirmed to be an annoying little brother!

Nico. How does Rick manage to always give him more issues. Leave the kid alone.

When Will glows, Apollo is genuinely impressed and tells him how proud he is.

Nico destroying Nero's door with his giant zombie bull. That was cool.

When Apollo gets stabbed in Nero's tower and think it's the end, he prays "Zeus, Artemis, Leto, anyone"

And in general the few parts he talks about Leto, he's such a momma's boy and I love it.

When Apollo left for Delphi... I was fully expecting Meg to go with him. I was so worried that he went alone while already feeling that weakened from the previous events.

DODONA ARROW. FOREVER IN MY HEART.

Artemis is here when Apollo wakes up. She's by his side, she's the first person to tell him he succeeded, she hold him while he sobs...

The first thing he does is to greet his horses :) and then to see his friends.

When he gets back to the Dodona bush ! To tell them all how brave and heroic the Arrow have been !

I could spend hours talking about the character developments of Apollo, Meg and the Dodona Arrow (i love the arrow so much you have no idea) but its for another day

There's many things I didn't talk about, but the post is already long enough. I love those 5 books, and Apollo is an amazing narrator.

I love the Arrow of Dodona with all my heart.

[butmakeitgayblog]

Omg the first time they held each other was so sweet 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 I love starlet au musings so much. Now I HAVE to ask…. First kiss?

The first kiss is appropriately dramatic, given the fact they're both rather talented actresses. It's in their blood. It's in their DNA. Of course it had to be dramatic.

A couple of months after the night Lexa spent the night on Clarke's couch, holding her close and feeling her weight as she slept, they find themselves in this weird state of limbo. They've kind of given up on all pretenses of pretending to not want to be in contact at all times, but at the same time... they fall back into this habit of keeping each other at a vague arm's length.

It's not nearly as bad as before. Not after Clarke had woken up alone on her couch to only a post-it stuck on the table next to her head that read,

"Thanks for letting me lead. Even if I do have two left feet...

L."

in neat, looping script.

She'd spent the next 7 hours of the day mentally berating herself for having not only crossed such an intimate line, but having basically made such a fool of herself in front of her not-crush right after. Not that it mattered in the grand scheme of things when her extensively thought out and painstakingly crafted text of, "Hey, so, sorry for getting pathetic on you last night. Yikes," is met with a simple, "Nothing to worry about, Clarke. I'm much more pathetic than that when I'm just hungry for lunch." Followed immediately by another, "If helps, you're actually kind of pretty when you cry. You should put that on your resume 👀"

And it does help.

It helps because it lets Clarke breathe a little more easy; lets her feel like she can laugh at that white flag of confirmation that she hadn't gone and ruined absolutely everything.

So yes, after that night things change between them. But not in any kind of earth shattering way. They still text everyday, but the calls become longer. More frequent. Good morning texts and bids for good nights and sweet dreams, all peppering the tail ends of too-deep conversations for people who are supposed to be just friends. All the flights and the downtime, and all the hurry up and waiting of their lives, is set to the backdrop of a new message's chime. Lexa now saved in Clarke's phone as Fred Astaire (which earns her a very nonplussed selfie)

Neither mention that Clarke was saved in Lexa's as Rosemary...

It's not until Lexa's birthday that the house of cards they've been building for all those months finally came tumbling down.

Because Lexa had to work.

She had to work - out of town - for the entire goddamn week, and there's nothing at all she can do about it. Which was how she found herself sitting in the Primeclass lounge of the airport, head in her hands, quietly sobbing.

Because of course Clarke had called her at exactly the stroke of midnight just to wish her a happy birthday before her red eye was scheduled to take off. Because of course Clarke had insisted on singing that stupid song right into her ear, all syrupy words and husky voice slightly off-key, which meant she'd set an alarm just to make sure she wouldn't miss it for something as trivial as sleep.

Lexa had barely held it together long enough to get her off the phone - to lie and say they were almost done boarding and that she had hurry and go. It'd taken everything in her just to not let her voice wobble, whispering her thank you's and a gentle urging for Clarke to go back to bed.

Because of course the second the call ended Lexa finally, finally, let herself break.

Very, very messily.

And she didn't care if people looked or took pictures or made up ridiculous theories, because it was just too goddamn much to keep buried inside. She'd been strong about this for so long it felt like she was suffocating under its weight. As though all the good pieces of herself were slowly dying.

Because she loved Clarke. She loved Clarke with her entire broken heart, and there was not one single thing she could do to stop it.

She had tried.

She had tried.

And so she held her head in her hands and hiccuped through a hundred silent sobs until a nice woman eased her way over and said as gently as she possibly could that it was her last chance for boarding.

The next week flew by in a haze of early call times and late night reshoots that had Lexa almost too busy to wallow. Almost. But between her own internal revelations and a set of extremely poorly timed publicity shots being posted of a certain blonde on the arm of her leading man, both enjoying a carefree and flirty looking night out on the town, Lexa cobbled together a rough draft of a plan. A smart plan. A logical plan. A plan to ask Clarke to meet her somewhere and just talk this crazy whole thing through.

A plan that went right out the window about an hour after she had landed back home, and somehow had found herself on Clarke's apartment building's front stoop.

And the truth was that even though she apparently couldn't wait, she had every intention of just going there to talk. To knock on Clarke's door and explain her feelings like a perfectly rational adult. Except then there was Clarke, with those piercing blue eyes and all that beautiful, curly blonde hair. With those lips dropping open and that unfairly attractive beauty mark perfectly dotting her sudden smile.

So their first kiss was dramatic. All relieved sighs and gasps of surpise when Lexa stepped into her a d threaded her fingers through Clarke's hair, cupped her face and pulled her close, and kissed her right there in the darkened doorway of Clarke's apartment. She kissed her through Clarke's initial startle and the slow relaxing of her bones. Kissed her harder when hands found her hips as Clarke melted into her and moaned.

For all the passion she poured into it, Lexa took her time with the kiss, stretching the moment and making every brush of lips and sweep tongue achingly slow. Because if this moment of weakness was all they would ever allow themselves... then Lexa was going to savor it.

[sephirthoughts]

Identity

(working title)

i posted this forever ago but it completely vanished, so chalk it up to tumblr randomly deleting my posts without notifying me in any way. here it is again

part 1 of this

Summary: this is an intro chapter of a bigger thing, so it basically has some roche/cloud smut and not much plot yet. NOTE: roche isn't the endgame ship

Tags: Roche x Cloud, transmasc cloud strife, fighting as foreplay, semi-public sex

Rating: 18+, no minors, minors DNI, explicit AF,

Warnings: penetrative sex, canon-typical violence, dissociative amnesia, neurodivergent cloud strife, jessie raspberry getting what she fucking deserves

basically this but they fuck

“I just wanted to clear things up between us, because, well…I’ve been throwing myself at you pretty hard, all week, but you give me nothing back. So, what’s the problem? Why don’t you want me?”

Because I know exactly what your neck would look like, in the split second between decapitation and your body collapsing, and it’s all I can see, when I look at you, he did not say. He just stared blankly back at her, like she’d addressed him in a foreign language.

“Like, seriously, are you normal?” Her voice was getting louder, which probably meant she was upset. “Do you even like girls?”

“I like girls, fine. I just don’t like you,” he said flatly, and turned to go. 

“Hey! Stop! I’m not done talking to you!” She hurried after him and grabbed his arm, to yank him back. She may as well have grabbed a bridge pylon, for all the effect it had. 

“I’m done talking to you,” he said, shrugging her off. “Don’t touch me again, or I’ll defend myself.”

Jessie’s face went blank, and she stood there blinking, for a second. Then she laughed aloud. “Defend yourself? Oh, please. I know you wouldn’t really do anything to me. I’m just a sweet little girl, and you’re a big, tough SOLDIER.”

As she said this, she trotted up beside him again and hooked her arm around his waist. One second later, she was tumbling backward across the street, finally rolling to a stop on the hard-packed dirt, on the other side. 

“Cloud! You fucking bastard!” she half-screamed, half-sobbed, as she struggled to her feet. “You just attacked an innocent girl right on the street!! You won’t get away with this! I’ll tell everyone, just you watch!!”

Cloud had already turned to walk away. “Don’t care.”

When he got back to the shithole room he was staying in, he knocked on the door before his, and spent a few minutes talking to a girl he actually gave a shit about. They never talked about anything important, but for some reason, it made her feel better, when he stopped by. 

Then he went to his room, where he laid in bed for two hours, his mind buzzing and racing, but unable to organize a single coherent train of thought, from the disjointed chaos in his brain.

He got to Midgar, somehow. But how? He thought he remembered a loud, high-pitched engine. Like an old gas-powered dirtbike, but that couldn’t be right. The vague silhouette of someone with spiky hair. The thunder of chopper rotors and staccato pops of gunfire…then static and bolts of pain shot through his his head and everything went smooth and white again, like a blank page. 

Another hour passed and he was still tossing and fidgeting in agitation, unable to sleep. He needed something, to take the edge off, but that was a difficulty. He would barely touch booze and hated the altered state of mind recreational drugs produced. He needed to be in control of his mind, 

There was one thing, but…fuck. He told himself he wasn’t going to do this, except in an emergency. Just then, the weirdo next door down started thumping around and groaning like a zombie. Ok, this was now officially an emergency. Cloud grabbed his phone and sent a text. 

Strife: well?

Fifteen seconds later, the screen lit up with a reply. 

SOLDIER Roche: Ah, my passionate little friend! How good to hear from you! To what do I owe the honor of your rather odd greeting, this evening? 

Strife: want to fight or fuck. you in? 

There was a long pause before Roche responded, and Cloud laughed inwardly, knowing exactly what the man’s face probably looked like, when he read those very straightforward words.

SOLDIER Roche: At the risk of overstepping, might I venture to propose a third option? Wherein we do both? 

Strife: hell yes 

Strife: old Hongjin shipping warehouse on the south edge of sector 7 in 20

Twenty-five minutes later, the two were circling one another, like a couple of alpha wolves about to fight for dominance. Which was pretty much what they were doing. Cloud was the first to make a move, swinging the blunt side of his heavy sword into Roche’s ribs, with enough force to snap a normal man in half. 

Roche wasn’t normal. He was a SOLDIER. He went flying, but he hopped right back up, huffing and puffing from having the wind knocked out of him, but smiling from ear to ear. 

His sword flashed silver in the moonlight as he appeared out of nowhere, returning the blow with the pommel of his sword, like a cannon shot to Cloud’s gut, throwing him into a jersey barrier, which he smashed through and wound up covered in pulverized concrete. 

They traded blows back and forth like this, till they were both spitting blood, panting from exhaustion, streaked with sweat and dirt, grinning at each other like a couple of idiots. 

No one who hadn’t been through the mako treatment would understand how it felt, being able to use their full strength against an equally matched opponent. It didn’t just feel good to work out all that mako-induced aggression, it was a necessity.

The shit would build up in your joints and muscles like toxic sludge, and make you feel sick and sore and stiff all over. On top of feeling like a bag of smashed assholes, it would fuck with your head and make you extremely grouchy. When SOLDIERs got grouchy, it was a threat to public safety. 

The fight had devolved into grappling, at this point, and their holds started lingering and getting closer to groping, till they were rolling around on the dirty concrete, actually groping and kissing, hot and urgent and messy, and Roche’s hard dick was grinding into Cloud’s abdomen. 

“We gonna do this?” Cloud said, when he pulled back to take a breath. 

Roche’s eyebrows went up. “Right here?”

Cloud jerked his head toward the nearby building. Never one to need to be told twice, Roche leapt to his feet, scooped Cloud up like a princess, and kicked the door open as he carried him inside. It was a just some steel storage containers and a bare concrete floor. Pretty much the same as the lot outside, but there were walls. 

Roche sat Cloud on one of the containers and they got directly to business. Roche’s pauldrons hit the floor, followed by his leather waist armor, then their mouths were back on each other. Cloud got the SOLDIER’s blue jumpsuit unzipped and pulled it down around his waist, exposing his black tank top and black underwear.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he remarked, sliding his hands up under the top, to grope and squeeze his chiseled pectoral muscles. “I’m starting to think they recruit for SOLDIER based on looks.”

Roche laughed. “If we’re the standard, and not the outlier, I think you have a solid case.” 

His big cock was straining against the stretchy fabric of his underwear, making Cloud’s mouth water. Without a word, he slid to his knees and mouthed over it, before he pulled the underwear down around Roche’s thighs, letting it bounce free. 

“Oh! M—my friend,” Roche gasped, as Cloud took him in his mouth. “My good…good friend. Ha—fuck! Just like that!”

Turned out not even having his dick sucked could shut him up. He kept moaning and making incoherent exclamations, raking his hands through Cloud’s hair as Cloud licked up the shaft, lapping the salty slick off the head, before he took it deep into his throat, shoving his head down and gagging hard, slicking it with spit to stroke it, fully focused on the sensory pleasure of sucking this big cock. When he felt it get hotter and harder, he pulled off with a wet pop. “Don’t come in my mouth.”

Then he swallowed it again, taking it down and holding it in his throat for a longer interval, each time he bobbed on it, like he was trying to choke himself on it.

“Ah…ha! F—fuck, baby, I’m so close,” Roche panted. “I—I’m gonna come! Fuck!”

Cloud leaned to the side, watching him wring himself hard and fast, as he came, spurting long jets of milky-white, all over the concrete floor. 

SOLDIER sexual function did not follow normal human rules, and Roche didn’t get soft after he came. His gorgeous cock just stayed up, stiff and springy as steel, jutting out from his muscular abdomen like a flagpole. Which was lucky for Cloud, who was literally aching to get that thing inside him. 

Roche pulled him into a kiss, entwining their tongues while he unbuttoned Cloud’s trousers and slid his hand down the front. Then he stopped, like someone had hit his pause button.

After a beat, he drew back, looking down at Cloud with an odd expression. “You have a—”

“Yeah. I do. Problem?”

“No, no, it’s just…” Roche swallowed hard. “I think…I might…be in love with you.”

“Tch, fuck off with that,” Cloud scoffed. “Shut up and put your dick in me, before I change my mind.” 

Roche knelt down and pulled off Cloud’s boot, peeling one leg of his trousers and underwear off, then pushed his sweater up, exposing his leanly muscular, very clearly male torso. 

The thin keyhole scars weren’t even visible, anymore. None of his scars were, after the mako treatment, even the ones from childhood. He had a vague feeling of nausea, and opening his eyes in burning, green liquid, and quickly pushed those thoughts away, focusing on the sensory experience

With tender attention due more to a lover, than a casual fuck, Roche licked and sucked Cloud’s rosebud nipples till they were puckered and erect, then kissed his way down his taut ridge of abdominal muscles, to the curly, blonde pubic hair. 

Pushing his slender thighs up and apart, he knelt down and slid his tongue into the hot, wet slit. Cloud gasped and gave a moan, gripping the storage container with both hands, while Roche tongue-fucked him senseless, laving and lapping and sucking his swollen clit, till Cloud came apart with a hoarse cry, hips stuttering as he fucked against his mouth. 

Roche licked him through the spasms, then stood up, tossing him a jaunty wink, as he wiped his chin with his tank top. Cloud rolled his eyes. Roche laughed and leaned down over him, like he was finally going to put it in, but instead, he grabbed his waist and picked him up, like a doll. 

“What the hell are you doing!” Cloud demanded. “Quit playing around and fuck me, already.”

“Patience, my dear friend. You are a once-in-a-lifetime fuck. I want to make sure I do it right.”

So saying, he pinned Cloud against the brick wall, hitching his legs over his shoulders, to bend him effectively in half. Looking into his eyes, he pushed his rock-hard cock into Cloud’s throbbing, dripping-wet hole, in one long, slow slide.

This may not be a viable position for un-augmented humans to fuck for too long, but for Roche, Cloud’s entire hundred and sixty pounds was as easy as picking up a cat. 

“Ungh! You’re so…fucking deep,” Cloud groaned. “Your dick is too big, you’re gonna fuck a hole right through me.” 

“Careful, baby. You keep talking like that, I might get ideas.” Roche gave a ferocious grin and slammed it in, all the way to the base, making Cloud cry out and grab onto his shoulders, bracing himself against the barrage of deep, hard thrusts, till he came on Roche’s cock, back arching and thighs shaking, his insides squeezing and convulsing with his orgasm.

“F—fuck, baby,” Roche sputtered, as he fucked into the sucking spasms. “You feel so fucking good. I wanna come in your hot little pussy.”

“Mn,” Cloud grunted. “Come inside.”

“Really? I can?” 

“Why not? You know we’re sterile.” 

“Didn’t want to be—ha! disrespectful.” 

“Said the guy fucking me in an old warehouse, after we beat the shit out of each other.”

That comment just about ended Roche. He cursed under his breath and covered Cloud’s mouth with a ravenous kiss, pounding wildly into him with his iron-hard shaft, releasing a slippery-hot flood that overflowed and spilled out onto the concrete floor.

“Cloud, my friend, holy shit,” he murmured, nuzzling into his warm neck. “That was the hottest sex I’ve ever had.” 

“Don’t you mean currently having?” Cloud pointed out. “You’re still hard and you’re still inside me.”

“What, I can’t leave a review till I’m out of the restaurant?”

“Review? Gross, get off me.”

“Aww, come on, baby,” Roche wheedled, rocking his hips teasingly. “One more round, what do you say.”

“Fine, but just one. Or…maybe two. Three, tops.”

[prettyboykatsuki]

*tips cowboy hat over eyes while staring wistfully into the distance* things just aint the same around these parts no more...not since... *trails off meaningfully so you can tell i have woes too deep for one soul to burden on its own* ...since prettyboykatsuki disappeared from town. *you attempt to walk away but i chuckle ruefully with the intention of not letting you leave without hearing my lamenting* they were truly the life and soul of the dash. no one could capture a room's- the dash's - attention quite like their zany isagi thirst posts could. we'd shitpost and laugh and viciously express our desires for sexy 2d pixels until the sun rose the next day. i'm sure you've heard of their legendary bakugou fics? *i turn towards you expectantly and you shake your head at me, fully shaking at this point because you're convinced i'm an asylum escapee* no? ah, well. i'd offer to read one for you but...i could never capture the essence of the dialogue and erotic scenes by just reading it aloud. *you try to ask me where the nearest police station is but i reach into my assless chaps' pocket and pull out a budweiser and you're promptly silenced* truthfully, i was too busy reblogging their omega fics to ask what their favourite drink was so this'll have to do. i know this definitely won't be their favourite but it's the only thing i could grab from the gas station before they saw me and called the sheriff. *you wonder if the sheriff i'm referring to is the cardboard cutout of dwayne the rock johnson standing upright a few yards away that i've duct taped a png. of a cowboy hat to and wrote in marker 'sheriff' on the nipple area* prettyboykatsuki... *i sigh like i have the weight of the world on my feeble poncho covered shoulders and take a swig of the pissy acidic vaguely apple flavoured but shitty apple not the nice kind of apple beer* this one's for you. *i pour a modest stream of the atrocious beverage onto the ground, but the harsh wind intercepts it and drenches you in the liquid* hm. *i feel awkward and i can sense you know that i feel awkward so i stand up abruptly while attempting to maintain my mysterious façade. you ask me if prettyboykatsuki was buried (or something?) where i poured the beer because thats what people usually do at funerals when theyre saying their goodbyes but i simply titter at you like you've asked the most braindead question i've ever received* no, partner... *i turn away from you and you let out a sigh of relief so loud and gargantuan that i definitely hear it and feel a little hurt but show no signs of it because im built different* prettyboykatsuki's everywhere. *i trail off extra mysteriously and walk away from you in the middle of the road where i'm definitely going to get hit if i don't move but i keep walking and you don't want to get into another interaction with me so you just keep watching and i never really go out of sight because the road is one straight flat like so i'm just uncomfortably walking slow paced in plain sight so it doesnt feel dramatic and i'm getting sand in my eyes and keep having to speed up to avoid tumbleweeds so it looks awkward but we both don't say anything because at this point i'm 50 metres away so we accept the moment for what it is, and it's beautiful*

'you' - a random innocent bystander i'm subjecting my troubles to (troubles being u being gone from the dash for a couple of hours)

i typed this in 20 minutes and my shoulder is aching bcos i was going so fast holy shiiiii.

in my entire two years active on this blog, no single ask has ever made me laugh to the point of literal sobbing tears. no amount of keyboard smashing could do my real life reaction justice. like im laughing to the point of almost puking my dinner up. this is the funniest thing ive ever read in my life. im pinning this next time i go on hiatus. im fucking crying.

[queen-of-obsessing]

i'm extremely uncomfortable with the way judas is being portrayed this season. (lil vent post)

obviously spoilers for all of season 4. and also i haven't seen the season in its entirety yet, this is just based on what my friend has told me and the leaked scenes i've seen. also also this is only talking about show!Judas, as he's being portrayed by the writers, not the bible version, becauseee we know nothing about that one.

i just watched one of the leaked clips from season 4 (because the stupid chosen team hasn't put it on streaming yet), and i'm acc crying rn. like irl. real tears. i'm so choked up, i feel physically ill, and not for any good reasons. this isn't gonna be one of those "oh wow i'm literally sobbing this show is so good 😍" type posts.

i feel sick.

seeing judas just claw and scramble for any sort of positive attention from the disciples around him is sickening. every single time he brings up an idea for how he can positively help the ministry and use his skills (the only way he knows how to coming from a business background), the others just shoot him down. you can see how hard he's trying to win their validation and find some sort of footing within the group and nothing is working.

and zee just compares him to dirty laundry? like to be able to be part of the twelve he has to ditch every single aspect of his life?? THE LIFE THAT PROBABLY SAVED HIM FROM BEING A DESTITUTE ORPHAN. I wouldn't be surprised if Hadad was the one that took him in after his parents died and taught him business skills. It's how he sees the world!!! it's how he was taught to see the world!!

yet no one ever takes any time to see his perspective or give him any chance to meaningfully contribute. he's just this permanent outsider, trying to get in but never ever being fully in. everyone just keeps speaking in cryptic riddles, talking about prophecies and nothing Jesus says makes any sense either, and now even Jesus is rebuking him. judas is probably completely lost and confused by the time we get to episode 8 of season 4.

and it's really uncomfortable to watch.

as someone who grew up in the church, and also saw the world in a very different way from everyone else, I've also experienced what judas is experiencing. desperately clawing for some sort of place in the church AND NOTHING WORKING. I haven't been to church in nearly a year because everytime i tried, i just didn't fit. they didn't want me, i always felt perpetually on the outside of the circle.

on top of that, i'm 99% sure i'm autistic, so like judas, i see the world very logically. i like to have things told in a very straightforward way, and think in very material concepts (for him it's money). But the "Christianese" never made any sense to me. I never understood it. So I spent my days in the church perpetually alone, never fitting in and never fully understanding who I was even supposed to be believing in because nobody took the time to explain it to me in a way I could understand, but vaguely knowing that I wanted to believe in something.

I believe Judas wanted to believe in Jesus, and did believe in Him, but never fully understood why.

...and then he dies. I'm still wondering how the show is going to handle the lead up to his betrayal, but I'm going to assume continually being rejected by the other disciples had something to do with it.

and you know what else is really sick about all this? Jesus fully knowing that Judas was going to betray Him and kill himself. and he just...lets it happen. like he's some sort of sacrificial scapegoat. it makes me so mad??

i could rant about this for hours but yea. i'll just leave this here. Dallas you have so much fking explaining to do. i dread watching this season...

[il3x]

actually, never mind, I'm gonna post the uriel rambling now. uh. tw for mentions of child abuse.

uriel clements my favourite little guy of all time ever. i rewatched the beach episode today and OUGH. tiny little freak who was made in a lab to be annoying and has been treated So Badly all of the time by everyone. he's like if jean-paul was fourteen and LARPed as a CEO. i want to give him a hug.

like it's inherently very fucking funny to imagine this little eidetic memory motherfucker following you around popping his head up around rocks and suchlike like a jack-in-the-box but the beach episode is a comedic take on the characters' authentic personalities. their traits are exaggerated for comedy. beach episode is distilled characterisation! this is the same stealth-factor that made him come off as creepy in canon. and with the later implications that uriel was physically abused this becomes also very fucking sad. guy who melts into the background when you look at him because it's not safe for him to stand out. guy who decides to express "I like you" by [stalks you] and "I want an ice cream" by [stares at you], in light of Isaac's fucking attitude (spoilers but he Really Does Not Care what his kids want), becomes guy who doesn't express anything he wants because he has learnt that no one cares. my god. and on the 'shitawful social skills' and 'very good at quickly becoming unobtrusive' front, i mean. there's Also the fact that he is used as a tape recorder by his dad. more notably he is used as a bug. little guy who is constantly inserted into situations where his very presence and purpose are Infuriating to Everyone because he is Fucking Spying On Them so he's just accustomed to everyone hating him. made in a lab to be annoying (;-;).

just. idk. i think there's something particularly insidious about casting your child in a role (tool of corporate espionage) that will inevitably draw hostility and make everyone view him as "that little bugger" and an obstacle to be eliminated. i think that's a devastatingly effective manner to make sure no one recognises him for what he is: a kid in an abusive situation. they're so busy pre-emptively countering Uriel the Spy that no one thinks "hold up, that's a 14 year old and this family dynamic is FUCKED". it's vaguely similar to how heartbreaker from worm uses his kids as tools of violence, though that's much more extreme.

and now thinkigm about how eve in canon was the one to go "hold up, that's a 14 year old in need of medical assistance" and reach out to him. and. OUGH... eve... ;-; <3 i love you eve i would also follow you around for 3 hours <3

and this already shows! thinking about how beach episode uriel tagged along after eve so much and eventually gave her his number because 'she seemed friendly' and thinking about distilled characterisation and thinking about how uriel Still pissed eve off So Much but she humoured him the way an average adult would an average child, because she's a nice person, and FUCK. little guy for whom being treated like a kid instead of a corporate weapon is so revolutionarily kind that he is Never Ever Gonna Let This Person Go because they're clearly one in a million. I'll have to rewatch the main canon, but I do wonder whether any of Uriel's fascination with Eve was just liking for someone who showed him kindness in accordance with nurse bot procedures. This could tie in to the "no one cares what he wants" thing; guy who digs up blackmail on you to force you into being nice to him and/or help him out of a shit situation because it doesn't even cross his mind that you'd do so without being forced. [Cough.] Kenzie Martin energy. I so badly want to make them go panopticon vs panopticon.

I think beach episode exposes a very real loneliness in Uriel. And a very real desire to be helpful. Which now has me wondering how much of that was biologically hard-coded into him to make him more obedient...

anyways. yeag. fascinating little guy. [sobbing]

[hanaasbananas]

saw a post earlier about how well behaved you were in school/how often you got in trouble and I can't find it again BUT it made me think of a couple of times I got completely REAMED by my teachers.

NUMBER ONE

One time when I was in year 6 so..11? I think? it was 2008/9, I'd just discovered Fruits Basket and was practically in love with Kyo Sohma. That's fine, right? Perfectly normal experience

UNTIL we got set a homework task to write a short 1000 word essay on any subject and what did I choose?

Well. I chose to copy and paste the ENTIRE Wikipedia article about Fruits Basket. The whole thing. And then I painstakingly went through my entire document, removing every single hyperlink so that "Mrs M won't know that I didn't write this and will be so impressed by how much i wrote". ARE YOU SURE. ARE YOU SURE HANAA

she did notice. Almost immediately when I rocked up with a STACK of paper and everyone else had like, one page and I still had the GALL to show off "how much work I did" to everyone else on my table. where is this confidence NOW??? when I NEED IT.

anyway turns out my friend ALSO plagiarised her paper about tigers but she didn't take out the hyperlinks so we both got yelled at for 10 minutes during break, absolutely sobbed our little hearts out and then were told to wash our faces and calm down in the last 5 mins lmaoo

I think the funniest part of this story is that Mrs M ended up being one of my favourite primary school teachers, though I never plagiarised a Wikipedia article again.

NUMBER TWO

The second instance I got absolutely WRECKED by a teacher was in year 8 dance. Yes, dance. I absolutely LOATHED dance. Despised it. Was absolutely HORRIFIED when I started secondary school in year 7 and found out it was MANDATORY for two years.

(Essentially all subjects are mandatory until u choose ur gcse options, at which point you only do the core subjects aka maths english science and then 4 other subjects of ur choice. most schools have u choose options in year 9 bc year 10 is when you sit your gcse exams but THANK GOD my school made u choose in year 8 so you could have a practise run with the subjects you chose in year 9 and change them if u wanted to)

I didn't mind doing drama, (though i HATEd having to take ur shoes and socks off in the classroom), didn't mind ICT or food tech or graphic design or DT or geography. I HATED dance.

And also, unfortunately when I started my secondary school the lessons were LONG. The day was from 8.45-2.45 (unless you were an older student and had later lessons. Having a maths lesson at 2.45 and watching everyone going home SUCKED.) and for the first 3 years while I was there each lesson was AN HOUR AND A HALF. NINETY MINUTES. So you only had 3 lessons a day if you finished at 2.45 but they were really painfully long.

(They did switch to 1 hour lessons eventually and and sometimes you'd have a double period of a subject but that was fine.)

ANYWAY back to the story- despised dance, had to do it anyway. I surilvived one year, but then I had a stricter teacher in year 8 and one time we had an end of year assessment where we'd been practising dance lifts all term and she gave us 45 mins to pair up and come up with a dance sequence that had lifts in it and then perform it to the whole class at the end.

and the thing is, I was (am) a little heavy. So I knew I'd be the one doing the lifting. No problem. Until it came to pairing up because I was shy and quiet I only hung out w two other girls.

do you see where this is going?

those two friends of mine (TRAITORS) paired up so I was left with another shy muslim girl who I vaguely knew as a friend of a friend. She was lovely, honestly but things Didnt Go Well.

and by that I mean she couldn't lift me and wouldn't let ME lift HER so we could come up with something, anything. and I was CHRONICALLY shy. so I wasn't about to go tell the teacher, then my partner would hate me!!

time comes to perform. all of us sit on the floor against the mirror as the teacher goes down the line and sees everyone's performance.

we were last

we had nothing

"what were you doing for the last 45 minutes then girls? everyone else managed to do it, why didn't you?"

i tried to explain as articulately as I could, which is v impossible when you are a 12 year old trying not to start crying as you are BEING YELLED AT IN FRONT OF THE ENTIRE (SILENT) CLASS. my partner didn't cry but she also didn't tell the teacher why she didn't let me lift her.

naturally, we were given detention. and this was in the time when detention was the same amount of time as a lesson. AN HOUR AND A HALF DETENTION. I was distraught. What would my mum say when I had to stay late after school? I'd NEVER gotten a detention before I couldn't believe it!!

the ultra humiliating part was this was at the end of the day and we all got changed in the dance studio, they had like, open lockers at the back to put your stuff in so I couldn't even leg it out of class at the end I had to get changed next to my classmates all while they're sneaking glances at me and I'm just. Sobbing.

I think the teacher did feel bad about how much I was crying though because she told us that she'd email us to let us know when the detention would be and never did. I skipped class the week after just in case she remembered but I escaped unscathed.

[jasleh]

FFxivWrite2023 Prompt 1: Envoy

character: Rrahna time period: post-6.4/Pandaemonium

(Envoy is too close to Emissary so I guess it's Being Sad About Elidibus Hours 'cause I couldn't think of anything else lol)

"Ye do no remember much from when ye were captured, ye said? From… from Eric, I mean."

Rrahna and Claudien sat together on a rock ledge in Labyrinthos, close enough to Aporia that Claudien didn't need to worry about running into something dangerous getting there, but far enough away to provide privacy. Not that it was truly necessary to keep their meetings a secret, but Rrahna was finding secrecy a hard habit to break. Anyway, even in Sharlayan the Warrior of Light was watched and gossiped about. She wanted no rumors swirling while the two of them were still cautiously working out what they were to each other now.

"Not much, no," he admitted. "Some vague impressions, nothing more. I was hoping they might come clearer, but they grow only fainter. Because they were not inscribed in the crystal, I surmise…. why do you ask?"

"Oh, it just… there be somethin' that he said to me… And I keep thinkin' about it." Rrahna leaned back against the cliff face behind them, eyes closed and face thoughtful. "'Bout how Themis would no want to be me enemy. And yet… he were me enemy before he were me friend… and me friend before he were me enemy. Loops," she sighed. "Loops and loops and loops."

Claudien could but sympathize. His own life had felt decidedly non-linear ever since Ericthonios had granted him the memories of a life long past. How much worse must it be for Rrahna, who had actually traveled to that past in this life? Loops upon loops indeed.

"Ye… he… were right, I be sure, and yet, we were enemies far longer than we were friends. Far far longer, dependin' on how and who ye count." How had he reacted to Azem's betrayal, she wondered? Such memories were long lost and never now to be recovered. "When we fought, I hated him. There be a part of me that has no yet forgiven him and may no ever… and yet after I won I mourned him." The part that would not forgive was Ardbert, and even he had softened somewhat towards Themis. Yet she couldn't blame him for the grudge after how poorly she had reacted to Zenos's much shorter theft of her body. She would need to introduce Ardbert to Claudien sooner or later, but not yet.

Claudien just watched her, letting her talk. This, perhaps more than anything else, was what bound them together. Who else could understand - truly understand - what it was like to have such complicated emotions about Ascians? Who could they really speak to about such things but each other?

"Oh Eric," it came out half a sob, and she did not even realize the wrong name had slipped out. "There were so little left of him. Ye can no imagine. Time and Zodiark stole all that were Themis. He had only the memory of duty left. There were only Elidibus, the Emissary." It had hurt even then, the tragedy of how much he had lost. It hurt so much more now that she knew him as he had been. "I be glad… ye did no ever see him like that. And gladder still that I were able to speak to him one last time."

At last, Rrahna opened her eyes and looked at Claudien. "Down in the Aetherial Sea, Themis told me he were just like Lahabrea and… and Eric. Just a wanderin' soul that Athena impressed memories on. After ye left, he admitted it were no true. Or at least no entirely. She did find him, and manipulate him, but… he were no random soul. It were really him."

Claudien could only gape at this revelation. "That was him? You mean Athena found his actual soul?"

"Aye. Venat… Hydaelyn… must have brought him home after he made the portal. He thought it would take all of him that were left, but it seems it did no."

"So… he could remember…?"

"No much. He said his memories of Pandaemonium were clear, but most after were lost in fog. He were no sure if it were Athena's doing or… because of what he became. Probably a mercy. But he remembered that we fought in the Crystal Tower. And he remembered usin' it to send me to the past on the scrap of a memory. No of Pandaemonium, or what would happen there, but just… a flash of me in Elpis, where I could no have been. He said… he said knowin it let me end the Final Days meant it all had meanin'. Every moment. And he could go to his rest without regrets."

Rrahna sighed and looked down. "I miss him."

Claudien reached out a hand and put it over hers. "Me too."

[hollandorks]

shadows in the night

battinson!bruce wayne x f!reader

chapter fifteen

summary: more than a year after the events of middle of the night, y/n and Bruce are happily engaged and working to lower the amount of crime in Gotham. However, a new killer calling himself the Riddler has other plans for their happiness…set during the events of the movie, mostly canonical, some changes made to fit the story

a/n: so sorry this took extra long to get uploaded! I was really unhappy with my first draft of the chapter and took some extra time to work on it, then the day I planned to post I had to go to the dentist for a gum infection and ended up scheduling to have my wisdom teeth removed. Yikes. The good news is, I’ll be trying to write tons and finish this and at least have the rest of the story written before surgery in about a month! 

word count: 3316

Y/n sank into a crouch, biting back a sob, as she watched the Gotham Project go up in flames.

Within a minute, Ollie was there, and then so was Bryn, and they held her and cried with her as all of their passion and hard work burned.

Y/n watched, numb, as months of hard work turned to ash. 

She was certain the fire had been set on purpose. She’d checked and rechecked everything before they’d opened, had every certification on the planet that deemed the building safe, and even then Bruce had hired someone else for a second opinion. 

There was no way it had burned down by accident, right? Maybe there had been lightning or something but–it was barely raining. 

The numbness spread through the rest of her as she watched the last of the flames disappear into plumes of smoke. 

“Shit,” Ollie said next to her, the first word any of them had spoken in a while. “This sucks.” 

“Yeah,” y/n said, voice rough from the combination of exhaustion and smoke. 

It had been so much work to get it started. Endless planning and paperwork and interviews. She had spent hours working every day as the space had been renovated. Hell, she’d even helped build things wherever the contractors would let her. She’d painted and sanded and hammered and hauled in furniture. She’d spent time doing interviews to get the word out, then interviewing potential staff. She’d spent hours figuring out how to order the things they needed and then ordering again when they inevitably ran out. She’d cooked and cleaned for weeks after they’d opened until she had enough employees.

It had been a passion project she hadn’t known she’d wanted. A project she hadn’t known she needed. Working on it had gotten her through a lot of the residual stress and trauma from almost dying the year before. How many nights had she woken from nightmares and gotten up to do paperwork so she wouldn’t wake Bruce? How many hours had she spent in the abandoned subway station working while he was out in the city? How many times did she go help people when she was feeling particularly small and insignificant? 

The work creating and then running the Gotham Project had given her a purpose when she’d had none. It was even what had started her going out into the city like Bruce did–because she could always be doing more for the city. 

And there it was, all of those hours, her literal blood, sweat, and tears–all just gone. 

Y/n’s phone started ringing sometime around when they finally got the fire put out. She wasn’t sure the smell of smoke would ever come out of her skin. The air was thick with it. 

“Shit,” she said when she saw the number. She wiped her eyes and glanced at Bryn and Ollie as they stared curiously at her. “It’s the hospital.” 

She stood from the curb where the three of them had been seated, and answered the call. 

“Hi, I’m so sorry for the late call. I’m calling on behalf of Mr. Pennyworth. He regained consciousness and was asking for Mr. Wayne, but we couldn’t get ahold of him. Your phone number was listed to call in case we couldn’t reach Mr. Wayne.” The woman’s voice was too perky for it being the middle of the night, y/n thought vaguely. 

Then her words sunk in. Alfred was awake. “No, yeah, thank you for calling. Thanks for letting me know. Can we–can we visit?” She hastily wiped at her eyes again. Finally, some good news. 

“Yes, of course. Visiting hours are technically over, but…since he’s only just now awake…” The woman’s voice softened. “I’m sure it will be fine.” 

Y/n thanked her again and hung up. 

Alfred was awake. 

She cursed again. There was still so much to do with the Gotham Project–or what was left of it. She’d had to fill out an incident report and was informed that, as soon as it was safe, the investigators had to go inside and see if they could find a cause. Then and only then would she be able to go inside and see what was left. 

“What is it?” Bryn asked softly. She pushed one hand on Ollie’s shoulder to help herself stand. Ollie grumbled and yanked on her arm in turn as he stood, too. 

“Alfred’s awake. I–I have to–” 

“Go,” Ollie said as he made a shooing motion with his hand. “We’ll take care of things here and call you if there’s anything else they need. And when they let us in I’ll document everything for you. Go be with your family.” 

“Yeah, we’ve got this,” Bryn said. She squeezed y/n’s hand. “Go.” 

Y/n went, calling Bruce as she did. She had no idea what he was doing, if he’d ever made it home from meeting Falcone. 

He answered almost immediately. “I got the voicemail from the hospital,” he said instead of a hello. “And your voicemail about the Gotham Project. Is everything okay?” 

“No,” she said truthfully. Her voice broke on the word. “It’s…gone. But–I’ll meet you at the hospital, okay?” 

“See you there,” Bruce murmured. He hung up without another word. 

At the hospital, she eagerly grabbed Bruce’s hand when she saw him at the reception desk. She had no idea how he’d beaten her there, but she didn’t care. Something within her settled slightly the moment she felt his fingers lace with hers. His hands were freezing. She wrapped both her hands around one of his for a moment to try and warm it. 

“Mr. Pennyworth is resting again,” the doctor informed them when they made it to Alfred’s room. “Feel free to go in and wait, though. His condition looks much more stable and I think surgery might not be necessary either. We’ll know more tomorrow.” 

Y/n let out a trembling breath, relieved. “That’s great news, thank you, doctor.” 

She and Bruce went and sat beside Alfred’s bed. 

“How’d the…visit with Falcone go?” she asked softly, afraid of waking Alfred up. 

Bruce shrugged. 

“That great, then?” she said, eyebrows raised. There was tension radiating off of him in waves. Her half-hearted joke didn’t seem to even register with him. 

“I…have to talk to Alfred about it first,” Bruce murmured. “I don’t…know what to think.” 

Y/n could see him pulling away from her as easily as if he were actually walking away. He was withdrawing into himself, shoulders curved, jaw tight. It was as if there was an ocean between them all of a sudden, the waters churning in a storm, uncrossable. She didn’t know how to reach him or how to make it better. She wasn’t sure she could make it better, not with the state of her own mind. 

“What happened at the Gotham Project?” Bruce asked after a moment. He hadn’t taken his eyes off of Alfred since the moment they’d stepped inside the room. 

“I’m not sure yet,” she said. She rubbed at her face. Her clothes smelled like smoke. Her body knew it hadn’t slept in much too long. Her muscles ached from the explosion and then sitting for so long on the curb outside the restaurant. She wanted to sleep. She wanted all of this to be over. “They’d just finished putting it out when I left. Then the investigators were going to go in and see what caused it. Bryn and Ollie stayed there, they said they’d call.” 

Finally, Bruce looked at her, but there was a flatness in his eyes that made her unbearably sad. “We’ll rebuild,” he swore softly. “As fast as the city lets us.” 

She gave him a watery smile. “I know,” she said. “But I just–it took so much work to get it started before…” 

She sighed and rubbed at her eyes again. She stood. “I’m going to go get some coffee. Want anything?” 

Bruce shook his head and looked back to Alfred. 

She gently squeezed his shoulder and set off in search of caffeine. 

When she came back, coffee cup clutched in her hands like a lifeline, she heard Bruce say, “You lied to me.” 

Something made her stop outside of the door and wait. This was a private moment between him and Alfred, and she didn’t need to be a part of it. 

But she also didn’t want to walk away. Bruce was drawing away from her, and she might not otherwise be able to hear about what happened with Falcone. She knew he would do his best to keep it to himself, to keep his pain to himself. He always did. Whether it was to protect her or to protect himself, she didn’t know. 

“My whole life,” Bruce continued, voice barely above a whisper. Y/n leaned against the doorframe just out of sight in order to hear better.  “I spoke to Carmine Falcone. He told me what he did for my father. About Salvatore Maroni.” 

Y/n closed her eyes. So the Riddler had been right. 

“He told you Salvatore Maroni…” Alfred started, voice uncertain. 

“Had my father killed,” Bruce said. Y/n had to bite her tongue to hold in the gasp. No wonder Bruce was so withdrawn. “Why didn’t you tell me all this? All these years I’ve spent fighting for him, believing that he was a good man.” Bruce’s voice shook with anger. 

“He was a good man,” Alfred said in a growl. “You listen to me. Your father was a good man. He made a mistake.” 

“A ‘mistake’?” Bruce scoffed. “He had a man killed. Why? To protect his family image? His political aspirations?” 

Y/n didn’t want to hear anymore of the pain in Bruce’s voice, but she couldn’t move away. 

“It wasn’t to protect the family image, and he didn’t have anyone killed. He was protecting your mother. He didn’t care about his image or the campaign, any of that. He cared about her, and you, and in a moment of weakness, he turned to Falcone. But he never thought Falcone would kill that man. Your father should have known that Falcone would do anything to finally have something on him that he could use. That’s who Falcone is. And that was your father’s mistake. But when Falcone told him what he’d done, your father was distraught. He told Falcone he was going to the police, that he would confess everything. And that night, your father and your mother were killed.” 

She fumbled for the seat in the hallway at Alfred’s words. It made a terrible sort of sense, didn’t it? When confronted by Bruce, Falcone blamed Maroni–who was already out of the way–and took the suspicion off of himself. 

“It was Falcone?” Bruce said softly after a beat. She ached to go in and comfort him, but this was between him and Alfred. She hadn’t known the Waynes, she hadn’t been around twenty years ago, so she shouldn’t insert herself into it. But she wished, more than anything, that she could take just a little bit of Bruce’s pain away. 

“Oh, I wish I knew for sure,” Alfred said, voice just as soft. “Or maybe it was some random thug on the street who needed money, got scared, and pulled the trigger too fast. If you don’t think I’ve spent every day searching for that answer–” Alfred stopped, the pain in his voice all too apparent. “It was my job to protect them. Do you understand? I know you always blamed yourself. You were only a boy, Bruce. I could see the fear in your eyes, but I didn’t know how to help. I could teach you how to fight, but I wasn’t equipped to take care of you. You needed a father. And all you had was me. I’m sorry.” The last two words were barely a whisper, almost lost in the noise of the hospital. 

Y/n wiped at the tears that were falling. Alfred and Bruce had both gone through so much. And they were still going through it. Was it better for them to have answers now, after all this time? Or was the Riddler simply stirring up shit that should have been left untouched? Because the pain she knew both of the men inside the room were feeling was too much, on top of everything else, for them to bear. 

And the Riddler had caused it. 

The Riddler, and probably Falcone. 

Y/n wished they were both dead. Hell, maybe they’d kill each other for some reason, and she and Bruce could be left out of it. It was wishful thinking, but it helped her feel better. 

“Don’t be sorry, Alfred,” Bruce was saying as y/n sipped on her coffee to ground herself from her anger and heartache. “God. I never thought I’d feel fear like that again. I thought I’d mastered all that. I mean, I’m not afraid to die.” Y/n couldn’t help the small gasp at the words, chest aching, even as Bruce continued, “I realize now there’s something I haven’t got past. This fear of ever going through any of that again. Of losing somebody I care about. Last year with the gala–” Bruce cleared his throat slightly. “And now, with all of this…” 

There was a rustle, like Alfred shifting. “I–is y/n alright? I never asked.” 

“She’s fine. She went to get a coffee. I…Alfred, I’m sorry.” Bruce’s voice broke, just slightly. 

“Don’t be sorry, I’m just glad you weren’t home. And I’m glad y/n is okay.” 

Bruce sighed, cleared his throat. “I know, but–I need to tell you something. I…when I saw it was you, my first thought was ‘thank God it wasn’t her.’ I–” 

Y/n had to wipe more tears away. 

“My dear boy,” Alfred said softly. “I’m glad it wasn’t her, too. Don’t feel guilty for having that thought. I’m getting to be an old man, and I would gladly die in her place. Or yours. You still have so much of your life ahead of you.” 

“Don’t say that,” Bruce snapped, but there was no real fire in it. “I don’t want to lose either of you, ever.” 

Y/n figured it was time to go inside. She stood, composing herself, and gently pushed open the door. 

“Alfred! You’re awake!” She didn’t have to feign her enthusiasm, even though she knew for a fact he’d been awake for the past several minutes. She paused at the foot of the bed, noticing that he and Bruce were clasping each other’s hands. She almost cried again at the sight. She set her coffee down on the tray to lean over and gently kiss Alfred’s cheek. “I knew your head was hard enough to survive an explosion,” she joked as she straightened, earning her a raspy chuckle. 

“Yes, well, it certainly feels like I’ve been blown up.” 

Y/n stood beside Bruce and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, squeezing gently. Maybe now they could go home and sleep some. Alfred was okay. He was awake. And he’d had a heart-to-heart with Bruce that had sounded much needed. 

“We should–” she said, but stopped when she saw Bruce and Alfred both looking towards the skylight in the room. 

Batman’s signal shone through the dark. 

Y/n’s phone started ringing. 

“Motherfucker,” she muttered, glaring up at the signal, then down at Bruce. “I’m going with you, and you aren’t arguing,” she said as she answered her phone. 

It was Bryn. “Y/n–” 

“Is everything okay?” she asked, because at this point she was assuming it was bad news. 

She wasn’t wrong. 

“They said it was most likely arson. And…” Bryn hesitated. There was a fierce, whispered conversation she couldn’t make out. Ollie, most likely. 

“What aren’t you telling me?” 

“They found something painted on the bricks on the back wall outside. The one thing that didn’t burn.” 

“Just tell her!” Ollie said in the background. 

Bryn sighed. “It said ‘rat’ in red paint.” 

Y/n blew out a breath. “Yeah, well, it was only a matter of time,” she said a bit bitterly. 

“Y/n…” Bryn said. “This is serious. Arson? Vandalism? You–” 

“Did you see the news earlier tonight? What the Riddler told everyone I did? It was only a matter of time. Send me pictures of everything, I’ll have to take care of stuff later.” 

“You can’t just–” Bryn started. 

Y/n interrupted, “I have to go. Thank you. You guys get some sleep, okay?” 

She hung up and found Bruce standing and watching her. Alfred’s eyebrows were raised underneath the bandages on his head. 

“Um. The Gotham Project was burned down earlier,” she said for Alfred’s benefit. She winced. 

“What?” 

“Bryn just called. The investigators said it was arson, and someone painted the word ‘rat’ on the bricks, too.” She sighed and rubbed her tired eyes. “Bruce, we should–” 

When she looked up again, his eyes were hard. He was angry. So was she. But there was nothing they could do about it at that moment. 

“Arson?” Alfred repeated as she and Bruce stared at each other. “They’re sure?” 

“I guess so. After the Riddler’s video…” 

“What video?” Alfred asked. 

“I forgot you’ve been unconscious for a while,” she said, but her joke fell on deaf ears. “The Riddler…outed me as the confidential informant in the case from last year. Within a few hours the Gotham Project burned down.” She shrugged even though there was a hard knot burning in the center of her chest. God, she just wanted to sleep. 

Alfred cursed impressively for a man with a head wound. “We should call–” 

“I have to go,” Bruce interrupted, voice almost a growl. “You two stay here.” 

“Nope,” y/n said, “I’m coming with you. I’m in this shit as much as you are now, if not more.” 

“Be careful,” Alfred said, interrupting whatever argument Bruce had been about to make. “I mean it.” It was his dad voice again. Y/n almost smiled. He really was feeling better if he was using it on them. 

“We’ll be back as soon as we can,” y/n said as she took Bruce’s hand and led him out. 

He waited until they were in the elevator to speak. “Arson?” He spat out the word. 

“The Riddler has a lot to answer for,” she said. “That’s just one thing on the list.” 

“I have to finish this,” Bruce said. He turned a tight circle in the small space, like he was full of too much pent up energy to stay still. 

“We have to finish this,” y/n said. She put a steadying hand on his arm. “And we will.” 

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. When she went to step out, Bruce caught her wrist and tugged her close. Their chests brushed as they breathed in tandem. He leaned down and rested his forehead against hers. 

“What?” she asked softly as the elevator doors slid shut again. Bruce simply stared at her for a long moment. 

“I won’t let him take anything else from us,” Bruce said in a whisper. 

“I won’t either,” she said. 

He kissed her lightly, all of his pain and frustration and anger pouring into the kiss as surely as it was her own. 

“We shouldn’t keep Gordon waiting,” she murmured as he pulled away. “It’s cold as shit outside, he’s probably impatient.” 

Bruce took her hand. 

“I heard, um, your conversation with Alfred,” she told him as he led her to his car. They’d speed home, change, and swap cars as quickly as they could. “I’m sorry about–about your parents. About all of that.” 

She braced herself for Bruce to be angry at her eavesdropping, but he stayed silent as they pulled away from the hospital. 

“The Riddler has a lot to answer for,” Bruce finally said, “But so does Carmine Falcone. And I intend to collect on both accounts.” 

Y/n intended to collect from both of them, too. One way or another, they would pay for what they had done to Bruce, to Alfred, to her, and to the city. She was going to make sure of it.

Next Chapter

taglist: 

@pop-rocks-and-skittles @calumspupils @n1ght5h4d3-24 @keepingitlokiii @11mb0 @illicitghosts @cat-purrsonified @blue-aconite @junggoku @ohheyitsrowan @angxlictexrs @avengersgirllorianna @brynhildrmimi @takeyour-pants-off  @twilightdollie @p-writes @lady-x-red @xingqiusliegee​ @scxrletwitches​ @justine-en​ @philiasoul​ @srryxmate​ @thecherrybombcom @minstens​ @call-me-nayo​ @cosmicbreathe​ @deadflowerd @iimawinchester​ @ventila98​ @thecraziestcrayon​ @blossomedfloweroflove @zaminoo​

[broifoundher]

Part One

I am simply posting this now because I’m going to sleep. And if I don’t post it and keep it in my drafts. I just know I’m going to reread this tomorrow and be changing it so much it will be unrecognizable and a disfigured mess. (Like everything else in there.) So here goes nothing.

To anybody on the team, Yelena could easily be described as the toughest, both mentally and physically.

And she was. Most of the time.

She wasn’t one to let her emotions get the better of her.

But there were these little moments where she’d let them slide pass her walls. Where she would share her emotions, even the tiniest bit, to someone.

But then again, those moments were very rare. Even rarer than when she would actually break down. Not that she broke down regularly. But more so because sharing would mean opening up and opening up just wasn’t something she could do as well as Kate did.

After all, she had been brainwashed into thinking emotions were a liability. She was trained to get rid of them, to put them aside. Like so many other girls, she was abused both mentally and physically until emotions became a vague, distant and out-of-reach thing.

But unlike her sister, Natasha Romanoff, her generation of widows didn’t undergo a training as abusive as hers. Since, after all, the Red Room’s scientists had succeeded in, not only creating the mind control formula but also implementing and using it.

That, at least, could be seen as an improvement.

In the fact she wouldn’t need as much time as her sister did to rehabilitate into functioning like an actual human being.

Not that she didn’t need as much therapy.

Though you doubt she would ever willingly seek help from a professional.

Or that she would admit needing it.

To any outside party, it would seem like Yelena would be the one ‘taking’ care of you. And it was quite understandable as to why they would think so. The reasons were so obvious that you could never truly blame them even if you wanted to.

For one, she is a trained killer for God’s sake. Literally bestowed the title of ‘greatest child assassin the world’s ever known’, or at least, according to Alexei.

Second, she was just naturally emitting those dominant vibes. In the way she conducted herself to the way she dressed, spoke, and walked.

While, on the other hand, you were simply you. A normal average and plain person.

Psst. No offence! - Author.

Without any powers or super abilities. Not even an interesting trait like being super smart or super rich. Just. An. Ordinary. Human.

Which was part of the reason why, in your opinion, this have such an impact.

And by this, I mean you holding Yelena’s small frame tightly against yours.

An ordinary human holding one of the deadliest assassins alive as they silently sobbed in their arms. An ordinary human gently treading their fingers through the same previously mentioned assassin’s hair.

“It’s not your fault.” You hushed against her temple.

“It’s not your fault you were taken as a child. Not your fault you were brainwashed, tortured and used and manipulated to be an assassin.”

There was just something about saying it out loud. Making it more real to her. Like those events couldn’t just be ignored and tossed to the back of her head like she wanted to. They couldn’t be forgotten. But that didn’t mean they had to hold as much of a grip on her as if she were still there.

“You are so much more than a killer. So much more than what they made you believe you were. You are human. You are important.”

Her voice cracked as she made a squeak. And you held her close to you.

She still hadn’t let herself grip back onto you.

“You are worth loving. You deserve happiness.”

She finally buried her face in the crook of your neck. And you held her firmly against yourself as she muffled her sobs into your shoulder.

“It’s okay.” You murmured. “I’m here.”

You stayed tangled together and on the floor for what could’ve been hours, yet you never felt uncomfortable. Focusing, rather, on the other.

And once her breathing found it’s way back to a comfortable rhythm, and she allowed you to gently and slowly pull her head out. You rubbed her cheeks with your thumb and engulfed her nose with velvety tissues.

To be continued…

[evenshands]

survivor’s guilt (steve/eddie)

[steddie post canon fix it kinda thing. hurt/comfort and vague confessions and all that fun stuff. i will probably add a part two soon and then put it on ao3.

so far it’s just 1.4k words with no real warnings except, you know, survivor’s guilt vibes + alcohol/drugs mentions.]

Steve's hand is broad across his chest. 

it makes Eddie feel unworthy in a way that he can't quite explain, it makes him feel so safe and so held, and yet - and yet. 

Steve was close against his back not one minute ago. And then Eddie had gone and woken up, or at least - well, he hasn't actually slept properly in - not since. But he came to a higher level of consciousness. and because of that, he had to put a careful inch between them. 

Steve's hand stays on his chest though, fingers spread wide, firm and reassuring. Any other situation and Eddie would twine his own fingers in between Steve's just to see what he’d do, but. Not right now. 

Not right now.

It's selfish that the events of the last few weeks have made him feel anything but grief. It's like he can't pull his head out of his own ass for long enough to remember that three kids died, even if at the time one of them was chasing him. And then, Max (who has only ever been sweet - grumpy, yeah, but sweet underneath it) is, well. Who knows. El is working on it, he's assured. He's still yet to meet the girl with superpowers. She spends all of her time at the hospital, and he can't even bear to look at the place since he found out what happened to Red. 

Sure, he should have probably gone there for himself. But it's nothing that home-made bandages and some good old mind-altering substances couldn't fix. And, in some weird twist of reality, it's nothing that Steve couldn't just hold him through. Just to grab him and hold on tight and let him sob into his shirt, soaking it through with tears, that butt-ugly preppy polo shirt, the style of which he shouldve ditched long ago now, but fuck if it matters because Steve is strong, and he's solid and caring and he just lets Eddie fucking break. 

It was an accident, spending the night. Or a - drunk thing. Or a - yeah. No. He wasn't drunk. He was just a fucking mess. 

"How did you- when you first -" he had said to Steve, letting him fill in the gaps as he followed Eddie's eyes to the bed. They had been sitting in Steve's room, on the floor, a bottle each in front of them, doing nothing for anything. His tolerance is through the fucking roof at this point

Steve had raised a teasing eyebrow, but quickly worked out that it wasn't the time, and cleared his throat. 

"Sleep? Yeah, I - it was tough, the first time. It - I mean, I guess back then, I had - I had Nancy, so it - I guess it was easier having someone there that understood what the fuck had happened so - I - maybe -" he had paused for a long while then, his brow furrowed, his teeth worrying his bottom lip. Then: "We could -" 

It's not like they hadn't hugged before. Like he said, Steve has let him ruin all his shirts. It took a few mumbled are you sure that's a good ideas and for Steve to reassure him again and again with "Yeah - yeah, I mean. I guess I miss having Nancy too, so" and Eddie didn't even have it in him to take offense to that, because it was late and he was wrecked but he wasn’t wrecked enough to sleep and he wanted Steve's arms around him, alright, and he didn't think enough about how little he deserved - fuck it. 

One last mumble of - "How do you usually even -" and Steve was curled against his back, his hand across Eddie's chest. 

A few hours of hazy undeserved comfort leads him to now. A chasm between his back and Steve's chest, and it's cold under the heavy blanket. 

Steve stirs, tries to pull him back in, but he resists, and gently, calmly, in a way that's opposite to his body and heart, extracts himself from the hold. He sits back against the pillow on the other side of the bed,  not willing to go so far. And then he just - looks - and yeah, it’s fucking creepy, okay? He knows it. But Steve looks so damn peaceful and Eddie wants to cry because Steve is so good and how is he here with Eddie who should've just died.

He should’ve died three times over, and yet it was Chrissy, and Max, and that kid from the basketball team. And that other kid, too. But then, if he'd have seen that too, he would've. He would've let those goddamn bats finish the job. 

"Did you sleep?" 

Steve has cracked his eye open, barely squinting, and has his head cocked, as well as it can be against the pillow. 

Eddie suppresses a snort, and mumbles his answer instead. "Yeah - yeah. A bit. Thanks,  Harrington." 

"'Harrington'? It was that bad?" 

Eddie bounces his leg under the blanket. "No, I - no. I just. Middle of the night is always worse,you know?" he realises it only as he admits it. That if he can make it to morning then it'll at least feel - at least it won't be dark. It was always dark when everything happened. 

"Hey, yeah, I get it," Steve says, his voice all soft. "I get it." 

Eddie twists the rings on his fingers that he forgot to take off, unable to speak, biting down on his lip to stop himself if he does try. He can't look at Steve, he just hopes he'll give up, and roll over, and Eddie can sneak out with some unconventionally familiar walk of shame. 

"Maybe you'd sleep better without your rings on?" Steve says, with a half smile. "Not saying they aren't pretty, but they sure as hell look uncomfortable." 

Eddie knows it was an invitation to tease, saying that the rings are "pretty," but he doesn’t accept it. He bows his head with a noncommittal hum, and doesn't take them off. 

"I should -" he makes to move, but Steve moves at the same time, sitting up in the bed and shuffling over to him, hand on his arm. 

"Hey," he's all softness and care and god, if Eddie wasn't - like this - he would grab him by the collar and push him back against the bed and - but he is like this and he can't, he can't, he can't - 

And Steve stays him. "Tell me what I can do." 

Eddie swallows roughly. "Rewind fucking time." 

Steve lets out a quiet huff laced with frustration and amusement and sympathy, and tips his head forward ro rest on Eddie's shoulder. The limited touch, soft pressure, is already a comfort. "I'll work on that. And in the meantime?" 

"I shouldn't be here." Eddie says flatly, despite not making another attempt to move. 

Steve's hand tightens on his arm - not too much, just enough to feel. "Why not?" his voice is almost even, but even then, there's a shake to it. 

"Because! Because - I shouldn't have made it out. I shouldn't have - I shouldn't - I mean. They all wanted me dead. Why the fuck aren't I?" 

Steve lifts his head now, and in his peripheral vision Eddie sees him shake his head slowly. 

"Bullshit, Munson. I want you here." 

"You're putting up with me," Eddie replies. "Even though you could be anywhere else. You're sleeping next to a guy, don't you realise how that looks for you?" 

"I don't care." 

"You will. If someone finds out. You'd never get another date in this godforsaken town." 

"Did I stutter? I don't care, Eddie."

Eddie has to look at him then, to confirm what he saw out of the corner of his eye - that Steve's expression is so goddamn earnest,  so sincere - 

"You - really?" he tries to sound cynical but it comes out way too hopeful. Fuck. 

Steve lets out a beat of quiet laughter. 

"I don't want other dates." 

"You -  don't - but - " 

"Maybe you'll understand it better when you sleep on it," Steve says. "Come on. Rings off, this time." 

And in Eddie's state of confusion, or shock, or - something, he allows Steve to take his hands, delicately sliding the rings off and placing them on the side table with soft clinks with each one, then pulling Eddie back down under the cover, his arm tight around him, his hand broad across his chest. He must be able to feel Eddie's heartbeat. He doesn't comment. 

Even through his hair Eddie can feel the puff of Steve's breath against the back of his neck. It evens out soon enough, and then the rhythm finally puts Eddie to sleep.

[opalesense]

darkest fantasy

childe & f!reader (NSFW)

3.7k words • ~30 min. read

summary: one night you decide to make one of childe’s darkest fantasies into a reality, but as the night progresses, things don’t seem to go according to plan. at least... not according to your plan.

warnings: cnc, sexual assault, blood, death, knives, outdoor sex, lil comfort at the end i promise

notes: saw fatui agent childe fanart and AWOOGA... anyway i tried putting some in game screenshots in this for that extra ~immersion~ and might do that more often in some future fics if you guys want! thanks for 200 followers and i hope you enjoy!! ; ^ ;

“I SHOULDN’T HAVE BROUGHT IT UP,” Childe’s eyebrows furrowed as he rested a hand against his forehead, clearly flustered by the way he chuckled his nervousness away. “You really get me to say the stupidest things, [Y/N].”

 “It’s not stupid at all! C’mon, lighten up a bit!” you placed a hand on his arm and inched closer to his face, sensing the warmth in his cheeks. His shy eyes connected with yours when he let out a deep sigh, thanking you for the validation without him needing to say anything. It was rare to see him this nervous.

 “We’re not going to do it, babe. You asked me to tell you a secret fantasy and that’s all it’ll ever be. A fantasy. Just something in my imagination.”

 He gave you a quick kiss on your forehead before pulling away from you and walking towards the bedroom door to call it a night, but you quickly gripped him by the wrist to pull him back which immediately grabbed his attention. Swiftly, you leaned in to mutter words into his ear that would echo in his head for the rest of the night until the next day.

 “Luckily for you, the thought of doing it gets me a little excited. So why don’t we try to make your fantasy into a reality?”

THE HARBOR’S NIGHT LIFE always flourished near the end of the week. Plenty of workers who had weekends off would fish by the docks, street performers and storytellers would entertain families passing by, and restaurants would be packed full with hungry customers craving for the delectable cuisine of Liyue. Teenage friends gathered in front of the theatre while the elderly seemed to congregate by the teahouse. Children ran across the pavement from time to time flying kites and playing with butterflies. Liyue was truly fascinating during the night, full of a liveliness that always put a sense of joy in each heart that walked through its streets.

 Yet when you walked through the streets, lacking a companion and cold from the slightly revealing dress you wore, there was a sickly mixture of giddy excitement and wrenching anxiety in your heart. You had loosely planned this night with Childe so you knew what to expect, but at the same time, you didn’t. You had no idea where he was, what exactly he was planning to do to you, or when it would all start in the first place since you had been wandering around the harbor for about an hour now. All he wanted you to do was “wear this dress and enjoy your evening,” as he said in his own words. But he simply left you with those vague instructions as well as a bag of Mora to indulge yourself with.

 Even if he didn’t show up, the highlight of your night would be the mouthwatering dinner you had by yourself along with the sight of people offering lanterns to the sky. It was a beautiful night indeed.

 Another hour of wandering and occupying yourself with activities passed and you were feeling restless. The thought of Childe made you squirm in your seat, excitement flooding your nerves as you craved to see him now more than ever.

 If Childe’s following me, I should go somewhere less crowded, you thought.

 Assuming he was watching you at this very moment, you decided to make things easier for him, leaving the storyteller’s pavilion and walking across the bridge heading towards Mt. Tianheng. Mindlessly wandering and following the dirt path, you began to veer left towards the Golden House, but the distant sight of the Millelith immediately turned you back around.

 Not there.

ON YOUR WAY BACK to the main path, you noticed a smaller, less travelled road wedged between two large rocks, the dimly lit lantern sitting up ahead enticing you to follow where it leads. You found yourself curiously walking up the hill, taking in the starry night sky and whistling trees until you turned the final corner to see a group of miners idly standing around, bantering with one nearby Millelith guard.

 They noticed your sudden presence and waved hello, to which you waved hello back. One of the miners, who leaned against a cart full of iron, was the first to fully acknowledge you. “Hey, are you lost, miss?”

 “Oh, no, not at all. I was just curiously wandering around, taking in the sights and all,” you grinned politely, glancing up at the calm night sky. “It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it boys?”

 “Taking in the sights, are you?” another miner slowly approached you, a few more starting to pay attention to you. “You know, you’re certainly a sight to take in too with that pretty little dress of yours.”

 You had completely forgotten that you looked very out of place with what you were wearing – a short traditional-like dress with a small hole exposing a small area of your chest. Your eyes quickly widened as you processed what the miner said, but before you fully realized it and came back to your senses, the men had circled around you and were getting dangerously close. You instinctively reached down to grab the blade that was usually tucked and sheathed in your belt but after grabbing nothing with the realization that of course, you were wearing a dress, genuine panic began to seep in.

 “What’s a pretty girl like you doing out late at night looking like that anyway? You’re practically begging to be touched,” a man’s voice behind you teased, grabbing your hips as he emphasized that last word. You swiftly elbowed him in the ribs to defend yourself and temporarily push him away, but the other men were quick to react as a pair of hands grabbed your arms and pinned you into place.

 You snapped your head towards the Millelith guard, expecting him to do something to help you as a protector of the harbor. But he simply stood there at his post, glancing away as soon as you met his eyes. And if Childe were watching, you were sure he would have stepped in by now. He was often the jealous type anyway. But while the men slowly pulled you under a nearby deteriorated pergola despite your thrashing then greedily groped your body, help was nowhere to be seen.

 All hope you had for a fun night was gone. Tears swelled in your eyes as you attempted to kick away the hungry hands but it was no use. Please, you silently prayed, someone help me!

 As if someone had heard your prayers, the sound of a projectile zipping past your head followed by your arms being freed from the man who was restricting you was the sound of freedom. The others looked up in horror and paused their advances as their friend dropped injured behind you. Suddenly, a dark figure leaped from the hill above and landed on the ground confidently, quickly pulling out two blades then lunging forward to the miners, catching them by surprise. You took this temporary moment of freedom to kick the hands off of you and scramble away, running back towards the path. You could hear the sounds of bodies thumping to the ground behind you coupled with loud groans of agony, and you can only imagine what your unknown savior looked like but all you could focus on was getting away as soon as possible with the limited mental strength you had.

 But much to your dismay, one of the miners still managed to grab you tightly and drag you back, and every time you wiggled away, they had a strong grip on you. Sobs of desperation escaped your throat, “Let me go! Let me go, please! Help!”

 “Leaving so soon?” a different voice growled in your ear as the man’s grip around your waist tightened. It was deep, distorted, and certainly anxiety inducing. You looked down in a flurry of panic to see black and red sleeves wrapped around your figure. This was not one of the miners.

 The man lifted you up a few inches from the ground to turn you around. You were faced with bodies littering the floor. It had only been less than ten seconds and the entire scene was drenched in blood. The sight of the freshly killed miners as well as the one guard made you tremble in fear rather than feel grateful for being saved just now.

 “I think I deserve a reward for protecting you from those filthy bastards, wouldn’t you agree?” the man inched you closer to the bodies but you closed your eyes as soon as you could recognize the open wounds from his blades. “At least a thank you would be nice.”

 “Get away from me!” you yelled and thrashed in his arms again but quickly stopped once you heard the sound of his blade being unsheathed. You opened your eyes to see a bloodied dead man at your feet as well as a knife at your throat, pressing gently at your fragile skin.

 “You’re a tough one, aren’t you? I wouldn’t be so resistant if I were you,” the man’s gravelly voice was definitely unfamiliar but his tone and inflection reminded you of...

 “Childe....” you weakly muttered under your breath, which made the man laugh in response.

 “Childe, you say? You have something to do with the boss?” he pressed his hips harder against yours, his erection subtly throbbing underneath his clothes.

 “So you’re Fatui, aren’t you?” you mustered enough courage to make your voice sound threatening enough. You let out a sarcastic laugh despite your low confidence. “You have no idea who you’re messing with. Once Childe finds out about this, your life will be over within seconds.”

 “Who are you to say something like that?” he slowly began walking the two of you over to the nearest wall, a large rock that cast an equally large shadow from the moonlight. “I’m surprised a dumb little slut like you would even know his name.”

 Your eyes squinted at the insult. “You don’t need to know who I am. All you have to know is you’ll be dead by tomorrow morning.”

 “We’ll see about that,” he suddenly used his free arm to turn you around so your back slammed against the cold rock. You finally looked up at your captor to confirm your suspicions of this predatory savior. He was certainly part of the Fatui, his red and black mask concealing his identity with yellow glowing eyes staring directly at you. His arm positioned itself directly next to your head so he could hold his blade against your neck again, threatening any potential thoughts of escaping. His other hand suddenly grabbed the open space in your dress and pulled down, ripping the fabric in half and exposing your half naked form, eliciting a loud gasp from you. Panic began to seep in. How could I walk back home practically naked? Would I even end up alive to come back home?

 Before you could use your arms to cover yourself up in an attempt at modesty, he pressed the blade to your neck that even the slightest movement would ensure spilled blood. “Don’t even think about it.”

 He looked up and down at your body, humming with satisfaction as he began to unzip his pants and free his cock. You couldn’t exactly take a good look at it with the knife restricting your range of motion, but even then, you weren’t sure you wanted to look. His free hand gripped your bare waist. “And to think that those other filthy men were about to get their hands on this... You really should thank me.”

 Another gasp escaped your throat as he slowly dug his hand under the strap of your underwear. His leather gloves snaked their way further down, inching closer and closer to your core. You could feel his grip on his blade tighten with his tensed muscles. “That was a command. Thank me.”

 “T-Thank you,” you whimpered as he pulled down the last bit of clothing you hid behind. He let out a satisfied groan at the sight of your aching cunt, which you hated to admit was dripping wet from thinking about Childe earlier in the night. Even now, you really hated to admit this situation was somehow turning you on, even though you were simultaneously disgusted and shaking in fear.

 “You’re practically soaking for me, aren’t you?” the man let out a slow chuckle as he dipped a gloved finger into your hole without warning. You gasped at the sudden penetration, careful not to arch your back into his touch with the knife still pressed at your throat. The man began relentlessly shifting his finger in and out of you and watched your face squirm with pleasure and denial at the same time. He maniacally chuckled at the way you were completely unsure of how to feel, and wanting to hear you moan louder instead of quietly pant and sigh, he inserted another finger and picked up the pace.

 “Your cunt is so tight, you know that?” he teased, “If you’re moaning like this now I can only imagine how my cock will make you feel.”

 “N-No, please,” you moaned out helplessly, “Please don’t...”

 He pulled his fingers away and quickly shoved them into your mouth while it was still open, freeing your throat from his knife and slowly trailing it down your body while he made you suck on his gloved fingers, wet from your own fluids. The cold metal found itself settling right above your hips and with no hesitation he began leaving flesh wounds, the leftover blood from the men easily being mistaken as yours at first glance.

 “I’m going to put away the knife, but you’ll be a good girl for me and stay still, won’t you? You saw what I did to those men. It would be a shame if you met the same fate just because you wanted to escape,” he sheathed the blade and pulled his fingers out of your mouth to grab your waist, forcing you to turn around. He bent down slightly to get a hold of your thighs, and in one swift move, folded your body into the likings of a full nelson, your legs hanging onto his elbows with his chest pressed against your tense back. As he reached his hands to clasp behind your neck and push your body into the intense position, the connection between this man and Childe made your eyes light up.

 This was one of his favorite positions. No way it was just coincidence.

 “So it is you, Childe,” you happily grinned as he turned the both of you to face the bloodied mess from before so he could lean against the wall. His touches seemed to get more familiar as the realization sunk in, but at the same time, you wondered if your mind was just playing tricks on you to make the best out of the current situation. You sat on the fence of either blindly believing this mysterious man was Childe or giving into the reality that this really was a stranger.

 “You’re delusional, slut. Childe has nothing to do with this, I don’t know why you keep mentioning his name,” he hissed in your ear, getting more and more irritated.

 You finally glanced down for the first time since nothing could restrict your neck anymore. To your delight, you smiled at his throbbing cock twitching as it waited at your entrance, aching to stir your insides. You giggled sweetly, finally relaxing with a deep sigh. You now knew with certainty that you were safe. Everything was under control. His control.

 “Childe, I recognize every inch of your cock like it’s second nature,” you stared at his familiar length then reached out to wrap your fingers around the tip, the muscle twitching in response. “You’ve never been this hard before... You must be so excited right now.”

 “One more word out of you about Childe and I will kill you right here. Do not test me.”

 “You wouldn’t, right? You love me too much,” you boldly declared, teasing him for staying in character. When he didn’t answer and instead shifted his cock to push his tip inside you, you let out a sharp exhale. He went in too fast, too rough. Even if you were dripping wet, the way he shoved himself inside you was merciless and tore you apart immediately.

 You tried to find the pleasure in it but as soon as he started thrusting not even a few seconds later, you worriedly whispered, “S-Slow down... Please! It hurts, Ajax-“

 “You’re going to take all of it in. Maybe that’ll teach you not to be an annoying, disobedient brat from now on,” he interrupted.

 Destroying you was an understatement of what he was truly doing to your body. He would repeatedly pull his length out before shoving it back in, rolling his hips so naturally with each thrust having clear intention to break you apart. Your cunt visibly throbbed, the excruciating pain slowly turning into ethereal pleasure from the attention it was getting from his thick shaft. He closely listened to the way your cries turns into gleeful moans, excitedly fucking you as his mind further indulged in the fantasy. After all, this entire night had been exceedingly frustrating and enticing to him and to take out all his pent up energy on you was the only thing on his lust filled mind.

 Soon enough, his thrusts began to roll in harder as he held onto you tightly, his moans becoming more intense as the only thing on his mind was how good he was feeling, fucking you in front of the kills he certainly prided himself on. Similarly, you felt your insides burn at the feeling of being manhandled and treated like a toy, or the way he began moaning your name in a low whisper as you felt his cock twitching inside you, aching for release – the first time he had ever acknowledged your name tonight.

 “[Y/N], baby – fuck!” his distorted voice cried out, “I’m... I’m gonna...!”

  “Me too...!” you felt your legs shake violently as you neared your climax, “A-Ajax!”

 He let out one final thrust, burying himself inside of you until his length plugged up your sore hole and dumped his seed deep inside you. His load came in pulses, slowly coating your insides with moans of ecstasy ringing in your ear as he rested his chin on your shoulder. Your cunt quivered as you reached your release as well, your fluids swirling with his to make one happy mix of satisfaction.

 The both of you stayed in this position, panting and trying to calm down from your highs. Childe let go of his hands behind your neck and positioned them to hold your knees without pulling out of you, allowing you to freely move your head again. Though, you didn’t want to take your eyes off of his cock buried inside of you, opting to keep your head hanging down to actively avoid looking at the bodies in front of you. Childe must have noticed this, and of course, he had to say something about it.

 “Sorry about... them. I hate... really hate when people try to mess with what’s mine,” he took a deep sigh as he slowly pulled out of you, watching his cum ooze out from your cunt to drip down to the space between his shoes. The sight could have been enough for him to push for another round, but he figured now wasn’t the time. He had the urge to explain himself.

 “I was just so mad and... though I have to admit, seeing their blood on my blade got me so excited... wait, I think I might’ve gotten a little too excited,” something seemed to have clicked in his mind when he said that, “Baby, I’m so sorry! We shouldn’t have done this, I did so many things to you, I’m so sorr-“

 “It’s okay, Childe,” you slowly turned your head to his so your faces were only an inch apart, his mask being the sole barrier that stopped you from kissing him to shut him up. “I had so much fun. Did you?”

 “Of course I did,” he slowly placed you down to stand on your feet again, which was admittedly tough since he had fucked the life out of you. He briefly held your waist to stabilize you as you wobbled back and forth, his cum now dripping down your thighs. He then lifted his hood up to reveal his fluffy red hair and took off his mask, throwing it to the ground to meet you with teary eyes.  His voice was no longer distorted by that cursed mask, and a look of genuine concern sat in his deep eyes.  “I-I’m so sorry for scaring you, [Y/N]. I could see it in your eyes the entire time and I hate to admit that it turned me on and now I feel so bad–“

  You swiftly pressed your lips to his, finally shutting him up from his rambling. He responded by eagerly returning the kiss, cupping your face in his hands and closing his eyes. For a moment, his troubles melted away once he realized you weren’t upset with him, and millions of thoughts about how much he loved you raced through his mind. But It wasn’t long before he broke the exchange, taking off his hooded garments to drape it over your cold, naked body. It was apparent he put thought into this moment, already wearing his normal clothes underneath the Fatui uniform as if he had planned to cover you up from the start. He made sure to pin it closed and fasten it tightly, ensuring that every exposed part of you was warm and covered. Once he was done, he pulled you in for a hug, holding you tightly as he stared at the bodies behind you, sighing contently.

 “I love you, [Y/N]. Thank you for accepting me for who I am and letting me have tonight. We really don’t have to do this ever again if you don’t want to.”

 “I love you too,” you smiled sweetly. “Just... next time, please don’t keep me waiting so long. The uncertainty was thrilling but I was sure I was going to die back there.”

 “I’ll keep that in mind next time. I just got caught up with the Millelith because I’m dressed like an agent, then I lost sight of you and... wait,” he pressed his forehead against yours and gently, yet eagerly whispered with a grin, “so there’s really going to be a next time?”